 CHAPTER 17 10 years earlier Christy made her debut as an Amazon. Now she had a braver part to play on a larger stage, with a nation for audience, martial music, and the boom of canon for orchestra. The glare of battlefields was the red light, danger, disease and death, the foes she was to contend against, and the troops she joined, not timid girls, but high-hearted women who fought gallantly till the demon lay dead, and sang their song of exultation with bleeding hearts, for this great spectacle was a dire tragedy to them. Christy followed David in a week, and soon proved herself so capable that Mrs. Amory rapidly promoted her from one important post to another, and bestowed upon her the only honors left the women, hard work, responsibility, and the gratitude of many men. You are a treasure, my dear, for you can turn your hand to anything and do well whatever you undertake. So many come with plenty of goodwill, but not a particle of practical ability, and are offended because I decline their help. The boys don't want to be cried over or have their brows everlastingly swabbed, as old Watkins calls it. They want to be well fed and nursed, and cheered up with creature comforts. Your nice beef tea and cheery ways are worth oceans of tears and cartloads of tracts. Mrs. Amory said this, as Christy stood waiting while she wrote an order for some extra delicacy for a very sick patient. Mrs. Sterling, Jr. certainly did look like an efficient nurse who thought more of the boys than of herself. For one hand bore a pitcher of gruel, the other a bag of oranges, clean shirts hung over the right arm, a rubber cushion under the left, and every pocket in the big apron was full of bottles and bandages, papers and letters. I never discovered what an accomplished woman I was till I came here, answered Christy I'm getting vain with so much praise, but I like it immensely and never was so pleased in my life as I was yesterday when Dr. Harvey came for me to take care of poor Dunbar because no one else could manage him. It's your firm yet pitiful way the men like so well. I can't describe it better than in Big Ben's words. Mrs. Sterling is the nest for me, Mom. She takes care of me as if she was my own mother, and it's a comfort just to see her round. It's a gift, my dear, and you may thank heaven you have got it, for it works wonders in a place like this. I only treat the poor fellows as I would have other women treat my David if he should be in their care. He may be any hour, you know. And my boys, God keep them. The pen lay idle, and the gruel cooled, as young wife and gray-haired mother forgot their duty for a moment in tender thoughts of the absent. Only a moment. For in came an attendant with a troubled face, and an important young surgeon with the well-worn little case under his arm. Bartlett's dying, Mom. Could you come and see to him? says the man to Mrs. Amory. We have got to amputate Porter's arm this morning, and he won't consent unless you are with him. You will come, of course," added the surgeon to Christie, having tried and found her a woman with no confounded nerves to impair her usefulness. So matron and nurse go back to their duty, and dying Bartlett and suffering Porter are all the more tenderly served for that wasted minute. Like David, Christie had enlisted for the war, and in the two years that followed, she saw all sorts of service. For Mrs. Amory had influence, and her right-hand woman, after a few months' apprenticeship, was ready for any post. The gray gown and comforting face were known in many hospitals, seen on crowded transports, among the ambulances at the plant, invalid cars, relief tents, and food depots up and down the land, and many men went out of life like tired children, holding the hand that did its work so well. David, meanwhile, was doing his part manfully, not only in some of the great battles of those years, but among the hardships, temptations, and sacrifices of a soldier's life. Despite of his quicker ancestors, he was a good fighter, and better still, a magnanimous enemy, hating slavery but not the slaveholder, and often spared the master while he saved the chattel. He was soon promoted, and might have risen rapidly, but was content to remain as captain of his company, for his men loved him, and he was prouder of his influence over them than of any decoration he could win. This was the sort of courage that keeps a man faithful to death, and though he made no brilliant charge, uttered few protestations of loyalty, and was never heard to dam the reps, his comrades felt that his brave example had often kept them steady, till a forlorn hope turned into a victory, knew that all the wealth of the world could not bribe him from his duty, and learned of him to treat with respect an enemy as brave and less fortunate than themselves. A noble nature soon takes its proper rank, and exerts its purifying influence, and private sterling won confidence, affection, and respect long before promotion came. For though he had tended his flowers like a woman, and loved his books like a student, he now proved that he could also do his duty and keep his honor stainless as a soldier and a gentleman. She and Christie met as often as the one could get a brief furlough, or the other could be spared from hospital duty. But when these meetings did come, they were wonderfully beautiful and rich, for into them was distilled a concentration of the love, happiness, and communion which many men and women only know through years of wedded life. Christie liked romance, and now she had it, with a very sombre reality to give it an added charm. No Juliet ever welcomed her Romeo more joyfully than she welcomed David when he paid her a flying visit unexpectedly. No Bayard ever had a more devoted lady in his tent than David when his wife came through every obstacle to bring him comforts, or to nurse the few wounds he received. Love letters written beside watchfires and sick beds flew to and fro like carrier doves with wondrous speed, and nowhere in all the brave and busy land was there a fonder pair than this, although their honeymoon was spent apart in camp and hospital, and well they knew that there might never be for them a happy going home together. In her wanderings to and fro, Christie not only made many new friends that met some old ones, and among these one whose unexpected appearance much surprised and touched her. She was scrabbling eggs in a tin basin on board a crowded transport, going up the river with the echoes of a battle dying away behind her, and before her the prospect of passing the next day on a wharf serving out food to the wounded in an easterly storm. Oh, Mrs. Sterling, do go up and see what's to be done. We are all full below, and more poor fellows are lying about on deck in a dreadful state. I'll take your place here, but I can't stand that any longer," said one of her aides, coming in heartsick and exhausted by the ghastly sights and terrible confusion of the day. I'll go, keep scrabbling while the eggs last, then knock out the head of that barrel and make gruel till I pass the word to stop. Forgetting her bonnet and tying the ends of her shawl behind her, Christie caught up a bottle of brandy and a canteen of water, and ran on deck. There, a sight to daunt most any woman met her eyes. For all about her, so thick that she could hardly step without treading on them, lay the sad wrecks of men, some moaning for help, some silent, with set white faces turned up to the grey sky, all shelterless from the cold wind that blew and the fog rising from the river. Surgeons and nurses were doing their best, but the boat was loaded and greater suffering reigned below. Heaven help us all! sighed Christie, and then she fell to work. Bottle and canteen were both nearly empty by the time she came to the end of the long line, where lay a silent figure with a hidden face. Poor fellow, is he dead? She said, kneeling down to lift a corner of the blanket, lent by a neighbor. A familiar face looked up at her, and a well-remembered voice said courteously but feebly. Thanks, not yet. Excuse my left hand. I'm very glad to see you. Mr. Fletcher, can it be you? She cried, looking at him with pitiful amazement. Well, she might ask, for anything more unlike his former self can hardly be imagined. Unshaven, haggard, and begrimed with powder. Mud to the knees, coat half on, and worst of all, the right arm gone. There lay the piece of elegance she had known and answered with a smile she never saw before. All that's left of me, and very much at your service. I must apologize for the dirt, but I've laid in a mud puddle for two days, and though it was much easier than a board, it doesn't improve one's appearance. What can I do for you? Where can I put you? I can't bear to see you here, said Christie, much afflicted by the spectacle before her. Why not? We are all alike when it comes to this pass. I shall do very well if I might trouble you for a drop of water. She poured her last drop into his parched mouth, and hurried off for more. She was detained by the way, and when she returned, fancied he was asleep, but soon discovered that he had fainted quietly away, utterly spent with two days of hunger, suffering, and exposure. He was himself again directly, and lay contentedly looking up at her as she fed him with hot soup, longing to talk, but refusing to listen to a word till he was refreshed. That's very nice, he said gratefully, as he finished adding with a pathetic sort of gaiety, as he groped about with his one hand. I don't expect napkins, but I should like a handkerchief. They took my coat off when they did my arm, and the gentleman who kindly lent me this doesn't seem to have possessed such an article. Christie wiped his lips with the clean towel at her side, and smiled as she did it, at the idea of Mr. Fletcher's praising burnt soup, and her feeding him like a baby out of a tin cup. I think it would comfort you if I washed your face. Can you bear to have it done? She asked. If you could bear to do it, he answered with an apologetic look, evidently troubled at receiving such services from her. Yet as her hands moved gently about his face, he shut his eyes, and there was a little quiver of the lips now and then, as he was remembering a time when he had hoped to have her near him in a tenderer capacity than that of nurse. She guessed the thought, and tried to banish it by saying cheerfully as she finished. There, you look more like yourself after that. Now the hands. Fortunately for you there is but one, and he rather reluctantly surrendered a very dirty member. Give me, I forgot. It is a brave hand, and I am proud to wash it. How do you know that? he asked, surprised at her little burst of enthusiasm, for as she spoke she pressed the