Part 16

"I can afford myself so much of a holiday," he said, in answer to her remonstrances, "and I do not choose to have you travel alone, if it can be helped. Besides, I want to see your sister and Forester. You know he was a classmate of mine. We used to be thought very much alike."

Olive wondered where the resemblance could have been, as she contrasted the high-flown æsthetics and refined selfishness of her accomplished brother-in-law, with the hearty, manly energy, and determined self-sacrifice of her lover: the one pampering his mind and indulging his taste for idleness with all sorts of pretty and petty amusements which he dignified by the name of intellectual pursuits; the other devoting all his energies to the profession he had chosen, and only relinquishing it at the call of a still higher duty. She did not express her thoughts to her companion, but perhaps he guessed them, for he said presently:

"You must not judge Forester too harshly. He has been a spoiled child all his life; petted, waited on, and admired by father and mother, brothers and sisters. He had talent, and they thought it genius, and accordingly humored him in all his pursuits, and gratified all his desires. After living upon his father till he was nearly five-and-twenty, it was naturally not easy for him to settle down to business at once. He was admired and courted in society, and that finished the spoiling."

"All that need not have made him dishonorable and false," said Olive, "as he certainly was, so far as Abby was concerned."

"Perhaps it need not, but I think you will find that idleness and self-indulgence are very apt to have that effect after a time. We will not despair of him, however, my dear Olive. The fact of his having a wife dependent upon him may force upon his mind the necessity of exerting himself."

Olive tried to hope so, but it must be confessed she did not feel very sanguine. They arrived in B. in the afternoon, and after some little trouble, succeeded in finding the house—a small brick cottage in a retired street, and Walter left her at the door, promising to return in the evening.

Her sister met her with open arms, and then followed the usual amount of tears, laughter, clapping of hands, and other demonstrations, common to all Abby's great occasions.

"You are just as much of a child as ever, Abby," said Olive, when she was finally settled in the parlor.

"Why, no, I think not quite," replied Abby, sobering down a little. "I have learned some things since I saw you. Only think, Olive, I have been a wife almost six months, and you are not married yet, nor likely to be very soon."

"I am very well contented as I am," said Olive.

"Yes, I dare say; you always are, you know. But how do you like our house? You see it is not in a fashionable neighborhood, and the house is not large nor splendid, but it is comfortable."

"It looks so," said Olive, looking round. "I see you have a piano."

"Yes, Mrs. Forester sent me that. Wasn't she kind? So different from—"

"Hush! Abby," interposed Olive, "I will not hear one word against uncle or aunt Merton. They have been kinder to you than you deserve, and you know what I thought from the beginning. You have never, so far as I know, intimated a wish to be forgiven."

"William says it is not my place to do so," said Abby. "He says they ought to make the first advances, and that uncle has insulted him. Not," she added hastily, "that I should do so, even if he would let me. But we had better not talk about that! Let me take you up to your room: you must be tired, and when William comes in, we will get your trunks up. I used to wonder how people kept house without a man, but I am finding out."

Olive begged her sister not to trouble herself, and accompanied her up-stairs to the bedroom destined for her. It was small, but well-furnished, and tolerably neat, though showing signs of needing the dusting-brush.

"The dust settles on every thing so," said Abby. "I can't think why it is. We did not use to see any dust at aunt Merton's. I hope you will not laugh at my housekeeping, Olive! I do my best, but I know very well things do not go on as they used to at home."

"Aunt Merton has excellent servants, and plenty of them," said Olive, encouragingly, "and she has kept house a good many years, while you are only a beginner. You will soon learn."

"I hope so," said Abby, "for I do hate to have things go wrong. Emma Forester was here the first fortnight, and you don't know how nice it was. She is not a bit like William—not at all a genius, though she is cultivated. William says she cares for nothing but sewing and Sunday-schools, but she is a real housekeeper, and I am sure Katy did better for her than she does for me."

