Tale Two The Life Story of a Southern Widow
Not Quite the Same
“Not quite the same the springtime seems to me,
Since that sad season when in separate ways
Our paths diverged. There are no more such days
As dawned for us in that last time when we
Dwelt in the realm of dreams, illusive dreams;
Spring may be just as fair now, but it seems
Not quite the same.”
“Ah, good evening, Mr. Philmore! I have been expecting you. Have this chair, please.”
As I took the proffered seat I gazed steadily at my hostess. A woman in possession of all her natural charms, a picture of health, a vision of grace and an example of nobility. Time had softened her features; the sweetness of childhood had grown tenfold in the process of matronly perfection. The erectness of carriage, the finely traced features, the shapely hand and dainty foot, so highly arched, denoted the purest type of refinement, while no artist conceived more graceful curves than those which were so plainly noticeable as one ran one’s eyes from head to feet; gowned in some soft, clinging black silk, the contour of her figure was a feast for the eyes of gods. The soft, dulcet tones in which she plainly articulated, were of sufficient sweetness to attract one to her if that were the only charm which she could bring to bear.
Nothing had been left undone in the furnishing of the elegant house in which she lived; rich draperies adorned the walls, tapestry of the rarest quality fittingly relieved the handsome oriental rugs and handsomely frescoed ceilings. Potted plants placed here and there sent out such a fragrant odor that it was almost impossible for one to believe that it was midwinter and that the mercury hovered uncomfortably near zero. The bric-a-brac and pictures were so well selected and artistically arranged that one could readily see the rare good taste and culture which was a dominant feature in the appointment of the entire establishment. The cheeriness seemed to add a halo to the surroundings; the perfect harmony with which all things were blended seemed to soften one’s nature to a sense of responsibility toward things infinite.
Large, liquid brown eyes rested softly on me, and the satiny complexion of Mrs. Penway glowed with such a beaming radiance of congeniality that despite her forty or more years, I felt as though I were basking in the sunshine of youthful smiles. Coupled with all the beauty and symmetry there was a distinct imprint of sadness on her features, which was readily detected. They were not the hardened lines which denote misery and want as associates to suffering, not the expression of hardship, but rather that “resigned to duty” look.
After commenting on the weather and general topics of the day I came to the point by asking Mrs. Penway if she had her narration written.
“No; I think, Mr. Philmore, that I shall recite the incidents to you as they transpired and ask you to be kind enough to arrange the statement into sentences best suited to your purpose.”
“Very well, I will do the best I can to tell the tale in a readable manner.”
“To begin with, I am a native of Southern Missouri. My parents being Scotch, I feel that my ancestry is traceable through a long line of descendants. My father was engaged in the lumber business. It was his custom to buy large tracts of timber land, then placing his mill at convenient points he would proceed to convert all the available timber into marketable lumber. Money proved to be the blessing and curse, which was eventually the cause of more suffering than one cares to bear.
“Years ago my father purchased a body of land in Arkansas, covering an area of twelve thousand acres. In the transaction he became financially involved to such an extent that he was compelled to go for assistance to some of the large dealers to whom he was in the habit of selling the greater part of his output. At this call for aid a man came to our home to talk the matter over. He had the appearance of being a man of fifty years of age; he was wealthy, very wealthy; he remained there for ten days, during which time he seemed to grow very fond of me as a child and would often pat me on the head, coaxingly calling me his little girl.
“After he had gone, I overheard my parents talking. Father said, ‘Well, that is a load off my mind.’ ‘And one off mine,’ said my mother. Then she broke down and cried. Between the sobs I could gather but little. However, I heard her say, ‘I know she will never be happy.’
“I had not the slightest idea to whom she referred. Next morning she called me to her. ‘Dear,’ she said, ‘you are going away.’
“‘Oh, where to?’ I cried in my childish delight and anticipation of travel.
“Noting my eagerness and mistaking it for joy at leaving home, my mother, with tears streaming down her dear white face, said, ‘Are you happy to think of it?’
“‘No, not that, mother,’ said I, ‘but I should like to see and learn of things which I have heard so much about and have known so little.’
“‘Well, dear, you are to go away from us and go into school. We, your father and I, have concluded that it is best.’
“‘But mamma, won’t that cost a great deal of money?’
