Walter Harland Part 5

Dr. Oswald was still the teacher of Fulton Academy, and many happy hours were pa.s.sed in the interchange of visits during our stay at Uncle Nathan's; and I suppose I must inform my readers of a sentimental scene which took place in Mr. Oswald's garden on a delightful evening in midsummer, when, at my earnest entreaty, lovely Rose Oswald renewed the promise made to me on that very spot just eight years ago; for my boyish fancy had ripened into the strong man's love, and I felt that Rose Oswald, as my wife, was all that was wanting to render me as happy as one can reasonably expect to be in this world of change and vicissitude.

"If you are willing to resign yourself to my keeping," said I, "there is no need of a long engagement, and when I leave Fulton I must take you with me as my wife." "So soon, Walter." "Yes, Rose, _just so soon_. I have long looked forward to this day, and now I almost count the minutes till I can claim you as all my own," and so the matter was settled. When Aunt Lucinda was informed of this arrangement she opened her eyes wide in astonishment, and when she learned that the marriage was to take place within a few days, she was highly delighted, "for", said she, "the sun never shone on one like Rose Oswald before; in fact, she was far too good for any one but you Walter, so if you had not chanced to fall in love with her, she must have died an old maid."

It was a bright morning, early in September, that a small wedding party was a.s.sembled at Mr. Oswald's residence; the few guests invited were all old friends. I sent an urgent message for good old Dr. Gray and his wife, and although they seldom left Elmwood, they responded to my call, and made what, to them, was quite a long journey, that they might be present at my marriage. That same evening we set out on our wedding tour, while my mother and Flora, with Charley Gray, returned to Elmwood; and, after travelling for several weeks, we found ourselves at my mother's home, where we were to spend a few weeks longer before returning to the city, which was to be our permanent home. Soon after my return to Elmwood, I received an urgent message to visit Mr. Judson, who was said to be fast failing. I felt a degree of reluctance to go, having never once entered his dwelling since the memorable day on which I left it years ago, but I felt it my duty to comply with his request. I found him much weaker than I had expected. He seemed much overcome, when I softly entered the room, and extending my hand, enquired how he found himself. "I am very weak," he replied, "and feel that I have but a short time to live. I have felt very anxious to see you, and I feared you would not arrive in time to see me alive. I hope you will forgive my unkindness and harshness to you when a boy. I did not then know that I was so unkind, but it has come back to me since. At that time my whole desire and aim was to acc.u.mulate riches, and it was that which caused me to be harsh and unfeeling. I _have_ become rich, but riches will avail me but little, as I stand upon the brink of eternity, and the way looks dark before me, but it will afford me some comfort to hear you say you forgive me, before I die." I took his hand within my own, as I said: "Any resentment I may once have cherished toward you, Mr. Judson, has long since pa.s.sed away. I was but a boy when I resided with you, and very likely at times taxed your patience severely, and you have my entire forgiveness for any harshness I may ever have experienced at your hands. I am sorry to find you so ill, and hope you will soon be better."

"No, Walter;" he replied, "that will never be, and I am now sensible that in my anxiety for the things of time, I have neglected the all-important matters of eternity. Since I have lain upon this sick-bed I have tried to repent, and I trust I do feel sorry for my sins; but, somehow, I do not find the comfort I seek. Would that you could tell me what to do Walter." Can this softened and subdued man, thought I, be the same of whom I once stood in so much fear. As well as I was able I directed him to the sinner's only hope, the merits of a merciful Saviour; while, at the same time, I referred him to many comforting Bible-promises; which, when I had read, he said: "Do you think, Walter, those promises can be meant for me, who have neglected my Bible and been careless and worldly all my life long?" For answer, I directed his attention to the promise which says: "He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." He requested me to pray with him. I have never before prayed save in the retirement of my own room, and I felt a degree of diffidence at the thought of praying in the presence of others, but I overcame the feeling, and, kneeling down, I forgot the physician as well as others who listened to me, and lifted up my voice in solemn earnest prayer. I forgot everything but the G.o.d before whom I pleaded. I prayed that were it the will of Providence, he might be restored to health; but, if not, that he might, in believing on the Saviour, find a comfort which would enable him to triumph even over the terrors of death. When I rose from my knees, he seemed more composed, and, after remaining silent for a short time, he addressed me with much earnestness, saying: "It seems to me, Walter, that I _must_ see my two boys, before I die. Send for them at once. I drove them from me by my harshness, years ago. Send for them at once, and I hope my life maybe spared to see them once more." He held my hand long at parting, saying: "You have done me good, Walter, and I do begin to have a hope that my Heavenly Father will have mercy upon me and receive me, not for any merit of my own, but through the merits of that Saviour who died for the salvation of repentant and believing sinners." Learning the address from Mrs. Judson, I at once dispatched a telegraph message to the two sons, and four days later they arrived, to mingle their tears at the death-bed of their father, from whom they had so long been estranged. It was evident, from day to day, that Mr. Judson was failing fast; but, as his bodily strength wasted away, a most happy change came over his mind, during the last few days of his life.