grimy hand in both her own. While I was recovering you from your faint, that man over there informed me that you were his colonel, that you fit like a tiger, and when your right arm was disabled, you took your sword and the left, and cheered them on as if you were bound to beat the whole rebel army. That's Drake's story, and Mr. Fletcher tried to give the old shrug, but gave an irrepressible groan instead, then endeavored to cover it by saying in a careless tone, I thought I might get a little excitement out of it, so I went soldiering like all the rest of you. I'm not good for much, but I can lead the way for the brave fellows who do the work. Officers make good targets, and a rebel bullet would cause no sorrow in taking me out of the world. Don't say that. I should grieve sincerely, and yet I'm very glad you came, for it will always be a satisfaction to you in spite of your great loss. There are greater losses than right arms, muttered Mr. Fletcher gloomily, then checked himself, and added with a pleasant change in voice and face, as he glanced at the wedding-ring she wore. This is not exactly the place for congratulations, but I can't help offering mine, for if I'm not mistaken, your left hand also has grown doubly precious since we met. Christy had been wondering if he knew, and was much relieved to find he took it so well. Her face said more than her words as she answered briefly. Thank you, yes, we were married the day David left, and have both been in the ranks ever since. Not wounded yet. Your husband, I mean, he said, getting over the hard words bravely. Three times, but not badly. I think a special angel stands before him with a shield, and Christy smiled as she spoke. I think a special angel stands behind him with prayers that avail much, added Mr. Fletcher, looking up at her with an expression of reverence that touched her heart. Now I must go to my work, and you to sleep. You need all the rest you can get before you have to knock about in the ambulances again. She said, marking the feverish color in his face, and knowing well that excitement was his only strength. How can I sleep in such an inferno as this? Try, you are so weak you'll soon drop off. And laying the cool tips of her fingers on his eyelids, she kept them shut till he yielded with a long sigh of mangled weariness and pleasure, and was asleep before he knew it. When he woke it was late at night, but little of night's blessed rest was known on board that boat laden with a freight of suffering. Cry still came up from below, and moans of pain still sounded from the deck, where shadowy figures with lanterns went to and fro among the beds that in the darkness looked like graves. Weak with pain and fever, the poor man gazed about him half bewildered, and conscious only of one desire, feebly called, Christy! Here I am, and the dull light of a lantern showed him her face very worn and tired, but full of friendliest compassion. What can I do for you? She asked, as he clutched her gown and peered up at her with mangled doubt and satisfaction in his haggard eyes. Just speak to me. Let me touch you. I thought it was a dream. Thank God it isn't. How much longer will this last? He added, falling back on the softest pillows she could find for him. We shall soon land now. I believe there is an officer's hospital in town, and you will be quite comfortable there. I want to go to your hospital. Where is it? I have none. And unless the old hotel is ready, I shall stay on the wharf with the boys until it is. Then I shall stay also. Don't send me away, Christy. I shall not be a trouble long. Surely David will let you help me die. And poor Fletcher stretches one hand imploringly to her in the first terror of the delirium that was coming on. I will not leave you. I'll take care of you, and no one can forbid it. Drink this, Philip, and trust to Christy. He obeyed like a child, and soon fell again into a troubled sleep while she sat by him thinking about David. The old hotel was ready, but by the time he got there, Mr. Fletcher was past caring where he went, and for a week was too ill to know anything, except that Christy nursed him. Then he turned the corner and began to recover. She wanted him to go into more comfortable quarters, but he would not stir as long as she remained. So she put him in a little room by himself, got a man to wait on him, and gave him as much of her care and time as she could spare from her many duties. He was not an agreeable patient, I regret to say. He tried to bear his woes heroically, but did not succeed very well, not being used to any exertion of that sort. And though in Christy's presence he did his best, his man confided to her that the Colonel was as fractious as a teething baby, and the domineering as party he even nursed. Some of Mr. Fletcher's attempts were comical, and some pathetic, for though the sacred circle of her wedding-ring was an effectual barrier against a look or word of love. Christy knew that the old affection was not dead, and it showed itself in his desire to win her respect by all sorts of small sacrifices and efforts at self-control. He would not use many of the comforts sent him, but insisted on wearing an army dressing-gown and slippers that caused him a secret pang every time his eye was affronted by their ugliness. Always after an angry scene with his servant, he would be found going round among the men bestowing little luxuries and kind words. Not condescendingly, but humbly, as if it was an atonement for his own shortcomings, and a tribute due to the brave fellows who bore their pains with afforditude, he could not imitate. Poor Philip, he tries so hard I must pity, not despise him, for he was never taught the manly virtues that make David what he is. Thought to Christy, as she went to him one day with an unusually happy heart. She found him sitting with a newly opened package before him, and a gloomy look upon his face. Gee what rubbish one of my men has sent me, thinking I might value it! he said, pointing to a broken sword-held, and offering her a badly written letter. She read it, and was touched by his affectionate respect and manly sympathy. For the good fellow had been one of those who saved the Colonel when he fell, and had kept the broken sword as a trophy of his bravery, thinking it might be precious in the eyes of them that loved him. Poor Bernie might have spared himself the trouble, for I have no one to give it to, and in my eyes it's nothing but a bit of old metal, said Fletcher, pushing the parcel away with a half-irritated, half-melancholy look. Give it to me as a parting keepsake. I have a fine collection of relics of the brave men I have known, and this shall have a high place in my museum when I go home. Said Christy, taking up the bit of old metal, with more interest than she had ever felt in the brightest blade. Parting keepsake, are you going away? asked Fletcher, catching at the words in anxious haste, yet looking pleased at her desire to keep the relic. Yes, I'm ordered to report in Washington, and start tomorrow. Then I'll go with escort. The doctor has been wanting me to leave for a week, and now I have no desire to stay, he said eagerly. But Christy shook her head, and began to fold up paper and string with nervous industry as she answered. I am not going directly to Washington. I have a week's furlough first. What is to become of me? asked Mr. Fletcher, as fretfully as a sick child, for he knew where her short holiday would be passed, and his temper got the upper hand for a minute. You should go home and be comfortably nursed. You'll need care for some time, and your friends will be glad of a chance to give it I've no doubt. I have no home as you know, and I don't believe I've got a friend in the world who cares whether I live or die. This looks as if you were mistaken, and Christy glanced about the little room which was full of comforts and luxuries accumulated during his stay. His face changed instantly, and he answered with the honest look and tone never given to anyone but her. I beg your pardon. I am ungrateful brute. But you see, I just made up my mind to do something worth the doing, and now it is made impossible in a way that renders it hard to bear. You are very patient with me, and I owe my life to your care. I never can thank you for it, but I will take myself out of your way as soon as I can, and leave you free to enjoy your happy holiday. Heaven knows you have earned it. He said those last words so heartily that all the bitterness went out of his voice, and Christy found it easy to reply with a cordial smile. I shall stay and see you comfortably off before I go myself. As for thanks and reward, I have had both, for you have done something worth the doing, and you give me this. She took up the broken blade as she spoke, and carried it away, looking proud of her new trophy. Fletcher left next day, saying while he pressed her hand as warmly as if the vigor of two had gone into his one. You will let me come and see you by and by when you too get your discharge, won't you? So gladly that you shall never again say you have no home. But you must take care of yourself, or you will get the long discharge, and we can't spare you yet. She answered warmly. No danger of that. The worthless ones are too often left to cumber the earth. It is the precious ones who are taken. He said, thinking of her, as he looked into her tired face, and remembered all she had done for him. Christy shivered involuntarily at those ominous words, but only said, good-bye, Philip, as he went feebly away, leaning on his servant's arm while all the men touched their caps, and wished the Colonel a pleasant journey. CHAPTER 18 OF WORK A STORY OF EXPERIENCE This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. RECORDING by Darla Ely WORK A STORY OF EXPERIENCE by Louisa May Alcott CHAPTER 18 SUNRISE Three months later the war seemed drying toward an end, and Christy was dreaming happy dreams of home and rest with David, when, as she sat one day, writing a letter full of good news to the wife of a patient, a telegram was handed to her, and tearing it open she read, Captain Sterling dangerously wounded, tell his wife to come at once, E. Wilkins. No bad news, I hope, ma'am, said the young fellow anxiously, as his half-written letter fluttered to the ground, and Christy sat looking at that fateful strip of paper with all the strength and color stricken out of her face by the fear that fell upon her. It might be worse. They told me he was dying once, and when I got to him, he met me at the door. I'll hope for the best now, as I did then, but I never felt like this before, and she hit her face as if daunted by ominous forebodings too strong to be controlled. In a moment she was up and doing as calm