MARRIED LIFE.
For a short time after their marriage, John Jr. treated Mabel with at
least a show of attention, but he was not one to act long as he did not
feel. Had Nellie been, indeed, the wife of another, he might in time
have learned to love Mabel as she deserved, but now her presence only
served to remind him of what he had lost, and at last he began to shun
her society, never seeming willing to be left with her alone, and
either repulsing or treating with indifference the many little acts of
kindness which her affectionate nature prompted. To all this Mabel was
not blind, and when once she began to suspect her true position, it was
easy for her to fancy slights where none were intended.
Thus, ere she had been two months a wife, her life was one of constant
unhappiness, and, as a matter of course, her health, which had been
much improved, began to fail. Her old racking headaches returned with
renewed force, confining her for whole days to her room, where she lay
listening in vain for the footsteps which never came, and tended only
by ’Lena, who in proportion as the others neglected her, clung to her
more and more. The trip to Saratoga was given up, John Jr. in the
bitterness of his disappointment bitterly refusing to go, and saying
there was nothing sillier than for a newly-married couple to go riding
around the country, disgusting sensible people with their fooleries. So
with a burst of tears Mabel yielded and her bridal tour extended no
further than Frankfort, whither her husband _did_ once accompany her,
dining out even then with an old schoolmate whom he chanced to meet,
and almost forgetting to call at Mr. Douglass’s for Mabel when it was
time to return home.
Erelong, too, another source of trouble arose, which shipwrecked
entirely the poor bride’s happiness. By some means or other it at last
came to Mrs. Livingstone’s knowledge that Mabel’s fortune was not only
all gone, but that her son had known it in time to prevent his marrying
her. Owing to various losses her own property had for a few years past
been gradually diminishing, and when she found that Mabel’s fortune,
which she leaned upon as an all-powerful prop, was swept away, it was
more than she could bear peaceably; and in a fit of disappointed rage
she assailed her son, reproaching him with bringing disgrace upon the
family by marrying a poor, homely, sickly girl, who would be forever
incurring expense without any means of paying it! For once, however,
she found her match, for in good round terms John Jr. bade her “go to
thunder,” his favorite point of destination for his particular friends,
at the same time saying, “he didn’t care a dime for Mabel’s money. It
was you,” said he, “who kept your eye on that, aiding and abetting the
match, and now that you are disappointed, I’m heartily glad of it.”
“But who is going to pay for her board,” asked Mrs. Livingstone.
“You’ve no means of earning it, and I hope you don’t intend to sponge
out of me, for I think I’ve enough paupers on my hands already!”
“_Board_!” roared John Jr. in a towering passion. “While you thought
her rich, you gave no heed to board or anything else; and since she has
become poor, I do not think her appetite greatly increased. You taunt
me, too, with having no means of earning my own living. Whose fault is
it?—tell me that. Haven’t you always opposed my having a profession?
Didn’t you _pet_ and _baby_ ‘Johnny’ when a boy, keeping him always at
your apron strings, and now that he’s a man, he’s not to be turned
adrift. No, madam, I shall stay, and Mabel, too, just as long as I
please.”
Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone turned her battery
upon poor Mabel, treating her with shameful neglect, intimating that
she was in the way; that the house was full, and that she never
supposed John was going to settle down at home for her to support; he
was big enough to look after himself, and if he chose to marry a wife
who had nothing, why let them go to work, as other folks did.
Mabel listened in perfect amazement, never dreaming what was meant, for
John Jr. had carefully kept from her a knowledge of her loss,
requesting his mother to do the same in such decided terms, that, hint
as strongly as she pleased, she dared not tell the whole, for fear of
the storm which was sure to follow. All this was not, of course,
calculated to add to Mabel’s comfort, and day by day she grew more and
more unhappy, generously keeping to herself, however, the treatment
which she received from Mrs. Livingstone.
