on a pleasant august evening, at that particular portion of the day in which twilight shades into night, fred macdonald left his father’s house and walked toward the opposite portion of the village. from his leisurely, elastic gait, the artistic effect of his necktie, the pose of his hat, the rose-bud in his button-hole, and the graceful carriage of his cane, it was very evident that frederick’s steps did not tend toward the fulfillment of any prosaic business engagement. it was not so dark that he could not recognize, in occasional unlighted windows, certain faces well known, some of them handsome, all of them pleasing; nor was it too dark, just after fred had bestowed a bow and a smile upon the occupant of each of these windows, and passed on, for one to discern, by the expressions upon most of the faces that slowly turned and looked after the young man, that fred need not have gone farther in search of a cordial welcome. but he walked on[60] until he reached the residence of the rev. jonas wedgewell. to any one not a resident of barton the house might have seemed a strange one to be visited by a young man fond of liquor and the company frequently found on western steamboats; and the stranger’s surprise might have increased, at finding that fred had been so frequent a visitor that even the house itself seemed glad to see him, and that the heavy old door seemingly opened of its own accord, before fred’s fingers had time to touch its antique knocker. but had the supposititious observer possessed good eyes, whose actual powers were temporarily increased by the stimulus of curiosity, his bewilderment would have ended a second later; for, as fred stepped inside the hall, there came from behind the door a small hand, and then a dainty ruffle, and then a muslin sleeve, and these all took their direction toward the shoulder of fred’s coat; while there followed a profile which the beholder would have willingly gazed upon longer, had it not almost instantaneously disappeared behind that side of fred’s face which was farthest from the door.
could the observer’s gaze have penetrated the window shades of parson wedgewell’s little parlor,[61] he would have seen a face, not girlish or of regular features, and yet so full of happiness that its effect was that of absolute beauty and the innocence of youth. there were estimable maidens in barton who, scorning the thought that they could be either jealous or envious, had frequently remarked to their intimates that they could not see what men found in esther wedgewell to rave about, and it was well known that the mystery had never been satisfactorily explained to such young ladies as had become the wives of men who had been among miss esther’s admirers. it is even to be doubted whether fred macdonald himself could have verbally elucidated the matter; there have been such cases where long and joyous lifetimes have not sufficed in which to frame such an explanation, and when the person most blessed has had to journey into another world in search of adequate power of expression. ordinarily esther wedgewell was a young lady the pleasantness of whose face did not hide the fact that its owner’s forehead was too high, the nose too short, the mouth too large, and the complexion too pale for perfect beauty. but somehow young men noticed first of all miss esther’s eyes, and these, though neither of heavenly blue, nor violet, nor the[62] brownness of nuts, nor large, nor melting, but only plain gray, were so honest in themselves, and so sympathetic for others, that no one of any character cared to gaze from them to any other of the young woman’s features.
what fred and esther said to each other during the first few minutes after their meeting, was of a nature which never shows to full advantage in print; besides, it was in the nature of things that they should say very little. in spite of the experience accumulated during a hundred or more of just such meetings, it seemed necessary that a few minutes should be consumed by fred in assuring himself that it was really esther who sat in the rocking-chair in front of him; and the same time was used by the lady in determining that the handsome, intelligent face in front of her was that of the only lover she had ever accepted. gradually, however, the sentences spoken by the couple became longer and more frequent; their subjects were ordinary enough; being the mutual acquaintances they had met during the day; the additions which had been made to the embroidery on the pair of slippers which esther, after the manner of most other betrothed maidens in america, had begun to make for[63] her lover; the quality of the singing in church on the preceding sunday; the latest news from captain hall’s expedition to the north pole; the character of shakespeare’s portia; and yet one would have supposed, from the countenances of both of these young people, that in each of these topics there was some underlying motive of the most delightful import; while their remarks seemed to indicate that there was but one side to either of the subjects discussed, and that both fred and esther saw it with the extreme clearness of earthly comprehension.
then, in a lull in the conversation, fred asked, with a courtesy and minuteness inherited from aristocratic parents, about mr. and mrs. wedgewell, and elicited the information that esther’s father was composing a second sermon on intemperance.
