CHAPTER I
LOVE UNKNOWN
From its long sweep over the unbroken prairie a heavier blast thanusual shook the slight frame house. The windows rattled in thecasements, as if shivering in their dumb way in the December storm.So open and defective was the dwelling in its construction, that eddyingcurrents of cold air found admittance at various points--in someinstances carrying with them particles of the fine, sharp, hail-likesnow that the gale was driving before it in blinding fury.
Seated at one of the windows, peering out into the gathering gloom ofthe swiftly coming night, was a pale, faded woman with lustrous darkeyes. An anxious light shone from them, as she tried in vain to catcha glimpse of the darkening road that ran at a distance of about fiftyyards from the house. As the furious blast shook the frail tenement,and circled round her in chilly currents from many a crack and crevice,she gave a short, hacking cough, and drew a thin shawl closer abouther slight frame.
The unwonted violence of the wind had its effect upon another occupantof the room. From a bed in the corner near the stove came a feeble,hollow voice--"Wife!"
In a moment the woman was bending over the bed, and in a voice fullof patient tenderness answered, "Well, dear?"
"Has he come?"
"Not yet; but he MUST be here soon."
The word MUST was emphasized in such a way as to mean doubt ratherthan certainty, as if trying to assure her own mind of a matter aboutwhich painful misgivings could not be banished. The quick ear of thesick man caught the tone, and in a querulous voice he said, "Oh! ifhe should not get here in time, it would be the last bitter drop inmy cup, now full and running over."
"Dear husband, if human strength and love can accomplish it, he willbe here soon. But the storm is indeed frightful, and were the caseless urgent, I could almost wish he would not try to make his waythrough it. But then we know what Dennis is; he never stops to considerdifficulties, but pushes right on; and if--if he doesn't--if it ispossible, he will be here before very long."
In spite of herself, the mother's heart showed its anxiety, and, toolate for remedy, she saw the effect upon her husband. He raised himselfin bed with sudden and unwonted strength. His eyes grew wild and almostfierce, and in a sharp, hurried voice, he said: "You don't think thereis danger? There is no fear of his getting lost? If I thought that Iwould curse God and die."
"Oh, Dennis, my husband, God forbid that you should speak thus! How canyou feel so toward our Best Friend?"
"What kind of a friend has He been to me, pray? Has not my life beenone long series of misfortunes? Have I not been disappointed in allmy hopes? I once believed in God and tried to serve Him. But if, asI have been taught, all this evil and misfortune was ordered and mademy inevitable lot by Him, He has not been my friend, but my enemy.He's been against me, not for me."
In the winter twilight the man's emaciated, unshorn face had theghostly, ashen hue of death. From cavernous sockets his eyes gleamedwith a terribly vindictive light, akin to insanity, and, in a harsh,high voice, as unnatural as his appearance and words, he continued:"Remember what I have gone through! what I have suffered! how oftenthe cup of success that I was raising to my lips has been dashed to theground!"
"But, Dennis, think a moment."
"Ah! haven't I thought till my heart is gall and my brain bursting?Haven't I, while lying here, hopelessly dying, gone over my life againand again? Haven't I lived over every disappointment, and taken everystep downward a thousand times? Remember the pleasant, plentiful homeI took you from, under the great elms in Connecticut. Your father didnot approve of your marrying a poor school-teacher. But you know thatthen I had every prospect of getting the village academy, but with myluck another got ahead of me. Then I determined to study law. Whathopes I had! I already grasped political honors that seemed within myreach, for you know I was a ready speaker. If my friends could onlyhave seen that I was peculiarly fitted for public life and advancedme sufficient means, I would have returned it tenfold. But no; I wasforced into other things for which I had no great aptness or knowledge,and years of struggling poverty and repeated disappointment followed.At last your father died and gave us enough to buy a cheap farm outhere. But why go over our experience in the West? My plan of makingsugar from the sorghum, which promised so brilliantly, has ended inthe most wretched failure of all. And now money has gone, health hasgone, and soon my miserable life will be over. Our boy must come backfrom college, and you and the two little ones--what will you do?" andthe man covered his head with the blanket and wept aloud. His poorwife, borne down by the torrent of his sorrow, was on her knees at hisbedside, with her face buried in her hands, weeping also.
But suddenly he started up. His sobs ceased. His tears ceased to flow,while his eyes grew hard and fierce, and his hands clenched.
"But he was coming," he said. "He may get lost in the storm this bitterwinter night."
