He Fell In Love With His Wife - Edward Payson Roe (the speed reading book .txt) 📗

he thought as he was milking the last cow, “I’d much rather she’d

take her own natural way in doing things. It would be easier for her and it’s

her right and—and somehow I like her way just as I used to like Bessie’s

ways. She isn’t Bessie and never can be, and for some reason I’d like her to

be as different as possible.”

 

Unconsciously and unintentionally, however, he had given Alida’s sensitive

nature a slight wound. She felt that she had been told in effect, “You can

help me all you please, and I would rather you would do this in a way that

will not awaken associations, but you must not think of me or expect me to

think of you in any light that was not agreed upon.” That he had feared the

possibility of this, that he might have fancied he saw indications of this,

hurt her pride—that pride and delicacy of feeling which most women shield so

instinctively. She was now consciously on her guard, and so was not so secure

against the thoughts she deprecated as before. In spite of herself, a

restraint would tinge her manner which he would eventually feel in a vague,

uncomfortable way.

 

But he came in at last, very tired and thoroughly good-natured. “I’m going to

town tomorrow,” he said, “and I thought of taking a very early start so as to

save time. Would you like to go?”

 

“There’s no need of my going.”

 

“I thought perhaps you’d enjoy the drive.”

 

“I would have to meet strangers and I’m so entirely content in being alone—I

won’t go this time unless you wish it.”

 

“Well, if you don’t care about it, I’ll carry out my first plan and take a

very early start. I want to sell the butter and eggs on hand, repay Tom

Watterly, and get some seeds. We need some things from the store, too, I

suppose?”

 

“Yes, you are such a coffee drinker—” she began, smiling.

 

“Oh, I know!” he interrupted. “Make out your list. You shall say what we

want. Isn’t there something you want for yourself?”

 

“No, not for myself, but I do want something that perhaps you would enjoy,

too. You may think it a waste of money, though.”

 

“Well, you’ve a right to waste some in your way as well as I have over my

pipe.”

 

“That’s good. I hadn’t thought of that. You are the one that puts notions

into my head. I would like three or four geraniums and a few flower seeds.”

 

He looked as if he was thinking deeply and she felt a little hurt that he

should not comply at once with her request, knowing that the outlay suggested

was very slight.

 

At last he looked up, smiling as he said, “So I put notions into your head, do

I?”

 

“Oh, well,” she replied, flushing in the consciousness of her thoughts, “if

you think it’s foolish to spend money for such things—”

 

“Tush, tush, Alida! Of course I’ll get what you wish. But I really am going

to put a notion into your head, and it’s stupid and scarcely fair in me that I

hadn’t thought of some such plan before. You want to take care of the

chickens. Well, I put them wholly in your care and you shall have all you can

make off them—eggs, young chickens, and everything.”

 

“That IS a new notion,” she replied, laughing. “I hadn’t thought of such a

thing and it’s more than fair. What would I do with so much money?”

 

“What you please. Buy yourself silk dresses if you want to.”

 

“But I couldn’t use a quarter of the money.”

 

“No matter, use what you like and I’ll put the rest in the bank for you and in

your name. I was a nice kind of a business partner, wasn’t I? Expecting you

to do nearly half the work and then have you say, ‘Will you please get me a

few plants and seeds?’ and then, ‘Oh! If you think it’s foolish to spend money

for such things.’ Why, you have as good a right to spend some of the money

you help earn as I have. You’ve shown you’ll be sensible in spending it. I

don’t believe you’ll use enough of it. Anyway, it will be yours, as it ought

to be.”

 

“Very well,” she replied, nodding at him with piquant significance, “I’ll

always have some to lend you.”

 

“Yes, shouldn’t wonder if you were the richest some day. Everything you touch

seems to turn out well. I shall be wholly dependent on you hereafter for eggs

and an occasional fricassee.”

 

“You shall have your share. Yes, I like this notion. It grows on me. I’d

like to earn some money to do what I please with. You’ll be surprised to see

what strange and extravagant tastes I’ll develop!”

 

“I expect to be perfectly dumfoundered, as Mrs. Mumpson used to say. Since

you are so willing to lend, I’ll lend you enough to get all you want tomorrow.

Make out your list. You can get a good start tomorrow for I was too tired and

it was too late for me to gather the eggs tonight. I know, too, that a good

many of the hens have stolen their nests of late, and I’ve been too busy to

look for ‘em. You may find perfect mines of eggs, but, for mercy’s sake!

don’t climb around in dangerous places. I had such bad luck with chicks last

year that I’ve only set a few hens. You can set few or many now, just as you

please.”

 

Even as he talked and leisurely finished his supper, his eyes grew heavy with

sleep. “What time will you start tomorrow?” she asked.

