were dependent on charity or, as some children used to say to me, we were
county charges. I was so young then that I did not realize what it really
meant. At last papa gave up his last breath of this life and the county
buried him. Mamma’s rich relatives never came near during the trouble.
After papa’s death, mamma obtained work in the home of a family in
Milwaukee. She was housekeeper for an old gentleman of about sixty-five.
His wife had died years before and his family now consisted of himself,
two grown daughters and one son about twenty-two. I was then fourteen,
and it was so arranged that I was to assist with the work and go to
school. That all seemed very nice, for mamma and I could live together.
All went well for a year, during which time my mother’s two brothers died
and as they were the only remaining heirs to the large estate, their
demise left my grandmother the only legal heir, as my grandfather had
so provided in his will that my mother was entirely cut off. At the end
of the first year in our Milwaukee position, Edmund Decker came home
from college ready to do battle with the world. I felt the effects of
the menial exactness of my position. I was but fifteen then, but he of
twenty-three, fell in love with me and fearing his father’s objections,
our meetings were secret. Oh, how I have watched and waited for him, and
how the moments would fly as he held me in his arms and breathed words
into my young ears that made the rich, warm blood of my youth leap and
bound through my veins, while my lips and cheeks burned as though they
were being bathed in fire. Alas, our anticipations were true; we were
caught fairly in one of our little love-making scenes. It happened one
afternoon when we supposed everyone was away. Edmund came to the house
and we were having a tete-a-tete in a little alcove off the library.
Nothing so bad about that, but one of the sisters who existed chiefly on
suspicion, had hidden behind some heavy curtains, within three feet of
us, and after hearing as much as she liked she stepped out of her hiding
place and found me contentedly curled up on Edmund’s lap.
“It all ended by my running away and coming to Chicago. I did not let
anyone know where I was. I succeeded in getting a position as a nurse
girl in one of the best South Side homes. One day I was in the park with
the babe who was entrusted to my care, and by sheer accident met Edmund.
He explained to me that he was located in the city and had taken up the
study of law. We arranged and met often after that; finally Edmund asked
me to go out to the theater with him one evening and by a great effort I
managed to get away from my duties long enough to accept. After the play
Edmund suggested that we call on a friend of his who was preparing to
leave the city that night and bid her goodbye. We called at the flat of
his friend. She had changed her plans some and would not go until three
o’clock the next morning. She was just preparing some lunch after her
day of packing. We stayed to lunch and had wine. That was the first I
had ever tasted. I never did return to the nursery. Edmund arranged that
night to rent his friend’s furnished apartment and she went away leaving
us in charge of everything. Edmund said it was all right, for we were
going to be married anyway just as soon as he was admitted to the bar, so
that he did not have to depend upon his father for support.
“We lived very happy, my husband and I, for he was my husband and he used
to call me his wee little wifey. It is no use for me to describe all the
fun of the few short months we dwelt together there, but it all ended in
this way:
“Edmund was so devoted and attached to me that in order to be with me
constantly he neglected his studies in the law office. Sometimes he would
not leave me for days, and the firm with whom he was studying notified
his father of his dilatory conduct. His father was a shrewd man and was
not long in guessing that there was a woman in the affair some place. He
had Edmund watched, followed and located in the house, discovered that he
was living under an assumed name with some woman but failed to determine
who the woman was.
“One day I watched and waited for Edmund as usual. Night came, but
no Edmund; all night I waited by the window for that form to appear.
Daylight broke in all its freshness and glory only to find me still
longing for the loving caress on which I had learned to exist. Long days
and dreary nights dragged slowly enough. I could not imagine why Edmund
did not return or at least write me. I listened for the familiar step
along the hall, and when exhaustion compelled me to seek rest and sleep,
I would dream of rivers of dirty, black water, and finally awoke from
some horrible nightmare screaming for Edmund. I did not lose faith in
him and I thank God for that. I knew some terrible calamity had befallen
him, but silly little goose that I was, dared not tell anyone nor try
to find him. Each day the sun rose with more spots on it, each night
was darker than the preceding one; every hour brought more misery and
desolation to my young heart and with nothing to console or encourage me,
I almost cried my eyes out. I had no appetite, consequently at the end of
three weeks I was a fit subject for a dime museum. Oh, I looked terrible!