“He will only dislike me the more if I complain to him of his mother,”
thought she, so the secret was kept, though she could not always
repress the tears which would start when she thought how wretched she
was.
We believe we have said elsewhere, that if there was anything
particularly annoying to John Jr., it was a sick or crying woman, and
now, when he so often found Mabel indisposed or weeping, he grew more
morose and fault-finding, sometimes wantonly accusing her of trying to
provoke him, when, in fact, she had used every means in her power to
conciliate him. Again, conscience-smitten, he would lay her aching head
upon his bosom, and tenderly bathing her throbbing temples, would
soothe her into a quiet sleep, from which she always awoke refreshed,
and in her heart forgiving him for all he had made her suffer. At such
times, John would resolve never again to treat her unkindly, but alas!
his resolutions were too easily broken. Had he married Nellie, a more
faithful, affectionate husband there could not have been. But now it
was different. A withering blight had fallen upon his earthly
prospects, and forgetting that he alone was to blame, he unjustly laid
the fault upon his innocent wife, who, as far as she was able, loved
him as deeply as Nellie herself could have done.
One morning about the first of September, John Jr. received a note,
informing him that several of his young associates were going on a
three days’ hunting excursion, in which they wished him to join. In the
large easy-chair, just before him, sat Mabel, her head supported by
pillows and saturated with camphor, while around her eyes were the dark
rings which usually accompanied her headaches. Involuntarily John Jr.
glanced toward her. Had it been Nellie, all the pleasures of the world
could not have induced him to leave her, but Mabel was altogether
another person, and more for the sake of seeing what she would say,
than from any real intention of going, he read the note aloud; then
carelessly throwing it aside, he said, “Ah, yes, I’ll go. It’ll be rare
fun camping out these moonlight nights.”
Much as she feared him, Mabel could not bear to have him out of her
sight, and now, at the first intimation of his leaving her, her lip
began to tremble, while tears filled her eyes and dropped upon her
cheeks. This was enough, and mentally styling her “a perfect cry baby,”
he resolved to go at all hazards.
“I don’t think you ought to leave Mabel, she feels so badly,” said
Anna, who was present.
“I want to know if little Anna’s got so she can dictate me, too,”
answered John, imitating her voice, and adding, that “he reckoned Mabel
would get over her bad feelings quite as well without him as with him.”
More for the sake of opposition than because she really cared, Carrie,
too, chimed in, saying that “he was a pretty specimen of a three
months’ husband,” and asking “how he ever expected to answer for all of
Mabel’s tears and headaches.”
“Hang her tears and headaches,” said he, beginning to grow angry. “She
can get one up to order any time, and for my part, I am getting
heartily tired of the sound of aches and pains.”
“Please _don’t_ talk so,” said Mabel, pressing her hands upon her
aching head, while ’Lena sternly exclaimed, “Shame on you, John
Livingstone. I am surprised at you, for I did suppose you had some
little feeling left.”
“Miss Rivers can be very eloquent when she chooses, but I am happy to
say it is entirely lost on me,” said John, leaving the room and
shutting the door with a bang, which made every one of Mabel’s nerves
quiver anew.
“What a perfect brute,” said Carrie, while ’Lena and Anna drew nearer
to Mabel, the one telling her “she would not care,” and the other
silently pressing the little hand which instinctively sought hers, as
if sure of finding sympathy.
At this moment Mrs. Livingstone came in, and immediately Carrie gave a
detailed account of her brother’s conduct, at the same time referring
her mother for proof to Mabel’s red eyes and swollen face.
“I never interfere between husband and wife,” said Mrs. Livingstone
coolly, “but as a friend, I will give Mabel a bit of advice. Without
being at all personal, I would say that few women have beauty enough to
afford to impair it by eternally crying, while fewer men have patience
enough to bear with a woman who is forever whining and complaining,
first of this and then of that. I don’t suppose that John is so much
worse than other people, and I think he bears up wonderfully,
considering his disappointment.”
