CHAPTER LIX
This added blow from inconsiderate fortune was quite enough tothrow Jennie back into that state of hyper-melancholia from which shehad been drawn with difficulty during the few years of comfort andaffection which she had enjoyed with Lester in Hyde Park. It wasreally weeks before she could realize that Vesta was gone. Theemaciated figure which she saw for a day or two after the end did notseem like Vesta. Where was the joy and lightness, the quickness ofmotion, the subtle radiance of health? All gone. Only this pale,lily-hued shell--and silence. Jennie had no tears to shed; only adeep, insistent pain to feel. If only some counselor of eternal wisdomcould have whispered to her that obvious and convincingtruth--there are no dead.
Miss Murfree, Dr. Emory, Mrs. Davis, and some others among theneighbors were most sympathetic and considerate. Mrs. Davis sent atelegram to Lester saying that Vesta was dead, but, being absent,there was no response. The house was looked after with scrupulous careby others, for Jennie was incapable of attending to it herself. Shewalked about looking at things which Vesta had owned orliked--things which Lester or she had given her--sighingover the fact that Vesta would not need or use them any more. She gaveinstructions that the body should be taken to Chicago and buried inthe Cemetery of the Redeemer, for Lester, at the time of Gerhardt'sdeath, had purchased a small plot of ground there. She also expressedher wish that the minister of the little Lutheran church in CottageGrove Avenue, where Gerhardt had attended, should be requested to saya few words at the grave. There were the usual preliminary services atthe house. The local Methodist minister read a portion of the firstepistle of Paul to the Thessalonians, and a body of Vesta's classmatessang "Nearer My God to Thee." There were flowers, a white coffin, aworld of sympathetic expressions, and then Vesta was taken away. Thecoffin was properly incased for transportation, put on the train, andfinally delivered at the Lutheran cemetery in Chicago.
Jennie moved as one in a dream. She was dazed, almost to the pointof insensibility. Five of her neighborhood friends, at thesolicitation of Mrs. Davis, were kind enough to accompany her. At thegrave-side when the body was finally lowered she looked at it, onemight have thought indifferently, for she was numb from suffering. Shereturned to Sandwood after it was all over, saying that she would notstay long. She wanted to come back to Chicago, where she could be nearVesta and Gerhardt.
After the funeral Jennie tried to think of her future. She fixedher mind on the need of doing something, even though she did not needto. She thought that she might like to try nursing, and could start atonce to obtain the training which was required. She also thought ofWilliam. He was unmarried, and perhaps he might be willing to come andlive with her. Only she did not know where he was, and Bass was alsoin ignorance of his whereabouts. She finally concluded that she wouldtry to get work in a store. Her disposition was against idleness. Shecould not live alone here, and she could not have her neighborssympathetically worrying over what was to become of her. Miserable asshe was, she would be less miserable stopping in a hotel in Chicago,and looking for something to do, or living in a cottage somewhere nearthe Cemetery of the Redeemer. It also occurred to her that she mightadopt a homeless child. There were a number of orphan asylums in thecity.
Some three weeks after Vesta's death Lester returned to Chicagowith his wife, and discovered the first letter, the telegram, and anadditional note telling him that Vesta was dead. He was truly grieved,for his affection for the girl had been real. He was very sorry forJennie, and he told his wife that he would have to go out and see her.He was wondering what she would do. She could not live alone. Perhapshe could suggest something which would help her. He took the train toSandwood, but Jennie had gone to the Hotel Tremont in Chicago. He wentthere, but Jennie had gone to her daughter's grave; later he calledagain and found her in. When the boy presented his card she sufferedan upwelling of feeling--a wave that was more intense than thatwith which she had received him in the olden days, for now her need ofhim was greater.
Lester, in spite of the glamor of his new affection and therestoration of his wealth, power, and dignities, had had time to thinkdeeply of what he had done. His original feeling of doubt anddissatisfaction with himself had never wholly quieted. It did not easehim any to know that he had left Jennie comfortably fixed, for it wasalways so plain to him that money was not the point at issue with her.Affection was what she craved. Without it she was like a rudderlessboat on an endless sea, and he knew it. She needed him, and he wasashamed to think that his charity had not outweighed his sense ofself-preservation and his desire for material advantage. To-day as theelevator carried him up to her room he was really sorry, though heknew now that no act of his could make things right. He had been toblame from the very beginning, first for taking her, then for failingto stick by a bad bargain. Well, it could not be helped now. The bestthing he could do was to be fair, to counsel with her, to give her thebest of his sympathy and advice.
"Hello, Jennie," he said familiarly as she opened the door to himin her hotel room, his glance taking in the ravages which death andsuffering had wrought. She was thinner, her face quite drawn andcolorless, her eyes larger by contrast. "I'm awfully sorry aboutVesta," he said a little awkwardly. "I never dreamed anything likethat could happen."
It was the first word of comfort which had meant anything to hersince Vesta died--since Lester had left her, in fact. It touchedher that he had come to sympathize; for the moment she could notspeak. Tears welled over her eyelids and down upon her cheeks.
