CHAPTER V
Having been led by circumstances into an attitude of obligationtoward the Senator, it was not unnatural that Jennie should becomeimbued with a most generous spirit of appreciation for everything hehad done and now continued to do. The Senator gave her father a letterto a local mill owner, who saw that he received something to do. Itwas not much, to be sure, a mere job as night-watchman, but it helped,and old Gerhardt's gratitude was extravagant. Never was there such agreat, such a good man!
Nor was Mrs. Gerhardt overlooked. Once Brander sent her a dress,and at another time a shawl. All these benefactions were made in aspirit of mingled charity and self-gratification, but to Mrs. Gerhardtthey glowed with but one motive. Senator Brander was good-hearted.
As for Jennie, he drew nearer to her in every possible way, so thatat last she came to see him in a light which would requireconsiderable analysis to make clear. This fresh, young soul, however,had too much innocence and buoyancy to consider for a moment theworld's point of view. Since that one notable and halcyon visit uponwhich he had robbed her her original shyness, and implanted a tenderkiss upon her cheek, they had lived in a different atmosphere. Jenniewas his companion now, and as he more and more unbended, and evenjoyously flung aside the habiliments of his dignity, her perception ofhim grew clearer. They laughed and chatted in a natural way, and hekeenly enjoyed this new entrance into the radiant world of youthfulhappiness.
One thing that disturbed him, however, was the occasional thought,which he could not repress, that he was not doing right. Other peoplemust soon discover that he was not confining himself strictly toconventional relations with this washer-woman's daughter. He suspectedthat the housekeeper was not without knowledge that Jennie almostinvariably lingered from a quarter to three-quarters of an hourwhenever she came for or returned his laundry. He knew that it mightcome to the ears of the hotel clerks, and so, in a general way, getabout town and work serious injury, but the reflection did not causehim to modify his conduct. Sometimes he consoled himself with thethought that he was not doing her any actual harm, and at other timeshe would argue that he could not put this one delightful tendernessout of his life. Did he not wish honestly to do her much good?
He thought of these things occasionally, and decided that he couldnot stop. The self-approval which such a resolution might bring himwas hardly worth the inevitable pain of the abnegation. He had not sovery many more years to live. Why die unsatisfied?
One evening he put his arm around her and strained her to hisbreast. Another time he drew her to his knee, and told her of his lifeat Washington. Always now he had a caress and a kiss for her, but itwas still in a tentative, uncertain way. He did not want to reach forher soul too deeply.
Jennie enjoyed it all innocently. Elements of fancy and noveltyentered into her life. She was an unsophisticated creature, emotional,totally inexperienced in the matter of the affections, and yet matureenough mentally to enjoy the attentions of this great man who had thusbowed from his high position to make friends with her.
One evening she pushed his hair back from his forehead as she stoodby his chair, and, finding nothing else to do, took out his watch. Thegreat man thrilled as he looked at her pretty innocence.
"Would you like to have a watch, too?" he asked.
"Yes, indeed, I would," said Jennie, with a deep breath.
The next day he stopped as he was passing a jewelry store andbought one. It was gold, and had pretty ornamented hands.
"Jennie," he said, when she came the next time, "I want to show yousomething. See what time it is by my watch."
Jennie drew out the watch from his waistcoat pocket and started insurprise.
"This isn't your watch!" she exclaimed, her face full of innocentwonder.
"No," he said, delighted with his little deception. "It'syours."
"Mine!" exclaimed Jennie. "Mine! Oh, isn't it lovely!"
"Do you think so?" he said.
Her delight touched and pleased him immensely. Her face shone withlight and her eyes fairly danced.
"That's yours," he said. "See that you wear it now, and don't loseit."
"You're so good!" she exclaimed.
"No," he said, but he held her at arm's length by the waist, tomake up his mind what his reward should be. Slowly he drew her towardhim until, when very close, she put her arms about his neck, and laidher cheek in gratitude against his own. This was the quintessence ofpleasure for him. He felt as he had been longing to feel foryears.
