A California Girl Part 12

What a power some women's soft words and smiles have on a man; he is owned by them, and it was so in the case of Ben West.

Ben said: "Well, dear Julia, I suppose I will have to go to the Klondike again to make my pile a million."

Julia pouted and looked her prettiest and said: "I do hate to have you go to that cold and disagreeable country, Ben, and it will be so lonesome for me without you, dear; but, Ben, make your pile quick and come home."

Ben West did not express all he felt in having to go back to the Klondike, but he had such a pretty, handsome woman for a wife, who pleased him so much and he was so proud of her, and he loved her admiration and approval of himself as much as he did his life. So he decided to return to the Klondike in a month's time. That would give him, in all, three months of honeymoon. Then he would leave for the cold regions of the Klondike.

The last week Ben West was with his wife she seemed at times so sad about his leaving, and would pet him and make so much of him, that she became doubly dear to him. He said, "This is bliss, indeed."

At last the sad day for his parting came. They did the best they could by cheering each other up, with the expectation of Ben's quick return and coming back as a millionaire.

Now, when a handsome young bride is left with an eighty-thousand-dollar house and twenty thousand dollars worth of furniture, three servants, a carriage and a handsome span of horses, two bicycles and an automobile, with a good fat bank account to draw on, she is not going to spend many sad days in the house alone, longing for the return of her husband. Nor will she be contented to remain at home and become fascinated in reading Milton's "Paradise Lost" or Moody's sermons. No. She is going to have company, and gay companions, and they will not be all of her own s.e.x either. About a month after Ben West had returned to the Klondike, Julia had made new acquaintances of persons who had time, money, and elegant leisure. Returning home from a swell party one evening, Julia said to herself, "What freedom there is in being married. Your market is made, and you can have lots of fun dancing, flirting, and so on; while a girl that is unmarried has to be more careful of herself and her conduct, because it might hinder her making a desirable match. It is fine to be married to a good-natured man."

CHAPTER XIV.

FIVE YEARS AFTER MARRIAGE.

It was one of those lovely days in March when nature is decorated in her best; for each day she adds to her wreath of glory new beauties in the form of buds and flowers. The trees in the orchard were a sight to behold in their beautiful and variegated colors. The soft, balmy air coming up the canon was full of the perfume of flowers. The birds were warbling their sweetest notes in the mulberry and walnut trees, and the hum of the bees were heard around the flowers. All Nature sang through these various forms, that All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All is G.o.d.

On this day two ladies were sitting out on the porch of the Herne residence, one was a lady with gray hair, the other was her daughter.

Both were sitting in silence. The younger was thinking how very much like this beautiful day was, to the one five years ago when she entered her new home as the wife of Charles Herne. Many thoughts were crowding upon her mind; she was thinking how perfectly, supremely happy she was on that occasion. Every thing about her seemed to respond to the happy thought within, and her cup of joy was overflowing. Then the thought came to her why was it not so to-day? Nature seemed just as beautiful, her home was more beautiful, and the returns from the sale of their fruit each year had exceeded their expectations. Her health was good, she was in harmony with her neighbors, and enjoyed her life among the people in Orangeville. And above all she had experienced the joys of motherhood, having a son two years old, and her husband was just as kind and attentive to her as ever, and yet--and yet--and yet, must she confess, yes, she very reluctantly told her thoughts to her mother to see if she could explain and give her light on those feelings which had come to the surface many a time, only to be suppressed. But they would rise again, and the more they were put down, the more they would rise, till at last she would relieve her mind by telling her mother, who she knew had had more experience.

"Mother," said Clara, "why is it, when everything about me is as good and some things much better than when I was married, and Charles is just as kind, thoughtful, and loving as a husband and father can be, and yet after five years of happy, harmonious life, there is less attraction between us, than when we were first married? Of course, I have never let Charles think that I felt this way, but I noticed that after we had been married two months, Charles' kisses, touches, and pettings did not produce that pleasurable thrill they once did, and it has been growing more and more that way ever since. Why, even when he kisses my hand, it does not produce any more pleasure than if I had kissed my own hand. I remember the time when Charles' kisses used to send an electric thrill of joy through me; the sound of his coming footsteps was a delight which gave me more pleasure than a kiss does now."

