Elsie's Widowhood

by Martha Finley

  CHAPTER V.

  "Weep not for him that dieth, For he hath ceased from tears." --_Mrs. Norton._

  There was much unselfish love for their mamma and for each otherdisplayed by the young Travillas in those sad days immediately followingthe death of their dearly loved father.

  Every heart ached sorely with its own burden of grief--excepting that oflittle Walter, who was too young to understand or realize his loss, yetwas most solicitous to assuage that of the brothers and sisters, butespecially to comfort and help "poor, dear, dear mamma."

  They were filled with alarm as they saw their grandfather almost carryher to her room, then close the door upon them.

  "Oh," cried Violet, clinging to her older sister, and giving way to aburst of terrified weeping, "I knew it would be so! mamma will die too.Oh mamma, mamma!"

  "Dear child, no!" said Rose, laying a caressing hand on the youngweeper's arm; "do not be alarmed; your dear mother is worn out withgrief and nursing--she has scarcely slept for several days andnights--but is not ill otherwise, and I trust that rest and theconsolations of God will still restore her to her wonted health andcheerfulness."

  "O grandma," sobbed Elsie, "do you think mamma can ever be cheerful andhappy again? I am sure she can never forget papa."

  "No, she will never forget him, never cease to miss the delight of hiscompanionship; but she can learn to be happy in the thought of hiseternal blessedness and the sure reunion that awaits them when God shallcall her home; and in the love of Jesus and of her dear children."

  Rose had thrown one arm about Elsie's waist, the other round Violet, anddrawn them to a seat, while Edward and the younger children groupedthemselves about her, Rose and Walter leaning on her lap.

  They all loved her, and now hung upon her words, finding comfort inthem, though listening with many tears and sobs.

  She went on to speak at length of the glory and bliss of heaven, of thejoy of being with Christ and free from sin; done with sorrow andsighing, pain and sickness and death; of the delight with which theirsister Lily, their Grandmother Travilla, and other dear ones gonebefore, must have welcomed the coming of their father; and of the gladgreeting he would give to each of them when they too should reach thegate of the Celestial City.

  "Yes, grandma, papa told us all to come," said little Rosie.

  "I know he did, dear child; and do you know the way?"

  "Yes, grandma, Jesus said, 'I am the way.' He died to save sinners, andHe will save all who love Him and trust in Him alone, not thinkinganything they can do is going to help to save them."

  "Save them from what, darling?"

  "From their sins, grandma, and from going to live with Satan and hiswicked angels, and wicked people that die and go there."

  "Yes, that is all so, and oh what love it was that led the dear Saviourto suffer and die upon the cross that we might live! Dear children, itwas His death that bought eternal life for your beloved father and haspurchased it for us all if we will but take it as His free, unmeritedgift."

  "But, grandma," sobbed Harold, "why didn't He let our dear papa staywith us a little longer? Oh I don't know how we can ever, ever livewithout him!"

  This called forth a fresh burst of grief from all, even little Waltercrying piteously, "I want my papa! I want my own dear papa!"

  Rose lifted him to her lap and caressed him tenderly, her tears fallingfast.

  "Dear children," she said, as the storm of grief subsided a little, "wemust not be selfish in our sorrow; we must try to rejoice that yourbeloved father is far, far happier than he could ever be here. I thinkthe dear Saviour took him home because He loved him so much that Hecould no longer spare him out of heaven. And He, Jesus, will be yourFather now even more than He was before: 'A father of the fatherless anda judge of the widows is God in his holy habitation.'"

  "I'm very glad the Bible tells us that," remarked Herbert, checking hissobs. "I have heard and read the words often, but they never seemed halfso sweet before."

  "No," said Harold, putting an arm about him (the two were very stronglyattached and almost inseparable); "and we have grandpa too: papa said hewould be a father to us."

  "And he will, dear children," said Rose. "I do not think he could loveyou much more than he does if he were really your own father, as he isyour dear mamma's."

  "And I am to try to fill papa's place," said Edward, with a strong butvain effort to steady his voice. "I am far from competent, I know, but Ishall try to do my very best."

  "And God will help you if you ask Him," said Rose; "help you to be agreat comfort and assistance to your mother and younger brothers andsisters."

