Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife

It was four or five hours before I saw him again, and I started to go to him, when I heard Cæsar knock repeatedly at the library door without receiving an answer. I therefore waited with great impatience. At length my husband came to my room, where Pauline was playing about the floor, and I knew by his looks, he had been much agitated. I sprang to meet him, when he clasped me in his arms, saying, "Dearest and best of wives, tell me again, that you forgive me. How very inhuman I have been!"

"Are you sorry you read it," I asked?

"No, no!" he replied eagerly, "I thank you more than I can express."

"Well, then, will you promise never to think of it more?"

"Yes, except as a powerful motive to be a better, and kinder husband to the most affectionate and forgiving of wives." He added, "I have prayed, with the record of your sufferings before me, for pardon and strength for the future."

"Dear Frank, did you pray for me too?"

"Yes, love, I prayed that we might be spared many years; and that each year we might be increasingly happy in each other, and useful to our fellow creatures." Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, "I prayed too for one who endeavored to injure us, that she might find space for repentance."

CHAPTER XVII

 
"Such a house broke!
So noble a master fallen! all gone! and not
One friend, to take his fortune by the arm,
And go along with him." Shakspeare.
 

Wednesday, November 4th.

I have been to the little hut occupied by William Reynolds and family, to see what had become of the children. Frank thinks it would be well to put them to school. It shall be my care to provide them suitable clothing. This, I can depend upon Miss Proctor to assist me in making up.

We found the poor woman seated in an old rocking-chair, and looking very miserable. Her husband beat her badly a few nights since, for interfering, when he was, as he said, administering proper chastisement to Willie. Since that time, she can hardly turn her head or see out of one eye. Her nearest neighbor, hearing a great noise, ran to the house, and secured William. The next day the same man brought a complaint against the inebriate for abuse of wife and children, and for refusing to provide for their support. He is now in the county jail, from which he is to be carried to the House of Correction for three months.

In the midst of their poverty, the children are really uncommonly prepossessing and intelligent. It is easy to see what they would have been if nurtured in a home of competence and comfort. At the time we entered, Anna was standing on an old stool behind her mother's chair, trying to smoother out the long auburn tresses, and twist them under the cap. I felt no repugnance to the act when I took the broken comb from her hand, and made a beautiful knot at the back of her mother's head. I then bathed her poor bruised temple; and promising to do something for her immediate relief, we left her.

I have become much interested in the history of this unfortunate family. Anna, the mother of my protegés, is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Ryland who lived in Waverley. Anna was the elder of four children, two of whom died in infancy, leaving only the subject of this sketch and Edward her younger brother to crown the hopes of their afflicted parents. Mr. Ryland was in the possession of a valuable farm, part of which was left him by his parents; but which he had greatly enlarged and improved by his own exertions. A new house had been erected on the site of the old one, and everything in and about it exhibited the appearance so common among the farmers of New England, of independence, comfort and respectability.

Anna and her brother had been educated with care, and after enjoying and improving the school advantages of the place, they had been sent in turn to academies at a distance.

Early in life Anna had become attached and affianced to William Reynolds, son of a neighboring farmer who was regarded as one of the most intelligent and enterprising young men in Waverley. Certainly his noble figure, and bright handsome face, made him a welcome guest, not only at the Ryland farm, but in every place where he chose to visit.

Mr. and Mrs. Ryland looked upon William with no little pride as the betrothed of their daughter, while she was at the same time the admiration and envy of the young people of her acquaintance. William Reynolds waited only long enough to be able to erect a neat comfortable cottage upon a spot of ground in Crawford, which had been his inheritance from his father's estate before he brought his Anna to be its presiding genius.

With Anna, there came to Rose Cottage, as the young bride styled her new home, wagon loads of the neatest of furniture purchased by her father. From the neatly finished attic to the well stored cellar, each apartment received its appropriate part of the new goods. White fringed curtains nicely looped aside with ribbon, were hung in her spare chamber, or the one set aside for company, while a gay carpet covered the floor of the parlor. Beside these two rooms on the lower floor, there was also a spacious kitchen, and a bed-room opening from it, which they intended for their own use, while beyond was a large shed connecting the house and barn. This, the neat housewife secretly determined, should, at least in summer, serve them for a kitchen, so that that apartment could be kept more tidy for the eating and sitting room.

