Kitabı oku: «A Fair Jewess», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XVI.
JOY AND SORROW
Perhaps, however, to Rachel may chiefly be ascribed the general respect the Cohens earned among the townsfolk. Charitable, kind, and gentle by nature, she was instinctively drawn to those poor people who had fallen into misfortune. Upon her sympathetic ears no tale of distress could fall without bearing fruit. She won friends everywhere, and her sweet face was like a ray of sunshine in the homes of the poor. It was not at all uncommon to hear that her timely assistance had been the means of restoring to health those who had been stricken down. She walked through life as an angel of mercy might have done, and flowers grew about her feet.
Of all the friends who sounded her praises none were more enthusiastic than little Prissy, who came now regularly to the house to do domestic work.
Anxious to increase his trade, Aaron had stocked his shop with such articles of wear and adornment as were most in request. He had not the means to pay ready money for the stock, but through a friend in Portsmouth, Mr. Moss, with whom the readers of this story have already become acquainted, he obtained credit from wholesale dealers who would have been chary to trust him without a sufficient recommendation.
Apart from the pleasures which his modest success in business afforded him, there was a happiness in store for him to which he looked forward with a sense of profound gratitude. Rachel was about to become a mother. To this fond couple, who seemed to live only for each other, there could be no greater joy than this. They had lost their firstborn, and God was sending another child to bless their days. They never closed their eyes at night, they never rose in the morning, without offering a prayer of thanks to the Most High for his goodness to them. They saw no cloud gathering to darken their happiness.
It was an ordinary event, for which Aaron could hardly have been prepared.
They had been eleven months in Gosport when one morning Aaron, rising first, and going down to his shop, found that burglars had been at work. They had effected an entrance at the back of the house, and had carried away the most valuable articles in the window. The loss, Aaron calculated, would not be less than a hundred pounds.
It was, to him, a serious loss; he had commenced with a very small capital, and his earnings during the year had left only a small margin over his household and trade expenses. His business was growing, it is true, but for the first six months he had barely paid his way; it was to the future he looked to firmly establish himself, and now in one night all his profits were swept away. More than this; if he were called upon to pay his debts he would have but a few pounds left. Rachel, whose health the last week or two had been delicate, her confinement being so near, was in bed by his directions; he had forbidden her to rise till ten o'clock. It was a matter to be thankful for; he could keep the shock of the loss from her; in her condition bad news might have a serious effect upon her.
He set everything in order, spoke no word of what had occurred to his wife, rearranged the shop window, and took down the shutters. In the course of the day he told Rachel that he intended to close a couple of hours earlier than usual; he had to go to Portsmouth upon business in the evening, and should be absent probably till near midnight.
"You will not mind being alone, my love?" he said.
"Oh, no," she answered, with a tender smile; "I have plenty to occupy me."
She had been for some time busy with her needle preparing for her unborn child.
"But you must go to bed at ten," said Aaron. "I shall lock the shop, and take the key of the back door with me, so that I can let myself in."
She promised to do as he bade her, and in the evening he left her to transact his business. He had no fear that she would be intruded upon; it was not likely that the house would be broken into two nights in succession; besides, with the exception of some pledges of small value which he kept in the safe, there was little now to tempt thieves to repeat their knavish doings. So with fond kisses he bade her good-night.
They stood facing each other, looking into each other's eyes. Rachel's eyes were of a tender gray, with a light so sweet in them that he never looked into them unmoved. He kissed them now with a strange yearning at his heart.
"I hope baby's eyes will be like yours, dear love," he said; "the soul of sweetness and goodness shines in them."
She smiled happily, and pressed him fondly to her. Ah, if he had known!
His first business was with the police. He went to the station, and telling the inspector of his loss, said that he wished it to be kept private, because of his fear that it might reach his wife's ears. The inspector replied that it would be advisable under any circumstances. Leaving in the officer's hands a list of the articles that had been stolen, he proceeded to Portsmouth to consult his friend Mr. Moss. That goodhearted gentleman was deeply concerned at the news.
"It is a serious thing, Cohen," he said.
