Did she imagine it, or was he more anxious that his mother should not be annoyed than he was that her appetite should not suffer? Altogether, the young bride was heartily glad when that uncomfortable meal was concluded and she was back in that upper room. She went alone, her husband having excused himself from his father long enough to go with her to the foot of the stairs and explain that father wanted him a moment.
Do you think she fell into a passion of weeping directly the door of her own room shut her in, and wished that she had never left the elegancies of her city home or the sheltering love of her mother? Then you have mistaken her character. She walked to the window a moment and looked out on the stubby, partly frozen meadows that stretched away in the distance, she even brushed a tender tear, born of love for the old home and the dear faces there; but it was chased away by a smile as she bowed to her husband, who looked back to get a glimpse of her; and she knew then, as she had known before, that it was not hard to "forsake all others and cleave to him." Moreover, she remembered that marriage vows had brought her more than a wife's responsibilities. She was by them made a daughter and a sister to those whom she had not known before. They were not idle words to her, these two relationships. She remembered them each one: Father Morgan, with his old, worn face, and his heart among the fields and barns; Mother Morgan, with her cold eyes, and cold hand, and cold voice; Dorothy and John, and the fair, yellow-haired Nellie, whom a special touch of motherliness had left still sleeping that morning; and remembering them each, this young wife turned from the window, and, kneeling, presented them each by name and desire to her "elder Brother."
[CHAPTER V.]
BEDS AND BUTTON-HOLES.
How to fit in with the family life lived at the Morgan farmhouse was one of the puzzles of the new-comer. For the first time, Louise was in doubt how to pass her time, what to do with herself. Not that she had not enough to do. She was a young woman having infinite resources; she could have locked the door on the world downstairs, and, during her husband's absence in field or barn, have lived a happy life in her own world of reading, writing, sewing, planning. But the question was, would that be fulfilling the duties which the marriage covenant laid upon her? How, in that way, could she contribute to the general good of the family into which she had been incorporated, and which she had pledged herself before God to help to sustain? But, on the other hand, how should she set about contributing to the general good? Every avenue seemed closed.
After spending one day in comparative solitude, save the visits that her husband managed to pay, from time to time, to the front room upstairs, she, revolving the problem, lingered in the large kitchen the next morning, and, with pleasant face and kindly voice, said to Dorothy, "Let me help!" and essayed to assist in the work of clearing the family table—with what dire results!
Dorothy, thus addressed, seemed as affrighted as though an angel from heaven had suddenly descended before her and offered to wash the dishes; and she let slip, in her amazement, one end of the large platter, containing the remains of the ham, and a plentiful supply of ham gravy—which perverse stuff trickled and dripped, in zigzag lines, over the clean, coarse linen which covered the table. Dorothy's exclamation of dismay brought her mother quickly from the bedroom; and, then and there, she gave a short, sharp lecture on carelessness.
"What need had you to jump because you were spoken to?" she said, in severe sarcasm, to the blazing-cheeked Dorothy. "I saw you. One would think you had never seen anybody before, nor had a remark made to you. I would try to act a little more as though I had common sense if I were you. This makes the second clean table-cloth in a week! Now, go right away and wash the grease out, and scald yourself with boiling water to finish up the morning."
Then, to Louise: "She doesn't need your help; a girl who couldn't clear off a breakfast table alone, and wash up the dishes, would be a very shiftless sort of creature, in my opinion. Dorothy has done it alone ever since she was twelve years old. She isn't shiftless, if she does act like a dunce before strangers. I'm sure I don't know what has happened to her, to jump and blush in that way when she is spoken to; she never used to do it."
It was discouraging, but Louise, bent on "belonging" to this household, tried again.