Hadn't Time for Trouble

by T.S. Arthur

Mrs. Caldwell was so unfortunate as to have a rich husband. Not thatthe possession of a rich husband is to be declared a misfortune,per se, but, considering the temperament of Mrs. Caldwell, thefact was against her happiness, and therefore is to be regarded,taking the ordinary significance, of the term, as unfortunate.Wealth gave Mrs. Caldwell leisure for ease and luxuriousself-indulgence, and she accepted the privileges of her condition.Some minds, when not under the spur, sink naturally into, a state ofinertia, from which, when any touch of the spur reaches them, theyspring up with signs of fretfulness. The wife and mother, no matterwhat her condition, who yields to this inertia, cannot escape thespur. Children and servant, excepting all other causes, will notspare the pricking heel.Mrs. Caldwell was, by nature, a kind-hearted woman, and not lackingin good sense. But for the misfortune of having a rich husband, shemight have spent an active, useful, happy life. It was theopportunity which abundance gave for idleness and ease that marredeverything. Order in a household, and discipline among children, donot come spontaneously. They are the result of wise forecast, andpatient, untiring, never-relaxing effort. A mere conviction of dutyis rarely found to be sufficient incentive; there must be theimpelling force of some strong-handed necessity. In the case of Mrs.Caldwell, this did not exist; and so she failed in the creation ofthat order in her family without which permanent tranquillity isimpossible. In all lives are instructive episodes, and interestingas instructive. Let us take one of them from the life of this lady,whose chief misfortune was in being rich.Mrs. Caldwell's brow was clouded. It was never, for a very longtime, free from, clouds, for it seemed as if all sources of worryand vexation were on the increase; and, to make matters worse,patience was assuredly on the decline. Little things, once scarcelyobserved, now give sharp annoyance, there being rarely anydiscrimination and whether they were of accident, neglect, orwilfulness."Phoebe!" she called, fretfully.The voice of her daughter answered, half-indifferently, from thenext room."Why don't you come when I call you?" Anger now mingled withfretfulness.The face of a girl in her seventeenth year, on which sat no veryamiable expression, was presented at the door."Is that your opera cloak lying across the chair, and partly on thefloor?"Phoebe, without answering, crossed the room, and catching up thegarment with as little carefulness as if it had been an old shawlthrew it across her arm, and was retiring, when her mother said,sharply,--"Just see how you are rumpling that cloak! What do you mean?""I'm not hurting the cloak, mother," answered Phoebe, coolly. Then,with a shade of reproof, she added, "You fret yourself for nothing.""Do you call it nothing to abuse an elegant garment like that?"demanded Mrs. Caldwell. "To throw it upon the floor, and tumble itabout as if it were an old rag?""All of which, mother mine, I have not done." And the girl tossedher head with an air of light indifference."Don't talk to me in that way, Phoebe! I'll not suffer it. You areforgetting yourself." The mother spoke with a sternness of mannerthat caused her daughter to remain silent. As they stood looking ateach other, Mrs. Caldwell said, in a changed voice,--"What is that on your front tooth?""A speck of something, I don't know what; I noticed it onlyyesterday."Mrs. Caldwell. crossed the room hastily, with a disturbed manner,and catching hold of Phoebe's arm, drew her to a window."Let me see!" and she looked narrowly at the tooth, "Decay, as Ilive!" The last sentence was uttered in a tone of alarm. "You mustgo to the dentist immediately. This is dreadful! If your teeth arebeginning to fail now, you'll not have one left in your head by thetime you're twenty-five.""It's only a speck," said Phoebe, evincing little concern."A speck! I And do you know what a speck means?" demanded Mrs.Caldwell, with no chance in the troubled expression of her face."What does it mean?" asked Phoebe."Why, it means that the quality of your teeth is not good. One speckis only the herald of another. Next week a second tooth may showsigns of decay, and a third in the week afterwards. Dear--dear! Thisis too bad! The fact is, you are destroying your health. I've talkedand talked about the way you devour candies and sweetmeats; aboutthe way you sit up at night, and about a hundred otherirregularities. There must be a change in all. This, Phoebe, as I'vetold you dozens and dozens of times."Mrs. Caldwell was growing more and more excited."Mother! mother!" replied Phoebe, "don't fret yourself for nothing.The speck can be removed in an instant.""But the enamel is destroyed! Don't you see that? Decay will go on.""I don't believe that follows at all," answered Phoebe, tossing herhead, indifferently, "And even if I believed in the worst, I'd findmore comfort in laughing than crying." And she ran off to her ownroom.Poor Mrs. Caldwell sat down to brood over this new trouble; and asshe brooded, fancy wrought for her the most unpleasing images.She saw the beauty of Phoebe, a few years later in life, most sadlymarred by broken or discolored teeth. Looking at that, and thatalone, it magnified itself into a calamity, grew to an evil whichovershadowed everything.She was still tormenting