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CHAPTER XX
"The feeling of a parent never dies
But with our moral nature; all in vain.
The wretch by cold and cruel spurning tries
To change that love to hate." Percival.
Afternoon.
Emily received to-day a hastily written note from Lucy Lee, requesting her to call as soon as possible. I long to know what has happened. The Doctor visits the old gentleman once in a few weeks. Perhaps I have not told you that he has several times met Allen there. I am afraid Joseph has come home, and found out that he has renewed his visits.
Wednesday, April 5th.
I was entirely wrong in my fears about Lucy. She had received a letter from a physician in the city who was called to Joseph, and who says he is now so ill, that he deemed it advisable to notify his family. Lucy inferred from the account, which was rather guarded, that it was an attack of the delirium tremens, brought on by his late excesses, hastened perhaps by the fact of his leaving home the last week extremely angry because his father refused to advance him any more money. Joseph ascribed it to Lucy's influence over the old man, and vowed revenge.
The forgiving sister no sooner heard of the dangerous illness of her brother, than she wished to go to him. She could not endure the thought of his being left alone in his sickness. Emily encouraged her to go at once, and offered to remain with her father, to which her friend gratefully acceded.
The Doctor whom they consulted, advised them to tell the Squire frankly where she was going, as if it resulted as they feared, he must then be told.
During the long, long months of his confinement, Frank had observed a gradual softening of the old gentleman's feelings, not only toward his daughter, but upon religious subjects. He thinks that the daily reading of the Scriptures by Lucy and also witnessing in her every-day life the religion of Jesus so beautifully exemplified, has produced a good effect on the heart so long hard and obdurate. Frank readily undertook to prepare his patient for the temporary absence of his daughter, while Emily assisted her in making arrangements for her immediate departure.
Nor was the Doctor disappointed. Squire Lee was indeed shocked at the dangerous condition of his son and heir; but he instantly sent for Lucy, and desired her to consult her own feelings and sense of duty relative to joining him. She took a most affectionate leave of her father, whose sorrow at parting with her might seem uncalled for, were it not remembered that the dear girl had been for a long time his sole companion, his nurse, daughter, friend and comforter. Her couch occupies a room where she is within the sound of his voice; and it is not at all unusual for her to arise at midnight to administer to him or to read a few soothing words to allay the restlessness which is almost invariably an accompaniment of a complaint like his.
Thursday, April 6th.
Mother will remain with me during Emily's absence. Pauline continues to gain in health and strength. I was very much affected last night at her tenderness of feeling. She was kneeling by my side to say her prayers before retiring, when all at once she stopped and began to sob.
"My dear little daughter, why do you cry?"
"Dear Mamma," she replied, still sobbing, "my cousin told me when he was going away, that I must pray every night, that God would help him to become a good man; and when I was going to ask God, I remembered that Joseph had gone, and it made me cry." She looked very earnestly at me as she inquired, "Isn't my cousin good, mamma?"
"I hope he is, my love," I answered, as I thought of his parting request to the dear child.
I was making a few purchases in the village this morning, when I felt some one slightly pulling my dress. I turned around and saw the sweet face of Anna Reynolds, lighted up with such a joyous expression, that it sent a warm gush of feeling through my heart.
"Please, Mrs. Lenox, excuse me," said she in a low tone and with far more than all the grace of a lady of the court. "I saw you here, and I desired to tell you how very happy we all are at home. My father has come back;" and she reached up to whisper, "he never drinks rum now, and we all go to church together. Mother says, who knows but Willie and I may live in Rose Cottage yet? You know that was once our home."
I requested her to wait a moment while I paid for my purchases, and then I took her hand and walked part of the way with her.
From her simple story, I learned in addition to what I already knew, that through the kindness of Thomas Jones, her father had procured steady employment for the summer with a farmer in the neighborhood, where he was entirely free from temptation. I warmly sympathized with Anna's delight at having a father. She had never before known the happiness.
I came home and told Frank the good news of the happiness of the Reynolds family. When I informed him that Thomas Jones had procured him work away from temptation, and had given him a whole suit of clothes so that he could go to meeting, he was very busy reading; but he looked up in a minute as if he had heard all, and with a queer look, said he was glad I knew how to rejoice with those that rejoiced, as well as to weep with those that weep.