and steady as if her heart was not torn by an anxiety too keen for words. By the time the news had flown through the house, she was ready and coming down with no luggage but a basket of comforts on her arm. She found the hall full of wan and crippled creatures, gathered there to see her off, for no nurse in the hospital was more beloved than Mrs. Sterling. Many eyes followed her, many lips blessed her, many hands were outstretched for a sympathetic grasp, and as the ambulance went clattering away, many hearts echoed the words of one grateful ghost of a man. The Lord go with her and stand by her as she stood by us. It was not a long journey that lay before her, but to Christ it seemed interminable, for all the way one unanswerable question haunted her. Surely God will not be so cruel as to take David now when he has done his part so well and the reward is so near. It was dark when she arrived at the appointed spot, but Alicia Wilkins was there to receive her, and to her first breathless question, How is David? answered briskly. A sleepin' doin' well, ma'am, at least I should say so, and I peaked at him the last thing before I started. Where is he? In the little hospital over yonder. Camp wanted no place for him, and I fetched him here as the niest and the best thing I could do for him. How is he wounded? Not in the shoulder, side, and arm. Dangerously, you said? No, ma'am, that warn't and ain't my opinion. The sergeant sent that telegram, but I think he'd done wrong. The captain has hit pretty bad, but it ain't by no means desperate according to my way of thinkin'. Replied the hopeful Wilkins, who seemed mercifully gifted with an unusual flow of language. Thank heaven! Now go on and tell me all about it as fast as you can. Well, you see, we've been skirmishin' round here for a week, for the woods are full of rabs waitin' to surprise some commissary stores that's expected along. Contra bands is always comin' into camp, and we do the best we can for the poor devils and send them along, where they'll be safe. Yesterday four women and a boy come, and they'll be sent to the camp, and they'll be sent to the camp. And they'll be sent to the camp, and they'll be sent to the camp. Yesterday four women and a boy come, about as desperate a lot as I ever see, for they'd been two days and a night in the big swamp waitin' up to their wastes in mud and water, with nothin' to eat and babies on their backs all the way. Every woman had a child, one dead, but she'd fetched it, so it might be buried free, the poor soul said. Mr. Wilkins stopped an instant, as if for breath, but the thought of his own little chaps filled his heart with pity for that bereaved mother, and he understood now why decent men were willing to be shot and starved for the confounded niggers as he once called them. "'Go on,' said Christie, and he made haste to tell the little story that was so full of intense interest to his listener. I never saw the captain so worked up as he was by the side of them wretched women. He fed and warmed them, comforted their poor scared souls, gave what clothes he could find, buried the dead baby with his own hands, and nursed the other little creatures as if they were his own. It warn't safe to keep him more in a day, so when not come the captain got him off down the river as quiet as he could. Me and another man helped him, for he wouldn't trust no one but himself to boss the job. A boat was ready, blessed if I know how he got it, and about midnight we led them women down to it. The boy was a strong lad, and any of them could help row, for the current would take him along rapid. This way, ma'am, we'd be going too fast for you. Not fast enough, finish quick. We got down the bank all right. The captain standing in the little path that led to the river to keep guard, while Bates held the boat steady and I put the women in. Things was going lovely, when the poor gal who lost her baby must needs jump out and run up to thank the captain again for all he'd done for her. Some of them sly rascals was watching the river. They see her, heard Bates call out, come back, wench, come back, and they fired. She did come back like a shot, and we gave that boat a push that sent it into the middle of the stream. Then we'd run along below the bank and come out further down to draw off the ribs. Some followed us and we'd give it to them handsome, but some weren't deceived, and we heard them firing way at the captain, so we got back to him as fast as we could, but it weren't soon enough. I'd like my arm, Miss Sterling, as kind of rough here. And you found him? Lion right across the path, two dead men in front of him, for he'd kept him off like a lion till the fire and brought up a lot of our fellows and the Rebs could daddle. I thought he was dead, for by the starlight I see he was bleeding awful. Hold on, my dear, hold on to me. He warn't, thank God, and looked up at me and says he, Are they safe? They be, Captain, says I. Then it's all right, says he, smiling in that bright way of his, and then dropped off as quiet as a lamb. We got him back to camp double quick, and when the surgeons see them three wounds he shook his head, and I mistrusted that it weren't no joke. So when the captain come to I asked him what I could do or a gift for him, and he answered in a whisper, My wife. For an instant Christy did hold on to Mr. Wilkins' arm, for those two words seemed to take all her strength away. Then the thought that David was waiting for her strung her nerves and gave her courage to bear anything. Is he here? She asked of her guide a moment later, as he stopped before a large half-ruined house, through whose windows dim lights and figures were seen moving to and fro. Yes, ma'am, we've made a hospital of this. The captain's got the best room in it, and now he's got the best mist that's going anywheres. Won't you have a drop of something just as a stand by before you see him? Nothing. Take me to him in once. Here we be then, still sleeping. That looks well. Mr. Wilkins softly led the way down a long hall, opened a door, and after one look fell back and saluted as the captain's wife passed in. A surgeon was bending over the low bed, and when a hoarse voice at his elbow asked, how is he? The doctor answered without looking up. Done for. This shot through the lungs will finish him before morning, I'm afraid. Then leave him to me. I am his wife, said the voice, clear and sharp now with the anguish those hard words had brought. Good God! Why did no one tell me, my dear lady? I thought you were a nurse, cried the poor surgeon, wrunt with remorse for what now seemed the brutal frankness of his answer, as he saw the white face of the woman at his side with a look in her eyes harder to see than the bitterest tears that ever fell. I am a nurse. If you can do nothing, please go and leave him to me the little while he has to live. Without a word, the surgeon vanished, and Christie was alone with David. The instant she saw him she felt that there was no hope, for she had seen too many faces where the look his wore to be deceived, even by her love. Lying with closed eyes already sunken by keen suffering, hair damp with the cold dew on his forehead, a scarlet spot on either cheek, gray lines about the mouth, and pale lips parted by the painful breaths that came in heavy gasps or fluttered fitfully. This was what Christie saw, and after that long look she knew the truth and sunk down beside the bed crying with an exceeding bitter cry. Oh, David, oh, my husband, must I give you up so soon? His eyes opened then, and he turned his cheek to hers, whispering with the look that tried to be a smile, but ended in a sigh of satisfaction. I knew you'd come. Then, as a tearless sob shook her from head to foot, he added steadily, though each breath cost a pain. Yes, dear, I must go first. But it won't be hard with you to help me do it bravely. In that supremely bitter moment there returned to Christie's memory certain words of the marriage service that had seemed so beautiful when she took part in it. For better, for worse, till death do us part. She had known the better, so short, so sweet. This was the worse, until death came she must keep faithfully the promise made with such a happy heart. The thought brought with it unexpected strength and gave her courage to crush down her grief, seal up her tears, and show a brave and tender face as she took that feeble hand in hers ready to help her husband die. He saw, and thanked her for the effort, felt the sustaining power of a true wife's heart, and seemed to have no other care, since she was by him steadfast to the end. He lay looking at her with such serene and happy eyes that she would not let a tear, a murmur, marr his peace, and for a little while she felt as if she had gone out of this turbulent world into a heavenly one, where love reigns supreme. But such hours are as brief as beautiful, and at midnight mortal suffering proved that immortal joy had not yet begun. Christie had sat by many deathbeds, but never one like this, for through all the bitter pangs that tried his flesh, David's soul remained patient and strong, upheld by the faith that conquers pain and makes even death a friend. In the quiet time that went before, he had told his last wishes, given his last messages of love, and now had but one desire, to go soon that Christie might be spared the trial of seeing suffering she could neither lighten nor share. Go and rest, dear, go and rest. He whispered more than once, let Wilkins come. This is too much for you. I thought it would be easier, but I am so strong life fights for me inch by inch. But Christie would not go. For her sake, David made haste to die. Hour after hour the tide ebbed fast. Hour after hour the man's patient soul sat waiting for release, and hour after hour the woman's passionate heart clung to the love that seemed drifting away, leaving her alone upon the shore. Once or twice she could not bear it and cried out in her despair. No, it is not just that you should suffer this for a creature whose whole life is now worth a day of your brave, useful, precious one. Why did you pay such a price for that girl's liberty? She sat as the thought of her own wrecked future fell upon her dark and heavy. Because I owed it. She suffered more than this seeing her baby die. I thought of you in her place, and I could not help doing it. The broken answer, the reproachful look, rung Christie's heart, and she was silent. For in all the nightly tales she loved so well, what Sir Gala had had rescued a more wretched, wronged, and helpless woman than the poor soul whose dead baby David buried tenderly before he bought the mother's freedom with his life. Only one regret escaped him as the end drew very near, and mortal weakness brought relief from mortal pain. The first red streaks of dawn shone in the east, and his dim eyes brightened at the sight. Such a beautiful world, he whispered with the ghost of a smile. So much good work to do in it. I wish I could stay and help a little longer, he added, while the shadow deepened on his face, but soon he said, trying to press Christie's hand, still holding his. You will do my part, and do it better than I could. Don't mourn, dear heart, but work, and by and by you will be comforted. I will try, but I think I shall soon follow you and need no comfort here," answered Christie, already finding consolation in the thought. What is it, David? She asked a little later as she saw his eyes turn wistfully toward the window where the rosy glow was slowly creeping up the sky. I want to see the sunrise. That used to be our happy time. Turn my face toward the light, Christie, and we'll wait for it together. An hour later, when the first pale ray crapped in at the low window, two faces lay upon the pillow, one full of the despairing grief for which there seems no balm, the other, with lips and eyes of solemn peace, and that mysterious expression lovelier than any smile which death leaves as a tender token that all is well with the newborn soul. To Christie that was the darkest hour of the dawn, but for David sunrise had already come. End of CHAPTER XIII. SUNRISE. CHAPTER XIX. OF WORK. A STORY OF EXPERIENCE. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jennifer Stearns. WORK. A STORY OF EXPERIENCE. By Louisa May Alcott. CHAPTER XIX. LITTLE HEARTS EASE. When it was all over, the long journey home, the quiet funeral, the first sad excitement, then came the bitter moment when life says to the bereaved, take up your burden and go on alone. Christie's had been the still, tearless grief, hardest to bear, most impossible to comfort, and, while Mrs. Sterling wore her loss with the sweet patience of a pious heart, and Letty mourned her brother with a tender sorrow that finds relief in natural ways, the widow sat among them as tranquil, colorless, and mute, as if her soul had followed David, leaving the shadow of her former self behind. He will not come to me, but I shall go to him, seem to be the thought that sustained her. Those who loved her said despairingly to one another, her heart is broken, she will not linger long. But one woman, wise in her own motherliness, always answered hopefully, Don't you be troubled? Nader knows what's good for us, and works in her own way. Hearts like this don't break. And sorrow only makes them stronger. You mark my words, the blessed baby that's a coming in the summer will work a miracle. And you'll see this poor dear happy woman yet. Few believed in the prophecy, but Mrs. Wilkins stoutly repeated it and watched over Christy like a mother, often trudging up the lane in spite of wind or weather to bring some dainty mess, some remarkable puzzle in red or yellow calico, to be used as a pattern for the little garments that three women sewed with such tender interest, consecrated with such tender tears, or news of the war, fresh from Lysia, who was going to see it through if he come home without a leg to stand on. A cheery, hopeful, wholesome influence she brought with her. And all the house seemed to brighten as she sat there, freeing her mind upon every subject that came up, from the delicate little shirts Mrs. Sterling knit in spite of failing eyesight, to the fall of Richmond, which, the prophetic spirit being strong within her, Mrs. Wilkins foretold, with sibling precision. She alone could win a faint smile from Christy, with some odd saying, some shrewd opinion, and she alone brought tears to the melancholy eyes that sorely needed such healing due. For she carried little Adelaide, and without a word, put her into Christy's arms. There to cling and smile and babble, till she had soothed the bitter pain and hunger of a suffering heart. She and Mr. Power held Christy up through that hard time, ministering to soul and body with their hope and faith till life grew possible again. And from the dust of a great affliction rose the sustaining power she had sought so long. As spring came on, and victory over victory proclaimed that the war was drawing to an end, Christy's sad resignation was broken, by gusts of grief so stormy, so inconsolable, that those about her trembled for her life. It was so hard to see that regiments come home proudly bearing the torn battle flags, weary, wounded, but victorious, to be rapturously welcomed, thanked and honored by the grateful country they had served so well. To see all this and think of David in his grave unknown, unrewarded, and forgotten, but all but a faithful few, I used to dream of a time like this to hope and plan for it, and cheer myself with the assurance that, after all our hard work, our long separation, and the dangers we had faced, David would get some honor, receive some reward, at least be kept for me to love and serve and live with for a little while, but these men who have merely saved a banner, led a charge, or lost an arm, get all the glory while he gave his life so nobly. Yet few know it, no one thanked him, and I am left desolate when so many useless ones might have been taken in his place. Oh, it is not just. I cannot forgive God for robbing him of all his honors, and me of all my happiness. So lamented Christy, with a rebellious protest of a strong nature, learning submission through the stern discipline of grief, in vain Mr. Power told her that David had received a better reward than any human hand could give him, in the gratitude of many women, the respect of many men. That to do bravely the daily duties of an upright life was more heroic in God's sight than to achieve in an enthusiastic moment a single deed that won the world's applause, and that the seeming incompleteness of his life was beautifully rounded by the act that caused his death. Although no eulogy recorded it, no song embalmed it, and few knew it was but those he saved, those he loved, and the great commander who promoted him to the higher rank he had won. Christy could not be content with this invisible, intangible recompense for her hero. She wanted to see, to know beyond a doubt, that justice had been done, and beat herself against the barrier that baffles bereaved humanity till impatient despair was wearied out, and passionate heart gave up the struggle. Then, with no help seem possible, she found it where she least expected it, in herself. Searching for a religion she had found love. Now seeking to follow love she had found religion. The desire of Ford had never left her, and while serving others she was earning this reward. For when her life seemed to lie in ashes, from their midst, the slender spire aflame, purifying while it burned, rose trembling toward heaven, showing her how great sacrifices turned to greater compensations, giving her light, warmth, and consolation, and teaching her the lesson almost learned. God was very patient with her, sending much help, and letting her climb up to him, but all the tender ways in which aspiring souls can lead unhappy hearts. David's room had been her refuge, when those dark hours came, and sitting there one day trying to understand the great mystery that parted her from David, she seemed to receive an answer to her many prayers for some sign that death had not estranged them. The house was very still, the window open, and a soft south wind was wandering through the room with hints of mayflowers on its wings. Suddenly a breath of music startled her. So airy, sweet, and short-lived, that no human voice or hand could have produced it. Again and again it came. A fitful and melodious sigh, that to one made superstitious by much sorrow, seemed like a spirit's voice, delivering some message from another world. Christy looked and listened with hushed breath and expectant heart, believing that some special answer was to be given her. But in a moment she saw it was no supernatural sound, owing the south wind whispering in David's flute, that hung beside the window. Disappointment came first. Then warm, over her sore heart, flowed the tender recollection that she used to call the old flute David's voice. For into it he poured the joy and sorrow on rest and pain he told no living soul. How often it had been her lullaby. Before she learned to read its language, how gaily it had piped for others, how plaintively it had sung for him, alone and in the night, and now how full of pathetic music was that hymn of consolation, fitfully whispered by the wind-soft breath. Ah, yes. This was a better answer than any supernatural voice could have given her. A more helpful sign than any phantom face or hand. A sureer confirmation of her hope than subtle argument or sacred promise. For it brought back the memory of the living, loving man, so vividly, so tenderly, that Christy felt as if the barrier was down, and welcomed a new sense of David's nearness, for the softest tears that had flowed since she closed the serene eyes whose last look had been for her. After that hour she spent the long spring days lying on the old couch in his room, reading his books, thinking of his love and life, and listening to David's voice. She always heard it now, whether the wind touched the flute with airy fingers or it hung mute. And it sung to her songs of patience, hope and cheer, till a mysterious peace came to her. And she discovered in herself the strength she had asked, yet never thought to find. Under the snow, herbs of grace had been growing silently. And when the heavy rains had melted, all the frost away, they sprung up to blossom beautifully in the sun that shines for every spiral of grass and makes it perfect in its time and place. Mrs. Wilkins was right. For one June morning, when she laid that blessed baby in its mother's arms, Christy's first words were, Don't let me die. I must live for baby now. And gathered David's little daughter to her breast, as if the soft touch of the fumbling hands had healed every wound and brightened all the world. I told you so. God bless them both. And Mrs. Wilkins retired precipitately to the hall, where she sat down upon the stairs and cried most comfortable tears, for her maternal heart was full of a thanksgiving too deep for words. A sweet secluded time to Christy, as she brooded over her little treasure and forgot there was a world outside. A fond and jealous mother put a very happy one, for after the bitterest came the tenderest experience of her life. She felt its sacredness, its beauty, and its high responsibilities, accepted them prayerfully, and found unspeakable delight in fitting herself to bear them worthily, always remembering that she had a double duty to perform toward the fatherless little