CHAPTER LVIII
Now that his engagement to Mrs. Gerald was an accomplished, fact,Lester found no particular difficulty in reconciling himself to thenew order of things; undoubtedly it was all for the best. He was sorryfor Jennie--very sorry. So was Mrs. Gerald; but there was apractical unguent to her grief in the thought that it was best forboth Lester and the girl. He would be happier--was so now. AndJennie would eventually realize that she had done a wise and kindlything; she would be glad in the consciousness that she had acted sounselfishly. As for Mrs. Gerald, because of her indifference to thelate Malcolm Gerald, and because she was realizing the dreams of heryouth in getting Lester at last--even though a littlelate--she was intensely happy. She could think of nothing finerthan this daily life with him--the places they would go, thethings they would see. Her first season in Chicago as Mrs. Lester Kanethe following winter was going to be something worth remembering. Andas for Japan--that was almost too good to be true.
Lester wrote to Jennie of his coming marriage to Mrs. Gerald. Hesaid that he had no explanation to make. It wouldn't be worth anythingif he did make it. He thought he ought to marry Mrs. Gerald. Hethought he ought to let her (Jennie) know. He hoped she was well. Hewanted her always to feel that he had her real interests at heart. Hewould do anything in his power to make life as pleasant and agreeablefor her as possible. He hoped she would forgive him. And would sheremember him affectionately to Vesta? She ought to be sent to afinishing school.
Jennie understood the situation perfectly. She knew that Lester hadbeen drawn to Mrs. Gerald from the time he met her at the Carlton inLondon. She had been angling for him. Now she had him. It was allright. She hoped he would be happy. She was glad to write and tell himso, explaining that she had seen the announcement in the papers.Lester read her letter thoughtfully; there was more between the linesthan the written words conveyed. Her fortitude was a charm to him evenin this hour. In spite of all he had done and what he was now going todo, he realized that he still cared for Jennie in a way. She was anoble and a charming woman. If everything else had been all right hewould not be going to marry Mrs. Gerald at all. And yet he did marryher.
The ceremony was performed on April fifteenth, at the residence ofMrs. Gerald, a Roman Catholic priest officiating. Lester was a poorexample of the faith he occasionally professed. He was an agnostic,but because he had been reared in the church he felt that he might aswell be married in it. Some fifty guests, intimate friends, had beeninvited. The ceremony went off with perfect smoothness. There werejubilant congratulations and showers of rice and confetti. While theguests were still eating and drinking Lester and Letty managed toescape by a side entrance into a closed carriage, and were off.Fifteen minutes later there was pursuit pell-mell on the part of theguests to the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific depot; but by that timethe happy couple were in their private car, and the arrival of therice throwers made no difference. More champagne was opened; then thestarting of the train ended all excitement, and the newly wedded pairwere at last safely off.
"Well, now you have me," said Lester, cheerfully pulling Letty downbeside him into a seat, "what of it?"
"This of it," she exclaimed, and hugged him close, kissing himfervently. In four days they were in San Francisco, and two days lateron board a fast steamship bound for the land of the Mikado.
In the meanwhile Jennie was left to brood. The originalannouncement in the newspapers had said that he was to be married inApril, and she had kept close watch for additional information.Finally she learned that the wedding would take place on Aprilfifteenth at the residence of the prospective bride, the hour beinghigh noon. In spite of her feeling of resignation, Jennie followed itall hopelessly, like a child, hungry and forlorn, looking into alighted window at Christmas time.
On the day of the wedding she waited miserably for twelve o'clockto strike; it seemed as though she were really present--andlooking on. She could see in her mind's eye the handsome residence,the carriages, the guests, the feast, the merriment, theceremony--all. Telepathically and psychologically she receivedimpressions of the private car and of the joyous journey they weregoing to take. The papers had stated that they would spend theirhoneymoon in Japan. Their honeymoon! Her Lester! And Mrs. Gerald wasso attractive. She could see her now--the new Mrs. Kane--theonly Mrs. Kane that ever was, lying in his arms. He had heldher so once. He had loved her. Yes, he had! There was a solid lump inher throat as she thought of this. Oh, dear! She sighed to herself,and clasped her hands forcefully; but it did no good. She was just asmiserable as before.
When the day was over she was actually relieved; anyway, the deedwas done and nothing could change it. Vesta was sympathetically awareof what was happening, but kept silent. She too had seen the report inthe newspaper. When the first and second day after had passed Jenniewas much calmer mentally, for now she was face to face with theinevitable. But it was weeks before the sharp pain dulled to the oldfamiliar ache. Then there were months before they would be back again,though, of course, that made no difference now. Only Japan seemed sofar off, and somehow she had liked the thought that Lester was nearher--somewhere in the city.
