How to Cook Husbands Part 9

"'Why, then,' she exclaimed, and her eyes grew as big as saucers, 'when horses run 'long the streets, are they kicking up cats?'"

All the man said was, "Umph," and the little wife's peal of merry laughter was checked, and the ha ha's grew fainter and spread farther and farther apart, until they died away altogether, and I felt like charging upon that burly, surly demon, and b.u.t.ting him out of the window.

"How would you serve such a man, if you were his wife?" asked Mrs.

Purblind.

"_Roasted!_"

VIII

Mr. Gregory's attentions had become an accepted fact in my life. They were dignified and steadfast, and I received them with a certain calm pleasure. They had not, as yet, reached the point of declaration, but it was clear to me, and to everyone else, who knew anything about the matter, that they were tending thither, and my own thought had reached the point of acceptance. I had the greatest respect for him as a man; we were congenial in our tastes, and personally agreeable to one another.

The position he had to offer me was a most dignified, desirable one, as he was not only a man of sterling integrity, but also a man of wealth; there was, in short, everything in favor of the alliance, and I looked upon it quietly, but with a sense of substantial, and steadfast comfort.

Such an event as a marriage cannot even in prospect, face a thoughtful woman without making a great change in her life. Mr. Gregory was that type of man who ought not to be allowed to offer himself in a direction where there was no intention of acceptance, for his character and age-he was fifty or more-forbade all thought of lightness or trifling, and gave one the a.s.surance that any marked attention he might show, was significant. My acquaintance with him had extended over several years, and during this period there had been abundant opportunity, on both sides, for study of character.

In a quiet way, I had been arranging my affairs, preparatory to my expected change in manner of life. I had, as a matter of course, done considerable thinking during this time. I had experienced none of the rapture always a.s.sociated with a romantic attachment, but I was quietly happy, and this condition was a far more natural one for me, with my cool, matter-of-fact temperament-a far more promising one, in respect to future enjoyment, I felt, than something more ecstatic.

I had seen but little of Mr. Chance for some weeks. He had called several times, but on each of these occasions, we had pa.s.sed a somewhat constrained, and I thought, a rather dull evening. Just why this constraint should have crept into our intercourse when we seemed to be coming to a better understanding than heretofore, and were beginning to enjoy a warmer degree of friends.h.i.+p than we had known, I could not understand; but its presence was undeniable, and it spoiled everything for me, as far as he was concerned, causing me to look upon his calls in the light of a bore, rather than as a pleasure, as I once had done.

Occasionally a memory of that evening when he came to my rescue, as the hungry, cruel waves gathered like wolves about me, would flit across my mind, as a shadow may flit across a sunlit hill. Once in a long while I found myself dwelling upon the look he gave me that night, and this, and the memory of his touch, as he lifted me off the pier, would dim the suns.h.i.+ne of my cheerfulness. I could not have explained this to myself, and I never dwelt upon the thought; whether from disinclination, or from fear, I could not tell. I only knew that I always turned from it abruptly, and pa.s.sed on to my plans affecting my life with Mr. Gregory.

It was quite easy to plan in this direction, for there was nothing uncertain, as there might have been in the case of a younger man. Mr.

Gregory was fixed in his tastes, and way of life; I, too, at my age, had formed settled habits, and this he knew; but, fortunately, in most directions, we were in harmony, and where we were not, we had fallen into a way of making certain concessions.

So I had matters pretty well laid out; all my theories, born of years of close observation of affairs domestic, were now brought to bear on my own future. Secretly I esteemed myself a competent cook, when a husband was the dish under discussion. Mr. Gregory was not one to require any very complicated wisdom in the culinary art. A little gentle stewing; no strong seasoning; no violent changes or methods of any sort; but regularity, evenness; quiet affection; respect; comfort, and general conformance to taste and nature would be necessary, and I felt myself fully equal to it all.

Matters had well-nigh culminated, for I had received a note from Mr.

