through love’s magnifying could Merna find tangible ground for rosy
dreams; she was not exactly unhappy, neither was she quite satisfied.
She took herself to task for being so foolish—just because of the lack
of definite words—but he seemed to have forgotten the engagement
altogether, as he made not the slightest allusion to it. It made Merna’s
face burn whenever she thought of it: “I do wonder if he was just making
game of me, trying to ascertain what answer I would give him! Oh, I wish
that I had have said no—Oh, I do not know what I do wish!” angry tears
filling her eyes as she thought.
Ned came as usual one evening, and remained until very late; once, as
she was passing him, she rested her hand upon the table, and leaned
toward him in the act of speaking; he covered the hand with his warm
palm, and his breath swept her cheek as he whispered: “I wish that I had
you all to myself in a nice little home of our own!”
Her radiant eyes answered him, and she bent her head until her cheek
touched his caressing lips.
As he was bidding her good-night, he caught her in his arms, saying over
and over again, “I do love you, Merna! You are the sweetest little woman
on the face of the earth!”
Her face was filled with happiness, and her eyes glowed with tender
light; but she laughingly put her hand over his lips: “I imagine that is
what you call ‘taffy’!”
He held her closely for a moment, his voice growing low and earnest:
“Little one, I mean every word that I say! I do love you—and if only
circumstances—well, never mind that talk, but believe that I truly love
you!”
She sat in the moonlight thinking for a long time after he left; what
was there in that closing speech which sent a chill over her? Only
this—love is said to be blind—as to worldly judgment this is true; but
love’s intuition of love grows keen with the development of the passion.
She felt that she ought to be happy, but she was not—that is—not so very
happy; little thrilling thoughts ran through her mind deliciously, then
a cold wave of doubt, casting a chill over her spirits. A woman is
flattered and pleased if a man makes her a sharer of his secrets,
whether of business or otherwise; she thus knows that he fully trusts
her love and judgment, and she holds it a sacred charge. She thought
uneasily that she could have no fond anticipations with any certainty of
their proving a reality. Whatever she built must be the very airiest
kind of an air castle, its only foundation an engagement which seemed
like a burlesque. Vague allusions, or even words of endearment do not
form a very tangible ground upon which to build.
A restless sigh escaped her lips: “I wish——” The unfinished sentence
ended with another sigh.
The next evening she waited for Ned in a state of impatient
restlessness, she had determined to have a nice long talk with him,
although she was not in anywise certain as to what she would say; she
thought she would lead him to talk of the future, and the home of which
he had spoken; she wondered if he would talk of it frankly, or would he
evade her questions as he so often had done, as though he did not
comprehend her remark.
She watched the clock anxiously; she walked down the path to the gate a
dozen times; she took up her embroidery, set a half-dozen stitches, and
laid it down in disgust; she took a book instead, turned a page or two
without comprehending a word and tossed it aside with an exclamation of
impatience, to restlessly drum on the window.
“Merna, what ails you?” asked her mother querulously.
“Oh, my head aches,” was the evasive reply.
“You had best go to bed; you make me nervous, fidgeting around so!”
“It is too early to go to bed! I’ll go out in the air a little
while—perhaps that will help my head,” answered Merna.
“Merna Wood, you have been down to that gate about a dozen times; why
don’t you be honest, and say that you are looking for Ned!” half in
derision, and a trifle crossly, retorted her mother.
Merna answered with mock humility: “Yes’m, I’ll confess, if you will not
be cross. Oh, mamsy, I wish he would come; there is something I wish to
say to him!” she kneeled down with her head on her mother’s knee, like a
little child.
Her mother replied laughingly: “It appears to me that you do usually
have something to say to him,” but her hand wandered caressingly through
the soft, bright hair; thus evidencing her sympathy.
He did not come that night nor the next, and for three almost unending
months Merna neither heard from nor of him; then incidentally, she heard
that he was gone, but where her informant did not know.
Gone without so much as a word to her!
She shut her grief within her heart and went about her duties but with
the subtle essence of hope and faith taken out of her life—she thought
forever—she had little idea how elastic is hope; faith is more ethereal,
hope has tough fibre.
