He Fell In Love With His Wife, Edward Payson Roe [children's books read aloud .TXT] 📗
- Author: Edward Payson Roe
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apparel had been examined and commented on; her wedding ring had been seen and
its absence soon noted, for Alida, after gaining the power to recall the past
fully, had thrown away the metal lie, feeling that it was the last link in a
chain binding her to a loathed and hated relationship. Learning from their
questions that the inmates of the almshouse did not know her history, she
refused to reveal it, thus awakening endless surmises. Many histories were
made for her, the beldams vying with each other in constructing the worst one.
Poor Alida soon learned that there was public opinion even in an almshouse,
and that she was under its ban. In dreary despondency she thought, “They’ve
found out about me. If such creatures as these think I’m hardly fit to speak
to, how can I ever find work among good, respectable people?”
Her extreme depression, the coarse, vulgar, and uncharitable natures by which
she was surrounded, retarded her recovery. By her efforts to do anything in
her power for others she disarmed the hostility of some of the women, and
those that were more or less demented became fond of her; but the majority
probed her wound by every look and word. She was a saint compared with any of
these, yet they made her envy their respectability. She often thought, “Would
to God that I was as old and ready to die as the feeblest woman here, if I
could only hold up my head like her!”
One day a woman who had a child left it sleeping in its rude wooden cradle and
went downstairs. The babe wakened and began to cry. Alida took it up and
found a strange solace in rocking it to sleep again upon her breast. At last
the mother returned, glared a moment into Alida’s appealing eyes, then
snatched the child away with the cruel words, “Don’t ye touch my baby ag’in!
To think it ud been in the arms o’ the loikes o’ye!”
Alida went away and sobbed until her strength was gone. She found that there
were some others ostracized like herself, but they accepted their position as
a matter of course—as if it belonged to them and was the least of their
troubles.
Her strength was returning, yet she was still feeble when she sent for Mrs.
Watterly and asked, “Do you think I’m strong enough to take a place
somewhere?”
“You ought to know that better than me,” was the chilly reply.
“Do you—do you think I could get a place? I would be willing to do any kind
of honest work not beyond my strength.”
“You hardly look able to sit up straight. Better wait till you’re stronger.
I’ll tell my husband. If applications come, he’ll see about it,” and she
turned coldly away.
A day or two later Tom came and said brusquely, but not unkindly, “Don’t like
my hotel, hey? What can you do?”
“I’m used to sewing, but I’d try to do almost anything by which I could earn
my living.”
“Best thing to do is to prosecute that scamp and make him pay you a good round
sum.”
She shook her head decidedly. “I don’t wish to see him again. I don’t wish to
go before people and have the—the—past talked about. I’d like a place with
some kind, quiet people who keep no other help. Perhaps they wouldn’t take me
if they knew; but I would be so faithful to them, and try so heard to learn
what they wanted—”
“That’s all nonsense, their not taking you. I’ll find you a place some day,
but you’re not strong enough yet. You’d be brought right back here. You’re
as pale as a ghost—almost look like one. So don’t be impatient, but give me
a chance to find you a good place. I feel sorry for you, and don’t want you
to get among folks that have no feelings. Don’t you worry now; chirk up, and
you’ll come out all right.”
“I—I think that if—if I’m employed, the people who take me ought to know,”
said Alida with bowed head.
“They’ll be blamed fools if they don’t think more of you when they do know,”
was his response. “Still, that shall be as you please. I’ve told only my
wife, and they’ve kept mum at the police station, so the thing hasn’t got into
the papers.”
Alida’s head bowed lower still as she replied, “I thank you. My only wish now
is to find some quiet place in which I can work and be left to myself.”
“Very well,” said Tom good-naturedly. “Cheer up! I’ll be on the lookout for
you.”
She turned to the window near which she was sitting to hide the tears which
his rough kindness evoked. “He don’t seem to shrink from me as if I wasn’t fit
to be spoken to,” she thought; “but his wife did. I’m afraid people won’t
take me when they know.”
The April sunshine poured in at the window; the grass was becoming green; a
robin alighted on a tree nearby and poured out a jubilant song. For a few
moments hope, that had been almost dead in her heart, revived. As she looked
gratefully at the bird, thanking it in her heart for the song, it darted upon
a string hanging on an adjacent spray and bore it to a crotch between two
boughs. Then Alida saw it was building a nest. Her woman’s heart gave way.
“Oh,” she moaned, “I shall never have a home again! No place shared by one
who cares for me. To work, and to be tolerated for the sake of my work, is
all that’s left.”
Chapter XIV. A Pitched Battle
It was an odd household under Holcroft’s roof on the evening of the Sunday we
have described. The farmer, in a sense, had “taken sanctuary” in his own
room, that he might escape the maneuvering wiles of his tormenting
housekeeper. If she would content herself with general topics he would try to
endure her foolish, high-flown talk until the three months expired; but that
she should speedily and openly take the initiative in matrimonial designs was
proof of such an unbalanced mind that he was filled with nervous dread.
