Tale Four A Woman of Thirty-Eight
“Look at his pretty face for just one minute!
His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes;
His firm shut hand, the favorite plaything in it—
Then tell me, mothers, was’t not hard to lose
And miss him from my side—
My little boy that died?
“How many another boy, as dear and charming,
His father’s hope, his mother’s one delight,
Slips through strange sicknesses, all fear disarming,
And lives a long, long life in parent’s sight!
Mine was so short a pride!
And then—my poor boy died.”
“Perhaps if he had lived,” she said, as she handed me a little tintype of a round-faced baby, whose laughing face was surrounded by ringlets of hair which looked as though they might have been silk.
“Perhaps,” she repeated in a dreamy way, “it might have been different.”
She was a woman of thirty-eight. She did not look it when I was first admitted to her apartments. She then appeared to be a very demure little housewife of ten years less. It was in the afternoon and she was suitably attired to receive callers, and had she not been, I am of the opinion that she would have bowed graciously to the inevitable, and received me just the same, for she was one of those matter-of-fact souls who do not allow formality to interfere with pleasure. Not that she would appear in a soiled dressing sacque, or an old skirt which bore evidence of the various strains, neither would she be guilty of coming to the front with ragged shoes on those dainty feet; but to make a long story short, she was too considerate of a man’s “fussy feeling” to keep him waiting an hour or more while she labored before the mirror trying to obliterate the traces of time and increase the beauty of form.
Ethel Manning had been and still was more comely than many women in more favorable circumstances. She was not so tall that she was striking, but the willowness of her figure seemed to add power to the face on which every thought was plainly visible before she allowed the red curve, commonly called mouth, to open in utterance. She spoke slowly, and as each word fell on one’s ear the evidence of the voice having been cultivated became more convincing. Her deep violet eyes were luminous and seemed to grow darker with the earnestness of her sentiment. Her chin was a trifle short, however one would at once decide that it was made that way to correspond with the nose, which, to one critically inclined, might seem to be abbreviated to a certain extent. All in all, she was one of those people who are all life and activity, yet possessed with the gift of discreet executive ability. If she had lacked anywhere in personal charms the deficit was supplied to one’s mind’s eye the moment one would glance at her hair. It was plentiful and seemed to cover her head with bright rippling waves which shimmered with every motion of the well poised head.
Bright colors might have been more becoming to her winsome nature, but she was clad in black, some soft, clinging material on the crepe de chene order. The neatness of the design, the fine texture, and the correctness of the fit only added to the grace with which she wore it.
“No doubt you would have been happier,” I said, as I handed the little tintype back to her.
“I don’t know,” she said sweetly; “perhaps somebody would have been purer today.”
“Well, Miss Manning, I am all attention and over anxious to hear your story.”
“All right, I will tell you all I know, and think that is enough,” she said, as she cast her eyes downward.
“I was raised a Christian. I taught a Sunday-school class from the time I was sixteen until I was just turning my eighteenth year. At this point in my life my parents changed their place of abode; the only regret I felt aside from my breaking up of a general friendship, was the fact that I was called upon to leave my sweetheart.
“David Strathmore was all to me that any young man can be to a girl who is in love. He had lived in the little village where I was born and raised for twelve years, during which time we had been school-mates, play-fellows, steadfast, youthful friends, and with the true congeniality of our young natures we became lovers early in life. He was constant, true and tender. I had learned to count upon his sagacity in all things. I was not alone in my admiration for him; that is to say, although I was the only girl who really loved him, but think that was because it was a foregone conclusion that marriage was to be the result of our constant association. Everybody who knew him admired him, and that meant nearly every man, woman and child in the locality, for his father was a grain merchant and David had grown up in his business there by coming in contact with almost every citizen.
“I had never known what trouble was, and when, on the evening before we were to leave my native town, David and I took a long stroll, I felt as though each step brought me nearer to the grave.
“‘But we will be true to each other,’ he said, as he held me in his arms pressing his warm lips to mine.
“‘Yes, David, and you will come for me soon, won’t you, dear?’
“‘Yes, Ethel, as soon as I have placed a sufficient sum in the bank to make us a home, I will come for my blue-eyed belle.’
