Gold and Pinchbeck

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　Just then Mrs. Brooks groaned in the next room and called Rose,who went in to minister to her real needs, or to condole with herfancied ones, whichever course of action appeared to be the moreagreeable at the moment.

　　Mrs. Brooks desired conversation, it seemed, or at least shedesired an audience for a monologue, for she recognized noantiphonal obligations on the part of her listeners. The doctorswere not doing her a speck of good, and she was just squanderingmoney in a miserable boarding-house, when she might be enjoyingpoor health in her own home; and she didn't believe her henswere receiving proper care, and she had forgotten to pull downthe shades in the spare room, and the sun would fade the carpetout all white before she got back, and she didn't believe Dr.Smith's magnetism was any more use than a cat's foot, nor Dr.Robinson's electricity any better than a bumblebee's buzz, andshe had a great mind to go home and try Dr. Lord from BonnieEagle; and there was a letter for Rose on the bureau, which hadcome before supper, but the shiftless, lazy, worthless landladyhad forgotten to send it up till just now.

　　The letter was from Mite Shapley, but Rose could read only halfof it to Mrs. Brooks,--little beside the news that the Watermanbarn, the finest barn in the whole township, had been struck bylightning and burned to the ground. Stephen was away at thetime, having taken Rufus to Portland, where an operation on hiseyes would shortly be performed at the hospital, and one of theneighbors was sleeping at the River Farm and taking care of thecattle; still the house might not have been saved but for one ofAlcestis Crambry's sudden bursts of common sense, which occurrednow quite regularly. He succeeded not only in getting the horsesout of the stalls, but gave the alarm so promptly that the wholeneighborhood was soon on the scene of action. Stephen was theonly man, Mite reminded Rose, who ever had any patience with, ortook any pains to teach, Alcestis, but he never could haveexpected to be rewarded in this practical way. The barn was onlypartly insured; and when she had met Stephen at the station nextday, and condoled with him on his loss, he had said: "Oh, well,Mite, a little more or less doesn't make much difference justnow."

　　"The rest wouldn't interest you, Mrs. Brooks," said Rose,precipitately preparing to leave the room.

　　"Something about Claude, I suppose," ventured that astute lady."I think Mite kind of fancied him. I don't believe he ever gaveher any real encouragement; but he'd make love to a pump, ClaudeMerrill would; and so would his father before him. How my sisterAbby made out to land him we never knew, for they said he'dproposed to every woman in the town of Bingham, not excepting thewooden Indian girl in front of the cigar store, and not one of'em but our Abby ever got a chance to name the day. Abby was asset as the everlastin' hills, and if she'd made up her mind tohave a man he couldn't wriggle away from her nohow in the world.It beats all how girls do run after these slick-haired,sweet-tongued, Miss Nancy kind o' fellers, that ain't but littlegood as beaux an' worth less than nothing as husbands."

　　Rose scarcely noticed what Mrs. Brooks said, she was too anxiousto read the rest of Mite Shapley's letter in the quiet of her ownroom.

　　"Stephen looks thin and pale [so it ran on], but he does notallow anybody to sympathize with him. I think you ought to knowsomething that I haven't told you before for fear of hurting yourfeelings; but if I were in your place I'd like to heareverything, and then you'll know how to act when you come home.Just after you left, Stephen plowed up all the land in front ofyour new house,--every inch of it, all up and down the road,between the fence and the front door-step,--and then he plantedcorn where you were going to have your flower-beds.

　　"He has closed all the blinds and hung a 'To Let' sign on thelarge elm at the gate. Stephen never was spiteful in his life,but this looks a little like spite. Perhaps he only wanted tosave his self-respect and let people know, that everythingbetween you was over forever. Perhaps he thought it would stoptalk once and for all. But you won't mind, you lucky girl,staying nearly three months in Boston! [So Almira purled on inviolet ink, with shaded letters.] How I wish it had come my way,though I'm not good at rubbing rheumatic patients, even when theyare his aunt. Is he as devoted as ever? And when will it be?How do you like the theatre? Mother thinks you won't attend;but, by what he used to say, I am sure church members in Bostonalways go to amusements.

　　"Your loving friend,

　　"Almira Shapley.

　　"P.S. They say Rufus's doctor's bills here, and the operationand hospital expenses in Portland, will mount up to five hundreddollars. Of course Stephen will be dreadfully hampered by theloss of his barn, and maybe he wants to let your house that wasto be, because he really needs money. In that case the dooryardwon't be very attractive to tenants, with corn planted right upto the steps--and no path left! It's two feet tall now, and byAugust (just when you were intending to move in) it will hide thefront windows. Not that you'll care, with a diamond on yourengagement finger!"

　　The letter was more than flesh and blood could stand, and Roseflung herself on her bed to think and regret and repent, and, ifpossible, to sob herself to sleep.

　　She knew now that she had never admired and respected Stephen somuch as at the moment when, under the reproach of his eyes, shehad given him back his ring. When she left Edgewood and partedwith him forever she had really loved him better than when shehad promised to marry him.

　　Claude Merrill, on his native Boston heath, did not appear theromantic, inspiring figure he had once been in her eyes. A weekago she distrusted him; to-night she despised him.

　　What had happened to Rose was the dilation of her vision. Shesaw things under a wider sky and in a clearer light. Above all,her heart was wrung with pity for Stephen--Stephen, with nocomforting woman's hand to help him in his sore trouble; Stephen,bearing his losses alone, his burdens and anxieties alone, hisnursing and daily work alone. Oh, how she felt herself needed!Needed! that was the magic word that unlocked her better nature."Darkness is the time for making roots and establishing plants,whether of the soil or of the soul," and all at once Rose hadbecome a woman: a little one, perhaps, but a whole woman--anda bit of an angel, too, with healing in her wings. When and howhad this metamorphosis come about? Last summer the fragilebrier-rose had hung over the river and looked at its prettyreflection in the placid surface of the water. Its few buds andblossoms were so lovely, it sighed for nothing more. The changesin the plant had been wrought secretly and silently. In somemysterious way, as common to soul as to plant life, the roots hadgathered in more nourishment from the earth, they had stored upstrength and force, and all at once there was a marvelousfructifying of the plant, hardiness of stalk, new shootseverywhere, vigorous leafage, and a shower of blossoms.

　　But everything was awry: Boston was a failure; Claude was aweakling and a flirt; her turquoise ring was lying on theriverbank; Stephen did not love her any longer; her flower-bedswere plowed up and planted in corn; and the cottage that Stephenhad built and she had furnished, that beloved cottage, was tolet.

　　She was in Boston; but what did that amount to, after all? Whatwas the State House to a bleeding heart, or the Old South Churchto a pride wounded like hers?

　　At last she fell asleep, but it was only by stopping her ears tothe noises of the city streets and making herself imagine thesound of the river rippling under her bedroom windows at home.The back yards of Boston faded, and in their place came the banksof the Saco, strewn with pine needles, fragrant with wildflowers. Then there was the bit of sunny beach, where Stephenmoored his boat. She could hear the sound of his paddle. Bostonlovers came a-courting in the horse-cars, but hers had floateddown stream to her just at dusk in a birch-bark canoe, orsometimes, in the moonlight, on a couple of logs rafted together.

　　But it was all over now, and she could see only Stephen's sternface as he flung the despised turquoise ring down the river bank.