Saturday, April 8th.
Lucy Lee returned rather unexpectedly last evening. Her brother Joseph did not know her; and the physician thought it not safe for her to be there. To say the least, it was exceedingly unpleasant to the dear girl. There were no women to be seen in the establishment. It required the strength of two men to manage him during his fits of frenzy. Lucy wept as she confessed she could have submitted to every inconvenience to be with him, were it not for his horribly profane and lewd conversation. He seemed living over again midnight scenes of debauchery. "Oh! Oh!!" exclaimed the poor weeping girl, "I never imagined anything half so awful." She only saw her brother twice, once on the morning and again in the afternoon of the day of her arrival. She said, even the attendants who were used to such scenes, confessed that they had never witnessed one half so bad.
Emily came home early this morning, and has interested us much in her account of Squire Lee. She says, it is hard for her to realize that he is the same man who so cruelly spurned his innocent, trembling daughter from his feet, so lovingly does he now speak to her.
At the usual hour for him to hear reading, Emily brought out the Bible and began the story of Christ's sufferings and death. Chapter after chapter was called for and listened to with breathless interest. When Emily closed the book, he looked around as if missing something, and sister saw his eye rest on a book of prayer. She arose and brought it to him, not exactly understanding what was expected. He shook his head.
"Would you like to hear a prayer?" He bowed his assent, and turning to the prayer for the day of the week, and kneeling near him, she read aloud.
His right hand supported his head, and when sister arose, the tears were trickling through his fingers and down upon his cheeks. Several times, she heard him say, "poor Joseph, soul and body – lost by rum – God forgive me." Many similar expressions fell from his lips.
Allen came in every day during Lucy's absence, and Emily thought that the old gentleman received pleasure from his visits. He was a great assistance to her in changing the position of the sufferer, whose left side is so paralyzed as to render it impossible for him to raise himself from the easy chair in which he sits.
One incident which occurred I must not omit. Squire Lee made a remark to which Emily naturally replied, "from what I remember of Mrs. Lee, Lucy very much resembles her mother."
This led to the mention of the portrait in the parlor. The old gentleman sighed, for he remembered how touchingly his kneeling daughter had appealed to it when he was last below. "I should think," said Emily, "Lucy would have it hung there, where you can see it from your chair," pointing to a vacant place on the wall.
After a moment's pause, he replied, "since it has been changed to the new frame I have not thought it as natural." Joseph had purchased and brought from the city some years since massive and heavy frames, and the sweet face so subdued and tender looked out of keeping with its surroundings.
After a few moments, Emily called the attendants to remain with her patient, and hastening to Mrs. Burns, asked if the old frames to the portraits were in existence. Together they ascended to the garret, found the very article for which they were searching, packed away with old rubbish. Almost trembling at her own daring, she carried it below, removed the picture from its massive frame with the ready assistance of the house-keeper, and soon had it replaced in its old case. The question now was how to get it into the room.
Mrs. Burns said, "Lucy would never dare to propose the thing to her father. She has been trodden upon so long, she has no will of her own." Determined to carry out her plan, now that she had gone so far, Emily arranged the cord and tassel so that she could hang it up in an instant, and setting it down at the door of the room, returned to her charge. She playfully suggested to him the idea of a look from the window, and wheeled the chair around for that purpose, when quickly catching the frame from its hiding place, she suspended it from the nail before the sick man had noticed her absence from his side. She stood by him combing his thin, gray locks until her heart began to beat more freely, and then wheeling the chair back to its usual place, awaited with no little trembling, the result of her project. She now magnified in her own mind the oft repeated necessity for perfect quiet and freedom from excitement.
She took a book, and sat down, when she saw her patient give a start that almost threw him out of his chair, saying in a half frightened, though joyful tone, "My wife! my wife!! my own dear Mary, do forgive me!"
