THORNS AND ROSES.
"What are you going to wear to-night, Nora?" asked Mrs. Blanchard, as
the two still lingered in company over the breakfast-table, which the
busy doctor had, as usual, quitted before them. This was always the most
important question in Mrs. Blanchard's mind, when they were going to any
entertainment.
"I suppose my black velvet will do, won't it?" said Nora, looking up
from the newspaper in which she was, at the moment, reading a paragraph
describing the miseries of poor sewing-women, and the pittance for which
they are often compelled to give their long hours of toil.
"Well, I suppose so," said her sister-in-law, discontentedly, "though
that black velvet certainly does seem too old for you. Why not wear that
pretty _écru_ and black lace costume?"
"But then," objected Nora, "I wore it at Mrs. Farrell's musical-party,
and I don't want to wear it quite so soon again. Besides, this won't be
a very big party."
"Not big, certainly, but awfully swell. Mrs. Pomeroy's dinner-parties
always are. Just wait till you see! However, your black velvet does look
quite elegant, and that old lace of Aunt Margaret's and her pearl cross
look just lovely with it! They suit you, somehow; so perhaps you
couldn't do better. But I wish you would get a new dress;
crushed-strawberry satin would be so becoming, and you'll want it, for
you will be going out a good deal this winter."
"No," said Nora, "I couldn't think of getting anything more now; I have
all I really need, and it seems horrible to think of getting more than
one needs, when some people have to live like this!" and she read aloud
the paragraph that had caught her eye.
"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Blanchard, "I wish you weren't always seeing such
things. There always was and there always will be misery in the world,
but what good does it do any one to make yourself miserable about it?
And if you get a new dress made, doesn't that help somebody?"
Nora was always perplexed when other people's notions of political
economy were arrayed on the side of selfish expenditure. Was the world
built up on _selfishness_ after all? If so, where was the place of
self-sacrifice? But it did not seem as if it "helped people" very much
"to wear out their lives" in return for the barest subsistence.
That afternoon, she took little Cecilia on a second visit to her mother.
It was very cold, and the snow lay white on the hard, frozen streets;
but Nora, well wrapped in her furs, felt the cold, keen air as
exhilarating as a tonic, as they walked briskly on to the hospital, the
child also wrapped warmly in the mufflings that Nora's care had
provided. She had begun to be a little more communicative, but was
evidently a fitful, uncertain child; in general reserved and quiet,
though subject to fits of extreme excitability, in which it seemed as if
nothing but music could soothe her. Both Dr. Blanchard and Nora had been
studying her with much interest, the doctor declaring that under-feeding
and a life of unnatural confinement and solitude must be responsible for
many of her peculiarities. At the hospital, Miss Blanchard found Mrs.
Travers getting on favorably. She showed more pleasure at seeing her
child than on the previous occasion, and, in reply to Nora's inquiries,
expressed herself as very comfortable there. "It would be strange if I
were not," she added, "every one is so kind, Miss Spencer especially.
She couldn't be kinder, if I were her sister."
And again Miss Blanchard was struck with her unusual refinement of tone
and manner as well as of language. But she seemed rather shy and ill at
ease, Nora thought, and she was about to turn aside to look up at Miss
Spencer, when a gentle knock sounded, and Lizzie Mason entered. The
invalid was evidently genuinely glad to see her, and held her hand, as
if she could not let it go. Nora, as she watched them for a few moments,
was pained to see that Lizzie looked as if she had been crying, and
seemed particularly sad and depressed.
"I did not think of seeing you here," said Nora; "I thought you were
engaged at this hour."
"It's Saturday, you know, miss. There's always a sort of a half-holiday
on Saturday."
"Well, you look as if you needed a little fresh air," replied Nora,
gently. "I'm afraid you have had some trouble."
Her kind voice and gentle words seemed too much for poor Lizzie. She
bent down her head, as she sat by the bed, holding the invalid's hand,
and sobbed quietly.
By degrees, Nora drew from her the cause of her grief. "Jim" had been
going on badly, had been off on another "tear," incited thereto by
jealousy of Nelly's flightiness, and of her mysterious admirer. He had
been "run in" for drinking and disorderly conduct, and Lizzie had had to
take most of the money she had been saving up for warm winter clothing,
in order to pay his fine.
"Oh, Lizzie, why did you do that?" asked Miss Blanchard.
