CHAPTER LXI
The days of man under the old dispensation, or, rather, accordingto that supposedly biblical formula, which persists, are threescoreyears and ten. It is so ingrained in the race-consciousness bymouth-to-mouth utterance that it seems the profoundest of truths. As amatter of fact, man, even under his mortal illusion, is organicallybuilt to live five times the period of his maturity, and would do soif he but knew that it is spirit which endures, that age is anillusion, and that there is no death. Yet the race-thought, gainedfrom what dream of materialism we know not, persists, and the death ofman under the mathematical formula so fearfully accepted is dailyregistered.
Lester was one of those who believed in this formula. He wasnearing sixty. He thought he had, say, twenty years more at the utmostto live--perhaps not so long. Well, he had lived comfortably. Hefelt that he could not complain. If death was coming, let it come. Hewas ready at any time. No complaint or resistance would issue fromhim. Life, in most of its aspects, was a silly show anyhow.
He admitted that it was mostly illusion--easily proved to beso. That it might all be one he sometimes suspected. It was very muchlike a dream in its composition truly--sometimes like a very baddream. All he had to sustain him in his acceptance of its reality fromhour to hour and day to day was apparent contact with this materialproposition and that--people, meetings of boards of directors,individuals and organizations planning to do this and that, his wife'ssocial functions Letty loved him as a fine, grizzled example of aphilosopher. She admired, as Jennie had, his solid, determined,phlegmatic attitude in the face of troubled circumstance. All thewinds of fortune or misfortune could not apparently excite or disturbLester. He refused to be frightened. He refused to budge from hisbeliefs and feelings, and usually had to be pushed away from them,still believing, if he were gotten away at all. He refused to doanything save as he always said, "Look the facts in the face" andfight. He could be made to fight easily enough if imposed upon, butonly in a stubborn, resisting way. His plan was to resist every effortto coerce him to the last ditch. If he had to let go in the end hewould when compelled, but his views as to the value of not letting gowere quite the same even when he had let go under compulsion.
His views of living were still decidedly material, grounded increature comforts, and he had always insisted upon having the best ofeverything. If the furnishings of his home became the least dingy hewas for having them torn out and sold and the house done over. If hetraveled, money must go ahead of him and smooth the way. He did notwant argument, useless talk, or silly palaver as he called it. Everyone must discuss interesting topics with him or not talk at all. Lettyunderstood him thoroughly. She would chuck him under the chinmornings, or shake his solid head between her hands, telling him hewas a brute, but a nice kind of a brute. "Yes, yes," he would growl."I know. I'm an animal, I suppose. You're a seraphic suggestion ofattenuated thought."
"No; you hush," she would reply, for at times he could cut like aknife without really meaning to be unkind. Then he would pet her alittle, for, in spite of her vigorous conception of life, he realizedthat she was more or less dependent upon him. It was always so plainto her that he could get along without her. For reasons of kindlinesshe was trying to conceal this, to pretend the necessity of herpresence, but it was so obvious that he really could dispense with hereasily enough. Now Letty did depend upon Lester. It was something, inso shifty and uncertain a world, to be near so fixed and determined aquantity as this bear-man. It was like being close to a warmly glowinglamp in the dark or a bright burning fire in the cold. Lester was notafraid of anything. He felt that he knew how to live and to die.
It was natural that a temperament of this kind should have itssolid, material manifestation at every point. Having his financialaffairs well in hand, most of his holding being shares of bigcompanies, where boards of solemn directors merely approved thestrenuous efforts of ambitious executives to "make good," he hadleisure for living. He and Letty were fond of visiting the variousAmerican and European watering-places. He gambled a little, for hefound that there was considerable diversion in risking interestingsums on the spin of a wheel or the fortuitous roll of a ball; and hetook more and more to drinking, not in the sense that a drunkard takesto it, but as a high liver, socially, and with all his friends. He wasinclined to drink the rich drinks when he did not take straightwhiskey--champagne, sparkling Burgundy, the expensive andeffervescent white wines. When he drank he could drink a great deal,and he ate in proportion. Nothing must be served but thebest--soup, fish, entree, roast, game, dessert--everythingthat made up a showy dinner and he had long since determined that onlya high-priced chef was worth while. They had found an old cordonbleu, Louis Berdot, who had served in the house of one of thegreat dry goods princes, and this man he engaged. He cost Lester ahundred dollars a week, but his reply to any question was that he onlyhad one life to live.
