Chapter Fifteen

by Mrs. Elizabeth Prentiss
Edited by Amber Moeller

The two sisters, as they sat alone together at lunch on the following day, offered a strange contrast to each other. Annie's faultless dress gave her a certain lady-like air; she had taken pains to grow stylish-looking, and in a sense, she was so. Yet there was a little restlessness in her movements, and her face had lost some of its youthful brightness and freshness. Maggie's refinement, on the contrary, was all in her face and in the tone of her voice; she had no style, no manner, her dress was very simple, and everything about her spoke of an economy that in spite of itself had to be ungraceful. But she looked serene and satisfied, and when she spoke it was with a loving gentleness born of a very different world from that in which Annie had been living.

"I don't see but you are the same old sixpence!" Annie at last burst out in her old natural manner. "From what people say of you I fancied you were quite changed and spoiled. I almost expected to hear you begin to preach a sermon at me on the pomps and vanities of life. But there you sit eating like other mortals, and looking as contented and happy as a queen."

"A great deal happier than any queen I know of," said Maggie.

"Is Horace good to you? I mean," she added, colouring a little, "is he what you hoped he would be when you married him?"

"Yes, indeed!" said Maggie; "all I have to complain of is that he spoils me so."

"Tom and I get on very well together, too," proceeded Annie. "For my part, I like to be spoiled. And Tom has nothing to do, so why shouldn't he? He fairly loads me with pretty things, and then he admires everything I say and do."

"I hope, then, that you admire all he says and does!" cried Maggie. "Sometimes mutual admiration societies are good things."

"Oh, you know what Tom is--a big, good-natured thing! I get out of patience with him twenty times a day, and then we kiss and make up. I never pretended to be as romantic as you are, or even as he is, but we get on together, as I said before."

"And are you really going back to Europe again?

"Yes. You see mamma White would fain have us come and live with her, but that doesn't suit me. For though I can wind Tom about my finger in anything else, when it comes to his mother he is stiff. So, to put off the evil day, I am going to make him take me back to Europe. After we've travelled all we choose, I mean to settle down somewhere and study!"

"And study!" repeated Maggie.

"You need not look so confounded. I only want to learn French enough to do shopping, and Italian enough to sing with; you need not be afraid of my turning into a book-worm. Tom has helped me do my shopping thus far, but I don't always want him watching every cent I spend. Besides, it is mortifying to go about with other ladies who rattle off their French as if they were born to it, and to depend on one's husband to do one's talking. And now, speaking of shopping, let me show you what I've brought for you."

"Oh, Annie," said Maggie, trying to look pleased at the display of finery, "how came you to spend so much money for me?"

"What good is money for, as Tom says," was the laughing answer.

"But these things are too costly for me, with my plain ways; at least most of them are. Let me keep the useful ones; they are just what I need. You can't think how thankful I am for them, they will fit me up for the winter. But this light silk dress, oh, Annie! I never go to parties; you must wear that yourself."

"You foolish child! Knowing what a little old maid you are, I had it made as simple as Mlle. Duria would consent to make it; and do you suppose I'm not going to have any visits with you this winter? This will be the very thing to wear when you come to dine with me."

Maggie yielded; it did not seem very likely now that she would go out to dine with Annie or anyone else; she still felt so weak and disinclined to exertion.

"I am so glad for you, Annie dear," she said, when everything had been admired and discussed, "that Tom is so much under your influence. For I did tremble when you married him, lest being a worldly man, he would be a snare to you."

"Now it's coming!" thought Annie, colouring. "I don't see but Tom is as good as many people who pretend to be better," she replied. "He is as honourable and generous as the day is long, and wouldn't take advantage of a fly. And he is as sweet-tempered and kind-hearted as you are, every bit of it. And you ought to see how good he is to his mother! By-the-by, to tell you a secret, mamma White always hoped he would take you instead of me.

"I was not in the market to be taken!" cried Maggie, with some spirit. And then she wished she had not said that; Tom was a good, dear fellow, why resent being selected for his spouse?