Gregory asking when I would be at home to him, and saying that he had a matter of great moment to both of us, to lay before me. I set an evening, and then awaited his coming without the slightest quickening of my pulse, but with a serenity and cheerfulness that appealed to my common sense as the surest forecast of happiness.

Just at this juncture, a swift turn of the wind-c.o.c.k, or some imprudence of diet, resulted in my taking cold-a most unusual procedure for me, and at the time of Mr. Gregory's call I was unable to see him, being confined to my bed, in the care of a doctor, who was fighting a case of threatened pneumonia.

Mr. Gregory expressed his sincere regret, and the next day called again, and left flowers. These attentions were repeated daily, and soon after hearing of my improvement, he wrote me a letter in which he said that which he had intended to say on the evening of the day I fell ill. He did not request a reply; in fact, he asked me to withhold my answer until I should be able to see him in person. It would have been wiser, perhaps, he said, to have postponed any word on the subject until I had recovered, but he had found it difficult to delay the expression of his feeling toward me, and hence had written.

This last rather surprised me, for Mr. Gregory had always seemed so unlikely to be swayed by impulse, or carried, in the slightest degree, beyond a point indicated by his judgment. It simply went to prove that the most regularly and smoothly laid-out man, if one may so express it, has unsuspected crooks and turns.

I had no desire to answer the letter, being perfectly able and willing to wait until I should see him. In fact, instead of hastening the time for my acceptance, I rather delayed it, for I reached a point in my convalescence, when I was able to go down to the parlor, had I so wished, and still did not.

Each day of my illness, a lovely bouquet of flowers had been left at my door. They came direct from the greenhouse, and were left without card, or sign of the giver. I had an eccentric little friend who was quite devoted to me, and was fond of keeping her left hand in darkest ignorance of the performances of its counterpart-the right hand-and I attributed this delicate and beautiful token of sympathy and affection to her; but, for some inexplicable reason, every morning when the flowers were brought to my room, and I took them in my hand, a strange feeling came over me-a feeling I had never had toward my little friend.

Over two weeks had pa.s.sed, and I was downstairs in the study. My nurse had gone out, my housekeeper was busy, and I was very lonely. I was standing at the window, looking westward. The sun had gone down in regal splendor. Some fete was in progression in the sky, for the attendants of the G.o.d of day were resplendent in attire. They had been marshalled from all quarters of the heavens, and their stately and solemn procession, brilliant with the most gorgeous red, royal purple, and dazzling gold, had caused my heart to dilate with awe and reverential admiration.

The lake, stirred by the wonderful pageant, caught the many hues as they dropped from heaven, and tossed them on high in joyous, iridescent waves.

The climax of majesty and beauty was reached, and then the convocation broke up-not suddenly, but slowly, and with gracious dignity. The sun sank into the waiting arms of the unknown; the lights of heaven faded, and the clouds slowly melted into dusk.

The scene had stirred me as I am seldom stirred, and with the oncoming of night new thoughts and feelings rose from their lair, as strange and beautiful wild animals step from their caves into the deep mystery of darkness.

My neighbor next door-Mrs. Thrush, sat on her broad, vine-clad gallery, rocking her little child in her arms. By her side sat her husband, with one arm thrown across her lap. He had laid his paper down, for the daylight was fading, and perhaps his thought was too happy to stoop to daily news. Softly the little wife and mother sang; she had a sweet home voice, and no music of orchestra ever moved me as did her lullaby.

I was at that moment an intensely lonely woman. I thought of Mr.

Gregory and my future, and still I was lonely.

Far away to the east there was a low, long bank of clouds like a mountain range, and as the poetry and melody of the lullaby rose from the little nest on my left, and stole into my thought, I saw a faint light above this line; then a group of mist-like clouds that moved toward me. Slowly the gray haze, tinged with soft light, began to resolve itself into shadowy forms, and my heart stood still as, in some vague way, I traced a connection between the lullaby and the vision, and realized that a message was coming to me.