creature given to her care. It is hardly necessary to mention the changes one small individual made in that feminine household. The purring and clucking that went on, the panics over a pinprick, the consolations over a pellet of chamomila, the raptures at the dawn of a first smile, the solemn prophecies of future beauty, wit, and wisdom in the butt of a woman. The general adoration of the entire family at the Wicker Shrine, wherein lay the idol, a mass of flannel and cambrick, with a bald head at one end, and a pair of microscopic blue socks at the other. Mysterious little poor rangers sat unreproved upon the parlor fire, small garments aired at every window, lights burned at unholy hours, and three agitated netcaps congregated at the faintest chirp of the restless bird in the maternal nest. Of course, Grandma grew young again and produced nursery reminiscences on every occasion. Aunt Letty tried a day and night to gratify the imaginary warmth of the idol, and Christie was so entirely absorbed that the whole south might have been swallowed up by an earthquake, without causing her as much consternation as the appearance of a slight rash upon the baby. No flower in David's garden drove like his little June rose, for no wind was allowed to visit her too roughly. And when rain fell without, she took her daily airing in the greenhouse, where from her mother's arm she soon regarded the gay sight with such brightly satisfaction that she seemed a little flower herself dancing on its stem. She was named Ruth for Grandma, but Christie always called her Little Heart's Ease, or Pansy, and those who smiled at first at the mother's fancy came in time to see that there was an unusual fitness in the name. All the bitterness seemed taken out of Christie's sorrow by the soft magic of the child. There was so much to live for now, she spoke no more of dying, and holding that little hand in hers, it grew easier to go on along the way that led to David. How proud her mother never lived, and as baby waxed in her beauty and in strength. Christie longed for all the world to see her. A sweet peculiar little face she had, sunny and fair, but under the broad forehead, with a bright hair fell as David used to do. They're shown a pair of dark and solemn eyes, so large, so deep, and often so on childlike, that her mother wondered where she got them. Even when she smiled, the shadow lingered in these eyes. And when she wept, they filled and overflowed with great quiet tears, like flowers too full of dew. Christie often said remorsefully, my little pansy, I put my own sorrow into your baby soul, and now it looks back at me with a strange questfulness. And these great drops of the unsubmissive tears, I locked up in my heart because I would not be grateful for the good gift God gave me, even while he took that other one away. Oh, baby, forgive your mother, and don't let her find that she's giving you clouds instead of sunshine. This fear helped Christie to keep her own face cheerful, her own heart tranquil, her own life as sunny, healthful and hopeful, as she wished her childs to be. For this reason, she took garden and greenhouse into her own hands when Bennett gave them up. And with the stout lad to help her, did well this part of the work that David bequeathed to her. It was a pretty sight to see the mother with her year old daughter out among the fresh green things. The little golden head bobbing here and there like a stray sunbeam. The baby voice telling sweet, unintelligible stories to bird and bee in butterfly. Or the small creature fast asleep in a basket under a rose bush, swinging in a hammock from a tree, or in brand keeping, rosy, vigorous and sweet with sun and air, and the wholesome influence of a wise and tender love. While Christie worked, she planned her daughter's future, as mother's will, and had but one care concerning it. She did not fear poverty, but the thought of being straightened for the means of educating little Ruth afflicted her. She meant to teach her to labor heartily and see no degradation in it. But she could not bear to feel that her child should be denied the harmless pleasures that make youth sweet. The opportunities that educate, the society that ripens character, and gives her rank which money cannot buy. A little sum to put away for baby, safe from all risk, ready to draw from, as each need came, and sacredly devoted to this end was now Christie's sole ambition. With this purpose at her heart, she watched her fruit and nursed her flowers, found no task too hard, no sun too hot, no weed too unconquerable, and soon the garden David planted in his life-seen barren yielded lovely harvest to squall his little daughter's portion. One day, Christie received a letter from Uncle Enos, expressing a wish to see her if she cared to come so far and stop a spell. It both surprised and pleased her, and she resolved to go. Glad that the old man remembered her, and proud to show him the great success of her life as she considered baby. So she went, was hospitably received by the ancient cousin, five times removed, who kept house, and greeted with as much cordiality as Uncle Enos ever showed to anyone. He looked to scans at baby as if he had not bargained for the honor of her presence, but he said nothing, and Christie wisely refrained from mentioning that Ruth was the most remarkable child ever born. She soon felt at home and went about the old house visiting familiar nooks with a bitter, sweet satisfaction of such returns. It was sad to miss Aunt Betsy in the big kitchen, strange to see Uncle Enos sit all day in his armchair, too helpless now to plot about the farm and carry terror to the souls of those who served him. He was still a crabbed, gruff old man, but the narrow, hard, old heart was a little softer than it used to be, and he sometimes betrayed the longing for his kindred that the aged often feel when infirmity makes him desire tenderer props than any they could hire. Christie saw this wish and tried to gratify it with a dutiful affection which could not fail to win its way. Baby unconsciously lent a hand, for Uncle Enos could not long withstand the sweet enticements of this little kinswoman. He did not own the conquest in the words, but was seen to cuddle his small captivator in private, allowed all sorts of liberties with his spectacles, his pockets, and his bald peat, and never seemed more comfortable than when she confiscated his newspaper and, sitting on his knee, read it to him in a pretty language of her own. She's a good little gal, looks considerable like you, but you weren't never such a quiet puss as she is, he said one day, as a child was toddling about the room with an old doll of her mother's, lately disinterred from its tomb in the garret. She is like her father in that, but I get quieter as I grow old, Uncle, answered Christie, who sat sewing near him. You be growing old, that's a fact, but somehow it's kind of becoming. I never thought you'd be so much of a lady and look so well after all you've been through. Added Uncle Enos, vainly trying to discover what made Christie's manners so agreeable in spite of her plain dress and her face so pleasant in spite of the gray hair at her temples and the lines about her mouth. It grew still pleasanter to see as she smiled and looked up at him with a soft yet bright expression that always made him think of her mother. I'm glad you don't consider me an entire failure, Uncle, you know you predicted it. But though I have gone through a good deal, I don't regret my attempt, and when I look at Pansy, I feel as if I had made a grand success. You haven't made much money, I guess, but if you don't mind telling, what have you got to live on, asked the old man, unwilling to acknowledge any life of success if dollars and cents were left out of it. Only David's pension and what I can make by my garden. The old lady has to have some, don't she? She has a little money on her own, but I see that she and Letty have two-thirds of all I make. That ain't a fair bargain if you do all the work. Ah, but we don't make bargains, sir, we work for one another and share everything together. So like women, grumbled Uncle Enos, longing to see that the property was fixed up square. How you going to educate the little gal? I suppose you think as much of Coulter, and so on as ever you did, he presently added with a gruff laugh. More, answered Christie, smiling too. As she remembered the old corals, I shall earn the money, sir. If the garden fails, I can teach, nurse, sew, write, cook even, for I have half a dozen useful accomplishments and my fingers ends, thanks to the education you and dear Aunt Petsy gave me, and I may have to use them all, for Pansy's sake. Pleased by the compliment, yet a little contrast trickling at the small share he deserved of it, Uncle Enos set rubbing up his glasses a minute before he led to the subject he had in his mind. If you fall sick or die, what then? I thought of that, and Christie caught up the child as if her love could keep even death at bay. But Pansy soon struggled down again, but the dirty-faced doll was taking a walk and could not be detained. If I am taken from her, then my little girl must do as her mother did. God has over his in his special care, and he won't forget her, I am sure. Uncle Enos had a coughing spell just then, and when he got over it he said with effort, for even to talk of giving away his substance, cost him a paying. I'm getting into years now, and it's about time I fixed up matters in case I'm took sudden. I was meant to give you a little something, but as you didn't ask for it, I took care on it, and it ain't none the worse for waiting a spell. I just speak on it, so you needn't be anxious about the little girl. It ain't much, but it will make things easy, I reckon. You are very kind, Uncle, and I am more grateful than I could tell. I don't want to pay for myself, but I should love to know that my daughter was to have an easier life than mine. I suppose you thought of that when you come so quick, said the old man, with a suspicious look that made Christie's eyes kindle as they used two years ago, but she answered honestly, I did think of it and hope it, yet I should have come quicker if you had been in the poor house. Neither spoke for a minute for, in spite of generosity and gratitude, the two natures struck fire when they met as inevitably as flint and steel. What's your opinion of missionaries, asked Uncle Enos after a spell of meditation? If I had any money to leave them, I should bequeath it to those who helped the heathen here at home, and should let the innocent Fiji islanders worship their idols a little longer in benedded peace, answered Christie, in a usual decided way. That's my idea exactly, but it's uncommon horror