AT FORTY.
“Nearly twenty years since I set out to seek my fortune. It has been a
long search, but I think I have found it at last. I only asked to be a
useful, happy woman, and my wish is granted: for, I believe I am
useful; I know I am happy.”
Christie looked so as she sat alone in the flowery parlor one September
afternoon, thinking over her life with a grateful, cheerful spirit.
Forty to-day, and pausing at that half-way house between youth and age,
she looked back into the past without bitter regret or unsubmissive
grief, and forward into the future with courageous patience; for three
good angels attended her, and with faith, hope, and charity to brighten
life, no woman need lament lost youth or fear approaching age. Christie
did not, and though her eyes filled with quiet tears as they were
raised to the faded cap and sheathed sword hanging on the wall, none
fell; and in a moment tender sorrow changed to still tenderer joy as
her glance wandered to rosy little Ruth playing hospital with her
dollies in the porch. Then they shone with genuine satisfaction as they
went from the letters and papers on her table to the garden, where
several young women were at work with a healthful color in the cheeks
that had been very pale and thin in the spring.
“I think David is satisfied with me; for I have given all my heart and
strength to his work, and it prospers well,” she said to herself, and
then her face grew thoughtful, as she recalled a late event which
seemed to have opened a new field of labor for her if she chose to
enter it.
A few evenings before she had gone to one of the many meetings of
working-women, which had made some stir of late. Not a first visit, for
she was much interested in the subject and full of sympathy for this
class of workers.
There were speeches of course, and of the most unparliamentary sort,
for the meeting was composed almost entirely of women, each eager to
tell her special grievance or theory. Any one who chose got up and
spoke; and whether wisely or foolishly each proved how great was the
ferment now going on, and how difficult it was for the two classes to
meet and help one another in spite of the utmost need on one side and
the sincerest good-will on the other. The workers poured out their
wrongs and hardships passionately or plaintively, demanding or
imploring justice, sympathy, and help; displaying the ignorance,
incapacity, and prejudice, which make their need all the more pitiful,
their relief all the more imperative.
The ladies did their part with kindliness, patience, and often
unconscious condescension, showing in their turn how little they knew
of the real trials of the women whom they longed to serve, how very
narrow a sphere of usefulness they were fitted for in spite of culture
and intelligence, and how rich they were in generous theories, how poor
in practical methods of relief.
One accomplished creature with learning radiating from every pore,
delivered a charming little essay on the strong-minded women of
antiquity; then, taking labor into the region of art, painted
delightful pictures of the time when all would work harmoniously
together in an Ideal Republic, where each did the task she liked, and
was paid for it in liberty, equality, and fraternity.
Unfortunately she talked over the heads of her audience, and it was
like telling fairy tales to hungry children to describe Aspasia
discussing Greek politics with Pericles and Plato reposing upon ivory
couches, or Hypatia modestly delivering philosophical lectures to young
men behind a Tyrian purple curtain; and the Ideal Republic met with
little favor from anxious seamstresses, type-setters, and shop-girls,
who said ungratefully among themselves, “That’s all very pretty, but I
don’t see how it’s going to better wages among us now”
Another eloquent sister gave them a political oration which fired the
revolutionary blood in their veins, and made them eager to rush to the
State-house en masse, and demand the ballot before one-half of them
were quite clear what it meant, and the other half were as unfit for it
as any ignorant Patrick bribed with a dollar and a sup of whiskey.
A third well-wisher quenched their ardor like a wet blanket, by reading
reports of sundry labor reforms in foreign parts; most interesting, but
made entirely futile by differences of climate, needs, and customs. She
closed with a cheerful budget of statistics, giving the exact number of
needle-women who had starved, gone mad, or committed suicide during the
past year; the enormous profits wrung by capitalists from the blood and
muscles of their employes; and the alarming increase in the cost of
living, which was about to plunge the nation into debt and famine, if
not destruction generally.
When she sat down despair was visible on many countenances, and
immediate starvation seemed to be waiting at the door to clutch them as
they went out; for the impressible creatures believed every word and
saw no salvation anywhere.
Christie had listened intently to all this; had admired, regretted, or
condemned as each spoke; and felt a steadily increasing sympathy for
all, and a strong desire to bring the helpers and the helped into truer
relations with each other.
