He Fell In Love With His Wife, Edward Payson Roe [children's books read aloud .TXT] 📗

gotten up in a hurry.”

 

The domestic stared at Alida and Holcroft, and then surmising what had taken

place, was so excited that she could scarcely wait on the guests.

 

Holcroft, with the simple tact which genuine kindness usually suggests, was

attentive to his bride, but managed, by no slight effort for him, to engage

the two men in general conversation, so that Alida might have time to recover

her composure. His quiet, matter-of-fact bearing was reassuring in itself. A

cup of strong tea and a little old currant wine, which Watterly insisted on

her taking, brightened her up not a little. Indeed her weakness was now

largely due to the want of nourishment suited to her feeble condition.

Moreover, both nerves and mind found relief and rest in the consciousness that

the decisive step had been taken. She was no longer shuddering and recoiling

from a past in which each day had revealed more disheartening elements. Her

face was now toward a future that promised a refuge, security, and even hope.

 

The quiet meal was soon over. Holcroft put a five-dollar bill in the hands of

the justice, who filled in a certificate and departed, feeling that the

afternoon had not been spent in vain.

 

“Jim,” said Watterly, drawing his friend aside, “you’ll want to make some

purchases. You know she’s only what she wears. How are you off for money?”

 

“Well, Tom, you know I didn’t expect anything of this kind when—”

 

“Of course I know it. Will fifty answer?”

 

“Yes. You’re a good friend. I’ll return it in a day or two.”

 

“Return it when you’re a mind to. I say, Alida, I want you to take this. Jim

Holcroft can’t get married and his bride not receive a present from me,” and

he put ten dollars in her hand.

 

Tears rushed to her eyes as she turned them inquiringly to Holcroft to know

what she should do.

 

“Now see here, Tom, you’ve done too much for us already.”

 

“Shut up, Jim Holcroft! Don’t you end the day by hurting my feelings! It’s

perfectly right and proper for me to do this. Goodby, Alida. I don’t believe

you’ll ever be sorry you found your way to my hotel.”

 

Alida took his proffered hand, but could only falter, “I—I can never forget.”

 

Chapter XX. Uncle Jonathan’s Impression of the Bride

 

“Now, Alida,” said Holcroft, as they drove away, “remember that we are two

middle-aged, sensible people. At least I’m middle-aged, and fairly sensible,

too, I hope. You’ll need to buy some things, and I want you to get all you

need. Don’t stint yourself, and you needn’t hurry so as to get tired, for we

shall have moonlight and there’s no use trying to get home before dark. Is

there any particular store which you’d like to go to?”

 

“No, sir; only I’d rather go over on the east side of the town where I’m not

known.”

 

“That suits me, for it’s the side nearest home and I AM known there.”

 

“Perhaps—perhaps you also would rather go this evening where you are not

known,” she said hesitatingly.

 

“It makes no difference to me. In fact I know of a place where you’ll have a

good choice at reasonable rates.”

 

“I’ll go where you wish,” she said quietly.

 

They soon entered a large shop together, and the proprietor said pleasantly,

“Good evening, Mr. Holcroft.”

 

“Good evening, Mr. Jasper. My wife wants to get some things. If you’ll be

good enough to wait on her, I’ll step out to do two or three errands.”

 

The merchant looked curiously at Alida, but was too polite to ask questions or

make comments on her very simple purchases. Her old skill and training were

of service now. She knew just what she absolutely needed, and bought no more.

 

Holcroft laid in a good stock of groceries and some juicy beef and then

returned. When Mr. Jasper gave him his bill, he went to Alida, who was

resting, and said in a low voice, “This won’t do at all. You can’t have

bought half enough.”

 

For the first time something like a smile flitted across her face as she

replied, “It’s enough to begin with. I know.”

 

“Really, Mr. Holcroft, I didn’t know you were married,” said the merchant. “I

must congratulate you.”

 

“Well, I am. Thank you. Good night.”

 

A few moments later he and his wife were bowling out of town toward the hills.

Reaching one of these, the horses came down to a walk and Holcroft turned and

said, “Are you very tired, Alida? I’m troubled about you taking this long

ride. You have been so sick.”

 

“I’m sorry I’m not stronger, sir, but the fresh air seems to do me good and I

think I can stand it.”

 

“You didn’t promise to obey me, did you?” with a rather nervous little laugh.

 

“No, sir, but I will.”

 

“That’s a good beginning. Now see what an old tyrant I am. In the first

place, I don’t want you to say ‘sir’ to me any more. My name is James. In

the second place, you must work only as I let you. Your first business is to

get strong and well, and you know we agreed to marry on strictly business

grounds.”

 

“I understand it well, but I think you are very kind for a business man.”

