Gertrude's Marriage

by W. Heimburg

CHAPTER VIII.

A week later the iron-gray horses were bringing the close carriage back from the church-yard at a sharp trot. On the back seat sat Arthur Fredericks with Uncle Henry beside him; opposite was Linden. They wore crape around their hats and a band of crape on the left arm.

The winter had come back once more in full force before taking its final departure. It was snowing, and the great flakes settled down on a little new-made grave within the iron railings of the Baumhagen family burial-place. Jenny's golden-haired darling was dead!

No one in the carriage spoke a word, and when the three gentlemen got out each went his own way after a silent handshake: Uncle Henry to take a glass of cognac, Arthur to his desolate young wife, while Linden went up to Gertrude. He did not find her in the drawing-room; probably she was with her sister. Presently he heard a slight rustling. He strode across the soft carpet and stood in the open door-way of the room with the bay-window.

"Gertrude!" he cried, in dismay, "for Heaven's sake, what is the matter?"

She was kneeling before her little sofa, her head hidden in her arms, her whole frame, convulsed with long, tearless sobs.

"Gertrude!"

He put his arms round her and tried to raise her, when she lifted up her head and stood up.

"Tell me what has happened, Gertrude," he urged; "is it grief for the loss of the little one? I entreat you to be calm--you will make yourself ill."

She had not shed any tears, she only looked deathly pale and her hands, which rested in his, were cold as ice.

"Come," he said, "tell me what it is?"

And he drew her towards him.

She clung to him as she had never done before.

"It will be all right again," she whispered, "now I am with you."

"Were you afraid? Has anything happened to you?" he inquired, tenderly.

She nodded.

"Yes," she said, hastily, "a little while ago I chanced to hear a few words mamma was saying to Aunt Pauline--they came up from Jenny's--I suppose they did not think I was here--I don't know. Mamma was still crying very much about the baby and--then she said Jenny must go away--she must have a change--this apathy was so dangerous. You know she has not spoken a word for three days--and--I must accompany her on a long journey--so I--" She stopped and bit her quivering lips.

"So you might forget me if possible?" he inquired, gravely.

He put his hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. She did not reply, but he read the confirmation of his suspicion in her tearful eyes.

"Are they so anxious to be rid of me? Is their dislike so strong, Gertrude? And you?" He felt how she trembled.

"Oh!" she cried with a passion which made Linden start, "Oh, I--do you know there are moments when something seems to take possession of me with the power of a demon--I am swept away by the force of my wrath--I--I do not know what I say and do--I am ashamed now--I ought to have been calm--they cannot separate us, no--they cannot. Now mamma is lying on the sofa in her room and Sophie has gone for the doctor. Ah, Frank, I have borne it all so patiently all these long years--is it so great a sin that my long suppressed feelings should have burst out at last, that my self-control should have given way for once? I was violent--I have always thought I was so calm--those words that I heard seemed to sweep me away like a storm--I don't know what reproaches I may have spoken against my mother. And to-day, just to-day, when they have carried away the only sunbeam that was in this house for me!"

"We will go to your mother, Gertrude, and beg her to pardon us for loving each other so much--come!"

He had said this to comfort her, and because he felt that something must be done. His own desire would have been to take the young girl by the hand and lead her away out of this house.

She freed herself from him and looked at him in amazement. "Ask pardon? And for that?"

"Gertrude, don't misunderstand me." He felt almost embarrassed before her great wondering eyes.

"I meant that we should show your mother calmly and quietly that we cannot give each other up. Say something to her in excuse for your vehemence. Come, I will go with you."

"No, I cannot!" she cried, "I cannot beg forgiveness when I have been so injured in all that I hold most sacred. I cannot!" she reiterated, going past him to the deep window.

He followed her and took her hand; a strange feeling had come over him. Until now he had only seen in her a calm, reasonable woman. But she misunderstood him.

"No!" she cried, "don't ask me, Frank. I will not do it, I cannot, I never could! Not even when I was a child, though she shut me up for hours in a dark room."

"I was not going to urge you," he said; "only give me your hand, I must know whether this is really you, Gertrude."

She bent down and pressed a kiss on his right hand. "If you were not in the world, Frank, if I had to be here all alone!" she whispered warmly.

"But you have all this trouble on my account," he replied, much moved.

She shook her head.

"Only do not misunderstand me," she continued, "and have patience with my faults. You will promise me that, Frank, will you not?" she urged in an anxious tone. "You see I am so perverse when I feel injured; I get as hard as a stone then and everything good seems to die out of me. I could hate those people who thrust their low ideas on me! Frank, you don't know how I have suffered from this already."