“So with promises of loyal devotion, we parted.
“I really liked my new surroundings very much in our new home. The young people were very kind to me and I was soon on a firm footing with the best society of the town. It was a college town and I met a young man who was in his last year of school.
“His name was Edward Singleton, and I was more than delighted to know that he and my David were warm friends. That fact bound us closer together, and I did not feel that I was being disloyal to David when I accepted the attentions of his friend Singleton.
“He was very kind, a born aristocrat, and soon became devoted to me.
“David came to see me as often as possible. At such times Singleton could call with him, but always retired from the scene as soon as propriety would allow. He seemed to know that David and I were engaged. Once when it was time for David to call, he failed. Fearing he was ill I immediately wrote to him to ascertain the cause. His very cold letter informed me that he had come to our town with the intention of making his regular call, but had learned that I was being attended in a very chivalrous manner by his old friend Singleton, and he did not wish to be classed as an interloper, etc.
“That almost killed me; that letter petrified my heart. It took months of indulgence and constant coaxing for Mr. Singleton to convince me that it was David’s plan to jilt me.
“‘You don’t know,’ he said, ‘but there is some one else he loves.’
“He besought me to bestow my love on him, but I was true to David. It was a fact that I had not answered his letter. I simply ignored him. I still accepted Mr. Singleton’s attentions and allowed him to condemn David, but it took more than that to cause me to rescind my promise.
“But the time came—it came, too, just as I had arrived at the conclusion that I could not live longer without David. Of course, I had Mr. Singleton at my feet making love to me all the time and I think that had much to do with my endurance in the matter, for when a woman loves a man and that man for any reason whatever goes out of her life, she can even appreciate the affection of a good loyal dog. It seems to fill an aching void, you know.
“As I said, the time came when the last cord of love which bound me to David was called upon to stand a severe strain. It happened in this way: There was a party given near our home. I was invited to attend and Mr. Singleton had insisted on calling for me, but there had happened to be one girl in the crowd who had made the remark that I surely must be proud to be able to take up all of Ned Singleton’s time.
“It stung me, and not caring to be the butt of remarks, I declined to go. I was at home that evening when about ten o’clock Mr. Singleton called. He apologized for the time and then went on to say smilingly that he could not resist the temptation of running in just to tell me that David was at the party with Emma Cline.
“The blood left my face. I could feel the pallor creeping over me, then with a flash and a horrid thought, I almost screamed:
“‘I don’t believe it.’
“I was now burning up.
“‘Come,’ said Singleton.
“I went, and there through the bright plate glass I could see that the bad thought of calling Singleton a liar was entirely wrong. David was enjoying himself with the other young people.
“The words of love that Mr. Singleton poured into my ear that night sounded like the song of the nightingale. It soothed my poor, troubled heart, and seemed to gather the torn and bleeding fragments together and they grew with a new hope. I did not know that I was yearning to be loved, but I was. My soul was fed to its full. I had never before fully enjoyed Singleton’s protestations of love, but now they were as healing balm, and I was glad to lay my face on his shoulder and weep as a child weeps for its lost mother, while his strong arms encircled my form. With each loving word he gave me a firm but gentle pressure, which only made the shivers and sobs more delightfully thrilling, and while his own great heart throbbed in muffled accord with mine he kissed away my tears, smoothed back the straggling locks of hair which clung to my feverish face and softened my feelings in such a way that when he tenderly took me in his arms for the last time that night I felt that there had been a death and a birth at one and the same time, and that I was the mother of two children and those two were each named Love, and that in the act of burying one in the darkness of the cavern of despair the other Love had shed its light and been born into my soul.
“From that on I wondered how a girl could be so foolish as to think she was in love with anyone until she had known at least more than one man.
“Those were happy days,” said the girl with a sigh, as she glanced at the little picture.
“And of course you and Mr. Singleton were married,” said I.
“I will tell you all, everything,” she said, then hastily rising, she walked across the room and gazed out of the window.
When she returned tears were glistening on her cheeks.
I waited for her to continue, which she did after a moment.
