Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 March 1883 — HER HEART’S DESIRE. [ARTICLE]

HER HEART’S DESIRE.

“I tell you, Jack, the farm is not your vocation. I become more apd more convinced of the fact every day, and less contented with the life we are leading.” Breakfast was over, and we stood on the farm-house portico, arm in arm. On the sill of the door sat baby, screaming with delight as she fed a pair of pet pigeons from her dimpled hands. Our breakfast had been a delightful one—coffee as clear as amber, bread like snow, and steak done to a turn. All about us was a green tangle of sweetbriar and honeysuckle; the sun was just rising above the cjistant hills and the morning air was fresh and sweet, and filled with exquisite woodland odors and musical with the songs of birds. We could catch a glimpse of the barn and poultry yards from where we stood, and hear the plaintive lowing of the kine, and the dream-like tinkle of their bells. I felt a vague sort of conviction that J ack had but little sympathy with my spirit of discontent, yet 1 was determined to carry my point if possible. “You are dissatisfied with your lot—l see that plainly, Nell,” said Jack, a trifle sadly. “Oh, nonsense,” I put in. “Not with my lot, nor with you, nor with the farm, Jack. lam tired to death with this prosy, humdrum life, and I hate to see you delving and toiling like a slave from one year’s end to another. You are born for sometliing better, Jack—something nobler and grander. Fancy a man of your abilities sowing grain, digging potatoes and raising stock to hia life’s end.” “But, my dear,” suggested Jack, “one must live and have bread and butter.” “To be sure, Jack; but why not earn it in a more genteel fashion?” “Honest labor is always genteel, Nell.” “Oh, pshaw! You misunderstood me, Jack I mean that you have capabilities for something better. You only cling to the old farm to please your father, when you could do a hundred-fold better elsewhere. And, besides, where is your society in this place, Jack ? What chances is there for our children as they grow up!” Jack laughed as he glanced down at baby, who was struggling furiously to get a pigeoh’s head into her mouth. “Ah, Nell, that is looking so far ahead,” he said; “and, my dear, you seem to forget that I have lived here all my life.” “No, no, I don’t forget, and, pray, what have you done, Jack ?” “Led an upright life and married you.” “But you didn’t pick me up among the clover blossoms. Jack; don’t forget that. You found me in town, and, Jack, dear, I’m sO anxious to get back to my native element. I’m tired of all this. You can get on ever so nicely in town, J ack; and there we can get into society.” “I am not over fond of society, Nell.” “Oh, but you should be for my sake, Jack. I’m fond of it. I hate to live like a hermit. Why, Jack, if we desired to give a little party to-morrow, we could not for lack of guests.” “Dear me, Nell, why I could muster scores.”

"Of a certain sort, yes, but I don’t want them, Jack, t I’m a little peculiar in my notions, i’want no society but the best; the—the—sort of society one Rets into in town.” "Fashionable society; Nell." “Well, then, why not? Ton have means, Jack, and I flatter myself that we are fitted to move in any circle. Why should we bury ourselves in this wilderness ?” “Our, means not are inexhaustible, Nell.” “I’m aware of that, Jack, but we’ve enough for the start, and Vanborough offers you a good place in the bank.” “At a limited salary, Nell.” “Oh, yes, but you can work your way up, Jack—right up to the topmost round of the ladder. Do let’s go, Jack! I’ve lived here to please you ever since our marriage. I think you can afford to please me a little now.” Jack sighed as he looked out upon the ripening grain-fields, but he drew me close to his heart and kissed me. "That’s true,” he said; “you-can’t be expected to care for the farm as I do. Nell, I promised to make you happy when you consented to become my wife, and I’ll try to keep my work. You shall have youi- own way, Nell.” The continuous dropping of water wears away ‘the solid, stones. I had conquered my husband at last and the desire of my heart was about to be accomplished. When Jack-once made up his mind to do a thing he did it with all his might. The matter was soon settled. Cherrp Hill, as we called the farm, was sold at a great sacrifice, and one sunny morning we turned our backs upon the breezy down and golden grain-fields and journeyed cityward. “I’m afraid you’ve made a great mistake,” said Jack’s father, as he bade us good-bye, “vou’d better .have stuck to the farm. Yon remember the old saying about rolling stones-” “I don’t believe in old saving, sir,” I answered loftily, “and I think I can apSreciate my husband’s ability better jan any one else can.” “ All Tight; hope you won’t find yourself mistaken,my dear. Good-bye to both of you. Whatever you do, care well for the little one. I’m afraid she won’t like the change. If you happen to tire of the town and fashion, don’t forget that a welcome awaits you at hxne.” Jack’s heart was too full for utterance. “Thank you, sir,” I said; “but we shall not get tired.” . Our new home in town was a stylish residence in a fashionable street. We

