Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife
TekstCHAPTER X
"If a soul thou would'st redeem,
And lead a lost one back to God; —
Would'st thou a guardian angel seem
To one who long in guilt hath trod, —
Go kindly to him, – take his hand
With gentlest words within thine own,
And by his side a brother stand,
Till all the demons thou dethrone." Mrs. C. M. Sawyer.
Monday, July 6th.
This afternoon, I rode out with Frank to visit an elegant residence, about three miles distant. The house stands on an elevation, and has a beautiful lawn in front, descending toward a small lake or pond; on the shore of which stands a neat but tasteful boat-house, with accommodations for boating or fishing.
I saw a young girl rowing herself in a light skiff. She appeared to me to be about to upset every minute; but Frank told me it was an Indian canoe, which, being very light, can be paddled about with great ease and safety.
On our return, a woman came to the door of her house and requested the Doctor to call at Jones's, where a child was sick, intimating that she wished to say something more, but did not like to do so in my presence. I immediately proposed to alight from the carriage and proceed to the house of the patient, which was but a few steps distant.
Both the outer and inner doors were open, and nothing could be more appalling than the sight presented to my view. The room itself was capable of being made comfortable, if proper care had been bestowed upon it. But at present poverty and filth ruled without restraint.
The sick child lay upon a tottering bedstead, which was covered with pieces of carpet, torn quilts, or anything which could be procured from the floor or elsewhere. A part of an old rag-mat was fastened by two forks to the window at the side of the bed, to serve the double purpose of keeping out the wind and light, as there was hardly a whole pane of glass.
Chairs without backs, and a table under which a barrel had been pushed to serve in the place of a missing leg, made up the inventory of the furniture. On the floor, in the farther corner, lay the remnant of an old straw bed, and upon it was stretched in brutal unconsciousness of all around him the father of the family; the husband of the woman who was weeping over the sick child.
I announced myself as the wife of their physician, and was received by her in a way which led me to suppose she had seen better days. I felt of the little hand, lying over the side of the bed, and found it burning with fever. The sufferer lay with her eyes and mouth partly open, and her hair in a tangled mat about her face and neck.
"How long has she been in this stupor?" I asked, as the child took no notice of me.
"Since early in the morning."
"And have you given her no medicine?"
"Oh, yes! I have tried to force down a little spirit; but her teeth seemed set, so that she could not swallow."
I was never more rejoiced than to see Frank enter, as he did at this moment. He bid the woman get him a clean cloth, and some warm water. The latter she procured from a neighbor's kitchen, while a part of an old apron sufficed for the former.
The Doctor then proceeded to bathe the face, neck, and arms of the child. Afterwards he administered a cooling draught, which the poor, parched mouth eagerly swallowed. He forbade Mrs. Jones to give her any spirit, and left, promising to bring powders for the night.
As we rode home, my heart was full of admiration of my husband, while shame, that disgust had rendered me useless, and pity for the suffering family, alternately occupied my mind. At length, sympathy prevailed, and I said, "Frank, I shall watch with that sick child to night."
"Not for the world!" he replied, quickly; and then continued, more calmly, "The child will do well enough; or rather, she will not be the one to require most attention. I wish she were away from there; but I hardly think," he added, after a pause, "it will do to remove her."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Did you not see the man lying in the corner? He is a poor drunken fellow; and, if I'm not mistaken, will require more care than the child. I shall engage Mr. Ferris, a kind neighbor, to watch with them."
Perceiving my interest, my husband gave me a short account of the family, which he had known from childhood. "When Esther Holmes was married, her father furnished everything necessary for comfortable housekeeping. She had received a good common education, had been a few terms to an academy, and every one thought her well and happily settled in life.
"Her husband, Thomas Jones, is the son of pious parents; a capable man at his trade, and fully equal to supporting his family in comfort. He earns, at times, a good deal of money; but it is all spent for rum. Never was slave more under the influence of a tyrannical master, than he is under the power of his incessant appetite for intoxicating drink.
"In his Bacchanalian revels and fits of fury, he has broken and destroyed the furniture until now scarcely a piece remains. Sometimes, after an attack of delirium tremens, he endeavors to reform, and works steadily for two or three months. But then he is again overcome, and drinks worse than ever. His wife has gradually lost all hope, and seems to give up and let everything go. I fear she does not try to make home comfortable and pleasant to him, when he is himself. Everything is filthy in the extreme. It is only as a matter of stern duty that I can sit down in the house.
"For a day or two Jones has been sick, but he drinks all the time, he is awake; and I fear he will be wild to-night. It makes me sick at heart to think of him. He has some noble traits; but rum, rum, has changed him from a kind husband and a tender father into a creature worse than a brute."
