Chapter XV: Sale of the Rocks

SHE was turning to leave the room, when he placed his hand on hers.

"Wait one minute, sister. I have not yet done; but I am more proud of you than I ever was in my life. If I thought any one would ever love me with such disinterested affection, I should be very happy. You have proved yourself strong to endure, and I will tell you all."

For one instant she turned pale and putting up her hand murmured:

"Wait," but presently with a flashing eye, added:

"Well, what more did you hear?"

"That my brother-in-law has fallen into bad habits; that he has been seen in the lowest company, especially since Mr. Curtis left him;—that the party who travelled with him have excluded him from their circle. Is not that enough?"

"I do not believe one word of it; and I shall tell him so. Will you have the goodness to ascertain from your friend where a letter will reach my husband?"

"Yes, I'll do it; though I don't approve your writing. But Gerty, promise me one thing. If you ascertain that his habits are corrupt, that he, is staying abroad with the intention of abandoning you, will you allow me to procure a divorce?"

"Never, until I have Bible authority for such a course. Until I am convinced that he has been unfaithful to his marriage vows, I shall cling to him and him alone; hoping to win back the affection he once pledged me." Her voice trembled a little at last. She returned his kiss and only adding:

"Excuse me to Marion," went to her own chamber. The next hour was passed in prayer for the wanderer. If a doubt of his worthiness crossed her mind, she would not entertain it a moment. She did not sleep until she had covered eight pages with assurances of her affection. She said nothing of what she had heard; but begged him to hurry home to her and their dear little Paul.

Once more Marion's departure was delayed. Edward urged that his sister would be obliged to yield to the evidence of her husband's crimes, and would need the sympathy of a loving friend; but not once had the long-suffering wife alluded to the subject of their conversation. She often spoke of her husband; and sometimes cast a quick glance around, as if she feared to meet looks of scorn; but she talked with baby of dear papa, "poor papa, way off, all alone," till Hannah could not keep back her tears.

September came and passed, and still no tidings of the absent one. Marion had returned to Chicago; and at last Gertrude made no effort to detain her. A terrible fear that she was forsaken began to make her nights wakeful and her pillow moist with tears. She thought it would be a luxury to be alone with her grief, with no loving eyes watching her every motion. Marion had promised to send her Mr. Curtis' full address; and as soon as she received it, she requested Edward to copy a letter she had written to the gentleman. It was briefly asking him to impart confidentially to the writer any facts he knew concerning Mr. Dudley.

Mr. Curtis' answer was extremely guarded. He spoke of Paul as a good business man, who had done him great service, etc., etc., without coming to the point at all.

"Will you give him up now?" inquired her brother, tenderly. "I would give half I am worth to be able to say, 'His enemies have slandered him without a cause;' but I heard only last week that his character is vile; and when I remember how coolly he parted from you; how deliberately he was planning to defraud you of your little fortune, I am forced to the conclusion that when he went, he did not intend to return."

Gertrude sank on a chair and burst into tears. For a long time she had not allowed herself such a luxury; and now she could not immediately regain self-command.

"Wait six months longer," she urged at last, trying to control her voice. "Something will certainly happen in that time."

When the spring came and Paul was a year old, she plead again. "Wait till fall."

Two years from the hour she parted from her husband, the law had set her free. Paul Dudley was no longer her husband, and even his parents, whom Edward had visited in Philadelphia, confessed she had borne more than could be expected. Alas, they knew their son had fallen! that their fond hopes were blasted, and learned too late the truth of the inspired words; "'The rod and reproof give wisdom; but a child left to himself, bringeth his mother to shame.'"

Through all these weary days and these trying scenes, Gertrude, hopeful and faithful Gertrude, quieted the anguish of her heart by the thought:

"God is my Father and friend. He knows all things from the beginning; and has some wise purpose to accomplish by all these trials."

Still there were hours when her grief could not be controlled; when poor weak human nature cried out, "It is more than I can endure. Has it come to this, that I am abandoned, forsaken?—that I shall never again see one to whom my heart clings, notwithstanding all that has passed?"

Mr. Wallingford sent the journal containing a notice of the divorce to Paul; and then tried to forget, and lead others to forget his existence.

