The Debtor's Daughter CHAPTER 14.
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When the family met at the breakfast table on the next day, Mr. Putnam looked sober. The fact was, he had not slept much through the night. How could a man like him, suddenly placed in such peculiar circumstances, sleep?
It was an hour after Grace left them, before he could compose his mind sufficiently to retire to bed. At first, he declared that nothing would induce him to remain. But his wife had many arguments and persuasions to offer, the weight of which subdued, at length, his opposition — if it did not overcome his objections.
The quick perceptions of Grace, made her fully comprehend the state of Mr. Putnam's mind. She was by no means certain that the family would remain with her; but, she resolved that all a woman's tact should be used in the effort to compass that end.
After the first greeting, as they all met at the breakfast table, Grace perceived a shadow begin to settle on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Putnam.
"I hope you were comfortable through the night," said the excellent young woman, smiling in her sweet way.
"Oh, very comfortable," replied the mother of Ralph.
"I'm afraid you don't relish that meat, father. It's very badly cooked."
"Don't speak of it," said Mr. Putnam, lifting his eyes suddenly to those of Grace.
"I never was much of a house keeper," added Grace. "And now I get on worse than ever; for nearly all my attention is turned towards the school. Many things are getting to be sadly neglected."
Ralph lifted his eyes to the face of his wife, and looked at her steadily for a moment. There was something like a tone of complaint or despondency in her voice, so new, that it surprised him. He was about to make a remark, when a meaningful glance cautioned him to remain silent.
"But," added the young wife, in a more cheerful tone. "As the day is — so shall the strength be; or, I will say, help be. Ralph has often told me of mother's excellent housekeeping, and in resigning this department into her hands, now; I shall not only get relief myself, but secure the better comfort of the whole family — especially of my husband and children."
Ralph, who felt that Grace was underrating herself in the eyes of his parents, was about controverting her declaration concerning her poor housekeeping, which, she perceiving, checked him by a look that he understood.
The father, who had raised his head, for the purpose of telling Grace that they had no intention of remaining in her house; affected as much by the tone in which the last sentence was uttered, as by the words themselves, bent down again and resumed his meal. Grace understood precisely the effect of what she had said. "And then Clara can help me so much in the school!" she added, "We've talked that all over."
"And what am I to do?" said the elder Mr. Putnam, looking towards Grace with a half amused, half serious air.
"Oh!" she replied with animation. "We'll find something for you to do also, as soon as we get mother and Clara fairly at work."
Mr. Putnam had it on his tongue to say that Grace must not think of what she proposed; but, he checked himself.
After breakfast, the old people retired to the parlors. As soon as they were alone, Mr. Putnam said —
"It's no use for Grace to talk as she does. We can't remain here."
"I think that it is our duty to remain," replied Mrs. Putnam promptly.
"You didn't say that last night."
"No. But I say it now, and say it understandingly. Grace has far too much upon her, and will sink under her burdens — if she is not relieved of some of them."
"God bless her!" Came almost spontaneously from the lips of the old man; for he was touched with a sudden sense of her goodness and self-devotion.
"Ralph is able to do nothing," resumed Mrs. Putnam. "Oh! He is a complete wreck; and, as Grace said to me, yesterday, needs the tenderest care. I cannot leave him, Herman!"
The mother's voice quivered, and its tones thrilled through the heart of Mr. Putnam, awakening echos that had slept for years.
"Stay then," he replied, with visible emotion. "Stay and give all the aid you can. But, I can be of no use. Let me return to our own house."
"No — no. That must not be thought of for a moment."
"But how can I stay, Margaret!"
"What is there to hinder?"
"Good Heavens! How can you ask? Look back, and answer the question for yourself."
"Let us forget the past."
"I cannot. It is before me, waking and sleeping; while its rebuking voice cries into my ears."
Just then, their son came into the room.
"You will remain with us, father," said he, affectionately, "how happy the thought makes me. I have not felt so light of heart for years."
"It would not be right for us to burden Grace. She has weight enough to bear as it is," said Mr. Putnam.
"Your presence will make all lighter for her. No — no. you must not leave us now. She will never hear of such a thing."
Mr. Putnam shook his head.
"Why will you not stay, father?" asked Ralph, with a more serious manner.
