Hilda's Home: A Story of Woman's Emancipation

by Rosa Graul

Next morning, earlier far than had been Homer’s habit to rise, two strong, young figures appeared at the door asking admittance, and sending the merry tinkle of the bell through the rooms. Wilbur and Osmond, ready for a hunting trip, had come to take Homer with them. The boy was tired from being out so late the evening before, and at first was not at all inclined to join them. It seemed he could not muster enough of will force to face the crisp morning air, while Mrs. Wallace objected with all her strength, being positively sure that her darling would take cold because he was not at all strong. But Wilbur carried his point. A half hour later, warmly clad and well equipped for their day of sport they set out, being soon joined by Dr. Arthurs, Norman and Westcot, they formed quite a party of hunters. As they started away from the Westcot home a pair of dark eyes, watching them from the window of the invalid, grew dim and a pair of lips quivered in helpless longing. But fair woman’s hands took him in tow and made it so pleasant and entertaining that he forgot the manly sports the others were following.

The hunters were out long hours. Up hills and down valleys, through woods and meadows, across rocks and frozen brooks they went. Warming to the excitement of the sport, which sent the blood bounding through his veins Homer forgot he was weak and tired. The reaction set in, however, and when they returned he slept long hours, but when the evening came he was ready and anxious to go to the home of the Westcots.

Next morning another excursion had been planned and again they carried Homer with them. This time they managed to take Elmer also, in spite of the protests of the anxious mother who saw certain death in store for her pampered darlings—tramping about these rough mornings through the snow; and when she saw them return so tired they almost fell asleep on their feet she felt more anxious than ever. Soon, however, a change made itself manifest. They were less fretful and discontented. Their eyes were brighter, a more healthy color tinged their cheeks, while they ate with an apparent appetite.

Paul Arthurs now frequently called at the house. He also prescribed a new course for the younger children. He forbade sweetmeats, spices and condiments. A simple diet of bread, milk and grain foods, fruits and nuts, he told the mother, was far more wholesome than the meats and highly seasoned food they had hitherto been accustomed to.

“Give them a daily bath, then rub them until a warm glow shows itself; then plenty of outdoor exercise. The cold will not hurt them, but rather benefit them. Let them go coasting, skating and snowballing until they are tired out, so tired that they scarce can keep on their feet, and my word for it, Madame, if you follow this course, you will soon have the satisfaction of seeing the glow of health in the faces of your children. They need no medicine. They are suffering from a nervous debility that only exercise in the open air and wholesome simple food will correct. I look to you,” turning to Edith, “to see that these directions are carried out. You understand, I am sure?”

Edith as well as Hilda did understand. The young doctor as well as the girls did not dare to tell Mrs. Wallace the true reason of the delicate state of health of all her children—that the seeds thereof had been sown in the abominable boarding schools she would have considered highly improbable. At however slight intimation of the real cause she would have been liable, in her passion, to turn them all from the house and thus her children would have been robbed of the only chance of regaining their health. So they wisely kept the secret they had penetrated and insisted on a course of treatment that these pampered darlings thought extremely cruel. But soon the effect was apparent, and there was hope that the morbid cravings might be destroyed, and a strong and pure manhood and womanhood be secured to them in the future.

So it was that a new life entered this house, and in a manner scarcely noticeable. A better footing was established between the stepmother and the daughters. There was more peace and quiet. Once in a while the order was reversed and the circle would gather in the Wallace home, but not often. There were many reasons why it should not be the same. The visitors were made welcome, it is true, but the entertainers must at all times be guarded in their speech. They could not be quite themselves; and then Frank never gathered enough strength to bear the fatigue of the drive back and forth in the cold night air. One or the other would remain at home with him, as in spite of his protests his sisters and friends would not consent to leave him alone.

Mr. Wallace had tried hard to induce Wilbur to take up his abode in his house during his stay in the city, but in this the son was obdurate. He had buried and consigned to oblivion much of the past, for the sake of his sisters and also for the sake of those other children who were also his brothers and sisters, and whom he would, as it were, snatch from an early grave, but he could not bring himself to lay his head on the pillow beneath the roof that should have been a loving shelter to his own precious mother; in the home of the man who should have loved and cherished instead of driving her with his criminal neglect to a watery grave. When such thoughts came to him it was all he could do to curb the ill-will that would fill his heart, and only by the force of his strong will did he succeed in banishing a feeling of hatred.

Meanwhile Wilbur became more dear day by day, to the father, whose heart went out to the children of his first marriage as it had never done to the younger ones.

Thus the weeks passed away and Christmas was drawing near when the mail brought a letter from Margaret to her mother. A cry of joy broke from her lips as she read its contents.