They still stood hand in hand. The snow whirled about before the window in the twilight of the short winter day. It was so still here inside, so warm and cosy.

"Frank!" she whispered.

"My Gertrude!"

"You are not angry with me?"

"No, no. We will bear with each other's faults and we will try to improve when we are all alone by our two selves."

"You have no faults," she said, proudly, in a tone of conviction, drawing closer to him.

He was grave.

"Yes, Gertrude, I am very vehement, I sometimes have terrible fits of passion."

"Those are not the worst men," she said, putting her arm round his neck.

"Are you so sure of that?" he asked, smiling into the lovely face that looked so gentle now in the twilight.

"Yes. My grandmother always said so," she replied.

"The grandmother in the old time?"

"Yes, dearest. Oh, if you had only known her! But I should like to see your mother," she added.

"We will go to see her, darling, as soon as we are married. When will that be?"

"Frank," she said, instead of answering, "don't let us go on a journey at once; let me know first what it is to have a home where love, trust and mutual understanding dwell together. Let me learn first what peace is."

"Yes, my Gertrude. Would to God I could carry you off to the old house to-morrow."

"Gertrude!" called a shrill voice from the next room.

She started.

"Mamma!" she whispered. "Come!" They went together. Mrs. Baumhagen was standing beside her writing-table. Sophie had just brought the lamp, the light of which shone full on the mother's round flushed face, on which rested an unusually decided expression.

"I am glad you are here, Linden," she said to the young man, turning down the leaf of the writing-table and taking her seat before it.

"How much time do you require to put your house in order so that Gertrude could live in it?"

"Not long," he replied. "Some rooms need new carpets, and trifles of that sort--that is all."

"Very well--I shall be satisfied," she replied, coldly. "Then to-morrow you will have the goodness to send your papers in to the clergyman and have the banns published. In three weeks I shall leave for the South with my eldest daughter, and before I go I wish to have this--this affair arranged."

Linden bowed.

"I thank you, madam."

Gertrude stood silent, white to the lips, but she did not look at him. He knew she was suffering tortures for his sake.

"Now I wish to settle some things with my daughter," continued Mrs. Baumhagen, "with regard to her trousseau and the marriage contract."

He turned to go at once, but stopped to kiss his bride's hand and looked at her with imploring eyes. "Be calm," he whispered.

Gertrude laid her hand on her lover's mouth.

"I will have no marriage contract," she said aloud.

"Then your fortune will be common property," was her mother's answer.

"That is what I desire," she replied. "If I can give myself, I will not keep my money from him. That would seem to me beyond measure, foolish."

Mrs. Baumhagen shrugged her shoulders and turned away. The two were standing close together and the bitter words died on her lips.

"Your guardian may talk to you about that," she said. "Will you be so kind, Linden, as to find my brother-in-law? I wish to speak with him."

He kissed Gertrude on the forehead, took his hat and went. Thank Heaven! he should soon be able to shelter her in his own house, this proud young girl who loved him so.

He walked quickly across the square. The fresh air did him good. He felt thoroughly indignant that any one should endeavor to separate them, putting hundreds of miles between them. How easily might a misunderstanding arise, how easily with such a character as hers, whom only the appearance of pettiness would suffice to arouse to scorn, hatred and defiance! How many couples who were deeply attached to each other had been separated in this way before now! He dared not think what would have become of him if it had happened so with them.

"'St!--'St,"--sounded behind him, and as he turned on the slippery sidewalk he saw Uncle Henry coming down the hotel steps. He had evidently been dining, and his jovial countenance displayed an astonishing mixture of sadness and physical comfort.

"I have had my dinner, Linden," he began, putting his arm through the young man's. "I was very much cast down by this affair of this morning. You don't misunderstand me I hope? Eh? I am not one of those who lose their appetites when misfortune comes. I approve of our ancestors who had funeral feasts. I assure you, Linden, that wasn't such a bad idea as we of to-day fancy it. Give all honor to the dead, but the living must have their rights, and to them belong eating and drinking, which keep soul and body together. Ta, ta! A funeral always upsets me. The poor little fellow! I was fond of him all the same, you may be sure. I am sure you have not dined yet. Women never eat under such circumstances, every one knows."

"I was just going to look for you," replied Linden. "My future mother-in-law wishes to see you. We--are going to be married in three weeks."

The little man in the fur coat stopped, and looked at Linden as if he did not believe his ears.

"How? What? She has changed her mind very suddenly--did Gertrude improve the opportunity of her softened mood, or--?"