established ourselves in the principal hotel, and then set about furnishing the house. “My dear child,” said Mrs. Vanborough, the banker’s wife, dropping in for an early call, “don’t dream of such a thing as ingrain carpet. Get brussels by all means; good English brussels. You’ll find it much cheaper in the end, and besides its much more stylish.” We hearkened to our friend’s advice, and the cost ran up into hundreds. Then furniture was got to match. Mrs. Vsnborough and several other friends aiding us in our selection, and all sorts of pretty costly bric-a-brac, real lace curtains, and a new piano. My old instrument was too plain and clumsy for the new establishment.

There is a sort of curious excitement in spending money,, which seems to drive the most sober and economizing people desperate when they once get at it. Jack had always been of the most careful of men, counting the cost of everything as he went ana saving every stray penny. Once in the vortex of town life his prudence was speedily changed into a sort of recklessness. After the first few days, and by the time our new house was ready to receive us, he actually seemed to delight in seeing his money go. “We’ve got snug quarters here, Nell, by George!” he said, looking through the extravagantly-furnished rooms with admiring pride.. “No one in town can outshine us, not even Vanborough himself, I’ll admit, hut what does that signify? What good comes of having money unless one enjoyes it?” “We must try and save a little now, Jack, since we are fixed up so nicely,” I said, feeling somewhat terrified at his growing recklessness.

“Pshaw, cntld ? Who ever heard of a banker’s clerk saving anything? If we make both ends meet, it will be more than I look for.” “My dear,” said Mrs. Vanborough, when we were pleasantly situated in our handsome house and had hired a couple of servants, “I suppose you will want to give some kind of a party now? It is customary, you know. Suppose you let it be an informal reception, with cards and coffee for the old people, and ices and fruits and dancing for the young ones. That would do nicely. You can throw your parlors into one, and the new carpets will not get much injured. I’ll help you to order your refreshments, and Cecelia will write out you invitations for you. She is an excellent judge of whom it is expedient to invite.” I mentioned the matter to Jack when he came home, and he entered into the spirit of the affair with great excitement. "To be sure, little have a party by all means. When one is in Borne one must do as the Romans do, you know. Don’t spare expense, either, my dear; we must make as good a show as other people. And I shall takefupon myself to order your costume. I want you to look as grand as a little empress.” “But, Jack,” I suggested timidly, “we are spending a great deal of money * “Oh, well, never mind. It will go somehow, one way or another, and we might as well enjoy it. You’ve always wanted to get into good society, Nell, and you’re fairly in now, and it won’t do to let people see that you are cramped for money. Let’s make the most of it while we’ve got it.” My heart ached a little, and in the midst of all the flare and flutter of preparation I was conscious of a vague feeling of regret whenever I recalled the quiet moments of my early wifehood I spent at Cherry Hill. Jack had seemed to take as much pleasure in life’s frivolities as I did. With a foolish inconsistency of my sex, I sat down and cried over the consummation of the very hopes which I had cherished so long. But despite my fears, the reception came on, and it turned ont to be a great success. The best people in town honored us with their presence, and everything, thanks to Mrs. Vanborough’s foresight, was carried on in the most lavish and ekgant manner. “By George,” said Jack, “this sort of thing is jollier than the old farm. I see now, little wife, that you are right.” I would ten times rather he should have upbraided and blamed me for what I had done. The winter that followed was exceedingly gay. We are invited everywhere, and our house was constantly filled with guests, balls, soirees, kettledrums aud the opera seemed to embrace every hour. Jack and I seldom had a quiet moment together, yet he seemed to enjoy it with his whole heart. When spring came our last surplus dollar had been expended and we dependent on Jack's monthly salary. The warm weather soon came on and baby soon fell ill. I hoped day by day that Jack would say something about going back to his father’s for the summer, but he didn’t even hint at such a thing. The days grew longer and warmer. The sun shone down with pitiless splendor and the paved streets seemed like heated brass. Our fashionable friends fluttered Off like summer swallows and we were left almost alone.

