Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 195, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 August 1914 — Page 3

Human Documents of Married Life

Intimate and Homan, Intensely Alive, Each Story Presenting a Problem Which Might Occur to Any One of Us at Any Time

WHOM GOD HATH JOINED

®UR greatest gin as a people is sham.” The words strike straight home. And to nothing do they apply more trenchantly than to oar theories and teachings with

regard to marriage. Were we more honest, there might be fewer weddings, but there would also be fewer /divorces. The woman who “brought up” Louise Morton had no such iconoclastic ideas. She was one of the women who had, all her life, called a j spade “an agricultural implement.” To .her, delicacy and whet she termed modesty were the requisites to morality and decency—whether they were true or false: Left a widow with an' only daughter, she had trained this daughter as if she were preparing her for the life of a nun. When the girl married, bore a child, lost her husband; and died, the mother took the orphaned grandbaby to her lonely heart and held her close there, figuratively, until a- man of whom she approved, because she liked his bearing and manners toward herself, and with whom the unsophisticated girl had fallen In love, asked the devoted grandmother to give, her darling into his keeping. It would be untrue to say that the grandparent did not shrink from parting with her grandchild, but the feeling of grief was not unmixed with one of relief that the responsibilities which she had carried alone for so many years were to be shared by another, and that the girl’s future happiness was assured. That is the way some parents and guardians think of the marriages of their charges—especially men who can provide comfortably for them. “They lived happily forever after” is their idea of the finale to girlhood, courtship, and marriage. The man oi* woman who knoWB life may be pardoned the cynical smile caused by this conviction of the Idealist. Mrs. Phelps was such an idealist, and she talked much to Louise of the romance of love and marriage, the uniotv of two souls, the merging of two individualities into one perfect whole where there would be mutual affection, trust, and comprehension. And Louise, talking with the man who had been won by her freßh young beauty and girlish Innocence, told him of these theories. As Tom Marshall was a man of the world, he was glad that his soon-to-be bride knew nothing of the life that he knew, and, to humor her, he expressed his agreement with all her views of the existence they were to lead together. When the Marshals had been married for a year, they seemed to the outside world to be happy. The disillusion that had come had been received by«the wife dumbly. Even her husband did not suspect the laward shudder with which she saw the ideal changed for the actual, the romance for the reality. All the happy anticipation of motherhood of which she had read and heard was hers. She fashioned the tiny garments as she would have 'embroidered an altar-cloth, and met the anguish of birth as a martyr might endure the suffering that would admit him to glory. When she awoke from the unconsciousness following the pain and found her tiny baby lying beside her, she Bmiled wanly at her husband.

“I once read,” she whispered, “about helping. God find a soul in the dark, and that’s what I have been doing. But I’Ve found it." Tom Marshall was glad that she was happy and safely through' her trial. Away down in his heart there lurked a shadow of disappointment that the baby was a girl. “But it’s a fine kid,’’ he acknowledged to the doctor. “And perhaps the next one will be a boy." - When he said as much to his wife, she looked at him with wondering eyes. “1 cannot understand,” she said faintly,' “how any woman can dare go through such anguish twice.” Yet, two years later, when the second was coming, she wrote bp her grandmother—now living in her old home in the south—telling her of the approaching event, and hoping that the elderly woman would try to be as contented aB she was at the prospect. “Children are all that makes life worth living,” she wrote. But, on reading the tetter, she erased a part of the sentence and wrote in its stead, “Children are among the things that make life Worth living.” Even her grandmother must not isuspect the truth. When the second little girl was a month old the nurse left, for Louise was able to be up and about. She did not confess to doctor or nurse how weak and “shaky” she felt She would get up, she determined, so that she eould take care of Constance, the older baby, herself. She was not satisfied when the little one was out of her sight She would not trust any ignorant perhaps coarse, servant with her ch|ld. Since her marriage she had grown morbidly sensitive with rel gard to all things that were not refined, or that were vulgar or common.