The spring and summer passed, and now it was early in October. Onechilly day Vesta came home from school complaining of a headache. WhenJennie had given her hot milk--a favorite remedy of hermother's--and had advised a cold towel for the back of her head,Vesta went to her room and lay down. The following morning she had aslight fever. This lingered while the local physician, Dr. Emory,treated her tentatively, suspecting that it might be typhoid, of whichthere were several cases in the village. This doctor told Jennie thatVesta was probably strong enough constitutionally to shake it off, butit might be that she would have a severe siege. Mistrusting her ownskill in so delicate a situation, Jennie sent to Chicago for a trainednurse, and then began a period of watchfulness which was a combinationof fear, longing, hope, and courage.
Now there could be no doubt; the disease was typhoid. Jenniehesitated about communicating with Lester, who was supposed to be inNew York; the papers had said that he intended to spend the winterthere. But when the doctor, after watching the case for a week,pronounced it severe, she thought she ought to write anyhow, for noone could tell what would happen. Lester had been so fond of Vesta. Hewould probably want to know.
The letter sent to him did not reach him, for at the time itarrived he was on his way to the West Indies. Jennie was compelled towatch alone by Vesta's sick-bed, for although sympathetic neighbors,realizing the pathos of the situation were attentive, they could notsupply the spiritual consolation which only those who truly love uscan give. There was a period when Vesta appeared to be rallying, andboth the physician and the nurse were hopeful; but afterward shebecame weaker. It was said by Dr. Emory that her heart and kidneys hadbecome affected.
There came a time when the fact had to be faced that death wasimminent. The doctor's face was grave, the nurse was non-committal inher opinion. Jennie hovered about, praying the only prayer that isprayer--the fervent desire of her heart concentrated on the oneissue--that Vesta should get well. The child had come so close toher during the last few years! She understood her mother. She wasbeginning to realize clearly what her life had been. And Jennie,through her, had grown to a broad understanding of responsibility. Sheknew now what it meant to be a good mother and to have children. IfLester had not objected to it, and she had been truly married, shewould have been glad to have others. Again, she had always felt thatshe owed Vesta so much--at least a long and happy life to make upto her for the ignominy of her birth and rearing. Jennie had been sohappy during the past few years to see Vesta growing into beautiful,graceful, intelligent womanhood. And now she was dying. Dr. Emoryfinally sent to Chicago for a physician friend of his, who came toconsider the case with him. He was an old man, grave, sympathetic,understanding. He shook his head. "The treatment has been correct," hesaid. "Her system does not appear to be strong enough to endure thestrain. Some physiques are more susceptible to this malady thanothers." It was agreed
that if within three days a change for thebetter did not come the end was close at hand.
No one can conceive the strain to which Jennie's spirit wassubjected by this intelligence, for it was deemed best that she shouldknow. She hovered about white-faced--feeling intensely, butscarcely thinking. She seemed to vibrate consciously with Vesta'saltering states. If there was the least improvement she felt itphysically. If there was a decline her barometric temperamentregistered the fact.
There was a Mrs. Davis, a fine, motherly soul of fifty, stout andsympathetic, who lived four doors from Jennie, and who understoodquite well how she was feeling. She had co-operated with the nurse anddoctor from the start to keep Jennie's mental state as nearly normalas possible.
"Now, you just go to your room and lie down, Mrs. Kane," she wouldsay to Jennie when she found her watching helplessly at the bedside orwandering to and fro, wondering what to do. "I'll take charge ofeverything. I'll do just what you would do. Lord bless you, don't youthink I know? I've been the mother of seven and lost three. Don't youthink I understand?" Jennie put her head on her big, warm shoulder oneday and cried. Mrs. Davis cried with her. "I understand," she said."There, there, you poor dear. Now you come with me." And she led herto her sleeping-room.
Jennie could not be away long. She came back after a few minutesunrested and unrefreshed. Finally one midnight, when the nurse hadpersuaded her that all would be well until morning anyhow, there camea hurried stirring in the sick-room. Jennie was lying down for a fewminutes on her bed in the adjoining room. She heard it and arose. Mrs.Davis had come in, and she and the nurse were conferring as to Vesta'scondition--standing close beside her.
Jennie understood. She came up and looked at her daughter keenly.Vesta's pale, waxen face told the story. She was breathing faintly,her eyes closed. "She's very weak," whispered the nurse. Mrs. Davistook Jennie's hand.
The moments passed, and after a time the clock in the hall struckone. Miss Murfree, the nurse, moved to the medicine-table severaltimes, wetting a soft piece of cotton cloth with alcohol and bathingVesta's lips. At the striking of the half-hour there was a stir of theweak body--a profound sigh. Jennie bent forward eagerly, but Mrs.Davis drew her back. The nurse came and motioned them away.Respiration had ceased.
Mrs. Davis seized Jennie firmly. "There, there, you poor dear," shewhispered when she began to shake. "It can't be helped. Don'tcry."
Jennie sank on her knees beside the bed and caressed Vesta's stillwarm hand. "Oh no, Vesta," she pleaded. "Not you! Not you!"
"There, dear, come now," soothed the voice of Mrs. Davis. "Can'tyou leave it all in God's hands? Can't you believe that everything isfor the best?"
Jennie felt as if the earth had fallen. All ties were broken. Therewas no light anywhere in the immense darkness of her existence.