"Why did she not stay?" asked Olive.

"Oh! Her mother and Emmeline wanted her, and she had to go home. But there comes William, and I must go down and have the trunks brought up."

Olive heard, accordingly, an argument down in the hall, which ended in the trunks being dragged up-stairs by a stout, good-natured English girl.

"I am afraid they are rather too heavy for you," said Olive kindly.

"Oh! No, indeed. I'm very stout, you see, and Mrs. Forester is far too delicate to put her hand to such a thing."

Olive wondered whether that were the only alternative but she dressed herself and went down-stairs.

Mr. Forester, in dressing-gown and slippers, was stretched upon the sofa in the parlor, reading a newspaper. He rose, however, when she entered, and greeted her with his accustomed easy cordiality.

"So you have come to see how far we have gone in the way of destruction you so kindly prophesied to us!" said he, after a few common-place inquiries.

"I don't remember expressing any such prophecy," replied Olive.

"Ah! Well, you thought so, and your pattern uncle thinks so still."

"Perhaps we had better let that branch of the subject rest," said Olive. "We shall not be likely to agree any better than we did before, and I can not consent to hear my uncle spoken of, except with respect."

"Very well," said Mr. Forester good-naturedly, "there are enough of other subjects to talk about. What has become of Landon, and why did he not come up with you?"

"He is in town," replied Olive, "and will be here this evening. I learned this morning, for the first time, that you were class-mates."

"Yes, surely. We never were very intimate, though. Landon was one of those plodding fellows, who give their whole energies to the daily routine of study, and are great favorites with faculty and tutors in consequence. He is just the man to make a lawyer or a minister."

"Walter is very industrious," replied Olive. "I think sometimes he hardly allows himself as much recreation as he needs, but his health is good, and he always gives himself up entirely to every thing he undertakes."

"Yet he has given up the study of law as well as William," remarked Abby, who had just come in.

"No one can say that he has consulted his ease in so doing," replied Olive, smiling, "since the one he has chosen is much more laborious, besides being worse paid."

"I can not conceive why he should have made the exchange," said William; "he always seemed to enjoy the idea of studying law."

"He thought it was his duty to do so."

"His duty! Yes, that sounds just like him," laughed Mr. Forester. "'My duty' always settled every thing for him. But, Abby, is not tea ready? I am sure it is past the time."

"It is just ready," was the reply; "I came in to tell you so."

"I don't remember hearing any thing about it. Abby is not much of a housekeeper, Miss McHenry. I wonder your good aunt did not give her lessons."

"Girls of seventeen are not apt to be good housekeepers," was the reply that rose to Olive's lips, but she checked herself, and said simply: "Abby has been a great deal in school, and she has had very little experience. She will do very well, I dare say."

"Oh! Yes, of course. Don't color so, little wife: you know you said as much yourself this morning."

The tea was very nice and abundant, though plain. The biscuits especially were very nice, and Olive noticed them.

"I made them myself," said Abby, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. "Emma taught me while she was here."

"You were an apt scholar, certainly," replied her husband, helping himself to another. "But, my love, I should rather you would try your skill in teaching Katy, than in doing such things yourself. A good housekeeper directs, instead of doing—is head, and not hands."

Abby looked mortified, and Olive felt indignant.

"I am inclined to think, if you were to try it, you would sometimes find it necessary to be head and hands too," said she: "at least, I never saw a housekeeper who did not."

Mr. Forester smiled and turned the conversation, but poor Abby's spirits had received a check. She evidently felt a good deal like a child who has taken a good deal of pains in preparing a present, and then hears it criticised by the person for whom it is intended. Mr. Forester seemed quite unconscious of having said any thing unkind, and continued to make himself very gracious to Olive, and to Mr. Landon when he appeared.

"How do you like your new business?" asked Walter.

