Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 4.
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All afternoon, on that first day of Lydia Guyton's introduction to the reader — did she sit with idle hands, dreamy eyes, and lips just touched with a shade of sadness. The stream of her life, which had, since her marriage, been dancing along musically in the sunshine, all at once left the open fields and gentle slopes, losing itself in sluggish pools that widened and diverged, and hid their dark depths under thick, shadowing trees, and tangled brush. She could look forward in sweet hope no longer. There was cloud, and obscuring night, on all the future, that a little while ago had been so full of promise. The life, into which her consciousness was opening, had a strange, repellant aspect; and a shudder crept into her heart as she tried to see light and beauty ahead — but could make out nothing distinctly, among the gloomy shadows which obstructed her vision.
Must all beauty, all gentle charity, all the soul's loving worship of things that dwell in regions above mere sordidness, or hard, accumulative actuality — be crushed out? No wonder that a shudder crept through her heart! No wonder she sat with idle hands through that afternoon, trying to comprehend all that was meant by this new relation in which she found herself standing to life. Was money — property — material wealth — the greatest good? Did it comprehend all worth living for? Must everything else be cast down for its enthronement — beauty — friendship — charity — love — all the heart's riches? Was she not to have a flower, even — because it was no money-producing, or money-saving instrument? or because it absorbed a few pennies or dimes? or, worse still, in the eyes of her husband — fostered taste, and a love of the mere beautiful, which were expensive attributes.
The heart of Lydia Guyton rebelled against all this. If such were her husband's requirements, she did not see how it was possible for them to draw any nearer in spirit — to grow into that sweet oneness of life which her maiden imagination had loved to dwell upon, as including the highest of human felicities. Her talk with Diane in the morning in no way tended to reconcile her to this change in the program of her life. How sharply in contrast stood the character of her husband with that of Doctor Hofland? What a light seemed to hover over the home of her friend — while clouds were gathering in the sky that arched above her.
A few warm words had passed between Lydia and her husband at dinner-time, and he had gone away with a stern, admonitory sentence on his lips. He had spoken withauthority, and left a spirit of rebellion in the heart of his wife. The law of force had come in, setting aside the law of love and sweet compliance was at an end. Foolish man! Blind, weak, besotted man! For what dross was he bartering the rich gold of life!
Not with that light step, which gave to every motion a grace, as on the afternoon of the day before, when Lydia made preparation for her husband's coming at twilight — did she move, now, as the shadows began to lengthen, in the work of providing their evening meal. A heavy heart — makes the feet heavy.
Adam Guyton was not a man from whose feelings any ripple passes quickly. All disturbances went down, deeply, and surged to and fro for a long time after the cause had ceased. It must be remarked, however, that he was susceptible of disturbance only in the direction of his avaricious desires. Lay your hand on these, and he felt the jar long and profoundly. Assault these in never so small a degree — and sympathy, pity, tenderness toward the assailant, even humanity, died out instantly. He was armed and guarded at every point.
And so, Adam Guyton's feelings did not soften toward his young wife during the few hours that elapsed from the time of his parting with her at mid-day, until he met her again in the first fall of twilight shadows. He saw in her a weakness that must be crushed out. His hand was upon it, and come what would — he meant to extinguish its life. Germs ofextravagance were beginning to show themselves, which must be robbed of vitality. Not a single word of the sentence — "Adam, you are stepping a little beyond your prerogative! If I care to have a flower, it is not for you to object!" — failed from his memory. He pondered them over and over, and over again, each time rejecting them with a sterner purpose.
"Stepping beyond my prerogative!" — so he talked with himself, over and over — "We shall see! That was unwisely said, Lydia. Not for me to object to waste andextravagance! Indeed! I wonder who is to object — if not I? I will object to the last; and not only object — but extinguish waste and extravagance. If this comes from the introduction of a single worthless flower, I shall take good care that my house is not transformed into a conservatory. To be forewarned — is to be forearmed."
Wearied with beating about in a vague uncertainty; weak and bewildered; the heart of Lydia began to lift itself toward her husband, as the day declined, with a yearning for thesunshine of love which clouds had hidden. She repented of her hastily spoken words, and even went so far as to remove the geranium, which had been the exciting cause of this trouble, from their sitting-room. In what spirit would he come home? That was the question of greatest concern now. Would he bring the hard, threatening, almost angry face that frowned upon her in parting — or the old, pleasant face, in which she read so many tender meanings? Oh, she could not live without love! She could not go on through life in a spirit of antagonism. No! — no! She was not strong enough for this. Death was to be preferred!
And so, looking away from the causes which had wrought this unhappy alienation, she tried to let re-awakening love for her husband cover the hard, bare, unsightly aspects of character which had suddenly revealed themselves; and in this spirit she was awaiting his return, when she heard his well-known footsteps crossing their little parlor floor. She was in the kitchen, busied with preparations for supper, but came forth quickly, meeting him as he entered the sitting-room, where the table was spread. The light in her eyes, and the smile on her lips, died instantly; for the face of her husband was cold as a sea of ice. The usual kiss was intermitted. Adam did not offer it, and the heart of Lydia rebelled against solicitation. A few distant words were exchanged, and then Lydia went back to the kitchen, with a heart of lead in her bosom.
Almost silently passed the evening meal. Adam sat through it with a cold, implacable face — Lydia with a heart ready, at each moment, to gush through her eyes.