"Oh, I know nobody had the least chance after you met Horace," said Annie, gleefully. She steered clear of Maggie's impending sermon, and delivered herself scornfully of the words, "Mamma White," and now it was time to go.

The weeks that followed were full of confusion; Mr. and Mrs. Wyman passing back and forth between the hotel and their rich (?) daughter, and Horace's house and their poor (?) daughter; Tom and Annie running in and out; display of dry goods, jewelry, pictures, infinite nothings; dinners, lunches, suppers. For a little time this pleasant excitement was good for Maggie, but it soon ceased to be pleasant. She loved her own quiet home, and the opportunities it gave her of doing good, and gradually resumed the habits broken in upon by her illness. She could not go to her mission school yet, but she had her class come to her Sunday afternoons, taught them, prayed with them, persuaded them to pray, and was as happy as a human heart could be.

Horace was almost as well as ever, but that was not really well. He could not get exercise enough to keep up his health. The doctors said he ought to ride on horseback every day, but they might as well have said he ought to dissolve and eat pearls. He took care not to tell Maggie this, and she did not know how hard he found it always to take car or stage, when other men kept themselves young and vigorous by walking. Still she saw that he often was thoughtful, almost depressed, and asked herself is seeing Tom White and Annie so free from care, so able to put forth their hands and take whatever they would, was not unconsciously making his own poverty more conspicuous and painful. He was working hard, and working late; would he have to do this if he had not wife to encumber him? Pondering these questions, she, too, became more silent than was her wont, and Horace soon perceived and misunderstood it.

"Poor little thing!" he said, "I do not wonder she feels the contrast between Annie's lot and her own! Here she is sick and weak, and needing delicacies, and drives, and leisure, and I cannot afford to give her enough of either! Ought I to have entered on this struggle, and to have let her enter it with me?"

"A penny for your thoughts!" said Maggie, coming behind him, and putting her cool hands on his forehead. He was sitting over some papers, but not occupied with them, and she saw that he looked troubled.

"Well, my dear, " he said, "if I must confess, I was thinking of you."

"Of me! And with such a face?"

"Yes, of you. Think of Annie's position, and think of yours! And you are ten times as worthy of the good things of life as she is."

"Ah! I know what all this means. You think Tom and Annie are happier than we are. Why, Horace, I am ashamed of you! We are the happiest people in the world."

"Are we?" with a comical look.

"Yes, we are. Only you get dyspeptic now and then for want of exercise, and then you get to thinking things. Come, now, if you could put everything back where it was before you knew me, when you had nobody but yourself to take care of, would you do it?"

"And do back at a boarding house? No, I wouldn't."

"Then, hadn't we better put a good face on our little home, and enjoy it?"

"One can't always get into the mood to put on good faces."

"But one can bear the contrary mood patiently, and then it passes away, as moods will. Tell me one thing, are you over-working because of me?"

"I am not over-working because of anybody. Of course, if I had no family to care for, I should work less than I do now, for lack of inspiration; or, if I were rich, like Tom, I dare say I should not work at all. I should fancy that I didn't feel very well, and that idleness was my vocation."

"Then I'm glad you're not rich. I have been thinking lately that God meant something when he gave the work of dressing and keeping the Garden of Eden to both Adam and Eve. He could have made the garden take care of itself, or have given all the work to Adam."

"Why, Maggie! don't you read your Bible more carefully than that? He did give the keeping of the garden to Adam, and to Eve he gave work that Adam could not do, and which gave her plenty of occupation."

"Well," said Maggie, drawing a long breath, "I don't know how I came to make such a mistake, but I have really felt troubled at your having to do all the work, while I idle at home. For I certainly thought God made Eve share Adam's labours in the garden."

"I think that while I go on with my writing, you had better refresh your memory by reading the third chapter of Genesis. I believe I am a little out of sorts, and have been looking at things through the medium of a touch of indigestion. Not a very glorious trophy to bring him from the battle-field, is it?"