“Hanged if one can tell what such a silly, hairbrained woman will do next!” he
thought, as he brooded by the fire. “Sunday or no Sunday, I feel as if I’d
like to take my horsewhip and give Lemuel Weeks a piece of my mind.”
Such musings did not promise well for Mrs. Mumpson, scheming in the parlor
below; but, as we have seen, she had the faculty of arranging all future
events to her mind. That matters had not turned out in the past as she had
expected, counted for nothing. She was one who could not be taught, even by
experience. The most insignificant thing in Holcroft’s dwelling had not
escaped her scrutiny and pretty accurate guess as to value, yet she could not
see or understand the intolerable disgust and irritation which her ridiculous
conduct excited. In a weak mind egotism and selfishness, beyond a certain
point, pass into practical insanity. All sense of delicacy, of the fitness of
things, is lost; even the power to consider the rights and feelings of others
is wanting. Unlike poor Holcroft, Mrs. Mumpson had few misgivings in regard
to coming years. As she rocked unceasingly before the parlor fire, she
arranged everything in regard to his future as well as her own.
Jane, quite forgotten, was oppressed with a miserable presentiment of evil.
Her pinched but intense little mind was concentrated on two facts—Holcroft’s
anger and her mother’s lack of sense. From such premises it did not take her
long to reason out but one conclusion—“visitin’ again;” and this was the
summing up of all evils. Now and then a tear would force its way out of one
of her little eyes, but otherwise she kept her troubles to herself.
Mrs. Wiggins was the only complacent personage in the house, and she unbent
with a garrulous affability to Jane, which could be accounted for in but one
way—Holcroft had forgotten about his cider barrel, thereby unconsciously
giving her the chance to sample its contents freely. She was now smoking her
pipe with much content, and indulging in pleasing reminiscences which the
facts of her life scarcely warranted.
“Ven hi vas as leetle a gal as ye are,” she began, and then she related
experiences quite devoid of the simplicity and innocence of childhood. The
girl soon forgot her fears and listened with avidity until the old dame’s face
grew heavier, if possible, with sleep, and she stumbled off to bed.
Having no wish to see or speak to her mother again, the child blew out the
candle and stole silently up the stairway. At last Mrs. Mumpson took her
light and went noisily around, seeing to the fastenings of doors and windows.
“I know he is listening to every sound from me, and he shall learn what a
caretaker I am,” she murmured softly.
Once out of doors in the morning, with his foot on the native heath of his
farm, Holcroft’s hopefulness and courage always returned. He was half angry
with himself at his nervous irritation of the evening before. “If she becomes
so cranky that I can’t stand her, I’ll pay the three months’ wages and clear
her out,” he had concluded, and he went about his morning work with a grim
purpose to submit to very little nonsense.
Cider is akin to vinegar, and Mrs. Wiggins’ liberal potations of the evening
before had evidently imparted a marked acidity to her temper. She laid hold
of the kitchen utensils as if she had a spite against them, and when Jane,
confiding in her friendliness shown so recently, came down to assist, she was
chased out of doors with language we forbear to repeat. Mrs. Mumpson,
therefore, had no intimation of the low state of the barometer in the region
of the kitchen. “I have taken time to think deeply and calmly,” she murmured.
“The proper course has been made clear to me. He is somewhat uncouth; he is
silent and unable to express his thoughts and emotions—in brief, undeveloped;
he is awfully irreligious. Moth and rust are busy in this house; much that
would be so useful is going to waste. He must learn to look upon me as the
developer, the caretaker, a patient and healthful embodiment of female
influence. I will now begin actively my mission of making him an ornerment to
society. That mountainous Mrs. Viggins must be replaced by a deferential girl
who will naturally look up to me. How can I be a true caretaker—how can I
bring repose and refinement to this dwelling with two hundred pounds of female
impudence in my way? Mr. Holcroft shall see that Mrs. Viggins is an unseemly
and jarring discord in our home,” and she brought the rocking chair from the
parlor to the kitchen, with a serene and lofty air. Jane hovered near the
window, watching.
At first, there was an ominous silence in respect to words. Portentous sounds
increased, however, for Mrs. Wiggins strode about with martial tread, making
the boards creak and the dishes clatter, while her red eyes shot lurid and
sanguinary gleams. She would seize a dipper as if it were a foe, slamming it
upon the table again as if striking an enemy. Under her vigorous
manipulation, kettles and pans resounded with reports like firearms.
Mrs. Mumpson was evidently perturbed; her calm superiority was forsaking her;
every moment she rocked faster—a sure indication that she was not at peace.
At last she said, with great dignity: “Mrs. Viggins, I must request you to
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