When her mother would have sympathized with her, she made light of it:
“I don’t care! If he wants to stay away, he can; don’t you fret about
me, mamsy!” But mamsy was not in the least deceived.
A year swept by, and Merna had become less restless, more submissive to
that which she deemed the inevitable; it is a mercy that time casts so
tender a haze over all things.
Ned had written no letter to her; at first she grieved, but latterly she
had grown indignant.
“Why do you not accept other company?” said her mother.
“Oh, I don’t care for them; they are not nice, mamsy.”
“You are a very foolish little girl to waste your affections upon one
who cares so little,” said her mother.
“Now, mamsy, I am not wasting a particle of anything. As for Ned Glover,
I hate him!”
Her mother laughed, but said no more, trusting to time to effect a cure.
* * * * *
It was a lovely evening in June; the wind softly fluttered the thin
curtains at the open window bringing in the odor of the roses which grew
just outside. Merna sat in a low rocker just within, her arms thrown
above her head, her book lying unheeded upon her lap; she was so
absorbed in reverie that she heard no sound, and a sudden darkening of
the window startled her.
Resting his arms on the window ledge, Ned stood regarding her
quizzically: “Are you too sleepy to say ‘how do you do?’ How I do wish
for a kodak!” precisely as though he had not been gone a day.
Merna started up with a subdued exclamation, and before she realized it
she was smiling up into his laughing face.
How often she had thought of this meeting—_if_ he should return—and
pictured to herself the cool, indifferent air with which she would greet
him; instead, she was laughing and chatting as merrily as though there
had been no break in their intercourse.
He resumed precisely his former position; he made just the same vague,
intangible allusions, without one word upon which to place a hope
securely. Merna seemed plastic in his hands—and what was there to
resist, or to resent? Nothing—perhaps; yet Merna lost her healthful
calm, and grew restless and irritable; one cannot successfully resist
the intangible, or do battle with the wind. His alternate tenderness,
and good-natured indifference filled her with restless longing; she
wished that he would be more explicit, or go away and leave her alone;
she thought resentfully that it was unjust that because of her sex she
must utter no word to further her own happiness; and because custom
ordered it, she must take the crumbs offered to her, or go altogether
hungry; she must have no voice in shaping her future beyond an assent or
denial. Oh, yes; to be sure! There are a thousand ways in which a woman
may signify her preference, but it would be very shocking if she should
put it into words, unless the man asked her to do so! It looks for all
the world like putting a premium upon intrigue.
Her girlish friends exchanging confidences, rallied her about her beau:
“Oh, Merna, when are you going to be married?”
“Just as soon as I can find a man who will marry me,” retorted she, but
she flushed painfully.
“Oh don’t cheat! Tell us all about it!”
“There is nothing to tell,” replied Merna looking distressed.
A wild chorus of dissent greeted this reply; as soon as possible Merna
slipped away to cry out her grief and mortification. She thought that
every one of them was laughing at her because of her uncertainty
regarding her lover.
Ned certainly had no such feelings; he took everything for granted in a
laughing, off-hand way, not to be resisted; he came continually, he
monopolized her completely; he spoke to her, and of her as belonging to
him, but always in that laughing way which left the impression of a
joke; he did not say, such a day we will be married; such a place will
be our home; he said instead: “You belong to me; you could not get away
from me if you tried; I should find you, I shall always know where you
are.”
This was all very sweet, but—very unsatisfying. He was strong,
masterful, laughingly dominant; but he was also either very thoughtless,
or very secretive.
He made no allusion to the time of his absence except once; he had that
evening been unusually demonstrative, and Merna—from some remark made by
him—felt emboldened to ask: “Where were you while so long absent?”
“Oh, a dozen places. I can’t tell you—things get so mixed up sometimes
that I don’t know what I’m about myself,” he replied evasively.
“You might have written,” said Merna quietly, it almost seemed
indifferently.
“Yes, I know—in fact I meant to, but—I hate to write letters, and there
was nothing that you would care to know—” he broke off abruptly, as
though he did not wish to betray himself.
“No, of course not,” answered Merna, with quiet sarcasm; she felt hurt
and indignant, but was altogether too proud to show it.
