What of Imelda’s past? What were the dark forbidding shadows that
threatened to overcast her future?
Nothing unusual; interwoven only with a story such as has darkened many
another young girl’s life. The history of one woman’s life, the threads
of which were woven so closely with hers as to hold her to those past
memories as in a net in whose meshes no loophole had been left. Imelda’s
mother, just such a bright, beautiful and queenly girl as she herself
now was, had wrecked her life upon the rock upon which thousands daily,
hourly are wrecked. Of what this rock consisted we shall see as our
story proceeds.
Nellie Dunbar was the child of poverty. She was one of eight children,
whose parents probably could not have taken proper care of one. So,
instead of giving Nellie that which every child has the right to demand
of those who take upon themselves the responsibility of ushering
children into existence, viz: a thorough education to develop their
mental capacities; proper care of their young bodies to enable them to
become full rounded women and men; careful, tender nurture of both body
and soul—instead of giving Nellie and her numerous brothers and sisters
all this it was only in their very young days—days when the minds of
children should be free and unburdened of care save childhood’s plays,
that they were able to send them to school at all. While yet of very
tender age, when toys and books should have been their only care, these
were laid away upon the shelf and their young strength pressed into the
much needed work of helping to support the family.
Oh, ye parents of the millions! Do you ever think of the wrongs daily
and hourly perpetrated upon the children, those mites of humanity whose
advent into the world you yourselves are directly responsible for; upon
whose unborn souls you place a curse that is to work out its woes in the
coming ages—children who with all their unfitness are to become in turn,
the parents of the race?
Nellie found work in a cloak factory, and, as she sat day by day bending
above her machine she often almost cursed the fate that made her a
working girl; only she had been taught that such thoughts were impious.
That it was a good and all-wise “God” who had mapped out her life, and
that it would be wicked to be anything but thankful.
But Nellie’s heart was rebellious. Not always could she quell the
longings that would well up therein. So when one day a handsome,
dark-haired, dark-eyed man found this beautiful uncultured bird she fell
an easy victim. It was the old, old story over again, of a trusting
maiden’s love and of man’s selfish appetite. Not that he was a greater
villain than men are wont to be, but men, like the bee, are used to sip
the honey from every fair flower hereon they may happen to alight. He
knew he would be envied the possession of the love, the favor, of this
beautiful creature, by all of his friends, while the possession itself
would be unalloyed bliss to him.
But a time came when his plaything tired the man of fashion and culture.
He would have dropped it, but he had reckoned without his host. Maddened
by the sneers and innuendoes of her hitherto companions and by the
insults of men, all the latent devil that lies hidden and veiled within
the heart of many a loving woman, was aroused. Having managed to purloin
from her brother’s pocket a shining little toy and hiding it within her
heaving bosom, she sought her betrayer’s side. With burning cheeks she
demanded of him to do her justice.
He would have tried again to soothe her fiery blood with honeyed words,
but they had lost their power. Her faith in him had been destroyed;
never again could she trust him. He sought to allay her fears with fair
promises; he would marry her, if she would wait a few days; he wished to
arrange his affairs; he would prepare a home for her.
The young girl’s eyes flashed ominously as she answered: “No! I will not
wait. Now! instantly, do I want my due.”
Herbert Ellwood began to grow impatient. He was tired of the scene.
Curbing his temper, however, he again made answer: “This evening, then,
I promise to be with you although you are very foolish not to wait a few
days longer, until I should have had prepared a home to take you to.”
She looked like a lovely fury as she stamped her foot in rising anger.
“Now!” she cried. “Now, within the hour! I cannot, I will not trust you
one moment longer.”
The hot blood mounted to his white forehead,—Did this pretty fool think
that she could command him?—him who had always been the darling of fair
women?—him who needed but to hold out his hand to find it eagerly
clasped by any of a dozen fair ones? Scorn curled his lip, and the
habitual gentleness from his manner suddenly fled.
“Enough,” he cried.—“I am tired of this. Go home and wait until I come.”
