Aunt Judith: The Story of a Loving Life

by L. Frank Baum

  CHAPTER XVI.

  LIGHT IN DARKNESS.

  "How pretty my room is to-day, Edith! You have made it all bright andfairy-like with flowers. Yes, open the blinds, please, and let thesunshine in; my head is really better this morning, and I wish all thelight I can possibly get." So spoke Winnie, as she watched her sisterscattering sweet posies of flowers throughout the entire room, and feltthe sweet, subtle perfume of "the flowers that in earth's firmament doshine."

  "Why are you so particular to-day, Edith?" she continued, as that younglady flitted about, looping and relooping the soft lace curtains,pouncing on every stray speck of dust, and sweeping everymedicine-bottle out of sight. "Jane tidied the room as usual thismorning, and yet here you are, poking into every corner, and arrangingand rearranging everything. One would think the Queen was coming tosee me. What is the reason of it all?" and Winnie looked decidedlycurious.

  "So you are going to have a visitor, dear," replied Edith, bringing afragrant nosegay over to the bedside and laying it on the snowy pillow."Now don't ask me any questions, for I dare not tell. Only waitpatiently and you will see for yourself."

  The child did not seem particularly charmed. "I hate visitors, Edith,"she said, the sunshine dying out of her face, and the restless, wearylook stealing into her eyes; "they make my heart full of wicked,rebellious thoughts when I see them coming into the room so well andstrong. I detest their long faces and sympathetic remarks. Ugh! Isuppose they mean to be kind, but when they speak I feel as if I hatedeverything and everybody."

  "I don't think you will tell me all that this afternoon," replied Edithwith a knowing smile. "It is always the unexpected that happens, and Ishall be very much surprised if you do not count this day as one of thebright spots in your life.--Ah, there is the bell. Give me a kiss,Win, and keep a pretty smile for the unwelcome visitor." So sayingEdith tripped away, and Winnie waited in gloomy silence the advent ofthe hated guest. Why could people not leave her alone? Why did theyrequire to come and flaunt all their bright, strong health before her?She wished none of their sympathy and condolences--only leave her aloneto her grief and misery.

  These being her thoughts, it was a very cross, peevish face which metMiss Latimer's gaze as she entered the sick chamber in company withMrs. Blake and confronted the little invalid.

  "I have brought a friend to see you, dear," said the step-mother,smiling down on the quiet figure with its weary, pain-stricken face."You will be pleased to welcome her, I know, and have so much to talkabout that my presence can be easily dispensed with for a little time."As she spoke, Mrs. Blake smoothed the sick girl's brow lovingly, andthen withdrew, leaving the two friends together once more.

  There was no need to ask, "Are you glad to see me, Winnie?" for thegreat eyes, shining with a wonderfully joyous light, told the tale thelips refused to utter. Forgetting her helplessness, the childstretched out her arms and tried to rise, but sank back with a low cryof pain, and those piteous words, "O Aunt Judith, come to me quickly,for I cannot go to you."

  Miss Latimer was greatly moved, and could do nothing at first but kissthe little face once so fresh and sweet, now pinched and wan withsuffering.

  "Dear child," she said at length, "my heart is bleeding for you. Tellme, Winnie, how did all this happen?" and with Aunt Judith's arms roundher, and a sense of peaceful rest stealing over her weary frame, thesick girl told all that there was to tell, simply, truthfully, with noattempt to screen herself from blame.

  "I was wrong to speak as I did," she finished sadly, "but I hadprovocation. O Aunt Judith, I cannot express the awful feeling ofhatred I bear towards Ada, when I think that if it had not been for herI should be running about in the sunshine now."

  "Hush, Winnie! do not say that," replied Miss Latimer softly; "herheart will be heavy enough now, I fancy, and--" But here Winnie brokein:--

  "No, Aunt Judith. I don't believe she feels the least little particleof sorrow. She ran away when I fell, and never even came to ask for meafter the accident. No one knows she had anything to do with my fallexcept my own family, and they decided to leave her alone and make noremark. Mamma was awfully good. She said she had formed a wrongestimate of Ada's character, and told me I had been right."

