MARY.
Of all the pathetic stories from members of our family, I deem Mary's
far in excess of others though all, without exception, are woefully sad
God knows.
One day a telephone call came to us from the city and county hospital,
situated in a suburb known as The Potrero, inquiring if we had room for
a delicate young mother with her three-weeks-old babe. They informed us
that her time as a patient had expired and, moreover, that they had
just been quarantined for smallpox, but that she had as yet suffered no
exposure. The workers were quickly consulted, also a few trusted
converted girls, and together we knelt in prayer and then consulted
God's Word. Praise his name! we opened it on the ninety-first Psalm.
What better assurance than in verses 10, 11, and 12?
Soon we were welcoming one of the most forlorn specimens of humanity
the home had ever received. Jack, the delicate-looking baby, had the
facial expression of a tiny old man, but oh! such beautiful eyes! We
realized that both would require very tender care for some time to
come. When Mary became able to work, she rendered valuable service, for
she liked to cook and was efficient and economical. Whilst she was thus
occupied, her babe was being well cared for in the nursery.
Several months passed by, during which every means was resorted to in
order to help Mary learn to seek and find her Savior, but all without
avail.
Little Jack, never very strong, was taken seriously ill and soon, from
the waist down, was paralyzed. Mary now relinquished all other duties
in order to nurse her sick treasure. We never witnessed greater love
and devotion. For ten days before he died, she did not leave his
bedside one moment longer than necessary, never changed her clothes,
excepting once, and never lay down to sleep. On more than one occasion
it became my privilege to share the night vigils, for which she was
sincerely grateful. How my heart yearned for this poor, hopeless
mother! How I longed to impart to her the secret of salvation and of
the Burden-bearer!
"Mary," I said, "if you would only try my Savior, dear, I assure you
that you would feel better, body and soul, I've never heard _your_
story; won't you tell it to me whilst we're watching beside Baby?"
"I've never felt as if I could before, but I will, Mother Roberts, I
will."
"I lost my father and mother when I was quite small, and my
grandparents raised my little brother and me. I never remember when
they didn't have beer on the table for dinner and supper, and if
company came in, they always treated them. If I didn't feel quite well
or was tired, Grandmother would say, 'Have a drop of beer, Mary child,
it'll do you good and put new life into you.' It took some time to get
used to liking it. I didn't enjoy the bitter taste at first, but by and
by I loved it--yes, really loved it.
"I grew up, and, like many another girl, had my young friends come
calling. I liked Tom S---- best of all, and one day promised I'd marry
him if the old folks would agree. They were awfully pleased, and _soon
let Tom and me go about alone everywhere_. He was a baker, and a good
one. Earned fine wages, so that I was expecting to have a very
comfortable home.
"_I wish Grandmother or some one had talked plainly and honestly to me
about a few things, but they didn't; so what did I know when Tom told
me that in God's sight an engagement was as good as a marriage and that
we'd soon, for the sake of appearances, and to comply with the law, go
through that ceremony_. My God! Why didn't some one warn me? Oh! Mother
Roberts, very few girls loved a man better than I loved Tom.
"By and by Grandmother says, 'What's become of Tom? I haven't seen him
lately. I didn't know he'd left his job.' So I told her his work was
slack and he'd gone away to hunt a place where he could get better pay.
You'll not be surprised to hear she soon grew suspicious, and one day I
was obliged to confess.
"Did I tell you Tom drank beer? Oh yes, and enjoyed it with me and them
many's the time.
"Was he a stranger to me and my folks when I first met him? Well, no,
not exactly, although I must confess I knew very little about him
before he was introduced by one of my girl friends at the baker's and
confectioner's ball. _Oh but he was an elegant dancer! and that got me,
in the first place._
"My! but didn't Grandmother take on something awful! She ordered me out
of her sight up to my little bedroom till Grandfather should come home.
I sat there listening to her wailing and moaning and asking the dear
Mother of God what she had done that such a cruel, cruel misfortune
should have befallen her. Poor Granny! Mother Roberts, I was longing to
go down and comfort her, but I durs'n't. So all that I could do was to
walk the floor, or sit and cry. Sometimes I tried to tell my beads, but
I couldn't take any pleasure in them. They didn't comfort my poor,
sinful soul one bit. I wished I could die then and there, but what was
the use? I couldn't, though I thought fear would indeed kill me when I
heard Grandfather come in and knew Grandmother was telling him. I heard
him raving and cursing while she was begging him to keep quiet for fear
the neighbors would hear.