With this he turned his back upon her, making it very plain to her that
he considered the obnoxious interview at an end. But the demon in the
girl’s heart was now fully aroused. With a quick step she had reached
his side. Despair and anger gave her strength. By one quick movement she
whirled him round when he found flashing in his eyes the shining barrel
of a revolver.
“I will avenge my honor on the spot, here and now,—wipe out my shame in
your blood if you delay an instant longer to do me the justice I
demand.”
She spoke the words in a tragic manner. She had worked herself into a
frenzy, and Herbert felt it was dangerous to longer trifle with her—that
she was capable of executing her threat. So he submitted to the
inevitable. With a sigh he donned his coat and hat and hailing a hack
they were quickly driven to the nearest minister’s whose son and
daughter witnessed the ceremony.
Through it all Nellie’s cheeks were the color of blood; her eyes gleamed
like living coals. When all was over, her overwrought nerves gave way.
Breaking into a fit of hysterical weeping, she sank at her unwilling
bridegroom’s feet. Frightened and shamed he gathered her in his arms,
carried more than led her from the bewildered minister’s presence into
the waiting hack.
He was at a loss where to take her. He could not take her to his
bachelor apartments. He feared to take her to her mother in the
condition she was in, knowing only too well that the ignorant woman
would not hesitate to heap abuse upon her daughter’s head when she knew
all. So, after a few moment’s consideration, he named some distant hotel
to the waiting hack driver, where, upon their arrival, he procured rooms
and saw that she was properly cared for.
It was long ere she became quiet. The unhappy girl walked the room,
backward and forward, while a storm of sobs shook her form. For a time
Ellwood feared insanity would claim her. He was not at heart a bad man,
and such an ending to this day’s work would have been most unwelcome to
him. He had been living merely to enjoy himself, as a certain class of
young men are in the habit of doing, though it be at the expense of some
other member of the human family, probably not stopping to think, not
realizing, what the cost may be to that other. He had fallen desperately
in love with Nellie’s fair face and, had she loved him “more wisely,” as
the saying is, it is likely he himself would have proposed marriage. But
his fever having cooled somewhat he recognized only too well the fact
that they two were not mated; that true happiness could never spring
from such an union.
But—well, things had taken a different course. Full well he knew that he
had wronged the beautiful but uncultured girl. He was now called upon to
make reparation, and marriage had set its seal with its “until death do
us part,” upon them.
As remarked before, he was not a villain. Now that the deed was done it
took him but a short time to make up his mind to abide the consequences,
be they what they might. He knew they were unsuited to each other; that
they had very little in common, but he knew that she was beautiful. He
would never need to be ashamed of her appearance. He had had the benefit
of a splendid education. He had a lucrative position, and by casting
overboard many of his old habits and associates he thought they might be
able to get along. Then, too, she was used to work. She knew and
understood the value of money; surely with her experience in life she
would be able to manage—would understand the art of housewifery.
Alas, he did not know, did not understand how this having been used to
work all her life caused her to hate work. As he had been lavish with
her—spending his money freely when in her society, the idea had taken
deep root in her brain that he was wealthy; whereas he had only that
which his position—bookkeeper, secured him. She had denied and stinted
herself so long that now she meant to enjoy.
It was not an easy matter for the young man to be true to his resolves
and do what he considered his duty by her. If, in those first hours when
her grief had been at its greatest, he had folded her to his heart with
real affection, instead of forcing himself to every caress—to hide the
deep disappointment in his inmost heart—may be he might yet have
reawakened the love that through deceit had turned to Dead Sea fruit
upon her lips. Or, if she with womanly tenderness had coaxed his ebbing
love into new life, things might have been different. But, as it was,
the hour wherein she had found herself compelled to force him to comply
with her demands and make her his wife, in that hour her love for him
had died—died for all time.
Had she been a woman cultured and refined she would have scorned him;
that lacking, she was simply indifferent. She no longer cared for that
which once had constituted her heaven, but, on the contrary, was
inclined now to a desire to get even with him, as the saying is. It was
not a great soul that Nellie was the possessor of. A poor but
pretty—nay, a beautiful girl, born under circumstances such as children
of her are usually born under, surrounded and reared in the same manner,
what could you expect?