The dear ladies were so earnest, so hopeful, and so unpractically
benevolent, that it grieved her to see so much breath wasted, so much
good-will astray; while the expectant, despondent, or excited faces of
the work-women touched her heart; for well she knew how much they
needed help, how eager they were for light, how ready to be led if some
one would only show a possible way.
As the statistical extinguisher retired, beaming with satisfaction at
having added her mite to the good cause, a sudden and uncontrollable
impulse moved Christie to rise in her place and ask leave to speak. It
was readily granted, and a little stir of interest greeted her; for she
was known to many as Mr. Power’s friend, David Sterling’s wife, or an
army nurse who had done well. Whispers circulated quickly, and faces
brightened as they turned toward her; for she had a helpful look, and
her first words pleased them. When the president invited her to the
platform she paused on the lowest step, saying with an expressive look
and gesture:
“I am better here, thank you; for I have been and mean to be a
working-woman all my life.”
“Hear! hear!” cried a stout matron in a gay bonnet, and the rest
indorsed the sentiment with a hearty round. Then they were very still,
and then in a clear, steady voice, with the sympathetic undertone to it
that is so magical in its effect, Christie made her first speech in
public since she left the stage.
That early training stood her in good stead now, giving her
self-possession, power of voice, and ease of gesture; while the purpose
at her heart lent her the sort of simple eloquence that touches,
persuades, and convinces better than logic, flattery, or oratory.
What she said she hardly knew: words came faster than she could utter
them, thoughts pressed upon her, and all the lessons of her life rose
vividly before her to give weight to her arguments, value to her
counsel, and the force of truth to every sentence she uttered. She had
known so many of the same trials, troubles, and temptations that she
could speak understandingly of them; and, better still, she had
conquered or outlived so many of them, that she could not only pity but
help others to do as she had done. Having found in labor her best
teacher, comforter, and friend, she could tell those who listened that,
no matter how hard or humble the task at the beginning, if faithfully
and bravely performed, it would surely prove a stepping-stone to
something better, and with each honest effort they were fitting
themselves for the nobler labor, and larger liberty God meant them to
enjoy.
The women felt that this speaker was one of them; for the same lines
were on her face that they saw on their own, her hands were no fine
lady’s hands, her dress plainer than some of theirs, her speech simple
enough for all to understand; cheerful, comforting, and full of
practical suggestion, illustrations out of their own experience, and a
spirit of companionship that uplifted their despondent hearts.
Yet more impressive than any thing she said was the subtle magnetism of
character, for that has a universal language which all can understand.
They saw and felt that a genuine woman stood down there among them like
a sister, ready with head, heart, and hand to help them help
themselves; not offering pity as an alms, but justice as a right.
Hardship and sorrow, long effort and late-won reward had been hers they
knew; wifehood, motherhood, and widowhood brought her very near to
them; and behind her was the background of an earnest life, against
which this figure with health on the cheeks, hope in the eyes, courage
on the lips, and the ardor of a wide benevolence warming the whole
countenance stood out full of unconscious dignity and beauty; an
example to comfort, touch, and inspire them.
It was not a long speech, and in it there was no learning, no
statistics, and no politics; yet it was the speech of the evening, and
when it was over no one else seemed to have any thing to say. As the
meeting broke up Christie’s hand was shaken by many roughened by the
needle, stained with printer’s ink, or hard with humbler toil; many
faces smiled gratefully at her, and many voices thanked her heartily.
But sweeter than any applause were the words of one woman who grasped
her hand, and whispered with wet eyes:
“I knew your blessed husband; he was very good to me, and I’ve been
thanking the Lord he had such a wife for his reward!”
Christie was thinking of all this as she sat alone that day, and asking
herself if she should go on; for the ladies had been as grateful as the
women; had begged her to come and speak again, saying they needed just
such a mediator to bridge across the space that now divided them from
those they wished to serve. She certainly seemed fitted to act as
interpreter between the two classes; for, from the gentleman her father
she had inherited the fine instincts, gracious manners, and unblemished
name of an old and honorable race; from the farmer’s daughter, her
mother, came the equally valuable dower of practical virtues, a sturdy
love of independence, and great respect for the skill and courage that
can win it.