“‘Yes, but your father now has his affairs in shape so that he can afford to educate you.’
“As my mother finished this last sentence a fresh torrent of tears sprang from her eyes. It was all a mystery to me, for I had known of my father’s difficulties; I could not understand the sudden turn of affairs. I quickly resolved upon a plan which would at least enlighten me; there was in the employ of my father a young man by the name of Landrie Grayson, everyone called him ‘Lannie.’ He was a trusted man of affairs; things which other men were never consulted upon were always brought to Lannie for his advice. Lannie could explain to me the cause of this sudden resolution on the part of my parents.
“Lannie stood quite six feet tall, while his broad shoulders looked as though he could carry with ease and grace the burdens which might quickly crush other men out of all semblance of humanity. If his blue eyes were tender, they were only a relief from the firmly set jaws, which plainly said, ‘I will,’ without so much as a movement of the rather thin lips. I knew that Lannie would know and tell me, for he was honest; he had been in the family for years; I had learned to lean upon him as a brother, and as I sought him out from among the whirling pullies, singing saws, and swiftly crawling belts that day, I felt proud to think that I had at different times during my infancy sat on one of those square shoulders or clung tenaciously to that sinewy neck, as Lannie had waded through slough and brush, taking me from place to place in the forest; he had killed the snakes and chased away the wild boars that would so frighten me in childhood, and when young squirrels were susceptible to capture he would always keep the cage well filled with every known variety with which the woods abounded. If Lannie was the strong rod on which I learned to lean, wherein was I to blame?
“Lannie saw me as I wistfully watched and waited, then giving some orders (for he was papa’s foreman), he came to where I was standing and said, ‘What is it, Ailene?’
“‘Lannie, I want to tell you something.’ I think the tremor of my childish voice impressed Lannie, for he asked me to go to the office, a rough affair, but there were chairs there, and we could be alone and away from the clanging saws and flying dust.
“‘Now tell me what it is, little one,’ said Lannie, as he closed the door and took up a handful of curls which had crowded out from under the gingham bonnet which I wore.
“‘Lannie, I am going away,’ said I.
“‘I know it,’ replied Lannie.
“‘You; who told you?’
“‘I heard the bargain.’
“‘Bargain; what’s that, Lannie?’
“‘I heard your father say that you could go.’
“‘Oh, did you hear him tell mamma?’
“‘No, I heard him tell the old man with the white side whiskers.’
“‘Do you know where I am going to, Lannie?’
“‘I only know that you are going away to school; the rich old man is to select the place and you are to be sent there, and—’
“Lannie turned to the window without finishing the sentence. Presently he resumed his speech again by asking if I was glad. I did not know what the change in Lannie’s voice meant then, but I could not fail to notice it.
“‘Yes, I want to go and learn to be a lady, but—I—don’t like to go away and leave mamma and—’
“‘And who, Ailene?’
“‘You, Lannie. I will be lonely with a whole lot of dressed up children and mean old teachers around.’
“Before I had closed my sentence Lannie had drawn me to him and was kissing me fondly.
“‘Oh, little girl, you don’t know how much Lannie will miss you, and to think I won’t see you any more.’
“‘Why, Lannie, why do you say that? I won’t stay always.’
“‘No, but you see, little one, the rich man wants you for his own; he is only waiting for you to be educated and grow into full womanhood. Then you are to be his.’
“‘Hasn’t he any little girls of his own?’
“‘No, you poor dear, you don’t know what I mean; what it all means.’
“‘No, tell me, Lannie, for if it is not nice and good I don’t want to do anything but just stay here.’
“‘Well, it’s this, Ailene; may God grant that you will forgive me for disturbing your young heart, but your father came near losing all he had. He applied to a firm for financial aid; the old gentleman who was here furnished the much needed assistance under these conditions: That you be educated at his expense and then he will marry you for he has fallen in love with you.’
“‘Oh, the ugly old thing! I don’t want to marry him. I hate him. I don’t want to marry anybody. I want to stay where you are,’ I cried.
“‘Yes, dear, I know, but a great deal depends on you, for you were not to know it yet, and as I have been a witness to the contract and have been sworn to secrecy you must not tell anyone that you know.’
“‘But I won’t go.’
“‘Yes, pet, you must go and remember that you are only fifteen now; you are not expected to marry your father’s benefactor until you are nineteen or twenty, changes may take place before the time arrives for you to give up all hope.’
