第 二十一 章 · The arrival of this letter, coming after a week of silence and

after she had had a chance to think, moved Jennie deeply. What did she

want to do? What ought she to do? How did she truly feel about this

man? Did she sincerely wish to answer his letter? If she did so, what

should she say? Heretofore all her movements, even the one in which

she had sought to sacrifice herself for the sake of Bass in Columbus,

had not seemed to involve any one but herself. Now, there seemed to be

others to consider--her family, above all, her child. The little

Vesta was now eighteen months of age; she was an interesting child;

her large, blue eyes and light hair giving promise of a comeliness

which would closely approximate that of her mother, while her mential

traits indicated a clear and intelligent mind. Mrs. Gerhardt had

become very fond of her. Gerhardt had unbended so gradually that his

interest was not even yet clearly discernible, but he had a distinct

feeling of kindliness toward her. And this readjustment of her

father's attitude had aroused in Jennie an ardent desire to so conduct

herself that no pain should ever come to him again. Any new folly on

her part would not only be base ingratitude to her father, but would

tend to injure the prospects of her little one. Her life was a

failure, she fancied, but Vesta's was a thing apart; she must do

nothing to spoil it. She wondered whether it would not be better to

write Lester and explain everything. She had told him that she did not

wish to do wrong. Suppose she went on to inform him that she had a

child, and beg him to leave her in peace. Would he obey her? She

doubted it. Did she really want him to take her at her word?

The need of making this confession was a painful thing to Jennie.

It caused her to hesitate, to start a letter in which she tried to

explain, and then to tear it up. Finally, fate intervened in the

sudden home-coming of her father, who had been seriously injured by an

accident at the glass-works in Youngstown where he worked.

It was on a Wednesday afternoon, in the latter part of August, when

a letter came from Gerhardt. But instead of the customary fatherly

communication, written in German and inclosing the regular weekly

remittance of five dollars, there was only a brief note, written by

another hand, and explaining that the day before Gerhardt had received

a severe burn on both hands, due to the accidental overturning of a

dipper of molten glass. The letter added that he would be home the

next morning.

"What do you think of that?" exclaimed William, his mouth wide

open.

"Poor papa!" said Veronica, tears welling up in her eyes.

Mrs. Gerhardt sat down, clasped her hands in her lap, and stared at

the floor. "Now, what to do?" she nervously exclaimed. The possibility

that Gerhardt was disabled for life opened long vistas of difficulties

which she had not the courage to contemplate.

Bass came home at half-past six and Jennie at eight. The former

heard the news with an astonished face.

"Gee! that's tough, isn't it?" he exclaimed. "Did the letter say

how bad he was hurt?"

"No," replied Mrs. Gerhardt.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," said Bass easily. "It won't do

any good. We'll get along somehow. I wouldn't worry like that if I

were you."

The truth was, he wouldn't, because his nature was wholly

different. Life did not rest heavily upon his shoulders. His brain was

not large enough to grasp the significance and weigh the results of

things.

"I know," said Mrs. Gerhardt, endeavoring to recover herself. "I

can't help it, though. To think that just when we were getting along

fairly well this new calamity should be added. It seems sometimes as

if we were under a curse. We have so much bad luck."

When Jennie came her mother turned to her instinctively; here was

her one stay.

"What's the matter, ma?" asked Jennie as she opened the door and

observed her mother's face. "What have you been crying about?"

Mrs. Gerhardt looked at her, and then turned half away.

"Pa's had his hands burned," put in Bass solemnly. "He'll be home

to-morrow."

Jennie turned and stared at him. "His hands burned!" she

exclaimed.

"Yes," said Bass.

"How did it happen?"

"A pot of glass was turned over."

Jennie looked at her mother, and her eyes dimmed with tears.

Instinctively she ran to her and put her arms around her.

"Now, don't you cry, ma," she said, barely able to control herself.

"Don't you worry. I know how you feel, but we'll get along. Don't cry

now." Then her own lips lost their evenness, and she struggled long

before she could pluck up courage to contemplate this new disaster.

And now without volition upon her part there leaped into her

consciousness a new and subtly persistent thought. What about Lester's

offer of assistance now? What about his declaration of love? Somehow

it came back to her--his affection, his personality, his desire

to help her, his sympathy, so like that which Brander had shown when

Bass was in jail. Was she doomed to a second sacrifice? Did it really

make any difference? Wasn't her life a failure already? She thought

this over as she looked at her mother sitting there so silent,

haggard, and distraught. "What a pity," she thought, "that her mother

must always suffer! Wasn't it a shame that she could never have any

real happiness?"

"I wouldn't feel so badly," she said, after a time. "Maybe pa isn't

burned so badly as we think. Did the letter say he'd be home in the

morning?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Gerhardt, recovering herself.

They talked more quietly from now on, and gradually, as the details

were exhausted, a kind of dumb peace settled down upon the

household.