And Herbert Ellwood? Ah! he felt more keenly. The sowing of the wild
oats that young men are unhappily supposed to have a right to sow, and
even ought to sow, according to the views of some—had only for a time
threatened to stifle that which was good and true in his nature; and
bitterly in his after-life did he rue the sowing.
After having made up his mind that there was now but one proper course
for him to pursue, that course he meant to pursue. Days passed on. He
soon found that to harvest his crop of wild oats was not so easy or so
pleasant as the sowing had been. Nellie’s temper was the rock upon which
all his good resolves stranded. He would have taught her many things
that would have had a tendency not only to make her a polished lady but
which would have been of daily, almost hourly use to her, but she
mistakenly argued that as she had been good enough in the past to while
away the time with, pretty enough to cause him to fall in love with her,
she was good and pretty enough now as his wife, just as she was. She did
not understand that it was ever so much more difficult for a wife to
attract and hold a husband, even in those few cases where love rules
supreme in the home of the married couple, than it is for a bright and
sparkling young girl to win a lover.
But time sped on; the months passed by and then came the hour when the
cause of this most unhappy union was ushered into existence—a little
brown eyed babe. The fair Imelda was born. For a while it seemed as if
the young couple would return to the love of their earlier days. The
advent of the little creature was something wherein they had a common
interest. But as Nellie grew stronger her attention was all taken up by
baby, who proved a charming dimpled darling, cooing and laughing in the
faces of both parents alike.
But the young mother never was the old self again. The charming girl
soon developed into a fretful discontented woman. The man that found
life such a disappointment gave all his love to his baby daughter and it
was not long until the baby screamed and struggled at his approach.
Perched upon his shoulder, her tiny hands buried in his clustering
curls, she would babble and crow with delight. For the time Herbert
Ellwood would be happy, but even this sight—a sight that would have
melted most young mothers’ hearts with pride and happiness, was only
another bone of contention between them. Squabbles and quarrels were of
daily occurrence.
Nellie was irritable and dissatisfied. Her health was failing her.
Herbert was tired and disgusted with his unpleasant home, and began to
spend his evenings away from it. In consequence many lonely hours fell
to Nellie’s lot. Often her pillow would be wet with tears. She was
unhappy and knew not the reason. She laid the blame at Herbert’s door;
whereas he, poor fellow, had done all in his power to bring things to a
different issue. He had miserably failed.
But neither knew the reason why. Both failed to understand that as they
had ceased to attract, as they had scarcely so much as a single thought
in common, they should long ago have parted. They were falling in with
that most abominable practice of modern times and of modern marriage,—to
“make the best of” what contained _absolutely no best_!—as their union
was miserably barren of all good qualities. Each was conscious of a dull
aching void, with no understanding as to how it could be filled.
Time passed on, and other babies came,—unwelcome, unwished for mites of
humanity that sprang from the germ of a father’s passion, gestated by a
mother with a feeling of repugnance amounting almost to hate. What
mattered it that in the hour of birth each new comer was caught lovingly
to the mother’s breast, when in that moment of mortal agony the
wellspring of her love had been touched. No amount of _later_ love could
undo the mischief done _before its advent_.
Some of these babes were ill-natured and puny from their birth, born
only to pine away and die, racking again the mother’s heart. Two others,
a boy and a girl, grew to be the torment of the household and the bane
of their mother’s life. And still the babies came, and oh! so close, one
upon the other, until the poor mother thought life was a burden too
great to be borne.
Such a flood of anger and hate towards the father and husband, would
sweep over her heart as the knowledge of each conception was forced upon
her! At such moments she felt as though she could kill him.
Reader, can you read between the lines? Can you see the hidden skeleton
in this miserable home? Do you understand how it all could have been
avoided? Herbert Ellwood, as stated before, was not a bad man. Instead,
he possessed many noble qualities. But he was a child of modern society.
He was a husband, possessed of a wife. He had always been what the world
calls true to that wife. He was possessed of health, strength and
passion. Is it necessary to say more? The story is a plain one, and an
old one. The thinking reader will find little difficulty in discerning
that theirs was the curse of modern marriage life.
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