Jennie Gerhardt Part 33

"Wobin," said Vesta.

"Yes, robin," he answered. "It is going to look for a worm now. We will see if we cannot find its nest. I think I saw a nest in one of these trees."

He plodded peacefully on, seeking to rediscover an old abandoned nest that he had observed on a former walk. "Here it is," he said at last, coming to a small and leafless tree, in which a winter-beaten remnant of a home was still clinging. "Here, come now, see," and he lifted the baby up at arm's length.

"See," said Gerhardt, indicating the wisp of dead gra.s.ses with his free hand, "nest. That is a bird's nest. See!"

"Ooh!" repeated Vesta, imitating his pointing finger with one of her own. "Ness--ooh!"

"Yes," said Gerhardt, putting her down again. "That was a wren's nest. They have all gone now. They will not come any more."

Still further they plodded, he unfolding the simple facts of life, she wondering with the wide wonder of a child. When they had gone a block or two he turned slowly about as if the end of the world had been reached.

"We must be going back!" he said.

And so she had come to her fifth year, growing in sweetness, intelligence, and vivacity. Gerhardt was fascinated by the questions she asked, the puzzles she p.r.o.nounced. "Such a girl!" he would exclaim to his wife. "What is it she doesn't want to know? 'Where is G.o.d? What does He do? Where does He keep His feet?" she asks me. "I gotta laugh sometimes." From rising in the morning, to dress her to laying her down at night after she had said her prayers, she came to be the chief solace and comfort of his days. Without Vesta, Gerhardt would have found his life hard indeed to bear.

CHAPTER XXVII

For three years now Lester had been happy in the companionship of Jennie. Irregular as the connection might be in the eyes of the church and of society, it had brought him peace and comfort, and he was perfectly satisfied with the outcome of the experiment. His interest in the social affairs of Cincinnati was now practically nil, and he had consistently refused to consider any matrimonial proposition which had himself as the object. He looked on his father's business organization as offering a real chance for himself if he could get control of it; but he saw no way of doing so. Robert's interests were always in the way, and, if anything, the two brothers were farther apart than ever in their ideas and aims. Lester had thought once or twice of entering some other line of business or of allying himself with another carriage company, but he did not feel that ha could conscientiously do this. Lester had his salary--fifteen thousand a year as secretary and treasurer of the company (his brother was vice-president)--and about five thousand from some outside investments. He had not been so lucky or so shrewd in speculation as Robert had been; aside from the princ.i.p.al which yielded his five thousand, he had nothing. Robert, on the other hand, was unquestionably worth between three and four hundred thousand dollars, in addition to his future interest in the business, which both brothers shrewdly suspected would be divided somewhat in their favor.

Robert and Lester would get a fourth each, they thought; their sisters a sixth. It seemed natural that Kane senior should take this view, seeing that the brothers were actually in control and doing the work.

Still, there was no certainty. The old gentleman might do anything or nothing. The probabilities were that he would be very fair and liberal. At the same time, Robert was obviously beating Lester in the game of life. What did Lester intend to do about it?

There comes a time in every thinking man's life when he pauses and "takes stock" of his condition; when he asks himself how it fares with his individuality as a whole, mental, moral, physical, material. This time comes after the first heedless flights of youth have pa.s.sed, when the initiative and more powerful efforts have been made, and he begins to feel the uncertainty of results and final values which attaches itself to everything. There is a deadening thought of uselessness which creeps into many men's minds--the thought which has been best expressed by the Preacher in Ecclesiastes.

Yet Lester strove to be philosophical. "What difference does it make?" he used to say to himself, "whether I live at the White House, or here at home, or at the Grand Pacific?" But in the very question was the implication that there were achievements in life which he had failed to realize in his own career. The White House represented the rise and success of a great public character. His home and the Grand Pacific were what had come to him without effort.

He decided for the time being--it was about the period of the death of Jennie's mother--that he would make some effort to rehabilitate himself. He would cut out idling--these numerous trips with Jennie had cost him considerable time. He would make some outside investments. If his brother could find avenues of financial profit, so could he. He would endeavor to a.s.sert his authority--he would try to make himself of more importance in the business, rather than let Robert gradually absorb everything. Should he forsake Jennie?--that thought also, came to him. She had no claim on him. She could make no protest. Somehow he did not see how it could be done. It seemed cruel, useless; above all (though he disliked to admit it) it would be uncomfortable for himself. He liked her--loved her, perhaps, in a selfish way. He didn't see how he could desert her very well.