 

“Oh, as to that, if I do say it of myself, I don’t think it’s my nature to be

hard on those who treat me square. I think we shall be very good friends in

our quiet way, and that’s more than can be said of a good many who promise

more than they seem to remember afterward.”

 

“I will try to do all you wish for I am very grateful.”

 

“If you do, you may find I’m as grateful as you are.”

 

“That can never be. Your need and mine were very different.—But I shall try

to show my gratitude by learning your ways and wishes and not by many words of

thanks.”

 

“Thank the Lord!” mentally ejaculated the farmer, “there’s no Mrs. Mumpson in

this case;” but he only said kindly, “I think we understand each other now,

Alida. I’m not a man of words either, and I had better show by actions also

what I am. The fact is, although we are married, we are scarcely acquainted,

and people can’t get acquainted in a day.”

 

The first long hill was surmounted and away they bowled again, past cottage

and farmhouse, through strips of woodland and between fields from which came

the fragrance of the springing grass and the peepings of the hylas. The moon

soon rose, full-orbed, above the higher eastern hills, and the mild April

evening became luminous and full of beauty.

 

A healing sense of quiet and security already began to steal into Alida’s

bruised heart. In turning her back upon the town in which she had suffered so

greatly, she felt like one escaping from prison and torture. An increasing

assurance of safety came with every mile; the cool, still radiance of the

night appeared typical of her new and most unexpected experience. Light had

risen on her shadowed path, but it was not warm, vivifying sunlight, which

stimulates and develops. A few hours before she was in darkness which might

be felt—yet it was a gloom shot through and through with lurid threatening

gleams. It had seemed to her that she had fallen from home, happiness, and

honor to unfathomed depths, and yet there had appeared to be deeper and darker

abysses on every side. She had shuddered at the thought of going out into the

world, feeling that her misfortune would awaken suspicion rather than

sympathy, scorn instead of kindness; that she must toil on until death, to

sustain a life to which death would come as God’s welcome messenger. Then had

come this man at her side, with his comparatively trivial troubles and

perplexities, and he had asked her help—she who was so helpless. He had

banished despair from her earthly future, he had lifted her up and was bearing

her away from all which she had so dreaded; nothing had been asked which her

crushed spirit was unable to bestow; she was simply expected to aid him in his

natural wish to keep his home and to live where he had always dwelt. His very

inability to understand her, to see her broken, trampled life and immeasurable

need as she saw it, brought quietness of mind. The concentration of his

thoughts on a few homely and simple hopes gave her immunity. With quick

intuition, she divined that she had not a whimsical, jealous, exacting nature

to deal with. He was the plain, matter-of-fact man he seemed; so literal and

absolutely truthful that he would appear odd to most people. To her mind, his

were the traits which she could now most welcome and value. He knew all about

her, she had merely to be herself, to do what she had promised, in order to

rest securely on his rock-like truth. He had again touched a deep, grateful

chord in speaking of her to the shopkeeper as his wife; he showed no

disposition whatever to shrink from the relation before the world; it was

evident that he meant to treat her with respect and kindness, and to exact

respect from others. For all this, while sitting quietly and silently at his

side, she thanked him almost passionately in her heart; but far more than for

all this she was glad and grateful that he would not expect what she now felt

it would be impossible for her to give—the love and personal devotion which

had been inseparable from marriage in her girlhood thoughts. He would make

good his words—she should be his wife in name and be respected as such. He

was too simple and true to himself and his buried love, too considerate of

her, to expect more. She might hope, therefore, as he had said, that they

might be helpful, loyal friends and he would have been surprised indeed had he

known how the pale, silent woman beside him was longing and hoping to fill

his home with comfort.

 

Thoughts like these had inspired and sustained her while at the same time

ministering the balm of hope. The quiet face of nature, lovely in the

moonlight, seemed to welcome and reassure her. Happy are those who, when

sorely wounded in life, can turn to the natural world and find in every tree,

shrub, and flower a comforting friend that will not turn from them. Such are

not far from God and peace.

 

The range of Holcroft’s thoughts was far simpler and narrower than Alida’s.

He turned rather deliberately from the past, preferring to dwell on the

probable consummation of his hope. His home, his farm, were far more to him

than the woman he had married. He had wedded her for their sake, and his

thoughts followed his heart, which was in his hillside acres. It is said that

women often marry for a home; he truly had done so to keep his home. The

question which now most occupied him was the prospect of doing this through

quiet, prosperous years. He dwelt minutely on Alida’s manner, as well as her

words, and found nothing to shake his belief that she had been as truthful as

himself. Nevertheless, he queried in regard to the future with not a little

anxiety. In her present distress and poverty she might naturally be glad of

the refuge he had offered; but as time passed and the poignancy of bitter

memories was allayed, might not her life on the farm seem monotonous and dull,

might not weariness