"What do you mean, the nursery business? Oh! I gave that up, long ago. My partner, who was a stupid fellow, thought I ought to take half the labor of superintendence; and it did not suit me to be out in all weathers. Besides, I did not like his ideas. I wanted to make the grounds picturesque and pretty, but he had a notion that it was much more convenient to plant the trees in straight rows all of a sort, with a stake at the head of each. There was no beauty or grace in that! Then, it really seems a very heartless thing to sell for money, a tree or shrub which one has raised and nourished. So I gave it up, and lost some money by it. I am keeping books now, till something better comes along."

"Play something, Abby," said Olive. "Have you learned any thing new?"

"Not very lately; my hands have been too full."

She played and sung better than ever, Olive thought, but Mr. Forester thought she did not give exactly the correct expression.

"I really wish my ear was not so fastidious, Miss McHenry. It deprives me of any pleasure in ordinary music, and has prevented me from practising enough to make a good player myself."

Once more Abby looked uncomfortable, and Olive felt indignant. She persuaded her sister to sing again and sang with her, Mr. Forester talking all the time to Mr. Landon of the comparative merits of Jenny Lind and Sontag. So the evening passed.

Mr. Landon took his leave early, promising to call the next morning before he left town.

And Olive retired, feeling more than ever anxious about Abby's future. She could see, now that she looked at her, that Abby was thinner than usual—that she had lost much of her animation, and looked careworn. She thought she saw in Mr. Forester the beginning of what she feared he would become, when the first novelty of getting a wife and having his own way about it was worn off—a selfish, exacting, careless husband, seeking his own ease, and troubling himself very little about the comfort of his wife. There were no signs of God being acknowledged in the family—no grace at table, no evening prayers, not even a family Bible in the parlor. She went to sleep at last, so full of sad forebodings for Abby that she almost forgot to be thankful for herself.

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

EVERY day that Olive spent in her sister's house, convinced her more and more that Abby, in her hasty and ill-advised marriage, had made shipwreck of her life's happiness, and roused her indignation more and more against her brother-in-law. She acquitted him of deliberate tyranny and unkindness, but she could not help seeing how systematically selfish he was—how he would let Abby go to market in the rain, rather than take the trouble to order the dinner himself on his way to his place of business. How he regularly took the best place in the room, the best light by the window, the new book or newspaper as soon as it came in. He would sit by the grate and let the fire go entirely out, while Abby and Olive were shopping, or busy in the kitchen, and he would never stir to make it up again unless he was particularly requested to do so.

On Sunday evening he would not go with them to a church at some little distance where a clergyman was officiating that Abby particularly desired to hear, playfully excusing himself upon the ground of always being sleepy at evening service, and disliking the style of music. But the next day but one, he dragged them out to a picture-exhibition quite at the other end of the town, though the day was damp and unpleasant, and Abby had a bad cold. In short, he always considered himself first of any one.

Olive could not guess whether Abby was at all aware of her husband's failings. Of course she could not say a word about them, even if it would have done any good. Several other things were very apparent. One was, that Abby was not strong. She got very tired with her household cares, few as they were in comparison with those of many people, and the unaccustomed responsibility weighed on her mind. She really too great pains to learn, and Olive assisted her as much as she could, but many times did she see the tears start to the poor child's eyes after she had taken great pains in the concoction of some dish for dinner or tea, to hear some careless criticism from her husband, or his often-repeated remark:

"I do not want you to do such things, Abby. Leave them to Katy. How often must I tell you, my dear, that it is the part of a good housekeeper to direct and not to work herself? You are getting really quite coarse from working in the kitchen."

Then Abby's color would rise, and she would be unable to eat a mouthful, while Mr. Forester would complacently enjoy the fruit of his wife's labors.

"I do wish Abby were not so sensitive and touchy," he said to Olive one day.

"We always thought she had a remarkably serene temper at home," replied Olive. "You should remember how young she is—only seventeen now, and the cares of life weigh heavily upon her."