By Virginia T. Van de Water

So, prompted in all her dealings with her children by her belief in their need of her personal care, she took charge of her babies as soon as the nurse left. On the first night that she was alone with Ruth, the second child, her Husband told her ho was going to the club. He explained that, during her illness, he had not ha'd the heart to mingle with any of his friends, but tonight, unless she objected seriously, he would like to run out for a smoke and a game of cards. Louise hid the consternation which she felt, and answered colorlessly.^ “Of course you must go if you wißh to,” she said. “But as lam not very strong I hope you will not bq out .late. I might need you.” “Maggie IS at home,” he reminded her. “Yes,” she assented, “but when one maid does all the work it is hardly fair to disturb her rest at night” "That’s tru,e,” agreed Tom goodnaturedly, "but I feel blue this eve* nlng'and want to get away. It’s been lonely here with you sick so much lately.” “It’s a bit lonely tonight for me, too,” she reminded him gently. “Ah, yes, but you have your baby,” he replied. “She is your baby, too,” she deserted, with a little quiver in her voice. Then she tried to laugh. “Go out, Tom, if you want to. I will get on all right, I think.” loin Marshall meant to come home early, but a number of his friends were at the club, and most of them insisted on drinking to the baby’s health and he drank with them. Re found it good tp get with men again, and wondered how some fellows seemed satisfied with the company of one'woman most of the time. Then he remembered that Louise was waiting for him at home, and he looked at his watch. It was after midnight. One of the men Suggested that they start for home, and Tom left the club with a member who Hved near him. He stumbled as he went up the< steps of his house, and his fingers fumbled so when he tried to fit the key in his front door that his friend took it from him and turned it in the lock. “Go upstairs Boftly, Tom,” he warned him, “or you will wake your wife.” “And what if I do! ’’ asserted the husband, more loudly than was necessary. “I’m master in this house!” He slammed the door behind him. Louiße, lying awake after several hours of wretched nervousness, heard it all. Bhe also heard him start to come upstairs, and the banister creak as he leaned heavily against it Springing up, she slipped on her bedshoes and wrapper, and went to the head of the stairs. Her husband, near tjie top, staggered against the wall and looked at her with a foolish smile. . “Waiting for me, eh? Goin’ to kiss me or scold me?” She turned sick as he came toward her. -v - “Tom,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “you’ve been drinking too much!” He frowned. “That’s a nice way to*welcome a man home isn’t it? I tell you I’ve only had a couple of drinks. You’re infernally suspicious, that’s the matter with you!” He started toward their room, the room in which both of the babies slept, but she laid her hand on his arm. He looked at her and gave a short laugh, then threw his arms about her and drew her to him roughly. . '.V- •

“Confound it, but you’re pretty with all that hair hanging around your facd! You ought to keep it that way all the time! I say, old girl,” holding her at arm’s length and looking at her with a maudlin smile, while tears reddened his eyes, “don’t get mad at me! Let’s kiss and make up!” f “No, no!” she gasped. “If you have a spark of decency in you, doh’t touch me again! You will make me hate you!” \ She turned quickly toward the small room in which the nurse had slept while she was with them. “Here,” she said hastily, “is a bed all ready for you. Let pe help you undress.” The warmth of the house was beginning to have its effect on the man’s brain, and he was too stupid to argue. He sat down on the side of the bed while his wife- took off his coat and unfastened his collar and necktie. Then he pushed her aside and .pulled himself to a standing posture. "I’m going to sleep’ in my own bed, Louise,” he affirmed, “I won't stay in l*ere.” “Then the babies and I will have to sleep in this small room,” she said. “You’re too good to stay near a fellow that's had a drink, eh?” he sneered. , “No,” she replied calmly, “but my little daughters are.” v The bed looked inviting to the InliMay man, and he started toward it, then stopped and glanced at the door of his own room. ‘“Aren’t you going to Jet me kiss the babies goodnight?” he quavered with a silly whimper. “No,” said the wife firmly. Then, as he sat down on the side of the bed,

