The Debtor's Daughter CHAPTER 13.
Back to The Debtor's Daughter
For some time after the men retired, Mr. Putnam remained seated, with the newspaper held before his face, as when they were conversing. Every word to which they had given utterance, came to his ears distinctly. He was surprised, rebuked, and half stupified. Could all be true, which he had heard? Was he not dreaming?
At length he arose, and leaving the place, moved slowly along the street with his eyes upon the pavement. His mind was strangely bewildered; yet it was full of what he had just heard. Was Grace indeed so lovely; so excellent? Grace, whom he had spurned as unworthy of an alliance with his family? Well did he know the man who had related so accurately, the story of his wrong doings. He was a merchant of standing, with whose family, in his best days, he would have felt it no discredit for his own to mingle in intimate association. His opinion of Grace was not to be lightly weighed. Yet, it was not so much what he had said about her, as what he had related of her in connection with his son's failure and illness, which most affected him. Here was the test of her character. This proved her worth.
He also knew something of the effect produced on Mr. Carson's daughter — she whom he had wished his son to marry — by the misfortunes of her husband and father. How different the effect on Grace! How strongly in contrast were their characters presented! And she it was whom he had hated as a child — hated without cause — and wronged as a woman! Like the blind man, whose eyes were opened, he at first saw objects confusedly, as trees walking. He was as one awaking from a dream, all the circumstances of which were reversed by the real-life around him.
Slowly he passed along, musing upon what he had heard. Already he was beginning to feel very differently towards Grace from what he had felt for years. In spite of his involuntary effort to stifle the sentiment, respect was already forming itself in his mind. She was superior to the majority around her, and he could not help the admission. At the same time, an emotion of shame for the part he had been playing, stirred in his bosom, and he clenched his hands and drew his lips tightly together with the pain it occasioned.
"No — no! That cannot be!" he murmured at length, pausing suddenly, and partly turning his body, as if by the act to turn from the thought presented. His mind had reverted to themoney received from some unknown friend, and the suggestion that Grace was this friend came with the thought.
"No — no! That cannot be!" he repeated. And yet, the idea once presented, he could not push it aside. The longer he dwelt upon it, the more likely to be the true one it seemed. Oh! what an oppressing sense of humiliation came gradually upon the heart of the unhappy old man.
On returning home, he said nothing to his family of what he had heard. He could not speak of that to them — with all the past, lifting its hands rebukingly against him.
Now, for the first time since he heard of Ralph's illness and shattered health, did his heart begin to go out towards his son — his son for whom he had once anticipated so much. Yet, if he had been permitted to do by him as he had wished, how poor would have been his present condition. Vividly was this presented to his mind. Grace, if all he had heard was true, could be little less than an angel — compared with the one he would have chosen for his son's companion.
Next came the wish to see Ralph again and be reconciled to him — to bury the past with its errors and animosities. But, pride arose instantly in opposition. If what he had heard were all true, Grace, by her own efforts was procuring a handsome income, while he was in the extreme of poverty. If their cases had been reversed, and he had acted from such feelings as were now in his heart, he would have gone to his son immediately and sought for a reconciliation. But he could not do that now. Oh no! He could suffer death, but nothumiliation like this.
The more Mr. Putnam thought about the timely aid received, the stronger became his conviction that Grace was their angel of mercy.
One day, a week later, on coming home from a fruitless effort to obtain some employment, his wife said to him —
"That unknown friend has remembered us again. Who can she be?"
"Again?"
"Yes. Half an hour ago, a man came with all the things you see on the floor there — provision enough for a month, besides some little presents for me and Clara. He would answer no questions, but said this note would explain where they were from."
Mr. Putnam took the note from the hand of his wife and read — "Accept these few things from one who feels deeply, your sad change of fortune, and who, were it in her power, would gladly restore every blessing that has been lost. Though all is dark around you, do not be faint-hearted. The All-seeing One looks through the blackest night of human trouble. Turn your eyes upward, and you will see at least one star in the cloudy sky. May He whose boundless compassion is ever going forth towards men, make lighter the heavy burdens under which you are now toiling onward in your journey through life."