"A very serious thing," replied Aaron gravely, "but I shall overcome it. Only I require time. I promised to pay some bills to-morrow, and I shall require a little stock to replace what I have lost; it would cramp me to do so now."
He mentioned the name of the tradesmen to whom he had given the promise, and asked Mr. Moss to call upon them in the morning and explain the matter to them.
"They will not lose their money," he said; "it will not take me very long to make everything right."
"I will see them," said Mr. Moss, "and I am sure they will give you time. Aaron Cohen's name is a sufficient guarantee."
"I hope it will always be," replied Aaron. "It is very unfortunate just now, because I have extra expenses coming on. The nurse, the doctor-"
"I know, I know. How is Mrs. Cohen?"
"Fairly well, I am glad to say. She knows nothing of what has occurred."
"Of course not, of course not. How could you tell her while she is like that? When Mrs. Moss is in the same way I am always singing and laughing and saying cheerful things to her. Between you and me we expect an addition ourselves in about four months."
"Indeed. That will make-"
"Fourteen," said Mr. Moss, rubbing his hands briskly together. "Increase and multiply. It's our bounden duty, eh, Cohen?"
"Yes," said Aaron rather absently. "And now I must go; it will be late before I reach home, and for all Rachel's promises I expect she will keep awake for me. Good-night, and thank you."
"Nothing to thank me for. Good-night, and good luck."
When Aaron returned to Gosport it was midnight. Winter was coming on and it was cold and dark; buttoning his coat close up to his neck, he hastened his steps.
He was not despondent; misfortune had fallen upon him, but he had confidence in himself, and despite the practical common sense which showed itself in all his actions there was in his nature an underlying current of spiritual belief in divine assistance toward the successful accomplishment of just and worthy endeavor. That it was man's duty to do right, to work, to pray, to be considerate to his neighbors, to make his home cheerful, to be as charitable as his means will allow-this was his creed; and it was strengthened by his conviction that God made himself manifest even upon earth in matters of right and wrong. He did not relegate the expiation of transgression to the future; he did not believe that a man could wipe out the sins of the past year by fasting and praying and beating his breast on the Day of Atonement. Wrongdoing was not to be set aside and forgotten until a convenient hour for repentance arrived. Hourly, daily, a man must keep watch over himself and his actions. This had been his rule of life, and it contributed to his happiness and to the happiness of those around him.
He was within a quarter of a mile of his residence when he was conscious of an unseen disturbance in the air. A distant glare in the sky, the faint echoes of loud voices, stole upon his senses. Agitated as he had been by what had transpired during this long unfortunate day, he could not at first be certain whether these signs were real or spiritual, but presently he discovered that they did not spring from his imagination. The glare in the sky became plainly visible, the loud voices reached his ears. There was a fire in the town, and he was proceeding toward it. Instantly his thoughts, his fears, centered upon Rachel. He ran forward quickly, and found himself struggling through an excited crowd. Flames shot upward; the air was filled with floating sparks of fire. Great God! It was his own house that was being destroyed by the devouring element. He did not heed that; the destruction of his worldly goods did not affect him. "My wife!" he screamed. "Where is my wife?" By main force they held him back, for he was rushing into the flames.
"Let me go!" he screamed. "Where is my wife?"
"It is all right, Mr. Cohen," a number of voices replied. "She is saved."
"Thank God, oh, thank God!" he cried. "Take me to her. Where is she?"
He cared not for the ruin that had overtaken him; like cool water to a parched throat came the joyful news that she was saved.
"Take me to her. In the name of Heaven, tell me where she is!"
She was in a house at a safe distance from the fire, and thither he was led. Rachel was lying on a couch in her night dress; sympathizing people were about her.
"Rachel, Rachel!" he cried, and fell upon his knees by her side.
She did not answer him; she was insensible.
"Do not agitate yourself, Mr. Cohen," said a voice; it was that of the physician who had been attending to her. "Be thankful that she lives."
"O Lord, I thank thee," murmured the stricken man. "My Rachel lives!"
What mattered all the rest? What mattered worldly ruin and destruction? The beloved of his heart was spared to him.