I was summoned from my pillow at midnight to stand by his death-bed.

His death was calm and full of hope; but, to the last, it was to him a matter of regret, that he had neglected, through life, those things which afforded him any hope in death. Among his last words to me, he warned me against setting my heart upon riches, in a way that would prove a snare to any soul. "Riches," said he, "are a great blessing when rightly used, but ought not to be the chief aim and object of life."

Before the morning dawned, his spirit pa.s.sed away, and it was my hand that closed his eyes in the dreamless sleep of death. The next day I called, in company with my mother, and entered the darkened room where lay his lifeless remains, now habited for the grave. I gazed long and silently upon those features now stamped with the seal of death. Reader, if there lives one against whom you cherish angry and bitter feelings, pause a moment and consider what your feelings would be if called to stand by their coffin; for, be a.s.sured, your anger will then give place to sorrow that you ever indulged anger toward the poor fellow-mortal now extended before you in the slumber of death. I attended the funeral of Mr. Judson, and saw his body consigned to the grave. He sleeps in the village churchyard at Elmwood, and a marble slab marks his resting-place.

When, after the funeral, his will was read, the large amount of the property left was a matter of wonder to many. In his will he gave largely to several benevolent and religious inst.i.tutions, and to me he left the sum of one thousand dollars. I could see no reason why he should have done this, but as his will was drawn up in legal form and properly attested I thought it right I should accept of the generous gift; and, indeed, it was but a small sum out of the large property left by Mr.

Judson. Besides his liberal gift to me, he also gave largely to different benevolent and religious causes. Half the remainder of his large property was to go to his surviving widow, and the remainder was to be equally divided between the two sons. Before his death it was settled that Reuben, the youngest son, was to remain on the home place to care for his mother in her old age, while the eldest was to return to their former business; and thus Mrs. Judson's declining years were rendered happy and contented through the care and love of her favorite son. And so Rose and I at length bade adieu to our friends, after a protracted visit, and returned to the city, where, by my direction, a pleasant and tasteful house already awaited us. Rose liked not to reside in the noisy city, so our home is in one of the most pleasant suburbs in Montreal. Should any of my readers be curious enough to enquire if Rose and I are happy, I would cordially invite them to pay us a visit, and judge for themselves, the first time they pa.s.s our way. The evening before we were to leave Elmwood, I was seated beneath my favorite tree in my mother's garden, and leaning backward against its grey trunk, with its thick and wide-spreading canopy of green branches above my head, I indulged in a long and deep reverie. Memory ran backward over the careless happy days of my childhood, the struggles of my youth, and the exertions of mature manhood; and although bereft, at a very early age, of my earthly father, I could not fail to observe the guiding hand of a Heavenly Father who had smiled upon my youthful efforts to a.s.sist my widowed mother, and had prospered my undertakings, and crowned my mature years, by giving me, as a life-partner, the one who had been my first and only choice, and almost unconsciously to myself, I repeated aloud the following verse from what was Grandma Adams' favorite psalm: "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pa.s.s."