Although Merna made no further mention of it, he seemed to feel ashamed
of his neglect, and repeatedly said: “I will never leave again, without
telling you that I am going;” so that in this respect she felt a greater
assurance; but he spent the evening with her as usual, and in the usual
manner bid her good-night, and she saw him no more for three years.
Sad changes came to Merna during this interval; her mother, long a
widow, sickened and died. Merna’s grief was beyond words—beyond thought
even; it benumbed all her senses. The home which she had thought her own
was taken from her—unjustly—but what did that matter? She was alone, and
as ignorant of law as a babe. Poor child! She thought that it did not
matter, that nothing mattered, now that the gentle face of her mother
had faded out of life; she felt that she could no longer live within
those memory-haunted walls. During all these sad days she heard nothing
from Ned, and her heart cried out piteously: “Oh, if he truly loved me
he would not leave me to bear my burdens alone.” These hard realities
took away all the lingering grace of girlhood, but added the charm and
poise of sweet, self-reliant womanhood.
In these old towns, where people are born, live, and die in the same old
house, generation after generation; where the ways are peaceful and
narrow; where people drift along, content with no innovations of
knowledge, or new ways brought from the bustling, outside world, there
develops an aristocracy peculiarly its own, and those not within its
old-fashioned circle can scarcely obtain a living. Not to own the home
which their ancestors owned is looked upon as a disgrace; and owning it,
to part with it, though the misfortune is not through fault of the
owner—is considered a greater disgrace, for which there could be no
extenuation. Merna very keenly realized that she was under the ban of
social ostracism. She left this, her native place, for a town, newer and
busier, where work was to be had for such unskilled hands as hers.
Being wholly inexperienced in the ways of the world, as well as in
labor, Merna found it hard to obtain the means of subsistence; she was a
woman fair to look upon, and alone, therefore her path was beset with
peril; but she was able to retain her own self-respect—that most
truthful of all commendation—she was possessed of too much native
refinement to be led into the vulgarity of evil ways, or seduced from
right by fluent sophistries.
* * * * *
One blustering day, when the wind shrieked around the street corners,
and carried onward clouds of fine, penetrating dust, intermingled with
the falling snow, whirling both into every opened doorway with malicious
violence, a man wrapped in a great, shaggy overcoat, opened the door of
the little store kept by Merna. There had been no customers all the
morning; unless otherwise compelled, all were glad to remain within
doors.
Merna came from the sitting room in the rear, and walked behind the
counter awaiting her customer’s pleasure; with his back toward her, he
had taken off his fur cap, and was knocking out the snow against the
door. Something familiar in the movements and attitude gave her a start,
but it was not until he had unbuttoned his coat, and turned toward her,
that she really recognized him; he walked to the counter, reaching out
both hands, his blond face one broad smile. It was Ned—stalwart, hearty,
and as usual—laughing.
Merna stood like one shocked, a terrible weakness assailed her; she saw
the laughing face but dimly, his voice sounded strange and far off.
His robust tones aroused her: “Aren’t you going to shake hands with me,
after I have had such a time finding you?” he asked.
“Why did you seek me?” cried Merna passionately, surprised out of her
usual self-control.
“Because I wanted to see you, to be sure!” The same laughing insouciance
as of old, so impossible to understand; it might be pleasant raillery,
it was quite as likely to be sarcasm.
“I wish that you had stayed away—after three years!” her voice rising
shrilly.
He walked deliberately around the end of the counter, caught both her
hands and held them firmly, his warm breath sweeping her cheek, his face
so very near her own. “Did I not tell you that I should find you? I
shall never lose sight of you!” his face still lower, his lips touching
her cheek caressingly. “I am so glad to see you, my Merna! Say, ‘Ned I
am glad that you are here!’” he whispered tenderly.
Ah, well! A woman’s a woman! and poor girl, her heart throbbed so
happily; it seemed so good to have this great strong man holding her
hands, whispering to her in this tender tone; what if the words did not
promise much, the tone conveyed a world of tender meaning, and—she was
so lonely. She had been so fiercely angry at him that she thought she
hated him; she found that it was the act that she hated, and not the
man; he held his old place in her heart. Presently she was shedding
happy tears on his broad shoulder, and looking happily up into his face
through her wet lashes; thrilling from her foolish little heart to the
ends of her fingers with the delight of his very presence.
