JACK AND HIS MOTHER.
THAT day seemed to work a change in our home. The peaceful monotony of
our life was broken, and the waters could not get back to their former
even flow. A kind of restlessness, of uncertainty, was upon us all,
more or less. I do not think our placid Cherry was exactly restless,
but she could not forget the fear of soon losing Maimie. And Maimie
herself appeared to live in a state of chronic dread. The girl’s
anxious looks and fluttering colour told of a constant strain.
Churton slept for some days in a room near. We could not have taken
him in without much crowding. He was often in and out; but never “in”
without putting our household into a flutter,—how or why I could hardly
have told. To the younger boys he brought sweetmeats, and so won their
hearts; but his visits meant no sugar-plums to us elder folks.
He seemed desirous to get hold of Maimie somehow, as if conscious that
his former power over her was gone. I imagine that her extreme love for
us was an annoyance to him. Sometimes he brought presents, which she
accepted gratefully but not affectionately. Sometimes he tried petting,
and Maimie visibly disliked it. Once or twice he gave way to positive
anger, speaking roughly, telling her she was fickle and ungrateful
Maimie attempted no defence, but only grew pale, and slipped away to my
side as if for protection.
We had not seen anything of Aunt Briscoe for many weeks. Her Thursday
letters came regularly still, so we knew that she was well. The next
after Churton’s arrival mentioned him in a passing way, speaking of him
as “much improved.” We could hardly have endorsed this opinion. But for
the information thus obtained, we should not have known that Churton
had been to “The Gables” at all. He made no mention of the call.
No further allusion had been uttered by him to the subject of Maimie’s
expenses while with us. We were much pressed and harassed with need of
money, hardly knowing how to get on, even with the strictest economy.
I asked Robert one day whether he did not think of speaking to Churton
about the offered cheque. He said, “Not yet.”
“It ought, of course, to come from Churton himself, without any
reminder.”
“I doubt if it will,” Robert answered. “He has relieved his conscience
by speaking once,—at a moment when I could not well take up the
question. It is as likely as not that he will never bring up the matter
again, of his own free will.”
“Then you will have to remind him, Robert.”
“I may have to do so. I am not sure yet,” Robert said, with a curious
smile. “I don’t know whether you will agree with me, Marion. My own
view is that if Maimie is to be our child still, we cannot claim
Churton’s help. But if he demands her from us, as his child, then he
becomes responsible for the last two years’ expenses, and I shall ask
at least a measure of compensation.”
“I see,—yes, you are right. That would not pain Maimie?” I spoke
questioningly, little knowing how the very same thought would later
occur to Maimie herself.
“Maimie wishes nothing so much as that Churton should give us our
due; for it is our due. Don’t you see, Marion, that this may supply
us with a certain check upon Churton. It is the only curb we possess.
Otherwise, if he chose to take her away to-morrow, what could we do? He
is her natural guardian, undoubtedly. He has forfeited the poor child’s
affection; but we cannot entirely fling away his right over her, if he
insists on having his way.”
“And you keep this in reserve,” I said. “Yes; it is wise. I do agree
with you, indeed.”
Jack and Cress were an additional care at this time.
A marked coldness had been apparent between the two brothers since
Maimie’s birthday. Each knew the other to be set on the same object as
himself; and while neither could boast of any encouragement from that
object, each feared that the other might be his successful rival.
The thing sounds absurd, such boys as they were, and Maimie only
seventeen. But the girl seemed growing each day prettier and more
womanly. I could hardly wonder at my boys’ feelings about her.
She was the same as usual in her manner to them—kind and sisterly.
But I could not help noticing that she no longer allowed a certain
brotherly boyish freedom, which before had been natural enough. I saw
Cress one day carelessly grasp her arm to enforce something he was
saying, just as he might have done to Cherry. Maimie removed his hand,
and drew back a step, looking at him gravely, in a way that could not
be mistaken. Cress flung himself away in a pet; but from that moment
his bearing towards her combined respect with admiration. There was no
fear of Jack attempting to take any liberties. He never had thought and
never did think of Maimie with merely a brotherly affection; and his
manly strength made him gentle to all women and girls. To Maimie, of
course, he was especially so. I wondered sometimes whether she noted,
and in any degree appreciated, his patient reverent devotion.
Jack said not a word to me about his trouble after our brief meeting
in Bushey Park; and I doubted much whether I could with wisdom be the
first to speak. At all events, I resolved not to do so hastily. He went
and came as usual; and worked and ate and talked as at other times. But
I knew every turn of expression in Jack’s face; and I knew life was
changed for him since that day.
I noticed that the evening readings were given up. Maimie made the
excuse of feeling unsettled, and not knowing what her father meant her
to do. Jack did not protest; but he locked up his books, and made no
pretence at reading by himself.
More than a week passed thus. Then one day it came about that Jack and
I had an evening alone together. It was a lovely evening, and everybody
else had gone out. I was too tired to walk; and presently Jack came
listlessly into the room, and sat down to watch me, just in his old
style, propping his chin on his hands, and doing nothing.
“Don’t you mean to read this evening, Jack?” I asked quietly, though a
little alarmed at my own boldness.
“Maimie has given it up,” Jack said, in a gloomy tone.
“She says she feels too unsettled.”
“Oh, it isn’t that. I know better.”
“And you cannot keep on for a time without her help?”