As soon as they were settled, Anna's brother Edward was to constitute a part of their family. Not at all desirous to pursue the calling of his father, Mr. Ryland wisely concluded to allow him to follow the bent of his inclinations, justly supposing he would rise to greater usefulness by so doing. It must be supposed, however, that it was no small sacrifice for these excellent parents to part with their son from under the parental roof when he obtained a situation in Crawford, even though he would be under the care and influence of his sister.

Time passed on. The roses which had been transplanted from the old place, and which had given the name to their home, grew as if by magic. In his leisure hours, William under the direction of his tasteful wife, had made trellises a few feet from the window; and now the luxurious roses and vines almost reached the top. But within this sweet abode, in a cradle which had rocked her own infancy, there was indeed a new blown rose, unfolding its sweetness amidst the most tender care and love.

William, ever active and industrious, was accounted one of the most thriving farmers in the place; while Anna by her neatness, and good housewifery, had so won upon the good will of their employers, that whoever else returned from market, heavily laden as they went, with their own produce, William never failed to find customers, eager to purchase at an advanced price Anna's butter and cheese.

But about this time a little cloud arose in their horizon. Edward, who had been rapidly gaining upon the esteem and confidence of his employers, was by the sudden death of the head of the firm, thrown out of employment. His services however were eagerly sought as accountant, and book-keeper, in the great warehouse connected with the distillery, and belonging to Squire Lee. For a time nothing could be said but in praise of the new clerk; and the old gentleman, warned by the early dissipation of Joseph, that he could expect no aid from him, often hinted to Edward the promise of rapid advancement. But after a few months, Squire Lee noticed that Edward never tasted spirit of any kind; and he vowed to himself that he would get rid of a fellow whose conduct was a standing reproach to his own intemperance and to his business.

In fact, Ryland would have preferred a different situation, and had inwardly determined never to be a partner in an employment he could not approve. At that time, he did not realize as he did afterward, the curse that would surely follow those who engaged in the manufacture and sale of ardent spirits for unrighteous purposes. A great press of business about this period, postponed both in master and clerk, the separation contemplated.

Late one Saturday evening, Squire Lee visited his counting-room, where Edward was busily employed in making up the accounts for the week, that he might leave them in a state proper for inspection.

"That's a fine fellow!" said the Squire, clapping his clerk upon the shoulder, after he had watched him turning over the journal and ledger, and transferring accounts from one to another with great neatness and despatch. "That's something like, now!"

Edward made a passing remark about the amount of business the past week, and went on with his work.

"Yes," resumed the Squire, "that's exactly what I came to see you about. We've engaged a large amount of rum, our very best, to go out Monday morning; and as we shall make a great profit on it, I mustn't disappoint the man. He wants it for a new tavern somewhere down in – ."

Edward looked from his work a moment, as the old gentleman continued, "I know you like to go home and spend Sunday with the old folks. Some bright eyes watching for you, I suppose," said he, with a leering expression, and trying to be facetious, "but the fact is," bringing his heavy fist down on the desk, "them bills of sale have got to be made out; and you must give up going home this once, and take an extra day or so another time to give your gal a ride."

Young Ryland quietly laid the books upon the table, and turning round to look his employer full in the face, he said in a firm but respectful tone, "Squire Lee, I will remain here until midnight, and return at the same hour to-morrow night; but I have been taught to fear God and keep his commandments; and nothing could induce me to violate the Sabbath in the way you mention."

"Very well, sir," replied the Squire, in a voice of suppressed rage, "we shall soon see how that is. Don't the Bible teach young men to obey their masters?" he asked in a sneering tone. "Your parents had better have taught you that before they sent you here."

Edward stood perfectly calm and unmoved.

"If you don't recant, young fellow, and pretty quick too, you've earnt the last dollar you'll ever earn in my store;" and with a horrible oath he brought down his fist again upon the desk.

