PLANS FOR HAPPINESS.
Appomattox and a glorious ending of the most sanguinary war in the
history of the nineteenth century had come, and with it a few changes in
Southton.
Only a part of that brave E Company that three years before marched so
proudly away to fight for the Union ever returned, and of those the
greater number bore the scars of war and disease. Very many sorrowing
women and children were scattered through the town, whose hearts were
sore with wounds that only time could heal, and the empty sleeve and the
vacant chair were sad reminders on all sides.
The Rev. Jotham still extended his time-worn orthodox arguments to a
wearisome length, usually concluding them with more or less varied and
vivid pictures of the doom in store for those who failed at once to
repent and believe; but strange to say the sinners who were moved by his
eloquence were few and far between. It was known that he was not in
sympathy with the great majority of the North, or the principles upon
which the war had been fought, but believed in the right of secession,
and that the North was wrong in its political position. Had he kept
these opinions to himself it would have been far wiser; but he made the
mistake of giving utterance to them at a Memorial Day service held in
his church, which expression was so obnoxious to the most of his
audience and such a direct reflection upon the brave men from the town
who had shed their blood for their country that one of the leading men
of Southton arose at the close of Rev. Jotham's remarks and there and
then rebuked him. The affair created quite a disturbance in public
feeling and was perhaps one of the indirect causes that eventually led
to a division of his church and to the formation of a separate society
in another part of the town.
A new principal had assumed charge of the academy, the trustees having
decided for several reasons that a change would be beneficial. Mr.
Webber, who had ruled there for several years, industriously circulated
a report that by reason of several very flattering offers to engage in
mercantile pursuits, as well as failing health, he had decided to
resign. As his voice, and the apparent desire to use it upon any and all
possible occasions, showed no cessation of energy, a few skeptical ones
were inclined to doubt that his health was seriously affected, and as it
was over a year before he accepted any of the flattering offers, they
believed he must have had hard work to find them. For the rest the town
resumed the old-time even tenor of its way, though there had been added
to its annals heroic history, and to its calendar one day of annual
mourning.
Aunt Sally Hart said that "Liddy Camp had showed mighty good grit and
that young Manson ought to feel purty proud of her," which expression
seemed to reflect the general sentiment.
When the autumn days and returning health came to Manson, sunshine
seemed to once more smile upon the lives of our two young friends, and
how happy they were during the all too short evenings spent together in
Liddy's newly furnished parlor, need not be described. It was no longer
a courtship, but rather a loving discussion of future plans in life, for
each felt bound by an obligation stronger even than love, and how many
charming air castles they built out of the firelight flashes shall not
be told. In a way, Liddy was a heroine among the little circle of her
schoolmates and friends, and deserved to be, for few there were among
them who could have found the strength to have faced the ghastly scenes
she had, from a sense of duty.
"I do not care to talk about it," she said once to one of those who had
been near her in the old days at the academy; "it all came so suddenly I
did not stop to think, and if I had it would have made no difference. I
did not think of myself at all, or what I was to meet. How horrible it
was to be thrust among hundreds of wounded and dying men; to hear what I
had to, and see what I did, I cannot describe and do not wish to. Under
the same circumstances," she added quietly, "I should face that awful
experience over again if necessary."
Life and all its plans practically resolve themselves into a question of
income finally, and no matter how well aimed Cupid's darts may be, the
almighty dollar and the ability to obtain possession of it, is of
greater weight in the scale than all the arrows the boy-god ever
carried. Even as an academy boy Manson had realized this; faintly at
first, and yet with growing force, as his attachment for Liddy
increased. With a certain pride in character he had resolved to withhold
any declaration of love until he had at least a settled occupation in
life; but when it came to going to war and parting, perhaps forever,
from the girl he loved, to longer remain silent was to control himself
beyond his strength. Now that she had shown how much his life meant to
her by an act of devotion and self-sacrifice so unusual, his ambition to
obtain a home that he could invite her to share, returned with redoubled
force. What to do, or where to turn, he did not know. He was not even
recuperated from the terrible ordeal that had so nearly cost him his
life; but for all that his ambition was spurring him onward far in
advance of his strength. One evening late that autumn, when he found
himself unexpectedly alone with Mr. Camp, he said:
"I have for some time wished to express to you my hopes and ask your
advice regarding my future plans. First, I want to ask you for Liddy,
and beyond that, what I had best turn to to obtain a livelihood. I want
Liddy, and I want a home to keep her in."