I was perfectly calm, but with the calmness which is the outgrowth of an excitement so tense that it is still. As the vision floated nearer, I heard soft music-a crooning, yearning, soul-satisfying lullaby; I saw a little child, a mother, and a father. The child was as beautiful as an angel, and there was that in its face which made my eyes flood with tears, and my heart ache with yearning; the faces of the parents were too vague for me to recognize at first; then slowly, that of the mother became more distinct, and I saw _myself_ before me-myself, a wife and mother; the visible answer to my heart's deepest, most secret cry. Still the father's face was hidden, but as the vision floated by, he turned and looked at me-the vision wife-with a look I had seen before, and I uttered a cry as I recognized _Randolph Chance_.

IX

As I cried out, I turned slightly and, for a moment, lost the picture.

It was changed when again I saw it; Randolph Chance was still there, but he no longer advanced toward the vision wife-she had faded into mist; he came slowly toward me. There was a beautiful look on his face-I cannot describe it-it was too holy to translate into language; but I could feel it vibrate through my being until it set my very soul a-quivering. I had no power of resistance-no wish to resist. I almost think I went toward him, and he was as real to me as if he were in the flesh. I could feel him as he put his arm around my waist, and his face touched mine. The vision child had melted away; and we two were alone; I knew my heart then; I knew I loved this man.

It was all over in a few moments, but such moments as make an eternity, for they wipe out the past, even as death blots out a life, and they open a door to the future. Up to that time I had never thought that, without my knowledge or intent, my heart could slip from me-had never dreamed that I, whose life had always been most commonplace-I, who had had my share of wooing, but had never felt an extra heart-beat because of it-no, never dreamed that I, this _I_, so practical and sensible, could be carried off my feet by a vision. A vision, was it? Yes, and yet real, too real in some ways, since it revealed my innermost thought. A vision! And yet, even now that it had melted into air, I was clinging to it, and instead of resenting its startling revelation of self, was dwelling upon it, and in it, with a delight beyond words.

I sat there in my study, my head bent, and my hands loosely clasped in my lap, living it over and over again. Out of doors, the soft gray dusk had hushed the tired world in its arms. Within, the stillness of night had settled down upon the room. By and by the moon rose above the great waters of the lake, and on sh.o.r.e the trees were casting silent, solemn shadows, made visible by the soft, hazy light that lay between them.

Once in a while a bird uttered its night cry, or some little brooding note, and over on the vine-clad gallery, Mrs. Thrush still crooned a lullaby to her little child, who lay asleep-soft and warm, on her mother-breast.

I was no longer lonely, no longer shut out from it all-there was the bird on its nest; the little wife and mother in her home; and I-I was very near them-akin to them. I had seen myself in _my_ home, with my child, and my husband; I had felt his dear arms about me, and his dear face close to mine. I was no longer an alien. I, too, had a place in the heart of another.

Still I sat and dreamed, and even the ringing of my door-bell failed to rouse me: but when I heard the maid say to someone:

"She has been downstairs to-night, but I think she has gone up now, and I don't like to call her."

I started forward, saying quickly:

"No, I am here-I will see any one."

And so he came in, but it was not the one I expected. It was Mr.

Gregory.

I think that he found my embarra.s.sment on greeting him both gratifying and encouraging, but its cause was alien to his thought. I was brought back from another world, as it were, with a rude shock, and in my enfeebled condition, consequent upon a severe illness could not control myself. Indeed I did not feel that I was mistress of myself at any time during the evening.

After a word or two, which I cannot recall, I stammered out:

"I was not expecting you this evening-I had not sent for you."

"I know that you have not," he answered-then dropping his voice a trifle, he added, "I could not wait any longer-I found it difficult to wait so long as this. I hardly dared hope that I might see you this evening, but I felt I must try."

Intent upon sparing him the pain of a spoken declaration, I exclaimed:

"Oh, Mr. Gregory, don't! please don't say anything more. I am not deserving of your esteem and kindness."

He came nearer me, and his voice was at once tender and reverent, as he said: