The Fruit of the Tree

by Edith Wharton

  XXVII

  THE house was empty again.

  A week had passed since Bessy's accident, and friends and relations haddispersed. The household had fallen into its routine, the routine ofsickness and silence, and once more the perfectly-adjusted machine wasworking on steadily, inexorably, like a natural law....

  So at least it seemed to Justine's nerves, intolerably stretched, attimes, on the rack of solitude, of suspense, of forebodings. She hadbeen thankful when the Gaineses left--doubly thankful when a telegramfrom Bermuda declared Mrs. Carbury to be "in despair" at her inabilityto fly to Bessy's side--thankful even that Mr. Tredegar's professionalengagements made it impossible for him to do more than come down, everysecond or third day, for a few hours; yet, though in some ways it was arelief to be again in sole command, there were moments when the weightof responsibility, and the inability to cry out her fears and heruncertainties, seemed almost unendurable.

  Wyant was her chief reliance. He had risen so gallantly above hisweakness, become again so completely the indefatigable worker of formerdays, that she accused herself of injustice in ascribing to physicalcauses the vague eye and tremulous hand which might merely havebetokened a passing access of nervous sensibility. Now, at any rate, hehad his nerves so well under control, and had shown such a grasp of thecase, and such marked executive capacity, that on the third day afterthe accident Dr. Garford, withdrawing his own assistant, had left him incontrol at Lynbrook.

  At the same time Justine had taken up her attendance in the sick-room,replacing one of the subordinate nurses who had been suddenly calledaway. She had done this the more willingly because Bessy, who was nowconscious for the greater part of the time, had asked for her once ortwice, and had seemed easier when she was in the room. But she stillgave only occasional aid, relieving the other nurses when they dined orrested, but keeping herself partly free in order to have an eye on thehousehold, and give a few hours daily to Cicely.

  All this had become part of a system that already seemed as old asmemory. She could hardly recall what life had been before theaccident--the seven dreadful days seemed as long as the days ofcreation. Every morning she rose to the same report--"no change"--andevery day passed without a word from Amherst. Minor news, of course, hadcome: poor Mr. Langhope, at length overtaken at Wady Halfa, washastening back as fast as ship and rail could carry him; Mrs. Ansell,anchored at Algiers with her invalid, cabled anxious enquiries; butstill no word from Amherst. The correspondent at Buenos Ayres had simplycabled "Not here. Will enquire"--and since then, silence.

  Justine had taken to sitting in a small room beyond Amherst's bedroom,near enough to Bessy to be within call, yet accessible to the rest ofthe household. The walls were hung with old prints, and with two orthree photographs of early Italian pictures; and in a low bookcaseAmherst had put the books he had brought from Hanaford--the Englishpoets, the Greek dramatists, some text-books of biology and kindredsubjects, and a few stray well-worn volumes: Lecky's European Morals,Carlyle's translation of Wilhelm Meister, Seneca, Epictetus, a Germangrammar, a pocket Bacon.

  It was unlike any other room at Lynbrook--even through her benumbingmisery, Justine felt the relief of escaping there from the rest of thegreat soulless house. Sometimes she took up one of the books and read apage or two, letting the beat of the verse lull her throbbing brain, orthe strong words of stoic wisdom sink into her heart. And even whenthere was no time for these brief flights from reality, it soothed herto feel herself in the presence of great thoughts--to know that in thisroom, among these books, another restless baffled mind had sought escapefrom the "dusty answer" of life. Her hours there made her think lessbitterly of Amherst--but also, alas, made her see more clearly theirreconcilable difference between the two natures she had striven toreunite. That which was the essence of life to one was a meaninglessshadow to the other; and the gulf between them was too wide for theimagination of either to bridge.

  As she sat there on the seventh afternoon there was a knock on the doorand Wyant entered. She had only time to notice that he was verypale--she had been struck once or twice with his look of suddenexhaustion, which passed as quickly as it came--then she saw that hecarried a telegram, and her mind flew back to its central anxiety. Shegrew pale herself as she read the message.

  "He has been found--at Corrientes. It will take him at least a month toget here."

  "A month--good God!"

  "And it may take Mr. Langhope longer." Their eyes met. "It's toolong----?" she asked.

  "I don't know--I don't know." He shivered slightly, turning away intothe window.

