Elsie's Widowhood

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER IV.

  "Death is another life." --_Bailey._

  "Oh Elsie, Elsie, what shall we do! But it can't, it can't be true!"sobbed Violet, clinging to her sister in a heart-breaking paroxysm ofgrief. "Oh it will kill mamma, and we shall lose her too!"

  "No, no, honey, not so," said Aunt Chloe; "my bressed young missus willlib for yo' sake, for her chillens' sake. An' you ain't gwine to losemassa: he's only gwine home a little while 'fore de rest."

  "Dear Vi, we must try to be composed for both their sakes," whisperedElsie, scarcely able to speak for weeping.

  "Dear bressed Lord help dem, help dese po' chillens," ejaculated AuntChloe. "Come, chillens, we's losin' precious time."

  They wiped away their tears, checked their sobs by a determined effort,and hand in hand followed her to the sick-room.

  Perfect ease had taken the place of the agonizing pain which for manyhours had racked Mr. Travilla's frame, but it was the relief affordednot by returning health, but by approaching dissolution; death's sealwas on his brow; even his children could read it as they gathered,weeping, about his bed.

  He had a few words of fatherly counsel, of tender, loving farewell foreach--Elsie, Violet, Edward:--to the last saying, "My son, I commit yourmother to your tender care. You have almost reached man's estate; takeyour father's place, and let her lean on your young, vigorous arm; yetfail not in filial reverence and obedience; be ever ready to yield toher wise, gentle guidance."

  "I will, father, I will," returned the lad in a choking voice.

  "And may not I too, and Herbert, papa?" sobbed Harold.

  "Yes, dear son, and all of you, love and cherish mamma and try to fillmy place to her. And love and obey your kind grandpa as you have alwaysloved and obeyed me."

  One after another had received a last caress, a special parting word,till it had come to the turn of the youngest darling of all--littlefour-year-old Walter.

  They lifted him on to the bed, and creeping close to his father, hesoftly stroked the dying face, and kissing the lips, the cheeks, thebrow, cooed in sweet baby accents, "Me so glad to see my dear papa. Papadoin' det well now. Isn't you, papa?"

  "Yes, papa's dear pet; I'm going where sickness and pain can nevercome. My little boy must love the dear Saviour and trust in him, andthen one day he shall follow me to that blessed land. Ah, little son,you are too young to remember your father. He will soon be forgotten!"

  "No, no, dearest," said his weeping wife, "not so; your pictured faceand our constant mention of you shall keep you in remembrance even withhim."

  "Thanks, dearest," he said, turning a loving gaze on her, "it is apleasant thought that my name will not be a forgotten sound among thedear ones left behind. We shall meet again, beloved wife, meet againbeyond the river. I shall be waiting for you on the farther shore. I ampassing through the waters, but He is with me, He who hath washed mefrom my sins in His own blood. And you, dearest wife--does He sustainyou in this hour?"

  "Yes," she said, "His grace is sufficient for me. Dear, dear husband, donot fear to leave me to his care."

  Tears were coursing down her white cheeks, but the low, sweet tones ofher voice were calm and even. She was resolutely putting aside allthought of self and the sore bereavement that awaited her and herchildren, that she might smooth his passage to the tomb; she would notthat he should be disturbed by one anxious thought of them.

  He forgot none of his household. Molly and her mother were brought infor a gentle, loving farewell word; then each of the servants.

  He lingered still for some hours, but his wife never left him for aninstant; her hand was clasped in his when the messenger came; his lastlook of love was for her, his last whisper, "Precious little wife,eternity is ours!"

  Friends carried him to his quiet resting place beside the littledaughter who had preceded him to the better land, and widow and childrenreturned without him to the home hitherto made so bright and happy byhis loved presence.

  Elsie, leaning on her father's arm, slowly ascended the steps of theveranda, but on the threshold drew back with a shudder and a low,gasping sob.

  Her father drew her to his breast.

  "My darling, do not go in. Come with me to the Oaks; let me take you allthere for a time."

  "No, dear papa; 'twould be but putting off the evil day--the trial thatmust be borne sooner or later," she said in trembling, tearful tones."But--if you will stay with me--"

  "Surely, dearest, as long as you will. I could not leave you now, mypoor stricken one! Let me assist you to your room. You are completelyworn out, and must take some rest."

  "My poor children--" she faltered.

  "For their sakes you must take care of yourself," he said. "Your mammais here. She and I will take charge of everything until you are able toresume your duties as mother and mistress."