“It isn’t worth while. Nothing is worth doing.”
I looked up at him, and waited a few seconds before asking,—“Jack, is
that right?”
Jack’s hands went over his face. Poor boy! I think he was longing for a
little motherly comfort. I wondered what I might venture to say next.
His face was hidden, with the exception of a flushed forehead.
“If I were you I would not think too much of what passed that day,” I
said softly.
And then Jack, great broad-shouldered fellow, came down on the ground
beside me,—just as Maimie herself would have come,—and laid his head on
my knee and sobbed like a child. I left my work alone to pet and soothe
him. “Don’t, Jack,—don’t, dear,” I said, more than once.
“O mother, it is hard! If you knew what she is to me!” he broke out at
length.
“I think I understand.”
“I’m only a great stupid dunce, I know that,—and she’s too good, so
clever and sweet. But somehow I did think she might care for me—just a
little. And I could take care of her,—I could make her life easy.”
“No, Jack,” I said; “that is what no man can undertake to do for any
woman. God chooses our paths. A husband can’t choose his wife’s path,
though certainly he can make it harder or easier to walk on.”
“Well, I could shield her from some troubles,” Jack murmured. “I could
live for her, and love her,—love her as nobody else can do.”
“I am not so sure about that either,” I said gently. “There will be
many to love so winning a creature. But don’t be too certain that all
must go against you in the future. Maimie is very young yet.”
“She said—plain enough—”
“Yes, I know that. Maimie is perfectly simple and free in heart. She
likes you as a brother, and no more. My dear Jack, think of her age and
yours.”
“She isn’t a child.”
“You are both children,” I said. “But if you think not,—then be a man,
and have patience.”
“But Cress—”
“Cress does not care for Maimie as you do. It is a mere fancy on his
part. And Maimie will never care for Cress. She does not admire his
character.”
“She doesn’t admire my stupidity, mother.”
“Then don’t be stupid!”
Jack stared at me. “I can’t make myself clever.”
“You can make the most of what brains you have,” I said. “I hoped
Maimie herself had taught you that lesson. People with only one talent
are a great deal too fond of hiding it away underground, merely because
it isn’t five or ten talents.”
Jack was silent.
“But—” he said presently, and stopped.
“You may be quite sure of one thing,” I said seriously. “If you are
ever to have any hope of winning Maimie to be your wife, it will not be
by proving yourself so poor and weak a creature, that you can’t even
study for a couple of hours a day, unless you have a girl to sit by
your side and keep you up to the mark.”
Jack turned crimson, and sprang to his feet. Then he sat down on a
chair near. “Mother! that’s rather hard.”
“Is it?” I asked. “I don’t want to be hard on any one, least of all on
my Jack. But I do want you not to make this one aim the whole of life
and work and duty for yourself.”
“It doesn’t seem as if anything else were worth doing, if I can’t have
Maimie,” Jack said, in a dejected tone.
“Yes, so you feel at this moment. It is natural, but it is not right.
God may or may not grant you that wish of your heart. Either way, life
has higher aims and higher duties.”
“I don’t see them.”
And I said, “‘Whether we live, we live unto the Lord.’ Would you live
only to Maimie, Jack? ‘Whether we die, we die unto the Lord,’—if we
live unto Him. Will you live and die only with a poor earthly love as
your highest good?”
Then another pause.
“Mother, I can’t feel with those who count an earthly love folly and
sin,” Jack said vehemently.
“No need,” I said. “The power to love is given us by God. There is no
sin in using that power to any extent, if only the heavenly love has
its right place. But if Maimie is to be your idol—”
Jack rose, and paced about the room for two minutes. Then he stopped,
facing me. “Yes. If Maimie is my idol—”
“Then, Jack, either your idol will separate you from your God, or God
will mercifully separate you from your idol.”
“Mercifully, mother!”
“Yes, mercifully,” I answered, “if it is a question of life and death
for ever. I pray that it may not be so.”
I said no more for awhile, nor did Jack, But presently he came back to
my side, after gazing out of the window into the dusty street.
“Thank you, mother,” he said huskily. “I think I wanted a few plain
words. I’ll look into that matter. I’m afraid—afraid Maimie is my idol.”
“Don’t look into it without prayer,” I said softly.
He shook his head. “But still—still, mother, I must try to win her.”
“Try your best,” I answered. “Only remember that for the present Maimie
is far too young for anything of the kind. You must work for the
future.”
“If I knew how,” he said despondingly.
“Don’t sink into a useless disappointed creature, without aim in life
or spirit to work—a thing not fit to be called a man. Work doubly hard,
Jack—for duty, if pleasure is impossible. Make the most of your time,
the most of your bodily strength, and the most of whatever brain powers
you may have. Let Maimie know you as a man with some stuff in you. She
will never love a mere bending reed, you may be sure.”
“I’ll not be that, any way,” Jack said with energy. “Mother, you’ll
see! I shall begin reading again to-morrow, just as usual, and I’ll
work hard.”
He kept his word. I saw Maimie looking at him, with a touch of
surprise. She took no further notice for three days.
But on the fourth evening, when he was diligently occupied, with a
puzzled look, I saw her go quietly up and say, “What is it, Jack? Can I
help you?”
Thereafter, though she did not always sit by his side, Jack found
his studies by no means dull. He knew at least that she was still
interested in his advance.