  "Ah, if we might only go to mamma!" sighed Violet, when she and Elsiehad withdrawn to the privacy of their own apartment. "Do you think wemight venture now?"

  "Not yet awhile, I think--I hope she is resting; and grandpa will let usknow when it will not disturb her to see us."

  "O Elsie, can we ever be happy again?" cried Violet, throwing herselfinto her sister's arms. "Where, where shall we go for comfort?"

  "To Jesus and His word, dear Vi. Let us kneel down together and ask Himto bless us all and help us to say with our hearts 'Thy will be done,'all of us children and our dear precious mamma."

  "Oh we can't pray for papa any more!" cried Vi, in an agony of grief.

  "No, dear Vi, but he no longer needs our prayers. He is so close to theMaster, so happy in being forever with Him, that nothing could add tohis bliss."

  Violet hushed her sobs, and with their arms about each other they knelt,while in low, pleading tones Elsie poured out their grief and theirpetitions into the ear of the ever compassionate, loving Saviour.

  Fortunately for them in this hour of sore affliction, they were nostrangers to prayer or to the Scriptures, and knew where to turn to findthe many sweet and precious promises suited to their needs.

  Some time was given to this, and then Elsie, mindful of the duty andprivilege of filling to the best of her ability her mother's place tothe little ones, went in search of them.

  The tea hour brought them all together again--all the children--butfather and mother were missing. Oh this gathering about the table wasalmost the hardest thing of all! It had been wont to be a time of glad,free, cheerful, often mirthful intercourse between parents and children;no rude and noisy hilarity, but the most enjoyable social converse andinterchange of thought and feeling, in which the young people, whileshowing the most perfect respect and deference to their parents, andunselfish consideration for each other, were yet under no gallingconstraint, but might ask questions and give free expression to theiropinions, if they wished; and were indeed encouraged to do so.

  But what a change had a few days brought! There was an empty chair thatwould never again be filled by him to whom one and all had looked upwith the tenderest filial love and reverence. All eyes turned toward it,then were suffused with tears, while one and another vainly strove tosuppress the bursting sobs.

  They could not sit down to the table. They drew close together in alittle weeping group.

  The grandparents came in, and Mr. Dinsmore, trying to gather them allin his arms, caressed them in turn, saying in broken, tender tones, "Mydear children, my poor dear children! I will be a father to you. Icannot supply his place, but will do so as nearly as I can. You know, mydarlings, my sweet Elsie's children, that I have a father's love foryou."

  "Yes, grandpa, we know it," "Dear grandpa, we're glad we have you leftto us," sobbed one and another.

  "And mamma, dear, precious mamma! O grandpa, is she sick?"

  "Not exactly sick, my darlings," he said, "but very much worn out. Wemust let her rest."

  "Can't we see her? can't we go to her?"

  "Not now, not to-night, I think. I left her sleeping, and hope she willnot wake for some hours."

  At that the little ones seemed nearly heartbroken. "How could they go totheir beds without seeing mamma?"

  But Elsie comforted them. She would help mammy to put them to bed; and
oh it was the best of news that dear mamma was sleeping! because if shedid not she would soon be quite ill.

  Molly Percival, because of her crippled condition, making locomotion sodifficult, seldom joined the family at table, but took her meals in herown room, a servant waiting upon her and her mother, who, in her newdevotion to poor Molly, preferred to eat with her.

  The appointments of their table were quite as dainty as those of theother, the fare never less luxurious.

  A very tempting repast was spread before them to-night, but Molly couldnot eat for weeping.

  Her mother, tasting one dish after another with evident enjoyment, atlength thought fit to expostulate with her.

  "Molly, why do you cry so? I do wish you would stop it and eat yoursupper."

  "I'm not hungry, mother."

  "That's only because you're fretting so; and what's the use? Mr.Travilla's better off; and besides he was nothing to you."

  "Nothing to me! O mother! he was so good, so kind to me, to Dick, toeverybody about him. He treated me like a daughter, and I loved him aswell as if he had been my own father. He did not forget you or me whenhe was dying, mother."

  "No; and it was good of him. Still, crying doesn't do any good; andyou'll get weak and sick if you don't eat."