“It was a sad leave taking for more than me; I shall never forget the pained expression in my mother’s face and the stern, sad look of my father as I waved my hand from the car window.
“Lannie had carried a little basket of luncheon to the station for me, and when I opened it on the train late that afternoon I found a handful of wild flowers wrapped in a piece of the “Lumberman’s Journal,” which I knew Lannie to be a regular subscriber of; there under the glass cover are those same flowers, withered and faded beyond recognition, but the sweet memory which clings to them makes them more precious to me than all the blossoms this world contains.
“I had four years of school life with everything that money could buy, kind friends, pleasant surroundings and indulgent teachers.
“But oh, how I longed for mother, for the woods, the vines and moss, the whirr of saws, and the scream of the mill whistle and for Lannie. Oh, for one hour in the tangled forest with strong, brave Lannie would have paid me for all the suffering which I had to bear.
“At last the day arrived when Lannie’s reckoning proved correct; my father and Mr. Penway came to visit me at school; they quickly told me what the plans were, and for me to go on with a repetition of the details would only bore you. Mr. Penway made love to me in a manner that I then supposed was perfectly correct, but I have since been led to believe that his manner courtship was stereotyped, but it made no difference. I was the price of a home and a fortune, I saw it all; if I refused, my father’s years of labor would be lost, and he would be penniless and my mother homeless. I felt as though children were brought into the world much the same as horses, cattle and hogs, that a fixed sum might be realized on them.
“We were married in a hotel in St. Louis. All of the luxuries were supplied, gowns of rarest and most exquisite texture, and as I rudely told one of my bridesmaids, every article was there which is needed at a first class funeral except the casket and hearse.
“Music, ushers with stately tread, presents and flowers, great clusters of potted plants, waving ferns, roses, pure white lilies, narcissus, orange blossoms, loads of each, in full view; yes, and wrapped in a bit of white silk, nestled inside my clothing next to my heart, were a handful of withered wild flowers, which during four years had kept fresh in my memory.
“We went to Europe, spent the winter in sunny Italy. At times I did imagine I was happy, then the ghost of something, I knew not what, arose before me and all I could see was a contract, wherein so many dollars in hand paid, had been exchanged for a human form, which was so like ice that the purchaser could only gaze on his possession with a feeling that he, at least, got it first hand, without it ever having been placed on the bargain counter. I had no conception of what married life was, and I fear my husband was a poor teacher. Many fine pictures and rare ornaments found their way into the great pile of treasures and relics which we gathered with no thought of cost. Mr. Penway was a connoisseur, but not a lover. He was proud of me. I was introduced to many of the noble families; I was catered to by those whose station in life was apparently so far above me that I shuddered when I thought of a saw mill. We returned from our trip abroad, only to be ushered into a house of magnificence; that is, so far as grandeur was concerned. Servants to do my bidding, carriages at my command; all, everything that money could buy, but not one bit of love; not a word of that soul sustaining love.
“One year of this, and Mr. Penway was called to Europe again, this time on business. I had been in regular correspondence with my parents, and they insisted on my coming home for a visit during Mr. Penway’s sojourn abroad. I went and for the first time in nearly six years met Lannie. My first impulse was to throw myself into his arms, regardless of the presence of my parents, but I managed to control myself. However, during my stay there, I naturally roamed in the woods, through the mills; in that way saw much of Lannie. Dear old Lannie. With the same clock-like regularity he performed his duties; the same broad shoulders and the same tender blue eyes. If time had wrought changes in him, it was for the better. He seemed so mature with the full soft beard that covered his face. His words were all uttered in kindness. I asked my parents about him, and they told me how he had applied himself to my father’s interests, not losing a day from the confining duties of business and labor; in fact, he was the mainstay. If the head sawyer was sick or off duty, Lannie laid the master hand on the lever and the saws and the dust flew as the lumber piles grew higher and higher. If the engineer or fireman was absent, it was Lannie’s touch that put the machinery in motion, and his willing hands that heaved the great slabs into the furnace to make the steam. If any of the little colony were sick and needed attention, it was Lannie who kept the lonely vigil through the dark and solemn hours of blackest night, and when morning came he, mighty as the sun, shone all day, beaming with good nature; and when (as was often the case) the fever so prevalent in the swamps claimed a victim, it was Lannie’s gentle hands that folded the arms across the quiet breast and closed the staring eyes. It was his soothing, reassuring words which brought comfort to the poor mother whose heart bled in sorrow for her darling child; it was Lannie who would put his great, strong arms around the father and husband, as the clods fell with that sickening thud on the rough box that contained all that was left of the dearest treasure they had ever known; again, it was Lannie who took into his arms the fatherless children and told them that the father of all was God. In this way Lannie had lived, pouring out the generous love of his great warm nature, while I—Ugh! I shudder to think of it. I had been encased in a sheet of ice trying to freeze my emotion, trying to smother my heart throbs, lest, like some wild beast which in search of freedom and prey, plunges through the iron bars of its cage, it would bound through my breast, tearing and breaking the cords and crushing the coat of mail beyond repair.