Mr. Camp looked at him a moment, while a droll smile crept into his
face, and then replied:
"I am willing you should have Liddy, of course. I wouldn't have taken
her to that hospital to try to save your life if I hadn't believed you
worthy of her; but beyond that I don't think I have much to say in the
matter anyway. I couldn't keep you apart if I would, and I wouldn't if
I could." And then he added a little more seriously: "She is all I have
left in my life, and whatever plans you two make, I hope you will
consider that."
Manson was silent. The perfect confidence and simple pathos of Mr.
Camp's statement came to him forcibly, and made him realize how much he
was asking. He meditated a few moments, and then said:
"I feel that I am asking for more than I deserve, and that I owe you far
more than I can ever repay, but believe me, I shall do all in my power."
"We won't worry about that now," replied Mr. Camp, smiling again; "wait
till your arm is well, and then we will talk it all over. In the
meantime"--and a twinkle came into his eyes--"you have one well arm, and
I guess that's all Liddy needs just at present."
The autumn and winter evenings sped by on wings of wind to Liddy and her
lover, for all the sweet illusions of life were theirs. Occasionally
they called on some of their old schoolmates, or were invited to social
gatherings, and how proud she was of her manly escort, and he of the
fair girl he felt was all his own, need not be told.
One day in the spring Mr. Camp said to Manson: "How would you like to be
a farmer?"
"I have no objections," he replied; "my father is one, and there is no
reason why I should be ashamed of it. It means hard work, but I am used
to that. I am ready and willing to do anything to earn an honest
living."
Mr. Camp looked at him for a moment reflectively, and then said:
"That has the right ring in it, my boy," and after thinking a little
longer added: "I'll tell you what I'll do. Charles, if you can get Liddy
to set the day I will give her a deed of the house and you a deed of the
farm, provided you two will take care of me. That's fair, isn't it?"
Then he added, with a smile, "I guess you can coax her consent if you
try hard."
The proposition was so unexpected and surprising that for a moment
Manson could not speak, and then, when it all came to him, and he saw
the door of his dream of happiness opened wide by such an offer, the
tears almost started. For one instant he was in danger of yielding, but
he recovered himself.
"No mere words can possibly express my gratitude, sir," he replied, "but
I could not accept so much. All I ask for, and all I will accept is
Liddy, and that is enough. To let you give me your farm would make me
feel that I was robbing you. I could not do it, sir."
And then, as he saw a look of pain come into his would-be benefactor's
face, he continued: "Now, I will tell you what I am willing, and should
be more than glad to do. Let Liddy and me keep house for you, and I will
manage the farm, under your direction. That is enough, and all I can
accept."
"I respect your feeling of independence," replied Mr. Camp, a little
sadly, "but it won't work. A young man, to be content, must feel that he
has a home that is, or soon will be, all his own. I do not want to put a
burden on your feelings, but I want to make both you and my child happy,
and"--with a little tremor in his voice--"I've only got Liddy to care
for me in my old age, and it's hard to give her up. Can't you believe
what I offer is wisest and best? Would it make you feel any better to
give me a note and pay it when you chose? I would never ask you for it."
That evening when the lovers sat under the freshly leaved maples, he
told her what her father had offered.
"I've known it for some time," she said, "and I feared you would feel
hurt and refuse it, and hurt father, and I hope you did not. Put
yourself in father's place," she continued seriously, "and tell me how
you would feel. Remember that I am all he has to love and care for him,
and he is very dear to me. He would not hurt you for the world, and what
he thinks is the best way I believe _is_ the best."
"I will think it over," was Manson's comment. "It's so sudden and
overwhelming I do not know what to say or do. I can't see a way out of
it, either," he went on reflectively. "I want you and I want a home to
keep you in, all our own, but how, or where it's coming from, I can't
see. Then it's too much to ask him to give you up."
He paused, and leaning over and resting his face on his hands, continued
rather sadly:
"I guess it would have been just as well if you had left me to die in
the hospital."
It was a cruel remark and he saw it in an instant, for he said quickly:
"Forgive me, I didn't mean that. I've got you and two hands to work
with, and that's hope enough. Give me time and I'll solve the problem,
never fear!"
When they parted she put one arm around his neck and whispered:
"It's the old vocation enigma over again, Charlie, isn't it? But don't
let it make you miserable, and don't ever say such a thing as that you
just said again. Do you know, when I came to you in the hospital that
morning, I had not slept one moment for two long days and nights! Now
try and be happy to pay me for it, and remember:
"'The happiest life that ever was led
Is always to court and never to wed.'"
Then she kissed him, in her tender way, and if he did not think she was
right, it was because he was like most young men who don't know when
they are well off and happy.