Emily hastened to reassure the old gentleman who did not attempt to speak again for some minutes; but when she playfully told him of the pleasant surprise, she intended, he confessed that for a moment he thought his wife had appeared to him to upbraid him for his cruel treatment of her daughter. But now nothing could induce him to have her portrait removed.
CHAPTER XXI
* * * * * "Thy natal day,
Love bids it welcome, the love which hath smiled,
Ever around thee, my gentle child!
Watching thy footsteps and guarding thy bed,
And pouring out joy on thy sunny head.
Roses may vanish, but this will stay, —
Happy and bright is thy natal day." Mrs. Hemans.
Tuesday, April 11th.
Walter has to-day taken his first exercise in walking alone. He is very proud of his achievement, but no more so than his little sister who stands at a short distance with outstretched arms and utters the encouraging words, "Come, dear brother; come to sister!"
He makes the attempt, but is so elated that he does not regard the good old-fashioned precept, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall," and straightway he lies prostrate on the floor. But sister is not discouraged, and amidst shouts of delight on his part, and sweet musical tones on hers, he is placed against the wall and prepares for a new triumph. Pauline is not satisfied that there should be so few present to witness the astonishing feat. She runs to the library for her father. "Oh! papa, come quick, and see what Walter can do!" She soon assembled the whole household. Papa looked on with the most complacent of smiles, hardly knowing which to admire more, the new use to which his first-born son was determined to put his understanding, or the unselfish triumph of his little daughter. Cæsar, Phebe and Ann loudly applauded the little fellow. This, as is often the case with persons of riper years, only made him top-heavy and brought him sooner down to his proper level. But nothing daunted, he started again, rendered almost wild by the hearty cheers of those around him. At last, mamma came to the rescue. The young hope of the house must rest for a season, in anticipation of new trials and new victories.
Evening.
Emily called to hear the last advices from Joseph Lee. The latest intelligence was quite encouraging. The patient is much more calm and sleeps well under the influence of powerful anodynes, and if nothing new occurs, bids fair to recover. If he were the most affectionate of brothers, Lucy could not feel more grateful. She wrote to his physician to spare no expense for the comfort of her brother, who would ere long, she hoped, be able to return home.
Wednesday, April 19th.
This is the second anniversary of my wedding. How much happiness has fallen to my lot! My own Frank grows every day more dear to me. How fervently he prayed this morning for me and for himself, giving thanks to God for our happy union and the various blessings with which divine mercy has crowned it, and seeking for us still larger supplies of grace, that increased fidelity to its duties may perpetuate and multiply our joys. May God give me grace to prove myself a worthy help-meet! I often fear that I am too much engrossed with my earthly treasures. My husband, children and friends occupy too much of my time and thoughts, while I am liable to forget the Giver of these rich mercies. Oh, that I may not in this way bring upon myself his chastening rod! Oh, that all my earthly affections may be so sanctified as to be acceptable to my Father in heaven!
Tuesday, May 2d.
This is my dear Walter's birth-day. Through how many scenes have I passed in one year! This was indeed the hour of nature's trial. But oh! how richly is the agony of the mother repaid by her joy at the sound of the sweet voice so soon calling her mamma! Next to home, the embodiment of all earthly joys, this is to me the sweetest word in all our language. From the bottom of my heart I pity the Stoic who cannot comprehend the full and precious import of the word home.
Evening.
We have had quite a little fête in honor of our young Lenox. Phebe exercised all her skill in the preparation of a birthday cake, which was however intended for the guests, the children being perfectly content with a piece of the frosting.
Pauline's tiny set of china was brought in requisition. This was a present from her father on her own birth-day, which we celebrate on the sixth of June, the day on which we received her as a precious boon from heaven. The dear girl, with Ann for an assistant, arranged the table in the dining-room, and issued the invitations in behalf of her brother; and when her feast was ready went round from room to room to lead in her guests.
None of the household were omitted, though Ruth was obliged to excuse herself as she had been previously invited to officiate as bridemaid in the village. Papa and mamma were permitted to occupy seats together on one side of the table, a privilege which the gentleman acknowledged by a low bow. Grandmamma and aunt Emily sat opposite. Master Lenox was in his high chair at the head of the table, with good Cæsar and Phebe beside him. Pauline took the seat which I usually occupied, with Ann by her side.
