by Kate Chopin
X
Perplexing Things.
"Lucilla!"
The pale, drooping girl started guiltily at her mother's sharpexclamation, and made an effort to throw back her shoulders. Then shebit her nails nervously, but soon desisted, remembering that thatalso, as well as yielding to a relaxed tendency of the spinal column,was a forbidden indulgence.
"Put on your hat and go on out and get a breath of fresh air; you'reas white as milk-man's cream."
Lucilla rose and obeyed her mother's order with the precision of asoldier, following the directions of his commander.
"How submissive and gentle your daughter is," remarked Therese.
"Well, she's got to be, and she knows it. Why, I haven't got to domore than look at that girl most times for her to understand what Iwant. You didn't notice, did you, how she straightened up when Icalled 'Lucilla' to her? She knows by the tone of my voice what she'sgot to do."
"Most mothers can't boast of having such power over their daughters."
"Well, I'm not the woman to stand any shenanigans from a child ofmine. I could name you dead loads of women that are just completelywalked over by their children. It's a blessing that boy of Fanny'sdied, between you and I; its what I've always said. Why, Mrs. Laferm,she couldn't any more look after a youngster than she could after ababy elephant. By the by, what do you guess is the matter with her,any way?"
"How, the matter?" Therese asked; the too ready blood flushing herface and neck as she laid down her work and looked up at Mrs.Worthington.
"Why, she's acting mighty queer, that's all I can say for her."
"I haven't been able to see her for some time," Therese returned,going back to her sewing, "but I suppose she got a little upset andnervous over her husband; he had a few days of very serious illnessbefore you came."
"Oh, I've seen her in all sorts of states and conditions, and I'venever seen her like that before. Why, she does nothing in the God'sworld but whine and sniffle, and wish she was dead; it's enough togive a person the horrors. She can't make out she's sick; I never sawher look better in my life. She must of gained ten pounds since shecome down here."
"Yes," said Therese, "she was looking so well, and--and I thoughteverything was going well with her too, but--" and she hesitated to goon.
"Oh, I know what you want to say. You can't help that. No usebothering your brains about that--now you just take my advice,"exclaimed Mrs. Worthington brusquely.
Then she laughed so loud and suddenly that Therese, being alreadynervous, pricked her finger with her needle till the blood came; amishap which decided her to lay aside her work.
"If you never saw a fish out of water, Mrs. Laferm, do take a peep atMr. Worthington astride that horse; it's enough to make a cat expire!"
Mrs. Worthington was on the whole rather inclined to take her husbandseriously. As often as he might excite her disapproval, it was seldomthat he aroused her mirth. So it may be gathered that his appearancein this unfamiliar role of horseman was of the most mirth-provoking.
He and Hosmer were dismounting at the cottage, which decided Mrs.Worthington to go and look after them; Fanny for the time being--inher opinion--not having "the gumption to look after a sick kitten."
"This is what I call solid comfort," she said looking around the wellappointed sitting-room, before quitting it.
"You ought to be a mighty happy woman, Mrs. Laferm; only I'd thinkyou'd die of lonesomeness, sometimes."
Therese laughed, and told her not to forget that she expected them allover in the evening.
"You can depend on me; and I'll do my best to drag Fanny over;so-long."
When left alone, Therese at once relapsed into the gloomy train ofreflections that had occupied her since the day she had seen with herbodily eyes something of the wretched life that she had brought uponthe man she loved. And yet that wretchedness in its refinement ofcruelty and immorality she could not guess and was never to know.Still, she had seen enough to cause her to ask herself with a shudder"was I right--was I right?"
She had always thought this lesson of right and wrong a very plainone. So easy of interpretation that the simplest minded might solve itif they would. And here had come for the first time in her life astaggering doubt as to its nature. She did not suspect that she wassubmitting one of those knotty problems to her unpracticed judgmentthat philosophers and theologians delight in disagreeing upon, and herinability to unravel it staggered her. She tried to convince herselfthat a very insistent sting of remorse which she felt, came fromselfishness--from the pain that her own heart suffered in theknowledge of Hosmer's unhappiness. She was not callous enough to quiether soul with the balm of having intended the best. She continued toask herself only "was I right?" and it was by the answer to thatquestion that she would abide, whether in the stony content ofaccomplished righteousness, or in an enduring remorse that pointed toa goal in whose labyrinthine possibilities her soul lost itself andfainted away.
Lucilla went out to get a breath of fresh air as her mother hadcommanded, but she did not go far to seek it. Not further than the endof the back veranda, where she stood for some time motionless, beforebeginning to occupy herself in a way which Aunt Belindy, who waswatching her from the kitchen window, considered highly problematical.The negress was wiping a dish and giving it a fine polish in herabsence of mind. When her curiosity could no longer contain itself shecalled out:
"W'ats dat you'se doin' dah, you li'le gal? Come heah an' le' me see."Lucilla turned with the startled look which seemed to be usual withher when addressed.
"Le' me see," repeated Aunt Belindy pleasantly.
Lucilla approached the window and handed the woman a small square ofstiff writing paper which was stuck with myriad tiny pin-holes; someof which she had been making when interrupted by Aunt Belindy.
"W'at in God A'Mighty's name you call dat 'ar?" the darkey askedexamining the paper critically, as though expecting the riddle wouldsolve itself before her eyes.
"Those are my acts I've been counting," the girl replied a littlegingerly.
"Yo' ax? I don' see nuttin' 'cep' a piece o' papah plum fill up widholes. W'at you call ax?"
"Acts--acts. Don't you know what acts are?"
"How you want me know? I neva ben to no school whar you larn all dat."
"Why, an act is something you do that you don't want to do--orsomething you don't want to do, that you do--I mean that you don't do.Or if you want to eat something and don't. Or an aspiration; that's anact, too."
"Go long! W'ats dat--aspiration?"
"Why, to say any kind of little prayer; or if you invoke our Lord, orour Blessed Lady, or one of the saints, that's an aspiration. You canmake them just as quick as you can think--you can make hundreds andhundreds in a day."
"My Lan'! Dat's w'at you'se studyin' 'bout w'en you'se steppin' 'roun'heah like a droopy pullet? An' I t'ought you was studyin' 'bout datbeau you lef' yonda to Sent Lous."
"You mustn't say such things to me; I'm going to be a religious."
"How dat gwine henda you have a beau ef you'se religious?"
"The religious never get married," turning very red, "and don't livein the world like others."
"Look heah, chile, you t'inks I'se fool? Religion--no religion, wharyou gwine live ef you don' live in de word? Gwine live up in de moon?"
"You're a very ignorant person," replied Lucilla, highly offended. "Areligious devotes her life to God, and lives in the convent."
"Den w'y you neva said 'convent'? I knows all 'bout convent. W'at yougwine do wid dem ax w'en de papah done all fill up?" handing thesingular tablet back to her.
"Oh," replied Lucilla, "when I have thousands and thousands I gaintwenty-five years' indulgence."
"Is dat so?"
"Yes," said the girl; and divining that Aunt Belindy had notunderstood, "twenty-five years that I don't have to go to purgatory.You see most people have to spend years and years in purgatory, beforethey can get to Heaven."
"How you know dat?"
If Aunt Beli
ndy had asked Lucilla how she knew that the sun shone, shecould not have answered with more assurance "because I know" as sheturned and walked rather scornfully away.
"W'at dat kine o' fool talk dey larns gals up yonda tu Sent Lous? An'huh ma a putty woman; yas, bless me; all dress up fittin' to kill.Don' 'pear like she studyin' 'bout ax."