Chapter XI: 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."