Our sable friends had joined in the birth-day sports of Mass'r Frank and Misse Emily, and felt no embarrassment in sitting with us on such an occasion, in honor of which Phebe had donned a new turban of brilliant hues, and Cæsar had given his face, eyes, and teeth an extra shine. But Ann felt it necessary to apologize for the liberty, and said "Miss Pauline would have it so."
The Doctor replied pleasantly, "All's right, Ann, Pauline knows what is proper." As for the child, her duties became rather onerous. She flew around the table, moving one here and another there, until at length her guests were arranged to her satisfaction. Then she resumed her own seat.
Thinking that he had waited quite long enough, Walter, with a quick motion jumped up in his chair, and helped himself to a large piece of the sugared cake which stood before him. Pauline was shocked, and said "Please, brother, don't do so, I was just going to ask papa to say grace." But her papa was laughing so much that he declined to officiate as chaplain, and advised her to distribute her treat at once.
To tell the whole truth, the young gentleman, in honor of whom the invitation was given, did not get to himself much credit by his conduct on the occasion. He upset everything within his reach, and was only appeased when his obliging friend at his side allowed him the free use of his curly head for a plaything, when he soon had his little fingers so tangled in the wool as to allow the rest of the company an opportunity to enjoy themselves in peace.
If all the truth must be told, the grave Doctor, from whom we should least have expected trouble, did not certainly distinguish himself by sobriety. Indeed I was obliged to request his mother to dismiss him from the table, unless he could control his risibles.
Never was matron more perplexed and annoyed by the conduct of guests than was our hostess. Flushed with excitement, her brow knit with anxiety lest some one should be overlooked, she flew around, and then remembering that this was not mamma's manner, she returned to her seat and there tried to do the honors in the most approved style.
Friday, May 12th.
Lucy has received a letter from Joseph in reply to one from her, urging him to come home. In it he manifests the most horrible disregard of his own state, just arising from what appeared to be his death-bed, and also of the gradually dying condition of his father, and refuses ever to go beneath "the accursed roof while the old man lives." The deeply afflicted sister is horrified beyond measure, but of course will conceal the letter from her father.
Squire Lee has often asked, if Joseph is not coming home, and feels grieved that his son left him in anger. He confessed to the Doctor, a few days ago, that the sins of Joseph lay heavily upon his conscience, at the same time repeating a quotation from the morning reading in which the woe was pronounced upon Eli and his house "because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not."
Saturday, May 13th.
I called at Squire Lee's to-day, and happening to have Pauline with me, I took her up into the old gentleman's room. He appeared extremely feeble, and after I had said a few words to him, and was turning to take a seat, Lucy led Pauline toward the bed. With a look of horror upon his countenance, he screamed, "Who is she? Who is she? I don't want her here. Oh, let her go away!"
The poor child began to cry, and I hastily led her from the room, wondering why the sight of her should cause such unusual agitation. Lucy sent a servant to beg me to go into the parlor, where she would soon meet me. I took Pauline in my lap, but it was some time before I could succeed in soothing her. She said, "the sick man makes dreadful faces at me."
Lucy said, her father wished her to apologize to me, and to say, that the child resembled so strongly a lady he had known when in Europe, that for a moment he thought her standing before him. "But when I told him," she added, "it was your little girl, he was relieved at once. I think," continued she, with slight agitation, "father must have had some unpleasant associations, connected with the lady, he mentioned, for he was laboring under strong excitement, while the perspiration stood in drops upon his brow."
On my return, I related to Frank what had happened; he said I had better avoid taking Pauline there again, since such excitements might prove fatal to his patient. I don't remember that the old gentleman ever saw her before.
CHAPTER XXII
* * * * "'Tis with our souls
As with our eyes, that, after a long darkness,
Are dazzled at th' sudden approach of light;
When in th' midst of fears we are surpris'd
With unexpected happiness; the first
Degrees of joy are mere astonishment." Denham.
Saturday, May 20th.