The trouble with this attitude was that it adjusted nothing,improved nothing, left everything to drift on toward an indefiniteend. If Lester had married Jennie and accepted the comparativelymeager income of ten thousand a year he would have maintained the sameattitude to the end. It would have led him to a stolid indifference tothe social world of which now necessarily he was a part. He would havedrifted on with a few mentally compatible cronies who would haveaccepted him for what he was--a good fellow--and Jennie inthe end would not have been so much better off than she was now.
One of the changes which was interesting was that the Kanestransferred their residence to New York. Mrs. Kane had become veryintimate with a group of clever women in the Eastern four hundred, ornine hundred, and had been advised and urged to transfer the scene ofher activities to New York. She finally did so, leasing a house inSeventy-eighth Street, near Madison Avenue. She installed a noveltyfor her, a complete staff of liveried servants, after the Englishfashion, and had the rooms of her house done in correlative periods.Lester smiled at her vanity and love of show.
"You talk about your democracy," he grunted one day. "You have asmuch democracy as I have religion, and that's none at all."
"Why, how you talk!" she denied. "I am democratic. We all run inclasses. You do. I'm merely accepting the logic of the situation."
"The logic of your grandmother! Do you call a butler and doorman inred velvet a part of the necessity of the occasion?"
"I certainly do," she replied. "Maybe not the necessity exactly,but the spirit surely. Why should you quarrel? You're the first one toinsist on perfection--to quarrel if there is any flaw in theorder of things."
"You never heard me quarrel."
"Oh, I don't mean that literally. But you demandperfection--the exact spirit of the occasion, and you knowit."
"Maybe I do, but what has that to do with your democracy?"
"I am democratic. I insist on it. I'm as democratic in spirit asany woman. Only I see things as they are, and conform as much aspossible for comfort's sake, and so do you. Don't you throw rocks atmy glass house, Mister Master. Yours is so transparent I can see everymove you make inside."
"I'm democratic and you're not," he teased; but he approvedthoroughly of everything she did. She was, he sometimes fancied, abetter executive in her world than he was in his.
Drifting in this fashion, wining, dining, drinking the waters ofthis curative spring and that, traveling in luxurious ease and takingno physical exercise, finally altered his body from a vigorous,quick-moving, well-balanced organism into one where plethora ofsubstance was clogging every essential function. His liver, kidneys,spleen, pancreas--every organ, in fact--had been overtaxedfor some time to keep up the process of digestion and elimination. Inthe past seven years he had become uncomfortably heavy. His kidneyswere weak, and so were the arteries of his brain. By dieting, properexercise, the right mental attitude, he might have lived to be eightyor ninety. As a matter of fact, he was allowing himself to drift intoa physical state in which even a slight malady might prove dangerous.The result was inevitable, and it came.
It so happened that he and Letty
had gone to the North Cape on acruise with a party of friends. Lester, in order to attend to someimportant business, decided to return to Chicago late in November; hearranged to have his wife meet him in New York just before theChristmas holidays. He wrote Watson to expect him, and engaged roomsat the Auditorium, for he had sold the Chicago residence some twoyears before and was now living permanently in New York.
One late November day, after having attended to a number of detailsand cleared up his affairs very materially, Lester was seized withwhat the doctor who was called to attend him described as a cold inthe intestines--a disturbance usually symptomatic of some otherweakness, either of the blood or of some organ. He suffered greatpain, and the usual remedies in that case were applied. There werebandages of red flannel with a mustard dressing, and specifics werealso administered. He experienced some relief, but he was troubledwith a sense of impending disaster. He had Watson cable hiswife--there was nothing serious about it, but he was ill. Atrained nurse was in attendance and his valet stood guard at the doorto prevent annoyance of any kind. It was plain that Letty could notreach Chicago under three weeks. He had the feeling that he would notsee her again.
