THOSE WHO WAIT.
There is nothing in life much harder to bear than suspense. To know the
worst, whatever that may be, is far preferable to the long agony of
doubt; hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst. Even a hardened
criminal has been known to admit that the two or three hours of waiting
for the verdict was far worse than the march to the gallows. If this be
so, what must it be to the tender, loving hearts of good and true women
whose husbands, sweethearts, brothers and sons are facing the dangers of
war, and who (God pity them) have to endure this dread suspense for
weeks and months when no tidings reach them?
When the train bearing Liddy's soldier boy from sight had rolled away
she clung to her father's arm in mute despair. Pride sustained her until
they had left the town behind, and were driving across the wide plains
toward her home, and then the tears came. The memory of many pleasant
moonlit drives along the same road when her lover was with her came
back, and with it the realization that it was all ended, perhaps
forever, and that the best she could look forward to was three years of
weary waiting. Before her, miles away, rose the Blue Hills, distinct in
the clear air, and as she looked at them, back came the memory of one
day a month before--a day replete with joy and sorrow, when he had paid
her the greatest and sweetest compliment a man can pay a woman. She
could recall the very tones of his voice and she could almost feel the
touch of his arms when he had held her close for one brief moment. In
silence she rode along for a time, trying to control herself, and then
turning to her father she said:
"Father, there is something I must tell you, and I ask your forgiveness
for not doing so before." And then, in her odd, winsome way, resting her
cheek against his shoulder and holding her left hand before his face for
a moment, she continued: "Can you guess?"
"No, my child," he answered, quickly, wishing to cheer her, "I could not
possibly guess. The ways of my little girl are so deep and dark, how
could I?" and then continuing in a more cheerful tone: "Don't cry any
more, Liddy. Some one is coming back from the war by and by, and some
one else will want a lot of new dresses for a wedding, and expects to be
happy, and I hope she will be."
Then a little hand began stroking his arm and a still damp face was
being rubbed against his shoulder, and presently a soft voice whispered:
"Father, you have always been too good to me. You never said a word and
you knew it all along, I guess!" which rather incoherent speech may be
excused under the circumstances.
The few weeks that followed were not as gloomy to Liddy as later ones.
Her home duties outside of school hours had always been numerous, and
now she found them a relief. Letters also came frequently from the
absent one, and she felt that he was not yet in danger--that was a grain
of consolation. But when he wrote that they were to start for the front
the next day, her heart grew heavy again and from that time on the dread
suspense was never lifted. She wrote him frequently and tried to make
her letters brave and cheerful. All the simple details of her home life
were faithfully portrayed, and it became a habit to write him a page
every night. She called it a little chat, but it might better have been
called an evening prayer, for into those tender words were woven every
sweet wish and hopeful petition of a loving woman's heart. After the
battle of Chancellorsville a cloud seemed resting upon Southton, and
Liddy felt that the weary waiting was becoming more oppressive than
ever. It had been her father's custom to drive "over town," as it was
called, once a day to obtain the news, and she had always met him on his
return, even before he entered the house, to more quickly learn the
worst. She began to dread even this, lest he should bring the tidings
she feared most.
Then came the call for needed supplies to be used in the care of the
wounded, and gladly Liddy joined with other good ladies in picking lint,
preparing bandages, and the like, and contributing many articles for the
use and comfort of the soldiers. In this noble work she came to realize
how many other hearts besides her own carried a burden, and to feel a
kinship of sorrow with them. Her engagement to Manson seemed to be
generally known and the common burden soon obliterated her first girlish
reticence concerning it.
"I feel that I am growing old very fast," she wrote him, "and that I am
a girl no longer. Just think, it is only ten months since I felt angry
when some of the girls told me they heard I was engaged to you, and now
I don't care who knows it."