The progress of his idyl suffered a check when the great senatorialfight came on in the Legislature. Attacked by a combination of rivals,Brander was given the fight of his life. To his amazement hediscovered that a great railroad corporation, which had always beenfriendly, was secretly throwing its strength in behalf of an alreadytoo powerful candidate. Shocked by this defection, he was thrownalternately into the deepest gloom and into paroxysms of wrath. Theseslings of fortune, however lightly he pretended to receive them, neverfailed to lacerate him. It had been long since he had suffered adefeat--too long.
During this period Jennie received her earliest lesson in thevagaries of men. For two weeks she did not even see him, and oneevening, after an extremely comfortless conference with his leader, hemet her with the most chilling formality. When she knocked at his doorhe only troubled to open it a foot, exclaiming almost harshly: "Ican't bother about the clothes to-night. Come tomorrow."
Jennie retreated, shocked and surprised by this reception. She didnot know what to think of it. He was restored on the instant to hisfar-off, mighty throne, and left to rule in peace. Why should he notwithdraw the light of his countenance if it pleased him. Butwhy--
A day or two later he repented mildly, but had no time to readjustmatters. His washing was taken and delivered with considerableformality, and he went on toiling forgetfully, until at last he wasmiserably defeated by two votes. Astounded by this result, he lapsedinto gloomy dejection of soul. What was he to do now?
Into this atmosphere came Jennie, bringing with her the lightnessand comfort of her own hopeful disposition. Nagged to desperation byhis thoughts, Brander first talked to her to amuse himself; but soonhis distress imperceptibly took flight; he found himself actuallysmiling.
"Ah, Jennie," he said, speaking to her as he might have done to achild, "youth is on your side. You possess the most valuable thing inlife."
"Do I?"
"Yes, but you don't realize it. You never will until it is toolate."
"I love that girl," he thought to himself that night. "I wish Icould have her with me always."
But fortune had another fling for him to endure. It got about thehotel that Jennie was, to use the mildest expression, conductingherself strangely. A girl who carries washing must expect criticism ifanything not befitting her station is observed in her apparel. Jenniewas seen wearing the gold watch. Her mother was informed by thehousekeeper of the state of things.
"I thought I'd speak to you about it," she said. "People aretalking. You'd better not let your daughter go to his room for thelaundry."
Mrs. Gerhardt was too astonished and hurt for utterance. Jennie hadtold her nothing, but even now she did not believe there was anythingto tell. The watch had been both approved of and admired by her. Shehad not thought that it was endangering her daughter's reputation.
Going home she worried almost incessantly, and talked with Jennieabout it. The latter did not admit the implication that things hadgone too far. In fact, she did not look at it in that light. She didnot own, it is true, what really had happened while she was visitingthe Senator.
"It's so terrible that people should begin to talk!" said hermother. "Did you really stay so long in the room?"
"I don't know," returned Jennie, compelled by her conscience toadmit at least part of the truth. "Perhaps I did."
"He has never said anything out of the way to you, has he?"
"No," answered her daughter, who did not attach any suspicion ofevil to what had passed between them.
If t
he mother had only gone a little bit further she might havelearned more, but she was only too glad, for her own peace of mind, tohush the matter up. People were slandering a good man, that she knew.Jennie had been the least bit indiscreet. People were always so readyto talk. How could the poor girl, amid such unfortunate circumstances,do otherwise than she did. It made her cry to think of it.
The result of it all was that she decided to get the washingherself.
She came to his door the next Monday after this decision. Brander,who was expecting Jennie, was both surprised and disappointed.
"Why," he said to her, "what has become of Jennie?"
Having hoped that he would not notice, or, at least, not commentupon the change, Mrs. Gerhardt did not know what to say. She looked upat him weakly in her innocent, motherly way, and said, "She couldn'tcome to-night."
"Not ill, is she?" he inquired.
"No."
"I'm glad to hear that," he said resignedly. "How have youbeen?"
Mrs. Gerhardt answered his kindly inquiries and departed. After shehad gone he got to thinking the matter over, and wondered what couldhave happened. It seemed rather odd that he should be wondering overit.
On Saturday, however, when she returned the clothes he felt thatthere must be something wrong.
"What's the matter, Mrs. Gerhardt?" he inquired. "Has anythinghappened to your daughter?"
"No, sir," she returned, too troubled to wish to deceive him.
"Isn't she coming for the laundry any more?"