"I have not yet given up all my independence," replied Mr. Putnam. "If I had employment, and were thus able to contribute to the support of the family, I might not so strongly object. But, I can never consent to exist upon the unaided efforts of one who should rather be borne up herself — than be compelled to sustain others. I have some pride not yet crushed out by the iron heel of misfortune."
Ralph was silent. He sympathized with his father in the mental struggle through which he was passing.
"Is it only pride that hinders?" said Ralph with a smile, after some moments had passed.
"Everything hinders!" replied Mr. Putnam, speaking earnestly.
"Don't say that, father. We think that nothing really hinders," returned Ralph, in a gentle, almost pleading voice. "And while no real impediments are in the way, a hundred considerations exist in favor of your remaining with us. I am helpless, for the present — and Grace is heavily burdened. Too heavily, I fear, for the strength she has. Mother and Clara will be everything to us."
"Let them remain," said the father. "I am willing; for they can be of some use."
"And let you go away?"
The young man spoke in a voice of sincere surprise.
"Yes."
"Never! Not for a moment will anyone in this house consent to such a thing. No — If one remains, all remain."
Mr. Putnam, without answering, arose and commenced walking the floor with hasty steps.
For a few moments, all were silent. Then Ralph said —
"I will ask one thing."
"What is that?" inquired his father.
"Will you stay with us for two or three days?"
There was no answer for some moments.
"You will not deny us that little pleasure, I am sure," urged Ralph.
"Say yes, Herman — Say yes!" spoke up Mrs. Putnam.
"Let it be so, then," replied the old man, in a half broken voice, as he resumed his seat with the air of one who had been subdued into submission, by the force of a superior power. "We will stay a few days. It can do no harm in any way."
"Harm? It will do good! It will do you good, and it will do us good," said Ralph, with feeling. "Your being here, has done me good already."
"You will stay with us, mother," said Grace, as Mrs. Putnam came into the room, a little while after, where she was making some hurried preparations for school.
"Father has consented for a few days," replied Mrs. Putnam.
"Has he! Oh, I am so glad. If we get you that long, we will keep you altogether."
"Why won't father consent to stay?"
"He has too much independence of feeling, to think for a moment of burdening you."
"Why will he talk so?" said Grace. "It will not burden, but relieve me. You see how it is. Much is neglected while I am absent from my family — the best part of my time in school. Oh! you don't know what a relief it would be for me to have you here. Does he not comprehend this?"
"Oh yes."
"Then why does he object?"
"He is willing that Clara and I shall remain."
"And he go away?"
"Yes."
"Never!" Replied Grace, shaking her head. "Never!"
"No, we will not think of that. We must all remain — or all return to our own home."
"Can we offer no inducement?" asked Grace.
"I know of none."
"Would father not remain under any circumstances?"
"Oh yes."
"What are they?"
"If he had employment by which he could earn a few hundred dollars a year, and thus contribute his part, to the support of the family — he would, no doubt, consent to remain here."
"Well, mother; we will hope for the best. We know not what a day may bring forth."
"Yes dear, we will hope for the best. There is One above who knows what is most for our good. In His hands, we are — and we will trust in Him."
By this time, the hand on the clock pointed to within a few minutes of nine.
"I must leave you, now," said Grace, affectionately kissing her mother as she spoke. "You will find plenty to do until I am released from school at noon. There is one thing" and the voice of Grace fell, and her face became serious, "that I wish you would find out for me, if you can. I am afraid, sometimes, that nurse isn't as kind as she ought to be to Willy. The dear little fellow springs into my arms so eagerly whenever I go into the nursery, and cries so when I leave him, that I am afraid something is wrong. You'll look in upon the children, now and then, won't you?"
"Indeed I will, Grace. And, if there is anything wrong, you may be sure that I'll find it out. Let your mind be perfectly easy about the children. I'll make it my business to see that nothing wrong occurs with Willy."
"I shall feel so relieved!" said Grace, as she turned away, and went quickly from the chamber to resume her duties in school.
Half an hour afterwards, as Mrs. Putnam was passing near the nursery door, with little Grace by her side, she heard Willy, who was about two years old, screaming violently, and at the same time, distinguished the voice of the nurse, who seemed excited.
"Hush, I say! If you don't hush, I'll shake the life out of you!"