"Pretty soon he opened the door that led upstairs. 'Mary,' he shouted,
'you --- ---- come down and be ---- quick about it, I tell ye.' And
when I did, he said, 'I'll see whether we'll own any one what will
disgrace their poor, respectable, honest grandparents, _what has
brought ye up in the way ye should go_, in their old age! Out ye go,
and be ---- quick about it.' I can see him now, and Grandmother, who
was sitting at the kitchen table, sobbing with her head buried in her
apron. I crawled on my hands and knees toward him; I begged him not to
turn me out; I clung to him so that he could hardly walk, while he, in
his rage, was backing along the hall out toward the front door, and
then he managed to open it, me still clinging to him, and threw me,
with a curse, out into the dark, cold, wet night.
"I lay there on the doorstep until I found I was getting a soaking, and
then I went to a neighbor about a block away, who always had been very
kind to me, and had a girl of her own a little younger than me. Did I
tell her? Of course I did; I had to. So she took pity on me and let me
sleep there that night on a shake-down in the parlor, although Mattie
(her daughter) had a large bed to herself, and I told her not to go to
so much trouble, that I could sleep with her as I'd done before, many's
the time. But she said girls would get to talking, and she didn't want
her innocent Mattie to know a girl could ever bring such disgrace on
honest, respectable parents. But she didn't know how Mattie and I used
to talk for hours after we'd get in bed at night, about our 'fellers'
and such like, but now, who was I that I should tell her mother this?
"In the morning after breakfast (she kept Mattie out of sight
somewhere) she took me into the parlor, shut the door, and said:
"'Mary child, I'm sorry for you, I am indeed, but I can't keep you
here. You know where the county hospital is, don't you? Well, you go
there, and they'll take you in. They'll take such cases as yours.
Here's a quarter to pay your car fare. You needn't let on you stopped
with me. You may be sure _I_ won't, for I respect your Grandfather and
Grandmother highly. I don't want them to find out I know anything about
your trouble or that I took you in. Why, they'd never speak to me
again. There, there, don't cry. Good-by and good luck to you, Mary.'
"I got on a car and pretty soon was asking the gate-keeper of the city
and county hospital how I should apply to get in. 'Patient?' he asked.
'Yes, sir,' said I. So he directed me to the office. A lot of people
were there, waiting their turn. After a while a doctor interviewed me
in a little office. He asked me a good many questions. No, I didn't lie
to him, but I told him as little as I could. He said, 'We can't take
you in yet. Come on such a date,' and put my name on a book, then wrote
on a card something about admitting the bearer, Mary H----, maternity
ward, with his name and the day I was due there. I told him I'd no
place to go; he said I was able to work for a while. So I went out to
try and find some work. Before evening I got a job washing dishes and
preparing vegetables in a small restaurant, for the sake of my board
and bed, and I stayed there until it was time to go back to the
hospital.
"I forgot all my troubles for a while when Jack came.... Mother
Roberts, how can I think God is good? He's going to take my baby from
me; he's going to let him die. I can't stand it. I'll kill myself--yes,
I will...."
Two nights later little Jack still breathed, though scarcely
perceptibly, and again I shared poor Mary's vigil. About midnight I
asked if she felt able to finish her story. Presently she continued:
"When my little Jack was three weeks old, the nurse of our ward took
down the card from the head of my bed, and told me I could go now. I
was dismissed, and they wanted my corner for another patient.
"I stood outside the big gate that afternoon wondering where I could go
and holding my pretty little Jack against my breast. I'd a nice warm
shawl, so he was good and comfortable. A thought like this struck me.
'Grandfather is so fond of babies. I'll go there. _Perhaps when he sees
the dear, innocent little baby, he'll forgive me and take me back.'_ It
seemed as though I would never reach their house [in the neighborhood
of Sixth and Clara Streets, reader], and I had to rest on some one's
doorsteps very often, I was that weak. It was pretty near dusk when I
knocked on the door, and the fog was coming in. Grandmother opened it.
She threw up her hands when she saw me; didn't ask me in, but hollered
for Grandfather to come, and _come quick_, which he did. Oh! Mother
Roberts, to my dying day I'll remember how he cursed me when he saw me
and my baby's darling face, and then he closed the door with an awful
bang. Well, I was dazed like for a little bit, then Baby cried. I sat
on somebody's doorstep and nursed him, then kept on walking and
resting; going, I hardly knew where.