At that time I was confronted with a new trouble which absorbed some of
my time and attention. When Edmund went away he left very little money in
the house and I was suddenly brought face to face with the fact that I
was almost penniless. My maid of all work left at this stage, and I was
entirely alone in my misery.
“For three days and nights I had not a bite to eat, then a strange thing
happened; a woman came to my house and asked me if I would rent her and
her husband a room. She was a handsome, dignified, well dressed woman
and offered to pay liberally and in advance. I hesitated, not because I
thought of refusing but for the reason that I was faint and hungry and
not strong enough to talk glibly; the woman mistook my slowness of reply.
She thought I was afraid she would not pay, whereupon she took from her
purse a roll of bills greater than I had ever before seen, at the same
time asking me how much I wanted for the front room. Visions of loaded
tables, steaming dishes and dainty salads rushed past my eyes while the
aroma of hot coffee seemed to fill my nostrils until my wasted frame
shook with an excited hunger. I managed to state a price. She paid me
and went to bring her trunks. Oh, at last, I could have something to eat;
I could regale myself with food such as I had not tasted for days. I went
to my room to dress thinking it best to go to a restaurant. Fortunately
I had given my roomer a key and when she returned that night she found
me where I had fallen, half dressed on the floor of my room, while
clasped tightly in my hand were the crumpled bills she had given me. I
battled long and hard with a fever, all the time calling for Edmund. At
last the fever broke, leaving me a poor, emaciated wreck. The doctor
told me I would be all right soon and added that I would soon be able
to go to work. That sounded so strange to me who had learned to depend
on someone else; time did bring my complete physical recovery, but I
had added responsibilities. I owed a large doctor bill which came to me
with the request to remit before I was fairly able to sit up all day. I
could not pay it, and could not figure out how and when I could expect
to pay. Almost daily the medical man’s collector called. He harassed me
so that I actually wished the doctor had allowed me to die. In spite of
all this I grew strong; color came to my cheeks, my lips took on the rosy
hue which had so many times drawn complimentary remarks from Edmund. My
eyes shone with their old time brightness, and when people told me I was
getting pretty, they said it in such an earnest way that I was inclined
to believe them. My improved condition was due to the kindness of the
woman who was rooming at my house; during my illness she assumed entire
control of everything, and was to me all that a mother could be.
“At last the doctor’s demands became unbearable. He called personally one
day; his salute was genial and his manner kindly, but his remarks were
burdened with sarcasm. He went even so far as to make improper advances
to me, saying that I might liquidate my obligations to him by becoming
his friend. I was so indignant that the words I used in telling him of
his unprofessional conduct could not well be mistaken. He laughed at my
rage and informed me that he knew of my affair with Edmund; also that
the woman living in my house was a person of improper character and
accused me of being aware of the fact. His argument was no good. I would
not listen to his demands. After he had gone I went to the lady in the
house and told her all that had passed. She acknowledged that she was
not married to the man whose name she bore, and even half advised me to
accept the doctor’s offer. I was desperate and had it not been for the
mean advantage he had taken I believe I would have consented to the plan,
but the man had completely killed all feeling in my breast for him and it
was now but a matter of business. I owed and must pay, and pay I would,
but in cash. I resolved upon one thing, and that was that if my soul was
to be disposed of in a mercenary manner it would go to some one who was
willing to strike a bargain and not because I was under obligations to
that one. I thought of one more plan and acted upon it as a last resort.
I put an advertisement in the leading papers, asking Edmund to return
to me or send me some word. I put it in as a blind advertisement. I
received one reply and it stated that the party advertised for had gone
to Europe and I need not expect to see him as he was through with me.
Heavens! how my Scotch blood boiled. I branded the whole thing as a lie.