Here the lady flounced out of the room, leaving the girls to stare at
each other in silence, wondering what she meant. Since her marriage,
Mabel had occupied the parlor chamber, which connected with a cozy
little bedroom and dressing-room adjoining. These had at the time been
fitted up and furnished in a style which Mrs. Livingstone thought
worthy of Mabel’s wealth, but now that she was poor, the case was
altered, and she had long contemplated removing her to more inferior
quarters. “She wasn’t going to give her the very best room in the
house. No, indeed, she wasn’t—wearing out the carpets, soiling the
furniture, and keeping everything topsy-turvy.”
She understood John Jr. well enough to know that it would not do to
approach him on the subject, so she waited, determining to carry out
her plans the very first time he should be absent, thinking when it was
once done, he would submit quietly. On hearing that he had gone off on
a hunting excursion, she thought, “Now is my time,” and summoning to
her assistance three or four servants, she removed everything belonging
to John Jr. and Mabel, to the small and not remarkably convenient room
which the former had occupied previous to his marriage.
“What are you about?” asked Anna, who chanced to pass by and looked in.
“About my business,” answered Mrs. Livingstone. I’m not going to have
my best things all worn out, and if this was once good enough for John
to sleep in, it is now.”
“But will Mabel like it?” asked Anna, a little suspicious that her
sister-in-laww’s rights were being infringed.
“Nobody cares whether she is pleased or not,” said Mrs. Livingstone.
“If she don’t like it, all she has to do is to go away.”
“Lasted jest about as long as I thought ’twood,” said Aunt Milly, when
she heard what was going on. “Ile and crab-apple vinegar won’t mix,
nohow, and if before the year’s up old miss don’t worry the life out of
that poor little sickly critter, that looks now like a picked chicken,
my name ain’t Milly Livingstone.”
The other negroes agreed with her. Constantly associated with the
family, they saw things as they were, and while Mrs. Livingstone’s
conduct was universally condemned, Mabel was a general favorite. After
Mrs. Livingstone had left the room, Milly, with one or two others,
stole up to reconnoiter.
“Now I ’clar’ for’t,” said Milly, “if here ain’t Marster John’s
bootjack, fish-line, and box of tobacky, right out in far sight, and
Miss Mabel comin’ in here to sleep. ’Pears like some white folks hain’t
no idee of what ’longs to good manners. Here, Corind, put the jack in
thar, the fish-line thar, the backy thar, and heave that ar other
thrash out o’door,” pointing to some geological specimens which from
time to time John Jr. had gathered, and which his mother had not
thought proper to molest.
Corinda obeyed, and then Aunt Milly, who really possessed good taste,
began to make some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, and
under her supervision the room began to present a more cheerful and
inviting aspect.
“Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,” said she, turning up her
broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand. “What’s
them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if ’tain’t to use.
Go, Corind, and fetch ’em.”
But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the
precaution to bring them in the tongs, so that in the _denouement_ she
could stoutly deny having even “tached ’em, or even had ’em in her
hands!” (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)
When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied. Had
she been consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for
wishing her to take another room, she would have consented willingly,
but to be thus summarily removed without a shadow of warning, hardly
came up to her ideas of justice. Still, there was no help for it, and
that night the bride of three months watered her lone pillow with
tears, never once closing her heavy eyelids in sleep until the dim
morning light came in through the open window, and the tread of the
negroes’ feet was heard in the yard below. Then, for many hours, the
weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the ill-natured remarks which
her non-appearance was eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said “it
was strange what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress Mabel
fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her
until such time as she chose to appear, but she’d find herself
mistaken, for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon her,
and if she couldn’t come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until
dinner time.”
’Lena and Milly, however, thought differently. Softly had the latter
stolen up to her cousin’s room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn
face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had come
all too soon.
“Let her sleep; it will do her good,” said ’Lena, adjusting the
bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not
disturb her, she left the chamber.
An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly preparing
a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black tea, were to be
slyly conveyed to Mabel, who was now awake.