  Justine sat down to dash off messages to Mr. Tredegar and the Gaineses:Amherst's return must be made known at once. When she glanced up, Wyantwas standing near her. His air of intense weariness had passed, and helooked calm and ready for action.

  "Shall I take these down?"

  "No. Ring, please. I want to ask you a few questions."

  The servant who answered the bell brought in a tea-tray, and Justine,having despatched the telegrams, seated herself and began to pour outher tea. Food had been repugnant to her during the first anguishedunsettled days, but with the resumption of the nurse's systematic habitsthe nurse's punctual appetite returned. Every drop of energy must behusbanded now, and only sleep and nourishment could fill the emptycisterns.

  She held out a cup to Wyant, but he drew back with a gesture ofaversion.

  "Thanks; I'm not hungry."

  "You ought to eat more."

  "No, no. I'm very well."

  She lifted her head, revived by the warm draught. The mechanical act ofnourishment performed, her mind leapt back to the prospect of Amherst'sreturn. A whole month before he reached Lynbrook! He had instructed herwhere news might find him on the way ... but a whole month to wait!

  She looked at Wyant, and they read each other's thoughts.

  "It's a long time," he said.

  "Yes."

  "But Garford can do wonders--and she's very strong."

  Justine shuddered. Just so a skilled agent of the Inquisition might havespoken, calculating how much longer the power of suffering might beartificially preserved in a body broken on the wheel....

  "How does she seem to you today?"

  "The general conditions are about the same. The heart keeps upwonderfully, but there is a little more oppression of the diaphragm."

  "Yes--her breathing is harder. Last night she suffered horribly attimes."

  "Oh--she'll suffer," Wyant murmured. "Of course the hypodermics can beincreased."

  "Just what did Dr. Garford say this morning?"

  "He is astonished at her strength."

  "But there's no hope?--I don't know why I ask!"

  "Hope?" Wyant looked at her. "You mean of what's called recovery--ofdeferring death indefinitely?"

  She nodded.

  "How can Garford tell--or any one? We all know there have been caseswhere such injury to the cord has not caused death. This may be one ofthose cases; but the biggest man couldn't say now."

  Justine hid her eyes. "What a fate!"

  "Recovery? Yes. Keeping people alive in such cases is one of therefinements of cruelty that it was left for Christianity to invent."

  "And yet--?"

  "And yet--it's got to be! Science herself says so--not for the patient,of course; but for herself--for unborn generations, rather. Queer, isn'tit? The two creeds are at one."

  Justine murmured through her clasped hands: "I wish she were not sostrong----"

  "Yes; it's wonderful what those frail petted bodies can stand. The fightis going to be a hard one."

  She rose with a shiver. "I must go to Cicely----" The rector of SaintAnne's had called again. Justine, in obedience to Mrs. Gaines'ssuggestion, had summoned him from Clifton the day after the accident;but, supported by the surgeons and Wyant, she had resisted his admissionto the sick-room. Bessy's religious practices had been purelymechanical: her faith had never been associated with the graver momentsof her life, and the apparition of a clerical figure a
t her bedsidewould portend not consolation but calamity. Since it was all-importantthat her nervous strength should be sustained, and the gravity of thesituation kept from her, Mrs. Gaines yielded to the medical commands,consoled by the ready acquiescence of the rector. But before she leftshe extracted a promise that he would call frequently at Lynbrook, andwait his opportunity to say an uplifting word to Mrs. Amherst.

  The Reverend Ernest Lynde, who was a young man, with more zeal thanexperience, deemed it his duty to obey this injunction to the letter;but hitherto he had had to content himself with a talk with thehousekeeper, or a brief word on the doorstep from Wyant. Today, however,he had asked somewhat insistently for Miss Brent; and Justine, who wasfree at the moment, felt that she could not refuse to go down. She hadseen him only in the pulpit, when once or twice, in Bessy's absence, shehad taken Cicely to church: he struck her as a grave young man, with afine voice but halting speech. His sermons were earnest but ineffective.

  As he rose to meet her, she felt that she should like him better out ofchurch. His glance was clear and honest, and there was sweetness in hishesitating smile.

  "I am sorry to seem persistent--but I heard you had news of Mr.Langhope, and I was anxious to know the particulars," he explained.

  Justine replied that her message had overtaken Mr. Langhope at WadyHaifa, and that he hoped to reach Alexandria in time to catch a steamerto Brindisi at the end of the week.