He grasped his wife roughly by the arm. She was astonished at hissudden strength, and raised a tearful, startled face to his. It waswell she could not see its terrible expression in the dusk; but sheshuddered as he hissed in her ear, "If this should happen--if mymiserable death is the cause of his death--if my accursed destinyinvolves him, your staff and hope, in so horrible a fate, what haveI to do but curse God and die?"
It seemed to the poor woman that her heart would burst with the agonyof that moment. As the storm had increased, a terrible dread had chilledher very soul. Every louder blast than usual had caused her an internalshiver, while for her husband's sake she had controlled herselfoutwardly. Like a shipwrecked man who is clinging to a rock, that hefears the tide will submerge, she had watched the snow rise from onerail to another along the fence. When darkness set in it was half-wayup to the top rail, and she knew it was _drifting_. The thought of herruddy, active, joyous-hearted boy, whose affection and hopefulness hadbeen the broad track of sunlight on her hard path--the thought of hislying white and still beneath one of these great banks, just where shecould never know till spring rains and suns revealed to an indifferentstranger his sleeping-place--now nearly overwhelmed her also, and evenher faith wavered on the brink of the dark gulf of despair into whichher husband was sinking. Left to herself, she might have sunk for atime, though her sincere belief in God's goodness and love would havetriumphed. But her womanly, unselfish nature, her long habit ofsustaining and comforting her husband, came to her aid. Breathing aquick prayer to Heaven, which was scarcely more than a gasp and a glanceupward, she asked, hardly knowing what she said, "And what if he is_not_ lost? What if God restores him safe and well?"
She shuddered after she had thus spoken, for she saw that her husband'sbelief in the hostility of God had reached almost the point of insanity.If this test failed, would he not, in spite of all she could say or do,curse God and die, as he had said? But she had been guided in herwords more than she knew. He that careth for the fall of the sparrowhad not forgotten His children in their sore extremity.
The man in answer to her question relaxed his hold upon her arm, andwith a long breath fell back on his pillow.
"Ah!" said he, "if I could only see him again safe and well, if I couldonly leave you with him as your protector and support, I believe Icould forgive all the past and be reconciled even to my hard lot."
"God gives you opportunity so to do, my father, for here I am safe andsound."
The soft snow had muffled the son's footsteps, and his approach hadbeen unnoted. Entering at the back door, and passing through thekitchen, he had surprised his parents in the painful scene abovedescribed. As he saw his mother's form in dim outline kneeling at thebed, her face buried in its covering--as he heard his father'ssignificant words--the quick-witted youth realized the situation. Whilehe loved his father dearly, and honored him for his many good traits,he was also conscious of his faults, especially this most serious onenow threatening such fatal consequences--that of charging to God thefailures and disappointments resulting from defects in his owncharacter. It seemed as if a merciful Providence was about to use thisawful
dread of accident to the son--a calamity that rose far above andovershadowed all the past--as the means of winning back the alienatedheart of this weak and erring man.
The effect of the sudden presence in the sick-room was most marked.The poor mother, who had shown such self-control and patient endurancebefore, now gave way utterly, and clung for a few moments to her son'sneck with hysterical energy, then in strong reaction fainted away. Thestrain upon her worn and overtaxed system had been too severe.
At first the sick man could only look through the dusk at the outlineof his son with a bewildered stare, his mind too weak to comprehendthe truth. But soon he too was sobbing for joy.
But when his wife suddenly became a lifeless weight in his son's arms,who in wild alarm cried, "Mother, what is the matter? Speak to me! Oh!I have killed her by my rash entrance," the sick man's manner changed,and his eyes again became dry and hard, and even in the darkness hada strange glitter.
"Is your mother dead?" he asked, in a low, hoarse voice.
"Oh, mother, speak to me!" cried the son, forgetting for a time hisfather.
For a moment there was death-like silence. Then the young man gropedfor an old settle in the corner of the room, laid his mother tenderlyupon it, and sprang for a light, but as he passed his father's bed thesame strong grasp fell upon his arm that his mother had shuddered undera little before, and the question was this time hissed in his ear, "Isyour mother dead?" For a moment he had no power to answer, and hisfather continued: "What a fool I was to expect God to show mercy orkindness to me or mine while I was above ground! You are only broughthome to suffer more than death in seeing your mother die. May that Godthat has followed me all my life, not with blessings--"
"Hush, father!" cried his son, in loud, commanding tones. "Hush, Ientreat," and in his desperation he actually put his hand over hisfather's mouth.
