第 五十四 章 · The little town of Sandwood, "this side of Kenosha," as Jennie had

expressed it, was only a short distance from Chicago, an hour and

fifteen minutes by the local train. It had a population of some three

hundred families, dwelling in small cottages, which were scattered

over a pleasant area of lake-shore property. They were not rich

people. The houses were not worth more than from three to five

thousand dollars each, but, in most cases, they were harmoniously

constructed, and the surrounding trees, green for the entire year,

gave them a pleasing summery appearance. Jennie, at the time they had

passed by there--it was an outing taken behind a pair of fast

horses--had admired the look of a little white church steeple,

set down among green trees, and the gentle rocking of the boats upon

the summer water.

"I should like to live in a place like this some time," she had

said to Lester, and he had made the comment that it was a little too

peaceful for him. "I can imagine getting to the place where I might

like this, but not now. It's too withdrawn."

Jennie thought of that expression afterward. It came to her when

she thought that the world was trying. If she had to be alone ever and

could afford it she would like to live in a place like Sandwood. There

she would have a little garden, some chickens, perhaps, a tall pole

with a pretty bird-house on it, and flowers and trees and green grass

everywhere about. If she could have a little cottage in a place like

this which commanded a view of the lake she could sit of a summer

evening and sew. Vesta could play about or come home from school. She

might have a few friends, or not any. She was beginning to think that

she could do very well living alone if it were not for Vesta's social

needs. Books were pleasant things--she was finding that

out--books like Irving's Sketch Book, Lamb's Elia,

and Hawthorne's Twice Told Tales. Vesta was coming to be quite

a musician in her way, having a keen sense of the delicate and refined

in musical composition. She had a natural sense of harmony and a love

for those songs and instrumental compositions which reflect

sentimental and passionate moods; and she could sing and play quite

well. Her voice was, of course, quite untrained--she was only

fourteen--but it was pleasant to listen to. She was beginning to

show the combined traits of her mother and father--Jennie's

gentle, speculative turn of mind, combined with Brander's vivacity of

spirit and innate executive capacity. She could talk to her mother in

a sensible way about things, nature, books, dress, love, and from her

developing tendencies Jennie caught keen glimpses of the new worlds

which Vesta was to explore. The nature of modern school life, its

consideration of various divisions of knowledge, music, science, all

came to Jennie watching her daughter take up new themes. Vesta was

evidently going to be a woman of considerable ability--not

irritably aggressive, but self-constructive. She would be able to take

care of herself. All this pleased Jennie and gave her great hopes for

Vesta's future.

The cottage which was finally secured at Sandwood was only a story

and a half in height, but it was raised upon red brick piers between

which were set green lattices and about which ran a veranda. The house

was long and narrow, its full length--some five rooms in a

row--facing the lake. There was a dining-room with windows

opening even with the floor, a large library with built-in shelves for

books, and a parlor whose three large windows afforded air and

sunshine at all times.

The plot of ground in which this cottage stood was one hundred feet

square and ornamented with a few trees. The former owner had laid out

flower-beds, and arranged green hardwood tubs for the reception of

various hardy plants and vines. The house was painted white, with

green shutters and green shingles.

It had been Lester's idea, since this thing must be, that Jennie

might keep the house in Hyde Park just as it was, but she did not want

to do that. She could not think of living there alone. The place was

too full of memories. At first, she did not think she would take

anything much with her, but she finally saw that it was advisable to

do as Lester suggested--to fit out the new place with a selection

of silverware, hangings, and furniture from the Hyde Park house.

"You have no idea what you will or may want," he said. "Take

everything. I certainly don't want any of it."

A lease of the cottage was taken for two years, together with an

option for an additional five years, including the privilege of

purchase. So long as he was letting her go, Lester wanted to be

generous. He could not think of her as wanting for anything, and he

did not propose that she should. His one troublesome thought was, what

explanation was to be made to Vesta. He liked her very much and wanted

her "life kept free of complications.

"Why not send her off to a boarding-school until spring?" he

suggested once; but owing to the lateness of the season this was

abandoned as inadvisable. Later they agreed that business affairs made

it necessary for him to travel and for Jennie to move. Later Vesta

could be told that Jennie had left him for any reason she chose to

give. It was a trying situation, all the more bitter to Jennie because

she realized that in spite of the wisdom of it indifference to her was

involved. He really did not care enough, as much as he

cared.

The relationship of man and woman which we study so passionately in

the hope of finding heaven knows what key to the mystery of existence

holds no more difficult or trying situation than this of mutual

compatibility broken or disrupted by untoward conditions which in

themselves have so little to do with the real force and beauty of the

relationship itself. These days of final dissolution in which this

household, so charmingly arranged, the scene of so many pleasant

activities, was literally going to pieces was a period of great trial

to both Jennie and Lester. On her part it was one of intense

suffering, for she was of that stable nature that rejoices to fix

itself in a serviceable and harmonious relationship, and then stay so.

For her life was made up of those mystic chords of sympathy and memory

which bind up the transient elements of nature into a harmonious and

enduring scene. One of those chords--this home was her home,

united and made beautiful by her affection and consideration for each

person and every object. Now the time had come when it must cease.