"Well, Clara," said her mother, "you don't expect to have the high-strung, pleasurable excitement of a bride all the time, do you? I know my experience was like yours, Clara, and I think from all those I have heard talk about such matters that theirs is also the same. So I take it for granted that is how it should be, and cannot be made different. I would not let my mind dwell on it if I were you, Clara; for you have got one of the best men for a husband, a fine boy, and a very comfortable home."

After hearing what her mother had to say, Clara thought it best not to say any more, for her mother had given her no satisfactory answer, and seemed to know no more about such matters than she herself did. But she kept thinking, "Did it have to be so?"

During the time that Clara was busy with these thoughts and talks with her mother, there was a man walking through his orchard, apparently looking at the fruit buds, but his mind was pre-occupied with another subject. He was thinking that it was five years ago since he and Clara were married, and he was thinking how happy he was when he brought her to his home. He was thinking also of the thrills of joy and pleasure her presence gave him before marriage, and for a month or two afterwards, when she took his hand in hers and then kissed it; how soothing and delightful it was; and what an attractive power she had. But now, how different.

"It is just the same as if I kissed myself. She is just as good, just as loving a wife, so kind and thoughtful, and we never have had any words, but there is something. I cannot find words to express what I mean. Is it tameness? Are other married persons like that?" And he began to think about the married life of some of his friends. "There was Winchester and his wife, I remember them when they were courting, they seemed inseparable, and for a while after they were married they could not see any one else but each other. If they were out anywhere they would sit together holding each other's hands, and not wishing to say much to any one else. After they had been married six months I notice they have quit holding each other's hands, and now you seldom see them together much.

With how few married couples who have been married six years do you see that suppleness and alertness, that zeal to please each other, and be with one another that you see in couples about to be married."

Charles Herne thought, "Why is this so?" Why could not the same attractive power which exists between some couples when they are married be continued? Charles Herne did not know, his wife Clara Herne was no wiser than he on that subject, though neither of them had made their feelings known to the other.

CHAPTER XV.

A CONVERSATION ON THE PORCH.

Penloe had heard several times in regard to Charles Herne being an exceptionally fine man, liberal in thoughts, as far as he went, very just and generous to his men, so that the day that Penloe received a very kind invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Herne to be their guest for a few days, he accepted it knowing intuitively that he had a work to do there.

As a guest Penloe was not always talkative, but what he did say was very interesting. He made himself one with men and they all took a great liking to him; Mr. and Mrs. Herne were very much impressed with the personality of their distinguished guest, and they enjoyed his visit with them. He had been several times there since his first visit, and they had become great friends.

Charles Herne remarked to his wife one day: "What a genial, sociable, humorous companion Penloe is; while of course, he is thoroughly in earnest and has but one purpose in all he does, which is to manifest what he calls the Divine, yet he is not serious, sober, and grave all the time; he is so joyous, hopeful, and full of good-natured fun, but he never lets it overcome him. I like him because he never says and does anything for effect or to be considered smart; he is so simple, humble, and una.s.suming in his manners, keeping himself in the background. His influence on me is so different to that of any other man, and impresses me very deeply. I always feel a better man after a talk with him. In short, I feel his fine influence in the room even when he is silent. He gave the men a powerful talk in their parlors the other evening. He has a faculty for adapting himself to each one; just knows what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. Several of the men have made the remark to me that he is a very dear brother to them."

He had visited the men several times since, and they had become great friends. Any one in a very short acquaintance with Penloe could not help being impressed with his sincerity of character, his genuineness and honesty of purpose, as well as his deep spirituality. Therefore, it naturally follows that he would attract the confidence of his friends.

It was so natural for them to give him their confidence, they could not withhold it from him, for it seemed to belong to him. Then again, there are some persons who possess that power of discernment, that spiritual insight for seeing through and through any one; nay, more, they appear to have the power of entering into your most secret thoughts, they enter as if by right, the rooms of your soul and see all its furniture; they open even the secret chambers, and enter as if they had been there before many a time, and when you think you are about to take them into your confidence, you find that they know what you are about to tell them.

