According to the Pattern (24 page)

Inadvertently each of the listeners noted how well she
told what the young minister had said, and laid it up in
his heart for future reference when that young man
should come in for his reckoning. They did not interrupt
her till she came to a sudden halt, at a loss how to explain
the various walks and talks with Mr. Carter, to which she found herself confessing.

But they were kindly eyes that searched her face, as
much of it as could be seen, and her father patted her
gently on her head again, and she was soothed.

“Well, now I’ve been thinking of a plan,” said the
father when they had sat for several minutes in silence, “and I guess it may prove of some benefit to both them
and us. I like all you say about that man. I believe he may
be the man for our business. But the next thing is to get
hold of him. We must work it gently. Of course if he is
a fixture with Marshall & Sylvester, or bound to them by
honor in any way, there will be no use in trying. But that will be to find out. He has a right to better himself if he can, and perhaps we can put him in the way of it. Now, daughter, isn’t it almost time for Lent to come when you gay butterflies of fashion are allowed a little rest? What?
Next week? Why, I didn’t realize the winter was so
nearly gone. Well, that suits admirably. Mother won’t
have so many plans for you, Celia, and so it won’t bother
her any. And by that time your invalid ought to be able
to travel. They’ll be sending her away I suppose for a while.”

“Oh, yes,” interrupted Celia eagerly, “I heard Doctor Carter tell Mr. Winthrop yesterday that if she kept on improving as she had done the last two days he would
soon be able to send her off to get a breath of sea air. But
I don’t believe they can go anywhere for I saw his face
get awfully sad when the doctor said it and he didn’t
answer a word, just went and stood by the window and looked out at nothing.”

“Ah! excellent!” said Mr. Lyman, looking pleased. “All the better for our plans if he can’t afford it. Now
what I propose is this: Celia, you and Howard take one of the servants, take Jane, mother won’t miss her much,
you know, and run down to the shore for a couple of
weeks and invite your friends to come and stay with you
a little while. It can be done in such a way that they
won’t feel uncomfortable about accepting the invitation.
Probably Mr. Winthrop may not be able to be there all
the time, but he can run up and down morning and
evening with Howard, and that will afford you, son, an
excellent opportunity for studying him and also for
bringing things to the proper point for a business prop
osition if we consider that wise. I will run down myself
if I can, for over Sunday, and meet him. Then we can
talk things over at our leisure. How would you like
that?”

Celia’s eyes danced with pleasure. There had not been
anything so pleasant proposed to her since she left the
days of doll houses and had a real fire in her cookstove
with permission to cook anything she pleased for her
dolls. Besides, it would give her a respite from the endless round of irksome society duties, which her
mother kept her working at so constantly. She had been
as eager as any girl about the gayeties of society, but
when it came to the duty part, the calls and teas at the homes of stupid people about whom she cared not a row of pins, Celia was very loath to obey.

They talked so long about the new plans that Mrs.
Lyman sent to know if they were coming up to the
sitting room that evening at all, and reluctantly they
closed the subject with a whispered word from her father to Celia that she might open the subject with the Winthrops and the doctor as soon as she saw fit.

Then the three went upstairs mutually agreed to say nothing about it that night to the mother.

Howard and his sister went at once to the piano. On the music

rack lay a collection of some of the finest compositions of sacred music. Howard took it up and turning the leaves read the name “George H. Carter,” written at the top. Celia saw the quick look he gave her and her cheeks burned again, but she was pleased when he laid the book open on the piano and said: “That’s very fine music, all of it, little sister. I admire his taste. Let’s try this one.”

They sang on and Mr. Lyman and his wife sat and
read. But Celia felt that something had been recognized between herself and her brother that made things more
definite in herself than she had planned to have them.
She wondered why it was that she was glad that Howard liked the music.

And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;

The soul partakes the seaso
n’s youth,

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe

Lie deep ’neath a silence pure and smooth,

Like burnt out craters healed with snow.

—James Russell Lowell

TO Miriam Winthrop the days now became one long,
sweet dream. Her husband came into the room and
kissed her the next morning quietly, as one would expect
a husband to do the first time he had seen his wife after
a long illness. Very little passed between them save looks,
but they spoke volumes. Neither nurse nor doctor knew that that kiss was anything more to the two they were
watching than any kiss between a husband and wife
might be.

