Gertrude's Marriage Part 7

"And now she will just settle down forever at that wretched Niendorf, for there is no turning her when she has once made up her mind."

"Heaven forgive me, she has the Baumhagen obstinacy in full measure; I know what I have suffered from it."

"This Linden is handsome," remarked Jenny, taking no notice of the violent weeping. "Goodness, what a stir it will make through the town!

She might have taken some one else. But did I not always tell you, mamma, that she was sure to do something foolish?"

"Arthur!" she cried to her husband who had just come in, "just fancy, Gertrude has engaged herself to that--Linden."

"The devil she has!" escaped Arthur Fredericks' lips.

"Tell me, my dear son, what do you know about him? You must have heard something at the Club, or--"

Mrs. Baumhagen had let her handkerchief fall, and was gazing with a look of woe at her son-in-law.

"Oh, he is a nice fellow enough, but poor as a church mouse. He knows what he is about when he makes up to Gertrude. Confound it! If I had known what he was up to, I would never have asked him here."

"Yes, and she declares she will not give him up," said Jenny.

"I believe that, without any a.s.surances from you; she is your sister.

When you have once got a thing into your head--well, I know what happens."

"Arthur!" sobbed the elder lady, reproachfully.

"I must beg, Arthur, that you will not always be charging me with spite and obstinacy," pouted the younger.

"But, my dear child, it is perfectly true--"

"Don't be always contradicting!" cried Mrs. Jenny, energetically, stamping her foot and taking out her handkerchief, ready to cry at a moment's notice. He knew this man[oe]uvre of old and drew his hand hastily through his hair.

"Very well then, what am I to do about it?" he asked. "What do you want of me?"

"Your advice, Arthur," groaned the mother-in-law.

"My advice? Well then--say yes."

"But he is so entirely without means, as I heard the other day,"

interposed Mrs. Baumhagen.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Bah! Gertrude can afford to marry a poor man. Besides--I don't know much about Niendorf, but I should think something might be made of it under good management. He seems to be the man for the place, and Wolff was telling me the other day that Linden was going to raise sheep on a large scale."

"That last bit of information of course settles the matter," remarked Jenny, ironically.

"No, no," cried the mother, sobbing again, "you none of you take it seriously enough. I cannot bring myself to consent, I have hardly exchanged half a dozen words with this Linden. Oh, what unheard-of presumption!" She rose from her chair, and crimson with excitement threw herself on the lounge.

"Now look out for hysterics," whispered Arthur, indifferently, taking out a cigar.

Jenny answered only by a look, but that was blighting. She took her train in her hand and swept past her astonished husband.

"Take me with you," he said, gayly.

"Jenny, stay with me," cried her mother, "don't leave me now."

And the young wife turned back, met her husband at the door, and pa.s.sed him with her nose in the air to sit down beside her mother.

Oh, he had a long account to settle with her; she would have her revenge yet for his disagreeable remarks at the breakfast-table when she quite innocently praised Colonel von Brelow. He was not expecting anything pleasant either; she could see that at once, but only let him wait a little!

"How, mamma?" she inquired, "did you think I had anything to say to Arthur? Bah! He is an Oth.e.l.lo--a blind one--they are always the worst."

"Ah, Jenny, that unhappy child--Gertrude."

"Oh, yes, to be sure," a.s.sented the young wife, "that stupid nonsense of Gertrude's--"

In the meantime the young girl was standing before her father's picture, her whole being in a tumult between happiness and pain. She had not closed her eyes the night before since she had shyly given him her hand with a scarcely whispered, "yes."

She knew he loved her; she had fancied a hundred times what it would be when he should tell her of it, and now it had come so suddenly, so unexpectedly. She had loved him long already, ever since she had seen him that first time; and since then she had escaped none of the joy and pain of a secret attachment.

She took nothing lightly, did nothing by halves, and she had given herself up wholly to this fascination. Whoever should try to take him from her now, must tear her heart out of her breast.

As she stood there the tears ran down over her pale face in great drops, but a smile lingered about the small pouting mouth.

"I know it very well," she whispered, nodding at her father's picture, "you would be sure to like him, papa!" And a happy memory of the words he had spoken yesterday came back to her, of his lonely house, of his longing for her, and that he could offer her nothing but that modest home and a faithful heart.

His only wealth at present was a mult.i.tude of cares.

"Let me bear the cares with you, no happiness on earth would be greater than this," she wished to say, but she had only drooped her eyes and given him her hand--the words would not pa.s.s her lips.

It was as if she had been walking in the deepest shadow and had suddenly come out into the warm, life-giving sunshine. "It is too much, too much happiness!" she had thought this morning when she got up. She thought so still, and it seemed to her that the tears she shed were only a just tribute to her overpowering happiness. If her mother had consented at once, if she had said, "He shall be like a beloved son to me, bring him to me at once," that would have been too much, but this refusal, this distrust seemed to be meant to tone down her bliss a little. It was like the snow-storm in spring, which covers the early leaves and blossoms,--but when it is past do they not bloom out in double beauty?

The conversation in the next room grew more eager. Gertrude heard the complaining voice of her mother more clearly than before. It had a painful effect upon her and she cast a glance involuntarily at her father's picture, as if he could still hear what had been the torture of his life. Gertrude could recall so many scenes of complaint and crying in that very room. How often had her father's authoritative voice penetrated to her ear: "Very well, Ottilie, you shall have your way, but--spare me!" And how often had a pallid man entered through that door and thrown himself silently on the sofa as if he found a refuge here with his child. Ah, and it had been so too on that day, that dreadful day, when afterwards it had grown so still, so deathly still.

And there it was again, the loud weeping, the complaints against Heaven that had made her the most miserable of women, and now was punishing her through her children. Then there was an opening and shutting of doors, a running about of servants; Gertrude even fancied she could perceive the penetrating odor of valerian which Mrs. Baumhagen was accustomed to take for her nervous attacks. And then the door flew open and Jenny came in.

"Mamma is quite miserable," she said, reproachfully; "I had to send for the doctor, and Sophie is putting wet compresses on her head. A lovely day, I must say!"

"I am so sorry, Jenny," said the young girl.

"Oh, yes, but it was a very sudden blow. I must honestly confess that I cannot understand you, Gertrude. You must have refused more than ten good offers, you were always so fastidious, and now you have taken the first best that offered."

"The best certainly," thought Gertrude, but she was silent.

The young wife mistakenly considered this as the effect of her words.

"Now just consider, child," she continued, "think it over again, you--"

"Stop, Jenny," cried the young girl in a firm voice. "What gives you the right to speak so to me? Have I ever uttered a word about your choice? Did I not welcome Arthur kindly? What advantages has he over Linden? I alone have to judge as to the wisdom of this step, for I alone must bear the consequences. It is not right to try to influence a person in a matter that is so individual, that so entirely concerns that person alone."

"Good gracious, don't get so excited about it!" cried Jenny. "We do not consider him an eligible _parti_, because he is entirely without fortune."

A deep shadow pa.s.sed over Gertrude's pale face. "Oh, put aside the question of money," she entreated; "do not disturb the sweetest dream of my life--don't speak of it, Jenny."