Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 April 1894 — THE MINISTER’S WIFE. [ARTICLE]

THE MINISTER’S WIFE.

BY WILLARD N. JENKINS.

The clergymen who had successively, but alas I not successfully, filled | the pastorate of Farmingvale, had had good reason to congratulate themselves when they left the place. They had all been married men; they had all had large families and small salaries, and they had never given satisfaction. After the first few months the trustees had groaned over the salary; the elders decided that Brother A. “wasn’t gifted in prayer;” the congregation complained of not being visited enough, of not being sufficiently edified, and wondered whether the minister couldn’t do more good in another place. And then ihatters came to a crisis, and thgre was a vacancy in the Farmingvale pulpit, and a succession lof ministers young and old, who preached by request and generally made a favorable impression. And finally another call was made, another pastor came, who was welcomed cordially, treated to donation parties, and then descended in popular favor until his light died out in darkness. Farmingvale was particularly unfortunate in this respect; it was in fact famed for its dismission of pastors without peculiar provocation. Many a grave, middle-aged man gave good advice to Arthur Bartlett, the newly-fledged clergyman, who had proclaimed himself ready to be installed as pastor of the church in Farmingvale. Men of much experience had failed there—able men, too, whose orthodoxy could not be doubted. Bartlett was a man of promise—why should he doom himself to disappointment at the beginning of his career? Nobody approved of the act; but Bartlett, ardent, hopeful, and only twenty-five, was all the more resolved to accept the call. He hoped to succeed where no one else had ever succeeded; to do good, to become beloved, and to end his days where he had begun his work. It was a pure and beautiful ambition, although worldly men might smile at it as being very humble. So Arthur Bartlett came to Farmingvale, and stood before the pulpit during the ceremony of installation, and received the charge with an humble determination (God being his helper) to obey it; and the next Sabbath stood in the pulpit and preached unto the people. There are some young men who have a woman’s beauty without being effeminate. Arthur Bartlett was one of these. He had soft, goldenbrown hair, which could not be called red by his greatest enemy, a broad, high forehead, white as flesh and blood could be, and a color that came and went, now the faintest tinge of rose, now deepest carnation. Moreover, he was neither puny nor ungraceful, stood straight as an arrow, and had a voice clear and singularly musical, and powerful enough to fill the church without an effort. That day bright eyes looked up at the young minister, and many a girl, if the truth were known, thought ’more of his fair face than of his sermon. But he preached with all his heart in the words he uttered, and thought not at all of any one of them. Perhaps they did not quite understand this; for that day the young ladies took a violent fancy to the new minister, and most of them resolved to do all they could to make Farmingvale pleasant for him. Of course he would marry soon. He needed a wife, they decided. Sewing societies, fairs and tea-drinkings followed each other in quick succession. Farmingvale, so to speak, caroused, though in a genteel and virtuous fashion, for the next three months, and Miss Allen, the dressmaker, took a new apprentice, and -superintended the fitting department herself, leaving the needle to vulgar hands, so great was the demand upon her skill. New bonnets, fearfully and wonderfully made, came by express from “the city,” and the five Misses Mardeji excited unparalleled envy by appearing in pink silk dresses. There never had been such a successful minister before; nobody dared to find fault with him, upheld by all the womankind of Farmingvale—young and- old, grandmothers, granddaughters, mammas, spinsters, aunts and school girls. By and by whispered rumors were set afloat. The young minister had paid particular attention to Miss Green, he was seen out walking with Miss Jones, he had taken tea thrice with Mrs. Adams, who had two unmarried daughters; in fact, he was engaged in turn to every single lady tn the village, if report said truly. Then “dearest friends” became rivals, 'and quarrels occurred which intarfered sadly with a religious frame

of mind, and young farmers were jilted, one and all, in the most ruthless manner, for the fair-haired young pastor, who had no more thought of aspiring to be king of hearts in Farmingvale than he had of being a millionaire, but was gentle and amiable to all alike. And so the weeks passed on. Spring vanished, summer followed in her steps, autumn came; and amidst its balmiest days, when a golden haze hung over everything, and the orchards were rich with ripened fruit, and the moon seemed rounder and more brilliant than it ever was before, Arthur Bartlett took the train to Portland one evening, and it was known that there was to be a strange face in the pulpit on the next Sabbath. There was a special tea-drinking at Deacon Green’s to discuss the cause of this; and stories started no one knew when or by whom, were circulated. His mother was ill. No; that could not be, for Miss Wood knew that he had lost his mother years before. Somebody had told Deacon Green that an old uncle had died, leaving the minister a large fortune. This was very favorably received and gained universal belief. It would have been firmly established but for Mrs. Thurston, who had neitherJ daughter nor granddaughter herself, and who enjoyed being on the “off side,” saying, with a wise shake of her head, “I don’t believe any such story. It’s my opinion that the minister has gone to get married.” Mrs. Thurston’s words threw cold water on the enthusiasm of maids and mothers, although they all declared that “it couldn’t possibly be so.” It was not the reputation of the Rev. Augustus Dent that drew so large a congregation at the little church on the next Sabbath. Curiosity led most of the ladies thither, and it was gratified to the utmost; for in his very first prayer the old gentleman uttered an earnest supplication for the pastor of the church, who during his absence would take upon himself the solemn obligations of married life. Might Heaven bless him and the young and pious lady whom he had chosen for his companion, etc. It was a prayer worth; hearing, but the ladies of Farmingvale heard noth-

ing after the wonderful revelation. They were lost in astonishment, and hurried away, after the benediction, t$ discuss the ag;p r by their own firesides. And on Monday, when it was known that Bridget O’Neil had been engaged to scrub and scour the parsonage, and that a piano had arrived, the certainty of the awful news became established, apd Farmingvale joined in denouncing Mr. Bartlett as a despicable flirt. “And,” said the indignant mamma of the five Misses Marden, “of all men, a minister of the gospel should blush to earn such a reputation. Why, I couldn’t tell which one of my girls he wanted, he was so attentive to all of them. I’m afraid he isn’t such a man as We thought.” The excitement lasted all the week, and was still strong on the next Sabbath, when a young girl walked up the church aisle with the minister, and the Farmingvale girls looked upon a face so lovely that none of them could resort to the usual course of declaring her “not a bit good-look-ing-”