"Indeed, miss, how could I let Jim go to jail, and have mother fretting
to break her heart? I'd rather starve!"
And Nora knew, in her heart, that the girl could not have done
otherwise.
But that was not all. The manager had threatened to dismiss "Jim" unless
he should behave better, and meantime had put him at lower work for
lower wages.
"Perhaps I might ask young Mr. Pomeroy to speak a good word for him,"
Nora said. "I know him very well."
"Oh, no, miss, don't!" cried Lizzie, nervously; "it wouldn't do no good!
The manager does as he thinks best, and they never interfere with him.
Why, he cut down nearly all the girls' wages lately, and they knew they
durstn't say a word! He'd discharge the first one that did! An' all that
makes it so much harder now to get on."
Nora did all she could to console the poor girl, talked of "trust" and
"patience," till the words, coming from one in her position, to one in
Lizzie's, seemed almost to die on her tongue, and she wondered they were
not thrown back in her face.
But Lizzie had learned her lesson of "patience" better, and when Mrs.
Travers said, rather bitterly, "Ah, yes, it's a poor world for us poor
women," Lizzie only said, wiping away her tears:
"Oh, well, we must make the best of it! Tain't no good frettin'!"
Nora offered, rather hesitatingly, to go to see Lizzie next afternoon,
if she liked, and the offer was gratefully accepted.
"And maybe you could say a good word to Jim; he'll be at home then, and
though I never can get Jim to go to church, I guess he would listen to
you!--and p'raps Nelly might be there, too. I do wish you could get to
know Nelly! She'd mind what you would say, a sight better than anything
I can tell her."
Nora walked silently homeward, with a new sorrowful image before her. As
she dressed for the dinner-party, the pale tear-stained face seemed
still before her, and she was calculating how much it would cost to buy
a good warm winter jacket for the half-clad girl.
Little Cecilia had begged to be allowed to help her to dress, and
eagerly did all she was permitted to do, admiring with silent intentness
the rich soft folds of the velvet that showed to such advantage the
straight, graceful, rounded figure, and the white neck and arms that
gleamed out of the fine old lace; and, what seemed to the child the most
beautiful of all, the cross of pure, translucent pearls which so fitly
adorned the white throat above the square-cut corsage. This old pearl
cross, Aunt Margaret's parting gift, and a prized relic of her long-past
girlhood, was Nora's favorite ornament. Its form was symbolical of a
thousand tender, sacred associations, and the purity of the pearls
seemed emblematic of a higher purity, divine and human. She liked to
wear it as a reminder to herself of many things that she desired never
to forget, even in the gladdest and most festive moment. And to-night it
seemed connected in her thoughts with Lizzie's pale pathetic face, and
her life of perpetual self-sacrifice.
"Well, you look very nice!" said Mrs. Blanchard, approvingly, as she
came in to make an inspection--"only you're pale--you want some roses."
And as she spoke, she produced a lovely cluster of pink and blush roses,
which she fastened on the creamy lace of Nora's corsage; while deftly
twisting an opening bud among her silky coils of hair, to Cecilia's
manifest delight.
"There," she said, "that lights it up a good deal!" and she walked back,
casting critical glances at the general effect. "The severe style does
suit you--that can't be denied!" she added.
"Oh, what lovely roses!" exclaimed Nora, bending her graceful head, to
inhale their delicate fragrance. "It was so good of you to get them for
me!"
"Well, I didn't get them, to tell the truth! I meant to get some,
though; but this morning I got a little box from Mr. Chillingworth, with
a note, begging that you and I would oblige him by wearing the contents.
See, here are mine," pointing to a cluster of tea-roses on her own blue
satin. "So you see I kept them for a surprise, sort of _coup de grâce_;
now, I think that was quite a clever idea."
"But ought I really to wear them?" asked Nora, doubtfully. The "roses"
had come to her face, now, as well as her dress, giving just the one
touch which her sister-in-law had thought she lacked.
"Why, of course you can," replied Mrs. Blanchard, quickly. "Just as well
as I can wear mine! It was so nice of the dear man to think of us
_both_!"
"It was _very_ kind, and there's nothing I like so well as roses," said
Nora, again breathing in their fragrance; "and these made me think so
much of summer and Rockland."
But it is doubtful whether it would have given her so much pleasure to
wear them, in her present mood, had she known just what they cost!