CHAPTER LVII
In the meantime Jennie was going her way, settling herself in themarkedly different world in which henceforth she was to move. Itseemed a terrible thing at first--this life without Lester.Despite her own strong individuality, her ways had become so involvedwith his that there seemed to be no possibility of disentangling them.Constantly she was with him in thought and action, just as though theyhad never separated. Where was he now? What was he doing? What was hesaying? How was he looking? In the mornings when she woke it was withthe sense that he must be beside her. At night as if she could not goto bed alone. He would come after a while surely--ah, no, ofcourse he would not come. Dear heaven, think of that! Never any more.And she wanted him so.
Again there were so many little trying things to adjust, for achange of this nature is too radical to be passed over lightly. Theexplanation she had to make to Vesta was of all the most important.This little girl, who was old enough now to see and think for herself,was not without her surmises and misgivings. Vesta recalled that hermother had been accused of not being married to her father when shewas born. She had seen the article about Jennie and Lester in theSunday paper at the time it had appeared--it had been shown toher at school--but she had had sense enough to say nothing aboutit, feeling somehow that Jennie would not like it. Lester'sdisappearance was a complete surprise; but she had learned in the lasttwo or three years that her mother was very sensitive, and that shecould hurt her in unexpected ways. Jennie was finally compelled totell Vesta that Lester's fortune had been dependent on his leavingher, solely because she was not of his station. Vesta listened soberlyand half suspected the truth. She felt terribly sorry for her mother,and, because of Jennie's obvious distress, she was trebly gay andcourageous. She refused outright the suggestion of going to aboarding-school and kept as close to her mother as she could. Shefound interesting books to read with her, insisted that they go to seeplays together, played to her on the piano, and asked for her mother'scriticisms on her drawing and modeling. She found a few friends in theexcellent Sand wood school, and brought them home of an evening to addlightness and gaiety to the cottage life. Jennie, through her growingappreciation of Vesta's fine character, became more and more drawntoward her. Lester was gone, but at least she had Vesta. That propwould probably sustain her in the face of a waning existence.
There was also her history to account for to the residents ofSandwood. In many cases where one is content to lead a secluded lifeit is not necessary to say much of one's past, but as a rule somethingmust be said. People have the habit of inquiring--if they are nomore than butchers and bakers. By degrees one must account for thisand that fact, and it was so here. She could not say that her husbandwas dead. Lester might come back. She had to say that she had lefthim--to give the impression that it would be she, if any one, whowould permit him to return. This put her in an interesting andsympathetic light in the neighborhood. It was the most sensible thingto do. She then settled down to a quiet routine of existence, waitingwhat denouement to her life she could not guess.
Sandwood life was not without its charms for a lover of nature, andthis, with the devotion of Vesta, offered some slight solace. Therewas the beauty of the lake, which, with its passing boats, was anever-ending source of joy, and there were many charming drives in thesurrounding country. Jennie had her own horse and carryall--oneof the horses of the pair they had used in Hyde Park. Other householdpets appeared in due course of time, including a collie, that Vestanamed Rats; she had brought him from Chicago as a puppy, and he hadgrown to be a sterling watch-dog, sensible and affectionate. There wasalso a cat, Jimmy Woods, so called after a boy Vesta knew, and to whomshe insisted the cat bore a marked resemblance. There was a singingthrush, guarded carefully against a roving desire for bird-food on thepart of Jimmy Woods, and a jar of goldfish. So this little householddrifted along quietly and dreamily indeed, but always with theundercurrent of feeling which ran so still because it was so deep.
There was no word from Lester for the first few weeks following hisdeparture; he was too busy following up the threads of his newcommercial connections and too considerate to wish to keep Jennie in astate of mental turmoil over communications which, under the presentcircumstances, could mean nothing. He preferred to let matters restfor the time being; then a little later he would write her sanely andcalmly of how things were going. He did this after the silence of amonth, saying that he had been pretty well pressed by commercialaffairs, that he had been in and out of the city frequently (which wasthe truth), and that he would probably be away from Chicago a largepart of the time in the future. He inquired after Vesta and thecondition of affairs generally at Sandwood. "I may get up there one ofthese days," he suggested, but he really did not mean to come, andJennie knew that he did not.
Another month passed, and then there was a second letter from him,not so long as the first one. Jennie had written him frankly andfully, telling him just how things stood with her. She concealedentirely her own feelings in the matter, saying that she liked thelife very much, and that she was glad to be at Sand wood. Sheexpressed the hope that now everything was coming out for the best forhim, and tried to show him that she was really glad matters had beensettled. "You mustn't think of me as being unhappy," she said in oneplace, "for I'm not. I am sure it ought to be just as it is, and Iwouldn't be happy if it were any other way. Lay out your life so as togive yourself the greatest happiness, Lester," she added. "You deserveit. Whatever you do will be just right for me. I won't mind." She hadMrs. Gerald in mind, and he suspected as much, but he felt that hergenerosity must be tinged greatly with self-sacrifice and secretunhappiness. It was the one thing which made him hesitate about takingthat final step.
The written word and the hidden thought--how they conflict!After six months the correspondence was more or less perfunctory onhis part, and at eight it had ceased temporarily.
One morning, as she was glancing over the daily paper, she sawamong the society notes the following item:
The engagement of Mrs. Malcolm Gerald, of 4044 Drexel Boulevard,to Lester Kane, second son of the late Archibald Kane, of Cincinnati,was formally announced at a party given by the prospective bride onTuesday to a circle of her immediate friends. The wedding will takeplace in April.
The paper fell from her hands. For a few minutes she sat perfectlystill, looking straight ahead of her. Could this thing be so? sheasked herself. Had it really come at last? She had known that it mustcome, and yet--and yet she had always hoped that it would not.Why had she hoped? Had not she herself sent him away? Had not sheherself suggested this very thing in a roundabout way? It had comenow. What must she do? Stay here as a pensioner? The idea wasobjectionable to her. And yet he had set aside a goodly sum to be hersabsolutely. In the hands of a trust company in La Salle Street wererailway certificates aggregating seventy-five thousand dollars, whichyielded four thousand five hundred annually, the income being paid toher direct. Could she refuse to receive this money? There was Vesta tobe considered.
Jennie felt hurt through and through by this denouement, and yet asshe sat there she realized that it was foolish to be angry. Life wasalways doing this sort of a thing to her. It would go on doing so. Shewas sure of it. If she went out in the world and earned her own livingwhat difference would it make to him? What difference would it make toMrs. Gerald? Here she was walled in this little place, leading anobscure existence, and there was he out in the great world enjoyinglife in its fullest and freest sense. It was too bad. But why cry?Why?
Her eyes indeed were dry, but her very soul seemed to be torn inpieces within her. She rose carefully, hid the newspaper at the bottomof a trunk, and turned the key upon it.
Jennie Gerhardt: A Novel Page 57