"It seems as if it was enough to lose one's limbs," said Maggie, "and not have one's health thrown into the bargain. Horace, dear, would exercise on horseback take the place of walking?"

"Yes; but then this beggar has no horse on which to ride," he said, laughing.

Maggie stood in thoughtful silence for some minutes, and then said in a low voice,

"Now I feel that we are poor. But this is God's choice for us; the choice of our best Friend. I am sure He could refuse us nothing that would give me the pain that the sense of your needing something you cannot have gives me."

Her eyes were full of tears, yet she smiled as she went on.

"I don't know but it is a good thing to feel our own weakness; it makes God's strength seem so strong. We can't manage this business of your exercise, but He can, and I believe He will."

"Well, I feel all the better for this talk," said Horace. "You always build me up when I get down. And now, little woman, go about your business, and I will pitch into mine."

"It would be a relief," thought Maggie, as she sat down at his side with her work-basket, "if I could talk this matter over with somebody. But if I tell Aunt Jane or Annie that Horace needs a horse, or the use of one, it would be just the same as asking them to see that he has one. Oh, the money Annie spent for me in Paris! However, the hand of Providence guided hers; why should I fancy I could have guided it better?"

At this moment a note was handed her from Annie, which ran on this wise:

"Dear Mag,--Tom has had to go and look after his mother, who must needs fall sick. And I have got such a cold that I can't go to see you or anybody. So jump into the carriage and come here this minute. 'Nan.'"

Maggie tossed this note to Horace, and ran to get ready. She knew he was too busy to miss her much, and it was pleasant to think of seeing Annie all by herself. Not that she did not love Tom, who treated her like a brother, but that his presence was some little restraint to her.

Annie came to meet her with unusual warmth.

"Just look at my nose!" cried she. "And this is the night of Mrs. Erskine's reception, and I wanted to go! Isn't it provoking? And a cold does make one feel so flat!"

"But you could not have gone without Tom."

"Oh, yes, I could! There are plenty of them who would be only too glad to escort me. But only think now, suppose Mamma W. should go and die! I should have to throw away all my lovely things, and put on black."

"Why will you belie yourself so, Annie? To hear you talk, one would think you had no heart."

"You wouldn't think so, for you know better. Do you know Tom and I came the nearest to a quarrel today that we have come yet. He wants me to go home to live, because his mother is out of health and spirits, and thinks it would cheer her to have us about the house. But let me show you how she looks." And Annie put on such a long, melancholy face that Maggie could not help smiling.

"I think you ought to go if Tom wishes it," she said.

"I don't believe in mothers-in-law, much less in living with them.

"Nor do I, under ordinary circumstances. But with her only son gone, Mrs. White has no pleasure in keeping up her establishment. Think how lonely she is!"

"Well, when I married Tom, I thought I was going to have all sorts of good times."

"It seems to me you have almost all sorts. But was not your marriage to be for Tom's pleasure, as well yours?"

Annie coloured, and replied:

"I don't think it is very kind in you to take sides with Tom, and against me! If there is any one thing I always detested the thought of, it was marrying a man's mother and sisters. To be sure Tom has no sisters--I'm glad he hasn't--and his mother might be worse than she is. But if we go there, she will expect us to sit with her evenings, and make me go with her to her societies and things. And I don't like to be led round by other people, and never did."

"Just what we don't like is often just what is best for us, darling. I did not like to see my husband lying at the point of death, nor did he like to see me lying so. But I wish I could tell you what beautiful things grew up out of those unlikings. And as to being led about by other people; why, they are often God's hands. He is the real leader."

"Here comes Tom!" said Annie, in a tone of relief. She did not want to be led by God's hand; she fancied she knew what was good for her better than He did.

"How's your mammie?" she asked, as Tom drew near.

"Dreadfully low spirited. She says she needs some life and stir about the house. And I think she does."

Annie set her lips in a way that showed there would have to be a fight before she should furnish that life and stir, and then Maggie prepared to go. Tom insisted on escorting her, and as they drove off, asked, in a piteous way, what he could do to pacify these two women, who, between them, were bewildering him to the very last degree.