  He led her to her apartments, made her lie down on a couch, darkened theroom, and sitting down beside her, took her hand in his.

  "Papa, papa!" she cried, starting up in a sudden burst of grief, "takeme in your arms, take me in your arms and hold me close as you used todo, as he has done every day that he lived since you gave me to him!"

  "My poor darling, my poor darling!" he said, straining her to hisbreast, "God comfort you! May He be the strength of your heart and yourportion forever! Remember that Jesus still lives, and that your belovedone is with Him, rejoicing with joy unspeakable and full of glory."

  "Yes, yes, but oh, the learning to live without him!" she moaned. "Howcan I! how can I!"

  "'When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and throughthe rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through thefire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle uponthee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour,'"he repeated in low, moved tones. "'Behold I have refined thee, but notwith silver; I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.' Deardaughter, my heart bleeds for you, and yet I know that He who has sentthis sorrow loves you far better than I do, and He means it for good.'Faith is the better of the free air and of the sharp winter storm inits face. Grace withereth without adversity.'"

  "Yes, yes," she whispered, clinging to him. "Go on, dear papa, you bringme comfort."

  "What so comforting as the love of Christ!" he went on; "the assurancethat 'in all our afflictions He is afflicted!' My darling, 'theweightiest end of the cross of Christ, which is laid upon you, liethupon your strong Saviour!'"

  "And He will never let me sink," she said. "Oh what love is His! and howunworthy am I!"

  Never very strong, Elsie was, as her father plainly perceived, greatlyexhausted by the combined influence of the fatigue of nursing,overwhelming sorrow and the constraint she had put upon herself tocontrol its manifestations while her husband lived.

  She must have rest from every care and responsibility, must be shieldedfrom all annoyance, and as far as possible from every fresh reminder ofher loss.

  For several days he watched over her with unceasing care and solicitude,doing all in his power to soothe, to comfort and console, allowing onlyshort interviews with Rose and the children, and keeping every one elseaway except her old mammy.

  Never had father and daughter seemed nearer and dearer to each otherthan in these sorrowful days. To lay her weary head upon his breastwhile his arms folded her close to his heart, gave some relief--morethan could anything else--to the unutterable longing to feel the claspof those other arms whose loving embrace she could never know again onearth.

  But her nature was too unselfish and affectionate to allow of longindulgence in this life of inactivity and nursing of her grief. Shecould not resist the anxious, pleading looks of her children. She, theironly remaining parent, must now devote herself to them even moreentirely than had been her wont. Grandma Rose was kind as kind could be,but mamma's place could be filled by no one but herself.

  "Dear papa," she said when three days had passed, "I am rested now, andyou must please let me go back to my duties. My dear litt
le ones needme; the older ones too. I cannot deprive them of their mother anylonger."

  "Would it not be well to give yourself one more day of rest?" he asked,gazing sadly at the wan cheeks and the mournful eyes that looked sounnaturally large. "I do not think you are strong enough yet foranything like exertion."

  "I think the sweet work of comforting and caring for my darlings--hischildren as well as mine," she said with a tremble in her voice, "willdo me good."

  "It is partly for their sakes that I want you to take care of yourself,"he said, putting his arm about her, while her head dropped on hisshoulder. "Would it not have been _his_ wish? were you not always hisfirst care?"

  She gave a silent assent, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

  "And he gave you back to me, making you doubly mine--my own darling,precious child! and your life, health and happiness must be my specialcharge," he said, caressing her with exceeding tenderness.

  "My happiness? Then, papa, you will not try to keep me from my darlings.My dear, dear father, do not think I am ungrateful for your loving care.Ah, it is very sweet and restful to lean upon you and feel the strongtender clasp of your arm! but I must rouse myself and become a prop forothers to lean upon."

  "Yes, to some extent--when you are quite rested. But you must bear noburdens, dear daughter, that your father can bear for you."

  She looked her gratitude out of tear-dimmed eyes.

  "God has been very good to me, in sparing me, my father," she said. "Andmy children, my seven darlings--all good and loving. How rich I oughtto feel! how rich I do feel, though so sorely bereaved."

  The tears burst forth afresh.

  "You will let me go to them?" she said when she could speak again.

  "To-morrow, if you will try to rest and gain strength to-day. I am quitesure it is what he would have wished--that you should rest a littlelonger. The children can come to you for an hour or two to-day."

  She yielded for that time, and the next day he withdrew his oppositionand himself led her down to the breakfast parlour, where all weregathered to partake of the morning meal.