Penloe possessed that gift, and Mrs. Herne realized that he had read her book of secrets, that he knew all, and, therefore, when she took him into her confidence, she did so with the half thought that he was there some time before. She knew that Penloe was competent to give information on any subject, and he was her true friend, and, therefore, she could trust him fully.

One day when Penloe and Mrs. Herne were sitting on the porch admiring the beauties of Nature all around them, Mrs. Herne said: "Penloe, don't you think this is a beautiful place?"

When she made that remark, he knew what she was going to speak to him about.

Penloe replied: "There is not a ranch in Orangeville that has so much in the way of the expression of fine taste and natural beauty as your home."

Mrs. Herne said: "I shall never forget how delighted I was when I came here as a bride, and thought could I wish for more, for my cup seemed full to overflowing. With this comfortable house and beautiful grounds, and such a feeling of brotherhood existing between my husband and the men, and everything running so harmoniously, nothing appeared to be wanting."

"Yes," said Penloe. "You certainly have an exceptionally fine man in some respects for a husband; I admire him very much."

"And I know he does you," replied Mrs. Herne; continuing, she said: "Since you have favored us with your company and he has been with you more, I can just begin to see some kind of change come over him; I hardly know how to describe it; for it is only just commencing; I notice it a little at times."

Penloe seemed to be absorbed in thought and made no reply.

Mrs. Herne waited a minute or two, and then said: "I often think how thankful I ought to be that I have such a fine man for a husband, and yet, in one way, I have not realized my ideal, even with all these fine surroundings, and such a good husband."

"Do you think that is strange?" asked Penloe.

"Well," said Mrs. Herne, "that is what I don't know; it is a query with me, whether any one realizes her ideal in marriage; what do you think about the matter, Penloe?"

"Well, I think there are quite a number who realize their ideal in marriage," replied Penloe.

Mrs. Herne said: "Please, Penloe, describe those kind of marriages to me, for I am interested; it being a matter I have thought a great deal about."

"Certainly," said Penloe, "but which is it you wish me to describe: What is an ideal marriage? or what are the ideals of those who get married, and who realize them?"

"It is the first I am most interested in now, Penloe," said Mrs. Herne, "because I know that is your ideal, and therefore, would be the correct one to aim for, but Penloe, while I hope you will tell me that, yet, I ask you as a trusted friend, can you tell me why I have not realized my ideal?" said Mrs. Herne.

"I can when you tell me what your ideal is like," said Penloe.

"I am afraid you will laugh when I tell you for I know it is so different from yours," replied Mrs. Herne.

"One need never fear a true friend," said Penloe. "To a true friend, if it is necessary, one can speak of his ignorance or weaknesses, and it may be a great help to him, because a true friend has only one motive in friendship, and that is to lift the other up to a higher plane of thought; I mean that is the highest kind of friendship, and is a good test with which to gauge friendship."

Mrs. Herne was very much impressed with Penloe's idea of friendship; so high and pure.

Mrs. Herne said: "Penloe, you are so near and dear to me as a friend, that I don't fear to tell you anything, and to show my confidence in your friendship, I am going to reveal to you something, that I have never thought it best to tell my husband."

"Your confidence shall never be betrayed by me," said Penloe.

"Thank you, Penloe," said Mrs. Herne. "Now, let me tell you what it is.

Previous to my marriage to Charles Herne there was something in addition to his true worth and genuine character that attracted me to him; something about his personality, for I always felt a thrill of joy when with him; even if I only heard the sound of his coming footsteps, or he happened to touch my dress, there was a sensation of pleasure; and when he took my hand, and pressed it and kissed me, it was bliss. Well, I married him and we came to this beautiful home, and that thrill of delight continued between me and Charles for about two months, and during that time I was living in my ideal world. But after two months I noticed a little less of that feeling, and it kept growing less and less, till now there is none at all. I love him with my whole heart, and am devoted to him, my environments are the same, or better in many ways, seeing that I am a happy mother, and the place has now more comforts and conveniences than when I came here as a bride; yet that attraction has gone so that when Charles kisses me or touches me it seems as if it was my own self kissed me and touched me--to make the union a perfect one, the delight of attraction should always be present; in that way I have not realized my ideal."