  "Not till then? So it will be almost three weeks--?"

  "As nearly as I can calculate, a month."

  The rector hesitated. "And Mr. Amherst?"

  "He is coming back too."

  "Ah, you have heard? I'm glad of that. He will be here soon?"

  "No. He is in South America--at Buenos Ayres. There will be no steamerfor some days, and he may not get here till after Mr. Langhope."

  Mr. Lynde looked at her kindly, with grave eyes that proffered help."This is terrible for you, Miss Brent."

  "Yes," Justine answered simply.

  "And Mrs. Amherst's condition----?"

  "It is about the same."

  "The doctors are hopeful?"

  "They have not lost hope."

  "She seems to keep her strength wonderfully."

  "Yes, wonderfully."

  Mr. Lynde paused, looking downward, and awkwardly turning his softclerical hat in his large kind-looking hands. "One might almost see init a dispensation--_we_ should see one, Miss Brent."

  "_We?_" She glanced up apologetically, not quite sure that her tiredmind had followed his meaning.

  "We, I mean, who believe...that not one sparrow falls to the ground...."He flushed, and went on in a more mundane tone: "I am glad you have thehope of Mr. Langhope's arrival to keep you up. Modern science--thankheaven!--can do such wonders in sustaining and prolonging life that,even if there is little chance of recovery, the faint spark may benursed until...."

  He paused again, conscious that the dusky-browed young woman, slenderlyerect in her dark blue linen and nurse's cap, was examining him with anintentness which contrasted curiously with the absent-minded glance shehad dropped on him in entering.

  "In such cases," she said in a low tone, "there is practically no chanceof recovery."

  "So I understand."

  "Even if there were, it would probably be death-in-life: completeparalysis of the lower body."

  He shuddered. "A dreadful fate! She was so gay and active----"

  "Yes--and the struggle with death, for the next few weeks, must involveincessant suffering...frightful suffering...perhaps vainly...."

  "I feared so," he murmured, his kind face paling.

  "Then why do you thank heaven that modern science has found suchwonderful ways of prolonging life?"

  He raised his head with a start and their eyes met. He saw that thenurse's face was pale and calm--almost judicial in its composure--andhis self-possession returned to him.

  "As a Christian," he answered, with his slow smile, "I can hardly dootherwise."

  Justine continued to consider him thoughtfully. "The men of the oldergeneration--clergymen, I mean," she went on in a low controlled voice,"would of course take that view--must take it. But the conditions are sochanged--so many undreamed-of means of prolonging life--prolongingsuffering--have been discovered and applied in the last few years, thatI wondered...in my profession one often wonders...."

  "I understand," he rejoined sympathetically, forgetting his youth andhis inexperience in the simple desire to bring solace to a troubledmind. "I understand your feeling--but you need have no doubt. Humanlife is sacred, and the fact that, even in this materialistic age,science is continually struggling to preserve and prolong it,shows--very beautifully, I think--how all things work together tofulfill the divine will."

  "Then you believe that the divine will delights in mere pain--meremeaningless animal suffering--for its own sake?"

  "Surely not; but for the sake of the spiritual life that may bemysteriously wrung out of it."

  Justine bent her puzzled brows on him. "I could understand that view ofmoral suffering--or even of physical pain moderate enough to leave themind clear, and to call forth qualities of endurance and renunciation.But where the body has been crushed to a pulp, and the mind is no morethan a machine for the registering of sense-impressions of physicalanguish, of what use can such suffering be to its owner--or to thedivine will?"

  The young rector looked at her sadly, almost severely. "There, MissBrent, we touch on inscrutable things, and human reason must leave theanswer to faith."

  Justine pondered. "So that--one may say--Christianity recognizes noexceptions--?"

  "None--none," its authorized exponent pronounced emphatically.

  "Then Christianity and science are agreed." She rose, and the youngrector, with visible reluctance, stood up also.

  "That, again, is one of the most striking evidences--" he began; andthen, as the necessity of taking leave was forced upon him, he addedappealingly: "I understand your uncertainties, your questionings, and Iwish I could have made my point clearer----"

  "Thank you; it is quite clear. The reasons, of course, are different;but the result is exactly the same."

  She held out her hand, smiling sadly on him, and with a sudden return ofyouth and self-consciousness, he murmured shyly: "I feel for you"--theman in him yearning over her loneliness, though the pastor dared notpress his help....