FOR LUKE'S SAKE.
Luke paced up and down the lawn of his pretty Rectory. The moon was
shedding its silver light on grass and trees; the flowers were flinging
their perfume around him; a nightingale trilled out its song from a
tree in the distance; but it all meant nothing to Luke. His soul was
crying out for crowds of human beings; for his fellow men; for the rush
and excitement of city life; for the tumult and whirl of London.
The silence of this summer night broken only by the song of the
nightingale was almost unbearable. The thought of his village church
sparsely filled with farmers and their wives, and labourers, who
listened to him with their mouths open in astonishment at the oratory
of their new "parson," the remembrance of the cottages nestling on the
hill below the Rectory, with their walls covered with roses and honey
suckle, and whose occupants he had already visited several times during
his short stay among them, had no charm for him.
He longed for strenuous work in courts and alleys, for congregations of
people who could appreciate his sermons; he pined for London platforms
and enthralled listeners to his eloquence. He felt he was wasted,
utterly wasted in this quiet village on the hill that Rachel so loved.
Yes, Rachel loved it. That was the only compensation. Gradually it
seemed that her health was returning. The open air life and comparative
rest from worry were doing their work; and only a few minutes before,
she had left him rejoicing in all the beauty of their surroundings, its
peace and quietness. She revelled in the flowers and trees and soft
green grass.
When Luke had told her two months ago of the Bishop's offer of
Stagland, the news had struck her as so wonderful that she had burst
into tears. She knew that a few more months in Trowsby would mean that
she would have to say goodbye to husband and child and leave them to
get through life alone; and the lifting of that burden seemed almost
too good to be true. Moreover, living at Stagland meant an end to
the perpetual struggle of keeping within their means, an end too of
housework, for which she was entirely unfit. She decided before many
hours were over to take the faithful little Polly as nursemaid and to
help in the house, with another general servant. They would be able
to grow their own vegetables and fruit, and no doubt Luke would do a
certain amount of work in the garden with a man to help. The whole
plan seemed ideal to Rachel. She lay awake thinking of it at night and
panting for the fresh air of the country.
At times, however, she wondered if she ought to let Luke sacrifice
himself to the extent of living in the country. Would he be able to
endure it? Would he have enough to occupy his time? Was it right that
a young and strong man should take a country living and spend his best
years among fields and hedges instead of courts and alleys?
She looked anxiously at his face when he did not know that her eyes
were upon him, and was afraid that she detected a shade of sadness in
its expression. Luke, however, was very careful not to let her know by
his words how almost unbearable the thought of the country was to him.
But when Rachel was not with him he gave way to his miserable thoughts.
He had been inexpressibly touched by the warmth of feeling displayed by
some of the members of his congregation at Trowsby when they heard that
he was leaving them. As is often the case, he learnt then for the first
time that which would have immensely encouraged him had he known it
before, that he had helped so many of them spiritually. It made leaving
them all the harder, though at the same time it warmed his heart to
find that he had been used far more than he had imagined for the good
of their souls. The last two Sundays at Trowsby, the Church had been
full to overflowing, and he had again the wonderful feeling of being
able to sway men's minds.
As he paced up and down in the moonlight, he lifted his eyes to the
starlit sky and cried to God to forgive all his past unsatisfactoriness
and to make him once more of use in the world.
As for Rachel she was in a dream of happiness. In fact it seemed as if
life had suddenly opened to her in all its rich fulness. The presence
of her husband, her child, the country air laden with all sorts of
perfume; the feeling of rest and quiet after the strain and stress of
Trowsby; and the consciousness that she was getting her strength back
and had not to be always thinking of ways and means, filled her with
thankfulness. Moreover, she had a most faithful nursemaid in Polly who
she counted distinctly as one of her blessings. Polly's devotion to Pat
showed itself in many ways; and Rachel felt that she could trust the
child perfectly to her when she was feeling unable to make any effort
on his behalf. For though she knew she was gradually getting stronger
she was conscious that her amount of strength was at present very small
and that any unnecessary effort was bad for her.
"I am going to Trowsby," said Luke one morning. "I am not happy about
my mother. Her letters strike me as rather depressed."
"I am afraid that she must miss you very much," said Rachel.
"I fancy that is what is making her depressed. Anyhow I shall go and
find out. I shall rather like to be in Trowsby again," he added.