"Don't cry, Jennie," he said, putting his arm around her andholding her head to his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I've been sorry for agood many things that can't be helped now. I'm intensely sorry forthis. Where did you bury her?"
"Beside papa," she said, sobbing.
"Too bad," he murmured, and held her in silence. She finally gainedcontrol of herself sufficiently to step away from him; then wiping hereyes with her handkerchief, she asked him to sit down.
"I'm so sorry," he went on, "that this should have happened while Iwas away. I would have been with you if I had been here. I suppose youwon't want to live out at Sand wood now?"
"I can't, Lester," she replied. "I couldn't stand it."
"Where are you thinking of going?"
"Oh, I don't know yet. I didn't want to be a bother to those peopleout there. I thought I'd get a little house somewhere and adopt a babymaybe, or get something to do. I don't like to be alone."
"That isn't a bad idea," he said, "that of adopting a baby. Itwould be a lot of company for you. You know how to go about gettingone?"
"You just ask at one of these asylums, don't you?"
"I think there's something more than that," he repliedthoughtfully. "There are some formalities--I don't know what theyare. They try to keep control of the child in some way. You had betterconsult with Watson and get him to help you. Pick out your baby, andthen let him do the rest. I'll speak to him about it."
Lester saw that she needed companionship badly. "Where is yourbrother George?" he asked.
"He's in Rochester, but he couldn't come. Bass said he wasmarried," she added.
"There isn't any other member of the family you could persuade tocome and live with you?"
"I might get William, but I don't know where he is."
"Why not try that new section west of Jackson Park," he suggested,"if you want a house here in Chicago? I see some nice cottages outthat way. You needn't buy. Just rent until you see how well you'resatisfied."
Jennie thought this good advice because it came from Lester. It wasgood of him to take this much interest in her affairs. She wasn'tentirely separated from him after all. He cared a little. She askedhim how his wife was, whether he had had a pleasant trip, whether hewas going to stay in Chicago. All the while he was thinking that hehad treated her badly. He went to the window and looked down intoDearborn Street, the world of traffic below holding his attention. Thegreat mass of trucks and vehicles, the counter streams of hurryingpedestrians, seemed like a puzzle. So shadows march in a dream. It wasg
rowing dusk, and lights were springing up here and there.
"I want to tell you something, Jennie," said Lester, finallyrousing himself from his fit of abstraction. "I may seem peculiar toyou, after all that has happened, but I still care for you--in myway. I've thought of you right along since I left. I thought it goodbusiness to leave you--the way things were. I thought I likedLetty well enough to marry her. From one point of view it still seemsbest, but I'm not so much happier. I was just as happy with you as Iever will be. It isn't myself that's important in this transactionapparently; the individual doesn't count much in the situation. Idon't know whether you see what I'm driving at, but all of us are moreor less pawns. We're moved about like chessmen by circumstances overwhich we have no control."
"I understand, Lester," she answered. "I'm not complaining. I knowit's for the best."
"After all, life is more or less of a farce," he went on a littlebitterly. "It's a silly show. The best we can do is to hold ourpersonality intact. It doesn't appear that integrity has much to dowith it."
Jennie did not quite grasp what he was talking about, but she knewit meant that he was not entirely satisfied with himself and was sorryfor her.
"Don't worry over me, Lester," she consoled. "I'm all right; I'llget along. It did seem terrible to me for a while--getting usedto being alone. I'll be all right now. I'll get along."
"I want you to feel that my attitude hasn't changed," he continuedeagerly. "I'm interested in what concerns you. Mrs.--Lettyunderstands that. She knows just how I feel. When you get settled I'llcome in and see how you're fixed. I'll come around here again in a fewdays. You understand how I feel, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," she said.
He took her hand, turning it sympathetically in his own. "Don'tworry," he said. "I don't want you to do that. I'll do the best I can.You're still Jennie to me, if you don't mind. I'm pretty bad, but I'mnot all bad."
"It's all right, Lester. I wanted you to do as you did. It's forthe best. You probably are happy since--"
"Now, Jennie," he interrupted; then he pressed affectionately herhand, her arm, her shoulder. "Want to kiss me for old times' sake?" hesmiled.
She put her hands over his shoulders, looked long into his eyes,then kissed him. When their lips met she trembled. Lester also feltunsteady. Jennie saw his agitation, and tried hard to speak.
"You'd better go now," she said firmly. "It's getting dark."
He went away, and yet he knew that he wanted above all things toremain; she was still the one woman in the world for him. And Jenniefelt comforted even though the separation still existed in all itsfinality. She did not endeavor to explain or adjust the moral andethical entanglements of the situation. She was not, like so many,endeavoring to put the ocean into a tea-cup, or to tie up the shiftinguniverse in a mess of strings called law. Lester still cared for her alittle. He cared for Letty too. That was all right. She had hoped oncethat he might want her only. Since he did not, was his affection worthnothing? She could not think, she could not feel that. And neithercould he.
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