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

would have given much satisfaction in spite of the instinctive

repugnance which the girl seemed to inspire universally. Holcroft recognized

this repugnance and the patient effort to disguise it and be kind.

 

“Like enough she feels in the same way toward me,” he thought, “and is trying

a sight harder not to show it. But she seems willing enough to talk business

and to keep up her interest in the partnership line. Well, blamed if I

wouldn’t rather talk business to her than love to any other woman!”

 

So it gradually came about that they had more and more to say to each other on

matters relating to the farm. Holcroft showed her the receipts from the

dairy, and her eyes sparkled as if he had brought jewels home to her. Then

she in turn would expatiate on the poultry interests and assure him that there

were already nearly two hundred little chicks on the place. One afternoon,

during a shower, she ventured to beguile him into listening to the greater

part of one of the agricultural journals, and with much deference made two or

three suggestions about the farm, which he saw were excellent. She little

dreamed that if she were willing to talk of turning the farm upside down and

inside out, he would have listened with pleasure.

 

They both began to acquire more serenity and hopefulness, for even this sordid

business partnership was growing strangely interesting. The meals grew less

and less silent, and the farmer would smoke his pipe invitingly near in the

evening so that she could resume their talk on bucolic subjects without much

conscious effort, while at the same time, if she did not wish his society, she

could shun it without discourtesy. He soon perceived that she needed some

encouragement to talk even of farm matters; but, having received it, that she

showed no further reluctance. He naturally began to console himself with

business as unstintedly as he dared. “As long as I keep on this tack all seems

well,” he muttered. “She don’t act as if I was disagreeable to her, but then

how can a man tell? If she thinks it her duty, she’ll talk and smile, yet

shiver at the very thought of my touching her. Well, well, time will show.

We seem to be getting more sociable, anyhow.”

 

They both recognized this fact and tried to disguise it and to relieve

themselves from the appearance of making any undue advances by greater

formality of address. In Jane’s presence he had formed the habit of speaking

to his wife as Mrs. Holcroft, and now he was invariably “Mr.”

 

One evening in the latter part of June, he remarked at supper, “I must give

half a day to hoeing the garden tomorrow. I’ve been so busy working out the

corn and potatoes that it seems an age since I’ve been in the garden.”

 

“She and me,” began Jane, “I mean Mrs. Holcroft and I, have been in the

garden.”

 

“That’s right, Jane, You’re coming on. I think your improved talk and manners

do Mrs. Holcroft much credit. I’d like to take some lessons myself.” Then,

as if a little alarmed at his words, he hastened to ask, “What have you been

doing in the garden?”

 

“You’ll see when you go there,” replied Jane, her small eyes twinkling with

the rudiments of fun.

 

Holcroft looked at the child as if he had not seen her for some time either.

Her hair was neatly combed, braided, and tied with a blue ribbon instead of a

string, her gown was as becoming as any dress could be to her, her little

brown hands were clean, and they no longer managed the knife and fork in an

ill-bred manner. The very expression of the child’s face was changing, and

now that it was lighted up with mirth at the little surprise awaiting him, it

had at least attained the negative grace of being no longer repulsive. He

sighed involuntarily as he turned away. “Just see what she’s doing for that

child that I once thought hideous! How much she might do for me if she cared

as I do!”

 

He rose from the table, lighted his pipe, and went out to the doorstep. Alida

looked at him wistfully. “He stood there with me once and faced a mob of men,”

she thought. “Then he put his arm around me. I would face almost any danger

for even such a caress again.” The memory of that hour lent her unwonted

courage, and she approached him timidly and said, “Perhaps you would like to

go and look at the garden? Jane and I may not have done everything right.”

 

“Why, certainly. I forgot about the garden; but then you’ll have to go with

me if I’m to tell you.”

 

“I don’t mind,” she said, leading the way.

 

The June sun was low in the west and the air had become deliciously cool and

fragrant. The old rosebushes were in bloom, and as she passed she picked a

bud and fastened it on her bosom. Wood thrushes, orioles, and the whole

chorus of birds were in full song: limpid rills of melody from the meadow

larks flowed from the fields, and the whistling of the quails added to the

harmony.

