One Way of Love

by Ralph Henry Barbour

　　

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You don't believe in coincidences, which is only another way ofsaying that all things work together for good to them that loveGod--or them that don't, for that matter, if they are honestlytrying to do what they think right. Now I do.I had as good a time as most young fellows when I was young. Myfather farmed a bit of land down Malling way, and I walked out withthe prettiest girl in our parts. Jenny was her name, Jenny Teesdale;her people come from the North. Pretty as a pink Jenny was, and neatin her ways, and would make me a good wife, every one said, even myown mother; and when a man's mother owns that about a girl he mayknow he's got hold of a treasure. Now Jenny--her name was Jane, butwe called her Jenny for short--she had a cousin Amelia, who wasapprenticed to the millinery and dress-making in Maidstone; the twohad been brought up together from little things, and they was thatfond of each other it was a pleasure to see them together. I wasfond of Amelia, too, like as a brother might be; and when Jenny andme walked out of a Sunday, as often as not Amelia would come withus, and all went on happy enough for a while. Then I began to noticeJenny didn't seem to care so much about walking out, and one Sundayafternoon she said she had a headache and would rather stay at homeby the fire; for it was early spring, and the days chilly. Ameliaand me took a turn by ourselves, and when we got back to Teesdale'sfarm, there was Jenny, wonderfully brisked up, talking and laughingaway with young Wheeler, whose father keeps the post-office. I wasnot best pleased, I can tell you, but I kept a still tongue in myhead; only, as time went on, I couldn't help seeing Jenny didn'tseem to be at all the same to me, and Amelia seemed sad, too.I was in the hairdressing then, and serving my time, so it was onlyon Sundays or an evening that I could get out. But at last I said tomyself, 'This can't go on; us three that used to be so jolly, we'reas flat as half a pint of four ale; and I'll know the reason why,'says I, 'before I'm twenty-four hours older.' So I went toTeesdale's with that clear fixed in my head.Jenny was not in the house, but Amelia was. The old folks had goneto a Magic Lantern in the schoolroom, and Amelia was alone in thehouse.'I'll have it out with her,' thinks I; so as soon as we had passedthe time of day and asked after each other's relations, I says,'Look here, Amelia, what is it that's making mischief between youand me and Jenny, as used to be so jolly along of each other?'She went red, and she went white and red again.'Don't 'e ask me, Tom--don't 'e now, there's a good fellow.'And, of course, I asked her all the more.Then says she, 'Jenny'll never forgive me if I tell you.''Jenny shan't never know,' says I; and I swore it, too.Then says Amelia, 'I can't abear to tell you, Tom, for I know itwill break your 'eart. ButJenny, she don't care for you no more; it's Joe Wheeler as shefancies now, and she's out with him this very minute, as here westand.'I'll wring her neck for her,' says I. Then when I had taken time tothink a bit, 'I can't believe this, Amelia,' says I, 'not even fromyou. I must ask Jenny.''But that's just what you've swore not to do,' says she. 'She'llnever forgive me if you do, Tom; and what need of asking when forthe trouble of walking the length of the road you can see themtogether? But if I tell you where to find them, you swear you won'tspeak or make a fuss, because she'd know I'd told you?''I swear I won't,' says I.'Well, then,' says Amelia, 'I don't seem to be acting fair to her;but, take it the other way, I can't abear to stand by and see youdeceived, Tom. If you go by the churchyard an hour from now, you'llsee them in the porch; but don't you say a word to them, and neversay I told you. Now, be off, Tom,' says she.It was early summer by this time, and the evenings long. I don'tthink any man need envy me what I felt as I walked about the laneswaiting till it was time to walk up to the church and find out forcertain that I'd been made a fool of.It was dusk when I opened the churchyard gate and walked up thepath.There she was, sure enough, in her Sunday muslin with the violetsprig, and her black silk jacket with the bugles, and her arm wasround Joe Wheeler's neck--confound him!--and his arms were round herwaist, both of them. They didn't see me, and I stood for a minuteand looked at them, and but for what I'd swore to Amelia I believe Ishould have taken Wheeler by the throat and shaken the life out ofhim then and there. But I had swore, and I turned sharp and walkedaway, and I never went up to Teesdale's nor to my father's farm, butI went straight back to Pound's, the man I was bound to, and I wrotea letter to Jenny and one to Amelia, and in Amelia's I only said--'DEAR AMELIA,--Thank you very much; you were quite right.TOM.'And in the other I said--Jenny, I've had pretty well enough of you; you can go to the devilyour own way. So no more at present from your sincere well-wisherTOM.'P.S.