THE STRICKEN HOME
Henry Hill sat before the fire with his head in his hands and his elbows
upon his knees, a picture of utter dejection and sorrow. The house was
quiet with an unearthly quietness, those who were compelled to speak using
the lowest tones, and tiptoeing about. The little ones, Doyle, Lila, and
Harry, were not at home. Amy and Nell were silently, tearfully, trying to
wash the few dishes that had been used at the almost untouched breakfast.
The boys were attending to the morning chores, with faces as solemn and
hearts as heavy as each could carry. A neighbor woman, kind, sympathetic,
and busy, but with the same sadness pictured upon her face, kept coming and
going between the bedroom and the room in which Mr. Hill sat.
Only that morning the physician had been there and had told them that she
whose life had been the light and strength of the home was lying now upon
her death-bed, that she would never again rise to take the burdens of life,
that they would have to let her go. He had felt for Henry Hill as he had
spoken, for the white horror and anguish in the man’s face would have
called out sympathy from a harder heart; but he wanted to say also that had
she been given a lighter load to carry, if some of the anxiety and concern
that now stirred his heart had been expressed when his wife was well,
things might not now be as they are. But the kind doctor left these words
unsaid. Henry Hill had all he could bear without them.
The holidays, with their festivities, were over, and life had just settled
back into its every-day way, when Elizabeth Hill fell sick. She had never
been ailing before. Her children had always known her as able to take the
constant care and oversight of the family. Without her they were helpless
and distraught, for there was no one to take her place. And when after one
day’s illness it became certain that her condition was critical, the
anxiety and tension became intense. He who should have lightened her burden
long ago now awoke to her need and was constantly by her side doing all
that was in his power to restore her to health. But the black cloud settled
heavier upon the home as each day saw the mother coming nearer the gates of
death. The children looked at one another with pale faces and wide,
frightened eyes as they saw the kind neighbor women come from their
mother’s bed with averted faces.
Though all was done that could be done, they could not hold her, and one
night, with her weeping family around her, she loosed from her earthly
habitation and went away. She who had been the soul of that home, lay dead.
The calamity came upon the family like a shock. It left no spirit nor life
in them. They knew not which way to turn. From the father down to Baby
Doyle they were bereft. She to whom they had always looked for counsel and
guidance lay in a sublime sleep from which they could not waken her.
As Henry Hill looked upon the motionless form of the woman whose love and
confidence he had gained and who had been to him such a faithful wife in
spite of his fickleness, he wept, and vowed; but what are tears and vows
when the will has been weakened by self-indulgence? He looked about him
helplessly. What was he to do? What could he do without her? He was almost
a stranger to his children, and had no idea how to care for them. She had
always carried the burden, taken the oversight, been the one to go ahead.
He faced the future as helplessly as one of his little children.
Her boys looked upon her and knew that they had lost their best friend.
Home would have little more attraction for them. George and Wilbur took
selfish comfort in the thought that they were old and strong enough to care
for themselves, but Austin forgot himself in wondering what would become of
the children. The little ones spoke to Mama, but she did not answer, they
called to her, but she did not hear, and they went away weeping; for though
they could not tell what, they knew something dreadful had happened.
Kind friends and neighbors came in and did what has to be done at such a
time. They pitied with full hearts the afflicted family, and they wept for
their friend, for they too had loved her. They took her and laid her with
others of death’s sleepers in the silent churchyard, and her orphaned
children returned with their helpless father to the lonely and broken home.
Only those who have returned home after Mother is gone know what these
children and father suffered. Kind hands had put the house in order and the
familiar furniture in its accustomed place, endeavoring to make the house
look as if all were well. But they could not bring back the one who had
made this house home, and to the children it was a dreary, lonely place.
Fearfully they crept out-of-doors, only to find it as cheerless there.
That first night around the fireside without her, what a desolate place it
was! The father sat with drooped head and heaving breast, and the children
huddled together and some of them sobbed. Just to escape their misery they
went early to bed, and little pillows were wet with tears. When they were
all in bed a gentle hand tucked them in with a kind caress. “It is what
Mother would have done,” thought Austin, as he made the rounds.
In those first days of sorrow every one seemed to remember only his own
heartache: but hearts can not always lie broken; in a little while they
began to live again.
It was now, when life was dropping back into its old ways, that the
greatness of their calamity became apparent. If Henry Hill had understood
his opportunity, he might have stepped into his children’s affections and
been a true father to them. But he forgot them in his own self-pity. He was
lonely, unspeakably lonely, and the house was dreary and dull without
Mother. He who had always sought first of all his own pleasure and comfort
now reached out for solace somewhere. And he found it with his old
associates in his old haunts. When he returned to his home after these
seasons he found the gloom and emptiness there more hard to bear. He hated
with a deeper hatred the feeling of responsibility and care that was thrust
upon him by the sight of his motherless children. He felt himself sinking
under the strain, and he longed to ease himself in some way. If only a
friend had been found to take the burden and bear it, how gladly would he
have relinquished his place; but there was no one who would accept it. The
neighbors were willing to help him with the children, but none of them were
willing to do his part, and they waited for him to take the place that a
father should.
George and Wilbur were restless at home since their mother was no longer
there. It had been her influence that had kept them at home and in school
for some time, and now she was not there they felt free to go when they
wished, and they were out of the home in a short while. Night after night
when the shadows crept over the fields, only Austin was at home with the
children. It was he who cooked their meals and waited upon them. He loved
them with a yearning love, thinking always of their mother and how she had
labored for them. He was a boy thoughtful beyond his age, and, looking
ahead, he saw what probably lay in store for them. To him home meant all,
and the thought of the children’s being scattered, never to know the
sweetness of home association, was more than he could bear.
Added to his own feelings in the matter was the thought of his mother. If
she knew, how it would grieve her to have her babies among strangers, and
possibly to be ill-treated! Austin believed also that his father would be
glad to see the home circle broken and the children scattered. It seemed
that there was but one person to stand between the children and a broken
home, and that person was himself. Though but a boy of thirteen he
dedicated himself to them with a determination to stand by them and keep
the home together. He put out of his mind every thought of following the
example of his brothers, and settled himself to the care of the children.
When he had made this decision, it seemed to him that his mother was near
and was well pleased with what he had done. The children were quick to
recognize in him their true friend and champion, and turned to him as if he
had been their mother. So it was not long till apparently home was running
along as smoothly as ever. Of course those living there felt a terrible
void, which never could be filled.
Austin’s father looked on with secret satisfaction at the course the boy
was taking, glad that some one, if only this child, was willing to carry
the responsibility of home. Day after day, as the household settled back
into order and harmony, he felt his burden slipping; but the loss of his
wife was as keenly before him as ever. He had loved her as much as he was
capable of loving any one, and he felt the loss of her. Now that Austin was
doing so well with the children he determined to get away from it all for a
while.
“Austin, you could get along very well with the children if I were to be
gone a few weeks, could you not?” he asked one day. “I am not feeling well,
and it is so lonely here that I am not myself. Perhaps if I could have an
outing, I should be better able to endure it.”