The Shoemaker's Daughters CHAPTER 12.
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It was after ten o'clock that night when Mr. Hardamer came home from the meeting he had attended. His wife was sitting up for him, alone — and as he entered, he could not but observe that her face wore an expression which was new, and somewhat strange, yet by no means painful. She looked him in the eyes so steadily, as he sat down beside the table at which she was still sewing, and seemed about to speak, yet unable, from some cause, to bring her thoughts out into words, that he said, to break the silence:
"Has anything happened?"
There was something in the tone of her husband's voice which was more tender and subdued than usual, and, it had the effect still more to soften her feelings. The tears sprang into her eyes, and he perceived that, from emotion, she could not trust herself to speak. A new and sudden interest in the happiness of his wife, arose in his bosom, and turning to her a look of affectionate concern, he said —
"Something weighs upon your mind more than usual. Let me share it with you, whether it is pleasant or painful."
"It is both pleasant and painful, my husband," she replied, while the tears that had been ready to gush forth, rolled over her cheeks, in which both years and care had made many deep lines. She bent her face down upon the table, and sobbed aloud, unable longer to restrain her feelings.
Hardamer did not interrupt her, and in a short time her emotion subsided. Raising her head, she looked him again in the face and said,
"Something has happened tonight that has given me great pleasure. Genevra has changed, suddenly, for the better; and, like her sister Genevieve, seems anxious to do all she can to make things more pleasant and comfortable."
"Indeed!" responded Hardamer, his face brightening up. "Well, I thought it a little strange of her tonight, when she volunteered to get my shirt, and seemed so pleased in handing it to me. But what can be the cause of it?"
"Why, so far as I can understand it," replied Mrs. Hardamer, "both Genevra and Gertrude were so ill-natured as to hide away, and then to destroy — a note of invitation for Genevieve to attend the wedding party at Mrs. Flathers'. But, it so happened, that Genevieve accidentally saw it before it was destroyed, and without saying a word about it, prepared herself to go, this afternoon. Genevra said something to her, when Genevieve convicted her so unexpectedly of the wrong action, and then, I suppose, talked so kindly to her, that Genevra softened down, and then resolved to do better. I would think it an excellent sign, to see her so soon trying to act upon her good resolutions."
"Indeed it is," replied her husband, his mind in a state of pleasing wonder. "Well, after all, I shall begin to think that some good can even come out of trouble. There is no denying that Genevieve has very much changed for the better, since her unhappy marriage — and changed, too, in spite of all the neglect and unkindness she has experienced in her own house. And now, to find Genevra imitating her good example, is wonderful indeed!" Mr. Hardamer's voice slightly trembled.
"There came suddenly into my memory tonight," said Mrs. Hardamer, in reply, "while I sat here, these words, 'Sweet are the uses of adversity.' I never seemed to understand them before. But now I begin to see what they mean. I am sure I feel happier tonight, notwithstanding all our outward reverses — than I ever felt while we were prosperous. I think we have looked too much to the outward things of the world, as desirable — and too little to that state of mind, which, after all, is to constitute our happiness or misery. I mean, to that condition of mind, which makes us contented with the present — and desirous that all around us should feel a like degree of contentment.
Mr. Hardamer listened with pleasure and surprise to the words of his wife. She had never been disposed, through her whole life, to give much attention to other than mere external things, and his surprise was excited at hearing her make a remark that seemed to him so sound, and which involved an idea above what he had thought her capable of conceiving. He knew not, that, so soon as the mind begins to have an affection for goodness — its condition is at once made more healthy, and that it acts with new vigor.
"Your thoughts have been running in the same channel with mine," replied her husband. "I think with you, that there is great room for improvement, and I feel a strong disposition to enter upon a change of desires and aims, at once. Even for the few minutes that we have been talking, I can perceive a new light breaking in upon my mind, and it reveals many things that I was not conscious existed there, and which I at once acknowledge to be wrong."
At that moment, a carriage was heard to drive up to the door, and, in a minute after, Genevieve entered. It was about eleven o'clock when she came in, and she was surprised at finding her father and mother, who usually retired early, up at so late an hour.
"Did you come home in that carriage?" said her father with an encouraging smile.
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Flathers insisted upon sending me home."
"That was very kind in her," remarked Mrs. Hardamer. "And so I suppose Anne is married?" she added, without the tone of her voice indicating the dislike she had so long entertained.
"Yes, mother, she is married," replied Genevieve, pleased at finding her friend alluded to, without the usual sneer.
"I always thought Anne a good girl," said Mr. Hardamer.
"Indeed, father, she is. I cannot tell you how many good lessons and principles she has taught me. Had it not been for her, I know not how I should have borne up under the trials and troubles of the past year!" Genevieve's voice trembled, and she regained the command of her feelings, only by a strong effort.
Mrs. Hardamer, self-convicted of having wronged the friendless girl, and of having, ever since, entertained towards her feelings of unkindness — was a good deal moved by Genevieve's words and manner. After a few moments of silence, she said —
"There is always danger of our passing a wrong judgment upon others; and I have, I believe, been guilty of misjudging Anne Webster. You can say so to her, Genevieve, when you again see her; and if ever I meet her, I will acknowledge it to her myself."
Genevieve looked surprised and delighted at this confession.
"Anne has always spoken kindly of you, mother," she said. "Whenever I see her, she asks about you; and she expresses for you a degree of interest that I could hardly have expected her to entertain."
"She is a good girl, I doubt not," said Mr. Hardamer, "and I know she has obtained a good husband. May God bless them!" he added, with feeling, taking up a light, and retiring to his chamber.
On the next morning, while the family were at the breakfast table, Gertrude said, with a sneer, at the same time glancing at Genevieve —
"I suppose Anne Webster didn't know whether she was on her head or her heels, last night!"
"She was as collected, and as easy in her manners as ever," replied Genevieve, with a smile.
"No doubt!" responded Gertrude, with another sneer, and a toss of the head. "She is just base-minded enough to be free and easy anywhere."
"Gertrude!" said Mr. Hardamer, looking her steadily, and somewhat sternly in the face. "I cannot permit such remarks in my presence. Anne Webster, or rather Mrs. Marshall, is every inch a lady, and has found her true level in society. She was not well-treated here, because there was no one in this house who could appreciate her real worth andcharacter, but Genevieve. Hereafter I shall expect no more such allusions to her, intended only to wound the feelings of your sister."
Surprised at this rebuke, Gertrude glanced at her mother, who, she well knew, had entertained like feelings with herself in regard to Anne. Mrs. Hardamer understood the meaning of this mute appeal, and said —
"Your father is right, Gertrude, and we have all been wrong! Hereafter, let us endeavor to judge more righteous judgment of others."
"You're a — !" but the evil-minded girl checked the word as it was forming on her tongue, and, instantly self-convicted of wrong, she arose hastily from the table and retired to her chamber.
Hardamer and his wife understood too well the thought that was in the mind of their child, and they finished their meal in silence, deeply pained at heart.
About ten o'clock on the same morning, as Mr. Hardamer was busily engaged behind his counter in cutting out work, an elderly man entered, and with an expression of countenance, which he could not but observe to be peculiar — and asked if his name was Hardamer.
"That is my name," he replied, looking into the stranger's face inquiringly.
"And my name is Anderson," said the stranger.
"Anderson!" ejaculated Hardamer, with a sudden startle, while a shade of painful feeling settled upon his countenance.
"You have true cause, sir, to be pained at the mention of that name; for, if I am rightly informed, one who bore it, has trifled with the hopes and happiness of your child, and through her, deeply wounded you," said the stranger, in a voice evidently agitated by emotions, against the influence of which, he was vainly struggling.
"And why do you thus open wounds but half-healed over?" asked Hardamer, with a voice and expression of sternness.
"I would only open — but to heal more surely," said the stranger, affecting to smile, but it was a feeble smile. "I am the father of the unhappy young man who married your daughter!"
"His father!" exclaimed Hardamer, in surprise. "Then, my dear sir, what news do you bring from one, towards whom I cannot be expected to entertain very kind feelings?"
"Good news, I hope, sir," replied old Mr. Anderson. "He is a changed man, and I have good reasons for believing the change to be radical. This change has been in progress for many months, and, from observing it closely, and with all a parent's scrutinizing and doubting anxiety, I feel sure that it is genuine."
The events of a year had broken down the feelings of Hardamer, and robbed him of much of the control over himself that he had once possessed. The suddenness of this news, as well as its character, and the manner, appearance, and evident emotion of the stranger who stood before him in a new and unexpected relation — all combined to affect him powerfully. He covered his face with his hands, and leaned down upon the counter, evidently struggling to keep fast hold of his self-possession. In a few moments he lifted his head, and exhibited a countenance paler than before, and touched with a tenderer expression. He passed round the counter, and coming in front of Mr. Anderson, took his hands in both of his, and while his lip quivered slightly, and his voice trembled, said —
"We are, it seems, companions in a single sorrow — and it has been deep and painful to both of our hearts. Let us be friends."
This was answered by a hard pressure of the hand from Mr. Anderson, for he could not reply.
"And now, sir, be seated, and tell me of your son," continued Hardamer.
After they had retired into a small room at the back of the shop, Mr. Anderson said:
"My boy, after he had so cruelly, and unrighteously deserted your daughter — of whose marriage with him I knew nothing — went to the south, where a dangerous illness put a sudden check upon his career of folly. Recovering, partially, from this, he returned home, broken in spirits, and well near broken in constitution. For years previous to this, I had been grieved at witnessing his entire devotion to self. Gradually, and from the effect of the operation of right thoughts — he began to show a concern for those around him. This, I at once perceived to be the beginning of a new life, if the feeble spark could be made to spread and at last kindle into a flame. And it did spread — slowly, very slowly, but steadily. He spoke not of this change himself — and seemed by no means encouraged by it; indeed, it had the effect to render him very unhappy at times — though, in general, he was cheerful in the presence of everyone.
"Sometimes, I could see that he was weighed down with a more than ordinary concern; and I at last began to fear, that he had, in his days of folly, committed some crime that now caused him to tremble. This concern seemed to increase, as he grew more and more thoughtful about the happiness of all around him. At length, it reached a point in his mind which rendered it impossible to conceal it longer, and he related to me the fact of his marriage with your daughter, and his intention to return to Baltimore for her, and do all in his power to make her future days happier, than he had rendered some of those which are past. He is here with me for that purpose."
For some time Mr. Hardamer was silent. There was a powerful struggle within, of the selfish principle. He was not glad, at this unexpected news; for, at once, the idea of losing the child who, of all his children, evinced a degree of concern and tenderness for him that had become, in his present condition, necessary to his happiness, presented itself, and he could not endure it. But he saw this to be wrong, and struggling against it for a few moments, said —
"What you tell me, ought to fill me with peculiar pleasure. I wish I could say that it did. Misfortunes have narrowed down my sources of happiness, and almost the only one I now have, is this same child, whom you have come to take away from me." The old man's voice again trembled. "She is greatly changed, sir, since her marriage. Affliction of mind haspurified, as well as chastened her; and she is now everything a father's heart could desire. God bless her, and your son too — if he is changed as much as she is!"
And old Mr. Hardamer could restrain his feelings no longer, but bent down his head, and sobbed like a child. Mr. Anderson, too, was moved, and after the pause of a few moments, said —
"Sweet are the uses of adversity."
"Just the words my wife spoke last night," ejaculated Hardamer, raising his head suddenly, his countenance instantly undergoing a change. "Her very words! And now I remember that I have hope still. Another one of my proud, foolish girls is beginning to feel her sister's example. Thank Heaven, I have hope that I shall see my Genevieve happy — and not be robbed of all comfort myself. It is true, but I never could have believed it — 'Sweet are the uses of adversity!'"
Genevieve sat sewing at the window on the same morning on which the interview between her father and Mr. Anderson occurred. Her mother and Genevra were near her, also busy with the needle, and Gertrude sat apart from them all, reading a novel — her mind being in a moody and gloomy condition. It was probably about eleven o'clock when the door opened and the father entered with a stranger. Genevieve arose to her feet and looked them both in the face inquiringly. All the morning she had been thinking, with more than her usual anxious tenderness of feeling, about her absent husband, and the instant her father entered in company with an elderly man, a stranger — her heart intimated, that the visit had some connection or other with the one who occupied her thoughts more and more every day. She was not long kept in suspense.
"This is my Genevieve," said Mr. Hardamer, advancing towards his daughter, and taking hold of her hand. "And a dear, good girl she is! If your son has changed as much as she has changed in a few months — then will they be very happy together. And may Heaven bless them!" he added, fervently, his voice trembling down into an inaudible tone.
Old Mr. Anderson came forward quickly, and grasped the hand of Genevieve.
"God bless you, my child!" he said, kissing her pale cheek. "I have come to restore to you your husband. And, I would gladly hope, that he is worthy to claim your hand." Mr. Anderson could utter no more. The tender emotions awakened by the interview, unmanned him.
The feelings of the aged, are less subject to their control, than the feelings of those in the vigor of middle life. He leaned his head upon the shoulder of his new found child, and wept.
The whole scene, so sudden and so unexpected, startled Mrs. Hardamer, and the two sisters. Gertrude was confounded — Genevra surprised and delighted. Mr. Anderson's appearance at once commanded respect, and his mild, benevolent countenance gave a favorable impression of his character. In a few minutes, a more orderly introduction took place, and such explanations were given, as enabled each one to perceive the new position which affairs had assumed. There was but one heart present which did not warm with a pure delight — and that was the heart of Gertrude. Instead of rejoicing at the happy change about to take place in the truly hard lot of her sister — a feeling of envy and hatredwas aroused. She felt rebuked by the whole scene — and that annoyed and irritated her.
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