“Reckon thar don’t nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the
roost,” said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner
of her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who,
not having seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking
the world was not, after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet a
few left who cared for her.
Her headache of the day before still remained, and ’Lena suggested that
she should stay in her room, saying that she would herself see that
every necessary attention was paid her. This she could the more readily
do, as Mrs. Livingstone had gone to Versailles with her husband. That
afternoon, as Mabel lay watching the drifting clouds as they passed and
repassed before the window, her ear suddenly caught the sound of
horses’ feet. Nearer and nearer they came, until with a cry of delight
she hid her face in the pillows, weeping for very joy—for John Jr. had
come home! She could not be mistaken, and if there was any lingering
doubt, it was soon lost in certainty, for she heard his voice in the
hall below, his footsteps on the stairs. He was coming, an unusual
thing, to see her first.
But how did he know she was there, in his old room? He did not know it;
he was only coming to put his rifle in its accustomed place, and on
seeing the chamber filled with the various paraphernalia of a woman’s
toilet, he started, with the exclamation, “What the deuce! I reckon
I’ve got into the wrong pew,” and was going away, when Mabel called him
back. “Meb, you here?” said he. “_You_ in this little tucked-up hole,
that I always thought too small for me and my traps! What does it
mean?”
Mabel had carefully studied the tones of her husband’s voice, and
knowing from the one he now assumed that he was not displeased with
her, the sense of injustice done her by his mother burst out, and
throwing her arms around his neck, she told him everything connected
with her removal, asking what his mother meant by saying, “she should
never get anything for their board,” and begging him “to take her away
where they could live alone and be happy.”
Since he had left her, John Jr. had _thought_ a great deal, the result
of which was, that he determined on returning home much sooner than he
at first intended, promising himself to treat Mabel decently, and if
possible win back the respect of ’Lena, which he knew he had lost. To
his companions, who urged him to remain, he replied that “he had left
his wife sick, and he could not stay longer.”
It cost him a great effort to say “my wife,” for never before had he so
called her, but he felt better the moment he had done so, and bidding
his young friends adieu, he started for home with the same impetuous
speed which usually characterized his riding. He had fully expected to
meet Mabel in the parlor, and was even revolving in his own mind the
prospect of kissing her, provided ’Lena were present. “That’ll prove to
her,” thought he, “that I am not the hardened wretch she thinks I am;
so I’ll do it, if Meb doesn’t happen to be all bound up in camphor and
aromatic vinegar, which I can’t endure, anyway.”
Full of this resolution he had hastened home, going first to his old
room, where he had come so unexpectedly upon Mabel that for a moment he
scarcely knew what to say. By the time, however, that she had finished
her story, his mind was pretty well made up.
“And so it’s mother’s doings, hey?” said he, violently pulling the
bell-rope, and then walking up and down the room until Corinda appeared
in answer to his summons.
“How many blacks are there in the kitchen?” he asked.
“Six or seven, besides Aunt Polly,” answered Corinda.
“Very well. Tell every man of them to come up here, quick.”
Full of wonder Corinda departed, carrying the intelligence, and adding
that “Marster John looked mighty black in the face”, and she reckoned
some on ’em would catch it, at the same time, for fear of what might
happen, secretly conveying back to the safe the piece of cake which, in
her mistress’ absence, she had stolen! Aunt Milly’s first thought was
of the frosted candlesticks, and by way of impressing upon Corinda a
sense of what she might expect if in any way she implicated her, she
gave her a cuff in advance, bidding her “be keerful how she blabbed”,
then heading the sable group, she repaired to the chamber, where John
Jr. was awaiting them.
Advancing toward them, as they appeared in the doorway, he said, “Take
hold here, every one of you, and move these things back where they came
from.”
“Don’t, oh don’t,” entreated Mabel, but laying his hand over her mouth,
John Jr. bade her keep still, at the same time ordering the negroes “to
be quick.”