"In that respect, sir, I can never change," said young Ryland; "I have endeavored faithfully to do my duty since I have been in your employ. But, sir, to tell you the truth, I have stretched my conscience in your service by consenting to be employed in an establishment where liquors are manufactured; and it will be no disappointment to me to leave at this time."

Squire Lee in a frenzy, turned upon Edward with uplifted arm to strike him to the floor; but there was something in the expression of the young man's eye, which had not for a moment quailed, that restrained him; and he contented himself by pouring upon him a volley of abuse, intermingled with oaths and curses, such as it made Edward shudder to hear. He calmly turned, closed the books, placed them in the safe, passed the key to the old gentleman, saying, "In a few moments the business for the week would have been accounted for. I think you will find all correct, as far as I had gone." He took his hat and left, before the Squire had recovered his breath.

Whether the bills of sale were rendered in due season, or what he thought of Edward's conduct at that time is not known; but it is certain that after having in vain tried to fill Edward's place to his liking, the Squire took pains to ride out to Rose Cottage. He inquired his whereabouts, expressing a strong desire to get him back. "He was rather too fanatical about his religion, and all that sort of stuff, but a smarter, more faithful or accurate book-keeper I never had."

Mrs. Reynolds informed him that her brother, after leaving his store, had obtained recommendations from individuals acquainted with him while in the employ of the other firm, and had gone directly to New York, where he had speedily procured employment.

Squire Lee was so much disappointed, that Mrs. Reynolds added, that she would write to her brother whom it would be very pleasant to her to have again in her family.

"Tell him," resumed the Squire, "that I will make his salary just what he says."

This visit was the small cloud which gradually overspread the whole horizon of the gentle Anna Reynolds. That night when her husband returned home more than usually fatigued from his work, she communicated to him the purpose of the Squire in his call, expressing at the same time her conviction that her brother would never consent to return to his employ.

"Why couldn't I get the situation?" flashed through William's mind, but he said nothing to his wife until he had finished his out door work; and Anna had soothed her baby to sleep, laid it in the cradle – swept the hearth, and sat down to her sewing, with her foot upon the rocker.

"What are you thinking of, Willie?" she asked playfully. "You seem to be looking as earnestly into the fire, as if you were expecting your new cart and oxen to come walking out of it into the room."

William smiled as he turned to look at her; and after a moment's hesitation said, "Wife, I've been thinking it all over, about what Squire Lee said, and I've about come to the conclusion, to apply for the situation myself. That is," he continued, seeing her look of astonishment, "if Edward does not choose to come back."

Anna gazed intently at him for a moment, and then exclaimed, "William Reynolds, I really believe you are going mad. Aren't you well?" she asked, changing her tone.

William made a faint attempt to laugh as he said, "I expected you'd be astonished at first; but the fact is, you know I haven't felt well lately." Anna looked anxious, as this was the first intimation she had received of his sickness. "And to tell the truth, I always thought it was a foolish move in Edward to give up such a good place for so trifling a matter, and it was so pleasant having him here."

"It was, indeed," replied Anna with a sigh.

"If the whole must be known," resumed William, "when I went to market, and had been hawing and geeing all day, and called at the Squire's and saw Edward sitting there so cozy and comfortable with nothing to do, but just to write from morning till night; his salary sure, rain or shine, crops good or bad; I almost envied him."

"But what could you do with the farm?" interrupted Anna.

"I could get a man to take care of it. There's Joe Clark would take it to the halves, and be glad of the chance. I heard him talking so to a man not more'n a week ago."

Anna, however, was not easily convinced of the wisdom of this new movement; and it required all her husband's arguments to induce her to consent to his making the trial, in case he succeeded in obtaining the situation. He had when a boy, been at the head of the school in book-keeping, and had often assisted Edward in his accounts when obliged to be up late in the employment of the other firm. In representing to his wife, all the inducements to quit the farm for the counting-room, he did not mention the fact, that the hands employed by the firm, were allowed free access to the barrels of New England rum and whisky, piled up against the walls around the building. Indeed there were generally kept kegs especially for their use; and for them to treat those who came in upon business. It was during the frequent calls he had made upon Edward, that he had imbibed a taste for ardent spirits. Perhaps he thought this argument would not have much weight with his wife. Perhaps he was not himself aware of its power over himself, nor of the strength of his appetite.

