The Story of a Country Town

by E. W. Howe

“I am going away to-morrow. When are you coming to see me?”

I had it in my mind to say, “On Tuesday,” but as that would be the next day after his departure, and impossible, I said instead that I would come as soon as I could; certainly not later than that day a week.

“I shall be very busy, and lonely, too, and I hope you will come often. You haven’t been out of my sight more than a day at a time since you were born, and you are the only brother I ever had. I don’t intend to come here much, and as you enjoy visiting at Barker’s we will arrange it in that way. They will perhaps tolerate me here once in a long while, to see if I have cut off any of my fingers in the cog-wheels, but for no other reason. I have been an intruder ever since I can remember, and lonely and homeless.”

I felt that this was true, unjust and cruel as it was, and could say nothing, although Jo spoke of it in a husky voice, as though it would be a relief to cry if it were not unmanly.

“Your mother has been kinder to me than any of them, if I except Agnes, who is the friend of every one, but her health has always been poor, and she has a great deal to do. She often comes into my room at night, if she suspects that I am not well, and asks if she can do anything for me; but I know she is always tired, and I feel more like helping her than allowing her to help me. I shall always remember her gratefully for it, and believe that were she less unhappy herself we would have been a different family.”

The mention of Agnes reminded me that she had presented me with her father’s picture, and taking it from my pocket I gave it to Jo, but he did not care to look at it then, and said he would take it, and give it back at some future time.

“Your father is never unkind to her,” he continued, determined to talk on that subject, “but they are more like strangers than man and wife. They have not occupied the same room for years, therefore she is always striving to reconcile him, knowing that he is discontented and dissatisfied, though I cannot see that she is to blame for it, and as a true woman—and she is one, if ever one lived—this makes her very unhappy. I know less of your father every day, and I fear that something unfortunate will come of his discontent. I hope it will not turn out that religion is a bad thing for him, as Barker predicts. I never mentioned it to you before, but the night you were away your mother came softly into our room, and asked why I had gone to bed so early. I said I was unusually tired, and that I had to get up very early in the morning; nothing more than that. She remained there for two hours, as if anxious to be with me, and there was enough light in the room for me to see that tears were in her eyes, and that she was in great distress.

“‘Since six o’clock,’ she said to me, ‘my husband has not changed his position, or spoken. It is his habit every night. He is always thinking, and always silent and discontented. If I knew what his trouble is, perhaps I could help him, as I am anxious to do, but he will not tell me (though I do not ask him, for I am afraid). He thinks all day at his work, you have told me, and I believe he thinks all night, for I have known him to get up at midnight, and walk the floor until day. He is always considerate of me, and never speaks unkindly, but he has never been my husband except in name, and the fear that I have done something to offend him makes me very wretched, for I have always tried to be all that he desired. There is something dreadfully portentous in this; I do not know what it is, but I am certain that it will finally make us very miserable.

“‘I have never spoken of this before; I never intend to speak of it again, and I only mention it now because I feel that I can live but a few years longer, and I must speak of it to make clear a request I have to make. Ned is out of the house to-night, and farther away from me then ever before since he was born. After you two have gone to sleep here in this room, I always come in to kiss him good-night. And, Jo, I frequently kiss you, too. Since he was a baby in my arms, I have never kissed him except when he was asleep, because his father seemed to dislike such exhibitions of affection. But I come to his bed every night, and kiss him after he has gone to sleep.’

“She cried softly to herself awhile, and remained so quiet that I could hear her tears fall in little plashes to the floor.