When he gave the paper to his sister, pointing out the paragraph, she gave way to a burst of emotion. Pressing her baby to her breast she sobbed over him, faltering:

"Oh, my poor boy! my poor, fatherless boy!"

"I pledge myself, Gertrude," said her brother, greatly moved, "with the help of God, to be a father to him; to watch over him and care for his interests as if he were my own child." From that very hour he began to teach little Paul to call him papa, and soon grew into the feeling that he was a father in reality.

The fall and winter months glided away unmarked by any event, except that Edward heard through Paul's sister that he had received notice of the legal proceedings taken against him; and expressed himself satisfied with the result; being decided not to return to the United States, and feeling unable to support a family abroad.

Gertrude came gradually to mingle in society, frequently visiting New York for a few days, leaving her babe who was uncommonly healthy, with Bridget under Hannah's supervision. All who knew her, found themselves equally delighted and surprised at the noble development of her character. It was indeed true that the afflictions through which she had passed had refined her, as silver is refined in the furnace. Her piety had deepened and matured till it could easily be seen, that her chastisement had "'yielded the peaceable fruits of righteousness.'"

She was now approaching her twenty-first birth day; a season always saddened by the associations; and her guardian laughingly assured her he should be ready to give up the care of her property. She was aware that her few thousands had been lying at interest; and was delighted that she should be enabled to educate her boy for a broad field of usefulness. Her great desire was that he should be a clergyman; but this was at present confined to her own breast.

Between herself and her brother the most entire confidence usually existed; but of late she had noticed that he was reserved, and unusually occupied. Early in the morning he started off for New York without consulting with his farmer as had been the case since the early spring; and when he returned late at night sat absorbed in thought or smiling to himself.

One day, however, he returned before dinner, and meeting Bridget dragging her boy in his fancy carriage along the avenue, seized him and mounted him in triumph on his shoulder.

"Gerty!" he shouted, at the foot of the staircase, "Gerty, come here a moment."

She ran down, wondering what had happened.

"I wish you joy, Mrs. Wallingford," he began. (She had taken her old name.) "I have the pleasure of announcing to you that I have this morning completed the sale of our rocks in the upper part of the city, where the new park is being laid out; and shall be able to put down to your share, one quarter of a million of dollars." She gazed in his face with an incredulous smile but when he added:

"Our grandfather's speculation has resulted exactly as he expected. New York city can be enlarged only in one direction. He foresaw the result; land would rise in the upper part of the city,—he purchased those few acres of rocks for a small sum; convinced it was a safe investment; now after forty years it has yielded a profit almost fabulous."

"Oh, Edward, if Paul were only here to share it with me!" was Gerty's exclamation.

"My little Paul will be heir to my portion," the lawyer went on.

"You ought to marry, Edward," said Gertrude, earnestly.

"Not till I can find a wife who will love me in spite of my faults, as my deluded sister did a most unworthy man," he answered with a heightened color.

"I know of one who would do all that," was her arch reply; "and now that you will have more money than you will know what to do with, I advise you to make a visit to Chicago at once."

"Time enough for that. You know I don't approve of marrying too young. But now to business! Mr. Van Husen has been a rare guardian, faithful to your interests in every particular. He is getting old to be sure, and intends to give up some of his business; but you would find no one so useful as he, to manage your estate. He has been figuring for this sale ever since your marriage, and is immensely pleased that it took place before he resigned your property into your own hands, with so large an increase."

"You must manage for me, Edward. If you think it best I shall consent of course. I know one thing I shall do."

"What?"

"Have a church and pastor here, in our village. Wouldn't it be splendid if we could persuade Dr. Gilbert to come?"

"I claim the right to pay half the expenses in such a project," was the lawyer's reply; "but I must run back to New York, if Hannah will give me a lunch. I shall engage Mr. Van Husen to assist me in investing my share of money and will carry your request too."

"Yes, and say he must pay himself well; for I may prove a troublesome client, always wanting a draft; for Edward, we must remember God has only made us stewards for him; and we must render an account for every dollar we spend. Think in New York city alone, how much good may be done!"