I have been to-day with Emily and Pauline to make some calls. On our return, we drove to the small tenement occupied by the Reynolds family. We found the contented, happy wife busy in the performance of her household duties. She said, she wanted to sing for joy at the reformation of her husband. He was well with the exception of a dreadful faintness at his stomach, the consequence of leaving off the stimulus to which he has been so long accustomed. She said, she had sometimes thought of applying to the Doctor for a remedy; "but," she added with emotion, "after all he has done for us, I do not wish to trouble him."
I answered, "he will take pleasure in rendering your husband relief."
"Oh yes, indeed, we are all aware of that. William would not have had the employment which enables him to support his family, had your husband not gone to Mr. Hunter and presented the case to him. Then it would have been a long time before he could have earned clothes suitable to go to church."
"Mr. Jones knows well how to sympathize with him in his efforts to reform."
"Yes," and a curious look passed over her face. "But he told William at last that he could not keep it from him any longer. Thomas did indeed go with him to the tailor's, and order the garments, but it was by direction of your good husband, who paid the bill."
"Oh! Frank," said I to myself, "you've begun to have secrets and to keep them from me." Yet I was quite delighted that my husband's
"Charity ever
Finds in the act reward, and needs no trumpet
In the receiver."
As we were leaving, Mrs. Reynolds said, "I walked last evening to our old home, and it made my heart ache to see how neglected the place appeared. But my husband has a purpose, and if God prospers us with health and strength, we shall accomplish it. This is to purchase back the cottage. Do you think," she eagerly asked, "the Squire would refuse to sell?"
Emily fell into such a reverie that I could get no answer to my numerous questions until we reached home. Then she directed Cæsar to drive her to Squire Lee's.
Monday, May 29th.
For a number of days some mysterious project has been going forward. Emily spends half her time with Lucy Lee. The Doctor is implicated in it, as I perceive from sundry whisperings and signs, which are instantly hushed at my approach. Yesterday I came upon them unawares, and heard distinctly mention made of a lawyer, legal instruments, witnesses and the like. I can easily imagine that Lucy is to be married to Allen; and that the Doctor and a lawyer are advising the old gentleman about his will. How astonished they will be at my shrewdness, when I tell them, I was well aware of their secret all the time.
Tuesday. May 30th.
How true it is that life is made up of sun and shade. I was never more impressed with this idea than I have been to-day. A short time since I called, as I mentioned, upon Mrs. Reynolds, and found her in comfort, with her husband restored to her and to his family, and looking forward with joyous anticipation to the time when they should be the proprietors of their once beautiful home.
Alas! how soon these hopes were dashed! The poor woman came to me this morning, weeping bitterly. It has been their custom when the father returned from his work, and when the labor of the day was completed, for all the now united and happy family to take a stroll for pleasure. Almost invariably their steps have been directed to the place rendered dear by pleasant associations. Last evening when they were approaching it, they were greatly astonished to see that something unusual was going forward, and hastening their steps, they found to their dismay that the occupants had received notice to vacate the premises, as the place was sold. Vain were all their endeavors to learn the name of the purchaser. The tenants neither knew nor cared, for they were perplexed at being obliged to leave their comfortable quarters, though they acknowledged that one month's rent had been given them by the purchaser, in consideration of their consenting to leave at once.
Hardly conscious of what she did, Mrs. Reynolds followed her husband from room to room, rendered desolate by the removal of the furniture while harder and harder grew the face of the bowed man, until at length he sunk upon the steps of the door, and cried aloud. "I didn't know until then," she added, "how much he had set his heart upon having the old place. True it has been our constant conversation whenever he has been at home; and so sure did he feel of going back, that he had promised each of the children a flower-garden equal to any their mother ever had."
I could not keep back my tears at witnessing the unrestrained grief of the afflicted woman. "I could bear it myself," she continued, sobbing, "but William has given up, and says, it is no use now, trying to be anything."
Though I feared, it would be in vain, I did all I could to encourage her and told her the Doctor would inquire about it, and see if the purchaser could not be bought off. "At any rate," I said, "William can put up a cottage like it. You must not allow your husband to despond." She went away with her heart somewhat lightened. When Frank came in, I related her story to him, and was greatly encouraged by his hopeful view of the subject.