At first the younger portion of the blacks stood speechless, but Aunt
Milly, comprehending the whole at once, and feeling glad that her
mistress had her match in her son, set to work with a right good will,
and when about dusk Mrs. Livingstone came home, she was astonished at
seeing a light in the parlor chamber, while occasionally she could
discern the outline of a form moving before the window. What could it
mean? Perhaps they had company, and springing from the carriage she
hastened into the house, meeting ’Lena in the hall, and eagerly asking
who was in the front chamber.
“I believe,” said ’Lena, “that my cousin is not pleased with the
change, and has gone back to the front room.”
“The impudent thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone, ignorant of her son’s
return, and as a matter of course attributing the whole to Mabel.
Darting up the stairs, she advanced toward the chamber and pushing open
the door stood face to face with John Jr., who, with hands crammed in
his pockets and legs crossed, was leaning against the mantel, waiting
and ready for whatever might occur.
“John Livingstone!” she gasped in her surprise.
“That’s my name,” he returned, quietly enjoying her look of amazement.
“What do you mean?” she continued.
“Mean what I say,” was his provoking answer.
“What have you been about?” was her next question, to which he replied,
“Your eyesight is not deficient—you can see for yourself.”
Gaining no satisfaction from him, Mrs. Livingstone now turned upon
Mabel, abusing her until John Jr. sternly commanded her to desist,
bidding her “confine her remarks to himself, and let his wife alone, as
she was not in the least to blame.”
“Your wife!” repeated Mrs. Livingstone—“very affectionate you’ve grown,
all at once. Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you married her to spite
Nellie, who you then believed was the bride of Mr. Wilbur, but you
surely remember how you fainted when you accidentally learned your
mistake.”
A cry from Mabel, who fell back, fainting, among the pillows, prevented
Mrs. Livingstone from any further remarks, and satisfied with the
result of her visit, she walked away, while John Jr., springing to the
bedside, bore his young wife to the open window, hoping the cool night
air would revive her. But she lay so pale and motionless in his arms,
her head resting so heavily upon his shoulder, that with a terrible
foreboding he laid her back upon the bed, and rushing to the door,
shouted loudly, “Help—somebody—come quick—Mabel is dead, I know she
is.”
’Lena heard the cry and hastened to the rescue, starting back when she
saw the marble whiteness of Mabel’s face.
“I didn’t kill her, ’Lena. God knows I didn’t. Poor little Meb,” said
John Jr., quailing beneath ’Lena’s rebuking glance, and bending
anxiously over the slight form which looked so much like death.
But Mabel was not dead. ’Lena knew it by the faint fluttering of her
heart, and an application of the usual remedies sufficed, at last, to
restore her to consciousness. With a long-drawn sigh her eyes unclosed,
and looking earnestly in ’Lena’s face, she said, “Was it a dream,
’Lena? Tell me, was it all a dream?”—then, as she observed her husband,
she added, shudderingly, “No, no, not a dream. I remember it all now.
And I wish I was dead.”
Again ’Lena’s rebuking glance went over to John Jr., who, advancing
nearer to Mabel, gently laid his hand upon her white brow, saying,
softly, “Poor, poor Meb.”
There was genuine pity in the tones of his voice, and while the hot
tears gushed forth, the sick girl murmured, “Forgive me, John, I
couldn’t help it. I didn’t know it, and now, if you say so, I’ll go
away, alone—where you’ll never see me again.”
She comprehended it all. Her mother-in-law had rudely torn away the
veil, and she saw why she was there—knew why he had sought her for his
wife—understood all his coldness and neglect; but she had no word of
reproach for him, her husband, and from the depths of her crushed heart
she forgave him, commiserating him as the greater sufferer.
“May be I shall die,” she whispered, “and then——”
She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John Jr.
understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as it
did, he felt half inclined to declare, with his usual impulsiveness,
that it should never be; but the rash promise was not made, and it was
far better that it should not be.