  There was a few minutes' pause, then Winnie continued: "I know, AuntJudith, you think I am very wicked for hating Ada so bitterly; but, oh!look what she has done to me. My life is spoilt" (with the old wail ofan infinite pain); "I shall never be able to walk again."

  Miss Latimer's eyes grew misty, and Winnie continued:---

  "You are good and true, Aunt Judith. You sit there looking at me withsuch a kind, loving face, and don't say like the others, 'Wait a littlelonger, Winnie; some day you will be all right again.'" Then repeatingthe words, with a weary depth of woe in her voice--"I shall never beable to walk again; and, O Aunt Judith, can you guess what that meansto me?"

  "Yea, my darling, I can," whispered the patient listener, "and yourcross is a heavy one to carry."

  "Heavy!" muttered the sick girl; "so heavy that I shall not be able tocarry it patiently. It is bad enough just now, Aunt Judith, but thinkwhat it will be when the months go rolling by and find me still weakand helpless. How shall I bear my life, such a weary, weary life, weekafter week, and year after year? I loved the world so much--thebright, beautiful world with all its sunshine and flowers; and now Ifeel as if I were withdrawn from it altogether. What will Dick saywhen he comes home, and I cannot go with him here and there as in thedear old days? Aunt Judith, I can see no light anywhere. Teach me,you who are so brave and strong, how to bear my life now."

  Miss Latimer kissed the little quivering face with its sad, mournfuleyes; then drawing her chair closer to the bedside, she kept her lovingarms round the sobbing child and tried to comfort her.

  "My darling," said the kind, gentle voice, the voice Winnie had solonged and thirsted for, "I do not think you know how deep the pain is,how warm the sympathy, I feel for you. You say the broad, flowery wayalong which you have hitherto travelled has ended now, and nothing liesstretched before save an interminable waste of blackness through whichyou imagine it impossible to journey. Yet, will you believe me, dearchild, when I tell you that in the blackened tract of moorland you willfind a joy, a peace passing all understanding, and learn that the lifeyou now deem too hard to live is a grand, beautiful life, and yourweary couch of pain but the school where the Master teaches some of hispurest, holiest lessons! The darkness may be very thick and dense fora time, Winnie, but by-and-by light will begin to break through, andnight give place to day; and if the flowery way should never again openup before you, you will find in the rugged upland path the sunshine ofGod's favour, while his presence shall go with you, and he will giveyou rest. My child, my little Winnie, this grievous stroke may yetprove the greatest blessing to yourself and others. Do not say yourlife is spoilt; perhaps the true life is only now beginning."

  The young girl looked up earnestly into the gentle face. "Speak on,Aunt Judith," she pleaded. "It makes me feel good to hear you talklike that; but then" (with sad despair) "when you go away I know Ishall be as wicked and rebellious as ever. Your words lull all theevil passions to sleep; but in the long, dark night they will waken up,and I shall be wishing I were dead again. Say something more, AuntJudith. Tell me how I am to keep the good feelings always in my heart,and be willing to live through the long, long years."

  Then Miss Latimer's soft voice spoke again; and, cradled lovingly inthose tender arms, the sick girl learned where to find the dailystrength and grace for every need; and how to gather up the scatteredthreads of her life together, and weave them into a golden web shiningwith the lustre of simple faith and holy resignation.

  Some time afterwards Mrs. Blake entered, and Miss Latimer rose todepart; but Winnie would not let her go just yet. She had so manyquestions to ask, and there was so much she wished to know. How wereMiss Deborah, Aunt Margaret, and Nellie? When would they all return totown? Had Aunt Judith written a new book l
ately? and if so, what wasit called? Miss Latimer had a busy time answering all those queries,but at last the young invalid was satisfied; and promising to comeagain soon, Aunt Judith said good-bye, and left the room with a heavyheart.

  Mrs. Blake following, thanked her for her visit, and hoped she wouldrepeat it at an early date. The young step-mother saw the error shehad made in the past, and with graceful tact tried to atone for heropen rudeness to this grave, noble woman, who seemed like a queen inspite of the simplicity of her garments.

  Miss Latimer's sweet, true nature harboured no feeling of umbrage ormalice, and her smile was frank and friendly as she willingly acceptedthe invitation. Then Edith, appearing at that moment, offered toaccompany her part of the way home, and Mrs. Blake returned to thesick-room and Winnie.