“your father undoubtedly is himself the best judge of the needs of his congregation,” said fred, dropping his eyes a little and playing with a bit of paper; “but i can’t help feeling that he is wasting his fine talents in preaching on intemperance. if his sermons could be heard and applied by the proper persons, they might do a great deal of good; but[64] what drunkard goes to church? only moderate drinkers and people who don’t drink at all ever hear your father’s sermons, and none of them have any need for such instructions.”
esther brushed an imaginary thread or mote from her dress, and said, with some embarrassment,
“father believes that the moderate drinkers are those who most need to be warned.”
“why, ettie!” exclaimed fred, “how can he believe that? he must know that i occasionally—that is, he knows that i am not one of the sons of temperance; yet he gave me you”—here conversation ceased a moment as fred stepped toward esther, conveying unto that lady an affectionate testimonial whose exact nature will be understood—“and he certainly would not have done so had he supposed i was in any danger of being injured by liquor.”
esther did not wait even until she had finished rearranging a disordered tress or two to reply.
“he said ‘yes,’ only after i told him of your promise to me that you would not drink any more after we were married. he said you were the best born and best bred young man he had ever met—as if i didn’t already know it, you dear boy—but that he[65] would rather bury me than let me marry a drinking man.”
during the delivery of this short speech fred looked by turns astonished, sober, flattered, sullen, indignant, and finally business-like and judicial. then he said:
“darling, you must let me believe that your father is not fully posted about men who take an occasional glass. it’s no fault of his; he probably never tasted a drop of liquor in his life—he may never have felt the need of it. but believe me when i tell you that many of the smartest men drink sometimes, and are greatly helped by it. a business man whose daily life can’t help being often irregular, sometimes finds he can’t get along without something to help him through the day. why, a few days ago i helped sam crayme, captain of the “excellence,” you know, at a difficult bit of business; i worked thirty-six hours on a stretch, and made fifty dollars by it. that’s more money than any of your young temperance men of barton ever make in a month, but i never could have done it if it hadn’t been for an occasional drink.”
“but,” said esther, “you know i don’t say it by way of complaint, fred dear, but for a week after[66] that you felt dull and didn’t say much, and didn’t care to read, and one evening when i expected you you didn’t come.”
“but think how tired a man must be after such a job, ettie,” pleaded fred in an injured tone.
“you poor old fellow, i know it,” said esther; “but you wouldn’t have been so if you hadn’t done the work, and you yourself say you couldn’t have done the work if you hadn’t drunk the liquor, and you know you didn’t need the money so badly as to have had to do so much. any merchant in the town would be glad to give you employment at which you would be your own natural self.”
“and i would always be a poor man if i worked for our plodding, small-paying merchants,” said fred. “why, ettie, who own the handsomest houses in town, who have the best horses, who set the best tables, whose wives and children wear the best clothes? why, moshier and brown and crayme and wainright, every one of them moderate drinkers; i never in my life saw one of them drunk.”
“and i would rather be dead than be the wife of any one of them,” said esther with an energy which startled fred. “mrs. moshier used to be[67] such a happy-looking woman, and now she is so quiet and has such sad eyes. brown seems to spend no end of money on his family; but his children are always put to bed before he comes home, because he is as likely as not to be cross and unkind to them; when they meet him on the street they never shout ‘papa!’ and rush up to him as your little brothers and sisters do to your father; but they look at him first with an anxious look that’s enough to break one’s heart, and as likely as not cross the street to avoid meeting him. mrs. crayme was having such a pleasant time at nellie wainright’s party the other night, when her husband, who she seldom enough has a chance to take into society with her, said such silly things and stared around with such an odd look in his eye that she made some excuse to take him home. and nellie wainright—she was my particular friend before she was married, you know—was here a few days ago, and i was telling her how happy i was, when suddenly she threw both arms around my neck and burst out crying, and told me that she hoped that my husband would never drink after i was married. she insists upon it that her husband is the best man that ever lived, and that if she only mentions anything she[68] would like, she has it at once if money can buy it, and yet she is unhappy. she says there’s always a load on her heart, and though she feels real wicked about it, she can’t get rid of it.”
fred macdonald was unable for some moments to reply to this unexpected speech; he arose from his chair, and walked slowly up and down the room, with his hands behind him, and with the countenance natural to a man who has heard something of which he had previously possessed no idea. esther looked at him, first furtively, then tenderly; then she sprang to his side and leaned upon his shoulder, saying,
“dear fred, i know you could never be that way; but then all these women were sure they knew just the same about their lovers, before they were married.”