"You mustn't like it so much that you'll want to be back again," said
Rachel.
Luke laughed. He would have given the world to be back again, but he
did not tell her so. Anyhow it would do him good just to have a look at
the people. And if he started quite early in the morning, by 7.30, he
would have a long day before he need return by the 8 o'clock train.
The streets of Trowsby did for him what the trees and flowers did for
his wife. He felt he could breathe again, and the depression that had
weighed him down rolled away. His first visit was to the church. It was
empty. After kneeling in prayer, he sat down and lived over again the
Sundays he had spent there. He remembered the crowded building, the
earnest listeners, the hearty singing, and compared it with his present
village Church.
Then with a sigh he rose and made his way to his mother's rooms. That
she was missing him terribly, he saw at once.
"You must come and live with us," he said. "Why not?"
"My dear I could not do that," she answered. "If Rachel asked me that
would be another thing. But she is not likely to do that."
"But why not?" said Luke. "I am quite sure she would be delighted. I
can't think why the plan was not thought of before."
Mrs. Greville smiled.
"Have you ever come across a daughter-in-law who would welcome such an
idea? I haven't. No, it would not answer."
"Perhaps not with most people; but you are different. I can't imagine
Rachel not liking the suggestion. Of course she would be only too
delighted."
Mrs. Greville shook her head. "It is impossible," she said. "I like
Rachel and admire her in many ways, but I am perfectly sure that our
feelings for one another would be strained and uncomfortable. I don't
know if you are aware she has never once called me mother. I am Mrs.
Greville to her and nothing more."
"What?" exclaimed Luke.
Mrs. Greville, seeing her son's astonishment, was sorry that she had
mentioned the fact to him.
"Oh it really does not signify," she hurried to say. "I daresay it has
never struck her. And I have not a word to say against her. She is a
very nice girl and an excellent wife. But you see the kind of footing
we are on. She would not welcome me I am quite sure."
"I am convinced that you are mistaken," said Luke. The idea had never
entered his mind, that his wife and mother were not on the closest of
terms with one another. His mother, he felt sure, was depressed from
her late illness and was looking at things through dark spectacles.
"You must put those ideas quite away from you," he said, "and you must
come and live with us. Wouldn't you like it?"
"I have never liked the thought of the country. But of course it would
be far less lonely and I suppose I could find enough to do in the
village."
"Of course you would. You could start all sorts of things which Rachel
is not in a fit state to do."
"Well I shall not come unless I am definitely asked by your wife,"
said Mrs. Greville, "as I am convinced that I should not be welcomed.
Neither do I think it at all wise for a mother-in-law to take up her
abode with her son and his wife. You will see that I am right."
Luke made the best of his time in Trowsby. He visited every member of
his men's Bible class; had tea with Mrs. Stone, looked up the district
visitors and finally found himself just in time to spring into the 8
o'clock train as it was moving out of the station.
Meanwhile Rachel had had a lovely day in the garden. Little Pat was in
his perambulator by her side, crowing and happy. The birds were singing
in the trees above her. The gardener was cutting the grass in another
part of the garden with a scythe; that most delicious of all sounds; an
occasional heavily laden cart passed in the lane near by. She rejoiced
in every sight, sound, and smell, and the quiet and peace were as balm
to her spirit.
When baby was taken away to be put to sleep for the night Rachel still
lay on under the trees, and was fast asleep herself when Luke opened
the gate.
"Have you had a nice day?" she said, as she awoke at the sound of
his footstep. But she saw the question was unnecessary. His face was
radiant.
"First-rate," he said, taking a seat by her side. "I enjoyed every
minute of it."
"How is your mother?"
For the moment Luke had forgotten about his suggestion to his mother;
and the sudden remembrance of her words made him hesitate before
answering; then he said:
"Of course she misses me terribly. I don't feel happy at her being so
far away."
He was so afraid of seeing by the expression on his wife's face that
his mother was right in her judgment, that he kept his eyes on the tree
above him. Rachel was silent. A sudden presentiment filled her mind and
made her heart flutter.
Was Luke wanting his mother to live with them? Was it possible that
such a thought had entered his mind! How could she bear it? She had
grown to like Mrs. Greville, indeed to love her in a way.