  The child's face looked flushed and animated. "Mamma dear," she saidsweetly, "thank you for allowing me to see Aunt Judith again. I shallnot be so cross and troublesome now. She has been telling me what abeautiful life I may yet lead in spite of my pain and helplessness, andher words have hushed the bad thoughts to rest."

  The fair, frivolous lady seemed bewildered, but replied, "I am willingto confess my error, Winnie: Miss Latimer is no longer an unwelcomevisitor here," then she changed the subject.

  Meanwhile the days passed on, and Miss Latimer became a frequent guestat Maple Bank, winning all due respect and honour by the true dignityof her nature and sweet womanly heart. Edith hailed those visits withpleasure; and Winnie--ah! they were like great spots of sunshine to thesick girl fretting sorely under her load of pain.

  She was by no means a patient invalid this restless child, and theconstant lying day after day and the monotony of sick-room life triedher exceedingly. It was only natural that such should be the case;that the wild tomboy nature, with its bright flow of animal spirits,should chafe and rebel at this heavy discipline. But one becomeswearied of constant murmuring, and sometimes those around her waxedimpatient. Then it was that Miss Latimer's soothing words came intouse, and the strong hand was stretched out to help the failing feet;and by-and-by, slowly yet surely, the discipline began to show itsfruit, and Winnie to learn the first lesson in the school of pain.

  August at length drew near to a close. Miss Latimer and her littlehousehold returned to town. The days began rapidly to creep in, andthe beautiful harvest moon "grew like a white flower in the sky."

  "Let us go home, mamma," pleaded Winnie. "I should like to be back intown when Dick's ship comes in; and it is so lonely here. I shall notfeel so much at meeting him where we have not the same opportunity toromp about; and oh! although it is very wrong and selfish of me totrouble you, I cannot bear to meet him here."

  The child's words were very pathetic, and so, yielding to her wish, theBlakes returned to town.

  Winnie sighed her satisfaction when safely deposited in the oak parlouronce more. Then the old life began again--the same, yet not the same;for although everything around was as it had been in the bygone days,Winnie herself was changed, and the busy, active life over for ever.But she had her happy times too; for the oak parlour was rapidlybecoming the room of the household, and Winnie seldom knew what it wasto be left alone. Thither came Aunt Judith with her soft, gentlewords; Nellie, fresh from the dear home circle, her troubles all blownaway by the happy home atmosphere; Edith and Clare, with their gayyoung voices and dainty ways; and all the members of the family,slipping in every now and then to see how the little invalid wasprogressing. Her quiet submission was daily becoming more patent; andas those around noted the efforts at cheerfulness and patience, theirlove gradually increased, and Winnie the invalid was tenfold dearer tothe hearts of her family than Winnie the little tomboy had been. Herdays were not idle ones by any means; for as her health in somerespects improved, a daily governess was engaged to come and instructher, and under Miss Montgomery's mild tuition Winnie laid aside herformer indolence and began to show an interest in her studies.

  The papers were eagerly scanned now for news of the expected ship, butthe days sped on and still nothing was heard of the longed-for vessel.At length, however, one evening in the beginning of October, when thegray twilight was creeping silently over the busy town, Edith andWinnie were together in the oak parlour--the one sitting toastingherself cosily at the fire, the other lying on her invalid couchhalf-asleep. Downstairs in the large drawing-room a few guests wereassembled, and the sound of voices singing floated sweetly upwards andfell soothingly on the sick girl's ear.

  "Edith!" she said, opening her sleepy eyes for a moment, "I wish youwould go down beside the others and enjoy yourself. I feel in adeliciously comfortable mood just now, and will not miss you at all.Do obey me!" and she looked fondly over at the pretty figure baskinglazily in the firelight glow.

  Edith roused herself. "I should like to join them for a short time,Win; but it seems selfish leaving you all alone, and nurse is too busyto come and sit beside you just now."

  "Oh, I shall not weary," was the bright reply; "besides, the music willlull me to sleep in a few minutes. Run away, and think of me asenjoying my forty winks."

  The elder sister rose, and kissing Winnie's little face, went slowlyfrom the room, along the passage, and down the broad carpeted stair.She had hardly entered the drawing-room and returned the greetings ofthe merry guests, when a loud ringing at the door bell was followed bythe heavy tread of a man's foot in the hall, and the next minuteRichard Blake strode into the gaily-lighted room and confronted theassembled company.