This note was in the hand writing of the one received before. For some time after reading it, Mr. Putnam remained like a person half stupified.
"Who can it be from?" said Mrs. Putnam. Her husband looked at her, but made no answer.
"I'm sure I have seen that writing before," said Clara. "Whose can it be?"
Still Mr. Putnam made no remark; but, from his manner, it was plain that he was a good deal affected. At length, he handed the note back to his wife; and, rising up, went from the room without the utterance of a word. Retiring into a chamber, he sat down, and covering his face with his hands, commenced rocking his body backwards and forwards with a quick, restless motion. How was the proud man, humbled to the earth; the strong man, bent and agitated!
That Grace was the angel by whose hands Heaven had sent relief in their great extremity, Mr. Putnam no longer had a doubt. And with this forced conviction, came a feeling ofpainful reluctance to receive anything from one he had so wronged, outraged and insulted.
"Oh that I had some employment!" he at length murmured, lifting his head and looking up with a countenance full of anguish. "Oh that I could find work, were it ever so hard, and ever so humble. To be brought to this extremity! Lord help me!"
Day after day, Mr. Putnam continued to go out and to seek for something to do. But everyone seemed to turn against him. All he met were busy — yet for him there was no work to spare.
"The watchman on our ward was killed last night," said a man to him, who knew something of his extremity; "perhaps you might get the place he has left vacant. The pay is thirty dollars a month. I know the Mayor and Captain of the Night Police very well, and I will speak a good word for you."
This suggestion was made about a week after the last favor received from their unknown friend.
"I will think about it," replied Mr. Putnam, turning away quickly, to conceal the effect made upon him by the proposition.
"You must think in a hurry," said the man. "There will be fifty applicants for the vacant place before night. If you desire it, I will see the Mayor for you in the course of an hour or two."
A city watchman! The knees of the poor old man smote together at the thought.
"Thank you for your kindness! I'll call round again in a little while and talk about the matter with you."
A city watchman! And had it come to that! Could Mr. Putnam, but a little while before one of the merchant princes of the town, find no other means of earning his bread?
Hurriedly did the unhappy man, with a feeling of despair in his heart, turn his steps homeward. As he entered his poor abode, he found, to his surprise, a young lady, whose face had in it some familiar features, sitting alone in the little parlor. She arose as he entered, while a slight flush mantled her face, advanced a step or two, bowed slightly, and seemed embarrassed.
"You do not know me," said the lady, in a sweet, penetrating voice, partly offering her hand as she spoke.
Mr. Putnam took her hand. As he did so, her's was compressed tightly. He shook his head in a doubtful manner.
"We have long been strangers, father! Let us now be friends."
It was Grace! Her voice was now unsteady, her lips quivered, and tears sprung to her eyes — but a loving and tender smile was on her beautiful countenance. To him, her face was as radiant as the face of an angel.
"Let us be friends, father!" she repeated, as she still held his hand in a tightening grasp.
The old man's eyes dropped to the floor. He did not speak; nor did he attempt to withdraw the hand to which Grace was clinging.
"Let us be friends! Let us forget and forgive the past, father! Dear father!" repeated Grace earnestly.
She leaned towards him and looked into his face, with a most tender expression.
"Dear father — "
But, the work was done. The spirit-broken old man had in him no power to resist an appeal like this. Bending down his face, with the purpose of concealing, in part, the emotions that were over-mastering him, he let it rest upon the shoulder of Grace, who, instantly, threw her arm about his neck, laid her own face against his, and sobbed aloud. The frame of the old man quivered to its center.
"God bless you!" he murmured in a broken voice. "I have not deserved this."
"And all is reconciled?" said Grace, looking up in a few moments, her whole countenance beaming with joy.
At that instant the wife and daughter entered the room. They had purposely left it when they saw him approach the house, thinking it best that Grace should meet him alone.
"If you can ever forgive me," trembled from the tongue of Mr. Putnam.
"Dear mother! All is reconciled," said Grace, turning to Mrs. Putnam, and speaking with animation. "How much of happiness is yet in store for us!"