They had feared lest the excitement of her husband’s coming might be bad for her, lest his haggard face might disturb her, and now, behold, she lay as quiet as a spring
morning under the first rays of the rising sun, and the
face of the man was changed, joy-touched, glorified.
They could not know that that look meant forgiveness
and peace for each, that the kiss meant the recognition
of all the sorrows and fears and separation—and the
healing of them.

Only a few minutes he stayed, for the doctor was still uneasy. And they pressed each other’s hands and looked once more each into the depths of the soul of the other
and he was gone again. They complied with the laws of the doctor and nurse, but each seemed to say to the other
that it was only a little while and then they could have
each other all the time.

Claude went away again in the light of his wife’s smile,
but their eyes seemed to promise of the trysting hour,
and Miriam slept much during the day and thought as often as she waked of the dream, the dear dream, that
would be hers at night when he came to sit beside her
once more.

Doctor Carter told him how absolutely necessary it
was that his wife should not be excited in any way nor hindered in the least from the rest and recuperation that she was undergoing.

That night, as soon as the nurse had gone from the
room and her hand stole out to meet his, he whispered
that she must not talk or think, but just sleep and let him sit beside her, and she pressed his hand in happy submis
sion. She did not wish to talk or think, only to breathe
in the joy of having the old pain gone. Explanations were
for stronger days than these. Faith and a kiss were heaven
enough for her now.

And so the days slipped into brighter ones and she
grew stronger.

Claude lingered much about the nursery with the
little ones and took them on long walks on bright days now. Their chatter seemed to help him fight back the depression that more and more was settling upon him.

He had told no one yet about his trouble with the
firm. They did not seem surprised that he was not tied
down to the office as in former days. No one had time
to think. If
they thought anything, they supposed he had arranged matters with a substitute so that he was not so much needed downtown. Sometimes he went out at the old morning hour and wandered aimlessly about in parts of the town that were not familiar to him, past rows and rows of little new brick houses with continuous porches that looked like an unending sleeping car, and yet with
their pretty windows and white curtains presented a
simple picture of home that Claude almost envied. Here
lived men with very small salaries indeed, lived and were
happy, and brought up their families to be good men and women. Here might he and Miriam have lived and been
content in the first days of their youth. But to take her
here now from the more spacious quarters, spacious in
comparison with these tiny cottages of four and six
rooms, seemed awful to her husband.

It must not be supposed that Claude had not gone near his old business firm. He had mustered the courage and faced them, but they were obdurate. Mr. Sylvester had given the order and had put his own nephew in the place
to learn the business. They regretted deeply that it was
so. They missed him sorely, one member of the firm
even confided to him, but what could they do? Sylvester was the head, after all, and he would have to find out his own mistakes. If he thought it was worthwhile to see Sylvester, he would be back from Chicago in a few days.

Claude had no desire to face Mr. Sylvester. He knew
that anything he might say would be utterly useless. Mrs.
Sylvester had power to paint the character of even her husband’s dearest friend in colors of the blackest to him. He adored her and she knew well how to retain that adoration.

Day after day he tried to formulate some plan for his
future life. There was a little money put away in the
bank. Not much besides what was in Miriam’s name.
That he would never touch. It occurred to him that she
must have used it for her society venture, for no bills had
come to him for anything beyond the ordinary expenses of the house, and he had left her very little money when he went abroad.

Something definite must be done before she should
get well enough to notice that he did not go to his
business and begin to ask about it. But what it should be remained from day to day more and more of a problem.
He would think until the very room swam before him
and then he would retreat to the nursery and forget for
a little while his troubles in a merry romp with the little ones.

One or two futile attempts he made with other firms
in his line of business, but when they raised their eyebrows on being told that he was no longer with Marshall & Sylvester and answered coldly that they had no opening at present, he would slip away feeling as ashamed as if he had been whipped.

He even ventured the thought of an attempt to bor
row money and start in business for himself, in a small
way, perhaps in another city or a large, growing town.
But this move was too decided to be taken without
consultation with Miriam, and she was in no condition
to be told anything at present. Besides, where would he borrow the money if he wanted to?

Whenever the thought of telling the family of his
severed relations with Marshall & Sylvester occurred to
him, he would start out again on a search for something
to do. He came to the point where he would have been willing to accept a very humble position indeed with a small salary just for the sake of earning something and being able to tell Miriam, when he should be allowed to
talk with her freely, that he had something with which
to support her.