“Those were happy days; I mean the last days of Ned’s school, for we planned our future, at least my future. He graduated with highest honors and came to see me often during vacation. He had intended to settle in business somewhere before the next term of school commenced. He was just killing time for one summer, he said. He seemed to fully realize that his boyhood days were over and put in his time calling on me and writing to old college chums.
“We were much surprised when the management of the institution of learning which he had attended offered him a chair in the college. He had never aspired to become identified with the faculty, but the honor was so great for a young man that he was not long in allowing his friends to persuade him to accept.
“Our wedding day was set; it was to occur during the holiday season. Just about the time that Ned took his position I realized that our indiscretions in love had led to a state of affairs that would be exceedingly embarrassing. I told Ned my trouble and insisted on an immediate marriage. But he, of course, would not do that. Now that he was a Professor there must be some deliberation in the matter of a ceremony. A big wedding must be planned. Then I began to fail in health, and a physician, who had been an old classmate of Ned’s, advised that I go South. My mother wished to accompany me, but as my father’s health was poor I simply declared myself against going unless she remained with him. I told her I would rather stay at home and die than go away and live at the expense of my father’s comfort.
“I went alone; no power could help me from the predicament which had been wrought by folly.
“My babe was born in New Orleans. Ned came to see me as often as his duties would permit; I had the tenderest of care, and he always commented on my good appearance when he was with me; but I am sure if he could have seen me one hour after he had gone he would have thought differently.
“Of course, I begged him to marry me, and he faithfully promised to do so, but, he said, ‘We must first allow your dishonor to be forgotten.’”
“Think of that, will you—my dishonor!”
At this thought Ethel began to pace the floor, seeming to forget my presence.
“Ah,” she said, “if the baby had only lived!” Then, clutching the little square of tin, she pressed it to her lips with the fervor of a loving mother.
“If you had but lived,” she said, as her deep blue eyes gazed at the chubby face shown in the picture.
“He put me off from time to time.”
“One day I received a letter from my mother saying that she would visit me. Horrors! what was I to do. It was at this point that the good little French woman with whom I was making my home came to my rescue. She was a mother. She had a child a year older than mine, but still at the breast. I told her of my predicament.
“‘Never mind, dear,’ said she, with a pat on the head, ‘tell your mere to come; I will save you.’”
“On the day my mother was to arrive she sent her child to her sister’s home in the country, and for three days my child received the nourishment which rightfully belonged to another child.
“I looked quite well and my mother insisted on my returning home with her, but I made the excuse that I was going to take a course and become a trained nurse. My argument prevailed.
“In sixty days my baby was at rest in a far off corner in one of the famous cemeteries of New Orleans, which is the object of so much interest to travelers from the fact that all the vaults are above the ground. Then for many reasons, I did go into a training school and eventually graduated as a professional nurse.
“I followed that occupation for eight years.”
“But what became of Professor Singleton?”
“Oh, he became Professor Doubleton,” said the girl, with a toss of her head, which denoted more sarcasm than words could imply.
“You mean—”
“Yes, I mean he was married three weeks after the baby died, while I was yet weeping my eyes red as I sat on that cold gray slab of stone each day.”
“Did you not protest?”
“Yes, I wrote, upbraiding him with all the power I had left, but sorrow for the loss of my baby had so softened me that my letter was more in the manner of an appeal than a command, and a man who is as heartless as he will quickly see a woman’s weak point and will not hesitate to grasp the opportunity of crushing her so completely that she loses all semblance of her former self.”
“He did answer me; rather a long letter, too, it was, but among other things he said that his position in life was so changed and that he would be able to rise higher if he would marry some one in his present station, and a lot of such rot. He closed by saying that ‘a woman with a past has no future.’
“At the end of eight years’ service as a nurse I was a mature woman of thirty. I had learned enough of the world to be able to take care of myself. The last patient for whom I cared in the capacity of nurse was a foreigner; he was a nobleman who had contracted the yellow fever which was raging in the South at that time.
“One accomplishment which I had picked up at odd times was playing the guitar. I could sing a little, and this patient, who was wealthy, seemed to improve so rapidly after he was able to listen and enjoy music that I would often sit and play and sing softly to him for hours. The music was not grand, but, as he said, ‘it was vera sweet.’