Curiously enough, not only because he was in Chicago, but becausehe had never been spiritually separated from Jennie, he was thinkingabout her constantly at this time. He had intended to go out and seeher just as soon as he was through with his business engagements andbefore he left the city. He had asked Watson how she was gettingalong, and had been informed that everything was well with her. Shewas living quietly and looking in good health, so Watson said. Lesterwished he could see her.
This thought grew as the days passed and he grew no better. He wassuffering from time to time with severe attacks of griping pains thatseemed to tie his viscera into knots, and left him very weak. Severaltimes the physician administered cocaine with a needle in order torelieve him of useless pain.
After one of the severe attacks he called Watson to his side, toldhim to send the nurse away, and then said: "Watson, I'd like to haveyou do me a favor. Ask Mrs. Stover if she won't come here to see me.You'd better go and get her. Just send the nurse and Kozo (the valet)away for the afternoon, or while she's here. If she comes at any othertime I'd like to have her admitted."
Watson understood. He liked this expression of sentiment. He wassorry for Jennie. He was sorry for Lester. He wondered what the worldwould think if it could know of this bit of romance in connection withso prominent a man. Lester was decent. He had made Watson prosperous.The latter was only too glad to serve him in any way.
He called a carriage and rode out to Jennie's residence. He foundher watering some plants; her face expressed her surprise at hisunusual presence.
"I come on a rather troublesome errand, Mrs. Stover," he said,using her assumed name. "Your--that is, Mr. Kane is quite sick atthe Auditorium. His wife is in Europe, and he wanted to know if Iwouldn't come out here and ask you to come and see him. He wanted meto bring you, if possible. Could you come with me now?"
"Why yes," said Jennie, her face a study. The children were inschool. An old Swedish housekeeper was in the kitchen. She could go aswell as not. But there was coming back to her in detail a dream shehad had several nights before. It had seemed to her that she was outon a dark, mystic body of water over which was hanging something likea fog, or a pall of smoke. She heard the water ripple, or stirfaintly, and then out of the surrounding darkness a boat appeared. Itwas a little boat, oarless, or not visibly propelled, and in it wereher mother, and Vesta, and some one whom she could not make out. Hermother's face was pale and sad, very much as she had often seen it inlife. She looked at Jennie solemnly, sympathetically, and thensuddenly Jennie realized that the third occupant of the boat wasLester. He looked at her gloomily--an expression she had neverseen on his face before--and then her mother remarked, "Well, wemust go now." The boat began to move, a great sense of loss came overher, and she cried, "Oh, don't leave me, mamma!"
But her mother only looked at her out of deep, sad, still eyes, andthe boat was gone.
She woke with a start, half fancying that Lester was beside her.She stretched out her hand to touch his arm; then she drew herself upin the dark and rubbed her eyes, realizing that she was alone. A greatsense of depression remained with her, and for two days it hauntedher. Then, when it seemed as if it were nothing, Mr. Watson appearedwith his ominous message.
She went to dress, and reappeared, looking as troubled as were herthoughts. She was very pleasing in her appearance yet, a sweet, kindlywoman, well dressed and shapely. She had never been separated mentallyfrom Lester, just as he had never grown entirely away from her. Shewas always with him in thought, just as in the years when they weretogether. Her fondest memories were of the days when he first courtedher in Cleveland--the days when he had carried her off, much asthe cave-man seized his mate--by force. Now she longed to do whatshe could for him. For this call was as much a testimony as a shock.He loved her--he loved her, after all.
The carriage rolled briskly through the long streets into the smokydown-town district. It arrived at the Auditorium, and Jennie wasescorted to Lester's room. Watson had been considerate. He had talkedlittle, leaving her to her thoughts. In this great hotel she feltdiffident after so long a period of complete retirement. As sheentered the room she looked at Lester with large, gray, sympatheticeyes. He was lying propped up on two pillows, his solid head with itsgrowth of once dark brown hair slightly grayed. He looked at hercuriously out of his wise old eyes, a light of sympathy and affectionshining in them--weary as they were. Jennie was greatlydistressed. His pale face, slightly drawn from suffering, cut her likea knife. She took his hand, which was outside the coverlet, andpressed it. She leaned over and kissed his lips.