Tuesday, July 7th.
About midnight a messenger came for the Doctor to hasten to Jones. The watchers could do nothing with him. He raved and swore that devils were at the foot of the bed, waiting to catch his soul, and carry it to hell. Frank went at once and did not return until near daylight. At breakfast, he relieved my anxiety for the sick child, by saying, she had been removed to a room in the other part of the house, and was now much better. But Thomas, he said, had passed a dreadful night. He had seemed to suffer the torments of the lost. He enumerated his sins from his childhood, disobedience to his parents, Sabbath breaking, profanity, intemperance, and almost every form of iniquity. These came up to his remembrance with the distinctness of the judgment. Then he told how he had turned from the Saviour, refused His offers of mercy, quenched the Spirit's influence, ruined his own soul, and the souls of his wife and children, all, ALL for RUM!!
This he screamed out; and when those around tried to soothe him, he said that he would scream so loud that every drunkard in town could hear. "If ten thousand devils pursue me," shrieked the insane man, "I will warn all to beware of RUM!!"
His attendants listened in wonder, and even Frank was astonished, as he had never heard him talk in this way before. Nor could he understand it until this morning, when Mrs. Jones told him that they had been to hear the new minister preach; and it appears their consciences had been aroused by his faithful presentation of truth.
Afternoon.
As Frank would not consent to my visiting little Susan, I contented myself with making her some nice porridge which Ann carried to her. My husband came in soon after, and told me two men could not hold Thomas in bed; and they had been obliged to confine his arms. He knows no one but his physician; and this afternoon appealed to him in a hoarse whisper, "take them off," pointing to the men who stood at the side of the bed. "Oh, hide me! Hide me! they tear my soul!"
The Doctor motioned them out of sight, and tried to soothe him. "Thomas," said he in a calm voice, "do you remember when you and I went to the Sabbath school?"
"Yes, oh yes!" gasped the poor fellow.
"Where did Mr. Goodrich tell us to flee for safety?" Thomas looked up eagerly, but made no reply.
"He told us to go to Christ. He would save us from all our enemies."
"If he would but take me; but oh, he wont; he wont! I've been too wicked ever to expect that," and hiding his head under the clothes, he cried aloud. Frank succeeded in persuading him to take some medicine, which the attendants could not do, because he thought they meant to poison him. He was calmer before Frank left.
Thursday, July 9th.
Last evening, my dear husband hurried through his calls, and took Mr. Munroe with him to see poor Thomas. He found him so exhausted by the violence of his fits, that, unless soon relieved, he cannot live long. The agony of his mind makes him much worse than ever before. When they went in, he had fallen asleep, and they sat down quietly to wait until he awoke. Frank says, as he sat by the bed and looked at the miserable man, so haggard and ghastly, he prayed that God would have mercy upon his soul, even at the eleventh hour.
When Jones awoke, he stared around him a moment, as if trying to remember where he was, while the Doctor quietly liberated his right hand, with which he immediately covered his face. After he had taken some gruel, he sighed, but would not speak.
Frank told him Mr. Munroe had come in as a friend to see him. He suddenly pulled away the clothes, and said, "No, he'll mock me! He knows how wicked I am! The last time I went to meeting he told over all my sins. He knows I can't be saved, and he'll only mock me." Here the poor creature burst into loud crying.
Mr. Munroe moved nearer, and took Thomas's hand in his; "My poor friend," said he, in a very gentle voice, "It would ill become me, a sinful creature as well as yourself, to make a mock at one for whom Christ died. I have come to remind you of his love, of his desire for your salvation. He has knocked at the door of your heart again, and again, and you have turned away from his pleading voice. Will you? – dare you turn from him now? When the Holy Spirit is striving with you, will you resist his gracious influence?"
He was interrupted by loud sobs, and Mrs. Jones, whom they had not perceived, hastened from the room, holding her apron to her face. Thomas had not noticed the interruption, but was looking so intently at Mr. Munroe that the Doctor almost feared the excitement, and placed his fingers on the brawny wrist.
But our good pastor perceived the workings of the spirit, and hoped and prayed that peace and joy might take the place of the dark despair which was killing body and soul.
No one spoke, but still Thomas gazed. His whole mind was filled with wonder. At length, he gasped, rather than spoke, "I will, I will receive Him as my Saviour, but oh, it is too late!"
The last words were spoken in such a tone of utter wretchedness and despair, that his hearers could not refrain from tears.
"Thomas," asked Mr. Munroe, "Do you remember the thief on the cross? Up to the moment of his conversion he had probably reviled his Lord. Take care then that you do not limit the power of the Almighty, whose voice of mercy saith 'He will save to the uttermost all that come unto Him.' He also adds for your encouragement, 'though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.'"