If she had ever had anything before in her life which had been like

this it might have been easier to part with it now, though, as she had

proved, Jennie's affections were not based in any way upon material

considerations. Her love of life and of personality were free from the

taint of selfishness. She went about among these various rooms

selecting this rug, that set of furniture, this and that ornament,

wishing all the time with all her heart and soul that it need not be.

Just to think, in a little while Lester would not come any more of an

evening! She would not need to get up first of a morning and see that

coffee was made for her lord, that the table in the dining-room looked

just so. It had been a habit of hers to arrange a bouquet for the

table out of the richest blooming flowers of the conservatory, and she

had always felt in doing it that it was particularly for him. Now it

would not be necessary any more--not for him. When one is

accustomed to wait for the sound of a certain carriage-wheel of an

evening grating upon your carriage drive, when one is used to listen

at eleven, twelve, and one, waking naturally and joyfully to the echo

of a certain step on the stair, the separation, the ending of these

things, is keen with pain. These were the thoughts that were running

through Jennie's brain hour after hour and day after day.

Lester on his part was suffering in another fashion. His was not

the sorrow of lacerated affection, of discarded and despised love, but

of that painful sense of unfairness which comes to one who knows that

he is making a sacrifice of the virtues--kindness, loyalty,

affection--to policy. Policy was dictating a very splendid course

of action from one point of view. Free of Jennie, providing for her

admirably, he was free to go his way, taking to himself the mass of

affairs which come naturally with great wealth. He could not help

thinking of the thousand and one little things which Jennie had been

accustomed to do for him, the hundred and one comfortable and pleasant

and delightful things she meant to him. The virtues which she

possessed were quite dear to his mind. He had gone over them time and

again. Now he was compelled to go over them finally, to see that she

was suffering without making a sign. Her manner and attitude toward

him in these last days were quite the same as they had always

been--no more, no less. She was not indulging in private

hysterics, as another woman might have done; she was not pretending a

fortitude in suffering she did not feel, showing him one face while

wishing him to see another behind it. She was calm, gentle,

considerate--thoughtful of him--where he would go and what

he would do, without irritating him by her inquiries. He was struck

quite favorably by her ability to take a large situation largely, and

he admired her. There was something to this woman, let the world think

what it might. It was a shame that her life was passed under such a

troubled star. Still a great world was calling him. The sound of its

voice was in his ears. It had on occasion shown him its bared teeth.

Did he really dare to hesitate?

The last hour came, when having made excuses to this and that

neighbor, when having spread the information that they were going

abroad, when Lester had engaged rooms at the Auditorium, and the mass

of furniture which could not be used had gone to storage, that it was

necessary to say farewell to this Hyde Park domicile. Jennie had

visited Sandwood in company with Lester several times. He had

carefully examined the character of the place. He was satisfied that

it was nice but lonely. Spring was at hand, the flowers would be

something. She was going to keep a gardener and man of all work. Vesta

would be with her.

"Very well," he said, "only I want you to be comfortable."

In the mean time Lester had been arranging his personal affairs. He

had notified Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien through his own

attorney, Mr. Watson, that he would expect them to deliver his share

of his father's securities on a given date. He had made up his mind

that as long as he was compelled by circumstances to do this thing he

would do a number of other things equally ruthless. He would probably

marry Mrs. Gerald. He would sit as a director in the United Carriage

Company--with his share of the stock it would be impossible to

keep him out. If he had Mrs. Gerald's money he would become a

controlling factor in the United Traction of Cincinnati, in which his

brother was heavily interested, and in the Western Steel Works, of

which his brother was now the leading adviser. What a different figure

he would be now from that which he had been during the past few

years!

Jennie was depressed to the point of despair. She was tremendously

lonely. This home had meant so much to her. When she first came here

and neighbors had begun to drop in she had imagined herself on the

threshold of a great career, that some day, possibly, Lester would

marry her. Now, blow after blow had been delivered, and the home and

dream were a ruin. Gerhardt was gone. Jeannette, Harry Ward, and Mrs.

Frissell had been discharged, the furniture for a good part was in

storage, and for her, practically, Lester was no more. She realized

clearly that he would not come back. If he could do this thing now,

even considerately, he could do much more when he was free and away

later. Immersed in his great affairs, he would forget, of course. And

why not? She did not fit in. Had not everything--everything

illustrated that to her? Love was not enough in this world--that

was so plain. One needed education, wealth, training, the ability to

fight and scheme, She did not want to do that. She could not.

The day came when the house was finally closed and the old life was

at an end. Lester traveled with Jennie to Sandwood. He spent some

little while in the house trying to get her used to the idea of

change--it was not so bad. He intimated that he would come again

soon, but he went away, and all his words were as nothing against the

fact of the actual and spiritual separation. When Jennie saw him going

down the brick walk that afternoon, his solid, conservative figure

clad in a new tweed suit, his overcoat on his arm, self-reliance and

prosperity written all over him, she thought that she would die. She

had kissed Lester good-by and had wished him joy, prosperity, peace;

then she made an excuse to go to her bedroom. Vesta came after a time,

to seek her, but now her eyes were quite dry; everything had subsided

to a dull ache. The new life was actually begun for her--a life

without Lester, without Gerhardt, without any one save Vesta.

"What curious things have happened to me!" she thought, as she went

into the kitchen, for she had determined to do at least some of her

own work. She needed the distraction. She did not want to think. If it

were not for Vesta she would have sought some regular outside

employment. Anything to keep from brooding, for in that direction lay

madness.