"And now, dear father, mother, and sister!" said Grace, after all had grown calm. "You must come home with us. For years we have been separated; now let us make a single household."
"Oh no! That cannot be!" quickly replied Mr. Putnam.
"Why not?" asked Grace.
"Oh, no! Oh, no!" This was repeated in an earnest voice. "Never will I consent to become a burden on you. Go on, in the way you have begun with so brave a spirit, and sustain those who have a natural right to look up to you in their weakness and extremity. But, no such claims have we."
"Mother," said Grace, turning to Mrs. Putnam, and speaking with the eloquence of true feeling. "The health of your son is completely broken. He needs your tender care almost as much as when he was a child. As for me, the duties of a school take nearly all my time and attention. My husband and children are neglected, and deprived of many comforts. Will you not come, for their sakes, and help me? And will not Clara come also? I need her; I must have her. I seek now to confer no favors, but to ask them — "
Grace paused in her earnest speech. Mrs. Putnam looked first at her husband, and then at the wife of her son. Her own heart was leaping in response to the invitation.
"Yes, you will come! I know you will come!" said Grace. "If not for my sake, for the sake of Ralph."
"Don't talk so child! Don't! You know we can't do what you ask," interposed Mr. Putnam. "It's impossible!"
"Impossible?"
"Yes Grace. Impossible! Shall it be said that I — "
Mr. Putnam checked himself.
"Let other's say what they will," quickly answered Grace. "But let us do what we know to be right. Now, I am sure you can find no wrong in what I propose. Come, then, with us — come over and help us. We need your maturer strength and wiser counsel. Come! If you love your child, come!"
"Dear child! you must not talk in this way," said Mr. Putnam. "We cannot promise to do what you ask."
"But, you will come and see us?"
"Oh yes."
"When?"
"Right soon."
"Today?"
There was a moment's pause.
"Yes, today," replied Mr. Putnam.
"And Clara — may she not go back with me now?"
"If she desires."
The eyes of Grace and Clara met. There was a light of affection in both.
"Come, dear," said Grace. "Get yourself ready right speedily. I have already overstayed my time, and must hurry home again. How glad Ralph will be to see you again!"
Clara was soon prepared to accompany Grace.
"And now," said the latter, as they were about leaving, "I shall expect to see you at three hundred Maple Street, this evening. Clara won't return home until you come for her. We shall look for you early to tea. Don't keep us waiting."
"Heaven bless the dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Putnam, as the door closed upon Grace and Clara.
"Amen!" fell in fervent accents from the tongue of Mr. Putnam.
"She has broken my hard heart all to pieces," said the old man, in an unsteady voice. "I feel weak and humble before her."
"Poor Ralph!" sighed Mrs. Putnam. "Grace says that he is a complete wreck. Oh! how she cried when she told me all about him. How utterly prostrate he was, for a period, in body and mind. We must see him today."
Mr. Putnam did not reply. His pride was holding him back; but his heart was drawing him in the way he should go, with an almost irresistible power; and, in the end, pride was forced to yield.
On that evening a joyful reunion of the long separated families took place, and, in coming together, there was such a spontaneous flowing into each other, that they ever-after remained as one family. As the evening began to wane, Mr. Putnam proposed to his wife and Clara, that they should return home.
"Come upstairs first," said Grace, smiling. "I have something to show you. We will be back in a little while," she added, speaking to her husband. "You and Clara can entertain each other until our return."
Grace then ascended to the third story with Mr. and Mrs. Putnam, and took them into the front chamber, which was handsomely furnished in every particular.
"This is your room," said she with a sweet and winning smile. "See mother, here are your night clothes on the bed. I sent for them. And there, father, is your dressing case. Tomorrow, whatever else you want, can be brought over. The back chamber is for Clara. Now, not one word of opposition! We have got you here, and don't mean to let you go. You are our prisoners. Good night!"
And turning quickly, as she kissed her hand to them, she glided from the room and closed the door behind her.
If the prisoners of Grace meditated an escape, they did not attempt to execute the design. The lovely jailor found them all safe on the next morning.
Back to [[The Debtor's Daughter]