So busily was my mind occupied that I failed to notice the approach of my sister Flora, till she seated herself close to my side, and leaning her head upon my shoulder said in a constrained hesitating voice: "There is one thing I must tell you, Walter, before you go away: Charley Gray has told me he loves me, and asks me to be his wife." This did not surprise me much for I had noticed with secret anxiety the growing intimacy between Charley and my sister. "What shall I tell him, Walter,"

said my sister, "for I must not, dare not act without the counsel of my only brother?" I looked up in my sister's face with all the affection which welled up from my heart and said, "you love him then, Flora?" "How can I help loving him, who is so gifted, so n.o.ble," was her reply.

"And," continued she, "on account of his reserved nature, I believe few give him credit for the real goodness of heart he possesses." As Flora had said, Charley possessed a kind heart, and was just and honorable in every respect, but I trembled for the woman who placed her happiness in his keeping; and how much more so, when that woman was my beloved and only sister. "You do not answer me," said Flora; "mamma would give me no reply till I had consulted you." "My dear sister," said I, "Charley is all that you say, just, honorable and good; but with all this he has qualities which, if not brought under subjection, will sadly mar his own happiness and that of all who love him. He is exclusive and jealous even of a friend, how will it be with a wife? Suspicion and jealousy is inherent in his very nature, for did not Doctor Gray tell me years ago that a suspicious, jealous nature was hereditary in the family of Charley's mother and he therefore begged me not to blame Charley too severely for a fault which he could not help saying 'he feared the cloud which hovered over Charley's cradle would follow him to his grave.' I doubt not Charley's affection for you, Flora; but the very depth of his affection will, I fear, prove a source of unhappiness to you both, for you are aware as well as I that Charley's affection, like his anger when roused, goes beyond the limits of sober reason. From your childhood, Flora, you have been petted and indulged, and a life of continual watchfulness and restraint will be something entirely new for you; for I never knew even a friend of Charley's who could act themselves when he was present, and unless there has been a wonderful change, as his wife, you will be forced to guard your every word and look lest you offend him; you must be pleased only with what pleases him, in short his will must be yours in all things." "You are my brother," said Flora, "and I need not blush to tell you I love Charley Gray better than I once thought it possible for one to love another, and I know from his own lips that he loves me equally in return, and as his wife the confidence between us will be so full and entire, there will be no room left for doubt and suspicion." "Well, little sister" said I, "knowing Charley as I do, I could not help uttering those warning words, but I shall not seek to hinder your marriage. I love and respect Charley more than any other friend I have, but I am very sensible of his faults. A heavy responsibility will devolve upon you as his wife, but love works wonders, and all may be well; but remember, Flora, you have a most peculiar nature to deal with, but it may be your privilege to exorcise the dark spirit from the breast of Charley Gray." That same evening the engagement ring glittered upon Flora's finger; and six months later, amid a small company of friends, they uttered their marriage vows in the old church at Elmwood; and by many they were called with truth a beautiful and n.o.ble looking couple; and immediately after their marriage they set out for their new home in one of the large cities of the Western Provinces, where Charley was to begin the practice of his profession. They left us under seeming summer sky, and I breathed a prayer, that no cloud might arise to mar its serenity.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

About a year after Flora's marriage I received a letter from Aunt Lucinda with a pressing invitation that we should go at once to Fulton; she wished me also to write, requesting my mother to join us at Montreal and accompany us. This letter surprised me not a little, but I was well aware that Aunt Lucinda must have some particular reason for this sudden and unexpected invitation; and I at once wrote to my mother, informing her of her request, and two days later she arrived at my home in Montreal. We enjoyed a pleasant journey, and again my eyes rested with delight upon the familiar scenes of the village of Fulton. Uncle Nathan met us at the railway station, looking as hale and hearty as ever. On our way to the farm I ventured to inquire what had caused our invitation to visit them at this particular time; he answered me only by repeating the old saying, "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," and so we made no further inquiries. When Aunt Lucinda came forward to welcome us, I at once noticed the remarkable change in her appearance; one would have supposed that at least ten years had been taken from her age since I last saw her, and her whole manner was so cheerful and sprightly that I was at a loss to understand what could have happened; but I never dreamed of the truth till after tea, when Aunt Lucinda rose and said: "I want to see you, Walter, alone in the parlor." I followed her, secretly wondering what wonderful revelation I was to listen to. When we were seated, she said with her old abrupt manner, "Well, Walter, you have heard Nathan talk about Joshua Blake, he has come back and we are going to be married to-morrow and I have sent for you to attend the wedding.