For the next three months there were no battles that he was engaged in,
and yet the suspense was the same. Then when the new year came another
burden was added, for her mother grew worse, and it seemed to Liddy as
if the shadows were thick about her. An event that occurred in the early
spring, and two months after the battle of Tracy City, made a deep
impression on her. Captain Upson, promoted from first lieutenant of
Company E, was wounded at that battle, and dying later, was brought to
Southton for burial. He was universally respected and almost the entire
townsfolk gathered at the church to pay their tribute. Hundreds failed
to gain admission, and it was said to have been the largest funeral ever
known in the town. Liddy had never seen a military funeral and the
ceremonies were sadly impressive. The long service at the church; the
touching words of the minister uttered over the flag-draped coffin, upon
which rested a sword; the sad procession to the cemetery, headed by
muffled drum and melancholy fife mingling their sounds with the tolling
bell, and then the arched arms of soldiers, beneath which the body was
borne; the short prayer; the three volleys; and last of all, lively
music on the return. This feature impressed her as the saddest of all,
for it seemed to say: "Now, we will forget the dead as soon as
possible," which in truth was what it meant in military custom.
It is needless to say as she returned with her father to their now
saddened home, a possible event of similar import in which she must be a
broken-hearted mourner entered her mind. During the next month came
another and far worse blow. Her mother, long an invalid, contracted a
severe cold and, in spite of all possible effort to save her, in three
short days passed away. To even faintly express the anguish of that now
bereaved husband and motherless girl is impossible and shall not be
attempted.
When the funeral was over and they once more sat by the fire in the
sitting-room, as was customary each evening, their pleasant home seemed
utterly desolate, and the tall clock in the hall ticked with far deeper
solemnity. Liddy in fact was, as she felt herself to be, walking
"through the valley and shadow of death." To add to her utter
wretchedness, if that were possible, she had received no letter from
Manson for three weeks, and there were no rifts of sunshine in her
horizon. She wrote him a long account of her loss and all the misery of
mind she was experiencing and then, as she had no address to mail it to,
held the letter in waiting, and finally tore it up. "It will only give
him pain to know it," she thought, "and he has enough to bear." When she
next heard from him she realized more than ever how many lonely and
homesick hours he had to endure, and was glad she had kept her sorrow to
herself.
A few weeks later her father, thinking to make the house more cheerful,
proposed that her Aunt Mary--a widowed sister of his--should come and
live with them.
"No, father," said Liddy, after the matter had been discussed, "I would
rather be alone and take care of you myself." Then she added, with a
little quiver in her voice: "You are the only one I've got to love now
and perhaps the only one I shall ever have."
Liddy was essentially a home-loving girl and cared but little for
company. A few friends, and good ones, might be considered as the text
of her life, and even at school it had been the same. Her home duties
and her father's needs were a sufficient kingdom, and over it she was a
gracious queen. For the first three months after her mother's death she
and her father lived a life of nearly silent sadness. Almost daily he
visited the town, dreading far worse than Liddy ever knew lest he must
return with sad tidings. He knew what was ever in her heart, and as her
life-happiness was dear to him, he wasted no time in discussing war news
with his friends in the village. When June came Liddy felt that a change
in the morose current of their lives must be made, and in her peculiar
way set about to carry out her idea. She knew his fiftieth birthday came
during that month, and when the day arrived she said to him:
"Come home early to-night, father, I have a great, big favor to ask of
you." All that afternoon she worked at her little plot, and when tea
time came and he entered the house a surprise awaited him. The
dining-table had been moved into the sitting-room, set with the best
china, and in the center was a vase of flowers. Draped from the hanging
lamp above it, and extending to each corner were ropes of ground pine,
and around his plate was a double row of full-blown roses. It was a
pretty sight, and when he looked at it he smiled and said: "Expecting
company, Liddy?"
"Yes, you," was her answer; "and I've made a shortcake, and I picked
the strawberries myself."
When he was seated in his accustomed chair he looked at the array of
roses, and in a surprised voice remarked: "Why didn't you put some
around your own plate, Liddy?"
"Because it's not my birthday," came the answer; "count them, father."
The thoughtful tribute touched him, and a look of sadness crept in his
face. "I had forgotten how old I was," he said.
Liddy made no reply until she had poured his tea, and then she said, in
her earnest way: "Now, father, I don't want you to think of that any
more, or anything else that is past and gone. Please think how hard I
worked all the afternoon to fix the table and how much I want to make
you happy."
When it came time to retire, he said: "You haven't told me yet what that
big favor is, Liddy!"
For answer she went to him and taking his face in her hands, she kissed
him on either cheek and whispered: "Wait till to-morrow!"