“Is it any wonder that that very thing occurred? Are you surprised to learn that my poor, heavy, tugging heart was torn by force from the delicate tendrils and with one wild plunge left the enclosure which it had so long occupied? With a suddenness born of despair, I packed and left, no one knew why, and I was too proud and self-reliant to tell.
“I arrived home only to undergo days of torture and nights of sobbing misery. In about a week after my arrival I had a letter from my mother saying that Lannie was going to leave them. He had, by his frugal methods, saved a tidy sum, and, true to the teachings of the lumber camp, had invested in a tract of land, which at the time of purchase was almost valueless, but recently a railroad had been surveyed and was now being built through his broad acres, and Lannie was a rich man. He was coming to Chicago to buy machinery and set up in business of his own, and of course Lannie had been so good and nice always that he seemed just like one of the family, and if it was not too much trouble and embarrassment to have a countryman around, it would be nice for me to ask Lannie to spend a part of the time during his stay in the city at my house, etc.
“Oh, joys of Heaven and earth! Lannie here, and in my house. Oh, Lannie, Lannie! We can be all alone—with that thought some horrible, creeping feeling seized me and I was soon dripping with cold perspiration. Horrors upon horrors! No—no, I could never do that. The fury of Hell would be visited upon me, just as sure as that temptation was put before me. What could I do? For the first time since I was married I prayed. I asked God to give me strength of mind and body to direct me as I should go. After that I grew calmer, called my maid, instructed her to write my mother and tell her that I had concluded to sail for Liverpool and join Mr. Penway. Then we hurriedly began to pack. To get away—get away, run, fly, anything to escape that which was bound to overtake me if I stayed, was the only thought of my mind.
“Luncheon was served early. The train for New York left at three p.m. I would have time to send a cablegram to Mr. Penway, buy a few little trifles and then as fast as steam could carry me I would go from the gulf which seemed about to swallow me.
“I had just left the dining room, as the bell rang. The butler announced a gentleman. I felt a pallor spread from my face to my neck; my breast felt clammy; the flesh on my arms seemed to crawl; my usually plump hand looked pale and thin, as I tremblingly took the card. My voice frightened me as I said ‘Not in’ to the waiting statue of ebony, at the same time tossing the little card onto a table without looking at it. It went short of the mark and as it fluttered to the floor turned over, my eyes were fastened on the name, ‘Landrie Grayson.’
“Fever drove away the chill which had almost overcome me. No, no! I could not do it! It was just as impossible for me to turn Lannie away then as it is now to bring him back. With a bound, I was in the hall; the next leap put me alongside the stately, marching figure in livery; a dash and I was pulling and tugging at the great door, then I looked into those honest eyes of blue.
“‘I thought I would call on you, Ailene,’ said Lannie, as we entered the drawing room.
“‘Yes, Lannie, it was so good of you to come; and now, Lannie, you must be hungry. It is high noon, as you used to say,’ and without further ado I rang and ordered dinner served at once, for I knew that the people at home always had twelve o’clock dinner. That dinner was the best I ever tasted in my life. How I changed in a few moments from a dull, heavy hearted creature of nervous misery, back to the old happy stage of girlhood. We had dinner, and I did not send my baggage away.
“When Lannie explained to me that he was stopping at a hotel, I said: ‘Lannie, you cannot stay at a hotel in Chicago; you must make this your home.’
“‘No, Ailene, I will be busy, and could not think of putting you to any inconvenience.’