"You are a sensible man, Mr. Cohen," said the physician, "and you must be calm for her sake. In her condition there will be danger if she witnesses your agitation when she recovers."
"I will be calm, sir," said Aaron humbly. "She is all I have in the world."
He made no inquiries as to the cause of the fire; he did not stir from Rachel's side, but sat with his eyes fixed upon her pallid face. The physician remained with them an hour, and then took his departure, saying he would return early in the morning, and leaving instructions to Aaron what to do.
At sunrise Rachel awoke. Passing one hand over her eyes, she held out the other in a groping, uncertain way. Aaron took it in his, and held it fondly; the pallor left her cheeks.
"It is you, my dear?" she murmured.
"Yes, it is I, my life!" he said in a low and gentle tone.
"You are well-you are safe?"
"I am well-I am safe," he replied. "And you, Rachel-how do you feel?"
"I have a slight headache. It will soon pass away. Oh, my dear husband, how thankful I am! When did you return?"
"Not till you were taken from the house. Do not talk now. Rest, rest, my beloved!"
The endearing words brought a glad smile to her lips.
"I will sleep presently, Aaron. Is the doctor here?"
"No, but he will come soon. Shall I go for him?"
"I can wait, dear; when he comes I should like to speak to him alone."
"You are hurt!" he said, alarmed. "Tell me!"
"I am not hurt, dear; it is only that my head aches a little. He will give me something to relieve me. Have no fear for me, Aaron; I am in no danger; indeed, indeed, I am not!"
"God be praised!"
She drew his head to her breast, and they lay in silence a while, fondly embracing.
"Let me tell you, dear, and then I will go to sleep again. I went to bed at ten, as you bade me, and though I had it in my mind to keep awake for you, I could not do so. I do not know how long I slept, but I awoke in confusion, and there was a strong glare in my eyes. I hardly remember what followed. I heard voices calling to me-Prissy's voice was the loudest, I think-and then I felt that strong arms were around me, and I was being carried from the house. That is all, my dear, till I heard your voice, here. Where am I?"
He informed her, and then, holding him close to her, she fell asleep again. As the clock struck nine the physician entered the room, and Aaron told him what had passed.
"I can spare half an hour," said the physician. "Go and see after your affairs. I will not leave her till you return."
Kissing Rachel tenderly, and smoothing the hair from her forehead, Aaron left the house, and went to his own. Before he departed he learned from the kind neighbors who had given Rachel shelter that they were not in a position to keep her and Aaron with them, and he said that he would make arrangements to remove her in the course of the day, if the doctor thought it would be safe to do so. His own house, he found, was completely destroyed, but he heard of another at no great distance which was to be let furnished for a few weeks, and this he took at once, and installed Prissy therein, to light fires and get the rooms warm. The arrangement completed, he hastened back to Rachel, between whom and the physician a long consultation had taken place during his absence. At the conclusion of their conversation she had asked him one question:
"Shall I be so all my life, doctor?"
"I fear so," was the reply.
"My poor husband!" she murmured. "My poor, dear husband! Say nothing to him, doctor, I implore you. Let him hear the truth from my lips."
He consented, not sorry to be spared a painful duty. "She is surprisingly well," he said to Aaron, "and in a few days will be able to get about a little, though you must not expect her to be quite strong till her child is born."
The news was so much better than Aaron expected that he drew a deep breath of exquisite relief.
"Can she be removed to-day with safety?" he asked.
"I think so. She will be happier with you alone. Give me your new address; I will call and see her there this evening."
At noon she was taken in a cab to her new abode, and Aaron carried her in and laid her on the sofa before a bright fire. In the evening the physician called according to his promise. "She is progressing famously," he said to Aaron. "Get her to bed early, and it may be advisable that she should keep there a few days. But I shall speak more definitely about this later on. Mr. Cohen, you have my best wishes. You are blessed with a noble wife." Tears shone in Aaron's eyes. "Let me impress upon you," continued the doctor, "to be strong as she is strong; but at present, with the birth of her child so near, it is scarcely physical power that sustains her. She is supported by a spiritual strength drawn from her love for you and her unborn babe."
