JOYS AND SORROWS.
"THANK you, Mr. Wallingford," returned Marion, her cheeks glowing with
pleasure. "I loved Gerty the first time I saw her; and now it will
be such happiness to feel that you have left her in my charge. Papa
doesn't want your money. He's always doing kind things for every body;
and he will take his reward in hearing my pet sing."
But the gentleman insisted that he could not take the trouble to
unclasp his portemonnaie again, and left the bills on the table where
Dr. Gilbert had quietly deposited them.
"I have a condition too," explained Marion as they were walking
together to Mr. Dudley's. "I want this arrangement to be entirely
between Gerty and myself."
"Why so?"
"You are too shrewd a lawyer to ask me to explain."
"Do you imagine my brother-in-law will object?"
"Perhaps not in so many words, but he knows I have heard some remarks
concerning his neglect of his child-wife; and she might be annoyed,—I
may not feel right about it; but I fear obstacles would be thrown in
the way of our meeting daily, as we must; for I intend to give my
little friend lessons in housekeeping as well as in literature."
"Wallingford," said Paul in the evening of the same day when Marion had
accompanied Gertrude to her chamber; "Will you take charge of a lady to
New York? A friend of mine, Miss Richmond, whom you met at our house in
Philadelphia, has been spending a few months in Chicago, and wishes to
return home. Do you remember her?"
"Yes, I saw her the other evening as you were coming out of the
theatre."
Paul started to his feet. "And never said a word about it, Ned? That's
not like the old friend you used to be. The fact was I had engaged to
attend her there before I knew of your coming; and I was ashamed—that
is, it—would have been awkward to tell my wife I was going to a place
of amusement with another lady."
"Decidedly; especially when that lady was one with whom you once
fancied yourself desperately in love."
"Pshaw! Well, Wallingford, it's no use denying she's a splendid girl.
Did you know she's become very rich? I suppose I might have married her
if I'd known what a fortune she would have. It will be the making of
Johnson."
"What Johnson?"
"R. D., Firm of Johnson, Morgan & Co., Wall Street, New York. They're
engaged, though few in Chicago are aware of it beside myself, whom she
honored with her confidence."
"If you had not been in such a hurry to marry a child only just
commencing her education, you might have won the heiress for yourself,"
remarked Edward coolly.
"Just so. Not that I don't love Gerty, and all that," was the somewhat
confused rejoinder; "but now that the excitement has past, I don't deny
it was a mistake. We ought to have waited as you urged us to do."
"Will you give me back my sister, Paul?"
Wallingford had turned and was looking his companion full in the eye.
"What do you mean?"
"To take her home with me and provide teachers for her; to let Hannah
fit her for a housekeeper; and allow the poor child some of the freedom
from care, other children of her age enjoy."
"She wouldn't consent."
And this was true. When her brother proposed it, offering to persuade
Paul to allow her to go back with him for a year or more; she answered
seriously:
"He is my husband; and I have no right to leave him. I know he has not
had much comfort in his home; but Marion is going to teach me to be a
better wife; and I want to try at least to do right."
Our part of Gertrude's new régime was to walk out for, at least, an
hour before dinner. She usually accompanied Marion to market; and
together they made their purchases for the next day, the articles being
sent home in the evening. In the course of a month she could select a
suitable piece for roasting or boiling, could judge which was tough
or tender, and was every day growing more skilful in the purchase of
household supplies.
"If I only knew when Paul would dine at home," she said one day to her
young teacher, "I could surprise him with a nice dinner; but I suppose
it is dull for him to leave all those gentlemen just for poor, stupid
me."
This summer was the most profitable, and in some respects the happiest,
Gertrude had ever passed. To be sure her health was delicate; and there
were many days when if she had yielded to the lassitude which oppressed
her, she would not have risen from her couch; but she was beginning to
find the reward of those who try to please their Saviour. She went to
her heavenly Father as a loving child does to an earthly one, pleading
his promise that all things, to them who love him shall work together
for good. In a dim way her childish heart was learning to rest on him,
and to feel that the discipline she was passing through, was what she
needed for the perfection of her character. She had not the slightest
idea that these exercises were gracious ones, giving evidence, that she
was renewed in the spirit and temper of her mind; and often in talking
with Dr. Gilbert, whom she had come to revere above every other earthly
friend, she said, in her frank, artless way:
"If I were a Christian I should not find it so hard to keep evil
thoughts out of my mind. It would be easy to remember when I am angry,
that Jesus returned not a word to the railing of his enemies."
Instructed by her kind pastor, Gerty was learning that the warfare
between indwelling sin and a yearning after holiness would have to be
maintained as long as we are in a wicked world; but that the victories
the child of God achieves, yield to the soul a sweet peace which all
the pleasures of the earth can never give.