  "Just like the old Dick," thought his brothers and sisters, rising towelcome the young sailor, whose sun-tanned face was shining with honestdelight. "Fancy stalking into a drawing-room in rough sea-faringclothes, and startling every one with his sudden appearance." But inspite of such condemnation their welcome was hearty and genuine; forthe boy looked so happy and overjoyed himself, it was impossible not tobe infected with his gladness of heart.

  "Straight from the ship," he explained to his step-mother, standinglike a young hero in the midst of the gay company, with a great joyrippling over his kindly face. "Got into dock only this afternoon; andhere I am, turned up again like the old sixpence.--Any yarns to spin?you ask. Why, any amount. But in the meantime I am desperatelyhungry, and could relish a hearty meal." Then turning to Edith: "Whereis Winnie? Up in the oak parlour, I suppose. Well, I'm off to her atonce. She ought to have been the very first to bid me welcome."

  A silence fell on all, and looks were exchanged of mingled sorrow andperplexity.

  "What is to be done?" questioned Mrs. Blake inwardly. "Some one mustbreak the news to him before he enters the oak parlour."

  Dick, in complete ignorance of the effect his words were causing,wheeled round towards the door and prepared to leave the room, whenEdith stepped forward saying, "Yes; Winnie is in her own sanctum asusual. Come; I will accompany you there."

  The boy stopped in amazement. "What for?" he inquired bluntly; "Iwould much rather go alone first."

  "Yes, I know," was the confused reply; "but please humour me thisonce;" and Edith slipped past him as she spoke.

  Dick followed, a little mystified and annoyed; but his amazementincreased when Edith, opening the library door, drew him into that roomand closed the door swiftly behind him.

  "Bless my boots! is the girl mad?" ejaculated the boy, turning to thetables and chairs for sympathy. "I am beginning to wonder if I havefallen into the clutches of some escaped lunatic. I say, Edith, oldgirl, do you take those fits often?"

  His sister, however, had no answering smile on her lips, and her voiceshook slightly as she replied, "Dick, please prepare yourself to hearbad news. You ought to have been told before, but we kept the evil dayas far off as possible. Dear little--" Then she stopped short,terrified at the expression on her brother's face.

  "Don't beat about the bush, Edith," he cried in a voice hoarse withemotion; "I can bear anything better than suspense. Tell me, is Winniedead? But no,"--glancing at his sister's shining garments--"it cannotbe tha
t, thank God;" and he drew a long sigh of relief at this point.

  "No, Dick," responded Edith, giving him a glance of warm sympathy,"but--" and very simply and tenderly she broke the sad tidings to theagitated boy.

  Then there tell on the silence and stillness of the room the sound of astrong heart's sobs, as Dick, in spite of all his manliness, laid hishead on the table and wept like a little child.

  Oh, how often, often in his lonely night-watches had he pictured thishome-coming--dwelling on and gloating over each little detail as amiser does over his gold, till the whole dream-picture became beautifulwith a golden glory. He saw the tiny, fairy figure flying to meet him,the quaint gipsy face glowing its joyous welcome, and the great darkeyes shining their wondrous gladness. He felt the clasp of two softarms round his neck, the touch of warm kisses on his lips, and heardthe bright, merry voice melting into sweetest tones, as words of loveand tenderness were poured into his hungering ear. And this was theend of it all--his dream-picture shattered, and a young life blastedthrough a haughty girl's thirst for revenge.

  Dick's heart was full of rage and hatred. "If Ada Irvine were withinmy reach just now," he muttered, "she would live to regret this day."Then raising his head, he looked, and found Edith had slipped away andleft him alone with his grief.

  The boy rose, sighing heavily. "I am hardly myself yet," he said,dashing his rough, sun-burnt hand across his eyes, and moving slowlytowards the door. "What a fool I am, giving way like this! But thesethings unman a fellow, and I need not be ashamed of my tears. Wheredid they say she was? In the oak parlour. Well, here goes;" and offstrode Dick, swinging along the lighted hall and up the broad stairs atwhat he afterwards described as the rate of knots.