"I'm so sorry, Lester," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. You're notvery sick though, are you? You must get well, Lester--and soon!"She patted his hand gently.
"Yes, Jennie, but I'm pretty bad," he said. "I don't feel rightabout this business. I don't seem able to shake it off. But tell me,how have you been?"
"Oh, just the same, dear," she replied. "I'm all right. You mustn'ttalk like that, though. You're going to be all right very soonnow."
He smiled grimly. "Do you think so?" He shook his head, for hethought differently. "Sit down, dear," he went on, "I'm not worryingabout that. I want to talk to you again. I want you near me." Hesighed and shut his eyes for a minute.
She drew up a chair close beside the bed, her face toward his, andtook his hand. It seemed such a beautiful thing that he should sendfor her. Her eyes showed the mingled sympathy, affection, andgratitude of her heart. At the same time fear gripped her; how ill helooked!
"I can't tell what may happen," he went on. "Letty is in Europe.I've wanted to see you again for some time. I was coming out thistrip. We are living in New York, you know. You're a little stouter,Jennie."
"Yes, I'm getting old, Lester," she smiled.
"Oh, that doesn't make any difference," he replied, looking at herfixedly. "Age doesn't count. We are all in that boat. It's how we feelabout life."
He stopped and stared at the ceiling. A slight twinge of painreminded him of the vigorous seizures he had been through. He couldn'tstand many more paroxysms like the last one.
"I couldn't go, Jennie, without seeing you again," he observed,when the slight twinge ceased and he was free to think again. "I'vealways wanted to say to you, Jennie," he went on, "that I haven't beensatisfied with the way we parted. It wasn't the right thing, afterall. I haven't been any happier. I'm sorry. I wish now, for my ownpeace of mind, that I hadn't done it."
"Don't say that, Lester," she demurred, going over in her mind allthat had been between them. This was such a testimony to their realunion--their real spiritual compatibility. "It's all right. Itdoesn't make any difference. You've been very good to me. I wouldn'thave been satisfied to have you lose your fortune. It couldn't be thatway. I've been a lot better satisfied as it is. It's been hard, but,dear, everything is hard at times." She paused.
"No," he said. "It wasn't right. The thing wasn't worked out rightfrom the start; but that wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I wanted totell you that. I'm glad I'm here to do it."
"Don't talk that way, Lester--please don't," she pleaded."It's all right. You needn't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorryfor. You have always been so good to me. Why, when I think--" shestopped, for it was hard for her to speak. She was choking withaffection and sympathy. She pressed his hands. She was recalling thehouse he took for her family in Cleveland, his generous treatment ofGerhardt, all the long ago tokens of love and kindness.
"Well, I've told you now, and I feel better. You're a good woman,Jennie, and you're kind to come to me this way." I loved you. I loveyou now. I want to tell you that. It seems strange, but you're theonly woman I ever did love truly. We should never have parted.
Jennie caught her breath. It was the one thing she had waited forall these years--this testimony. It was the one thing that couldmake everything right--this confession of spiritual if notmaterial union. Now she could live happily. Now die so. "Oh, Lester,"she exclaimed with a sob, and pressed his hand. He returned thepressure. There was a little silence. Then he spoke again.
"How are the two orphans?" he asked.
"Oh, they're lovely," she answered, entering upon a detaileddescription of their diminutive personalities. He listenedcomfortably, for her voice was soothing to him. Her whole personalitywas grateful to him. When it came time for her to go he seemeddesirous of keeping her.
"Going, Jennie?"
"I can stay just as well as not, Lester," she volunteered. "I'lltake a room. I can send a note out to Mrs. Swenson. It will be allright."
"You needn't do that," he said, but she could see that he wantedher, that he did not want to be alone.
From that time on until the hour of his death she was not out ofthe hotel.
CHAPTER LXII
The end came after four days during which Jennie was by his bedsidealmost constantly. The nurse in charge welcomed her at first as arelief and company, but the physician was inclined to object. Lester,however, was stubborn. "This is my death," he said, with a touch ofgrim humor. "If I'm dying I ought to be allowed to die in my ownway."