You may well look astonished to hear an old woman like me talk about getting married; and the land knows what Deacon Martin's folks will say; but as long as they have liberty to say whatever they please, they needn't complain. You remember hearing Nathan laugh about Joshua Blake and his red hair years ago, perhaps you thought there was no such person in the world but there was. Joshua was an only child, his parents lived over at the village, and we went to school together. His hair was not a real blazin' red but only a dark auburn, for all of Nathan's nonsense about it. Well, we loved each other, when mere children. As we grew older I could see but one fault in Joshua, he was inclined to be unreasonably jealous, and that was the beginning of our trouble. I was young and giddy, and much as I loved him rather enjoyed teasing him, and doing trifling things which I knew would vex him, while at the same time I cared for no one else in the world; and I am now ashamed to say I often accepted of the attentions of others for the mischievous delight I took in making him angry and seeing him look cross, and it may be there was a lurking pride in knowing that I had the power to make him jealous.

Truly, Walter, the human heart is a singular compound of good and evil.

I shall ever remember the last evening we spent together, it was at a party. I know not what spirit of mischief possessed me, but I took particular pains to annoy Joshua by my giddy and frivolous conduct. When we were ready to return home he offered me his arm without speaking, this made me angry and I walked proudly by his side. We walked on in silence till we reached the gate at my own home. As he was turning away he said, 'I suppose, Miss Adams, it will cause you no sorrow if I tell you this is probably the last time we shall ever meet.' I know that even then, had I answered him differently the matter would not have ended as it did, but my spirit rose proud and defiant, and I said with a tone of mock levity, 'How long a journey do you purpose taking, Mr. Blake? is it to the grist-mill, or to the sawmill, which is a little farther away?'

'You may make light of my words, if you choose,' replied he; 'but I am in no mood for jesting. The truth is, Miss Adams, that I can no longer endure this life of suspense and torture, and it is evident you care more for a giddy throng of admirers than for the love of one who has loved you from childhood. I leave here to-morrow morning, trusting to time and distance to a.s.sist me in forgetting you.' He looked earnestly in my face, in the bright moonlight, as he said these words, but could read there nothing but self-will and defiance. It is even now a matter of wonder to me what caused me to act as I did, against my own feelings.