to settle which of them that stays at home you'll trust your money to. You see, Betsy was always pestering me to give the charity things, but I told her it was better to save up and give it in a handsome blump that looked well, and was a credit to you. When she was dying, she reminded me on it, and I promised I'd do something before I followed. I've been turning on over in my mind for a number of months, and I don't seem to find anything that's just right. You've been rounding among the charity folks lately, according to your tale. Now what would you do if you had a tidy little sum to dispose on? Help the freed people? The answer came so quick that it nearly took the old gentleman's breath away, and he looked at his knees with his mouth open after involuntary show. I escaped him. Today would help give them the liberty, and I would so gladly help them to enjoy it, cried Christie, all the old enthusiasm blazing up, but with a clearer, steadier flame than in the days when she dreamed spunted dreams by the kitchen fire. Well, no, that wouldn't meet my views. What else is there? Asked the old man, quite unwarmed by her benevolent ardour. Wounded soldiers, destitute children, ill-paid women, young people struggling for independence, homes, hospitals, schools, churches, and God's charity all over the world. That's the pesky part on it. There's such a lot to choose from. I don't know much about any of them, began Uncle Enos, looking like a perplexed raven with a treasure which it cannot decide where to hide. Whose fault is that, sir? The question hit the old man full in the conscience, and he winced, remembering how many of Betsy's charitable impulses he had nipped in the bud. And now, all the accumulated alms she would have been so glad to scatter weighed upon him heavily. He rubbed his bald head with a yellow bandana and moved uneasily in his chair, as if he wanted to get up and finish the neglected job that made his helplessness so burdensome. I'll ponder on it, Spell, and make up my mind, was all he said. I never renew the subject again. But he had very little time to ponder, and he never did make up his mind. For a few months after Christie's long visit ended, Uncle Enos was took sudden, and left all he had to her. Not an immense fortune, but far larger than she expected, and great was her anxiety to use wisely this unlooked-for benefaction. She was very grateful, and she kept nothing for herself, feeling that David's pension was enough, and preferring the small sum he earned, so dearly, to the thousands the old man had hoarded up for years. A good portion was put by for Ruth, something for mother and lady, that want might never touch them, and the rest she kept for David's work, believing that, so spent, the money would be blessed. End of Chapter 19, Recording by Jennifer Stearns in Concord, New Hampshire. Chapter 20 of Work, A Story of Experience This is a Lubberbox recording. All Lubberbox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, auto-volunteer, please visit Lubberbox.org. Work, A Story of Experience by Louisa May Elkop. Chapter 20, At 40 Nearly 20 years since I set out to seek my fortune, it has been a long search, but I think I have found it at last. I only asked to be a useful, happy woman, and my wish is granted, for I believe I am useful. I know I am happy. Christy looked so as she sat alone in the flowery parlor one September afternoon, thinking over her life with a grateful, cheerful spirit. 40 today, and pausing at that halfway house between youth and age. She looked back into the past without bitter regret or unsubmissive grief, and forward into the future with courageous patience. For three good angels attended her, and with faith, hope, and charity to brighten life, no woman need lament lost youth or fear approaching age. Christy did not, and though her eyes filled with quiet tears, as they were raised to the faded cap, and she saw hanging on the wall, none fell, and in a moment tender sorrow changed to still tender a joy, as her glance wandered to Rosie Little Ruth, playing hospital with her dollies in the porch. Then they shone with genuine satisfaction as they went from the letters and papers on her table to the garden, where several young women were at work with a healthful colour in their cheeks that had been very pale and thin in the spring. I think David is satisfied with me, for I have given all my heart and strength to his work, and it prospers well, she said to herself, and then her face grew thoughtful as she recalled a late event which seemed to have opened a new field of labour for her if she chose to enter it. A few evenings before she had gone to one of the many meetings of working women, which had made some stir a blight, not a first visit, for she was much interested in the subject and full of sympathy for this class of workers. There were speeches of course, and of the most unparliamentary sort, for the meeting was composed almost entirely of women, each eager to tell her special grievance or theory. Anyone who chose got up and spoke, and whether wisely or foolishly, each proved how great was the ferment now going on, and how difficult it was for the two classes to meet and help one another in spite of the utmost need on one side, and the sincerest goodwill on the other. The workers poured out their wrongs and hardships passionately or plaintively, demanding or imploring justice, sympathy and help, displaying the ignorance, incapacity and prejudice, which make their need all the more pitiful, their relief all the more imperative. The ladies did their part with kindness, patience and often unconscious condescension, showing in their turn how little they knew of the real trials of the women whom they longed to serve, how very narrow a spear of usefulness they were fitted for in spite of culture and intelligence, and how rich they were in generous theories, how poor in practical methods of relief. One accomplished creature with learning radiating from every poor, delivered a charming little essay on the strong-minded women of antiquity, then taking labor into the region of art, painted delightful pictures of the time when all would work harmoniously together in an ideal republic, where each did the task she liked and was paid for it in liberty, equality and fraternity. Unfortunately, she talked over the heads of her audience and it was like telling fairy tales to hungry children to describe as Paschia discussing group politics with pericles and Plato, reposing upon ivory couches or Hypatia modestly delivering philosophical lectures to young men behind the Tyrian purple curtain, and the ideal republic met with little favor from anxious seamstresses, typesetters and shopgirls who said ungrateful among themselves. That's all very pretty but I don't see how it's going to better wages among us now. Another eloquent sister gave them a political irritation which fired the revolutionary blood in their veins and made them eager to rush to the state house en masse and demand the ballot before one half of them were quite clear what it meant and the other half were as unfit for it as any ignorant Patrick bribed with a dollar and a sup of whiskey. A third well-wisher quenched their ardor like a wet blanket by reading reports of sundry labour reforms in foreign parts. Most interesting but made entirely futile by difference of climate needs and customs. She closed with a cheerful budget of statistics giving the exact number of needle women who had starved, gone mad or committed suicide during the past year. The enormous profits rung by capitalists from the blood and muscles of their employers and the alarming increase in the cost of living which was about to plunge the nation into debt and famine if not destruction generally. When she sat down to spare was visible on many countenances and immediate starvation seemed to be waiting at the door to clutch them as they went out. For the impressible creatures believed every word and saw no salvation anywhere. Christie had listened intently to all this had admired, regretted or condemned as each spoke and felt as steadily increasing sympathy for all and a strong desire to bring the helpers and the helped into truer relations with each other. The dear ladies were so earnest so hopeful and so unpractically benevolent that it grieved her to see so much breath wasted so much goodwill astray while the expectant, despondent or excited faces of the work women touched her heart. For well she knew how much they needed help how eager they were for light how ready to be led if someone would only show a possible way. As the statistical extinguisher retired beaming with satisfaction and having added her might to the good cause a sudden and uncontrollable impulse moved Christie to rise in her place and asked Leib to speak. It was readily granted and a little stir of interest greeted her for she was known to many as Mr Powers's friend David Sterling's wife or an army nurse who had done well. Whispers circulated quickly and faces brightened as they turned toward her for she had a helpful look and her first words pleased them. When the president invited her to the platform she paused on the lower step saying with an expressive look and gesture I am better here thank you for I have been and mean to be a working woman all my life. Here here cried a stout matron in a gay bonnet and the rest endorsed the sentiment with a hearty round. Then they were very still and then in a clear steady voice with the sympathetic undertone to it that is so magical in its effect Christie made her first speech in public since she left the stage. That early training stood her in good stead now giving her self-possession power of voice and ease of gesture while the purpose at her heart lent her the sort of simple eloquence that touches persuades and convinces better than logic flattery or oratory. What she said she hardly knew words came faster than she could utter them thoughts pressed upon her and all the lessons of her life rose vividly before her to give weight to her arguments value to her counsel and the force of truth to every sentence she uttered. She had known so many of the same trials troubles and temptations that she could speak understandingly of them and better still she had conquered or outlived so many of them that she could not only pity but help others to do as she had done having found in labor her best teacher comforter and friend she could tell those who listen that no matter how hard or humble the task at the beginning if faithfully and bravely performed it would surely prove a stepping stone to something better and with each honest effort they were fitting themselves for the no-blood labor and large liberty God meant them to enjoy the women felt that this