Out in the World CHAPTER 29.
Back to Out in the World
The sudden appearance of Jackman had frightened Madeline. On his withdrawal, she sunk back into the chair from which she had arisen, feeling weak, and trembling inwardly. She knew him to be a violent man, and there had always rested on her mind a dread of encountering him. She attempted to resume her sewing — but her hand trembled so that she could not guide the needle. The air of the room felt close and stifling — her face was hot, as if she were before a fire. She panted for breath. Seeking for relief she opened a window, and let the cold air fall over her. There came a sensation of ease, followed too soon by a shuddering chill that seized her without warning.
There was not now heat enough in the little stove, red in some parts, to remove the inward cold that made her vitals shiver. She gathered her shawl about her — but it gave no impression of warmth. Her head was confused — her limbs heavy — weakness oppressed her. So, she crept into her poor bed on the floor, drawing the thick blanket over her.
"Why, dear! Are you sick?" Mrs. Jackman came in nearly an hour afterwards, and found Mrs. Spencer in bed.
Madeline roused herself from a dull stupor, and looked up without replying.
"What's the matter? Are you sick?" Mrs. Jackman repeated her question, bending over Mrs. Spencer as she spoke.
"I'm afraid so," was murmured.
"How do you feel! Where are you sick?" Mrs. Jackman was earnest — but very kind.
"I'm so tight here." Madeline laid her hand on her chest, and tried to take a long breath. Then she closed her eyes in a listless way.
Mrs. Jackman raised herself up, and stood thinking for some moments; then left the room and went downstairs, where she met her husband.
"Look here, John," she spoke with a will in her tones not to be mistaken, "I've got something to say to you."
"Say on," growled the beast in Jackman, not yet fully restored to brutal confidence.
"There's a sick woman upstairs! What did you do or say to her."
"I said nothing, and did nothing, that could harm a fly," he answered, putting himself on the defensive, just where his wife wished to get him.
"You frightened the poor thing by storming into her room as you did. I was afraid of it when you went up. You didn't consider how weak she was, poor creature!"
"I didn't storm into her room," returned Jackman, not yet entirely recovered from the sense of shame that overwhelmed him so suddenly when he found himself in the presence of Mrs. Spencer. "I didn't speak an unkind word."
"I'm glad you didn't, John," answered Mrs. Jackman, mollifying a little. "You'd never have forgiven yourself. And now, John," she continued, "there's only just one thing for us to do, and that is to put her room in a little decent order. She'll have to have a doctor, and I'll not stand the disgrace of having one come into my house to visit a woman like that, lying on the floor in a room without furniture. There's a bedstead in the garret, and I'm going to have it put up for her. I'm going to have a bureau moved in there, and some pieces of carpet spread down. She shall be made comfortable — she shall! Poor soul! It won't hurt us any."
Jackman's selfish spirit winced at this proposal — but, as the case stood, he had not the courage to demur. His wife was one of those prompt, in earnest people, who never stop long between purpose and act. She saw that she could have her own way for the time, and did not pause for a change of feeling in her husband. Returning to Madeline's room, she said, kindly and cheerfully —
"Come, Mrs. Spencer; I want you to go into the next chamber for a little while. It's pleasanter, and maybe you'll feel better. Come!"
She stooped to the floor where Madeline was lying, and assisted her to rise from her pallet of straw — almost as hard as the floor itself. The sick woman made no resistance — but allowed herself to be taken into an adjoining chamber and placed in a more comfortable bed. Her skin was hot with fever, and her breath quick and obstructed. She complained of a dull aching all through her chest.
Jackman growled to himself in an undertone, as he brought down the unused bedstead from the garret and put it up as directed by his wife in Mrs. Spencer's room; but did not rise into any overt opposition to the new condition of things about being inaugurated. The whole spirit of his life had been — "take, take" — never — "give, give." He had been eager to gather from all sources, to harvest in all fields, whether his own or his neighbor's — but not to give for the good of another. But now, he felt strangely impelled in another direction. Now he was conscious of something like an inward pleasure in providing for the comfort of one whom — but a little while before, he would have cast into the street without a throb of compunction. He made no objection to helping with a small bureau, and actually proposed the moving of a light dressing-table and glass to Mrs. Spencer's room.
When Madeline was taken back, she hardly knew her chamber. The transformation, so quickly made, touched her deeply. As Mrs. Jackman assisted her into the comfortable bed she had provided, Madeline's feelings gave way, and in tearful thanks she laid her head on her bosom, sobbing — "May the Lord, who put this kindness into your heart, bless you a thousandfold!"