With these words the physician left them together. Prissy was gone, and Aaron and Rachel were alone.
They exchanged but few words. Rachel still occupied the couch before the fire, and as she seemed to be dozing Aaron would not disturb her. Thus an hour passed by, and then Rachel said:
"The doctor advises me to go to bed early. Will you help me up, dear?"
She stood on her feet before him, and as his eyes rested on her face a strange fear entered his heart.
"Come, my life," he said.
"A moment, dear husband," she said. "I have something to tell you, something that will grieve you. I do not know how it happened, nor does the good doctor know. He has heard of only one such case before. I am not in pain; I do not suffer. It is much to be grateful for, and I am humbly, humbly grateful. It might have been so much worse."
"Rachel, my beloved," said Aaron, placing his hands on her shoulders.
"Keep your arms about me, my honored husband. Let me feel your dear hands, your dear face. Kiss me, Aaron. May I tell you now?"
"Tell me now, my beloved."
"Look into my eyes, dear. I cannot look into yours. Dear husband, I am blind!"
CHAPTER XVII.
DIVINE CONSOLATION
The shock of this revelation was so overwhelming that for a few moments Aaron was unable to speak. In the words of the prophet, "His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth." His soul was plunged in darkness, and a feeling of passionate rebellion racked his heart. That upon his sweet and innocent wife should have fallen an infliction so awful seemed to blot all brightness out of the world. Nay, more-it seemed to blot out the principle of justice, to render it a mockery and a snare. The sentiment which animated him was one of horror and indignation, and he yielded to it unresistingly. What had Rachel done to deserve the cruel blow? Not with a crown of sorrow but with a crown of glory should she have been crowned. And was it not natural that he should rebel against it? He was her champion, her protector, her defender; she had no one else. Should he stand tamely by and show no sense of the injustice which had been inflicted upon her!
Very, very rarely had Aaron been dominated by so stubborn a mood; very, very rarely had he allowed it to take possession of him; and never in a single instance on his own account. Mere worldly misfortune, however disastrous in its effect, he had invariably met with philosophic calm and fortitude. Many reverses had attended him, and he had borne them bravely, as a man should, as it is a man's duty to do. With a courage which may be said to be heroic had he accepted each successive stroke, and had immediately applied himself to the task of repairing the breach. No faint-hearted soldier he, sitting down and weeping by the roadside when he received a wound. To be up and doing-that was his creed. These were but ordinary checks which a man must be prepared to encounter in his course through life; weak, indeed, would he prove himself to be who did not at once set to work manfully and energetically to make the best instead of the worst of each rebuff. Aaron's keen gift of humor and his talent for justifiable device were of immense assistance to him in these encounters, and in his conversations with Rachel he was in the habit of throwing so droll a light upon the difficulties with which he was contending that he lifted from her heart and from his own a weight which otherwise would have remained there and impeded his efforts. He treated every personal ailment which visited him, and every little incident he met with, in the same spirit, laughing away Rachel's distress and bearing his pain without the least symptom of querulousness. "You seem almost to like pain, my dear," she had said. "There is pleasure in pain," he had answered; "think of the relief." Thus did he make the pack upon his shoulders easy to carry, and thus did he contribute to Rachel's enjoyment of life.
Over and above these lesser features in his character reigned the great factors truth and justice. He took no credit to himself that he was never guilty of a meanness; it was simply that it was not in his nature to fall so low, and that he walked instinctively in the right path. He had frequently conversed with Rachel upon the doctrine of responsibility, arguing that children born of vicious parents should not be made accountable for their evil acts to the fullest extent. "It is an inheritance," he argued, "and it is not they who are wholly guilty. My parents gave me an inheritance of cheerfulness and good temper, and I am more grateful for it than I should be if they had left me a bag of gold." Upon questions of right and wrong his good sense and his rectitude led him unerringly to the just side, and when his own interests were involved in a decision he was called upon to make in such and such an issue he never for a moment hesitated. To have benefited himself at the expense of justice would have been in his eyes a sin which was not to be forgiven. A sin of unconscious omission could be expiated, but a sin of deliberate commission would have weighed forever on his soul. Could such a man as this, a devout and conscientious Jew, faithful every day of his life in the observances of his religion, with a firm belief in the mercy and goodness of the Eternal God, and with the principles of truth and justice shining ever before him, be guilty of such a sin? It will be presently seen.