“‘But, Lannie, please do stay here. I am—’ I did not finish my sentence. I don’t think Lannie knew what I was about to utter. If he did know that I was on the point of telling him that I was alone, he paid no attention to it. Again that nightmare overcame me; I was speechless. Lannie thought I was hurt or offended because he refused my hospitality.
“‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Ailene,’ he said. ‘We will go to some theater tonight. I will spend tomorrow evening here with you and then we will plan for the other days that I am to remain in the city.’
“In spite of the fact that some of my dearest friends and members of the same social circle in which I moved attended the play that night and indulged in not a little whispering and smiling as they turned their eyes on us, I was proud. If Lannie did appear a little out of place, he was dear, true Lannie, just the same. The spirit which I knew to be encased in that noble character made up for all deficiencies in dress and manners. Each act was well received by the vast audience. As for me, the most interesting time of the performance was between acts, for it was then I could talk to Lannie and hear his voice. I saw little of the actors, for I was busy feasting my eyes on my companion. I studied his eyes, his face, and his feelings as he drank in the scenes which were enacted to the strains of music. That night my dreams were fraught with visions of strong men, happy children and contented women.
“The next day dragged slowly enough, but at last, with happy delight, I welcomed the hour of Lannie’s coming. We dined, I played and sang, Lannie told me of all the things that had transpired since I had left the forest. At eleven o’clock Lannie arose to go, all too soon for me. I begged him to stay; I laid my hand on his arm and looking straight into his strong, clear face, said: ‘Lannie, oh, Lannie, don’t you know that I love you? Can’t you see that I am dying to be taken into your arms and receive that strong yet tender embrace which I know awaits the woman you love?’
“Poor Lannie! He was dumfounded; he was white as death; not a muscle moved, not a word from those firm set lips; just a tender, pleading look from the eyes which I loved so well.
“‘Lannie, speak to me,’ I cried. ‘Oh, dearest, give me some relief, say some kind word to me or I shall surely die.’ I threw myself into his arms. I pulled him down onto the divan and clung to him as though my life depended upon it. Oh, the emotion of the soul! I sometimes think that if the world knew what a woman must suffer at such times, it would not be so unkind. I was wild, and when Lannie freed his hands from my passionate clutch and tenderly lifted me from my knees to a position beside him, my joy knew no bounds. Oh, to think that he had once again taken me in his arms. Having gotten me to a position which seemed to please him, he put his dear face to mine and kissed me. The flight of time has never erased the memory of that thrill. Love, devotion, strength, happiness, all, all I say, went surging through me like an avalanche. ‘More, more, Lannie,’ I cried, and forgot all suffering as I, in my reclining position, could see the shadow of his great form as he bent over me again. I felt his burning lips on my brow, my cheek, my lips twitched in their feverish desire to be blessed with that lingering caress which is so soothing, yet so maddening. I think I must have fainted, for when I opened my eyes, Lannie was gone.
“Next day I received a note from him saying good-bye, and that he would not call again. A tigress is not easily held at bay. My blood was aroused; my soul was fired. The lava was molten in the volcano and must find its way through the crest, no matter how many souls perished in the flood of fire. I was wild, methodically wild, and so determined was I in my purpose that I wrote him a note saying:
“‘Dear Lannie:
“‘This leaves me sick abed; please come to me. Oh, Lannie, do; I need you so much.
“‘Your Own Ailene.’