speaker was one of them for the same lines were on her face that they saw on their own her hands were no fine lady's hands her dress planer than some of theirs her speech simple enough for all to understand cheerful comforting and full of practical suggestion illustrations out of their own experience and the spirit of companionship that uplifted their despondent hearts yet more impressive than anything she said was the subtle magnetism of character for that as a universal language which all can understand they saw and felt that a genuine woman stood down there among them like a sister ready with head heart and hand to help them help themselves no offering pity as an alms but justice as a right hardship and sorrow long effort and late one reward had been hers they knew whitehood motherhood and widowhood brought her very near to them and behind her was the background of an earnest life against which this figure with health on the cheeks hope in the eyes courage on the lips and the ardour of a wide benevolence warming the whole countenance stood out full of unconscious dignity and beauty an example to comfort touch and inspire them it was not a long speech and in it there was no learning no statistics and no politics yet it was the speech of the evening and when it was over no one else seemed to have anything to say as the meeting broke up Christy's hand was shaken by many ruffin by the needle stained with printers ink or hard with humbler toil many faces smile gratefully at her and many voices thanked her heartily but sweeter than any applause were the words of one woman who grasped her hand and whispered with wet eyes i knew your blessed husband he was very good to me and i've been thanking the lord he had such a wife for his reward Christy was thinking of all this as she sat alone that day and asking herself if she should go on for the ladies had been as grateful as the women had begged her to come and speak again saying they needed such much a mediator to bridge across the space that now divided them from those they wished to serve she certainly seemed fitted to act as interpreter between the two classes for from the gentleman her father she had inherited the fine instincts gracious manners and unblemished name of an old and honorable race from the farmer's daughter her mother came the equally valuable dower of practical virtues a sturdy love of independence a great respect for the skill and courage that can win it such women were much needed and are not always easy to find the evening democratic america the hand that earns its daily bread must wear some talent name or honor as an ornament before it is very cordially shaken by those that wear white gloves perhaps this is the task my life has been fitting me for she said a great a noble one which i should be proud to accept and help accomplish if i can others have finished the emancipation work and done it splendidly even at the cost of all this blood and sorrow i came too late to do anything but give my husband and behold the glorious end this new task seems to offer me the chance of being among the pioneers to do the hard work share the persecution and help lay the foundation of a new emancipation whose happy success i may never see yet i had rather be remembered as those brave beginners are though many of them missed the triumph then as the late comers will be who only beat the drums and waved the banners when the victory is won just then the gate creaked on its hinges a step sounded in the porch and little ruth ran him to say in an audible whisper it's a lady mama a very pretty lady can you see her yes dear ask her in there was a rustle a sweeping silks through the narrow hall a vision of a very lovely woman in the doorway and two daintly gloved hands were extended as an eager voice asked dearest christie don't you remember bella carroll christie did remember and had her in her arms directly utterly regardless of the imminent destruction of a marvellous hat or the bad effect of tears on violet ribbons presently they were sitting close together talking with april faces and telling their stories as women must when they meet after the lapse of years a few letters had passed between them but bella had been abroad and christie too busy living her life to have much time to write about it your mother bella how is she and where still with augustine and he you know is melancholy mad very quiet very patient and very kind to everyone but himself his penances for the sins of his race would soon kill him if mother was not there to watch over him and her penance is never to leave him dear child don't tell me any more it is too sad talk of yourself and harry now you smile so i'm sure all is well with him yes thank heaven christie i do believe fate means to spare us as dear old dr surely said i never can be gay again but i keep this cheerful and busy as i can for harry's sake and he does the same for mine we shall always be together and all in all to one another for we can never marry and have homes apart you know we have wandered over the face of the earth for several years and now we mean to settle down and be as happy and as useful as we can that's brave i am so glad to hear it and so truly thankful it is possible but tell me bella what harry means to do you spoke in one of your first letters of his being hard at work studying medicine is that to be his profession yes i don't know what made him chose it unless it was the hope that he might spare other families from a curse like ours or lighten it if it came after hellans death he was a changed creature no longer a wild boy but a man i told him what you said to me and it gave him hope dr surely confirmed it as far as he did and how resolved to make the most of his one chance by interesting himself in some absorbing study and leaving no room for fear no time for dangerous recollections i was so glad and mother so comforted that we both feared that sad trouble would destroy him he studied hard got on splendidly and then went abroad to finish off i went with him the poor august was passed hope and mama would not let me help her the doctor said it was best for me to be away and excellent for hell to have me with him to cheer him up and keep him steady with a little responsibility we have been happy together in spite of our trouble he in his profession and i in him now he is ready so we have come home and now the hardest part begins for me how bella he has his work and loves it i have nothing after my duty to him is done i find i've lost my taste for the old pleasures and pursuits and though i have tried more sober solid ones there still remains much time to hang heavy on my hands and such an empty place in my heart that even harry's love cannot fill it i'm afraid i shall get melancholy that is the beginning of the end for us you know as bella spoke the light died out of her eyes and they grew despairing with the gloom of a tragic memory christie drew the beautiful pathetic face close upon her bosom longing to comfort yet feeling very powerless to lighten bella's burden that christie's little daughter did it for her ruth had been standing near regarding the pretty lady with as much wonder and admiration as if she thought her a very princess who might vanish before she got a good look at her divining with a child's quick instinct that the princess was in trouble ruth flew into the porch caught up her latest and dearest treasure and presented it as a sure consolation with such sweet good will that bella could not refuse although it was only a fuzzy caterpillar in a little box i give it to you because it is my nicest one and just ready to spin up do you like pussy pillars and know how they do it ask ruth emboldened by the kiss she got in return for her offering tell me all about it darling and bella could not help smiley as the child fixed her great eyes upon her and told her little story with such earnestness that she was breathless by the time she ended at first they are only grubs you know and stay down in the earth then they are like this nice and downy and humpy when they walk and when it's time they spin up and go to sleep it's all dark in their little beds and they don't know what may happen to them but they are not afraid because god takes care of them so they wait and don't fret and when it's right for them they come out splendid butterflies all beautiful and shining like your gown they are happy then and fly away to eat honey and live in the air and never be creeping wounds anymore that's a pretty lesson for me said bella softly i accept and thank you for it little teacher i'll try to be a patient pussy pillar though it is dark and i don't know what may happen to me and i'll wait hopefully till it's time to float away a happy butterfly go and get the friends some flowers the gayest and sweetest you can find pansy said christie and as the child ran off she added to her friend now we must think of something pleasant for you to do it may take a little time but i know we shall find your niche if we give our minds to it that's one reason why i came i heard some friends of mine talking about you yesterday and may seem to think you were equal to anything in the way of good works charity is the usual refuge for people like me so i wish to try it i don't mind doing or seeing sad or disagreeable things if it only fills up my life and helps me to forget you will help more by giving of your abundance to those who know how to dispense it wisely then by trying to do it yourself my dear i never advise pretty creatures like you to tuck up their silk bounds and go down into sloths and arms with the poor who don't like it any better than you do and so much pity and money are wasted in sentimental charity then what shall i do if you choose you can find plenty of work in your own class for if you will allow me to say it they need help quite as much as the paupers though in a very different way oh you mean i'm to be strong-minded to cry loud and spare not to denounce their inequities and demand their money or their lives now bella that's personal for i made my first speech a night or two ago i know you did and i wish i'd heard it i'd make mine tonight if i could do it as half as well as i'm told you did interrupted fella clapping her hands with a face full of approval the christie was in earnest and produced her new project with all speed i want you to try a little experiment for me and if it succeeds you shall have all the glory i've been waiting for someone to undertake it and i fancy you are the woman not everyone could attempt it for it needs wealth and position beauty and accomplishments much tact and more than all a heart that has not been spoiled by the world but taught through sorrow how to value and use life well christie what is