So far himself, considered as an entity. Had he been alone in life, with no other life so welded into his own as to be inseparable from it, it is scarcely possible that he could have been guilty of a conscious wrong, for his soul would have risen in revolt against the suggestion. Had he been alone misfortunes might have fallen upon him unceasingly, poverty might have been his lot through all his days, disease might have racked his bones-he would have borne all with tranquillity and resignation, and would have lifted up his voice in praise of the Most High to his last hour. Of such stuff are martyrs made; from such elements springs the lofty ideal into which, once in a generation, is breathed the breath of life, the self-sacrificing hero who sheds his blood and dies with a glad light on his face in the battle of right against might, in the battle of weak innocence against the ruthless hand of power. But Aaron was not alone; Rachel was by his side, leaning upon his heart, looking to him for joy, for peace, for happiness. And when he suffered it was through her he suffered; and when he was oppressed with sorrow it was through her he sorrowed. So keen was his sympathy with her, so intense was his love for her, that if only her finger ached he was in pain. We are but human after all, and no man can go beyond a man's strength. Legends are handed down to us of divine inspiration falling upon a man who, thus inspired, becomes a leader, a hero, a prophet; but in that man's heartstrings are not entwined the tender fingers of wife and children. As blades of grass which we can rub into nothingness between our fingers force their upward way to air and sunshine through adamantine stones, as rocks are worn away by the trickling of drops of water, so may a man's sublimest qualities, so may a man's heart and soul be pierced and reft by human love.
It was this absorbing sentiment that agitated Aaron when Rachel revealed to him that she was blind; it was this that struck him dumb.
Meekly and patiently she stood before him-he had fallen back a step-and waited for him to speak. He did not utter a word.
Presently her sweet voice stole upon his senses.
"Aaron, my beloved, why are you silent? Why do you not speak to me?"
He lifted his head and groaned.
"Ah, do not groan, dear husband," she continued. "It is for me you suffer, but I am not suffering-did I not tell you so? It is, indeed, the truth. Look into my face; you will see no pain there. I need you more than ever now. Next to God you are my rock, my salvation. He has cast this affliction upon me out of his goodness and wisdom. Let us lift our voices in his praise."
And from her lips flowed in the ancient tongue the sublime prayer:
"Hear, O Israel, the Eternal, our God! the Eternal is One. And thou shalt love the Eternal, thy God, with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shall speak of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way; when thou liest down, and when thou risest up."
An angel's voice could not have been more melodious and sweet, and the beauty of the prayer acquired truly a divine strength through Rachel's intoning of the pious words. But it was not only her voice that resounded in the room. The moment she commenced to pray rebellion against fate's decree melted out of Aaron's heart, and pity took its place; he was restored to his better self. Holding her hand, he joined her in prayer, but not in so loud a voice as usual; he followed her, as it were, and was led by her, and when the prayer was ended her head sank upon his breast, and her arms entwined themselves around his neck.
"You are resigned, my dear?" she whispered.
"I bow my head," he answered; "the Lord's will be done!"
"I could not keep it from you any longer. I was blind when I opened my eyes in the house of the good people who gave me shelter; I was blind when you sat by my side there; but I feared to tell you; I wished to speak to the doctor first. It was so strange, so sudden, that I hoped it would not last. I awoke with the cry of fire in my ears, and as I leaped from bed the bright glare of the flames seemed to strike sight out of my eyes. I fainted, and remember nothing more; only that when I opened my eyes again I could not see. It was merciful that there was no pain. Oh, my dear husband, I am so sorry for you, so sorry, so sorry!"
"Rachel, dear Rachel, dear life of my life, it is not for me you should grieve-it is for yourself."