  Molly's only answer was a burst of grief. "Oh poor, poor Cousin Elsie!her heart must be quite broken, for she idolized her husband. And thegirls and all of them; how they did love their father!"

  The servant came in with a plate of hot cakes, and a slender girlishfigure presently stole softly after, without knocking, for the doorstood open, and to the side of Molly's chair. It was Violet, looking, ohso sad and sweet, so fair and spiritual in her deep mourning dress.

  In an instant she and Molly were locked in each other's arms, minglingtheir sobs and tears together.

  "I'm afraid we have seemed to neglect you, Molly dear," Violet said whenshe could speak, "but--"

  "No, no, you have _never_ done that!" cried Molly, weeping afresh. "Andhow could I expect you to think of me at such a time! O Vi, Vi!"

  "Mamma cannot come up, for she is not--not able to leave her room,and--and O Molly, I'm afraid she's going to be sick!"

  Molly tried to comfort and reassure her. "Aunt Rose was in for a whilethis afternoon," she said, "and she thinks it is not really sickness,only that she needs rest and--and comfort. And, Vi, the Lord willcomfort her. Don't you remember those sweet words in Isaiah?--'As onewhom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall becomforted.'"

  Violet had come up to see Molly, lest the poor afflicted cousin shouldfeel neglected, while Elsie was engaged with the little ones--takingmamma's place in seeing them to bed with a little loving talk on someprofitable theme.

  To-night it was the glory and bliss of heaven; leaving in their youngminds, instead of gloomy and dreadful thoughts of death and the cold,dark grave, bright visions of angelic choirs, of white robes and palmsof victory, of golden crowns and harps, of the river of the water oflife, and the beautiful trees on its banks bearing twelve manner offruits; of papa with sweet Lily by his side, both casting their crownsat Jesus' feet and singing with glad voices, "Worthy is the Lamb thatwas slain."

  Leaving them at length to their slumbers, she joined Violet and Mollyfor a few moments; then Edward came to say that their mother was awakeand grandpa had given permission for them to go to her and just bid hergood-night, if they could be quite composed.

  They thought they could; they would try very earnestly.

  She was in her dressing-room, reclining in an easy chair, looking, oh sowan and sorrowful.

  She embraced each in turn, holding them to her heart with a whisperedword or two of tender mother love. "God bless you, my dear, dearchildren! He will be a father to the fatherless and never leave norforsake you."

  Violet dared not trust herself to speak. Elsie only murmured, "Dear,dearest mamma!" and Edward, "Darling, precious mother, don't grieve toosorely."

  "The consolations of God are not small! my dear son," was all she saidin reply, and they withdrew softly and silently as they had come.

  The next morning and each following day they were all allowed a fewmoments with her, until four days had passed.

  On the fifth, as we have said, she came down to the breakfast roomleaning on her father's arm.

  As they neared the door she paused, trembling like a leaf, and turningto him a white, anguished face.

  He knew what it meant. She had not been in that room, had not taken herplace at that table, since the morning of the day on which her husbandwas taken ill. He was with her then, in apparently perfect health;now--the places which had known him on earth would know him no moreforever.

  Her head dropped on her father's shoulder, a low moan escaping her palelips.

  "Dear child," he said, drawing her closer to him, and tenderly kissingher brow, "think how perfectly happy, how blest he is. You would notcall him back?"

  "Oh no, no!" came from the quivering lips. "'The spirit is willing, butthe flesh is weak!'"

  "Lean on your strong Saviour," he said, "and His grace will besufficient for you."

  She sent up a silent petition, then lifting her head, "I can bear itnow--He will help me," she said, and suffered him to lead her in.

  Her children gathered about her with a joy that was as a cordial to herfainting spirit; their love was very sweet.

  But how her heart yearned over them because they were fatherless; allthe more so that she found her father's love so precious and sustainingin this time of sorrow and bereavement.

  He led her to her accustomed seat, bent over her with a whispered wordof love and encouragement, then took the one opposite--once herhusband's, now his no more.

  Perhaps it was not quite so hard as to have seen it empty, but it cost aheroic effort to restrain a burst of anguish.