“I went to my room, had my maid dress my hair carefully, then retired. Moments seemed as hours; hours as days. I was feverish and delirious. My maid insisted on calling a physician, but I would not hear to it. I gave orders to be left alone. The breeze fanned the lace curtains at the windows in a merry ripple; the soft mellow light of the setting sun shed a glow of golden hue throughout the room. My temples throbbed, my pulse fluttered, my eyes burned, as I bravely battled to kill time. Then the thought: What if he should not come? Cold sweat took the place of parching fever, and so I passed the early evening, going from one paroxysm to another. At last the bell rang, then that voice as I heard Lannie say, ‘Thank you,’ to the maid as she opened the door. My clean white gown was badly rumpled, my well dressed hair was in a confusion of disorder from the feverish tossing of the day, but I forgot all that; I forgot my appearances, feelings, manners, everything, only that Lannie was with me again. As he bent over my bed with anxious questions, I was quite happy. Suddenly reaching out my arms, I clasped them around his neck. Oh, the holy emotions, the rage of my love knew no master. I clung to him; he tried to free himself, but no, no! I would rather have died than give him up. Great, strong Lannie of Herculean strength, one who could have held a horse, or felled an ox by a blow of his strong right arm; one who could withstand the ravages of pestilence and disease; one on whom weak men looked with that feeling of admiration born of awe; one whose strength, broad judgment, and kindly temperament made him easily the master of any and all situations. But with all his bravery and fortitude, all his battles, all his years of duration, he had never been called upon to wage war upon a woman whose soul was starving for the loving caress, which is so dear to a lonely heart. He was as wax in my hands, as I clutched him fiercely yet fondly. ‘Oh, Lannie, Lannie! say that you love me,’ I cried, all the time raining kisses on his dear face, while he acquiesced in mute silence. With his eyes dilated, his nostrils distended, his lips drawn and white, he fought the silent battle which led to his defeat. In his years of physical building he had never been called upon to withstand the onslaught which I now brought to bear upon him; he had never been drilled in the tactics necessary to repel the attacks of passion. I could see my victory coming; the light of his eyes told me that the world was fast melting away. Then suddenly he clasped me to his dear self, saying, ‘Oh, Ailene, what is it? Why can I not go away from you? Yes, little girl, I love you, I love you.’
“‘Kiss me, Lannie. There, dear; yes, that is right, Lannie! Hold me in your arms. Now, dearest, we are happy.’
“Then, while tears of joy dimmed my eyes, in the madness of passion, my future was molded. As the poisonous little reptile stings the lion, who is king of the forest, and causes him to writhe in death’s agony, so did the lecherous fangs of passion fasten themselves into poor Lannie’s pure, white soul, sending the venomous poison into a heretofore healthful system.
“If I could but live that hour over again. If I erred the sin was tempered with love.
“I know, in the way that sins are reckoned,
This thought is a sin of the deepest dye;
But, I know, too, if an angel beckoned,
Standing close by the throne on high,
And you a-down by the gates infernal,
Should open your loving arms and smile,
I would turn my back on things supernal,
To lie on your breast a little while,
To know for an hour you were mine completely.
Mine in body and soul, my own—
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan.”
—Wilcox.
“Lannie went away. Our parting was like the clinging vine being torn from the stone wall. In ten weeks my husband arrived home. Ten days later he was the victim of a railroad accident and I was left a widow. I waited and longed for the love of my life, to take his place beside me, but Lannie did not come. At last, in sheer desperation, I wrote him. This was his answer:
“‘Dear Friend:
“‘I am pained to write you as I shall, but you cannot expect me to come to you. You know my ideas of purity so well, that I am surprised to be asked to call. I do love you, always have, and shall continue to do so, but I fear the sweetness of our love has been blighted by the madness of folly. This little verse is very expressive, I think:
“A flower I feign would pluck today,
From the garden above her dust,
Not the pure, white lily of soulless sin,
Nor the blood-red rose of lust,
But the blossom of holy love.”
“‘I shall always be interested in your welfare and shall ever seek to do you good. Yours devotedly,
“‘Lannie.’
“The blow was cruel, but ‘As a man soweth, so shall he also reap.’ The same applies to women.
“The next important event of my life was the announcement of the insolvency of my husband’s estate. He had died leaving me penniless; even the holdings my father had placed with him as security for his loan were swept away into the chasm with the other unrecoverable assets.”
“But you live well.”
“Yes; that is all on account of Lannie. He seemed to know the condition of Mr. Penway’s finances, and it was a tract of land that Mr. Penway was forced to sell that Lannie bought. He built mills, homes for the men, a comfortable home for my parents on his land, and when the crash came, transferred them to it. Then he came to the city and arranged with an attorney that I should have an annuity and I must accept it, the conditions being that if I refused my mother and father would be asked to relinquish their home. He bought this house, he pays the bills and I dare not refuse until my parents have gone to their home above.”
“Not quite the same am I. My inner being
Reasons and knows that all is for the best.
Yet vague regrets stir always in my breast,
As my soul’s eyes turn sadly backward, seeing
The vanished self that evermore must be
This side of what we call eternity,
Not quite the same.”