Just at this time he had a really serious difference with Robert.

His brother wanted to sever relations with an old and well established paint company in New York, which had manufactured paints especially for the house, and invest in a new concern in Chicago, which was growing and had a promising future. Lester, knowing the members of the Eastern firm, their reliability, their long and friendly relations with the house, was in opposition. His father at first seemed to agree with Lester. But Robert argued out the question in his cold, logical way, his blue eyes fixed uncompromisingly upon his brother's face. "We can't go on forever," he said, "standing by old friends, just because father here has dealt with them, or you like them. We must have a change. The business must be stiffened up; we're going to have more and stronger compet.i.tion."

"It's just as father feels about it," said Lester at last. "I have no deep feeling in the matter. It won't hurt me one way or the other.

You say the house is going to profit eventually. I've stated the arguments on the other side."

"I'm inclined to think Robert is right," said Archibald Kane calmly. "Most of the things he has suggested so far have worked out."

Lester colored. "Well, we won't have any more discussion about it then," he said. He rose and strolled out of the office.

The shock of this defeat, coming at a time when he was considering pulling himself together, depressed Lester considerably. It wasn't much but it was a straw, and his father's remark about his brother's business ac.u.men was even more irritating. He was beginning to wonder whether his father would discriminate in any way in the distribution of the property. Had he heard anything about his entanglement with Jennie? Had he resented the long vacations he had taken from business?

It did not appear to Lester that he could be justly chargeable with either incapacity or indifference, so far as the company was concerned. He had done his work well. He was still the investigator of propositions put up to the house, the student of contracts, the trusted adviser of his father and mother--but he was being worsted. Where would it end? He thought about this, but could reach no conclusion.

Later in this same year Robert came forward with a plan for reorganization in the executive department of the business. He proposed that they should build an immense exhibition and storage warehouse on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and transfer a portion of their completed stock there. Chicago was more central than Cincinnati.

Buyers from the West and country merchants could be more easily reached and dealt with there. It would be a big advertis.e.m.e.nt for the house, a magnificent evidence of its standing and prosperity. Kane senior and Lester immediately approved of this. Both saw its advantages. Robert suggested that Lester should undertake the construction of the new buildings. It would probably be advisable for him to reside in Chicago a part of the time.

The idea appealed to Lester, even though it took him away from Cincinnati, largely if not entirely. It was dignified and not unrepresentative of his standing in the company. He could live in Chicago and he could have Jennie with him. The scheme he had for taking an apartment could now be arranged without difficulty. He voted yes. Robert smiled. "I'm sure we'll get good results from this all around," he said.

As construction work was soon to begin, Lester decided to move to Chicago immediately. He sent word for Jennie to meet him, and together they selected an apartment on the North Side, a very comfortable suite of rooms on a side street near the lake, and he had it fitted up to suit his taste. He figured that living in Chicago he could pose as a bachelor. He would never need to invite his friends to his rooms.

There were his offices, where he could always be found, his clubs and the hotels. To his way of thinking the arrangement was practically ideal.

Of course Jennie's departure from Cleveland brought the affairs of the Gerhardt family to a climax. Probably the home would be broken up, but Gerhardt himself took the matter philosophically. He was an old man, and it did not matter much where he lived. Ba.s.s, Martha, and George were already taking care of themselves. Veronica and William were still in school, but some provision could be made for boarding them with a neighbor. The one real concern of Jennie and Gerhardt was Vesta. It was Gerhardt's natural thought that Jennie must take the child with her. What else should a mother do?

"Have you told him yet?" he asked her, when the day of her contemplated departure had been set.

"No; but I'm going to soon," she a.s.sured him.

"Always soon," he said.

He shook his head. His throat swelled.

"It's too bad," he went on. "It's a great sin. G.o.d will punish you, I'm afraid. The child needs some one. I'm getting old--otherwise I would keep her. There is no one here all day now to look after her right, as she should be." Again he shook his head.

"I know," said Jennie weakly. "I'm going to fix it now. I'm going to have her live with me soon. I won't neglect her--you know that."

"But the child's name," he insisted. "She should have a name. Soon in another year she goes to school. People will want to know who she is. It can't go on forever like this."