"I--I--" ventured the mother, stammering in herperturbation; "she--they have been talking about her," she atlast forced herself to say.
"Who has been talking?" he asked gravely.
"The people here in the hotel."
"Who, what people?" he interrupted, a touch of annoyance showing inhis voice.
"The housekeeper."
"The housekeeper, eh!" he exclaimed. "What has she got to say?"
The mother related to him her experience.
"And she told you that, did she?" he remarked in wrath. "Sheventures to trouble herself about my affairs, does she? I wonderpeople can't mind their own business without interfering with mine.Your daughter, Mrs. Gerhardt, is perfectly safe with me. I have nointention of doing her an injury. It's a shame," he added indignantly,"that a girl can't come to my room in this hotel without having hermotive questioned. I'll look into this matter."
"I hope you don't think that I have anything to do with it," saidthe mother apologetically. "I know you like Jennie and wouldn't injureher. You've done so much for her and all of us, Mr. Brander, I feelashamed to keep her away."
"That's all right, Mrs. Gerhardt," he said quietly. "You didperfectly right. I don't blame you in the least. It is the lyingaccusation passed about in this hotel that I object to. We'll seeabout that."
Mrs. Gerhardt stood there, pale with excitement. She was afraid shehad deeply offended this man who had done so much for them. If shecould only say something, she thought, that would clear this matter upand make him feel that she was no tattler. Scandal was distressing toher.
"I thought I was doing everything for the best," she said atlast.
"So you were," he replied. "I like Jennie very much. I have alwaysenjoyed her coming here. It is my intention to do well by her, butperhaps it will be better to keep her away, at least for thepresent."
Again that evening the Senator sat in his easy-chair and broodedover this new development. Jennie was really much more precious to himthan he had thought. Now that he had no hope of seeing her there anymore, he began to realize how much these little visits of hers hadmeant. He thought the matter over very carefully, realized instantlythat there was nothing to be done so far as the hotel gossip wasconcerned, and concluded that he had really placed the girl in a veryunsatisfactory position.
"Perhaps I had better end this little affair," he thought. "Itisn't a wise thing to pursue."
On the strength of this conclusion he went to Washington andfinished his term. Then he returned to Columbus to await the friendlyrecognition from the President which was to send him upon someministry abroad. Jennie had not been forgotten in the least. Thelonger he stayed away the more eager he was to get back. When he wasagain permanently settled in his old quarters he took up his cane onemorning and strolled out in the direction of the cottage. Arrivingthere, he made up his mind to go in, and knocking at the door, he wasgreeted by Mrs. Gerhardt and her daughter with astonished anddiffident smiles. He explained vaguely that he had been away, andmentioned his laundry as if that were the object of his visit. Then,when chance gave him a few moments with Jennie alone, he plunged inboldly.
"How would you like to take a drive with me to-morrow evening?" heasked.
"I'd like it," said Jennie, to whom the proposition was a gloriousnovelty.
He smiled and patted her cheek, foolishly happy to see her again.Every day seemed to add to her beauty. Graced with her clean whiteapron, her shapely head crowned by the glory of her simply plaitedhair, she was a pleasing sight for any man to look upon.
He waited until Mrs. Gerhardt returned, and then, havingaccomplished the purpose of his visit, he arose.
"I'm going to take your daughter out riding to-morrow evening," heexplained. "I want to talk to her about her future."
"Won't that be nice?" said the mother. She saw nothing incongruousin the proposal. They parted with smiles and much handshaking.
"That man has the best heart," commented Mrs. Gerhardt. "Doesn't healways speak so nicely of you? He may help you to an education. Youought to be proud."
"I am," said Jennie frankly.
"I don't know whether we had better tell your father or not,"concluded Mrs. Gerhardt. "He doesn't like for you to be outevenings."
Finally they decided not to tell him. He might not understand.
Jennie was ready when he called. He could see by the weak-flamed,unpretentious parlor-lamp that she was dressed for him, and that theoccasion had called out the best she had. A pale lavender gingham,starched and ironed, until it was a model of laundering, set off herpretty figure to perfection. There were little lace-edged cuffs and arather high collar attached to it. She had no gloves, nor any jewelry,nor yet a jacket good enough to wear, but her hair was done up in sucha dainty way that it set off her well-shaped head better than any hat,and the few ringlets that could escape crowned her as with a halo.When Brander suggested that she should wear a jacket she hesitated amoment; then she went in and borrowed her mother's cape, a plain graywoolen one. Brander realized now that she had no jacket, and sufferedkeenly to think that she had contemplated going without one.