"I do not think she has so very much to do," said Mr. Forester, in a tone of injured innocence. "I take all I can upon myself; and I have often seen women with much larger families who got on much better than Abby does."

"I do not think Abby is very well," remarked Olive. "She looks very pale oftentimes, and has not a particle of appetite in the morning."

Mr. Forester seemed rather alarmed, and for some days was so attentive and considerate that Abby was quite happy, and Olive almost began to like him.

But it did not last long; he soon became as careless as ever, and the cloud settled again upon his little wife's spirits. It was touching to see how she endeavored to deceive herself and Olive, how much she made of every kindness, how proud she was of his accomplishments, and how anxious to conceal his deficiencies. In all that related to her affections for her husband, she was a woman: in every thing else, she was a child.

She confessed to Olive after a while that she was often very home-sick, and longed to see her uncle and aunt, and that she would have written to beg pardon long before "if William had thought it best; not of course that I would say I was sorry for having married him, you know, but sorry that they were displeased at it. I can not bear to think of their being angry," she said, her eyes overflowing. "I never could endure to have even one of the girls in school put out with me."

"I do not think uncle would require you to say any thing more than that you were sorry for having displeased him, but he thinks you ought to make some acknowledgment of error, and indeed so do I."

"Do they ever talk of me?"

"Aunt does very often. She never writes without asking me whether I have heard from you, and how you are. I can tell you, Abby, there are not many orphan girls who have kinder friends than we have been blessed with."

"Yet you were very anxious to make yourself independent of them."

"In a pecuniary point of view—yes! I felt as if it were wrong to be dependent upon uncle for a living as long as I could support myself. But I have never made myself in any way independent of their authority, and have no wish to do so."

"Well," replied Abby, "what is done can not be helped. Perhaps matters will take a turn before I see you again, if I ever do. Sometimes I think I never shall."

"That is a foolish thought, my baby," said Olive, taking her sister's head upon her lap as she used to do in school, to soothe Abby's troubles; "why should you think so?"

"I don't know; I am not very well, and—you know mother died that way."

"But just think, Pussy, how many children are born every year, and people get well directly; and as for mother, I don't think she would have died but for the other troubles, father's death and the poverty and all. You must not encourage these gloomy fancies indeed, my love. It is worse than foolish, it is downright wrong. It is a want of faith in God."

Abby sighed again deeply. "Dear Olive, I am very much to blame, I know, about that and many things. I can not go to church as I used to. William does not always want to attend, and I hate to go alone; and even if I do, it does not seem to do me much good. I wish I were a little girl again, as I was when I first went to uncle's to live, or else I wish I had not been so happy all my life."

"But you must rouse yourself, Abby, my child," said Olive, cheerfully; "you have never known care before, and you are very young indeed to have the responsibility of a family upon your shoulders. But if you keep up good courage and do your best, the hardest parts will soon be past, and you will go on easier. Every one has some trouble at first."

"If I could only ever do right."

"I think you do wonders, both in cooking and housekeeping."

"William thinks I might get along with directing Katy, and doing nothing myself," said Abby, "but I have tried and I can not. She is good-natured, and willing to do any thing she can, but she is not much of a cook, and she is careless unless I stand over her. I think she has learned good deal, though."

"Oh! Yes, she has improved since I came. If you keep her a few months longer, she will turn out an excellent servant, I am sure."

"But Olive, when I am sick will you come and be with me if you can? I think I shall die if I am left alone."

"I promise you, baby. Keep up good courage, have faith in God, and I am sure all will go well."

The vacation lasted six weeks, and Olive spent four with her sister. She would willingly have devoted to her the whole six, but Mrs. Merton would not hear of it. And she reluctantly took her leave.

"Olive has promised to come to me next winter if I want her," said Abby to her husband after she had done crying.

"Has she?" replied Mr. Forester absently, and working busily at a sketch of "the East Wind," that had occupied him and the only table in the room for several evenings. "But don't you think after all, my love, that it is pleasanter to be by ourselves? Olive is very nice, but she is a little severe, a little trying, with her extremely practical ways. But never mind," he added, seeing Abby's eyes ready to overflow again. "You shall have her if you want her, my dear, if she were ten times as practical. Only, I hope you do not mean to cry so every time she goes away, or I shall wish her somewhere else. I can't bear to see women cry, and you of all others. Come now, don't shed any more tears, but look at my head of the east wind, and tell me how you like it."

Abby dried her eyes, looked at the picture, and was duly interested. She tried to keep from crying afterwards, and sustained her spirits wonderfully, considering how much she was alone.

Mrs. Granger interested herself much in the poor child, as she called her, and went to see her as often as she could, giving her many useful hints about household management, etc., but she was of course much engaged.

Abby had many lonely hours, when it was very hard not to dwell upon the dark side of the picture, when she could not help seeing that her idol was not a god—that even marriage with a man she loves is not enough to make a woman happy.

But in these very lonely hours she found comfort after a while. The lessons she had learned ever so long ago at her mother's knee began to come back to her; many a passage learned in Sunday-school invested itself with a new meaning. The little Bible she had brought away with her came to lie in her work-basket, and chapters which used to be only tasks now became full of divinest comfort. The poor child crept timidly near, and laid her weary head on her Saviour's arm. Thus she grew happier by degrees, and wrote so much more cheerfully that Olive was quite encouraged about her.

Olive's vacation at home was very pleasant. No one could be kinder than Mrs. Merton, though the sight of her niece seemed to renew her indignation at Mr. Landon's eccentricity, and Olive had to summon all her philosophy to meet the expression of it.

Charlotte, for a wonder, supported Olive, against her mother, and declared that Mr. Landon was right and consistent, and that she respected him for the course he had taken, though she was sorry for Olive's disappointment about getting settled in a home of her own.

Mrs. Merton was vexed, then laughed, called them a pair of romantic girls, and declared they would know better when they were older.

"Of course you think every thing Walter does is just right, now. But wait till you have been married ten years."

"Or till I have been married as long as aunt Rebecca," Olive ventured to say laughingly. "Now tell me honestly, aunt, don't you think uncle Merton is about as perfect as human nature allows any one to be?"

"Oh!—Well, yes, perhaps so. But your uncle would never do any thing so romantic."

"That depends upon what you call romantic. Some people would have thought it a very romantic proceeding to adopt two orphan girls, and give them an expensive education."

"Yes, I know many people did say so, but I assure you, my dear, we have never regretted it—not even when poor Abby disappointed us so sadly. And now, Olive, tell me all about the poor child. I have had no opportunity to ask you. Does she seem comfortable? Is her husband kind to her?"

"I do not think he means to be unkind, aunt. I believe he loves her as well as he can love any one but himself. But he is selfish in little things, and not very considerate, and I think Abby feels it."

"Of course she must," said Mrs. Merton emphatically. "A constant display of small selfishness will do more to render a household uncomfortable than even very serious faults of temper. And how are they situated in a pecuniary point of view? Do they seem to have enough?"

Olive thought they seemed comfortable for the present, but she had doubts for the future. "Mr. Forester has given up his nursery business, and says he has lost money by it."

"Why did he do that?" asked Charlotte.

"So far as I could find, his only reason was that he discovered it to be work instead of play. He said his partner cared for nothing but making money, and persisted in planting all the trees in straight lines. He is keeping books, now. But I don't believe he will persevere in it long. Abby tries very hard. It is really affecting to see the pains she takes to learn to cook and to sew. I am certain she never worked so hard at any school-lesson as she did to learn to make soda-biscuits."

"Poor, dear child!" said Mrs. Merton. "Only to think of her little hands doing such things. And does her husband appreciate her efforts?"

"I don't believe he does. He does not think there is any need of her working, herself, and I have heard him tell her, two or three times, that if she only knew how to direct, there would be no need of her putting her hand to any thing."