Her devotion to little Pat was almost pathetic and had drawn them
together. But to have her in the house, for the peace to be interrupted
by her restless activities; to hear her loud voice disturbing the quiet
of the home and garden! How could she bear it! And yet—yes she was sure
from the look on Luke's face as he gazed up into the tree, that this
was what he wanted to propose and for some reason felt nervous of doing
so. She was silent; then mastering herself she said quietly:
"Of course she must miss you terribly. What a pity Trowsby is so far
away." With a fear lest he should then and there propose to her what
she believed would wreck the happiness and peace of the home, she added
quickly, "I think it is getting a little damp and chilly. Will you
bring in my chair dear."
Luke was all concern in a moment. Rachel must not get cold. He folded
up the chair and followed her into the house. He was just a little
surprised that Rachel had not caught his thought. She was generally so
quick at discovering his meaning; but evidently the idea of his mother
living with them had never crossed her mind. He must try and broach the
subject again later on. Had it not been for his mother's words he would
not have felt the slightest hesitation in doing so; but what she had
said was making him find it a little difficult for the first time to
tell Rachel his wish.
"What is the time?" asked Rachel as she paused at the door of the
drawing-room.
"Half past nine."
"Then I shall go straight to bed," she said. "Polly has laid your
supper in the dining-room. I must wait to hear all about your day till
to-morrow, then I shall be fresher."
On reaching her bedroom Rachel locked the door and sank into a chair.
The shock of the discovery of what was in Luke's mind made her feel
quite faint. Was her cup of happiness to be taken from her? She had
so enjoyed having her husband and child to herself—and so thankful
that for a time, at least, the subject of economy could be put on one
side—that she need not worry any more over eggs being 4d each or that
margarine was cheaper than butter. She hoped that she had left all
that behind in Trowsby for ever; but she was convinced that if Mrs.
Greville lived with them the subject of economy would continually crop
up whether it were needful or not. Ways and means were too interesting
a topic to her mother-in-law to allow of her dropping it for long.
Then there were the servants. Polly had a rooted objection to Mrs.
Greville, and as for her new maid she was one who disliked any
interference. Rachel felt that she would certainly lose her, and if it
were not for Polly's devotion to little Pat and herself, there would
have been small chance of keeping even her. Anyhow the peace and the
intense happiness would be gone. She would feel that she had lost both
husband and child. Mrs. Greville would dominate them all and would rule
the house. Rachel knew by this time, moreover, that her ideas on the
bringing up of children were in direct opposition to her own.
What should she do if Luke asked her outright to invite her
mother-in-law to live with them? Should she tell him of the
difficulties which would certainly arise? Would it be possible to talk
them over together without hurting him too much? But no. She knew that
Luke would not in the least understand them. It would only make matters
worse. She must either put her foot down and say decidedly that it
could not be, or give way.
Rachel in her distress knew there was only one thing to do. Only one
answer to give. She must just pray for strength to do what she knew was
her duty; and to take up the cross without murmuring.
Luke was spared the ordeal he had begun to dread; for at breakfast the
next morning Rachel looked at him across the table with a smile.
"I have been thinking about your mother," she said. "Why not ask her to
come and live with us. Would she like it?"
Luke's whole face lit up.
"That is exactly what I should wish, dearest," he said. "But will it
put more on you? Happily we have Emma, and two servants ought to be
able to work the house well."
"Anyhow," said Rachel, "we might try the experiment."
"I'll write this morning," said Luke joyfully. "No, it would come
better from you. And Rachel," he said, with a little hesitation, "call
her 'mother' will you? That would bring her I know. She would feel we
really wanted her."
Rachel laughed. Had she not laughed she would have cried.
"All right," she said. "You shall see my letter before it goes."
Luke was overjoyed. He was so glad that he had been right. There was
evidently no feeling whatever against his mother's coming in Rachel's
judgment. In fact she was evidently pleased at the suggestion. He
would write also and tell his mother that she had been quite wrong in
imagining that his wife would not like the plan.
Rachel dashed off her letter as quickly as she could lest her heart
should fail her, and showed it to Luke.
"Dear Mother," she wrote;
"Why not come and live with us? You would
like this place and would feel much less
lonely than living on in Trowsby. We do not
like to think of you there by yourself."
"Your affectionate daughter-in-law,"
"Rachel."
Rachel pointed to the beginning as Luke took it in his hands, saying,
"I have called her mother for love of you."
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