The Open Window: Tales of the Months

by Mabel Osgood Wright

“Let it go, Mr. Hale, let it go,” she panted, as he tried to follow and rescue the book, “I’ll be a good deal better off without it; I can remember what the courier tells us, but when I come to pick out the places and match his stories to them, I get a headache over the nose, such as I used to have when pa wanted me to go to high school, and I got as far as algebra, and then balked flat. Go out with you? Certainly, if you won’t be gone too long. Our party starts on at two; not but what I’d much rather stay here in peace until they come back. Why don’t I? Why, I should miss at least a half a dozen baggage labels for my suit case. I’m collecting them for daughter Ida. We couldn’t both leave Mr. Atwood the same season, so I’m making the trip, and Ida’s to have the suit case, and I don’t know but what she’s got the best of the bargain.”

Thus, under cover of harmless prattle that did away with the necessity of other conversation, they pushed off, and when, presently, in a lull, the gondolier took up his song again, gesture and sympathetic play of expression and eyes filled the place of words between Miss Mostyn and John Hale, so that in a single morning, under the spell of peace and subtle, mutual appreciation, a friendship began and was cemented more securely than would have been possible during months of conventional intercourse.

From thenceforward until the end of the vacation year, while their paths could not be made to run absolutely parallel, they were at least continually crossing. Though totally unlike in temperament, each seemed able to develop the best qualities in the other. Miss Mostyn, quick and decisive in all things, lacked the very creative mental faculties that she was able to foster in John Hale, while in his company certain rather sharp edges in the young woman were smoothed away, and she became all that was charming and womanly. So vital was her influence that it began to be reflected almost at once in his work. The random sketches of travel were dropped for serious work, and before his return he was spoken of as a new man, who not only had something to say, something vital to add to the comedy of humanity, but, moreover, did it well.

That the two were virtually engaged was a matter of course, and as there were no financial reasons to make a delay necessary, Hale urged with masculine directness, as her father was with her, that they be married without fuss and feathers prior to their return.

To this Jane Mostyn would not consent, though at first she hesitated. There were reasons why the home-coming would be trying enough to her father; she could not leave him until he had at least in a measure readjusted his life.

Surely, as it proved, there was plenty of time for everything but marrying, for that magic hour of possibility passed out of the youth of Jane Mostyn and Hale at almost the moment that they set foot on their native soil. Before long, reasons for delay began to be entered on Hale’s side of the ledger, springing from a too narrow idea of filial devotion. Within a month of his return, just as he had entered upon his new work, his father died, with only a few hours’ warning.

Judge Hale and his wife had been romantically attached in spite of her almost masculine force of will and unrelenting purpose that had planned every detail of his life, which at the same time was veiled to the world at large by a physical fragility that made her appearance almost ethereal. Now, as a widow, she was doubly resolute, and even more fragile to the eye, and she clung to her only son with a tenacity not to be gainsaid. It was too much to ask of her whose life would doubtless be short, to make her home with him in the university town where she had no associations; so he transferred himself to the home at Westover, going to and fro, and by so doing missing the social side of his association with the college and much impetus that went with it.

Then the years began to fly by, each one laden with its own excuses. Madam Hale (she had always been thus called, “Mrs.” by common consent seeming too lowly a title) loved her son passionately, but she loved him as he was related to and a part of her own projects, not with the sacrificial and rare mother love that considers self merely as a means of increasing the child’s happiness and broadening its scope. Despotism has many forms, and the visible iron hand is the least to be dreaded. Is there any form of tyranny so absolute as that of a delicate woman over the man who loves her, be he husband or son?

Judge Hale, as the final mark of confidence in his wife, had left her in entire control of his property, including the homestead, probably never doubting that she would share it at once with John, but wishing the pleasure of giving to be solely hers. About this she was very deliberate. What need of haste? Her son shared her home, and his own income, though but a moderate salary, was sufficient for his outside needs.

Theoretically, she wished him to marry, and she would have liked a pretty, subservient daughter-in-law and a group of well-bred and creditable grandchildren to swell her train; but actually, she resented the idea of relinquishing an iota of her influence. While as to Jane Mostyn, they had gauged each other to a nicety, and though on friendly terms, each resented the other to a finality.