"I don't know what to make of Annie," said Maggie. "She never used to be selfish."

"Selfish!" repeated Tom, in a tone of surprised indignation. "My Annie?"

Ah, well, what a mercy that love is blind!

"Yes," said Maggie, decidedly. "Your Annie, my Annie, is not herself. But she is not spoiled. I am sure that if she sees that you really wish her to go home with you to your mother's she will yield."

"But I don't like to urge her so, and yet my mother needs us; I declare I never was so worried in my life. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her, and nothing I wouldn't do for Annie; but I don't seem to suit either of them," He said, plaintively.

"I am very sorry; but I am sure it will all come out right," said Maggie.

These words were simple enough, but they meant a great deal; she was sure that she was going to pray about this thing day and night, and sure that God would hear and answer her in some good way of His own. And though she did not say this to Tom, he felt that there was significance in her tone and manner, and that she was on his side. He ran in for a moment to see Horace, and they had a little brotherly talk together, which did not amount to much in itself, but which led Tom to think, as he drove off,

"I do love that man!"

And made Horace say to Maggie, to her great satisfaction:

"The more I see of Tom, the more I like him. He is as good-hearted a fellow as the sun shines on."

"Aunt Jane always said so," replied Maggie, "and she has known him ever since he was a little boy. But isn't it strange, that with such a good woman for his mother, he has grown up to be in and of the world?"

"How good she is?"

"Why, very good, I always supposed. She is the greatest hand for going to prayer-meetings, and societies and associations, and things of that sort."

"And who looked after Tom while she was off on these expeditions?"

"Expeditions? Do you call prayer meetings expeditions?

"If they took her out of her house, I do. Of course, I am not finding fault with them, but I have observed that your burning and shining lights abroad often neglect to shine as they ought at home. And I know, for Tom has told me, that coming home from school, and invariably finding his mother out, he naturally sought for other society, and that not always of the best sort."

"But think how he loves her!"

"Yes; but that's something comparatively new. It sprang up out of the death of his father."

"How many good things spring up out of sad ones!" said Maggie, thoughtfully. "Horace, I begin to believe that God distributes His favours far more equally among men than we fancy. How many poor people He makes rich; how many rich people poor! Think how happy we are, and what a little thing is poisoning Tom's peace, and Annie's."

And then she told him of her conversation with them both.

"Well, I advise you to keep silent, and not mix yourself up in the business. It is not our affair."

"I rather think I can leave it to the Lord," said Maggie.

"And I rather think you must. You look very tired."

"Annie grieves me. It hasn't been a good thing for her to marry a rich man. I daresay my head would have been turned just so, however."

"Yours, darling? What nonsense."

But he acted as if he liked such nonsense, and soon peace settled down upon the little household, and gathered them all under its wings.

But Tom and Annie sat far into the night, discussing the question his mother had brought to a point, the one coaxing, arguing, despairing; the other unreasonable, willful, and blind.

"Very well!" cried Annie, at last. "It is plain that you care more for your mother than you do for me. To gratify her wishes you would sacrifice my happiness. If I had known you were such a man-----" and she filled up her sentence with tears, adding, "It says in the Bible that a man should forsake father and mother, and cleave to his wife."

"Yes, it does. But mother repeated ever so many texts to prove that he ought not. It does seem as if there ought to be a right or a wrong to this question. Would you be willing to let some other impartial person, or persons, decide it? Horace, or Maggie, or both?'

"Oh, I can tell you beforehand what they would decide. They would preach sermons by the hour to prove that I ought to give up and let you have things your own way. I have no doubt they would find such a text as this in the Bible:

"'Annie, you naughty girl, do what your husband wishes!'"

In spite of her nose, which she had made even redder by crying, Annie looked charming in her husband's eyes, as she uttered these words in the bright, arch way that always won him. He caught her and kissed her, and said nobody should tease her, and that she was his own little pet, and--well they all talk alike.

And Annie hid her triumphant face on his shoulder, and knew herself victorious.

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