From this time on how different the dull, prosaic work seemed; the
anticipation of the happy evening glorified each day, and he never
failed to come. He appeared to be perfectly content in her company; he
called her fond names, and usurped all the privileges of an accepted
lover. He occasionally alluded to business, sometimes ending with, “When
I get things into shape, I’ll pick you up and carry you off.”
Often Merna felt hurt, the allusions were so vague and really unmeaning,
and the talk of business so indefinite—the sentences never quite
complete—so that she had no certain knowledge as to what was his
business. A half-confidence is much more vexatious than no confidence as
it puts one to thinking; this was really no trust at all in her; just an
aggravating shadow, like a cloud over the summer sun, which when you
look upward in expectation of its grateful shade has sailed away.
A whole year passed away, and living in the light of his presence, her
uneasy feeling had mostly worn away; if she gave it thought—that in
reality she knew no more of the future than when he first returned, she
consoled herself, and excused him, by saying, “Oh, he is so odd, but he
means all right.”
As upon previous occasions there came an evening when she waited for him
in vain; she could not settle herself to anything, even the chatter of
her customers annoyed her, and her ear persistently hearkened for a
well-known footstep; something must have detained him unavoidably; he
would surely come to-morrow evening, but all the while her heart was
sinking heavily. He did not come the next evening, nor the one
following, and her fear grew to a certainty. She mentioned his name to
no one, but watched the passers-by on the street, feverishly; she
eagerly looked over the newspapers, hoping for a chance mention of him.
The days seemed so long and wearisome; the corners of her mouth took a
sad droop; the work grew so irksome. Others sought her company, but she
turned from them with dislike, or made comparisons to their great
detriment.
Business had heretofore been very good, but hard times came on, and
little by little trade dropped off; it grew dull, then vexatious and
finally exasperating; complaints were heard on every side. The days grew
doubly sad when no customers came in to break the heavy monotony; the
very silence grew oppressive, and Merna could scarcely restrain her
tears. Her heart grew hard and bitter toward Ned, toward the world, and
fate.
The wind whistled shrilly around the loosely built building, rattling
the boards and battens, and swaying the canvas walls and ceiling
dizzily, making Merna feel more desolate and despondent than usual. She
stood behind the cigar case, looking gloomily out upon the wind-swept
street; as if conjured up by her thought, Martin Balfour—her chief
creditor—entered the store.
He came in with a great swagger, and called for a cigar: “Gi’mme a good
one—twenty-five cent-er; I reckon I can afford it!” with an insolent
leer.
Without reply, she handed him the box, to make his own choice.
He selected one, lighted it, and leaning lazily against the show case,
puffed the smoke in huge volumes; he finally took the weed from his
lips, ejected a mouthful of saliva on to the clean floor, flicked the
ashes off with his little finger, and said, “Well, Miss Wood, I s’pose
you are ready to chalk up this morning?”
Merna flushed a vivid red, then went deadly pale; this man held a
mortgage on everything she possessed, and his manner was distinctly
aggressive. “I could not get the money this morning, Mr. Balfour; I have
the promise of it the latter end of the week, and I beg of you to wait,”
faltered Merna.
He laughed loudly and coarsely: “As to waiting, I’ve waited just as long
as I am going to; my kindness is all right, but I’m no guy, see! Your
chump of a fellow left you to shift for yourself; I’m not one to drag up
bygones—I’ll marry you, and call the debt square!” He leaned across the
showcase, and tried to grasp her hand.
Merna drew herself up indignantly: “I thank you, but I prefer paying my
debts in a legitimate way.”
“Well, fork over, then,” he said brutally.
Tears filled her eyes, she had not one-tenth the amount, so she tried to
temporize: “I will certainly raise it by the middle of the week——”
“The mortgage is due; it’s got to be paid to-day! I’m going to take no
more guff—either you promise to marry me, or I’ll take the stock before
night, see!” Protruding his face toward her still more aggressively.
