Kitabı oku: «Elsie's Widowhood», sayfa 2

CHAPTER III

"Faith is exceedingly charitable and believeth no evil of God."

– Rutherford.

Delicious September days had come; the air was soft and balmy; a mellow haze filled the woods, just beginning to show the touch of the Frost King's fingers.

The children could not content themselves within doors, and the wisely indulgent mother had given them a holiday and spent the morning with them on the banks of the lakelet and floating over its bright surface in their pretty pleasure-boat.

Returned to the house, she was now resting in her boudoir, lying back in a large easy chair with a book in her hand. Suddenly it dropped into her lap, she started up erect in her chair and seemed to listen intently.

Was that her husband's step coming slowly along the hall? It was like and yet unlike it, lacking the firm, elastic tread.

The door opened and she sprang to her feet. "Edward! you are ill!" for there was a deathly pallor on his face.

"Do not be alarmed, little wife; it is nothing – a strange pain, a sudden faintness," he said, trying to smile, but tottered and would have fallen had she not hastened to give him the support of her arm.

She helped him to a couch, placed a pillow beneath his head, rang for assistance, brought him a glass of cold water, cologne and smelling-salts from her dressing-table; doing all with a deft quickness free from flurry, though her heart almost stood still with a terrible fear and dread.

What meant this sudden seizure, this anguish so great that it had bowed in a moment the strength of a strong man? She had never known him to be seriously ill before. He had seemed in usual health when he left her for his accustomed round over the plantation only a few hours ago, and now he was nearly helpless with suffering.

Servants were instantly despatched in different directions: one to Roselands to summon Dr. Arthur Conly, another to the Oaks for her father, to whom she instinctively turned in every time of trouble, and who was ever ready to obey the call.

Both arrived speedily, to find Mr. Travilla in an agony of pain, bearing it without a murmur, almost without a moan or groan, but with cold beads of perspiration standing on his brow; Elsie beside him, calm, quiet, alert to anticipate every wish, but pale as a marble statue and with a look of anguish in her beautiful eyes. It was so hard to stand by and see the suffering endured by him who was dearer than her own life.

She watched Arthur's face as he examined and questioned his patient, and saw it grow white to the very lips.

Was her husband's doom then sealed?

But Arthur drew her and Mr. Dinsmore aside.

"The case is a bad one, but not hopeless," he said. "I am unwilling to take the responsibility alone, but must call in Dr. Barton and also send to the city for the best advice to be had there."

"We have great confidence in your skill, Arthur," Elsie said, "but let nothing be left undone. God alone can heal, but he works by means."

"And in the multitude of counsellors there is safety," added Mr. Dinsmore. "Dear daughter, 'be strong and of a good courage;' there shall no evil befall you, for your heavenly Father knows, and will do what is best."

"Yes, papa, I know, I believe it," she answered with emotion. "Ah, pray for me, that strength may be given me according to my day: and to him, my dear, dear husband; no murmuring thoughts arise in either of our hearts."

The news had flown through the house that its master and head had been stricken down with sudden, severe illness. Great were the consternation and distress among both children and servants, so beloved was he, so strange a thing did it seem for him to be ill, for he had seldom had a day's sickness in all the years that they had known him.

Elsie, Edward and Violet hastened to the door of the sick-room, begging that they might be admitted, that they might share in the work of nursing the dear invalid.

Their mamma came to them, her sweet face very pale but calm.

"No, darlings," she said in her gentle, tender tones, "it will not do to have so many in the room while your dear father is suffering so much. Your grandpa, mammy and I must be his only nurses for the present; though after a time your services may be needed."

"O mamma, it is very hard to have to stay away from him," sobbed Violet.

"I know it, dearest," her mother said, "and my heart aches for you and all my darlings; but I am sure you all love your dear father too well not to willingly sacrifice your own feelings when to indulge them might injure him or increase his pain."

"O mamma, yes, yes indeed!" they all cried.

"Well then, dears, go away now; look after the younger ones and the servants – I trust them all to your care; and when the doctors say it will do, you shall see and speak to your father, and do anything for him that you can."

So with a loving, motherly caress bestowed upon each, she dismissed them to the duties she had pointed out, and returned to her station beside her husband's couch.

Mr. Dinsmore, Arthur Conly, and Aunt Chloe were gathered about it engaged in efforts to relieve the torturing pain. His features were convulsed with it, but his eyes wandered restlessly around the room as if in search of something. As Elsie drew near they fixed themselves upon her face, and his was lighted up with a faint smile.

"Darling, precious little wife," he murmured, drawing her down to him till their lips met in a long loving kiss, "don't leave me for a moment. Nothing helps me to bear this agony like the sight of your sweet face."