 

“Oh, no matter; long before you are up or ought to be. I’ll get myself a cup

of coffee. I expect to do my morning work and be back by nine or ten o’clock

for I wish to get in some potatoes and other vegetables before Sunday.”

 

“Very well, I’ll make out my list and lay it on the table here. Now, why

don’t you go and sleep at once? You ought, with such an early start in

prospect.”

 

“Ought I? Well, I never felt more inclined to do my duty. You must own up I

have put one good notion into your head?”

 

“I have said nothing against any of them. Come, you ought to go at once.”

 

“Can’t I smoke my pipe first please?”

 

“You’ll find it quieter in the parlor.”

 

“But it’s pleasanter here where I can watch you.”

 

“Do you think I need watching?”

 

“Yes, a little, since you don’t look after your own interests very sharply.”

 

“It isn’t my way to look after anything very sharply.”

 

“No, Alida, thank the Lord! There’s nothing sharp about you, not even your

tongue. You won’t mind being left alone a few hours tomorrow?”

 

“No, indeed, I like to be alone.”

 

“I thought I did. Most everyone has seemed a crowd to me. I’m glad you’ve

never given me that feeling. Well, goodbye till you see me driving up with

the geraniums.”

 

Chapter XXV. A Charivari

 

The eastern horizon was aglow with rosy tints the following morning when

Holcroft awoke; the stars were but just fading from the sky and the birds were

still silent. He knew by these signs that it was very early and that he could

carry out his plan of a timely start to town. Dressing very quietly, he stole

downstairs, shoes in hand, lest his tread should awaken Alida. The kitchen

door leading into the hall was closed. Lifting the latch carefully, he found

the lamp burning, the breakfast table set, and the kettle humming over a good

fire. “This is her work, but where is she?” he queried in much surprise.

 

The outer door was ajar; he noiselessly crossed the room, and looking out, he

saw her. She had been to the well for a pail of water, but had set it down

and was watching the swiftly brightening east. She was so still and her face

so white in the faint radiance that he had an odd, uncanny impression. No

woman that he had ever known would stop that way to look at the dawn. He

could see nothing so peculiar in it as to attract such fixed attention.

“Alida,” he asked, “what do you see?”

 

She started slightly and turned to take up the pail; but he had already sprung

down the steps and relieved her of the burden.

 

“Could anything be more lovely than those changing tints? It seems to me I

could have stood there an hour,” she said quietly.

 

“You are not walking or doing all this in your sleep, are you?” he asked,

laughing, yet regarding her curiously. “You looked as you stood there like

what people call a—what’s that big word?”

 

“I’m not a somnambulist and never was, to my knowledge. You’ll find I’m wide

enough awake to have a good breakfast soon.”

 

“But I didn’t expect you to get up so early. I didn’t wish it.”

 

“It’s too late now,” she said pleasantly, “so I hope you won’t find fault with

me for doing what I wanted to do.”

 

“Did you mean to be up and have breakfast when I told you last night?”

 

“Yes. Of course I didn’t let you know for you would have said I mustn’t, and

then I couldn’t. It isn’t good for people to get up so early and do as much

as you had on your mind without eating. Now you won’t be any the worse for

it.”

 

“I certainly ought to be the better for so much kindly consideration; but it

will cure me of such unearthly hours if you feel that you must conform to

them. You look pale this morning, Alida; you’re not strong enough to do such

things, and there’s no need of it when I’m so used to waiting on myself.”

 

“I shall have to remind you,” she replied with a bright look at him over her

shoulder, “that you said I could do things my own way.”

 

“Well, it seems odd after a year when everyone who came here appeared to

grudge doing a thing for a man’s comfort.”

 

“I should hope I was different from them.”

 

“Well, you are. I thought you were different from anyone I ever knew as I saw

you there looking at the east. You seem wonderfully fond of pretty things.”

 

“I’ll own to that. But if you don’t hurry you won’t do as much as you hoped

by getting up early.”

 

The morning was very mild, and she left the outer door open as she went

quickly to and fro with elasticity of spirit as well as step. It was pleasant

to have her efforts appreciated and almost as grateful to hear the swelling

harmony of song from the awakening birds. The slight cloud that had fallen on

her thoughts the evening before had lifted. She felt that she understood

Holcroft better, and saw that his feeling was only that of honest friendliness

and satisfaction. She had merely to recognize and respond to so much only and

all would be well. Meantime, she desired nothing more, and he should be

thoroughly convinced of this fact. She grew positively light-hearted over the

fuller assurance of the truth that although a wife, she was not expected to

love—only to be faithful to all his interests. This, and this only, she

believed to be within her power.

 

Holcroft departed in the serenity characteristic of one’s mood when the

present is so