The poor woman must have been dead, indeed, had she long remained deafto the voice of her beloved son, and his loud tones partially revivedher. In a faint voice she called, "Dennis!"
With hands suddenly relaxed, and hearts almost stilled in their beating,father and son listened for a second. Again, a little louder, throughthat dark and silent room, was heard the faint call, "Dennis!"
Springing to her side, her son exclaimed, "Oh, mother, I am here; don'tleave us; in mercy don't leave us."
"It was I she called," said his father.
With unnatural strength he had tottered across the room, and takinghis wife's hand, cried, "Oh, Ethel, don't die! don't fill my alreadyfull cup to overflowing with bitterness!"
Their familiar voices were the best of remedies. After a moment shesat up, and passing her hand across her brow as if to clear awayconfusion of mind, said: "Don't be alarmed; it's only a faint turn.I don't wonder though that you are frightened, for I never was sobefore."
Poor woman, amid all the emergencies of her hard lot, she had neverin the past given way so far.
Then, becoming aware of her husband's position, she exclaimed: "Why,Dennis, my husband, out of your bed? You will catch your death.""Ah, wife, that matters little if you and Dennis live."
"But it matters much to me," cried she, springing up.
By this time her son had struck a light, and each was able to look onthe other's face. The unnatural strength, the result of excitement, wasfast leaving the sick man. The light revealed him helplessly leaningon the couch where his wife had lain. His face was ashen in color, andhe was gasping for breath. Tenderly they carried him back to his bed,and he was too weak now to do more than quietly lie upon it and gazeat them. After replenishing the fire, and looking at the little onesthat were sleeping in the outer room, they shaded the lamp, and satdown at his bedside, while the mother asked her son many eager questionsas to his escape. He told them how he had struggled through the snowtill almost exhausted, when he had been overtaken by a farmer with astrong team, and thus enabled to make the journey in safety.
As the sick man looked and listened, his face grew softer and morequiet in its expression.
Then the young man, remembering, said: "I bought the medicines youwrote for, mother, at Bankville. This, the druggist said, would producequiet and sleep, and surely father needs it after the excitement ofthe evening."
The opiate was given, and soon the regular, quiet breathing of thepatient showed that it had taken effect. A plain but plentiful supper,which the anxious mother had prepared hours before, was placed upon thekitchen table, and the young man did ample justice to it; for, themoment the cravings of his heart were satisfied in meeting his kindredafter absence, he became conscious of the keenest hunger. Toilingthrough the snow for hours in the face of the December storm had taxedhis system to the utmost, and now he felt the need of food and rest.After supper he honestly meant to watch at his father's bedside, whilehis mother slept; but he had scarcely seated himself on the old settle,when sleep, like an armed man, overpowered him, and in spite of allhis efforts he was soon bound in the dreamless slumber of healthfulyouth. But with eyes so wide and lustrous that it seemed as if sleepcould never close them again, the wife and mother, pale and silent,watched between her loved ones. The troubled expression was gone, forthe ranks of her little band had closed up, and all were about her inone more brief rest in the forward and uncertain march of life. Sheseemed looking intently at something far off--something better discernedby the spiritual than by the natural eye. Disappointments had beenbitter, poverty hard and grinding, but she had learned to escape intoa large world that was fast becoming real to her strong imagination.While her husband was indulging in chimerical visions of boundlessprosperity here on earth which he would bring to pass by some luckystroke of fortune or invention, she also was picturing to herselfgrander things which God would realize to her _beyond_ time andearth. When alone, in moments of rest from incessant toil, she wouldtake down the great family Bible, and with her finger on somedescription of the "new heavens and new earth," as the connecting linkbetween the promise and her strong realization of it, she would lookaway with that intent gaze. The new world, purged from sin and sorrow,would rise before her with more than Edenlike loveliness. Her spiritwould revel in its shadowy walks and sunny glades, and as the crowningjoy she would meet her Lord and Saviour in some secluded place, andsit listening at His feet like Mary of old. Thus, in the strong illusionof her imagination, Christ's words seemed addressed directly to her,while she looked up into His face with rapt attention. Instead of_reading_ her Lord's familiar sayings, she seemed to _listen_ to them asdid the early disciples. After a little time she would close the Bibleand go back to her hard practical life, awed yet strengthened, and witha hopeful expression, like that which must have rested on the disciples'faces on coming down from the Mount of Transfiguration.
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