THE EVENI»Iff REPUBLICAN, KBKSSELAJEB, DTP,

she stooped and unfastened and removed his.shoes. The action roused him for a moment to a sense of fitness, and he caught her hand and. kissed it “Don’t do that!”. he exclaimed. “That’s no work ,for yon! ■ Til get undressed all right. You go to bed.” With a muttered good-night the wife went into her own room and shut the door. Very softly, that her husband might not hear her, she turned the key in the lock. 1 Then staggering almost as badly as he had done, she entered her dressing room beyond and washed her face and hands, scrubbing with feverish intensity the spot on her band which the hot and flabby lips had kissed. As she lay down , on her bed her tiny baby stirred and whimpered. With a passionate movement she snatched the child from the crib and pressed it to her breast "Oh, my Baby, my baby!” she murmured, “my poor little woman-child! If it were not for my children I would get out of it all!” And then she whispered the only prayer ’that bad come to her mind that night, “Lord, let me live until they need me no more, until I have taught them to hate the things that I loathe, until I have made them believe in things as they should be, not as they are!” As years went on Tom Marshall never interfered in the training of his daughters. He loved them and petted them. In return for an uncritical and over-indulgent devotion they gave him warm affection. “Dad is such fun!” they would say as they grew older. “He is always in a good humor.”-True to her determination to spare her daughters the knowledge of the sins from which she shrank, the mother fostered in them a belief in their father’s goodnesß. Still, even her most intimate friends did not suspect that there were more thorns in her lot than in that of the average wife and mother. “Perhaps there are not,” she would muse. “Perhaps all men are , like that” Then her reason would insist that this was not so. She had made a mistake, she acknowledged to her inner self, in marrying a man whose ideals did not coincide with hers. Once her husband suggested tentatively that she might be making a mistake in the training of her girls. “Constance is sixteen and Ruth fourteen,” he reminded her, “and they know just about as much of life and its problems—yes, an<j its facts—as they did when they were born.” “They know all that is needed,” she said defiantly. “They know enough to hate to lie, to tell the truth, to shun vulgarity, and to love God. That will carry them pretty safely through the world.” “It Is the kind of training that you had,” mused Tom Marshall. “Do you think it fitted you for what was before you?” . “My training was not to blame for what came later,” she began, then checked herself. After a moment of silence her husband said, doubtfully: "Perhaps you know best what girls need, but that kind of teaching, without knowledge of things as they are, would ruin a boy.” “Thank God I have none!” she ejaculated fervently.

It was on Christmas Ere of that year that Louise Marshall, coming suddenly Into the drawing room, found her husband standing under the mistletoe he had Just hung, his arm about the waist of the pretty governess who had lived with them fo£ the past two years. The suprised pair tried, to laugh, and the girl caught Mrs. Marshall’s hand and. begged her not to be angry. “It was all in fun, really!” she explained. "But it was a silly thing to do. I did not think twice about it” ,In a moment the wife had collected her wits and resumed her usual manner. "I understand,” she assured the embarrassed girl, "that at (Qhristmas everybody kisses everybody else.” And she tried to laugh. ; "Of course!" said her husband, as he stooped to kiss her.' Her hands closed upon each other in a sudden grip, but nobody was looking at her hands. Later, when alone with her husband, Louise asked for an explanation. "Why, Miss Drayton told you how it happened and that it was just a joke," declared Tom Marshall easily. “Don't mnk« so much of a trifle!” “It is no trifle, Tom,” urged his wife. “For npme time I have been uneaay when I saw your attentions to that girl, but I chided myself for being suspicious, and persuaded myself that you would stop short of familiarity. But you didn’t. How. can you do such things!” “Well, If you must know,” he said, with an attempt at a laugh, "when a woman is a bit in love with a man it is rather hard for him to get out of paying her some little attentions —” His wife sprang to her feet and confronted him, her eyes flashing. "For heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed, "don’t make me despise you as well as distrust you! Any man who says that a woman cares so much for him that he cannot avoid being dishonorable in his dealings with her fs a cad; toy man who says such things of a woman years younger than he—dor

this one is hardly more than a girl—is a car! You have taken advantage of the fact that she is in your house to pay her attention and to flatter her until you have turned her head, and now you throw the blame on her!" , Tom Marshall shrugged his shoulders and laughed again coarsely. “Well, if she didn’t like it I wouldn’t do It!” he insisted. “Good heavens!” ejaculated his wife. "Are men like that? Is that the way they talk of Women —of decent, pure women?” Again her husband laughed. “Your Ignorance of men and of women is colossal,” he sneered. “I know mapy good women, and I know myself” she affirmed stoutly, “and I know—you!” "I hear the sneer in that last sentence my lady!” exclaimed the angry man. “And I suppose you think I deserve it! You expected to marry a man who was a creature of your Imagination, a kind of Sir-Galahad-Lord-Fauntleroy who would think only of his soul and never, of his body.' And because you didn’t find me that kind you feel that you have fallen into the clutches of a brute and a beast. I’m a mere man, that’s all I am—do you hear? No better and no worse than hundreds of other husbands whose wives think they are pretty lucky to be so comfortably t married. You Bay you know you reel?, and I suppose you think you do. So do I, and I know you are the coldest bit of humanity that ever lived; without feeling, except along the high and lofty lines laid out by yourself—and ideals 'no mortal man could live up to. Perhaps If you were a bit different I might be, too. There! take that or leave it as you please!” He flung himself «from the room, while she stood white and shaken. Yet ten mintues later, when Ruth came to the door to ask if it was not time to down and light the tree, the mother said cheerfully: “Yes, tell your father that we are all ready for him. Call Miss Drayton, too.” And, as the child obeyed, the woman strengthened her faltering will by the thought, “It is for the children’s sake!” It was for their sake, too, that, a week later, she dismissed the governess of whom they were fond. The