He held out his hand, saying: 'Let us at least part as friends, Miss Adams.' I gave him my hand, saying lightly: 'I hope, Mr. Blake, you won't be like the boy who ran away from home and came back to stay the first night.' I turned and walked toward my own door, and he went away without speaking another word. I watched him in the clear moonlight till a turn in the road hid him from my view. Had I entertained the slightest idea that he would fulfil his threat of going away, I know I should have acted differently; and it was not till I learned, the next day, that he had left Fulton and gone no one knew whither, that I realized what I had done. I knew not whether his parents had a suspicion of the cause of his sudden departure, if they had they never named it to me. I told my sorrow to no one but my mother, but Nathan always said he knew well enough without being told by any one. I can tell you, Walter, my sin did not go unpunished; for, inconsistent as my conduct has been, I loved Joshua Blake with a deep affection, and when my tortured mind pictured him as a wandering exile from his home, through my absurd and foolish conduct, you may be sure he did not suffer alone. And if I hadn't turned kind of cross and crusty, I am afraid I should have gone crazy, and it was certainly better to be cross than crazy. That is twenty-five years ago. As I was employed in the garden one morning a few weeks ago, an acquaintance from the village pa.s.sing by said to me: 'Have you heard the news, Miss Adams, that has almost turned every one's head over at Fulton: Joshua Blake, whom every one had given up for dead years ago, has come home.' I grew cold as ice, and I never could tell how I reached the house. I could hardly believe it, and yet something told me it was true, and that very evening he came over here; but, instead of the youth who went away, I saw, a middle-aged man with gray-hair, which Nathan said was an improvement, allowing that some gray looked better than all red. It sounds foolish enough for young people to talk love, but for old people like Joshua Blake and I, it is unpardonable. He told me he had resolved never to return to his native land again, till, by the merest chance, he met a man in Australia who informed him of the death of his father, and that his father had said upon his death-bed, that all that gave him the least anxiety was his aged partner, who, at his death, would be left quite alone in the world. 'Then,' continued he, 'I thought of the sin I had committed in so long neglecting my parents, and I resolved to atone for my past neglect, by hastening home to care for my mother, should I find her still alive; and the happiness is yet left me of watching over the declining years of my aged mother.' For awhile I refused to listen to him when he spoke about marriage, and told him it was better we should remain only as friends; but he talked and talked, and kept saying that, as we loved each other in youth, we could yet spend the evening of our lives together; and I at last said yes, only to stop his talking, and if we should happen not to agree, we shall have less time to quarrel than if we had got married twenty-five years ago; but, I rather think we have both got sobered down, so we can get along peaceably. And now, Walter, you go right off to bed, for you must get up bright and early to-morrow morning, to a.s.sist in the preparations for the wedding." Aunt Lucinda looked very becoming in her bridal dress of gray silk with its rich lace tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, and she looked younger and handsomer than I had ever seen her before, when Joshua Blake placed the marriage ring upon her finger; he was a fine-looking man, but I could not help thinking that the mixture of gray in his auburn locks was more of an improvement than otherwise. He had returned to Fulton a rich man, and on the same spot where stood his father's old house, he erected and furnished a beautiful residence, which every one allowed was an ornament to the village; and removed thither with his wife and aged mother a short time after his marriage. My aunt's marriage made quite a change in the home arrangements at Uncle Nathan's, but he finally persuaded my mother to sell her old house and Elmwood, to come and reside with him.

It was some time before my mother could make up her mind to leave her old home, hallowed by so many a.s.sociations of the past; but, judging the lonely situation of the brother, who had done so much for me, she at length consented; and my uncle's home is now presided over by my mother, who was always his favorite sister. Cousin Silas's eldest daughter, now an intelligent girl of eighteen, stays with my mother, as an a.s.sistant companion; and the summer gathering of friends from the dusty city is now held at Uncle Nathan's farm-house instead of my mother's old home at Elmwood.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

Some of my readers may inquire what kind of a husband my old school-mate Charley Gray made; some will be ready to suppose that his young and light-hearted wife at once worked a great and wonderful change in his disposition; others, that failing in her endeavors to do so, she became disappointed, sorrowing and unhappy. Neither of these conclusions is entirely correct. Flora did not all at once change her husband into a genial and social being; but her affectionate devotion inspired a confidence in her which gradually extended to others, and has now strength to say to the tumultuous waves of jealous pa.s.sion "Thus far shalt thou come, and no further," and I am happy to say that my sister's cheerful and happy countenance does not indicate a sorrowful and disappointed heart. Yes, Charley Gray is a changed man, and there are deep lines of thought in his face, and a serene expression on his brow, and a clear happy light in his eye, which all speak of the battle fought and the victory won over the dark pa.s.sions of his own heart. This summer we are all together at Uncle Nathan's, and our time is about equally divided between the old farm-house and the more elegant home of Aunt Lucinda. All the usual accompaniments of such a season of joy and festivity are here but the tremblings of emotion, the out-gushings of the heart, the thanksgivings and grat.i.tude, as we blend the sometimes dark past with the bright present, and the rosy hue of the future, I am quite unable to describe. Years have come and gone with their scenes of sunshine and shadow since that glad reunion, we have each grown older and I trust wiser. Sorrow has been experienced and tears shed, but gentle hands have wiped away our tears and loving voices soothed our sorrows, and now, dear reader, I leave the actors who have appeared in the simple scenes of my story to pa.s.s onward, and perform their allotted parts in the great drama of life.