“well, ettie,” said fred, passing an arm about the young lady, “i really don’t know what’s to be done about it, if drinking moderately is the cause of all these dreadful things; i’m bound to be somebody; i’m in the set of men that make money; they like me, and i understand them. but they all take something, and you don’t know how they look at a man who refuses to drink with them; all of them[69] think he don’t amount to much, and some of them actually feel insulted. what is a fellow to do?”
“go into some other set, i suppose,” said esther very soberly.
“you don’t know what you’re saying, my dear girl,” said fred. “what else is there for a man to do in a dead-and-alive place like barton? you don’t want to be the wife of a four-hundred-dollar clerk, and live in part of a common little house, do you?”
“yes,” said esther, showing her lover a rapturous face whose attractiveness was not marred by a suspicion of shyness. “i do, if fred macdonald is to be my husband.”
“then if either of us should have a long illness, or if i should lose my position, we would have to depend on your parents and mine,” said fred.
“let us wait, then,” said esther, “until you can have saved something, before we are married.”
“and be like charley merrick and kate armstrong, who’ve been engaged for ten years, and are growing old and doleful about it.”
“i’ll never grow old and doleful while waiting for my lover to succeed,” said esther, in a tone which might have carried conviction with it had fred been entirely in a listening humor. but as fred[70] imagined himself in the position of the many unsuccessful young men in barton, and of the anxious-looking husbands who had once been as spirited as himself, he fell into a frame of mind which was anything but receptive. in his day-dreams marriage had seemed made up of many things beside the perpetual companionship of esther: it had among its very desirable components a handsome, well-furnished house, a carriage of the most approved style, an elegant wardrobe for esther, and one of faultless style for himself, a prominent pew in church, and, not least of all, a sideboard which should be better stocked than that of any of his friends. to banish these from his mind for a moment, and imagine himself living in two or three rooms; cheapening meat at the butcher’s; never driving out but when he could borrow somebody’s horse and antiquated buggy; wearing a suit of clothes for two or three years in succession, while esther should spend hours in making over and over the dresses of her unmarried days; all this made him almost deaf to esther’s loyal words, and nearly oblivious to the fact that the wisest and sweetest girl in barton was resting within his arm. suddenly he aroused himself from[71] his revery, and exclaimed, in a tone which esther did not at first recognize as his own,
“ettie, your ideas are honest and lofty, but you must admit that i know best about matters of business. i can’t deliberately throw away everything i have done, and form entirely different business connections. i’ve always regretted my promise to stop drinking after our marriage; but i’ve trusted that you, with your unusual sense, would see the propriety of absolving me from it.”
esther shrank away from fred, and hid her face in her hands, whispering hoarsely,
“i can’t. i can’t, and i never will.”
she dropped into a chair and burst into tears. fred’s momentary expression of anger softened into sorrow, but his business instinct did not desert him. “ettie,” said he tenderly, “i thought you trusted me.”
“you know i do, fred,” said the weeping girl; “but my lover and the fred who drinks are two different persons, and i can’t trust the latter. don’t think me selfish: be always your natural self, and there’s no poverty or sorrow that i won’t endure to be always with you. do you think i hope to marry you for the sake of living in luxury, or that any[72] pleasures that money will buy will satisfy me any more than they do nellie wainright and mr. moshier’s wife? or do you, professing to love me, ask me to run even the slightest risk of ever being as unhappy as the poor women we have been talking about are with their husbands, who love them dearly? you must keep that promise, or i must love you apart from you—until you marry some one else! even then i could only stop, it seems to me, by stopping to live.”
fred’s face, while esther was speaking, was anything but comely to look upon, but his intended reply was prevented by a violent knock at the door. esther hurriedly dried her eyes, and prepared to vanish, if necessary, while fred regained in haste his ordinary countenance; then, as the servant opened the door, the lovers heard a voice saying,
“is fred macdonald here? he must come down to george doughty’s right away. george is dying!”
fred gave ettie a hasty kiss and a conciliatory caress, after which he left the house at a lively run.