"One of us ought to go to the train to meet him in the morning,"

said Jennie to Bass. "I will. I guess Mrs. Bracebridge won't

mind."

"No," said Bass gloomily, "you mustn't. I can go."

He was sour at this new fling of fate, and he looked his feelings;

he stalked off gloomily to his room and shut himself in. Jennie and

her mother saw the others off to bed, and then sat out in the kitchen

talking.

"I don't see what's to become of us now," said Mrs. Gerhardt at

last, completely overcome by the financial complications which this

new calamity had brought about. She looked so weak and helpless that

Jennie could hardly contain herself.

"Don't worry, mamma dear," she said, softly, a peculiar resolve

coming into her heart. The world was wide. There was comfort and ease

in it scattered by others with a lavish hand. Surely, surely

misfortune could not press so sharply but that they could live!

She sat down with her mother, the difficulties of the future

seeming to approach with audible and ghastly steps.

"What do you suppose will become of us now?" repeated her mother,

who saw how her fanciful conception of this Cleveland home had

crumbled before her eyes.

"Why," said Jennie, who saw clearly and knew what could be done,

"it will be all right. I wouldn't worry about it. Something will

happen. We'll get something."

She realized, as she sat there, that fate had shifted the burden of

the situation to her. She must sacrifice herself; there was no other

way.

Bass met his father at the railway station in the morning. He

looked very pale, and seemed to have suffered a great deal. His cheeks

were slightly sunken and his bony profile appeared rather gaunt. His

hands were heavily bandaged, and altogether he presented such a

picture of distress that many stopped to look at him on the way home

from the station.

"By chops," he said to Bass, "that was a burn I got. I thought once

I couldn't stand the pain any longer. Such pain I had! Such pain! By

chops! I will never forget it."

He related just how the accident had occurred, and said that he did

not know whether he would ever be able to use his hands again. The

thumb on his right hand and the first two fingers on the left had been

burned to the bone. The latter had been amputated at the first

joint--the thumb he might save, but his hands would be in danger

of being stiff.

"By chops!" he added, "just at the time when I needed the money

most. Too bad! Too bad!"

When they reached the house, and Mrs. Gerhardt opened the door, the

old mill-worker, conscious of her voiceless sympathy, began to cry.

Mrs. Gerhardt sobbed also. Even Bass lost control of himself for a

moment or two, but quickly recovered. The other children wept, until

Bass called a halt on all of them.

"Don't cry now," he said cheeringly. "What's the use of crying? It

isn't so bad as all that. You'll be all right again. We can get

along."

Bass's words had a soothing effect, temporarily, and, now that her

husband was home, Mrs. Gerhardt recovered her composure. Though his

hands were bandaged, the mere fact that he could walk and was not

otherwise injured was some consolation. He might recover the use of

his hands and be able to undertake light work again. Anyway, they

would hope for the best.

When Jennie came home that night she wanted to run to her father

and lay the treasury of her services and affection at his feet, but

she trembled lest he might be as cold to her as formerly.

Gerhardt, too, was troubled. Never had he completely recovered from

the shame which his daughter had brought upon him. Although he wanted

to be kindly, his feelings were so tangled that he hardly knew what to

say or do.

"Papa," said Jennie, approaching him timidly.

Gerhardt looked confused and tried to say something natural, but it

was unavailing. The thought of his helplessness, the knowledge of her

sorrow and of his own responsiveness to her affection--it was all

too much for him; he broke down again and cried helplessly.

"Forgive me, papa," she pleaded, "I'm so sorry. Oh, I'm so

sorry."

He did not attempt to look at her, but in the swirl of feeling that

their meeting created he thought that he could forgive, and he

did.

"I have prayed," he said brokenly. "It is all right."

When he recovered himself he felt ashamed of his emotion, but a new

relationship of sympathy and of understanding had been established.

From that time, although there was always a great reserve between

them, Gerhardt tried not to ignore her completely, and she endeavored

to show him the simple affection of a daughter, just as in the old

days.

But while the household was again at peace, there were other cares

and burdens to be faced. How were they to get along now with five

dollars taken from the weekly budget, and with the cost of Gerhardt's

presence added? Bass might have contributed more of his weekly

earnings, but he did not feel called upon to do it. And so the small

sum of nine dollars weekly must meet as best it could the current

expenses of rent, food, and coal, to say nothing of incidentals, which

now began to press very heavily. Gerhardt had to go to a doctor to

have his hands dressed daily. George needed a new pair of shoes.

Either more money must come from some source or the family must beg

for credit and suffer the old tortures of want. The situation

crystallized the half-formed resolve in Jennie's mind.

Lester's letter had been left unanswered. The day was drawing near.

Should she write? He would help them. Had he not tried to force money

on her? She finally decided that it was her duty to avail herself of

this proffered assistance. She sat down and wrote him a brief note.

She would meet him as he had requested, but he would please not come

to the house. She mailed the letter, and then waited, with mingled

feelings of trepidation and thrilling expectancy, the arrival of the

fateful day.