But when he attempted to find such a position, he
found also that the applicants for it were many and were skilled, and that the salary was so exceedingly small that
it would be a question if they could even afford one of
the little six-roomed cottages.

The fact that he had been dismissed so summarily
from Marshall & Sylvester’s was against him. It would
have been possible, of course, for him to go to some of
the friendly members of the firm and request commendatory letters, but his pride was against that. Besides, he felt that by the order of Mr. Sylvester any commendation
from the firm officially had been forbidden. This had
been conveyed to him by kindly hints. He felt sure that
Mr. Marshall thought that the matter was merely a
personal one with Mr. Sylvester, and that nothing had
been said against his character in a public way. Mrs. Sylvester laid her plans well. She did not care to make
anything public that could so much as breathe her name
in its connection.

It is probable that the Claude of six months ago under
these circumstances would have risen above circum
stances, would have outcunninged Mrs. Sylvester,
would have brazened his position through and secured something even better than he had had with Marshall & Sylvester. But he was not the Claude Winthrop of six
months ago. He had not the fine opinion of himself that
he once held. He had passed through fires, and saw yet more ahead of him to be passed through, which crushed his ambition and filled him with depression.

It was therefore like the proverbial last straw added to
his burden when the doctor told him that in two weeks
or three at the most he might take his wife to the
seacoast. His heart throbbed in dull aches and his eyes
did not light with joy as the doctor had expected.

Miriam must go to the shore, of course, if that was
what she needed to bring her back to health and
strength. But where and how was it to be accomplished? What a fool he had been! That day and the next he alternately sat in depressed sadness in his library and walked the streets for some hope of a business position.

It was in one of these wild aimless walks toward
evening that he passed George Carter, whose cheery
bow and smile set astir thoughts of the prayer that had
been uttered for him. And one phrase came back and
was reiterated over and over to him, “God is able.”

Was God able? Could he, would he do aught for him, when he had been all these years indifferent?

When he reached home he went again to his library where he had spent so many lonely hours lately, and in desperation flung himself upon his knees.

“O God,” he cried, “show me what to do.” Again and
again he said the same words over. And then he knelt
there silent, not knowing why he waited, but feeling that he had cast the burden at the feet of One able and willing to bear it.

Before he had risen from his knees the maid knocked
at the door. Miss Lyman was in the reception room, and would like a few words with him, if convenient.

Long afterward Claude read the verse, “Before they
call I will answer, and while they arc yet speaking I will
hear,” and his thoughts reverted to that hour in his
library.

Celia gave her invitation in a most charming way, as she always did such things. She made him feel that it would be a favor to them if he would accept. If there had been the slightest patronage about the invitation, or if he
had suspected that they looked upon him at all as a
subject for charity his pride would have induced him to decline at once; but as it was he found when she had
gone that he had promised to take Miriam to the Lyman
cottage by the sea just as soon as the doctor gave permission, and his heart grew light as he looked about him and
drew a long breath. That would give him time to find
something to do and know where he stood. How blessed
that would be. And he would have a chance to talk with
Miriam and feel the sweetness of her forgiveness. He was
looking forward to that time as he remembered he had
looked forward to his honeymoon long ago.

After that he began seriously to meditate going back
to the little town from which he had wooed and won Miriam, and starting in business for himself. He could at least earn a modest income, and if there must be sacrifices, why, in a small town they need not be so great as they would have to be if they stayed in the city. But this
would have to be brought before the clear lens of
Miriam’s judgment by and by. In the meantime he must do all in his power to find something better before they
went. Nevertheless, his heart was lighter than it had been
since the receipt of the company’s letter.

Miriam’s eyes grew bright over the prospect that was before her, and sooner than they had dared hope she was able to sit up and be made ready for the journey.

It was down beside the sea, in sheltered corners where
a wheeled chair found retreat and the sun kept things
warm even in March, and where the few stragglers on
the boardwalk were like themselves absorbed in them
selves and heeded them not, that Claude and Miriam
talked it all over.

Not an experience, not a heartache did they leave
tucked away in a forgotten crevice of their hearts to
cause trouble at some future time. They confessed everything—and forgave. As rapidly as possible, but without smoothing it over, Claude told all, and later answered all his wife’s questions until each felt satisfied, and they had no future fear of the past.