Again the lady roomer helped me out. I counselled with her and she went
to the law office where he had been studying and there she saw a letter
from him postmarked Berlin. That settled it; my mind was now made up as
to my next step. I began a methodical canvass of the houses of ill repute
and when I found one that I thought was of the better class of places
of that nature I applied for admission and was admitted. This occurred
about four o’clock in the afternoon, one cold, dreary, cloudy day, not
a fitting atmosphere for one to begin a new undertaking, but a fitting
inducement to tempt one to rid one’s self of the blues. I was to go to
my new home at once and fired with the fever of excitement and firm
determination to bury the past, I took my trunk and was assigned to my
room in the midst of public debauchery and iniquity. I must say that the
surroundings were very inviting. I soon learned that I was not the only
unfortunate girl in the world; many more who were there had even more sad
experiences than I, owing to the fact, perhaps, that they had been in the
world longer.
“As I did not have the proper clothes upon my arrival I was not asked to
go to the parlor the first evening, so I spent the time visiting with the
other members of this sinful family, during such time as they were not
engaged.
“The next morning a modiste took my measure. At noon several flowing
robes of silk were sent to my room for trial. I selected three beautiful
ones, which were fitted to me. The landlady had them charged to her
account and I was told to dress myself and appear in the parlor at eight
that evening.
“I dressed; I appeared; my face burned, my fingers tingled and I know my
eyes stared. It was a beautifully furnished home, music, birds, flowers,
gayety and mirth, answered the clink of the wine glasses, as long as
the parlor was the scene of the festivities, but I knew that burning,
scalding tears were the sequels to all this as soon as the participants
were allowed to retire to their rooms alone. The shudders which convulsed
me were noticed by others of the house and many a kind touch and look
was given me. Fate seemed to be my Saviour that night, for it was nearly
midnight and for some reason none of the many male visitors seemed
inclined to cultivate my acquaintance.
“I had just received permission to go to my room when the bell rang.
And, oh Gods! I was told to wait. I waited and as the visitors were
ushered into the reception room I heard a voice that chilled my flesh,
and caused my blood to stand still; it was the voice of one I knew well.
Then a vivid, wild thought came to me. Had Edmund found me at last? Thank
Heaven, he was in time to save me!
“It was with hope wandering and blind stupidity that I managed to answer
the call and go forward to meet the newcomers. Those ten steps covered
ten years in flight of time; what could I tell him? What would he say?
How could I look him in the face? While all these mental problems were
racing through my brain, I was drawing nearer to the little group of men.
“‘Gentlemen, this is Miss Adele.’ (That was the name I had chosen.)
“The announcement aroused me from my trance-like condition and I raised
my eyes and looked squarely in the face of Edmund’s father. The other
men I did not know. Edmund’s father stared, started and then with a gasp
cried, ‘My God, girl! Child, what are you doing here?’
“‘I am here to make a living,’ I said frankly.
“Without excuse or apology to his friends he drew me to a seat. I almost
fainted at the thought of meeting him and being chosen by him in such a
place; my very soul revolted.”
“But where was Edmund?”
“Ah, there you are. You see when I heard the voice I knew it was that
of his father. I, grasping at a forlorn hope, naturally supposed that
Edmund had come back, gained his father’s consent to marry me, and they
had started out to find me. It was very natural to think they would be
successful for a girl in that position is always expecting the worst to
happen, or rather to be exposed to some one whom they do not wish to see.”
“And Edmund was not in the party at all?”
“No. His father was a man of slightly sporty inclinations, and he with
his party of friends were simply out for a night and happened to come to
the place where I was. But the turn of affairs seemed to change his mind
a bit, for he questioned me so closely as to my whereabouts in the past,
and as to how long I had been in that house, that I became suspicious,
but I told him all, everything truthfully that had happened to me since
I had left his home; but one thing I sought to keep secret and that was
the name of the man with whom I had lived. But it seemed impossible for
one so unused to intrigue to keep a secret. I had a chain (this chain)
around my neck, and on the chain this locket, and as I leaned my head
forward it dangled in the air and unknown to me he took the locket and
opened it and this picture, Edmund’s picture, was in it.
“At first he raved and swore, ‘to think that I, a common woman of the
town, should dare to wear his son’s picture in such a place as that!’ I
don’t know how I held myself together, but I did, and gently reminded
him that he should not object to his son’s picture being worn in a place
which he himself frequented.