"Gertrude would never do that--no, Mrs. Baumhagen wishes to travel for some time with her eldest daughter, and--"

"Oh, ta, ta! And Gertrude is not to go?"

"On the contrary--but she would not."

"Aha! Now it dawns upon me, something has happened. Her serene Highness has been trying--now, I understand--travelling, new scenes, new people--out of sight, out of mind. Ha! ha! she is a born diplomatist. Well, I will come, only let us take the longest way; the fresh air does me good. I am glad though, heartily glad--in three weeks it is to be then?"

The gentlemen walked on together in silence through the snow. It was wonderfully quiet in the streets in spite of the traffic of business. Men and carriages seemed to sweep over the white snow. The air was mild, with a slight touch of spring, and Frank Linden thought of his home and of the small room next his own, which would not long remain unoccupied.

"How do you do, my dear fellow!" said a voice beside him, and a little man popped up in front of him, holding his hat high above his bald head--his sharp little face beaming with friendliness. Linden bowed. Uncle Henry carelessly touched the brim of his hat.

"How do you come to know this Wolff?" he asked, looking after the man, who was winding his way sinuously in and out among the crowd. "He is a fellow who would spoil my appetite if I met him before dinner."

"I am or rather was connected with him by business, through my old uncle--he had money from him on a mortgage on Niendorf," explained Linden.

"From that cravat-manufacturer? The old man was not very wise."

Linden did not reply. They had just turned into a quiet side-street.

"Does he still hold the mortgage?" asked Mr. Baumhagen.

"No, my friend's sister has taken it."

"Indeed! Why did you not come to me about it? You could have had some of Gertrude's money--"

Frank Linden made a gesture of refusal.

"Oh--I promised the child; she has authorized me to put a certain capital at your disposal," explained the old gentleman.

"Thanks," replied Linden, shortly; "I will not have money matters mixed up with my courtship."

"And the new house at Niendorf?"

"Gertrude knows that she must not expect a fairy palace. Moreover we can live very comfortably there in the old rooms, though they are low and small. I have a very pretty garden-hall, and as for the view from the windows it would be hard to find another like it if you travel ever so far."

"Oh, the child is happy enough, but how about her serene Highness?" chimed in Mr. Baumhagen.

"I would far rather have her say, 'My child has gone to live in a peasant's house,' than, 'We had to build first,'" remarked Linden, drily.

The old gentleman laughed comfortably to himself.

"Yes, yes, that is just what she would say--and she wants to go on a journey--it is astonishing! My dear old mother sought comfort in occupation when my father died--that was the good old custom--now-a-days people go on a journey. It would be better for Jenny, poor thing, if she were to sorrow deeply here in her home. But no, she must be dragged away so the whistle of the locomotive may drive away her last memory of her little one's voice. Linden!" The old man stopped and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Gertrude is not like that, you may take my word for it. She would not go away from the little grave out there--not now. She has her faults too, but--it is all right with her here," striking his breast. "Heaven grant she may be truly happy with you in the old nest. She has earned it by her sad youth--through her father."

Frank nodded. He knew it all very well, just as the old egotist told it to him.

"Well, now we must go," continued Uncle Henry; "my sister-in-law wants to speak to me about the wedding, I suppose."

"I think it is about the marriage contract," said Frank Linden, "and I want to beg you to urge upon Gertrude to yield to her mother's wishes--I shall like it better."

"Hm!" said the old man, clearing his throat. "I yield, thou yieldest, he yields, she--will not yield! She is a perverse little monkey--pardon. But it is no use mincing matters. She takes it from her father. He was a splendid man of business, but as soon as his feelings were concerned, away with prudence, wisdom, calculation, and what not. Oh, ta, ta! But here we are."

Mrs. Baumhagen received them very quietly, Gertrude was not with her.

"She is in her room," she said to Linden, as he looked round for her. "She expects you."

He found her in the deep window. There was no lamp in the room, and the light from the fire played on the carpet, "Gertrude," he said, "how can I thank you!" And he took her hands, which burned in his like fire.

"For what?" she asked.

"For everything, Gertrude! You were quiet with your mother?" he added, quietly, as she was silent.

"Perfectly so," she replied; "I thought of you. But I am determined not to have a marriage settlement."

"You foolish girl. I might be unfortunate and have bad harvests and things of that sort--then you would suffer too."

She nodded and smiled.

"To be sure, and I would help you with all I possess. And if we have bad harvests and nothing, nothing will succeed, and we have nothing more in the world, then--" she stopped and looked at him with her happy, tear-stained eyes--"then we will starve together, won't we, you and I?"