“As soon as he was able to leave the hospital he insisted that I take a vacation; purely out of gratitude he took me to New York, where he lavished many fine presents on me.
“At last, and to my sorrow, the time arrived when the prince must sail for his native land, and while I did not love him I was sorry to have him go. He had never been anything to me nor I to him, except on the lines of purest Platonicy. True, we had been much together. He was kind and affectionate to me; he had held me in his arms, but beyond the admiration of pure loyal friendship he had never expressed himself. I think he detected my feelings as the time for his departure drew near, for I could tell that he was more attentive and considerate than ever before. One day he came to my room and found me crying, whereupon he took me gently in his arms and asked what caused my sorrow; as I sought to free myself that I might bathe my swollen eyes, this little picture dropped from my bosom where I had hastily thrust it. Out of chivalry he picked it up and handed it to me, glancing at it as he did so.
“‘Ah,’ said he, ‘a story, eh?’
“I indignantly replied that I had never lied to him, for I had never told him anything.
“‘No, no. I mean you have—you—know—perhaps—ah—a life story.’
“Then while he held me in his strong arms I told him all. I think I felt better after I had finished than I ever had since Ned Singleton had instilled a hope in my heart. It was only three hours until the boat would draw in the gang-plank and depart for sunny Italy.
“The prince came to say goodbye, as he held my hands in both his and looked into my eyes I saw the tenderness shine out of his face, then, without warning, without power to stop, I burst into tears.
“‘There, there, little girl,’ he said, ‘don’t cry, I won’t go and leave you; you shall go with me.’
“Glad to leave the country where I had known so much misery and pain I did not wait for a second invitation. In one hour my trunk was aboard the vessel, and I was strolling about the deck taking in the wonders which the huge ocean liner affords the untrained mind of the untraveled novice.
“The state room (our state room) was to me the most wonderful and interesting point on the boat, so cozy and secluded, to what I had anticipated, that I felt like lounging around all the time for the first day or two out.
“The prince was so pleased to have me play and sing to him that I found great pleasure in that pastime.
“I know you think it strange that a woman of the age that I had reached, should repeat my youthful indiscretions, but nevertheless I did so. The commonplace existence of man and mistress seemed very conducive to pleasure for we did enjoy each other’s society so much.
“We traveled from one point of interest to another in the foreign country; six years had been spent in sight seeing and pleasure seeking. I was then thirty-six. We were in Paris when the Chicago World’s Fair opened. The Prince had often told me that we must begin to surrender each other, for he was expected to marry someone of rank; I knew all the time that he was everything to me that it was possible for him to be. I well knew that I was drifting down the stream of time only to be cast onto the breakers of separation. We could see the great ghost of dissolution looming up higher and higher as one by one the days were torn from our calendar of pleasure. That one haunting thought was the only blot on our title of happiness. I was surrounded by all the luxuries of the land. The Prince lavished costly presents on me and seemed so happy when he could think of some little act of kindness that would especially please me; he was ever thoughtful and kind, he cared nothing for the company of other women.
“He came to our apartments one day. I was almost lost in thought and only looked up and smiled after he had taken my face between his soft hands and kissed me.
“‘And what is my little Senorita dreaming about now?’ he asked.
“‘I was just thinking,’ I said, ‘that my boy would have been almost a man now had he lived, and now that I must give you up soon I would have had some one to love me.’
“‘Oh, don’t worry, little girl,’ (he always called me little girl), ‘I guess some one will love you.’ He seemed to forget that I was growing old. I have forgotten to mention that my musical education had been taken up and I had learned to sing fairly well. I had been thinking how I might earn a living and when he came in I told him my quandary. He suggested that I take instruction in French dancing and come to America and join the profession.
“I hesitated, I could not bring myself to the point of considering such a proposition, while such joy as I now possessed lasted. Then the necessity of supporting myself again forced itself into my mind, and we laid the plans which later brought me to this city. I gained a fair knowledge of heel and toe dancing, and believing what my teacher said, I considered myself competent to fill an engagement in America. As a last farewell trip my Prince concluded to sail with me, we would take in the sights of the World’s Fair here and he would then say goodbye and leave me in my native land, older, wiser and as unhappy as when he found me, but it must all end. He had done all and more for me than he had promised. It was such a rarity for a man to keep his word with me that the novelty of the thing was entrancing.