Watson smiled at the man's unfaltering courage. He had never seenanything like it before.
There were cards of sympathy, calls of inquiry, notices in thenewspaper. Robert saw an item in the Inquirer and decided to goto Chicago. Imogene called with her husband, and they were admitted toLester's room for a few minutes after Jennie had gone to hers. Lesterhad little to say. The nurse cautioned them that he was not to betalked to much. When they were gone Lester said to Jennie, "Imogenehas changed a good deal." He made no other comment.
Mrs. Kane was on the Atlantic three days out from New York theafternoon Lester died. He had been meditating whether anything morecould be done for Jennie, but he could not make up his mind about it.Certainly it was useless to leave her more money. She did not want it.He had been wondering where Letty was and how near her actual arrivalmight be when he was seized with a tremendous paroxysm of pain. Beforerelief could be administered in the shape of an anesthetic he wasdead. It developed afterward that it was not the intestinal troublewhich killed him, but a lesion of a major blood-vessel in thebrain.
Jennie, who had been strongly wrought up by watching and worrying,was beside herself with grief. He had been a part of her thought andfeeling so long that it seemed now as though a part of herself haddied. She had loved him as she had fancied she could never love anyone, and he had always shown that he cared for her--at least insome degree. She could not feel the emotion that expresses itself intears--only a dull ache, a numbness which seemed to make herinsensible to pain. He looked so strong--her Lester--lyingthere still in death. His expression was unchanged--defiant,determined, albeit peaceful. Word had come from Mrs. Kane that shewould arrive on the Wednesday following. It was decided to hold thebody. Jennie learned from Mr. Watson that it was to be transferred toCincinnati, where the Paces had a vault. Because of the arrival ofvarious members of the family, Jennie withdrew to her own home; shecould do nothing more.
The final ceremonies presented a peculiar commentary on theanomalies of existence. It was arranged with Mrs. Kane by wire thatthe body should be transferred to Imogene's residence, and the funeralheld from there. Robert, who arrived the night Lester died; BerryDodge, Imogene's husband; Mr. Midgely, and three other citizens ofprominence were selected as pall-bearers. Louise and her husband camefrom Buffalo; Amy and her husband from Cincinnati. The house was fullto overflowing with citizens who either sincerely wished or felt itexpedient to call. Because of the fact that Lester and his family weretentatively Catholic, a Catholic priest was called in and the ritualof that Church was carried out. It was curious to see him lying in theparlor of this alien residence, candles at his head and feet, burningsepulchrally, a silver cross upon his breast, caressed by his waxenfingers. He would have smiled if he could have seen himself, but theKane family was too conventional, too set in its convictions, to findanything strange in this.
The Church made no objection, of course. The family wasdistinguished. What more could be desired?
On Wednesday Mrs. Kane arrived. She was greatly distraught, for herlove, like Jennie's, was sincere. She left her room that night whenall was silent and leaned over the coffin, studying by the light ofthe burning candles Lester's beloved features. Tears trickled down hercheeks, for she had been happy with him. She caressed his cold cheeksand hands. "Poor, dear Lester!" she whispered. "Poor, brave soul!" Noone told her that he had sent for Jennie. The Kane family did notknow.
Meanwhile in the house on South Park Avenue sat a woman who wasenduring alone the pain, the anguish of an irreparable loss. Throughall these years the subtle hope had persisted, in spite of everycircumstance, that somehow life might bring him back to her. He hadcome, it is true--he really had in death--but he had goneagain. Where? Whither her mother, whither Gerhardt, whither Vesta hadgone? She could not hope to see him again, for the papers had informedher of his removal to Mrs. Midgely's residence, and of the fact thathe was to be taken from Chicago to Cincinnati for burial. The lastceremonies in Chicago were to be held in one of the wealthy RomanCatholic churches of the South Side, St. Michael's, of which theMidgelys were members.