Such women were much needed and are not always easy to find; for even
in democratic America the hand that earns its daily bread must wear
some talent, name, or honor as an ornament, before it is very cordially
shaken by those that wear white gloves.
“Perhaps this is the task my life has been fitting me for,” she said.
“A great and noble one which I should be proud to accept and help
accomplish if I can. Others have finished the emancipation work and
done it splendidly, even at the cost of all this blood and sorrow. I
came too late to do any thing but give my husband and behold the
glorious end. This new task seems to offer me the chance of being among
the pioneers, to do the hard work, share the persecution, and help lay
the foundation of a new emancipation whose happy success I may never
see. Yet I had rather be remembered as those brave beginners are,
though many of them missed the triumph, than as the late comers will
be, who only beat the drums and wave the banners when the victory is
won.”
Just then the gate creaked on its hinges, a step sounded in the porch,
and little Ruth ran in to say in an audible whisper:
“It’s a lady, mamma, a very pretty lady: can you see her?”
“Yes, dear, ask her in.”
There was a rustle of sweeping silks through the narrow hall, a vision
of a very lovely woman in the door-way, and two daintily gloved hands
were extended as an eager voice asked: “Dearest Christie, don’t you
remember Bella Carrol?”
Christie did remember, and had her in her arms directly, utterly
regardless of the imminent destruction of a marvellous hat, or the bad
effect of tears on violet ribbons. Presently they were sitting close
together, talking with April faces, and telling their stories as women
must when they meet after the lapse of years. A few letters had passed
between them, but Bella had been abroad, and Christie too busy living
her life to have much time to write about it.
“Your mother, Bella? how is she, and where?”
“Still with Augustine, and he you know is melancholy mad: very quiet,
very patient, and very kind to every one but himself. His penances for
the sins of his race would soon kill him if mother was not there to
watch over him. And her penance is never to leave him.”
“Dear child, don’t tell me any more; it is too sad. Talk of yourself
and Harry. Now you smile, so I’m sure all is well with him.”
“Yes, thank heaven! Christie, I do believe fate means to spare us as
dear old Dr. Shirley said. I never can be gay again, but I keep as
cheerful and busy as I can, for Harry’s sake, and he does the same for
mine. We shall always be together, and all in all to one another, for
we can never marry and have homes apart you know. We have wandered over
the face of the earth for several years, and now we mean to settle down
and be as happy and as useful as we can.”
“That’s brave! I am so glad to hear it, and so truly thankful it is
possible. But tell me, Bella, what Harry means to do? You spoke in one
of your first letters of his being hard at work studying medicine. Is
that to be his profession?”
“Yes; I don’t know what made him choose it, unless it was the hope that
he might spare other families from a curse like ours, or lighten it if
it came. After Helen’s death he was a changed creature; no longer a
wild boy, but a man. I told him what you said to me, and it gave him
hope. Dr. Shirley confirmed it as far as he dared; and Hal resolved to
make the most of his one chance by interesting himself in some
absorbing study, and leaving no room for fear, no time for dangerous
recollections. I was so glad, and mother so comforted, for we both
feared that sad trouble would destroy him. He studied hard, got on
splendidly, and then went abroad to finish off. I went with him; for
poor August was past hope, and mamma would not let me help her. The
doctor said it was best for me to be away, and excellent for Hal to
have me with him, to cheer him up, and keep him steady with a little
responsibility. We have been happy together in spite of our trouble, he
in his profession, and I in him; now he is ready, so we have come home,
and now the hardest part begins for me.”
“How, Bella?”
“He has his work and loves it: I have nothing after my duty to him is
done. I find I’ve lost my taste for the old pleasures and pursuits, and
though I have tried more sober, solid ones, there still remains much
time to hang heavy on my hands, and such an empty place in my heart,
that even Harry’s love cannot fill it. I’m afraid I shall get
melancholy,—that is the beginning of the end for us, you know.”
As Bella spoke the light died out of her eyes, and they grew despairing
with the gloom of a tragic memory. Christie drew the beautiful,
pathetic face clown upon her bosom, longing to comfort, yet feeling
very powerless to lighten Bella’s burden.