"Ah, beloved, if I might bear it for you!" she sighed, her eyes filling with tears, while her soft white hand was laid tenderly upon his brow.

"No, no!" he said, "that were far worse, far worse!"

Her tears were falling fast.

"Ah, do not be so distressed; it is not unendurable," he hastened to say with a loving, tender look and an effort to smile in the midst of his agony. "And He, He is with me; the Lord my Saviour! 'I know that my Redeemer liveth,' and the sense of His love is very sweet, never so sweet before."

"Thank God that it is so! Ah, He is faithful to his promises!" she said.

Then kneeling by his side she repeated one sweet and precious promise after another, the blessed words and loved tones seeming to have a greater power to soothe and relieve than anything else.

The other physicians arrived, examined, consulted, used such remedies as were known to them; everything was done that science and human skill could do, but without avail; they could give temporary relief by the use of opiates and anæsthetics, but were powerless to remove the disease which was fast hurrying its victim to the grave.

Both Mr. Travilla and Elsie desired to know the truth, and it was not concealed from them. On Mr. Dinsmore devolved the sad task of imparting it.

It was in the afternoon of the second day. The doctors had held a final consultation and communicated their verdict to him. Moved to his very heart's core at the thought of parting with his lifelong bosom friend, and more for the far sorer bereavement awaiting his almost idolized child, he waited a little to recover his composure, then entered the sick-room and drew silently near the bed.

Elsie sat close at her husband's side, one hand clasped in his, while with the other she gently fanned him or wiped the death damp from his brow. Did she know it was that? Her face was colorless, but quite calm.

Mr. Travilla was at that moment entirely conscious, and his eyes were gazing full into hers with an expression of unutterable love and the tenderest compassion.

At length they turned from her face for an instant and were uplifted to that of her father, as he stood close beside her, regarding them both with features working with emotion.

The dying man understood its cause. "Is it so, Dinsmore?" he said feebly, but with perfect composure. "Elsie, little wife," and he drew her to him, both tone and gesture full of exceeding tenderness. "O love, darling, precious one, must we part? I go to the glory and bliss of heaven, but you – " His voice broke.

Her heart seemed riven in twain; but she must comfort him. One bursting sob as she hid her face upon his breast, one silent agonized cry to Heaven for help, and lifting her head, she gave him a long look of love, then laid her cheek to his, put her arm about his neck.

"My darling, my dear, dear husband," she said in her sweetest tones, "do not fear for me, or for our children. The Lord, even Jesus, will be our keeper. Do not let the thought of us disturb you now, or damp the glad anticipation of the wondrous glory and bliss to which you go. Soon you will be with Him, 'forever with the Lord.' And how glad our darling Lily will be to see her beloved father; dear mother to recover her son; and what a little, little while it will seem till we all shall join you there, never, never to part again."

"And neither she, my dear daughter, nor her children, shall want for a father's love and care while I live, my dear friend," said Mr. Dinsmore, his voice tremulous with emotion.

"I know it, I know it, and God be thanked that I leave them in such good and loving hands," Mr. Travilla answered, looking gratefully at his friend.

"You trusted your darling child to me," he went on low and feebly and with frequent pauses for breath, "and I give her back to you. Oh she has been a dear, dear wife to me!" he exclaimed, softly stroking her hair. "God bless you, my darling! God bless you for your faithful, unselfish love! You have been the sunshine of my heart and home."

"And you, my beloved, oh what a husband you have been to me!" she sobbed, covering his face with kisses; "never one unkind or impatient word, or look, or tone, nothing but the tenderest love and care have I had from you since the hour we gave ourselves to each other. And I thought, oh I thought we had many more years to live and love together! But God's will be done!"

"Yes," he said, "His will be done with me and mine. Darling, he will never leave nor forsake you; and though I am almost done with time, we shall have all the ages of eternity to live and love together."

Silent caresses were all that passed between them for some moments; then Mr. Dinsmore inquired if his friend had any directions to give about his affairs.

"No," he said, "all that was attended to long since. Elsie knows where to find all my papers, and understands everything in regard to the property and my business matters as well as I do.

"And my peace is made with God," he continued after a pause, speaking in a sweetly solemn tone. "His presence is with me. I feel the everlasting arms underneath and around me. All my hope and trust are in the blood and righteousness of Christ, my crucified and risen Saviour. All is peace. I am a sinner saved by grace.

"Let me see my children and give them a father's blessing, and I shall have nothing more to do but fall asleep in Jesus."

Elsie and Vi were together in a room across the hall from that in which their father lay, sitting clasped in each other's arms, waiting, hoping for the promised summons to go to him when he should be sufficiently relieved to bear their presence.