True, it is, that having received a note from his brother-in-law, positively declining the offer of the Squire, accompanied by a note recommending him as competent to fill the place, and also a recommendation from the teacher of the school where he learned the art, Reynolds sallied forth in quest of Squire Lee. He did not think it necessary to exhibit to that gentleman, neither did he intend to show his wife, a kind note from Edward accompanying the other, begging him, by every motive he could urge, to avoid a place so fraught with danger. In the most brotherly manner, Edward told him that he had noticed with fearful anticipations the relish with which, on occasions of his calls at the distillery, he had accepted invitations to a glass from the workmen. He also added, that since he had been in New York, he had ascertained that public sentiment was farther advanced upon the subject of intemperance than he had supposed, and that the distiller was beginning to be regarded as an enemy to his brother man.

"If," he added at the close, "Squire Lee had proposed to take me as an equal partner into the firm, instead of the offer he made, I would not for an instant think of accepting it."

"All this was no doubt well meant in Edward," soliloquized William, as he walked to the counting room; "but I always knew he was too stiff in such matters; even Anna says that." But he could not help acknowledging that his wife, and her parents would view the matter in the same light as the writer, should they read the letter. So he considered it more prudent to say nothing about it, as he had made up his mind to take the situation if he could obtain it.

Unfortunately for him, and for all connected with him, he did obtain it, and entered at once upon his new duties; Joe Clark taking his place on the farm.

"Somehow," said Anna, "from the very first, everything seemed to go behind hand. Joe was not so much interested, or at home on the farm as my William; and then his pay had to come out of the produce, whether we made little or much; and though my husband satisfied his employers, and received a good salary, yet I didn't realize much help from it at the cottage. It also weaned him from home, and got him in a way of staying out very late at night; and at length all was gone; and he mortgaged our beautiful home to the Squire, when Willie was a baby, telling me he should soon work and get it back again. But every thing went and went, until I and my babes moved to this old shanty, with little more of my nice furniture than the bed on which I lie. Even this, I could have borne, had my husband been left to me. I could work, I would do anything for them; but I have no husband. A man calling himself William Reynolds lives here; that is, when he is not off on a drunken frolic; but he is not THE William Reynolds I married."

It will be readily seen that though William and his wife were, at the time of their living in Rose Cottage, moral, and upright in their characters; yet they were not actuated by the religious principles which were the governing motives of their brother's conduct. But it is to be hoped, that the death of her parents, together with the sad change in her own circumstances, had been blessed to the afflicted woman. Certainly she has been most careful to instil religious principles into the minds of her children.

"But where," I asked, "is Edward, her brother?"

"He has never been to Crawford since the death of his parents. William was very angry at his brother's interference, as he termed it, in matters which did not concern him; and Anna has not heard from him for several years."

CHAPTER XVIII

 
"There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new born babe beside her lies;
Oh, heaven of bliss! when the heart o'erflows
With the rapture a mother only knows." Henry Ware, jr.
 

Tuesday, April 19th, 1836.

Dearest Mother, – Though it has been many a long month since I have had the heart to write in my journal, I cannot let the anniversary of my marriage and departure from home pass away, without at least a few words to the dear family at home. My breath comes quickly, and my tears blind me when I think, they may be my last. Often my heart sinks, and my spirit faints, as I look forward with an undefined sense of dread to the future. Sometimes I am enabled to look up with trust and confidence to "Him who doeth all things well;" and by faith to take hold of the precious promises peculiarly addressed to me.

I am blessed with a devoted husband; a watchful and tender mother, and an affectionate sister. When I think of these mercies, I can only say, "surely my cup runneth over."

Dear mother, I need not ask your prayers for your daughter. I know that I am remembered whenever you approach the throne of grace —

My pen dropped from my hand. I was with you in spirit at the hour of family prayer. I saw again my own loved and honored father in his arm chair, near the table, where open before him lies the sacred page. Near by sit my dear mother and sisters, while on the opposite side of the room, are our faithful Jennie and her associates, waiting for the daily instruction, they are in the habit of receiving. When all is still, a chapter is read. Isabel strikes softly the notes of the organ, while all join in a hymn of praise; then my dear father in a simple, trustful manner, lays the wants of each one of the bowed circle before our Heavenly Father.