Mrs. Putnam opened the door, silently, but quickly. Clinched tightly in the nurses hands, and forced down upon her lap, was the screaming and struggling child.
"Will you hush now!" said the nurse, angrily, not yet observing the presence of Mrs. Putnam.
The child still screamed and struggled.
The hand of the nurse was then uplifted to strike, but, before the blow was given, her arm was caught by Mrs. Putnam.
The nurse was, of course, in great surprise, and, for some moments, did not exactly know whether she should yield to anger or alarm.
"Give me that child," said Mrs. Putnam, in a voice so firm and authoritative, that the nurse did not attempt resistance as the grandmother lifted Willy from her arms. The child's cries ceased instantly, and he nestled down upon the bosom to which he was now clasped tightly.
"Go and tell your aunt Clara, dear, that I want her," said Mrs. Putnam to little Grace.
The little girl ran off for her aunt.
Recovering herself a little, the nurse now made a slight effort towards asserting her own rights against the intrusions of a stranger.
"I'd like to know, ma'am," she began, with some firmness and indignation, "what right you have to interfere in this family?"
"Silence!" retorted Mrs. Putnam, in a voice so authoritative, that the girl seemed, for a moment, frightened.
"I'll leave the house," said she, in a whimpering voice, "if I'm to be interfered with in this way, by anybody."
"The quicker you go, the better," returned Mrs. Putnam, fixing her eyes upon the nurse with a look so stern and indignant, that the other quailed beneath them.
Clara came in at this juncture.
"I have just detected this girl," said Mrs. Putnam, "in conduct towards dear little Willy, so improper, that I cannot trust her with him a moment longer. You will take charge of him until Grace is through with her morning duties, in school."
"Indeed I will mother!" returned Clara, taking the child in her arms, and casting, at the same time, an indignant glance towards the nurse, who now, somewhat humbled, attempted to explain and excuse herself.
"Reserve all that for Mrs. Putnam," said Clara, impatiently. "Unkind to dear little Willy! It is too bad!" And she drew the now happy child tightly to her bosom.
Finding that the odds were altogether against her, the nurse retired, muttering to herself as she left the room.
A little while afterwards, Mrs. Putnam joined her husband, who still remained in the parlor below.
"Just to think of it!" she exclaimed, evincing more excitement than she really felt. "I caught that wretch of a nurse about to strike dear little Willy!"
"You did!" returned Mr. Putnam, in surprise.
"Yes. Grace told me that she was afraid all was not right, and asked me if I would keep my eyes about me. She had her suspicions, that the nurse was not kind to the child."
"The cruel wretch!"
"There is no telling how much the poor child may have suffered," continued Mrs. Putnam.
"I've seen her strike him many a time," said little Grace, who had come into the room with her grandmother.
"You have?"
"Oh yes, ma'am."
"Why didn't you tell your mamma?"
"I told the nurse that if she didn't stop, I would. But, she said she would beat me half to death, if I did."
"And you were afraid to tell!"
"Yes ma'am!"
"Dreadful! Dreadful!"
"It's never good to trust children with servants," said Mr. Putnam.
"Never," replied Mrs. Putnam. "And these sweet ones must be entrusted to their mercies no longer."
"Oh, grandmother! I wish you would stay with us always," exclaimed little Grace, looking up with eyes half full of tears. "The nurse wouldn't be unkind to us then."
"Ask grandpapa if he won't come and live here?" said Mrs. Putnam.
"Won't you, dear grandpapa?" urged the child, leaning her arms upon his knees and looking up with a glance of pleading affection into his face.
"Say yes, grandpapa!"
The suddenness with which this was done, threw Mr. Putnam off his guard. Already affected by the information that the children had been suffering unkind treatment in the necessary absence of their mother — this appeal, made so earnestly and touchingly, affected him still more deeply. He found his own eyes growing dim, and feared to trust his voice in words.
"Won't you say yes, grandpapa? Oh do! Mother will be so glad."
"How do you know that she will be glad, dear?" half whispered Mr. Putnam.
"I heard her tell papa so this morning."
"Did you?"
"Yes, and papa said that he would be glad too. We'll all be glad. Won't you stay grandpapa! We'll all love you so!"
"I'll think about it dear," said Mr. Putnam in a husky voice, wiping his eyes as he spoke.
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