Jennie felt deeply about this. She would have liked so much to havehad him buried in Chicago, where she could go to the graveoccasionally, but this was not to be. She was never a master of herfate. Others invariably controlled. She thought of him as being takenfrom her finally by the removal of the body to Cincinnati, as thoughdistance made any difference. She decided at last to veil herselfheavily and attend the funeral at the church. The paper had explainedthat the services would be at two in the afternoon. Then at four thebody would be taken to the depot, and transferred to the train; themembers of the family would accompany it to Cincinnati. She thought ofthis as another opportunity. She might go to the depot.
A little before the time for the funeral cortege to arrive at thechurch there appeared at one of its subsidiary entrances a woman inblack, heavily veiled, who took a seat in an inconspicuous corner. Shewas a little nervous at first, for, seeing that the church was darkand empty, she feared lest she had mistaken the time and place; butafter ten minutes of painful suspense a bell in the church tower beganto toll solemnly. Shortly thereafter an acolyte in black gown andwhite surplice appeared and lighted groups of candles on either sideof the altar. A hushed stirring of feet in the choir-loft indicatedthat the service was to be accompanied by music. Some loiterers,attracted by the bell, some idle strangers, a few acquaintances andcitizens not directly invited appeared and took seats.
Jennie watched all this with wondering eyes. Never in her life hadshe been inside a Catholic church. The gloom, the beauty of thewindows, the whiteness of the altar, the golden flames of the candlesimpressed her. She was suffused with a sense of sorrow, loss, beauty,and mystery. Life in all its vagueness and uncertainty seemed typifiedby this scene.
&
nbsp; As the bell tolled there came from the sacristy a procession ofaltar-boys. The smallest, an angelic youth of eleven, came first,bearing aloft a magnificent silver cross. In the hands of eachsubsequent pair of servitors was held a tall, lighted candle. Thepriest, in black cloth and lace, attended by an acolyte on eitherhand, followed. The procession passed out the entrance into thevestibule of the church, and was not seen again until the choir begana mournful, responsive chant, the Latin supplication for mercy andpeace.
Then, at this sound the solemn procession made its reappearance.There came the silver cross, the candles, the dark-faced priest,reading dramatically to himself as he walked, and the body of Lesterin a great black coffin, with silver handles, carried by thepall-bearers, who kept an even pace. Jennie stiffened perceptibly, hernerves responding as though to a shock from an electric current. Shedid not know any of these men. She did not know Robert. She had neverseen Mr. Midgely. Of the long company of notables who followed two bytwo she recognized only three, whom Lester had pointed out to her intimes past. Mrs. Kane she saw, of course, for she was directly behindthe coffin, leaning on the arm of a stranger; behind her walked Mr.Watson, solemn, gracious. He gave a quick glance to either side,evidently expecting to see her somewhere; but not finding her, heturned his eyes gravely forward and walked on. Jennie looked with allher eyes, her heart gripped by pain. She seemed so much a part of thissolemn ritual, and yet infinitely removed from it all.
The procession reached the altar rail, and the coffin was put down.A white shroud bearing the insignia of suffering, a black cross, wasput over it, and the great candles were set beside it. There were thechanted invocations and responses, the sprinkling of the coffin withholy water, the lighting and swinging of the censer and then themumbled responses of the auditors to the Lord's Prayer and to itsCatholic addition, the invocation to the Blessed Virgin. Jennie wasoverawed and amazed, but no show of form colorful, impressionimperial, could take away the sting of death, the sense of infiniteloss. To Jennie the candles, the incense, the holy song werebeautiful. They touched the deep chord of melancholy in her, and madeit vibrate through the depths of her being. She was as a house filledwith mournful melody and the presence of death. She cried and cried.She could see, curiously, that Mrs. Kane was sobbing convulsivelyalso.
When it was all over the carriages were entered and the body wasborne to the station. All the guests and strangers departed, andfinally, when all was silent, she arose. Now she would go to the depotalso, for she was hopeful of seeing his body put on the train. Theywould have to bring it out on the platform, just as they did inVesta's case. She took a car, and a little later she entered thewaiting-room of the depot. She lingered about, first in the concourse,where the great iron fence separated the passengers from the tracks,and then in the waiting-room, hoping to discover the order ofproceedings. She finally observed the group of immediate relativeswaiting--Mrs. Kane, Robert, Mrs. Midgely, Louise, Amy, Imogene,and the others. She actually succeeded in identifying most of them,though it was not knowledge in this case, but pure instinct andintuition.