herself about the prospect of Phoebe's lossof teeth, when, in passing through her elegantly-furnished parlors,her eyes fell on a pale acid stain, about the size of a shillingpiece, one of the rich figures in the carpet. The color of thisfigure was maroon, and the stain, in consequence, distinct; atleast, it became very distinct to her eye as they dwelt upon it asif held there by a kind of fascination.Indeed, for a while, Mrs. Caldwell could see nothing else but thisspot on the carpet; no, not even though she turned her eyes invarious directions, the retina keeping that image to the exclusionof all others.While yet in the gall of this new bitterness, Mrs. Caldwell heard acarriage stop in front of the house, and, glancing through thewindow, saw that it was on the opposite side of the street. She knewit to be the carriage of a lady whose rank made her favor adesirable thing to all who were emulous of social distinction. To beof her set was a coveted honor. For her friend and neighboropposite, Mrs. Caldwell did not feel the highest regard; and itrather hurt her to see the first call made in that quarter, insteadof upon herself. It was no very agreeable thought, that thislady-queen of fashion, so much courted and regarded, might reallythink most highly of her neighbor opposite. To be second to her,touched the quick of pride, and hurt.Only a card was left. Then the lady reentered her carriage. What?Driving away? Even so. Mrs. Caldwell was not even honored by a call!This was penetrating the quick. What could it mean? Was she to beruled out of this lady's set? The thought was like a wounding arrowto her soul.Unhappy Mrs. Caldwell! Her daughter's careless habits; the warningsign of decay among her pearly teeth; the stain on a beautifulcarpet, and, worse than all as a pain-giver, this slight from amagnate of fashion;--were not these enough to cast a gloom over thestate of a woman who had everything towards happiness that wealthand social station could give, but did not know how to extract fromthem the blessing they had power to bestow? Slowly, and withoppressed feelings, she left the parlors, and went up stairs. Halfan hour later, as she sat alone, engaged in the miserable work ofweaving out of the lightest material a very pall of shadows for hersoul, a servant came to the door, and announced a visitor. It was anintimate friend, whom she could not refuse to see--a lady named Mrs.Bland."How are you, Mrs. Caldwell?" said the visitor, as the two ladiesmet."Miserable," was answered. And not even the ghost of a smile playedover the unhappy face."Are you sick?" asked Mrs. Bland, showing some concern."No, not exactly sick. But, somehow or other, I'm in a worry aboutthings all the while. I can't move a step in any direction withoutcoming against the pricks. It seems as though all things wereconspiring against me."And then Mrs. Caldwell went, with her friend, through the wholeseries of her morning troubles, ending with the sentence,--"Now, don't you think I am beset? Why, Mrs. Bland, I'm in apurgatory.""A purgatory of your own creating, my friend," answered Mrs. Blandwith the plainness of speech warranted by the intimacy of theirfriendship; "and my advice is to come out of it as quickly aspossible.""Come out of it! That is easily said. Will you show me the way?""At some other time perhaps. But this morning I have something elseon hand. I've called for you to go with me on an errand of mercy."There was no Christian response in the face of Mrs. Caldwell. Shewas too deep amid the gloom of her own, wretched state to havesympathy for others."Mary Brady is in trouble," said Mrs. Bland."What has happened?" Mrs. Caldwell was alive with interest in amoment."Her husband fell through a hatchway yesterday, and came near beingkilled.""Mrs. Bland!""The escape was miraculous.""Is he badly injured?""A leg and two ribs broken. Nothing more, I believe. But that is avery serious thing, especially where the man's labor is his family'ssole dependence.""Poor Mary!" said Mrs. Caldwell, in real sympathy. "In what adreadful state she must be! I pity her from the bottom of my heart.""Put on your things, and let us go and see her at once."Now, it is never a pleasant thing for persons like Mrs. Caldwell tolook other people's troubles directly in the face. It is bad enoughto dwell among their own pains and annoyances, and they shrink frommeddling with another's griefs. But, in the present case, Mrs.Caldwell, moved by a sense of duty and a feeling of interest in Mrs.Brady, who had, years before, been a faithful domestic in hermother's house, was, constrained to overcome all reluctance, andjoin her friend in the proposed visit of mercy."Poor Mary! What a state she must be in!"Three or four times did Mrs. Caldwell repeat this sentence, as theywalked towards that part of the town in which Mrs. Brady resided."It makes me sick, at heart to think of it," she added.At last they stood at the door of a small brick house, in a narrowstreet, and knocked. Mrs. Caldwell dreaded to enter, and even shranka little behind her friend when she heard a hand on the lock. It wasMary who opened the door--Mary Brady, with scarcely a sign of changein her countenance, except that it was a trifle paler."O! Come in!" she said, a smile of pleasure brightening over herface. But Mrs. Caldwell could not smile in return. It seemed to heras if it would be a mockery of the trouble which