They were decorous and prudent iu Farmingvale, and complied with all the forms of courtesy. Mrs. Bartlett was called upon by all the ladies of her husband’s flock, was invited out to tea, and was favored with a donation party; nevertheless a keen observer could have seen that something was wrong. The ladies did not take kindly to their pastor’s wife, and soon the clouds began to gather. At first, in whispers, Mrs. Bartlett’s bonnet was too gay, she felt above them, was not a good housekeeper, not spiritual-minded enough. At last there was louder, more serious fault-finding, not only with the minister’s wife, but with the minister himself. The women began it; the men were talked over by their wives and daughters ; finally the firt step was taken. Mr. Marden and his family gave up their pew, and found themselves more edified by the clergyman in the next town; others followed their example. The fault-finding and slander reached the parsonage itself, and Ann Bartlett, with her head upon her husband’s shoulder, sobbed. “What shall I do, Arthur ! I meant to help you and to make them like me, and you see how it is. It must be my fault, but I don’t know what to do.”

And the young man soothed his weeping wife, and hade her have good cheer, for matters would soon mend, and all would be well. He was mistaken; matters did not mend; they grew worse, and a year from the date of his marriage, came to a climax. The trustees waited upon him in his study, and bemoaned their wrongs. They paid a fair salary, and they expected the pastor to do his part; but he had failed. Besides, his wife should have been instructed in her duty . She was generally disliked: if the minister’s wife was not popular it was a very unpleasant thing. Could he explain? Of course the visit ended as they expected; there was but one consummation possible, and in a day or so Farmingvale knew that their pastor would soon leave the place forever. The winter set in warm and moist; instead of cold and bracing. Everybody declared that it wa,s ‘ ‘dreadful unhealthful weather.” At length rumors of prevailing ill health spread over Farmingvale, and the minister packing his books in his study, came to hear of them. Whole families of children sickened and lay low, and a dread cry arose—“lt is malignant diphtheria.” One day Arthur Bartlett left his home to perform the burial service over the graves of two children of one family; and the next the father called him to the bedside of his wife to see her die. And with these deaths the horrors of that time never to be forgotten by any who dwelt there, began in earnest. Men, women, and children sickened with the terrible disease. Horror seized those yet unsmitten, and they fled. Farmingvale became a great lazaretto, and Arthur Bartlett said to his young wife: “Let us go quickly, darling, before

l the scourge falls upon our household.” But she, as she spoke, left her seat, , and knelt before him, resting her head upon his breast, as he sat before their evening fire, in a child-like ! fashion all her own; and as he caj ressed her tenderly, whispered : “Arthur, do not bid me go, for I ! must stay here, and do all I canwatch with them, pray with them, nurse them,'strive to comfort the bereaved. I should indeed be all they think of me if I, their pastor’s wife, fled at such a time. Oh, I cannot go.” The man listened at first unconvinced. “Ann, my dear,” he said gently, “we owe them nothing. Remember, they have used us shamefully, and I am actually their pastor no longer.” But his wife pleaded earnestly; pleaded to stay amidst the danger, and touching his heart by her sweet Christian spirit brought him at last to consent. And at dawn the two went forth upon their mission. In their selfish horror kinsfolk fled from each other. Sisters shrunk from those who had been nursed at the same breast; children deserted their parents, and friends grew brutal to each other, but those two young creatures never swerved from their appointed task; like ministering angels they went from house to house, aiding the weary physician, supporting the mother’s failing courage, heaping coals of fire on the heads of the Farmingvale people. Sometimes they were together, but more frequently apart; there was so much to do. When they could they met in the old parsonage, but often they were separated for several days. But their prayers followed each other always. It was a trying time, but they were very faithful and courageous. Some of these who had been most cruel to Ann Bartlett were her patients now, and lay helpless as infants while she watched over them.

When, save for her, no friend had watched beside the couch of loathesome disease; when her own hands robed the dead infant for its last sleep; when she sat all night in the death-room, and it was known to all what mission she had taken upon herself, wonder filled the village, and in a little while there arose to heaven many fervent prayers for Ann Bartlett and her husbdnd. All through the winter the pestilence raged, then when so many homes were left desolate, it began to abate, and on May day the church bell was rung to tell the people that the dread disease was stayed. But before night sad news was carried around the village. She who had watched with the sick, who had closed the eyes of the dead, who had been so gentle and patient, was smitten, now that she was no longer needed.

The windows of the parsonage were darkened, and silence as of death reigned throughout its rooms, for the angel of the house lay trembling on the margin of the grave. Another pastor preached on this Sabbath in Farmingvale, and all knew well why he was there. Arthur Bartlett watched beside his darling’s bed, and never left it day or night. Then the hearts of those to whom she had ministered went up in prayer that she might be spared to them and to him; and their prayers were answered—Ann Bartlett lived. Arthur Bartlett is still the pastor in Farmingvale for the penitent people will not part with him. Through his wife, his cherished wish has come to pass; and in his parish there is only one more loved and revered than the minister—now white-haired and venerable—and that one is the minister’ wife.—Yankee Blade.