Jennie understood well enough that it couldn't. She was crazy about her baby. The heaviest cross she had to bear was the constant separations and the silence she was obliged to maintain about Vesta's very existence. It did seem unfair to the child, and yet Jennie did not see clearly how she could have acted otherwise. Vesta had good clothes, everything she needed. She was at least comfortable. Jennie hoped to give her a good education. If only she had told the truth to Lester in the first place. Now it was almost too late, and yet she felt that she had acted for the best. Finally she decided to find some good woman or family in Chicago who would take charge of Vesta for a consideration. In a Swedish colony to the west of La Salle Avenue she came across an old lady who seemed to embody all the virtues she required--cleanliness, simplicity, honesty. She was a widow, doing work by the day, but she was glad to make an arrangement by which she should give her whole time to Vesta. The latter was to go to kindergarten when a suitable one should be found. She was to have toys and kindly attention, and Mrs. Olsen was to inform Jennie of any change in the child's health. Jennie proposed to call every day, and she thought that sometimes, when Lester was out of town, Vesta might be brought to the apartment. She had had her with her at Cleveland, and he had never found out anything.

The arrangements completed, Jennie returned at the first opportunity to Cleveland to take Vesta away. Gerhardt, who had been brooding over his approaching loss, appeared most solicitous about her future. "She should grow up to be a fine girl," he said. "You should give her a good education--she is so smart." He spoke of the advisability of sending her to a Lutheran school and church, but Jennie was not so sure of that. Time and a.s.sociation with Lester had led her to think that perhaps the public school was better than any private inst.i.tution. She had no particular objection to the church, but she no longer depended upon its teachings as a guide in the affairs of life. Why should she?

The next day it was necessary for Jennie to return to Chicago.

Vesta, excited and eager, was made ready for the journey. Gerhardt had been wandering about, restless as a lost spirit, while the process of dressing was going on; now that the hour had actually struck he was doing his best to control his feelings. He could see that the five-year-old child had no conception of what it meant to him. She was happy and self-interested, chattering about the ride and the train.

"Be a good little girl," he said, lifting her up and kissing her.

"See that you study your catechism and say your prayers. And you won't forget the grandpa--what?--" He tried to go on, but his voice failed him.

Jennie, whose heart ached for her father, choked back her emotion.

"There," she said, "if I'd thought you were going to act like that--" She stopped.

"Go," said Gerhardt, manfully, "go. It is best this way." And he stood solemnly by as they went out of the door. Then he turned back to his favorite haunt, the kitchen, and stood there staring at the floor.

One by one they were leaving him--Mrs. Gerhardt, Ba.s.s, Martha, Jennie, Vesta. He clasped his hands together, after his old-time fashion, and shook his head again and again. "So it is! So it is!" he repeated. "They all leave me. All my life goes to pieces."

CHAPTER XXVIII

During the three years in which Jennie and Lester had been a.s.sociated there had grown up between them a strong feeling of mutual sympathy and understanding. Lester truly loved her in his own way. It was a strong, self-satisfying, determined kind of way, based solidly on a big natural foundation, but rising to a plane of genuine spiritual affinity. The yielding sweetness of her character both attracted and held him. She was true, and good, and womanly to the very center of her being; he had learned to trust her, to depend upon her, and the feeling had but deepened with the pa.s.sing of the years.

On her part Jennie had sincerely, deeply, truly learned to love this man. At first when he had swept her off her feet, overawed her soul, and used her necessity as a chain wherewith to bind her to him, she was a little doubtful, a little afraid of him, although she had always liked him. Now, however, by living with him, by knowing him better, by watching his moods, she had come to love him. He was so big, so vocal, so handsome. His point of view and opinions of anything and everything were so positive. His pet motto, "Hew to the line, let the chips fall where they may," had clung in her brain as something immensely characteristic. Apparently he was not afraid of anything--G.o.d, man, or devil. He used to look at her, holding her chin between the thumb and fingers of his big brown hand, and say: "You're sweet, all right, but you need courage and defiance. You haven't enough of those things." And her eyes would meet his in dumb appeal. "Never mind," he would add, "you have other things." And then he would kiss her.

One of the most appealing things to Lester was the simple way in which she tried to avoid exposure of her various social and educational shortcomings. She could not write very well, and once he found a list of words he had used written out on a piece of paper with the meanings opposite. He smiled, but he liked her better for it.

Another time in the Southern hotel in St. Louis he watched her pretending a loss of appet.i.te because she thought that her lack of table manners was being observed by nearby diners. She could not always be sure of the right forks and knives, and the strange-looking dishes bothered her; how did one eat asparagus and artichokes?