“The Fair and all its glories were viewed and absorbed by us. Then came the sad bitter end of all; we must give up all pleasures. I shall never forget the last few days of his stay. We sat up late into the night, reviewing all our travels.
“Then goodbye—I lived days in blank despair. Each time I looked on some treasure he had given me, tears would flow so freely as to indicate no control of the flood gates which my eyes appeared to be.
“At last, more to attract my mind to other things, I made application for a position. I did not need to work yet, for the Prince had left me with a well filled purse. I had no trouble in getting an engagement. I rehearsed all day, performed in the evening, went to my room at night and looked at this poor little picture and cried myself to sleep. My boy would have been nineteen. I used to try and imagine what he would have been like as a full grown man.
“One night as I was doing my turn I saw in the audience Professor Singleton. He did not recognize me, and fool like I left the stage and cried. I arose the next day with that long reaching determination and desire to see him and talk with him. It was an easy matter to search the hotels. I found him. He failed to recognize me at first, but a few words from me quickly convinced him of my identity. I learned that his daughter, who was nearly seventeen, was attending a musical college here. Then I wanted to see her, but was careful not to let him know my wishes in that direction.
“I soon found her and managed to make her my friend. She was a sweet girl; I often closed my eyes and took her in my arms with brain afire and ears strained, almost expecting to hear her call me mamma.
“We grew fond of each other. She was filled with a desire to go on the stage.
“I dared not ask her about her home or her parents. One day she came to me asking me to go with her to the station to meet a friend, as she put it. That friend was her father. I would not have gone for worlds for I was not inclined to make anyone suffer. I am sure I did not expect to be a witness of what happened. I gave him credit for having more sense, but as she led me to meet him, instead of being a man and accepting his position by bowing to the circumstances, he turned his back on me, grabbed Ione by the arm, and hurried her into a carriage.
“He came to me the next day and his abuse was as shameful and disgraceful as it was uncalled for. He insisted that I had taken foul means to poison his child’s mind. I begged for pity. I tried to stay his scathing tongue; but, no. He would show me, a public woman, how to entice a pure young girl from her duty. Then he struck me, the brute. I might have forgiven all he said, for I suppose he was sincere in his belief, but he should not have been so cruel as to use personal violence. He went away and left me lying on the floor in agony. My mind was quickly made up. He prized this daughter so highly that he could lay me low in the dust and dirt. I, who should have been mother to his second child the same as I was to the first. My child by him had long ago been food for the worms. I resolved that his daughter should meet a fate worse than did his son. I would ruin her and then ask him to strike again, strike the kind of a blow that he deserved when I was young and fair like his much beloved daughter.
“The plan was long. I had many admirers, several of whom professed to love me; one in particular whom I think meant it. I sent for him and quickly told him that I had been injured, and that a certain young lady was the cause of it. He immediately grew gallant and suggested that he assist me in punishing my tormenter. That was what I wanted. He would do anything for me especially when there was a girl in the case. I told him how he could meet her. He followed my instructions, went to her and represented himself as a theatrical man who was just organizing a company.
“She took the bait easily and when she was more than half drunk he brought her to my home, where several members of the profession had gathered for a little dinner. She soon forgot all about the footlights, and when she was thoroughly under the influence we put her to bed. Her downfall was as complete as the plan that caused it. We kept her there for four days and to make my victory more pronounced I wired for her father. His curse on her was worse than the one that rested upon me. He cast her off and attempted to strike her but I was on the lookout. I put myself between him and her with a dagger. He was a coward.
“He went away. Ione became herself again but she was a pitiable object. She wanted so much to die. Just at this time the Prince came unexpectedly; he had concluded that he could not live without me and had come to take me, rank or no rank. He met Ione Singleton; her sadness caused him to ask questions. I told him all, and then with my arms around his neck asked him if he wished me to be happy.
“‘Of course I do, dearest, and came to try and make you so.’
“‘Then,’ said I, ‘marry Ione, and not me.’
“He objected, but I would not yield, and she is a princess now, having lavished upon her the same kind treatment which almost healed the wound so much like hers, that I had suffered.”