 
"The voices of my home! I hear them still!
They have been with me through the dreamy night —
The blessed household voices, wont to fill
My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight."
 

Ah! beloved mother, my spirit melts as I feel assured that I am not forgotten; the dear child who has gone out from the shelter of the parental roof, who lives beyond the mighty waters; for her and her husband, are invoked the choicest of heaven's blessings; strength, support, and comfort, for every hour of need. Thus let me feel, your prayers ever ascend. Father, mother, sisters, farewell!

"Crawford, May 2d, 1836.

"Honored Parents,

"I am most happy to inform you that after a protracted, and somewhat dangerous illness, my dear wife gave birth to a fine boy, at half past six this morning. My heart is full of gratitude for the mercy which has spared the life of my beloved Cora, and given us so precious a treasure.

"Dutifully and affectionately your son,

 

"Frank Lenox."

"P.S., May 6th, – Mother and child are doing well. Cora looks very smiling, as she lies gazing at her sleeping babe. She says, tell them I am very, very happy."

Thursday, November 10th.

Beloved mother, how I long to exhibit to you and to all at home, my beautiful boy, my chubby, rosy Walter. He is everything a mother's heart could desire, gifted with every faculty of body and mind, to make him a useful member of society. Yet when I realize that I have given birth to one whose soul can never die, I shrink from the fearful responsibility. Yet I am not alone. There is a fountain of wisdom and knowledge from which I am permitted freely to draw.

I am almost too happy. I have a dear husband whose steps become more quick and elastic; whose eye grows more bright whenever he approaches his home, his wife, his sweet little daughter Pauline, and his darling, frolicsome boy-baby. Walter knows his father's step right well, and almost springs out of my arms as he opens the door and advances to take him from me.

Nothing can be more tender than Pauline's fondness for her little brother. Without a word, she yields her choicest toys, or stands for him to pull her curls. This is master Lenox's richest sport. It is sport, however, which I have forbidden. He must learn, even thus early in life, to respect the rights of his yielding sister, or he will tyrannize over her. I prophesy no small trouble from this source, for not only is she willing to be deprived of whatever she has in her hand, but if I say "No, Walter, that is sister's," the affectionate child, in her rich musical voice, pleads, "Please, mamma, let Pauline give brother. Pauline don't want now."

Mother, and sister, are very proud of the young Lenox, who, they fondly imagine, will add much to the honor of their name. Indeed he is a true Lenox, and already asserts his authority over every one of the family, most of whom yield obedience to him far too readily.

Friday, December 30th.

For a few days Pauline has not been well. I feel quite anxious; she has heretofore enjoyed uniform health. She coughed very hard last night. Her father thinks she has taken a cold which will soon pass away. I have allowed Ann to take most of the care of Walter, so that I can devote myself to my little girl.

Walter has gained a great victory over Ann, of which he does not fail to make the most. He now appears to realize that she is completely under his control, and insists upon having his own way whenever with her. I wish she were more decided with him. She would have far less trouble. When his wishes conflict with mine, he yields at once. Instead of the loud crying, and throwing his head back, which so frightens his nurse, he looks in my face to see if I am in earnest, and then pleasantly turns to something else. I have been telling Frank, it is high time for him to assert his authority; but he begs off. He drives into the yard, springs up the stairs to the nursery, catches up his boy and gives him a ride upon his shoulder, or upon his back, gets him into a great frolic, and then he is off. Sometimes it takes me half an hour to restore quiet. Frank says his mother always managed him, and he thinks such duties belong to the mother.

I told him, I really believed he dared not make the attempt for fear he could not carry it out. He only laughed and went out of the room, saying he would try his skill on Pauline. Dear child, she loves her father so dearly that the thought of displeasing or disobeying him, would never enter her heart. She is now quietly sleeping, and I hope will awake refreshed.