“Couldn’t you manage to make a little trip to the seashore,my dear?” Miss. Vaborough had suggested, and Jack caught at the idea with eagerness. “We might, Nell; I think we can. I’ll 4ry and borrow a few hundred somewhere.” “Oh, Jack, no, no!” I sobbed eut in my remorse and despair. “I won’t go to the seashore. You see how ill baby is. Oh, Jack, ask your father to let us return home.” Oh, you wouldn’t be satisfied, Nell, if we went back. It’s a dreadful stupid down there these days with the haymaking and reaping, and all that sort of thing, we would never be able to endure it there now.” I said no more. The long, bright, burning days wore on, and our bills ran up higher, and baby’s little breath seemed to grow weaker and weaker, and poor Jack himself seemed to look dreadful ill and worn. And one afternoon he was sent home in a carriage, quite uriconscious, stricken down by a sudden fever. I put my pride aside then, and wrote a letter to Jack’s father. “Jack and the baby are both ill,” I said, “and we are sick and tired of life. Pray forgive us and let us come horns.” The next day the dear old gentleman arrived, but the Sheriff was before him, Jack having confessed judgment in a lawsuit. The rumor that we had intended to leave town got out, and our creditors rushed in anxious to secure the lion’s share of our effects. The Brussels carpets, the handsome furniture and the costly bric-a-brac, all went under the hammer at disastrously low figures. “Never mind,” said my father-in-law, not a shadow of reproach on his kind old face, “let them squabble over it if they will. We must get the sick ones home.” So»we got Jack into the carriage, and,

with his poor hot head upon my knee and baby in my arms, I turned my back upon the scene of short-lived triumph. “We are going back to Cherry Hill,” said the old gentleman, as in the dusk of the golden day we drove through the dewv stillness of the sheltered lane. “the old home has been waiting for you all these months. I was pretty sure you would come back*” I could not utter one word in answer. A great full moon was rising above the distant hills as we reached the house. Not the smallest thing was changed. The great red roses bloomed on the terrace, the bees droned in their hives, and the cattle-bells tingled in the barnyard. The door was wide open. We carried Jack in, and laid him down in the broad, breezy room that had been our bridal chamber. He opened his eyes and drew a deep, quivering breath as the refreshing breeze touched his throbbing head. “Nell, where are you ?” he said. “Surely this must be home.” “I am here, Jack,” I answered through my tears; “and this is home, dear—old Cnerry Hill.” “Thank God!”he murmured, and fell back upon the piMows, and 1 saw great tears trickb’ng slowly from beneath his closed eyelids. Beyond the open window, in the silvery glory of the rising moon, the old grandfather sat, with baby at his feet, half hidden in the rank, cool grass, and even at that hour the pigeons came fluttering around her as of old, and she screamed with rapture as she clutched at them with her thin little hand.

I rose softly and fell on my knees beside Jack’s low pillow. “Oh, Jack,” I sobbed, “I have been so wicked. Forgive me! lam so glad to be at home again.” His worn face grew radiant and his dear arms held me close. And then and there, clasped to my husband’s heart, in the sweet shelter of the home he loved, I understood all the past. “You didn’t mean it, Jack,” I whispered. “You only pretended to enjoy it all to please me.” He smiled at me with his grave, fond eyes. “And, oh,-Jack, our money is all gone, and -.” He silenced her with a kiss. “No matter, little woman; the lesson we have learned has Ibeen cheaply bought. We shall not care to leave the safe old nest in search of fashion and society again.” I could not answer. I heard my baby cooing to the pigeons in the grass, and sat there, clasped in Jack’s forgiving arms, the happiest woman the round world held,