Merna grew calm as he became excited; she thought of Ned with a pang of
bitterness, that he could place her in a position to be insulted upon
his account by such a man; but her disgust of the man himself outweighed
all else. “Take the goods now; I shall make no more effort!” she said
coldly.
“You’ll be sorry! You’ll come whining to me when you’re starving,” he
flung after her angrily, as he went out.
Within an hour the place was stripped of everything; Merna stood with
folded arms and saw them taken out without a tear, she seemed benumbed.
An acquaintance passing, came in: “What is the trouble, Miss Wood? Are
you obliged to give up?” he asked kindly.
“Yes,” briefly.
He looked at her sorrowful face, and his heart filled with pity for her.
He laid his hand over her’s, and said kindly: “I wish that you would
give me the privilege of caring for you——”
Merna put out her hand as though to shield herself: “Wait! Wait! I
cannot answer you now; come back this evening; my heart is too full now
to think—I thank you—” she finished brokenly.
He lifted her hand to his lips respectfully, as he replied, “I will
come,” and went out quietly.
Merna felt a hysterical desire to laugh; two proposals in one morning,
and not an earthly thing which she could call her own; she thought
grimly that she could not accuse either of them of being fortune
hunters. Everything had been taken except a small sheet-iron stove, an
old chair, and a rickety table, these had not been considered worth
removing. She sat down in the chair, and laid her head on her arms on
the table; she wished that she could cry, her heart beat so heavily; a
wild anguish swept over her as she thought of her mother; she would not
have deserted her in her hour of need; she cried aloud as a thought of
Ned forced itself upon her consciousness: “Why cling to the shadow of a
love, which only tantalizes me; he had no real love for me! I was just a
good comrade—and a fool!” she added bitterly.
Presently she resumed her self-communing: “Why not accept this last
proposal? Tom Thornton is a good man, and he loves me; better one who
loves me so well, than waste my life upon a shadow which ever eludes my
grasp;” the well-remembered look of Ned’s jolly face—though she was so
sad—made her smile, then sigh restlessly.
With her head resting upon the table she dropped off into wearied
slumber, from whence she entered dreamland. Strange, troubled visions
passed her, out of which evolved Tom Thornton’s face, she heard him
enter, and he stood beside her, her affianced husband; he sought to take
her hand, but she turned from him with aversion, reaching out both hands
to Ned, who approached her, stern and menacing.
“I can-not! I can-not!” she cried piteously.
“What is it, that you cannot do?” said a hearty voice in her ear.
“Marry Tom Thornton!” raising her woe-begone, haggard face.
“I should think not! You are going to marry me this very night! I’ve got
everything fixed—a nice home, and all,” he finished exultantly, but as
usual, indefinitely.
Merna was very wide awake now, and cried out, bitterly, “Why did you
come back? Why don’t you stay away when you go?” the only thought
presented to her mind being that he would stay until her whole hopes
were fixed upon him, then he would again leave.
“Why did I come? After you, of course! Little woman, I depended upon
you, you promised me, you know!” his voice trembling with an undefined
fear.
“Yes, I remember that I promised, but you seem to have forgotten, ever
since that you asked me for that promise!” indignantly.
His good-looking face sobered into amazement: “Merna! I only wished to
keep all the worry away from you. I thought that you would not
understand, and if I told you it would make you anxious!” a deep trouble
in his voice.
Merna stood up, her hands on his shoulders: “Oh, Ned, Ned! Do you think
that I am a baby—that I haven’t a grain of sense? A woman thinks that
the man she loves is able to accomplish all things—if only he tells her
all about it,” she finished with a gleeful laugh.
He stood looking at her in bewilderment, trying to get the whole meaning
of that speech into his mind; at last he caught her, giving her an
extravagant hug: “I see what you mean; you want me to understand that we
are to be partners in all things; the business as well as the
pleasure—the sorrow as well as the joys; I never had a little ‘pard’
before, and I think I did not catch on just right; but I’ll remember my
lesson,” said he, laughing happily.
The door stood slightly ajar, as Ned had left it upon entering, and Tom
Thornton stepped quietly within; he paused and smiled; then sighed as he
silently went out. He was answered.
THE END.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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