But Christie’s little daughter did it for her. Ruth had been standing
near regarding the “pretty lady,” with as much wonder and admiration as
if she thought her a fairy princess, who might vanish before she got a
good look at her. Divining with a child’s quick instinct that the
princess was in trouble, Ruth flew into the porch, caught up her latest
and dearest treasure, and presented it as a sure consolation, with such
sweet good-will, that Bella could not refuse, although it was only a
fuzzy caterpillar in a little box.
“I give it to you because it is my nicest one and just ready to spin
up. Do you like pussy-pillars, and know how they do it?” asked Ruth,
emboldened by the kiss she got in return for her offering.
“Tell me all about it, darling,” and Bella could not help smiling, as
the child fixed her great eyes upon her, and told her little story with
such earnestness, that she was breathless by the time she ended.
“At first they are only grubs you know, and stay down in the earth;
then they are like this, nice and downy and humpy, when they walk; and
when it’s time they spin up and go to sleep. It’s all dark in their
little beds, and they don’t know what may happen to ’em; but they are
not afraid ’cause God takes care of ’em. So they wait and don’t fret,
and when it’s right for ’em they come out splendid butterflies, all
beautiful and shining like your gown. They are happy then, and fly away
to eat honey, and live in the air, and never be creeping worms any
more.”
“That’s a pretty lesson for rne,” said Bella softly, “I accept and
thank you for it, little teacher; I’ll try to be a patient
‘pussy-pillar’ though it is dark, and I don’t know what may happen to
me; and I’ll wait hopefully till it’s time to float away a happy
butterfly.”
“Go and get the friend some flowers, the gayest and sweetest you can
find, Pansy,” said Christie, and, as the child ran off, she added to
her friend:
“Now we must think of something pleasant for you to do. It may take a
little time, but I know we shall find your niche if we give our minds
to it.”
“That’s one reason why I came. I heard some friends of mine talking
about you yesterday, and they seemed to think you were equal to any
thing in the way of good works. Charity is the usual refuge for people
like me, so I wish to try it. I don’t mind doing or seeing sad or
disagreeable things, if it only fills up my life and helps me to
forget.”
“You will help more by giving of your abundance to those who know how
to dispense it wisely, than by trying to do it yourself, my dear. I
never advise pretty creatures like you to tuck up their silk gowns and
go down into the sloughs with alms for the poor, who don’t like it any
better than you do, and so much pity and money are wasted in
sentimental charity.”
“Then what shall I do?”
“If you choose you can find plenty of work in your own class; for, if
you will allow me to say it, they need help quite as much as the
paupers, though in a very different way.”
“Oh, you mean I’m to be strong-minded, to cry aloud and spare not, to
denounce their iniquities, and demand their money or their lives?”
“Now, Bella, that’s personal; for I made my first speech a night or two
ago.”
“I know you did, and I wish I’d heard it. I’d make mine to-night if I
could do it half as well as I’m told you did,” interrupted Bella,
clapping her hands with a face full of approval.
But Christie was in earnest, and produced her new project with all
speed.
“I want you to try a little experiment for me, and if it succeeds you
shall have all the glory; I’ve been waiting for some one to undertake
it, and I fancy you are the woman. Not every one could attempt it; for
it needs wealth and position, beauty and accomplishments, much tact,
and more than all a heart that has not been spoilt by the world, but
taught through sorrow how to value and use life well.”
“Christie, what is it? this experiment that needs so much, and yet
which you think me capable of trying?” asked Bella, interested and
flattered by this opening.
“I want you to set a new fashion: you know you can set almost any you
choose in your own circle; for people are very like sheep, and will
follow their leader if it happens to be one they fancy. I don’t ask you
to be a De Staël, and have a brilliant salon: I only want you to
provide employment and pleasure for others like yourself, who now are
dying of frivolity or ennui.”
“I should love to do that if I could. Tell me how.”
“Well, dear, I want you to make Harry’s home as beautiful and
attractive as you can; to keep all the elegance and refinement of
former times, and to add to it a new charm by setting the fashion of
common sense. Invite all the old friends, and as many new ones as you
choose; but have it understood that they are to come as intelligent men
and women, not as pleasure-hunting beaux and belles; give them
conversation instead of gossip; less food for the body and more for the
mind; the healthy stimulus of the nobler pleasures they can command,
instead of the harmful excitements of present dissipation. In short,
show them the sort of society we need more of, and might so easily have
if those who possess the means of culture cared for the best sort, and
took pride in acquiring it. Do you understand, Bella?”