He said, "I will see Reynolds immediately." I am often astonished that my dear husband with so large a practice finds time to render so many acts of kindness to those around him.
Tuesday, June 6th.
My dear mother, I have so much to tell you, I scarcely know where to begin. Frank has hinted to me a number of times, that he intended to celebrate Pauline's birth-day in good style, as the poor girl had taken such a burden upon herself at the celebration of her brother's birth-day. But when I inquired for farther particulars, he always turned it off with a laugh. When I went this morning to the kitchen, I found Phebe in her element, saying. "Mass'r Frank gib orders for cake and pies, for twenty people, and Ruth say ole missus is g'wine to make bread and boil meat."
What can all this mean! I walked straight to the cottage to learn what I could from mother. My rising wrath at being kept so entirely in the dark was somewhat mollified by finding her as ignorant as myself. She was, however, busy in preparing dishes for a bountiful supper, according to the wish of Emily. My dear, artless mother did not deceive me, when she pretended not to hear as I eagerly asked, "have you no idea of the meaning of all this secrecy?" I said no more, but walked back, soliloquizing whether it would be wiser for me to insist upon knowing without farther delay, or to allow matters to approach the crisis. I had concluded upon the latter course when I saw Frank drive into the yard. I did not stop, however, for I intended to keep up my dignity, and to appear perfectly indifferent. So I went to my room and gave Pauline her lesson; but Frank peeped in and beckoned me away.
I put on a very serious air and followed him. "Come now," said he, kissing me, "you can't make me believe you are angry; I see your mouth twitch; I've some good news for you."
In my curiosity, I threw away my reserve, and listened eagerly to his story, which I must go back a little to render intelligible. It appears that Emily's large heart was swelling with "a purpose" when she so suddenly started for Squire Lee's, on our return from visiting the humble abode of Mrs. Reynolds. Undefined, at first, she confessed it was; but a vague idea was flitting through her mind, of persuading the owner to give back Rose Cottage to its former occupants. Sometimes her hopes rose high, and then she was tempted to abandon her project. The thought of expecting "the hardened old man" (as the Squire had universally been called until his sickness,) the thought of asking such a man to give away what he valued at ten or twelve hundred dollars, merely to encourage the reformation of his inferior who had been ruined in his employment, seemed hopeless and absurd. But the image of the patient sufferer, eagerly listening to her praises of his daughter, gave her courage to proceed, and she tapped gently at the door of his room, where she was sure to find Lucy.
After talking pleasantly with the old gentleman for a few moments, Lucy in obedience to a motion from Emily, retired with her to the inner apartment. There she made bold to divulge her plans and wishes, to which there was no want of attention on the part of the listener. She, however, made no reply until Emily had finished, when she took her hand, saying, "Come and tell father."
From this, even the courageous Emily shrank, saying "No, Lucy, you will do the business far better."
But Lucy only smiled, and pulled her forward, saying, "Tell him just as you have told me. He won't be displeased."
So Emily sat down at his feet and told him all her heart. He listened with a pleased attention; and when she described the patient suffering of the gentle Anna, the beautiful children cursed with a drunken father, his breast heaved with emotion. Emily grew warm with her subject, and remembering that she was asking more than he had ever done in his life, she burst out, "Dear sir, if you should make this family happy, it would be so delightful for you to reflect upon as you sit here day after day. You would become so interested for them, and Lucy would so rejoice to hear their generous praise of their kind benefactor."
He shook his head while a few tears silently coursed down his furrowed cheek. "You forget that I made them miserable."
"Well, then," she continued, "now you have an opportunity to turn their grief into joy, and to render them very happy;" and looking at the portrait opposite, upon which the sun was shining, "how happy she would have been to have you perform so generous an act."
There appeared to be a dreadful conflict between his incrusted covetousness and the benevolence which by the grace of God was springing up in his soul. Lucy came and kneeled by Emily's side holding her father's hand caressingly in hers. "Well, daughter," said he affectionately, "Rose farm is yours, give it to whom you please."