Ah, there was in each young heart an unspoken fear that he would never rise from that couch of pain, for they had seemed to read his doom in the grave, anxious faces of grandfather and physicians; but oh it was too terrible a fear for either to put into words even to her own consciousness! How could life go on without the father who had thus far constituted so large a part of it to them!

A shuffling step drew near, and Aunt Chloe appeared before them, her face swollen with weeping, her eyes filled with tears.

"You's to come now, chillens."

"Oh is papa better?" they cried, starting up in eager haste to obey the summons.

The old nurse shook her head, tears bursting forth afresh. "He's mos' dar, chillens, mos' dar, whar dey don' hab no mo' pain, no mo' sickness, no mo' dyin'. I see de glory shinin' in his face; he's mos' dar."

Then as their sobs and tears burst forth, "Oh my mistis, my bressed young mistis," she cried, throwing her apron over her head, "yo' ole mammy'd die to keep massa here for yo' sake. But de Lord's will mus' be done, an' He neber makes no mistakes."

CHAPTER IV

"Death is another life."

– Bailey.

"Oh Elsie, Elsie, what shall we do! But it can't, it can't be true!" sobbed Violet, clinging to her sister in a heart-breaking paroxysm of grief. "Oh it will kill mamma, and we shall lose her too!"

"No, no, honey, not so," said Aunt Chloe; "my bressed young missus will lib for yo' sake, for her chillens' sake. An' you ain't gwine to lose massa: he's only gwine home a little while 'fore de rest."

"Dear Vi, we must try to be composed for both their sakes," whispered Elsie, scarcely able to speak for weeping.

"Dear bressed Lord help dem, help dese po' chillens," ejaculated Aunt Chloe. "Come, chillens, we's losin' precious time."

They wiped away their tears, checked their sobs by a determined effort, and hand in hand followed her to the sick-room.

Perfect ease had taken the place of the agonizing pain which for many hours had racked Mr. Travilla's frame, but it was the relief afforded not by returning health, but by approaching dissolution; death's seal was on his brow; even his children could read it as they gathered, weeping, about his bed.

He had a few words of fatherly counsel, of tender, loving farewell for each – Elsie, Violet, Edward: – to the last saying, "My son, I commit your mother to your tender care. You have almost reached man's estate; take your father's place, and let her lean on your young, vigorous arm; yet fail not in filial reverence and obedience; be ever ready to yield to her wise, gentle guidance."

"I will, father, I will," returned the lad in a choking voice.

"And may not I too, and Herbert, papa?" sobbed Harold.

"Yes, dear son, and all of you, love and cherish mamma and try to fill my place to her. And love and obey your kind grandpa as you have always loved and obeyed me."

One after another had received a last caress, a special parting word, till it had come to the turn of the youngest darling of all – little four-year-old Walter.

They lifted him on to the bed, and creeping close to his father, he softly stroked the dying face, and kissing the lips, the cheeks, the brow, cooed in sweet baby accents, "Me so glad to see my dear papa. Papa doin' det well now. Isn't you, papa?"

"Yes, papa's dear pet; I'm going where sickness and pain can never come. My little boy must love the dear Saviour and trust in him, and then one day he shall follow me to that blessed land. Ah, little son, you are too young to remember your father. He will soon be forgotten!"

"No, no, dearest," said his weeping wife, "not so; your pictured face and our constant mention of you shall keep you in remembrance even with him."

"Thanks, dearest," he said, turning a loving gaze on her, "it is a pleasant thought that my name will not be a forgotten sound among the dear ones left behind. We shall meet again, beloved wife, meet again beyond the river. I shall be waiting for you on the farther shore. I am passing through the waters, but He is with me, He who hath washed me from my sins in His own blood. And you, dearest wife – does He sustain you in this hour?"

"Yes," she said, "His grace is sufficient for me. Dear, dear husband, do not fear to leave me to his care."

Tears were coursing down her white cheeks, but the low, sweet tones of her voice were calm and even. She was resolutely putting aside all thought of self and the sore bereavement that awaited her and her children, that she might smooth his passage to the tomb; she would not that he should be disturbed by one anxious thought of them.

He forgot none of his household. Molly and her mother were brought in for a gentle, loving farewell word; then each of the servants.

He lingered still for some hours, but his wife never left him for an instant; her hand was clasped in his when the messenger came; his last look of love was for her, his last whisper, "Precious little wife, eternity is ours!"

Friends carried him to his quiet resting place beside the little daughter who had preceded him to the better land, and widow and children returned without him to the home hitherto made so bright and happy by his loved presence.

Elsie, leaning on her father's arm, slowly ascended the steps of the veranda, but on the threshold drew back with a shudder and a low, gasping sob.

Her father drew her to his breast.

"My darling, do not go in. Come with me to the Oaks; let me take you all there for a time."