“He gradually became reasonable and we talked matters over in general,
he finally drawing out of me that it was his son whom I had looked upon
as my husband. He satisfied himself as to my purity, otherwise, then
made a confession. It was he who had caused Edmund to be spirited away
to Europe. Edmund had endeavored to correspond with me, directing his
letters to the name that we were making temporary use of, but his father
had intercepted them, thinking that the boy had fallen into the hands
of some very bad woman who would eventually ruin his life. It was he,
of course, who answered my advertisement, but to make amends for his
mistakes, he made me the proposition that I should have a good home, go
to school, take music, and in fact qualify myself in every possible way,
during the two years following, all at his expense. At the end of the
two years he promised that if I had been good and true Edmund should come
back from Europe and marry me. And the two years will be up in just three
weeks, and I am so happy.”
“You were telling your fortune when I came in; will you tell me what you
wished?”
“Oh, sure! I wished Edmund would come back before the three weeks are up.”
“You said you were rich.”
“Yes, you see, Grandma died and left me all the money my mother has been
kept out of all this time, but don’t tell that, will you? For I want to
know for sure that Edmund loves me for just me.”
As the writer arose to leave, a messenger boy brought in a strange
looking envelope and after being convinced that he was talking to Leonore
Marks, he handed the envelope to her, saying, “Cablegram for you.”
It read, “Home in ten days. Be ready to be married.
EDMUND.”
“Now, you see, the cards were right. I shall get my wish.”
As the writer left Miss Marks, in her joyous delight, was administering
such caresses to the silk poodle that he half wished he too were a little
white dog.
TALE SIX.
A DAUGHTER OF PROUD KENTUCKY.
“One sin, I know, another doth provoke;
Murder’s as near to lust, as flame to smoke.”
In response to a vigorous rap, I was admitted to a scantily furnished but
clean apartment, the warmth and glow of which made a pleasant contrast
to the drizzling rain, the rows of flickering gas lamps, and the sloppy
streets that I had been plodding through for several moments.
Leaving my hat and coat in the narrow hall, I followed the directions
of the little girl who opened the door, and soon found myself in the
parlor which contained furniture that was old, badly matched and much
worn; pictures—well, two portraits, and a few little cards on which some
enterprising merchant had printed his name, all of which failed to add
greatly to the attractiveness of the room. My scrutiny was not to be
confined to the handiwork of man, however, for by the time I had taken a
complete inventory of the room, my attention was attracted to an object
of nature. I heard a soft voice say, “Good evening, sir.” The full tone
and sweet southern accent caused me to turn, and as I did so my mind was
filled with anticipation.
Before me stood a girlish figure. She might have been twenty-five,
although she did not look it; there was that in the deep gray eyes
which told of trouble rather than the joy of youth. Her soft hair was
rolled loosely back from the low brow, leaving only a little curl or two
above her temples. Her neat fitting house dress of princess design did
little to add a matronly air. Mature youthfulness sweetened by cares, is
what flashed through my mind as I took the slender white hand which she
extended with the dignity of a court lady.
“I am Mr. ⸺,” I said.
“Yes, I have been expecting you,” she said, as she pointed to a wobbly
rocker, at the same time gliding across the room to a little divan.
“And are you ready to proceed?” I asked, in the cold mechanical way that
had been supplied by nature and developed by cultivation.
“I suppose so, sir, but what am I to tell you first?”
“Tell me where you were born and grew up, and so on, right through to the
present time.”
“Well, I was born in Kentucky, and there grew to—to—yes, I might say
to womanhood, although I was young when I left there. I was an only
child; my father was a wealthy stockman and during my childhood want was
an unknown word to me. My earliest recollections were of my old black
mammy, who used to croon to me, in a voice that was always soothing. I
was taught to believe that the world was at my command; a mother’s care
I never knew, for my advent into this world cost her her life. Ah, sir,
I have often longed for a real mother, one to whom I could go and tell
all my little secrets, one who could feel the love for me which my nature
seems to crave.
“My father was a most indulgent parent, but I fear that in his great
goodness he failed to conceive the emotions of a girl’s heart.