"YOU GIRLS STAY AND CHAT WITH YOUR EATHER IT WILL DO YOU BOTH GOOD"

two girls had never gone to school. Their mother, herself,' had conducted their studies until two years ago, when she had engaged a resident governess of whose principles and refine* ment she thought she might be confident. As the months passed she watched her husband more closely, and, with her whole nature, shrank from his weakness and from what she now began to fear were his gross sins. Looking at her girls, she wondered that she had been able through all these years to guard life and speech so carefully that they suspected none of their father’s inconsistencies and sins. In spite of her distrust of him she felt at times a throb almost like gratitude to him for helping her conceal from his children all knowledge of his doubtful habits. People have a way of declaring that there are certain courses that they would never pursue, and of finding themselves suddenly confronted by conditions that put a new face upon these resolutions. Such a time came to Louise Marshall a year after the Christmas when she and her husband had quarreled about Miss Drayton. Tom ahnounced one morning that his sister in Baltimore had written asking him to run on to see her, and that’he had decided to go on the following day, Friday. His wife approved cordially of the suggestion. It would do him good, she said, to have a day or So with s member of his own family who loved him as much as did his only sister. To herself she acknowledged that she was glad to know that, during Tom’s absence, he was to be in such safe company. He went as planned, assuring Louise and the girls that he would be with them again on Monday evening. On Sunday afternoon a cousin of Tom Marshall’s called at his house, and Louise explained to him that her husband was out of town.

“Yes,” assented the unsuspicious relative, “I knew that be was away yesterday, for 1 caught a glimpse of him lunching at the Bellevue-Stratford when I was in Philadelphia, but I thought it likely that he was coming home last night” Louise suppressed the start of astonishment that threatened to betray her. It was almost twilight, and her visitor did not notice' the sudden pallor that swept over her face. “I know,” she said steadily, “that he meant to lunch there. Did you have any talk with him?” "No,” replied her caller, “I was in a hurry, and he seemed much engaged in chatting with that nice little governess of yours. What is her name, by the way? It has escaped my memory.” Louise moistened her dry lips. “Miss Drayton,” she said unfalteringly. “Oh, yes! When I saw them I jumped to the conclusion that the girls might be staying down there, alBo,” said the cousin. "No," replied the wife, "they were here. But I asked Tom to take Miss Drayton out to luncheon, as I had a message to send her. She has not been well, and has been visiting relatives in Philadelphia for some weeks. I hope the little diversion did the poor girl good.” Tom returned as expected <sar 3*/a>dag evening. Bin wife had bought tickets isrt lecture which she wished the girls to attend, and to which the governess accompanied them. The mistress of the house was thus alone by eight o’clock. She had planned for this, as she would prefer that there should be nobody else at home when her husband returned. It was -halfpast eight when she heard his latchkey turn in the lock. She sat in the library while he closed the front door, hung his hat and coat on the rack, and came down the hall to the room in which she waited. Then she rose to meet him. He started slightly at sight for her. “Why, Louise! I was wondering where you all grere. Didn’t you hear me come in? Where are the girls?’’ He spoke unembarrassedly, and, as his wife looked at him, she wondered if long practice had accustomed him to such self-Confldence. “The girls are out with Miss Bel-

den,” she replied. "They are at a lecture.” "Oh, I see; but aren’t you’going to kiss your husband when he comes back after such a long trip?” he asked smilingly.' ; She did not move. "Baltimore Is not very far away/' she remarked, “and Philadelphia is still nearer. Ned Marshall saw you in Philadelphia on Saturday with Miss Drayton. Ton told me you were going to your sister’s; you went to Philadelphia. I do not know where you stayed, but I do know that you lied to me, and that you were with a woman with whom you have already had a love affair." The man’s face was dark, and the veins stood out on his forehead, but he did not raise his voice as he asked, “Well, what are you going to do about itr “You don’t attempt to make an} explanation ?” Her question was very low. "Why should I? You know enough to warrant you in believing that I have been unfaithful to you, although you can’t prove it. See here, Louise, we may as well understand each other here and now. You think you were cheated when you married me —well, I was cheated, too!” The woman paled. "I have done my best I have taken care of your home and your children, and I have been a faithful, honorable wife." The man sprang to his feet and towered above her. “Yes, and you seem to feel that that’s all there is to marriage—to keep the house clean, to care for the children, and to be strictly moral! Have you In all the time we’ve been*married given me a spontaneous caress? Have you ever of your own accord put your arms aroupd my neck and said, T love your" "I have never repulsed your demonstrations of—affection” she hesitated at the Ford— "except,” her voice