No one had noticed it in the stress of excitement, but it wasThanksgiving Eve. Throughout the great railroad station there was ahum of anticipation, that curious ebullition of fancy which springsfrom the thought of pleasures to come. People were going away for theholiday. Carriages were at the station entries. Announcers werecalling in stentorian voices the destination of each new train as thetime of its departure drew near. Jennie heard with a desperate achethe description of a route which she and Lester had taken more thanonce, slowly and melodiously emphasized. "Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland,Buffalo, and New York." There were cries of trains for "Fort Wayne,Columbus, Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and points East," and then finallyfor "Indianapolis, Louisville, Columbus, Cincinnati, and pointsSouth." The hour had struck.
Several times Jennie had gone to the concourse between thewaiting-room and the tracks to see if through the iron grating whichseparated her from her beloved she could get one last look at thecoffin, or the great wooden box which held it, before it was put onthe train. Now she saw it coming. There was a baggage porter pushing atruck into position near the place where the baggage car would stop.On it was Lester, that last shadow of his substance, incased in thehonors of wood, and cloth, and silver. There was no thought on thepart of the porter of the agony of loss which was represented here. Hecould not see how wealth and position in this hour were typified toher mind as a great fence, a wall, which divided her eternally fromher beloved. Had it not always been so? Was not her life a patchworkof conditions made and affected by these things which shesaw--wealth and force--which had found her unfit? She hadevidently been born to yield, not seek. This panoply of power had beenparaded before her since childhood. What could she do now but starevaguely after it as it marched triumphantly by? Lester had been of it.Him it respected. Of her it knew nothing. She looked through thegrating, and once more there came the cry of "Indianapolis,Louisville, Columbus, Cincinnati, and points South." A long red train,brilliantly lighted, composed of baggage cars, day coaches, adining-car, set with white linen and silver, and a half dozencomfortable Pullmans, rolled in and stopped. A great black engine,puffing and glowing, had it all safely in tow.
As the baggage car drew near the waiting truck a train-hand inblue, looking out of the car, called to some one within.
"Hey, Jack! Give us a hand here. There's a stiff outside!"
Jennie could not hear.
All she could see was the great box that was so soon to disappear.All she could feel was that this train would start presently, and thenit would all be over. The gates opened, the passengers poured out.There were Robert, and Amy, and Louise, and Midgely--all makingfor the Pullman cars in the rear. They had said their farewells totheir friends. No need to repeat them. A trio of assistants "gave ahand" at getting the great wooden case into the car. Jennie saw itdisappear with an acute physical wrench at her heart.
There were many trunks to be put aboard, and then the door of thebaggage car half closed, but not before the warning bell of the enginesounded. There was the insistent calling of "all aboard" from thisquarter and that; then slowly the great locomotive began to move. Itsbell was ringing, its steam hissing, its smoke-stack throwing aloft agreat black plume of smoke that fell back over the cars like a pall.The fireman, conscious of the heavy load behind, flung open a flamingfurnace door to throw in coal. Its light glowed like a golden eye.
Jennie stood rigid, staring into the wonder of this picture, herface white, her eyes wide, her hands unconsciously clasped, but onethought in her mind--they were taking his body away. A leadenNovember sky was ahead, almost dark. She looked, and looked until thelast glimmer of the red lamp on the receding sleeper disappeared inthe maze of smoke and haze overhanging the tracks of thefar-stretching yard.
"Yes," said the voice of a passing stranger, gay with theanticipation of coming pleasures. "We're going to have a great timedown there. Remember Annie? Uncle Jim is coming and Aunt Ella."
Jennie did not hear that or anything else of the chatter and bustlearound her. Before her was stretching a vista of lonely years downwhich she was steadily gazing. Now what? She was not so old yet. Therewere those two orphan children to raise. They would marry and leaveafter a while, and then what? Days and days in endless reiteration,and then--?
THE END
Jennie Gerhardt: A Novel Page 61