All this is important to set down in order that you may realize the difficulty so many young people have in disentangling themselves from the lives of their elders and starting out for themselves. We have escaped the old tribal instinct in everything more than in this. The son is persuaded to bring his wife into his father’s house, or he does do it for the sake of economy. Nothing can be more disintegrating to the welding and growth of such a marriage.
But the chief reason I have recorded what happened on this day is because it was by this accident of maternal jealousy that Helen came into possession of her house. So far from believing in any sort of orderly destiny, my belief is that the Fates which change and control our lives are as uncertain as the flight of birds. The world about us is filled with contending forces.
Some one whom you never saw or heard of looks at the ticker in his office and sells out that day. The next day that little package of bonds or stock in your safety-deposit box is not worth the embossed paper they are written on. Or, you turn a street corner, meet a man, walk two blocks with him, learn from him something about this same market which he does not know he has told in the course of his conversation, and you get the opportunity to become a rich man in this same market before night. Or, you who have always been a reasonably decent young man meet the eyes of a woman in a crowded place, and you pass on with her to a fate which leads to every dishonor. You had no intention of doing such a thing; it is contrary to your principles and your habits; but you do it. So many are subject to these whirlwinds of fate that you cannot tell by looking at them or even by hearing them pray which ones are steady and safe from disaster. It all depends upon the compass within whether we swing at the right moment into the right current.
Just so, if Mrs. Adams had not resented the bow of Mrs. Cutter’s neck, the offensive emphasis of her little wrinkle of a double chin, when she came to make that call, she might have received her amiably. And if Mrs. Cutter had been received amiably, her maternal jealousy might not have been so aroused and she would not have persuaded Mr. Cutter to give George the Carrol place. In that case the House of Helen might have been some other house, or no house at all. And her life would have been in all probability a different kind of existence. Because the house in which a woman lives, moves and does her duties, determines her character much more than the bank does in which her husband transacts his affairs.
If the reader is another woman, and has spent her spare time for nearly forty years, as I have, in a sort of involuntary study of men, she knows, as well as I do, that there is nothing you can see with the naked eye or put even your gloved finger on that does determine the character of a man. He never breaks his own personal confidence. It is no use to keep either your eye or your finger on him. You will never know him unless he goes to pieces like the one-horse shay, after which it is very unfortunate to know him at all. I am putting this down merely to give you a line on how effervescently Helen came into possession of her house, though it seemed so natural that she should have it, and to warn you that while you think you know what will happen in this story, you do not know, because you do not know George. You do not, even if your own husband is a similar George.
CHAPTER IX
There is an old copy of the Shannon Sentinel, dated October 17, 1902, which contains an account of the Adams-Cutter marriage. It lies folded in the trunk with Helen’s last girlhood hat, and a few other things of that tearful nature. I do not know why women keep these little yellowed and faded tokens of past hopes, unless it is for the same reason they devote themselves cheerfully and industriously to the cultivation of flower gardens on their cemetery lots where their dead lie so deeply buried.
The dim type still tells how the altar in this church was decorated with flowers and ferns, who played the wedding march and who performed the ceremony. The bride was the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the late Sam Adams and Mrs. Mary Adams.