had come down uponthat humble dwelling."How is your husband, Mary?" she asked with a solemn face, as soonas they had entered. "I only heard a little while ago of thisdreadful occurrence.""Thank you, ma'am," replied Mrs. Brady, her countenance hardlyfalling to a serious tone in its expression. "He's quite comfortableto-day; and it's such a relief to see him out of pain. He sufferedconsiderably through the night, but fell asleep just at day dawn,and slept for several hours. He awoke almost entirely free frompain.""There are no internal injuries, I believe," said Mrs. Bland."None, the doctor says. And I'm so thankful. Broken bones are badenough, and it is hard to see as kind and good a husband as I havesuffer,"--Mary's eyes grew wet, "but they will knit and become strongagain. When I think how much worse it might have been, I amcondemned for the slightest murmur that escapes my lips.""What are you going to do, Mary?" asked Mrs. Caldwell. "Your husbandwon't be fit for work in a month, and you have a good many mouths tofill.""A woman's wit and a woman's will can do a great deal," answeredMrs. Brady, cheerfully. "You see"--pointing to a table, on which laya bundle--"that I have already been to the tailor's for work. I'm aquick sewer, and not afraid but what I can earn sufficient to keepthe pot boiling until John is strong enough to go to work again.'Where there's a will, there's a way,' Mrs. Caldwell. I've foundthat true so far, and I reckon it will be true to the end. John willhave a good resting spell, poor man! And, dear knows, he's a rightto have it, for he's worked hard, and with scarcely a holiday, sincewe were married.""Well, well, Mary," said Mrs. Caldwell, in manifest surprise, "youbeat me out! I can't understand it. Here you are, undercircumstances that I should call of a most distressing anddisheartening nature, almost as cheerful as if nothing had happened.I expected to find you overwhelmed with trouble, but, instead, youare almost as tranquil as a June day.""The truth is," replied Mrs. Brady, drawing, almost for shame, aveil of sobriety over her face, "I've had no time to be troubled. IfI'd given up, and set myself down with folded hands, no doubt Ishould have been miserable enough. But that isn't my way, you see.Thinking about what I shall do, and their doing it, keep me so wellemployed, that I don't get opportunity to look on the dark side ofthings. And what would be the use? There's always a bright side aswell as a dark side, and I'm sure it's pleasant to be on the brightside, if we can get there; and always try to manage it, somehow.""Your secret is worth knowing, Mary," said Mrs. Bland."There's no secret about it," answered the poor woman, "unless it bein always keeping busy. As I said just now, I've no time to betroubled, and so trouble, after knocking a few times at my door, andnot gaining admittance, passes on to some other that stands ajar--andthere are a great many such. The fact is, trouble don't like tocrowd in among busy people, for they jostle her about, and nevergive her a quiet resting place, and so she soon departs, and creepsin among the idle ones. I can't give any better explanation, Mrs.Bland.""Nor, may be, could the wisest philosopher that lives," returnedthat lady.The two friends, after promising to furnish Mrs. Brady with anabundance of lighter and more profitable sewing than she hadobtained at a clothier's, and saying and doing whatever else theyfelt to be best under the circumstances, departed. For the distanceof a block they walked in silence. Mrs. Caldwell spoke first."I am rebuked," she said; "rebuked, as well as instructed. Above allplaces in the world, I least expected to receive a lesson there.""Is it not worth remembering?" asked the friend."I wish it were engraved in ineffaceable characters on my heart. Ah,what a miserable self-tormentor I have been! The door of my heartstand always ajar, as Mary said, and trouble comes gliding in thatall times, without so much as a knock to herald his coming. I mustshut and bar the door!""Shut it, and bar it, my friend!" answered Mrs. Bland. "And whentrouble knocks, say to her, that you are too busy with orderly anduseful things--too earnestly at work in discharging dutifulobligations, in the larger sphere, which, by virtue of larger means,is yours to work in--to have any leisure for her poor companionship,and she will not tarry on your threshold. Throw to the winds suchlight causes of unhappiness as were suffered to depress you thismorning, and they will be swept away like thistle down.""Don't speak of them. My cheek burns at the remembrance," said Mrs.Caldwell.They now stood at Mrs. Caldwell's door."You will come in?""No. The morning has passed, and I must return home.""When shall I see you?" Mrs. Caldwell grasped tightly her friends'hand."In a day or two.""Come to-morrow, and help me to learn in this new book that has beenopened. I shall need a wise and a patient teacher. Come, good, true,kind friend!""Give yourself no time for trouble," said Mrs. Bland, with a tender,encouraging smile. "Let true thoughts and useful deeds fill all yourhours. This is the first lesson. Well in the heart, and all the restis easy."And so, Mrs. Caldwell found it. The new life she strove to lead, waseasy just in the degree she lived in the spirit of this lesson, andhard just in the degree of her departure.

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