“When I was fifteen I met a young man from the North. It was quite an
accidental meeting, but it was not an accident that I loved him, nor
that he worshiped me. He came to our plantation to buy some horses for
his stables in Chicago; he was honorable enough to ask my father for my
hand in marriage, whereupon my father flew into a rage, told him that his
business there was buying horses and not putting foolish notions into a
young girl’s head. The scene was a stormy one and closed by the young
man being ordered to leave. He left that night and took me with him. We
crossed the river into Indiana and tried to get married, but on account
of my extreme youthful appearance we were unable to obtain the license.
We traveled on to Cincinnati, failure again confronted us. Just as we
were in the act of boarding a train for Chicago an officer arrested us.
I was taken back to my home, while my lover was placed in jail on the
charge of abduction. A taste of the things in the outer world only made
the fancies in my childish brain grow. I soon found myself planning how I
could leave my father’s home and secure freedom for the only man I loved.
I begged and pleaded with my father, but to no avail; finally he informed
me that he would horsewhip me and lock me up if I ever mentioned the
matter again. This was too much; all the pride within me bounded to the
surface, my hot Southern blood tingled, my cheeks flamed in anger. It was
then that I missed my mother more than any time in my life, the thought
of her put a new idea into my disturbed brain. I would go to the spot
where she was laid to rest, there to find relief in the desolation of the
grave.
“It seems as but yesterday that I strolled down the lane, across the
meadow, and entered the little enclosure that had been set apart for a
final resting place for the members of our little family, the ripened
blue grass waved gently at the bidding of the gentle breeze, the full,
warm October sun shed its beauteous rays of light upon the great
spreading trees, the birds seemed to be chanting their last song of
summer, the red and brown leaves lay scattered on the hillside, making
a scene of gorgeous splendor in the bright sunlight. Drooping flowers
showed signs of the first frost, chattering squirrels scurrying hither
and thither, gathering the winter’s store of food, added to the fullness
of nature.
“As I followed the little unused path, keeping before me all the time
the tall, white shaft, I seemed to leave the world in which I had been
living, the choking sensation gave way, my eyes no longer burned, the
great relief I sought seemed granted, and instead of gasping for breath
and feeling the hot scalding tears running down my cheeks, I kneeled
down on my mother’s grave and gave way to the sobs that came, it seemed
to me, like great waves of comfort, and felt tears that were cool and
refreshing. I remained there for hours, never looking up and not till a
well known fluttering sound reached my ear, did I think of leaving. The
noise was made by a flock of blackbirds that had come to seek shelter for
the night. As I passed down the sloping hillside where the long shadows
were fast fading into the twilight, the first feeling of loneliness crept
over me but I did not want to leave. I loved the place. It seemed the
most sacred place on earth to me.
“That night as I rolled and tossed in my bed, I fully realized that
I had been wrong. Yes—it was wrong for me to disobey my father and I
had aggravated him until he was cross. It was all my fault that he had
threatened me. I had no business to annoy him and would go now and ask
his forgiveness. I stole out of my room feeling like a guilty culprit. I
can see myself now as I crept through the long hall of our old Southern
home, closer and closer to his door, until at last I could hear his deep,
heavy breathing. I pushed the door open, then at the critical moment
I became frightened lest I should waken him, still I was firm in my
purpose. There in the darkness of his room I saw the hillside, saw the
birds and heard the soft rustling of the leaves. Oh, how my heart went
out to poor papa, alone—alone—in the world, with only an ungrateful,
disobedient daughter as his nearest of kin. I am sure that the time
spent at the grave created a communion of souls. I could almost see my
mother as she had been pictured to me, and the vision drew me nearer to
papa. One step more and I was inside the room, cautiously I crept to the
bedside, then quietly kneeling on the carpet, I buried my face in the
pillow beside his head, then for the first time that I could remember I
put my arms around his neck and kissed him. His first words brought a
flood of tears to my eyes and caused such a lump to rise in my throat
that I could not say a word. I knew now that he misunderstood me, for
with a muttered curse he commanded me to go back to my room.
“‘But please, papa, hear me,’ I begged.
“‘No, I don’t want any more foolish nonsense out of you,’ he said.
“Nothing could induce him to hear me, and I was compelled to leave
without making him understand that it was forgiveness and just a word of
love that my young heart yearned for, instead of his permission to see my
lover.