A new emotion thrilled the heart of Mrs. Jackman as this benediction fell upon her ears. She seemed to be lifted above the common influences of her life, and to be in association with something higher and purer.
"Say to your husband," Mrs. Spencer added, as she sank back with her head among the soft pillows, "that God will not let his good act go unrewarded. He is very near to us. He sees all our actions; he knows all our thoughts; he keeps for each one of us, a book of remembrance."
She closed her eyes and was silent.
"Don't let anything trouble you," said Mrs. Jackman. "You're sick and can't help yourself. It shall all be right."
Mrs. Spencer opened her large eyes and fixed them on Mrs. Jackman. How full of grateful thanks they were! A soft smile gathered around her lips. A radiance from within lighted her countenance. Half entranced, and half in awe, Mrs. Jackman looked upon her, and felt that a beauty not of this earth was flooding her spirit.
"If you could have seen her face, John," she said to her husband, afterwards. "I've seen pictures of angels; but I never saw a face like hers. I've had a different feeling ever since. Won't you just go up and see her? She's afraid of you. Just go up and say a kind word, and so put her heart at ease."
But Jackman growled an emphatic "No!"
"Now do, John!" urged his wife. "I want you to see how nice and comfortable she is. You'll both feel better for it."
"If she's comfortable, I'm satisfied. You've had your own way about her, and I hope you're content. What are you bothering me for? I don't care for the woman."
But he did care for all that, as his wife saw plainly enough. Something had touched his feelings, and changed his sentiments in regard to her. He was puzzled at his own state.
"She ought to have a doctor," said Mrs. Jackman. "I don't like that fever and tightness of the bosom, coming on so suddenly. She coughed when I was in her room just now."
"I'll go for a Dispensary doctor," replied Jackman.
"She ought to have a good doctor. She's a very sick woman."
"Who's to pay a doctor? She's got nothing." Jackman frowned. He understood his wife.
"See here, John" — Mrs. Jackman came close to her husband, speaking in a serious, coaxing way — "We haven't a chick or a child — no one to take care of but ourselves — while most of our neighbors have houses full to provide for. We're getting along well, while dozens that I could name are standing still or going behind hand. Now it won't hurt us to do a little for somebody else once in our lifetimes. Let us think she's our child, and do for her, now that she is sick, just as if she were our own."
"If you aren't losing your senses, Kitty, then I wonder! What on earth is coming over you," exclaimed Jackman, trying to look the anger he could not feel.
"Just as you please, John," answered Mrs. Jackman, who did not think it prudent to press her husband any farther. "Get a doctor for her — I leave that to you."
Jackman started out, and took his way to the nearest Dispensary. But his wife's suggestions were in his mind, and he could not push them aside. At the door of the Dispensary he paused, still undetermined; then kept on without entering. Not having had occasion to call in a doctor for some years, Jackman had no family physician; so he was at a loss where to go. He walked on slowly, and with an irresolute manner; stopping now and then, as the old purpose to call in a Dispensary doctor returned. But, he did not retrace his steps. He never had been so undecided in his life. It was a new thing for a struggle to go on in his mind between a selfish and a generous feeling.
In one of these pauses, a carriage drew up at the sidewalk where he stood, and a man past the prime of life, with a grave but mild countenance, alighted, and crossing from the curbstone, went into a basement office. In the window of the office was a sign bearing the name of Doctor Wheatland. Jackman correctly inferred, that the person who had alighted from the carriage was Doctor Wheatland himself. Something in his face attracted him, and so, without taking time to consider and hesitate, he went in and asked if he would call and see Mrs. Spencer.
"She's very poor," he added, as a saving clause for himself, "but, maybe, if it isn't too much, it can be paid."
"What did you say her name was?" asked Doctor Wheatland, showing more interest in the case than Jackman had expected.
"Mrs. Spencer," was replied.
"Who is she?" inquired the doctor.
Jackman shook his head. "Don't know anything about her, sir. She took a room at my house six or seven months ago."
"How old is she?"
"She isn't young, sir. Maybe about forty; and maybe older."
The doctor mused for a little while.
"What has she been doing at your house?" He put the question with evident interest.
"She took in sewing."
"Does anyone come to see her?"
"No, sir. She don't seem to have any friends."
"Spencer is the name?"
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Spencer."
"What kind of a woman is she?"
"I've not seen much of her," replied Jackman. "But. I guess, she's a nice kind of a woman. My wife thinks so."
"I'll call and see her." And the doctor wrote down the address in his memorandum book.
Back to Out in the World