"It must have been well after seven o'clock when I found myself on
Montgomery Avenue and not very far from North Beach. My! but I was
faint, although I'd had a good meal at the hospital at noon, but you
know a nursing mother needs plenty of nourishing food and often. I saw
a light in a little notion shop, and went in and asked the woman if she
could spare me a bite to eat. Bless her kind heart, she gave me a big
bowl full of bread and milk, and warmed some stew, and helped me make
Jack clean and comfortable, but she had no place for me to sleep, which
she told me sorrowfully. Her family was large, and she did not have a
bit of extra bedding, besides she was poor. I was feeling better now
and more cheerful. My! 'tis wonderful what a good meal can do for you
when you're hungry, isn't it? I thanked her kindly and told her I'd
soon find friends; then went out on the street and began to watch the
faces. At last I stepped up to an elderly laboring man, told him I had
lost my way, was broke, a stranger, and a widow, and asked him if he
could direct me to a respectable lodging-house, which he did (bless his
kind heart!) and paid the woman for a night's lodging, she asking no
questions; and soon I was in a clean little bed with my Jack. I don't
think my head had hardly touched the pillow when I was fast asleep, all
of my troubles forgotten.
"Morning came all too soon. And now what was I to do? I dressed, then
made baby as comfortable as I could under the circumstances, went down
the stairs, meeting no one as I passed out of the house into the
street. Pretty soon I'd made up my mind. I'd walk down to Meigg's wharf
(not far away) and with my darling would drop quietly off the end of it
into the bay; and I was soon looking into the nice quiet water, just
about to fall in when I heard a voice, for sure I did, Mother Roberts,
saying, 'Don't Mary.' Maybe you don't think I was scared as I looked
all around and could see no one nearer than a block and a half away,
and that was a man piling up some lumber on a wagon; besides, the voice
I heard was a woman's, not a man's. I began to back away from the
water, wondering if I'd heard an angel speak....
"Yes; I admit I am naturally superstitious, but don't you think in a
case like this, it's a good thing?"
"Yes; I do, Mary, but go on, dear, I'm anxious to hear what became of
you."
[Illustration: MARY.]
"I went back to the woman who gave me my supper, and she gave me my
breakfast, then advised me to put my baby with the sisters of Mount St.
Joseph. _But I never could do that, could you?_ I said good-by to my
kind friend and started out for where, I did not know. All of a sudden
I said to myself, 'I'll go back to the hospital and offer to scrub and
do chores; anything, so they'll take me and my baby in.' It took me
till nearly one o'clock to reach there. Every time I sat down to rest
and a policeman came along, I'd get up quickly and walk on, for fear he
might arrest me as a suspicious character.
"The man at the gate didn't want to let me in; said they had been
obliged to quarantine; but I rushed past him up to the office, threw
myself at a doctor's feet, and begged him for God's sake not to send me
away. He sent for the head nurse; they gave me my dinner, made Baby
nice and clean and comfortable, and pretty soon one of the nurses came
and told me they had found me and Baby a good home, and here I've been,
as you know, ever since. But oh! Mother Roberts, my little Jack is
going to die, he's going to die!...
"Four days since you opened your beautiful eyes and looked at Mother,
Precious. Four long, long days....
"_Mother Roberts, I think I would believe and trust God if he would
only let my baby look at me once more before he goes. I really think I
would."_
"Kneel down with me, Mary, and we'll ask him," I said.
We clasped hands over the foot of that little bed, and if ever I
prayed, I prayed then that the merciful Father would, for the sake of
his Son our Savior, and for his own glory, open the eyes of the babe
once more before the angels took him home. The poor worn-out mother
sobbed herself to sleep, her head resting on little Jack's lifeless
feet. I watched, earnestly and intently watched, for my prayer to be
answered. Toward daylight I observed a slight movement of the little
head. "Wake up! wake up, Mary!" I cried, whilst I shook and continued
to shake her. The voice awoke many of the family, who quickly hastened
to the sick-room. Mary with bloodshot eyes gazed at the baby. Soon his
beautiful eyes opened wide, with a long, loving look at the faithful
mother, then closed; and now the angels had him forever in their
keeping.
"O God, O God, you are good, you are good," sobbed poor Mary. "I'll
never, never doubt you any more." And she never did. From that day,
and, so far as I know, up to the present time, Mary has been one of our
Father's and Savior's loyal subjects.
As soon as able, she took a situation, so as to earn money to pay
Jack's funeral expenses and to purchase the lot where lie his earthly
remains. I was told that her mistress accepted the Savior because of
her faithful daily walk. Later, her brother, returned from the
Philippines, claimed and took her back there with him, where,
doubtless, she is seeking and finding jewels for the Master's crown.
"What became of the grandparents--the ones responsible before God for
her misfortunes?" During the first few weeks of Mary's stay under our
roof, Sister Kauffman and I called on them, hoping so to picture the
Savior's tender mercy and love as to be able to touch their hearts, to
discover to them their self-righteous condition, and to get them to
realize where the blame really lay. All our efforts were fruitless. The
earthquake and fire of San Francisco swept away all their property, and
in all probability they perished in the flames, for they were never
again heard of.