After the meal was finished, Adam took a newspaper from his pocket and commenced reading, while his wife removed the tea things. As she went and came, passing from their sitting room to the kitchen, he glanced, furtively, over the edge of his newspaper at her face, and was a little surprised as well as annoyed, at seeing tears falling silently down her cheeks. It was the first time Adam had seen his wife in tears, and it made him feel rather strangely. This was something not taken into the account in marriage. He had bargained for smiles, not tears; for a mind that should be in complete harmony with his own — never in opposition; for a second self. What was the cause of these tears? That question came naturally, and Adam Guyton answered it from his own stand-point, and selfish perceptions.
"And so it has come to this!" he said, speaking to himself. "Because I will not consent to waste and extravagance — I must be punished with tears. But it won't do. Adam Guyton isn't the man to be turned aside from what is right, by a woman's tears. If Lydia used hear to reason — - used act like a prudent, sensible wife — the trouble be on her own head! As to wasting my hard earned money on such nonsense as flowers — it never shall be; and the matter may as well be settled first, as last. As for Dr. Hofland's wife, I don't think her the right stamp of a woman for Lydia, and I'll break off the friendship, if possible. Hofland is an extravagant, thriftless fellow, and his wife is just like him. He is out of my books, anyhow. I don't like the way in which he is beginning life — living beyond his means, and making debt certain. In less than a year, he'll be on the borrowing line. There'll be a break between us then, just as surely as the sun shines, should terms of friendship exist. The prudent man foresees evil — and I am a prudent man. He is going his way, and I am going mine — and the roads have a wide divergence."
Thus he talked with himself, fortifying his mind against his wife, and strengthening his purpose to have his own will in all that concerned them.
"What's the matter?" he asked, in an abrupt, half imperative, half surprised tone, as Lydia came in from the kitchen, after having completed her duties there, affecting just to have made the discovery that she had been weeping.
The heart of Lydia was too full; she could not answer either calmly or indifferently — and so made no reply. On this silence Adam placed his own construction, and placed it wrongly of course. It was from moody self-will, that she did not answer — so he read the reason,
"A woman doesn't cry for nothing. What's the matter? What's gone wrong? Are you sick?"
Lydia had drawn a chair up to the little work-stand, on which a lamp burned, and near which her husband sat with his newspaper in his hand. She had already taken some needle-work into her lap. The tone in which he asked these questions, only made a reply on her part the more impossible; and so she bent her head down over the sewing she had taken up, and gave no response. This, to Adam, was like placing an obstruction in a flowing stream. The waters of his mind became agitated, and bore onward in turbulence.
"Can't you speak? Haven't you a tongue?"
Lydia startled, looked up at her husband in a bewildered way, and then burst into tears, sobbing violently.
Adam Guyton was at fault. He was dealing with an unknown element. A woman's mind is a mystery to most men — most of all to men like Adam Guyton; yet have such men, in their blind antagonisms — the fatal power of wounding to the heart's core. He sat, coldly observing the agitation of his wife, until her sobs gave way to an occasional short spasm in breathing, and these at length to low, fluttering sighs.
"I think, Lydia," said Adam, in a firm voice, when the storm of feeling had completely died away, "that you have permitted a very small matter to come in, and make itself a disturber of our peace. I objected, as I claim that I have the right to do, to waste of money in any form. I objected to the purchase of useless flowers; and I still object. You charged me with stepping beyond my prerogative. That was unwisely remarked, permit me to say, and does not set well upon my mind. You threatened to do as you pleased, and I warned you against such folly, and again warn you. I am not a man to turn aside, when I know myself to be in the right; and I am very certain of my position in this matter. I am a poor young man, with my way to make in the world. I earn my money by hard and patient industry — and cannot see it thrown away in trifles. You know my opinion offlowers. I gave it today; and it is, and will remain, unchanged. Money spent in them, I hold to be worse than wasted. A bouquet fades in a day, and the money it costs might as well have been cast into the ocean! Potted flowers are a constant care, and involve waste of time, in addition to waste of money — and time is money. So, you see that I havecommon sense and prudence on my side — opposed to weak imagination and extravagance. I'm sorry you have taken so small a matter into such serious account — that you have made yourself unhappy about a poor geranium. Now, let me beg of you to rise above all girlish weaknesses of this kind, and be a sensible woman — all in earnest as tolife's true objects. There are more enduring things than flowers to be gained, Lydia. Let us see eye to eye — let us keep step in our onward march to a high place in the world— let us deny all mere self-indulgences, that are unsatisfying at best, and always enervating — and press forward to the attainment of real and abiding things. Let us spare now — to spend in the coming time, when we can afford to spend."
Adam Guyton paused. His young wife was bending closer over her work, than when he commenced speaking, and her hand moved steadily and quickly. She did not look up, nor answer.
"Am I not right? Does not your own better judgment approve what I say?"
But she made no response.
"Lydia!"
She looked up, showing a pale face and red eyes.
"Why don't you answer?"
Her eyes, with an expression in them so strange, that he scarcely knew them as the eyes of his wife, looked steadily into his. But there was no reply on her lips.
"Have you nothing to say ?" demanded Guyton.
"Nothing." How calm and cold her voice! It gave not a sign of feeling. Her eyes fell away from the eyes of her husband, and went back to the sewing in her lap. The needle hand, which had paused with the thread half drawn, took on again its quick and steady motion; and there was silence between them through all the evening hours — silence and alien thoughts.
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