"No, dear love, I do not grieve for myself. Should I not rather rejoice? Because I know, I know" – she put his hand to her lips and kissed it, then held it to her heart-"that you will bear with me, that I shall not be a trouble to you."
"A trouble to me, Rachel! You are dearer to me than ever-more precious to me than ever. Oh, my dear, I never loved you as I love you now!"
"How sweet, how sweet!" she murmured. "How beautiful is life! No woman was ever blessed as I am blessed! And soon, dear love, we shall have with us another evidence of the Lord's great mercy. Our child, our darling, will be here. Ah, what happiness!"
Was there already in her heart the shadow of an abiding sorrow springing from the knowledge that she would never see the face of her unborn child, that she would never be able to look into the beautiful eyes which in a short time would open upon the world? Aaron had hoped that baby's eyes would be like hers, but she would never know from personal evidence whether they were or not. If such a sorrow was making itself felt she kept it to herself and guarded it jealously, lest Aaron should participate in it. Her face was radiant as they continued to converse, and by her loving words she succeeded in thoroughly banishing from Aaron's soul the rebellious promptings by which he had first been agitated. Thus did Rachel, to whom the light of the universe was henceforth as night, become the divine consoler in the home.
"I am tired, dear. Will you lead me to our room?"
He took her in his arms and carried her up, as he would have carried a child, and this new office of love, and indeed everything he did for her, drew them spiritually closer to each other.
When she was in bed she asked him to tell her about the fire, and if he would be a great loser by it. He softened the loss, said that he was well insured, that they had a good friend in Mr. Moss, and that it would not be long before he was on his feet again. Content and happiness were expressed on her face as she listened.
"It will be a comfort to you to know," he said, "that no one will lose anything by me; every demand will be met; every penny will be paid. In my mansion" – his study of the law and his devotion to his faith led him occasionally into a biblical phrase-"are three stars: First, the Eternal God; next, you, my beloved; next, our good name."
"That is safe in your keeping, dear," she said.
"And will ever be, so far as human endeavor can aid me. You will be glad to hear, too, that the townspeople sympathize with us in our trouble."
"I am very glad; it could hardly have been otherwise. Who that lives to know you does not learn to honor you?" She held his hand in a tender clasp and kissed it repeatedly. "I will tell you something. I am beginning already to acquire a new sense. When you look at me I feel it-you are looking at me now. When your eyes are not on my face I know it. I shall learn a good deal very soon, very soon! I do not intend to be a burden to you." This was said with tender gayety.
"You can never be that." He touched her eyes. "Henceforth I am your eyes. It is a poor return, for you, Rachel, are my very life."
"Dear husband! Dear love! Kiss me. I want to fall asleep with those words in my ears. You will not stop up long?"
"I will go down and put out the lights, and see that all is safe. Then I will come up at once. Sleep, my life, sleep!"
He passed his fingers caressingly across her forehead, and she fell asleep with a smile on her lips.
He stole softly from the room in his stocking feet, and went down and made the house safe; then he returned to the bedroom.
The smile had left Rachel's lips; her face was paler, and there was a worn look on it. A terrible fear entered his heart. "O God, if she should die! O God, if I should lose her!" He took his silk taleth from its bag, and wrapping it around him put on his hat, and stood and prayed, with his face to the east.
"How precious is thy mercy, O God! The children of men take refuge under the shadow of thy wing. They are satisfied with the richness of thy house, and thou causeth them to drink of the stream of thy delight. For with thee is the fountain of life, by thy light only do we see light. Oh, continue thy mercy unto them who know thee and thy righteousness to the upright of heart!"
One line in the prayer he repeated again and again: "For with thee is the fountain of life, and by thy light only do we see light." And so he prayed till midnight, and the one supplication into which all else was merged was sent forth with touching pathos from his very heart of hearts: "O Lord of the Universe, Giver of all good, humbly I beseech thee to spare my beloved! Take her not from me! Let her live, let her live to bless my days! Let not darkness overwhelm me! It is thy hand that directs the fountain of life."
And Rachel slept on, and dreamed of the child whose face she was never to see upon earth.
