CHAPTER VIII
The significance of the material and spiritual changes whichsometimes overtake us are not very clear at the time. A sense ofshock, a sense of danger, and then apparently we subside to old ways,but the change has come. Never again, here or elsewhere, will we bethe same. Jennie pondering after the subtle emotional turn which herevening's sympathetic expedition had taken, was lost in a vagueconfusion of emotions. She had no definite realization of what socialand physical changes this new relationship to the Senator mightentail. She was not conscious as yet of that shock which thepossibility of maternity, even under the most favorable conditions,must bring to the average woman. Her present attitude was one ofsurprise, wonder, uncertainty; and at the same time she experienced agenuine feeling of quiet happiness. Brander was a good man; now he wascloser to her than ever. He loved her. Because of this newrelationship a change in her social condition was to inevitablyfollow. Life was to be radically different from now on--wasdifferent at this moment. Brander assured her over and over of hisenduring affection.
"I tell you, Jennie," he repeated, as she was leaving, "I don'twant you to worry. This emotion of mine got the best of me, but I'llmarry you. I've been carried off my feet, but I'll make it up to you.Go home and say nothing at all. Caution your brother, if it isn't toolate. Keep your own counsel, and I will marry you and take you away. Ican't do it right now. I don't want to do it here. But I'm going toWashington, and I'll send for you. And here"--he reached for hispurse and took from it a hundred dollars, practically all he had withhim, "take that. I'll send you more tomorrow. You're my girlnow--remember that. You belong to me."
He embraced her tenderly.
She went out into the night, thinking. No doubt he would do as hesaid. She dwelt, in imagination, upon the possibilities of a new andfascinating existence. Of course he would marry her. Think of it! Shewould go to Washington--that far-off place. And her father andmother--they would not need to work so hard any more. And Bass,and Martha--she fairly glowed as she recounted to herself themany ways in which she could help them all.
A block away she waited for Brander, who accompanied her to her owngate, and waited while she made a cautious reconnaissance. She slippedup the steps and tried the door. It was open. She paused a moment toindicate to her lover that she was safe, and entered. All was silentwithin. She slipped to her own room and heard Veronica breathing. Shewent quietly to where Bass slept with George. He was in bed, stretchedout as if asleep. When she entered he asked, "Is that you,Jennie?"
"Yes."
"Where have you been?"
"Listen," she whispered. "Have you seen papa and mamma?"
"Yes."
"Did they know I had gone out?"
"Ma did. She told me not to ask after you. Where have youbeen?"
"I went to see Senator Brander for you."
"Oh, that was it. They didn't say why they let me out."
"Don't tell any one," she pleaded. "I don't want any one to know.You know how papa feels about him."
"All right," he replied. But he was curious as to what theex-Senator thought, what he had done, and how she had appealed to him.She explained briefly, then she heard her mother come to the door.
"Jennie," she whispered.
Jennie went out.
"Oh, why did you go?" she asked.
"I couldn't help it, ma," she replied. "I thought I must dosomething."
"Why did you stay so long?"
"He wanted to talk to me," she answered evasively.
Her mother looked at her nervously, wanly.
"I have been so afraid, oh, so afraid. Your father went to yourroom, but I said you were asleep. He locked the front door, but Iopened it again. When Bass came in he wanted to call you, but Ipersuaded him to wait until morning."
Again she looked wistfully at her daughter.
"I'm all right, mamma," said Jennie encouragingly. "I'll tell youall about it to-morrow. Go to bed. How does he think Bass gotout?"
"He doesn't know. He thought maybe they just let him go because hecouldn't pay the fine."
Jennie laid her hand lovingly on her mother's shoulder.
"Go to bed," she said.
She was already years older in thought and act. She felt as thoughshe must help her mother now as well as herself.
The days which followed were ones of dreamy uncertainty to Jennie.She went over in her mind these dramatic events time and time and timeand again. It was not such a difficult matter to tell her mother thatthe Senator had talked again of marriage, that he proposed to come andget her after his next trip to Washington, that he had given her ahundred dollars and intended to give her more, but of that othermatter--the one all-important thing, she could not bring herselfto speak. It was too sacred. The balance of the money that he hadpromised her arrived by messenger the following day, four hundreddollars in bills, with the admonition that she should put it in alocal bank. The ex-Senator explained that he was already on his way toWashington, but that he would come back or send for her. "Keep a stoutheart," he wrote. "There are better days in store for you."
Brander was gone, and Jennie's fate was really in the balance. Buther mind still retained all of the heart-innocence, andunsophistication of her youth; a certain gentle wistfulness was theonly outward change in her demeanor. He would surely send for her.There was the mirage of a distant country and wondrous scenes loomingup in her mind. She had a little fortune in the bank, more than shehad ever dreamed of, with which to help her mother. There werenatural, girlish anticipations of good still holding over, which madeher less apprehensive than she could otherwise possibly have been. Allnature, life, possibility was in the balance. It might turn good, orill, but with so inexperienced a soul it would not be entirely eviluntil it was so.
How a mind under such uncertain circumstances could retain socomparatively placid a vein is one of those marvels which find theirexplanation in the inherent trustfulness of the spirit of youth. It isnot often that the minds of men retain the perceptions of theiryounger days. The marvel is not that one should thus retain, but thatany should ever lose them Go the world over, and after you have putaway the wonder and tenderness of youth what is there left? The fewsprigs of green that sometimes invade the barrenness of yourmaterialism, the few glimpses of summer which flash past the eye ofthe wintry soul, the half hours off during the long tedium ofburrowing, these reveal to the hardened earth-seeker the universewhich the youthful mind has with it always. No fear and no favor; theopen fields and the light upon the hills; morning, noon, night; stars,the bird-calls, the water's purl--these are the naturalinheritance of the mind of the child. Men call it poetic, those whoare hardened fanciful. In the days of their youth it was natural, butthe receptiveness of youth has departed, and they cannot see.
How this worked out in her personal actions was to be seen only ina slightly accentuated wistfulness, a touch of which was in everytask. Sometimes she would wonder that no letter came, but at the sametime she would recall the fact that he had specified a few weeks, andhence the six that actually elapsed did not seem so long.
In the meanwhile the distinguished ex-Senator had gonelight-heartedly to his conference with the President, he had joined ina pleasant round of social calls, and he was about to pay a shortcountry visit to some friends in Maryland, when he was seized with aslight attack of fever, which confined him to his room for a few days.He felt a little irritated that he should be laid up just at thistime, but never suspected that there was anything serious in hisindisposition. Then the doctor discovered that he was suffering from avirulent form of typhoid, the ravages of which took away his sensesfor a time and left him very weak. He was thought to be convalescing,however, when just six weeks after he had last parted with Jennie, hewas seized with a sudden attack of heart failure and never regainedconsciousness. Jennie remained blissfully ignorant of his illness anddid not even see the heavy-typed headlines of the announcement of hisdeath until Bass came home that evening.
"Look here, Jennie," he said excitedly, "Brande
r's dead!"
He held up the newspaper, on the first column of Which was printedin heavy block type:
DEATH OF EX-SENATOR BRANDER
Sudden Passing of Ohio's Distinguished Son. Succumbs to Heart Failureat the Arlington, in Washington.
Recent attack of typhoid, from which he was thought to be recovering,proves fatal. Notable phases of a remarkable career.
Jennie looked at it in blank amazement. "Dead?" she exclaimed.
"There it is in the paper," returned Bass, his tone being that ofone who is imparting a very interesting piece of news. "He died at teno'clock this morning."