“Yes, but it’s a great undertaking, and you could do it better than I.”
“Bless you, no! I haven’t a single qualification for it but the will to
have it done. I’m ‘strong-minded,’ a radical, and a reformer. I’ve done
all sorts of dreadful things to get my living, and I have neither
youth, beauty, talent, or position to back me up; so I should only be
politely ignored if I tried the experiment myself. I don’t want you to
break out and announce your purpose with a flourish; or try to reform
society at large, but I do want you to devote yourself and your
advantages to quietly insinuating a better state of things into one
little circle. The very fact of your own want, your own weariness,
proves how much such a reform is needed. There are so many fine young
women longing for something to fill up the empty places that come when
the first flush of youth is over, and the serious side of life appears;
so many promising young men learning to conceal or condemn the high
ideals and the noble purposes they started with, because they find no
welcome for them. You might help both by simply creating a purer
atmosphere for them to breathe, sunshine to foster instead of frost to
nip their good aspirations, and so, even if you planted no seed, you
might encourage a timid sprout or two that would one day be a lovely
flower or a grand tree all would admire and enjoy.”
As Christie ended with the figure suggested by her favorite work, Bella
said after a thoughtful pause:
“But few of the women I know can talk about any thing but servants,
dress, and gossip. Here and there one knows something of music, art, or
literature; but the superior ones are not favorites with the larger
class of gentlemen.”
“Then let the superior women cultivate the smaller class of men who do
admire intelligence as well as beauty. There are plenty of them, and
you had better introduce a few as samples, though their coats may not
be of the finest broadcloth, nor their fathers ‘solid men.’ Women lead
in society, and when men find that they can not only dress with taste,
but talk with sense, the lords of creation will be glad to drop mere
twaddle and converse as with their equals. Bless my heart!” cried
Christie, walking about the room as if she had mounted her hobby, and
was off for a canter, “how people can go on in such an idiotic fashion
passes my understanding. Why keep up an endless clatter about gowns and
dinners, your neighbors’ affairs, and your own aches, when there is a
world full of grand questions to settle, lovely things to see, wise
things to study, and noble things to imitate. Bella, you must try the
experiment, and be the queen of a better society than any you can reign
over now.”
“It looks inviting, and I will try it with you to help me. I know Harry
would like it, and I’ll get him to recommend it to his patients. If he
is as successful here as elsewhere they will swallow any dose he
orders; for he knows how to manage people wonderfully well. He
prescribed a silk dress to a despondent, dowdy patient once, telling
her the electricity of silk was good for her nerves: she obeyed, and
when well dressed felt so much better that she bestirred herself
generally and recovered; but to this day she sings the praises of Dr.
Carrol’s electric cure.”
Bella was laughing gaily as she spoke, and so was Christie as she
replied:
“That’s just what I want you to do with your patients. Dress up their
minds in their best; get them out into the air; and cure their ills by
the magnetism of more active, earnest lives.”
They talked over the new plan with increasing interest; for Christie
did not mean that Bella should be one of the brilliant women who shine
for a little while, and then go out like a firework. And Bella felt as
if she had found something to do in her own sphere, a sort of charity
she was fitted for, and with it a pleasant sense of power to give it
zest.
When Letty and her mother came in, they found a much happier looking
guest than the one Christie had welcomed an hour before. Scarcely had
she introduced them when voices in the lane made all look up to see old
Hepsey and Mrs. Wilkins approaching.
“Two more of my dear friends, Bella: a fugitive slave and a laundress.
One has saved scores of her own people, and is my pet heroine. The
other has the bravest, cheeriest soul I know, and is my private
oracle.”
The words were hardly out of Christie’s mouth when in they came;
Hepsey’s black face shining with affection, and Mrs. Wilkins as usual
running over with kind words.
“My dear creeter, the best of wishes and no end of happy birthdays.
There ’s a triflin’ keepsake; tuck it away, and look at it byme by.
Mis’ Sterlin’, I’m proper glad to see you lookin’ so well. Aunt Letty,
how’s that darlin’ child? I ain’t the pleasure of your acquaintance,
Miss, but I’m pleased to see you. The children all sent love, likewise
Lisha, whose bones is better sense I tried the camfire and red
flannel.”
Then they settled down like a flock of birds of various plumage and
power of song, but all amicably disposed, and ready to peck socially at
any topic which might turn up.
Mrs. Wilkins started one by exclaiming as she “laid off” her bonnet:
“Sakes alive, there’s a new picter! Ain’t it beautiful?”
“Colonel Fletcher brought it this morning. A great artist painted it
for him, and he gave it to me in a way that added much to its value,”
answered Christie, with both gratitude and affection in her face; for
she was a woman who could change a lover to a friend, and keep him all
her life.
It was a quaint and lovely picture of Mr. Greatheart, leading the
fugitives from the City of Destruction. A dark wood lay behind; a wide
river rolled before; Mercy and Christiana pressed close to their
faithful guide, who went down the rough and narrow path bearing a
cross-hilted sword in his right hand, and holding a sleeping baby with
the left. The sun was just rising, and a long ray made a bright path
athwart the river, turned Greatheart’s dinted armor to gold, and shone
into the brave and tender face that seemed to look beyond the sunrise.
“There’s just a hint of Davy in it that is very comforting to me,” said
Mrs. Sterling, as she laid her old hands softly together, and looked up
with her devout eyes full of love.
“Dem women oughter bin black,” murmured Hepsey, tearfully; for she
considered David worthy of a place with old John Brown and Colonel
Shaw.
“The child looks like Pansy, we all think,” added Letty, as the little
girl brought her nosegay for Aunty to tie up prettily.
Christie said nothing, because she felt too much; and Bella was also
silent because she knew too little. But Mrs. Wilkins with her kindly
tact changed the subject before it grew painful, and asked with sudden
interest:
“When be you a goin’ to hold forth agin, Christie? Jest let me know
beforehand, and I’ll wear my old gloves: I tore my best ones all to
rags clappin’ of you; it was so extra good.”
“I don’t deserve any credit for the speech, because it spoke itself,
and I couldn’t help it. I had no thought of such a thing till it came
over me all at once, and I was up before I knew it. I’m truly glad you
liked it, but I shall never make another, unless you think I’d better.
You know I always ask your advice, and what is more remarkable usually
take it,” said Christie, glad to consult her oracle.
“Hadn’t you better rest a little before you begin any new task, my
daughter? You have done so much these last years you must be tired,”
interrupted Mrs. Sterling, with a look of tender anxiety.
“You know I work for two, mother,” answered Christie, with the clear,
sweet expression her face always wore when she spoke of David. “I am
not tired yet: I hope I never shall be, for without my work I should
fall into despair or ennui. There is so much to be done, and it is so
delightful to help do it, that I never mean to fold my hands till they
are useless. I owe all I can do, for in labor, and the efforts and
experiences that grew out of it, I have found independence, education,
happiness, and religion.”
“Then, my dear, you are ready to help other folks into the same blessed
state, and it’s your duty to do it!” cried Mrs. Wilkins, her keen eyes
full of sympathy and commendation as they rested on Christie’s
cheerful, earnest face. “Ef the sperrit moves you to speak, up and do
it without no misgivin’s. I think it was a special leadin’ that night,
and I hope you’ll foller, for it ain’t every one that can make folks
laugh and cry with a few plain words that go right to a body’s heart
and stop there real comfortable and fillin’. I guess this is your next
job, my dear, and you’d better ketch hold and give it the right turn;
for it’s goin’ to take time, and women ain’t stood alone for so long
they’ll need a sight of boostin’.”
There was a general laugh at the close of Mrs. Wilkins’s remarks; but
Christie answered seriously: “I accept the task, and will do my share
faithfully with words or work, as shall seem best. We all need much
preparation for the good time that is coming to us, and can get it best
by trying to know and help, love and educate one another,—as we do
here.”
With an impulsive gesture Christie stretched her hands to the friends
about her, and with one accord they laid theirs on hers, a loving
league of sisters, old and young, black and white, rich and poor, each
ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happy end.
“Me too!” cried little Ruth, and spread her chubby hand above the rest:
a hopeful omen, seeming to promise that the coming generation of women
will not only receive but deserve their liberty, by learning that the
greatest of God’s gifts to us is the privilege of sharing His great
work.
[Illustration: “Each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the
happy end.”]