"No, dear papa; 'twould be but putting off the evil day – the trial that must be borne sooner or later," she said in trembling, tearful tones. "But – if you will stay with me – "

"Surely, dearest, as long as you will. I could not leave you now, my poor stricken one! Let me assist you to your room. You are completely worn out, and must take some rest."

"My poor children – " she faltered.

"For their sakes you must take care of yourself," he said. "Your mamma is here. She and I will take charge of everything until you are able to resume your duties as mother and mistress."

He led her to her apartments, made her lie down on a couch, darkened the room, and sitting down beside her, took her hand in his.

"Papa, papa!" she cried, starting up in a sudden burst of grief, "take me in your arms, take me in your arms and hold me close as you used to do, as he has done every day that he lived since you gave me to him!"

"My poor darling, my poor darling!" he said, straining her to his breast, "God comfort you! May He be the strength of your heart and your portion forever! Remember that Jesus still lives, and that your beloved one is with Him, rejoicing with joy unspeakable and full of glory."

"Yes, yes, but oh, the learning to live without him!" she moaned. "How can I! how can I!"

"'When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour,'" he repeated in low, moved tones. "'Behold I have refined thee, but not with silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.' Dear daughter, my heart bleeds for you, and yet I know that He who has sent this sorrow loves you far better than I do, and He means it for good. 'Faith is the better of the free air and of the sharp winter storm in its face. Grace withereth without adversity.'"

"Yes, yes," she whispered, clinging to him. "Go on, dear papa, you bring me comfort."

"What so comforting as the love of Christ!" he went on; "the assurance that 'in all our afflictions He is afflicted!' My darling, 'the weightiest end of the cross of Christ, which is laid upon you, lieth upon your strong Saviour!'"

"And He will never let me sink," she said. "Oh what love is His! and how unworthy am I!"

Never very strong, Elsie was, as her father plainly perceived, greatly exhausted by the combined influence of the fatigue of nursing, overwhelming sorrow and the constraint she had put upon herself to control its manifestations while her husband lived.

She must have rest from every care and responsibility, must be shielded from all annoyance, and as far as possible from every fresh reminder of her loss.

For several days he watched over her with unceasing care and solicitude, doing all in his power to soothe, to comfort and console, allowing only short interviews with Rose and the children, and keeping every one else away except her old mammy.

Never had father and daughter seemed nearer and dearer to each other than in these sorrowful days. To lay her weary head upon his breast while his arms folded her close to his heart, gave some relief – more than could anything else – to the unutterable longing to feel the clasp of those other arms whose loving embrace she could never know again on earth.

But her nature was too unselfish and affectionate to allow of long indulgence in this life of inactivity and nursing of her grief. She could not resist the anxious, pleading looks of her children. She, their only remaining parent, must now devote herself to them even more entirely than had been her wont. Grandma Rose was kind as kind could be, but mamma's place could be filled by no one but herself.

"Dear papa," she said when three days had passed, "I am rested now, and you must please let me go back to my duties. My dear little ones need me; the older ones too. I cannot deprive them of their mother any longer."

"Would it not be well to give yourself one more day of rest?" he asked, gazing sadly at the wan cheeks and the mournful eyes that looked so unnaturally large. "I do not think you are strong enough yet for anything like exertion."

"I think the sweet work of comforting and caring for my darlings – his children as well as mine," she said with a tremble in her voice, "will do me good."

"It is partly for their sakes that I want you to take care of yourself," he said, putting his arm about her, while her head dropped on his shoulder. "Would it not have been his wish? were you not always his first care?"

She gave a silent assent, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

"And he gave you back to me, making you doubly mine – my own darling, precious child! and your life, health and happiness must be my special charge," he said, caressing her with exceeding tenderness.

"My happiness? Then, papa, you will not try to keep me from my darlings. My dear, dear father, do not think I am ungrateful for your loving care. Ah, it is very sweet and restful to lean upon you and feel the strong tender clasp of your arm! but I must rouse myself and become a prop for others to lean upon."

"Yes, to some extent – when you are quite rested. But you must bear no burdens, dear daughter, that your father can bear for you."

She looked her gratitude out of tear-dimmed eyes.

"God has been very good to me, in sparing me, my father," she said. "And my children, my seven darlings – all good and loving. How rich I ought to feel! how rich I do feel, though so sorely bereaved."

The tears burst forth afresh.

"You will let me go to them?" she said when she could speak again.

"To-morrow, if you will try to rest and gain strength to-day. I am quite sure it is what he would have wished – that you should rest a little longer. The children can come to you for an hour or two to-day."

She yielded for that time, and the next day he withdrew his opposition and himself led her down to the breakfast parlour, where all were gathered to partake of the morning meal.