"She would have endured the raw night air," he thought, "and saidnothing of it."
He looked at her and shook his head reflectively. Then theystarted, and he quickly forgot everything but the great fact that shewas at his side. She talked with freedom and with a gentle girlishenthusiasm that he found irresistibly charming.
"Why, Jennie," he said, when she had called upon him to notice howsoft the trees looked, where, outlined dimly against the new risingmoon, they were touched with its yellow light, "you're a great one. Ibelieve you would write poetry if you were schooled a little."
"Do you suppose I could?" she asked innocently.
"Do I suppose, little girl?" he said, taking her hand. "Do Isuppose? Why, I know. You're the dearest little day-dreamer in theworld. Of course you could write poetry. You live it. You are poetry,my dear. Don't you worry about writing any."
This eulogy touched her as nothing else possibly could have done.He was always saying such nice things. No one ever seemed to like orto appreciate her half as much as he did. And how good he was!Everybody said that. Her own father.
They rode still farther, until suddenly remembering, he said: "Iwonder what time it is. Perhaps we had better be turning back. Haveyou your watch?"
Jennie started, for this watch had been the one thing of which shehad hoped he would not speak. Ever since he had returned it had beenon her mind.
&
nbsp; In his absence the family finances had become so strained that shehad been compelled to pawn it. Martha had got to that place in thematter of apparel where she could no longer go to school unlesssomething new were provided for her. And so, after much discussion, itwas decided that the watch must go.
Bass took it, and after much argument with the local pawn broker,he had been able to bring home ten dollars. Mrs. Gerhardt expended themoney upon her children, and heaved a sigh of relief. Martha lookedvery much better. Naturally, Jennie was glad.
Now, however, when the Senator spoke of it, her hour of retributionseemed at hand. She actually trembled, and he noticed herdiscomfiture.
"Why, Jennie," he said gently, "what made you start like that?"
"Nothing," she answered.
"Haven't you your watch?"
She paused, for it seemed impossible to tell a deliberatefalsehood. There was a strained silence; then she said, with a voicethat had too much of a sob in it for him not to suspect the truth,"No, sir." He persisted, and she confessed everything.
"Well," he said, "dearest, don't feel badly about it. There neverwas such another girl. I'll get your watch for you. Hereafter when youneed anything I want you to come to me. Do you hear? I want you topromise me that. If I'm not here, I want you to write me. I'll alwaysbe in touch with you from now on. You will have my address. Just letme know, and I'll help you. Do you understand?"
"Yes," said Jennie.
"You'll promise to do that now, will you?'
"Yes," she replied.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
"Jennie," he said at last, the spring-like quality of the nightmoving him to a burst of feeling, "I've about decided that I can't dowithout you. Do you think you could make up your mind to live with mefrom now on?"
Jennie looked away, not clearly understanding his words as he meantthem.
"I don't know," she said vaguely.
"Well, you think about it," he said pleasantly. "I'm serious. Wouldyou be willing to marry me, and let me put you away in a seminary fora few years?"
"Go away to school?"
"Yes, after you marry me."
"I guess so," she replied. Her mother came into her mind. Maybe shecould help the family.
He looked around at her, and tried to make out the expression onher face. It was not dark. The moon was now above the trees in theeast, and already the vast host of stars were paling before it.
"Don't you care for me at all, Jennie?" he asked.
"Yes!"
"You never come for my laundry any more, though," he returnedpathetically. It touched her to hear him say this.
"I didn't do that," she answered. "I couldn't help it; Motherthought it was best."
"So it was," he assented. "Don't feel badly. I was only joking withyou. You'd be glad to come if you could, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I would," she answered frankly.
He took her hand and pressed it so feelingly that all his kindlywords seemed doubly emphasized to her. Reaching up impulsively, sheput her arms about him. "You're so good to me," she said with theloving tone of a daughter.
"You're my girl, Jennie," he said with deep feeling. "I'd doanything in the world for you."