The Village Gossip CHAPTER 9.
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Unhappy drunkard's wife! How suddenly overclouded was your sky again! How gloomily fell the shadows upon your threshold, where, a little while before, the sunlight played with so bright a promise.
"Be a man, John — be strong," said Mrs. Striker to her husband, as he was about leaving for his day's work on the morning after his trouble with the miller and Mary Green. And the long-suffering wife laid her hand upon his arm, and looked earnestly, yet with hopeful tenderness, in his face.
"I will, Hannah! I will," replied the blacksmith. He spoke with much feeling. "God helping me, I will become a new man."
And with such resolute words, he turned from his wife and walked away, with a light footstep, for his shop.
"Amen! God help you!" This was the heartfelt ejaculation of Mrs. Striker, as she parted from her husband; and, with a warmer glow in her bosom than she had felt for many a day, resumed her household duties. There had been unusual quiet through the house during this morning. Too often it happened that differences and disputes among the children, generally excited by William, the eldest son, kept all in a state of discord until he was fairly off for school.
"What can have come over the boy?" said Mrs. Striker to herself, as she observed him give place to one of the younger children at table, during the morning meal, and yield up a favorite piece to another who expressed a wish to have it. And the question was repeated to herself, wonderingly, again, after her husband left for his work, on seeing him make an effort, and a successful one, too, to reconcile a little brother and sister who had got into a dispute. A short time afterward she said to him —
"Isn't it school-time, William?"
Now, it was the invariable custom of this boy, who had seemed given over to a perverse and disobedient spirit, to oppose his mother's wishes, and seek to disobey her commands in everything. To her expressed desire that he would start for school in the morning, he never failed to reply, that it wasn't time; or, that he didn't want to go to school; and it required, on her part, repeated injunctions, and often threats of punishment, before he could be induced to start. A new surprise and gratification now awaited the mother.
"Yes, mother," promptly answered the boy, leaving his play — he was amusing himself with the younger children — and commencing at once to gather up his books. In a little while he started off, whistling merrily.
"I wonder what has come over the child," murmured Mrs. Striker, as she stood looking after him, affected with a new surprise at seeing him walk briskly along, instead of loitering to throw stones and amuse himself in other ways, as was his almost invariable custom. The boy had said nothing of the interview with the stranger on the previous day, and she had, therefore, no clue to unravel the mystery of this sudden change.
The hours of the morning glided pleasantly away, and so lightly beat the pulses of Mrs. Striker, that, before noontime came, she was actually singing at her work. As the line of shadow on the window-sill marked the hour of twelve, the last dish was placed on the dinner-table, and a better meal for her husband than usual stood hot by the fire, ready to be served at the moment of his entrance.
"See if your father is coming," said she to one of the children. "It's past twelve."
The child ran to the gate and looked down the road.
"Do you see him?" called the mother.
"No, mother," replied the child. "But Bill is coming."
"Coming all alone?" There was a shade of disappointment and anxiety in the voice of Mrs. Striker.
"Yes, mother," was answered.
Now, as, in returning from school, the boy had to pass the blacksmith-shop, and very often came home with his father — though more commonly a little later — the fact of his coming alone caused an uneasy feeling to pervade the bosom of Mrs. Striker. The throbbing of her heart became more and more distinct every moment, as she awaited the arrival of William.
"Where is your father?" she inquired in a tone of anxiety that she strove, though in vain, to conceal.
"I don't know," replied the boy. "I thought he had come home."
"Were you at the shop?"
"Yes, mother."
"Wasn't anyone there?"
"No, mother; and it didn't look as if there had been anybody there for a good while. The fire was all out on the forge."
Mrs. Striker dropped suddenly into a chair. Her strength left her in a moment. The boy looked at her with a sober face for a little while, and then said —
"Shall I go over to Joe Parker's tavern, and see if he is there?"
Mrs. Striker did not reply. How could she say "Yes."
"Say, mother, shall I go? I expect he's there. Maybe he doesn't know it's so late."
The lad lingered for a short time, but, as his mother, who sat almost as immovable as stone, with her eyes fixed on vacancy, did not answer, he started off, determined to find his father, if possible, and bring him home.
Nancy Wimble, who had learned, nearly two hours before, that a writ had been served on the blacksmith at the instance of Mary Green, and who had, in that time, spread the news over the whole village, could not resist, as she passed near Striker's, just to step in a moment, and see how things looked, even if a later dinner for her hungry husband was the consequence. As William passed through the gate, to go after his father, she entered, and, coming into the house, found Mrs. Striker in the position and state we have described.
"How do you do, Mrs. Striker?" said she.
Mrs. Striker lifted her head, and merely remarked in a cold, absent manner —
"Well, Nancy."
The shoemaker's wife stood for a few moments, gazing upon the pale, suffering face of Mrs. Striker, and, as she did so, she felt rebuked for the part she had taken in prompting Mrs. Green to commence a suit against the blacksmith.
"I wouldn't take on so about it, Hannah," said she. "It's my opinion that Mary Green can't recover a cent."
At these words there was an instant change in Mrs. Striker. She startled, while a flash of inquiry lighted her countenance.
"Mary Green! What of her? What has she done?" she asked eagerly.
"Why, I thought you knew all about it. Hasn't your husband told you?"
"Told me what? Oh, Nancy! Speak out plainly at once."
"Why, that Mary Green has commenced a suit against him for assault and battery, as well as for crippling her mare. Constable Barker came over from Elderglen this morning, and served the writ."
"Constable — writ — assault and battery!" echoed Mrs. Striker, in a bewildered manner, while she clasped her hands across her forehead. "Oh dear! What has happened, Nancy? What does it all mean? Where is my poor husband? They haven't carried him off, have they?"
"Oh no, I reckon not," replied Nancy. "He doesn't have to appear at the squire's until next week; so I heard from Mr. Barker, who called to see Samuel after he had served the writ."
This quieted, in a measure, the vague alarm which Nancy's words had created; though it took nothing from the heavy weight that rested on her feelings.
"I thought I'd run in a moment, as I was going by, and see how you were," resumed Nancy, "and just give my opinion of Mary Green. Isn't it awful for a neighbor to do so; particularly as you had given her the use of your horse whenever she wanted to ride? I never had much opinion of her, anyhow. But no good will come to her, take my word for it!"
"Oh dear! There's nothing but trouble!" sighed Mrs. Striker. She spoke rather to herself than for the ears of an auditor. "And to think that it should have happened just now!"
"I wouldn't take on so about it," said Nancy. "I don't believe she can do anything. Her old mare isn't worth twenty dollars, hide and hair and all. So I've heard a dozen people say this morning — and so I say. She's forgotten about her cow breaking into your garden and eating up your whole bed of young cabbages, and doing, Heaven above knows, how much damages. If I was Mr. Striker, I'd bring a suit against her — that I would. Two can play at this game, you know, as well as one."
But if the blacksmith's wife heard all this, she made no answer; and, as it was already past Nancy's dinner-time, the latter, after a few more comforting words, took her departure. Scarcely had she gone before Mrs. Striker left the house, and, going to the garden-gate, looked anxiously along the road in the direction of Joe Parker's tavern — a place to which her husband too frequently resorted. She was not long in suspense, for soon a boy and a man were seen in the distance — the boy leading the man, and evidently making use of considerable effort to guide his steps safely and steadily. Her practiced eyes at once recognized her husband and son.
Shortly they drew near, and, at last, were at the garden-gate, where still stood the wife and mother. Striker, intoxicated as he was, remembered the assurances of a better life which he had given in the morning, and as he staggered through the gate, muttered with eyes averted —
"It's no sort of use for me to try, Hannah. They won't let me do right, if I would."
And so he passed on into the house. Slowly and with unsteady steps, Mrs. Striker followed. The last prop upon which she had leaned, appeared taken from under her. A newly-awakened hope had gone out in utter darkness; and to sudden sickness of mind, came sickness of body. Nature was tried too far. She uttered no word; shed no tear; there came not from her lips either sigh or moan; but, as the boy guided his half-stupefied parent into a chamber, she ascended to a little spare room above, and when, shortly after, he went to seek her, she was lying upon the bed, her face cold and rigid, and white as death!
Stricken with alarm at so terrible a sight for his young eyes, the boy, after recovering from his first bewilderment of mind, ran off for their nearest neighbor, whom he startled by the weeping announcement that his mother was dead. Hurriedly obeying this summons, the neighbor repaired to the dwelling of the blacksmith. She found poor Mrs. Striker still insensible; but soon, by the use of cold water and other appliances, succeeded in recalling her again to conscious life. But the renewed pulsations of her heart sent fever, instead of health, through her veins; while her physical system was so entirely prostrate that, when she made an effort to rise, her head swam dizzily, and she sank back, feeling utterly powerless, upon her pillow. That would have been a hard heart, which was not touched by the moan of anguish that breathed from her colorless lips.
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