*•’ -’A •; •. • -,• - - > T 3 j dropped, “when you have been—drinking.” “And do you think that’s all a maa wants—a passive submission to Us kisses, an enforced endurance of his lover For the second time the husband hurled his question at her, “What are you going to do about itr ?"I am going to leave you.” “And what about the girts?” ha queried. The excitement suddenly left his manner. He eyed her calmlJV ' calculatingly, like a person who was sure of his ground. She looked at him in astonishment. “I shall take them with me, of course,” she declared. “The law would give them to me, anyway,—and when they know the truth they will want to go with me." “Who’s going to tell them the truth?” " - "I shall!” she affirmed. "Youneedn’t try to stop me!" “I shan't try to stop you,” be said slowly, steadily. "But before you make that decision I have something to say to you. Sit down again, please; you look tired.” “Louise, you may, as you say, tell your children all, but I want to remind you what that ’all’ will be. Your teaching, year in and year out, repeated over and over, has been, ( briefly, that the soul is all, the body Its servant; that all decent women shun fleshly appetites and seek soulharmonies; you have told them nothing of marriage except that it is a sort of earthly paradise in which two pure mortals wander hand in hand, and that those who enter it without love sin against God and their own souls; you have warned them that the woman who marries a man who does not regard marriage as she does coarsens her whole being by sinking to his level. You acknowledge that these are pretty nearly the doctrines you have instilled into them, don’t you?” The listener bowed her head. “They are what I believe. That I have not found life what I think It should be would not justify me In lowering the standards by which I want my children to live." “That is your way of putting It,” * said the man. “My way would be that since you have found out that some things are shams, if would be well to prepare your children for the same discovery."

“The things that I have taught them are not shams!” began the wife eagerly, but her husband stopped her. “Wait a moment, please, till I finish. You agree that you have declared all these things which you call facts to your daughters. Now yon propose to inform them that the man, who you have told them was a good man, was all the time ted, and that you have known it; that he is coarse and sensual,.and yet that you have lived with him, as his wife, mind youl —for almost twenty years. What explanation Fill you give them of that? For children of their age and with their training cannot understand what you call the mother-love that would sacrifice truth and purity for the sake of the beloved object! How will you explain all this-? For, mind you, if you leave me, and take my children with you, I shall tell them the brutal facts as I know them—that you have all along known what I am and that you have lived with me in spite of your high-flown theories; that you have lied again and again to them about me, and that, in fact, you have not lived up to one of the doctrines you have taught them.” "Tom, you couldn’t do that, you wouldn’t do that! Have you no pity, no gratitude, when you remember all that I endured for you?” But the man did not take her hands In his. "You endured it for the children, Louise, not for me. You know perfectly well that had you not had them you would have left me. But 1 love them, too, and I propose to fight fire with fire. I shall not disgrace them publicly, I promise you, as long as they are under my roof and protection. But if you attempt to take them from me they shall know just why you are doing so. What is your answer?” The wife started to her feet at the sound of voices in the ball. "Here are the girls now!” she exclaimed agitatedly. j “So much the better!" declared her husband. “For you can answer me in their presence. They will not understand, but I shall!” She caught at his arm, but he evaded her, and, striding to the library door, flung it open. “Come in, children?” he\ called heartily. They came, flushed by rapid walk- , ing in the night air and by pleasure at the sight of their father. “It’s good to get you back again, daddy!” exclaimed Ruth as she threw her arms about his neck, while less demonstrative Constance remarked, “Home isn’t nearly as nice when you’re away, dad.” The mother turned wearily toward the hall. - .| “Where are you going, mother?” Constance asked. Louise Marshall stopped and looked for a moment at the group. Her figure drooped, and her lips twitched nervously. But her eyes met her husband's steadily as she spoke: ,;‘f “I’m a bit tired, dears, and think I will go upstairs. You girls stay and chat with your father for a while. It will do you both good.” She climbed the stairs with a firm step and head erect But, when she reached her darkened room and closed her door, her self-control vanished. With a sob of anguish and defeat she fell on her knees by her ted. and a moaning broke from her lipa: "Lord! be merciful to me, a hypoertte!” * (Copyright, by Moffat Yawl 4 O*)