In her studies the young wife made rapid advancement, considering the
circumstances in which she was placed. With a wisdom for which none of
her friends gave her credit, she insisted on reviewing her studies from
the very foundation.
"I am shamefully deficient," she exclaimed, raising her bright eyes
to Marion's. "I used to worry poor Hannah almost to death, wandering
in the field and cultivating the acquaintance of the birds, beasts
and insects. You say I seldom use bad grammar or slang phrases. No
credit is due to me, for I was never allowed in such expressions; and
associating almost entirely with brother and Hannah, I imitated their
manner of speech."
It was amusing to see the young girl walking the chamber repeating
aloud, subjunctive, potential and other moods, then turning to her
spelling book and committing column after column with praiseworthy
diligence. Every week a composition was written, in the form of a
letter, which was sent for the perusal of Edward and Hannah; and which
were of no little interest to the readers. By them her old friend grew
to trace the workings of the Spirit in the heart of her beloved charge,
while in her brother they excited a wish, that he too might experience
the joys of religion.
There were also private epistles, which resulted in Hannah's making
several trips to New York; and at last in, the arrival of a box from
Rose Cottage, marked, Mrs. Paul Dudley. In October Hannah herself was
coming, to stay one or two months; and perhaps till Gertrude could go
back with her in the spring.
I wish truth allowed me to say that Mr. Dudley grew more tender and
considerate of his wife, the more she needed his loving care. He
had succeeded in gaining the confidence of the public as a business
man, and had as much practice as he could well attend to. He had
given up going into society as frequently as at first, but did not
therefore devote more time to his family. He staid late at his office,
coming home at any hour in the night, greatly to the disturbance of
poor Gerty's rest. He saw that she was often pale and nervous, but
attributed it to any thing else rather that his own neglect; or the
disappointment which, let her strive against it as she might, was
gradually chilling the fervor of her affection for her husband. At
her request he had allowed her a sum for weekly expenses; but often
grumbled at her foolish extravagance; and at his own folly in burdening
himself with the trials of housekeeping.
Occasionally there would be an angry flash in her eye, which reminded
him of the bitter experience of the first months, when she so stoutly
rebelled at being broken into the matrimonial harness, as to his boon
companions, he facetiously called it; and sometimes she retorted in a
bitter tone; but generally the trembling of her lip, a huskiness in her
voice, or a suspicious moisture in her eye, was the only evidence of
the pain his conduct gave her.
To no one except her Saviour did she repeat these grievances. She
would not allow her good Bridget even to sympathize with her about her
husband's unkindness.
"Don't! You mean kindly, I know;—but you hurt me," she would say,
putting her hand upon her heart.
"Perhaps," she said one day to herself when with a burst of tears she
had run to her chamber after a cutting sarcasm, from Paul, "Perhaps, if
he had continued kind and loving as at first, I might not have found a
heavenly Friend;—one who understands the infirmities of his creatures;
and will not try them more than they are able to bear."
A week before Hannah was expected, came the sad intelligence that she
had fallen down stairs and broken her ancle. This disappointment was
greater than poor Gerty could endure with any degree of calmness. Paul
brought home the letter, and when she held it out to him with a cry
of dismay, he made fun of her grief. Her tears flowed fast now as she
realized her desolate condition. She was too deeply anxious to notice
his sneering voice, saying:
"I wouldn't be such a cry baby. Why don't you show a little sense?
There are other nurses beside Hannah." But finding she made no effort
to control herself, he said in a loud voice, shaking her shoulder:
"Stop crying this minute, Gertrude. You act like a child; and you shall
be treated like one." She fell back in a fit of hysterics, crying and
laughing, her hands growing every moment more cold, until he grew
really alarmed.
Bridget wild with excitement flew to the rescue; one moment weeping
over her darling mistress, and kissing the cold hands; the next turning
fiercely upon her master.
"You're the most unnatural husband the world houlds in it," she
exclaimed, confronting him. "Ye've killed her with yer hard words, and
she never letting me lisp a whisper of comfort. An angel out of heaven
couldn't be more meek and condescinding to yer whims than she, poor
crather; and now ye've killed her entirely."
"Do you think there is any danger, Bridget?" he asked, suddenly growing
pale.
"Indade, and there is. If ye had the sinse of a man, let alone a
lawyer, ye'd be off for the doctor at oncet."
Without a word he put on his hat, when she rattled after him:
"If she iver does come back to her sinses, 'twould be the greatest
comfort of her life to see Mrs. Gilbert. That's the truth out of
Bridget McCarty's mouth, and ye may do what ye plaze with it."