it this experiment that needs so much and yet which you think me capable of trying ask bella interested and flattered by this opening i want you to set a new fashion you know you can set almost any you choose in your own circle for people are very like shape and will follow their leader if it happens to be one may fancy i don't ask you to be a distal and have a brilliant salon i only want you to provide employment and pleasure for others like yourself who now are dying of frivolity or ennune i should love to do that if i could tell me how well dear i want you to make harry's home as beautiful and attractive as you can to keep all the elegance and refinement of former times and to add to it a new charm by setting the fashion of common sense invite all the old friends and as many new ones as you choose but haven't understood that they are to come as intelligent men and women not as pleasure hunting though and bells give them conversation instead of gossip less food for the body and more for the mind the healthy stimulus of the nobler pleasures they can command instead of the harmful excitements of present dissipation in short show them a sort of society we need more of and might so easily have if those who possess the means of culture cared for the best sort and took pride in acquiring it do you understand bella yes but it's a great undertaking and you could do it better than i bless you know i haven't a single qualification for it but the will to have it done i'm strong minded a radical and a reformer i've done all sorts of dreadful things to get my living and i have neither youth beauty talent or position to back me up so i should only be politely ignored if i tried the experiment myself i don't want you to break out and announce your purpose with a flourish or try to reform society at large but i do want you to devote yourself and your advantages to quietly insinuating a better state of things into one little circle the very fact of your own want your own weariness proves how much such a reform is needed there are so many fine young women longing for something to fill up the empty places that come when the first flush of youth is over and the serious side of life appears so many promising young men learning to conceal or condemn the high ideals and the noble purposes they started with because they find no welcome for them you might help both by simply creating a purer atmosphere for them to breathe sunshine to foster instead of frost to nip their good aspirations and so even if you planted no seed you might encourage a timid sprout or two that would one day be a lovely flower or a grand tree all would admire and enjoy as christie ended with the figure suggested by a favorite work bella said after a thoughtful pause but few of the women i know can talk about anything but servants dress and gossip here and there one knows something of music art or literature but the superior ones are not favorites with the larger class of gentlemen then let the superior woman cultivate the smaller class of men who do admire intelligence as well as beauty there are plenty of them and you had better introduce a few with samples though their coats may not be at the finest broadcloth nor their fathers solid men women lead in society and when men find that they can not only dress with taste but talk with sense the lords of creation will be glad to drop me twaddle and converse as with their e-calls bless my heart cried christie walking about the room as if she had mounted her hobby and was off for a canter how people can go on in such an idiotic fashion passes my understanding why keep up an endless chatter about downs and dinners your neighbors affairs and your own aches when there is a world full of grand questions to settle lovely things to see wise things to study and noble things to imitate bella you must try the experiment and be the queen of a better society than any you can reign over now it looks inviting and i will try it with you to help me i know harry would like it and i'll get him to recommend it to his patients if he is as successful here as elsewhere they will swallow any dose he orders but he knows how to manage people wonderfully well he prescribed a silk dress to a despondent dowdy patient once telling her the electricity of silk was good for her nerves she made and when well dressed felt so much better than she bestowed herself generally and recovered but to this day she sings the praises of dr carol's electrocure bella was laughing gaily as she spoke and so was christie as she replied that's just what i want you to do with your patients dress up their minds in their best get them out into the air and cure their ills by the magnetism of more active earnest lives they talked over the new plan with increasing interest for christie did not mean that bella should be one of the brilliant women who shine for a little while and then go out like a firework and bella felt as if she had found something to do in her own sphere a sort of charity she was fitted for and with it a pleasant sense of power to give it zest when letty and her mother came in they found a much happier looking guest than the one christie had welcomed an hour before scarcely had she introduced them when voices in the lane made all look up to see old hepsy and mrs wilkins approaching two more of my dear friends bella a fugitive slave and a laundress one has saved scores of her own people and is my pet heroine the other has the bravest cheeriest soul i know and is my private oracle the words were hardly out of christie's mouth when in they came heaps his black face shining with affection and mrs wilkins as usual running over with kind words my dear critter the best wishes and no end of happy birthdays there's a trifling keepsake tuck it away and look at it by me by mrling i'm proper glad to see you looking so well aunt letty how's that darling child i ain't the pleasure of your acquaintance miss but i'm pleased to see you the children all sent love likewise lisha whose bones is better since i tried the campfire and red flannel then they settled down like a flock of birds of various plumage and power of song but all amicably disposed and ready to peck socially on any topic which might turn up mrs wilkins started one by exclaiming as she laid off her bonnet sakes alive there's a new picture ain't it beautiful colonel fletcher brought it this morning a great artist painted it for him and he gave it to me in a way that added much to its value answered christie with both gratitude and affection in her face for she was a woman who could change your lover to a friend and keep him all her life it was a quaint and lovely picture of mr greatheart leading the fugitives from the city of destruction a dark wood lay behind a wide river rolled before mercy and christiana pressed close to their faithful guide who went down the rough and narrow path bearing a crosshilted sword in his right hand and holding a sleeping baby with the left the sun was just rising and a long rain made a bright path a thought the river turned great hearts into the armor to gold and shone into the brave and tender face that seemed to look beyond the sunrise there's just a hint of davie in it that is very comforting to me said mrs sterling as she laid her old hands softly together and looked up with her devout eyes full of love dem women ought to be black mermen hepsy tearfully for she considered david worthy of a place with old john brown and colonel shore the child looks like pansy we all think added letty as the little girl brought her nose gave her auntie to tie up prettily christie said nothing because she felt too much and bella was also silent because she knew too little but mrs wilkins with her kindly tacked changed the subject before it grew painful and asked with sudden interest when be you going to hold forth again christie just let me know beforehand and i'll wear my old gloves i tore my best ones all to rags clapping of you it was so extra good i don't deserve any credit for the speech because it spoke itself and i couldn't help it i had no thought of such a thing till it came over me all at once and i was up before i knew it i'm truly glad you liked it but i shall never make another unless you think i'd better you know i always ask your advice and what is more remarkable usually take it said christie glad to consult her oracle hadn't you better rest a little before you begin any new task my daughter you have done so much these last years you must be tired interrupted mrs sterling with a look of tender anxiety you know i worked for two mother and said christie with the clear sweet expression her face always wore when she spoke of david i am not tired yet i hope i never shall be for without my work i should fall into despair or in you there is so much to be done and it is so delightful to help do it that i never mean to fold my hands till they are useless i owe all i can do for in labor and the efforts and experiences that grew out of it i have found independence education happiness and religion then my dear you are ready to help other folks into the same blessed state and it's your duty to do it cried mrs wilkins her keen eyes fall as sympathy and commendation as they rested on christie's cheerful earner's face if the spirit moves you to speak up and do it without no misgivings i think it was a special leading that night and i hope you follow for it ain't everyone that can make folks laugh and cry with a few plain words that go right to a body's heart and stop there real comfortable and feeling i guess this is your job my dear and you'd better catch hold and give it the right turn for it's going to take time and women ain't stood alone for so long they'll need a sight of boosting there was a general laugh at the close of mrs wilkins remarks but christie answered seriously i accept the task and will do my share faithfully with words or work as she'll seem best we all need much preparation for the good time that is coming to us and can get it best by trying to know and help love and educate one another as we do here with an impulsive gesture christie stretched her hands to the friends about her and with one accord they laid theirs on hers a loving league of sisters old and young black and white rich and poor each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happy end me too cried little ruth and spread her chubby hand above the rest a hopeful omen seeming to promise that the coming generation of women will not only receive but deserve their liberty by learning that the greatest of god's gifts to us is the privilege of sharing his great work each ready to do her part to hasten the coming of the happy end end of chapter 20 end of work a story of experience by lewis and may alcohol