--I'm going for a soldier.'And I left everything: my master that I was bound to, and my tradeand my father. And I went straight off to London. And I should havebeen a soldier right enough but that I fell in with a fireman, andhe persuaded me to go in for that business, which is just asexciting as a soldier's, and a great deal more dangerous, mosttimes. And a fireman I was for six or eight years, but I never caredto walk out with another girl when I thought of Jenny. I didn't tellmy folks where I'd gone, and for years I heard nothing from them.And one night there was a fire in a street off the Borough--a highhouse it was,--and I went up the ladder to a window where there wasa woman screaming, and directly I see her face I see it was Jenny.I fetched her down the ladder right enough, and she clung round myneck (she didn't know me from Adam), and said: 'Oh, go back andfetch my husband.' And I knew it was Wheeler I'd got to go and find.Then I went back and I looked for Wheeler.There he was, lying on the bed, drunk.Then the devil says to me, 'What call have you to go and find him,the drunken swine? Leave him be, and you can marry Jenny, and letbygones be bygones'; and I stood there half a minute, quite still,with the smoke getting thick round me. Then, the next thing I knew,there was a cracking under my feet and the boards giving way, and Isprang across to Wheeler all in a minute, as anxious to save him asif he'd been my own twin brother. There was no waking him, it waslift him or leave him, and somehow or other I got him out; but thatminute I'd given to listening to Satan had very nearly chucked usboth to our death, and we only just come off by the skin of ourteeth. The crowd cheered like mad when I dragged him out.I was burned awfully bad, and such good looks as I'd had burnt offme, and I didn't know nothing plainly for many a long day.And when I come to myself I was in a hospital, and there was asweet-faced charity sister sitting looking at me, and, by the Lord,if it wasn't Amelia! And she fell on her knees beside me, and shesays, 'Tom, I must tell you.Ever since I found religion I've known what a wicked girl I was. OTom, to see you lying there, so ill! O Tom, forgive me, or I shallgo mad, I know I shall!'And, with that, she told me straight out, holding nothing back, thatwhat she'd said to me that night eight years ago was a lie, nobetter; and that who I'd seen in the church porch with young Wheelerwas not Jenny at all, but Amelia herself, dressed in Jenny's things.'Oh, forgive me, Tom!' says Amelia, the tears runnin' over her nun'sdress. 'Forgive me, Tom, for I can never forgive myself! I knewJenny didn't rightly care about you, Tom, and I loved you so dear.And Wheeler wanted Jenny, and so I was tempted to play off thattrick on you; I thought you would come round to me after.'I was weak still with my illness, but I put my hand on hers, and Isays, 'I do forgive you, Amelia, for, after all, you done it forlove of me. And are you a nun, my dear?' says I.'No,' says she, 'I'm only on liking as it were; if I don't like themor they don't like me, I can leave any minute.''Then leave, for God's sake,' says I, 'if you've got a bit of lovefor me left. Let bygones be bygones, and marry me as soon as I comeout of this, for it's worth something to be loved as you've lovedme, Amelia, and I was always fond of you.''What?' says she. 'Me marry you, and be happy after all the harmI've done? You run away from your articles and turned fireman, andJenny married to a drunken brute--no, Tom, no! I don't deserve to behappy; but, if you forgive me, I shan't be as miserable as I was.''Well,' says I, 'if ever you think better of it let me know.'And the curious thing is that, within two years, she did thinkbetter of it--for why? That fire had sobered Wheeler more thantwenty thousand temperance tracts, and all the Sons of the Phoenixand Bands of Hope rolled into one. He never touched a drop of drinksince that day, and Jenny's as happy as her kind ever is. I hear shedidn't fret over me more than a month, though perhaps that's onlywhat I deserved, writing to her as I did. And then Amelia shesaid--'No such harm done then after all.' So she married me.Now, you see, if I'd listened to Satan and hadn't pulled Wheelerout, I shouldn't have got burned, and I shouldn't have got into thehospital, and I shouldn't have found Amelia again, and then whereshould I have been? Whereas now, we're farming the same bit of landthat my father farmed before us. And if this was a made-up story,Amelia would have had to drowned herself or something, and I shouldhave gone a-weeping and a-wailing for Jenny all my born days; but asit's true and really happened, Amelia and me have been punishedenough, I think; for eight years of unhappiness is only a few wordsof print in a story-book, but when you've got to live them, everyday of them, eight years is eight years, as Amelia and I shallremember till our dying day; and eight years unhappiness is enoughpunishment for most of the wrong things a man can do, or a womaneither for that matter.

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