 

Holcroft was in a mood of which he had never been conscious before. These

familiar sounds, which had been unheeded so much of his life, now affected him

strangely, creating an immeasurable sadness and longing. It seemed as if

perceptions which were like new senses were awakening in his mind. The world

was full of wonderful beauty before unrecognized, and the woman who walked

lightly and gracefully at his side was the crown of it all. He himself was so

old, plain, and unworthy in contrast. His heart ached with a positive,

definite pain that he was not younger, handsomer, and better equipped to win

the love of his wife. As she stood in the garden, wearing the rose, her neat

dress outlining her graceful form, the level rays of the sun lighting up her

face and turning her hair to gold, he felt that he had never seen or imagined

such a woman before. She was in harmony with the June evening and a part of

it, while he, in his working clothes, his rugged, sun-browned features and

hair tinged with gray, was a blot upon the scene. She who was so lovely, must

be conscious of his rude, clownish appearance. He would have faced any man

living and held his own on the simple basis of his manhood. Anything like

scorn, although veiled, on Alida’s part, would have touched his pride and

steeled his will, but the words and manner of this gentle woman who tried to

act as if blind to all that he was in contrast with herself, to show him

deference, kindness, and good will when perhaps she felt toward him somewhat

as she did toward Jane, overwhelmed him with humility and grief. It is the

essence of deep, unselfish love to depreciate itself and exalt its object.

There was a superiority in Alida which Holcroft was learning to recognize more

clearly every day, and he had not a trace of vanity to sustain him. Now he

was in a mood to wrong and undervalue himself without limit.

 

She showed him how much she and Jane had accomplished, how neat and clean they

had kept the rows of growing vegetables, and how good the promise was for an

indefinite number of dinners, but she only added to the farmer’s depression.

He was in no mood for onions, parsnips, and their vegetable kin, yet thought,

“She thinks I’m only capable of being interested in such things, and I’ve been

at much pains to give that impression. She picked that rose for HERSELF, and

now she’s showing ME how soon we may hope to have summer cabbage and squash.

She thus shows that she knows the difference between us and that always must

be between us, I fear. She is so near in our daily life, yet how can I ever

get any nearer? As I feel now, it seems impossible.”

 

She had quickly observed his depressed, abstracted manner, but misinterpreted

the causes. Her own face clouded and grew troubled. Perhaps she was

revealing too much of her heart, although seeking to disguise it so

sedulously, and he was penetrating her motives for doing so much in the garden

and in luring him thither now. He was not showing much practical interest in

beans and beets, and was evidently oppressed and ill at ease.

 

“I hope we have done things right?” she ventured, turning away to hide tears

of disappointment.

 

“Her self-sacrifice is giving out,” he thought bitterly. “She finds she can

scarcely look at me as I now appear in contrast with this June evening. Well,

I don’t blame her. It makes me almost sick when I think of myself and I won’t

be brute enough to say a harsh word to her. “You have done it all far better

than I could,” he said emphatically. “I would not have believed it if you

hadn’t shown me. The trouble is, you are trying to do too much. I—I think

I’ll take a walk.”

 

In fact, he had reached the limit of endurance; he could not look upon her

another moment as she appeared that evening and feel that she associated him

chiefly with crops and business, and that all her grateful good will could not

prevent his personality from being disagreeable. He must carry his bitterness

whither no eye could see him, and as he turned, his self-disgust led him to

whirl away his pipe. It struck a tree and fell shattered at its foot. Alida

had never seen him do anything of the kind before, and it indicated that he

was passing beyond the limits of patience. “Oh, oh,” she sobbed, “I fear we

are going to drift apart! If he can’t endure to talk with me about such

things, what chance have I at all? I hoped that the hour, the beauty of the

evening, and the evidence that I had been trying so hard to please him would

make him more like what he used to be before he seemed to take a dislike.

There’s only one way to account for it all—he sees how I feel and he doesn’t

like it. My very love sets him against me. My heart was overflowing tonight.

How could I help it, as I remembered how he stood up for me? He was brave and

kind; he meant well by me, he means well now; but he can’t help his feelings.

He has gone away now to think of the woman that he did love and loves still,

and it angers him that I should think of taking her place. He loved her as a

child and girl and woman—he told me so; he warned me and said he could not

help thinking of her. If I had not learned to love him so deeply and

passionately and show it in spite of myself, time would gradually have

softened the past and all might have gone well. Yet how could I help it when

he saved me from so much? I feel tonight, though, that I only escaped one

kind of trouble to meet another almost as bad and which may become worse.”

 

She strolled to the farther end of the garden that she might become calm

before meeting Jane’s scrutiny. Useless precaution! For the girl had been

watching them both. Her motive had not been unmixed curiosity, since, having

taken some part in the garden work, she had wished to witness Holcroft’s

pleasure and hear his praises. Since the actors in the scene so misunderstood

each other, she certainly would not rightly