A Reconstructed Marriage

by Amelia E. Barr

"One of them was drunk when she called, and the other had never cleaned a parlor, or made a bed in her life. It was kitchen work she wanted; and she spoke Gaelic better than English. See that a proper girl is hired to-day. It is an outrageous thing, to set me to sorting your servant girls' wrongs. I shall tell McNab to serve my wife and child, until a proper maid is found for them."

But such disputes as this, common as they were on every household subject, did not trouble Theodora, as they did when she had to face a permanence of them. She knew now they would soon be over. They were passing away with every hour. Besides this consideration, a great event in life takes all importance out of small events, and she was so occupied with the total change approaching her, that the trifle of Mrs. Campbell's temper, or injustice did not seem to be much worth minding. Her cheerfulness and good temper was an amazing thing to Mrs. Campbell, who not understanding its reason, set it down to "Dora's aggravating ways."

"She thinks it annoys me," she said to Isabel, "she thinks it annoys me to appear so indifferent to my just anger, but she has to thole it anyway, and I'll wager, she likes it no better for all her smiling and singing to herself."

But Mrs. Campbell's just anger had now lost all its importance to Theodora, for every one was practically ready for the change, though the end of April was the date fixed unless some good or evil event sanctioned an earlier movement.

This event came unexpectedly, and in a different direction from any anticipated. Robert left home one morning about the twenty-second of April very uncomfortably. His mother had been complaining bitterly of David's restlessness at night. She said he must be removed to the upper floor. She was astonished that a boy of his age should want to sleep near his mother. He must sleep beside Dora's maid for the future. She could not have her sleep broken, at her time of life it meant serious illness—and so on.

After breakfast Robert spoke to his wife on the subject, and he was amazed at the spirit she displayed. She said "David was sick last night. I was fighting croup from midnight until dawn, and you know, Robert, how alarmingly subject to this terrible disease he is. How could he be left to a tired girl's care? She would not have heard that first hoarse cry last night, and we might have found him dead this morning—strangled all alone in the darkness. No! he shall not leave me, or if you say he must go to the servants' floor, then I will go too."

With this subject still in abeyance Robert left her. Then Mrs. Campbell sent servants to remove the boy's cot to the maid's room, and Theodora positively refused to allow its removal, sending the men away, and then locking her doors. She was quivering with fear and feeling, when Robert unexpectedly returned home. He said the mail had brought him bad news. He had been informed that Sykes and Company of Sheffield—who were heavily indebted to him—had failed, and he must go to Sheffield at once. He told Theodora to pack his valise for a two weeks' stay, while he went into the city for a certain accountant, whom he proposed to take with him, in order to examine the books of the delinquent firm.

"Pack my valise for a two weeks' stay." The poor wife trembled through all her being. It was the order for her own departure. The packing of his valise would be the last act of the sorrowful drama of her marriage. It was the last time she would ever do him the service. The last time! Every garment had a tragic look. She touched them tenderly. Her unchecked tears dropped upon them. If it was not for David's sake, she doubted whether she could carry out her intentions—but her child, her child! They wanted even now to separate them in their home, in a few weeks they might take him entirely away from her. His old enemy Croup would find him alone in the dark and some dreadful night strangle him. He would be punished for faults he did not even understand, flogged, deprived of food and companionship, tormented by cruel boys older than himself—oh, she could not bear to continue her reflections, for the boy's sake she must leave his father. And then a kind of anger at the father followed in the steps of her grief. If she could have trusted his father to defend him in all cases, it need not have been; but she could see, even in the dispute concerning his sleeping-place, his father was inclined to stand by the cruel wish of the grandmother.

Oh, but the packing of that valise was a hard task! And when it was strapped and locked, it seemed almost to reproach her. She was sitting gazing at it, when Robert entered the room and caught the look of love and despair which filled her eyes, and saddened her face and her attitude. In spite of himself it flattered him. He was astonished at her devotion, but it comforted him. His mother had been angry when she heard of Sykes and Company's failure. She had reminded him of her advice to have nothing to do with them—had told him "Sykes looked shifty and rascally, and her words had come true, and perhaps he would believe her next time she gave him good advice." But Theodora had been full of sympathy, and had given him only kind and encouraging words.

His manner was so unusually gentle, that she ventured to say: "I am afraid to be left here without you, Robert. They will take David from me, or I shall have a fight to keep him. It hurts me so, dear, what am I to do? Will you tell mother to let David's sleeping-place alone until you come back?"