The poor man looked from one to the other, as if exhausted by the dreadful conflict within him, and said in a broken voice, "you will not deceive me with hope, when God has left me to despair."
Frank said, "While there is life, there is mercy if you will believe;" and not wishing to prolong the interview, they knelt in prayer. The poor wife came in and threw herself down at the foot of the bed. Mr. Munroe in a fervent manner commended them to God.
He prayed that from eternity they might look back upon this hour as the most blessed of their lives, as the hour when they had chosen Jesus for their Saviour, and heaven for their everlasting home. Before he arose from his knees, the poor humble penitent said, in a voice choking with tears, "Lord, I believe. Have mercy upon my guilty soul!" Mrs. Jones sobbed aloud.
From earth to heaven the tidings flew,
Two guilty souls are born anew.
Friday, July 10th.
This morning Doctor Frank has been to see Thomas. I waited with no little impatience for his return. He found his patient decidedly better, though very weak. He had but one fit during the night, and that much less severe in its character. He had a touching expression of humility which made him look like a different man. He has most clear views of the sinfulness of his own heart; and of the abounding grace of God in providing a Redeemer for one so vile.
Frank was much pleased with one expression he used; "I dare not hope that God has accepted me; but I feel willing to be in his hands. He knows what is best for me. I feel safe to trust him, and think when he sees how strong my desire is to do right, he will help me."
Oh, that Thomas may be able to withstand temptation, and to bring forth fruits meet for repentance. I hope Christians will encourage him and pray for him. I was grieved this morning to hear a professing Christian speak distrustfully of the change in poor Thomas, and say, "persons in delirium tremens, are often very pious, but when they recover, their goodness vanishes like the morning cloud, and early dew."
Surely it is infinite condescension in God to visit the abode of drunkenness and filth with the rich blessings of salvation; but who can doubt his ability, and willingness to do it?
Monday, July 13th.
I have not been quite well for a day or two, and have only received permission to write a few lines. Frank blames himself for allowing me to do so much; but I have really done nothing which could injure my health. The weather was very warm yesterday. I lay upon the bed the greater part of the day. Frank insisted upon staying from church to nurse me in the afternoon. He was obliged to visit his patients in the morning. It is quite sickly now in the town, especially among children. May God preserve our dear little Pauline!
After her return from church in the afternoon, madam Phebe came to my room to make inquiries about my health.
"Well, Phebe," I asked, "Did you enjoy the sermon?"
"Oh, yes, missus, ole Phebe hab blessed time. Mass'r Munroe quite undo hisself dis yer day."
"Out do you mean," said I laughingly.
"Laws missus! dere aint no kinder difference. He go long farder in the broad road dan I eber heard him afore. I 'spects, I'se can stand de meanin if I'se don't use de right words."
"What was the text?"
"Dere now, I'se can't jist tink ob de text all in a minit. It has popped right off all in a suddent, but 'twas a blessed un, all bout God."
"Well, Phebe, if you can't remember the text, you can tell me about the sermon, – it pleased you so much."
"Oh, yes, missus, pleased me berry much, powerful good discoors dat ar. Wall now, how kinder curis dis yer chile, can't jist tink ob nothing, only jist when don't want ter. Now I declar," said the perplexed woman, putting her hand to her head, "when I'se getting de supper de hull discoors 'ull come pouring into my ole brain, when I can't no way stop to 'tend to it."
"Can't you tell me the subject?" I asked, trying to repress my mirth.
"Oh, laws, yes, missus, 'twas all bout piousness, and serousness, dat's de idee. I'se glad," she added complacently, "I'se got some o' my senses left, 'twas a blessed discoors dat ar."
Tuesday, July 16th.
Dear Mother, I am up and dressed for the first time since Monday. I feel a general prostration of the system. My husband ascribes it to over excitement. Nothing could surpass the kindness of every one in the house. I fear Frank will make himself sick from anxiety. He returns home once or twice in the forenoon, runs to my chamber for a few minutes, and then off again to another part of the town. Phebe does wonders in her line, trying to make something "Missus will relish a bit." She complains that I do not eat enough to keep a canary bird alive, and indeed I have not much appetite. Frank would not allow me to arise until after dinner, when Ann came in with a dish which would be very tempting to a person in health. I readily recognized the kind hand which selected it for me. The breast of a fat pigeon, with a nice slice of crisp toast, and an excellent cup of tea. I almost relished it.
While I sat in bed bolstered by pillows with the waiter before me, madam Phebe came from the kitchen to pay me a visit. She wished to see with her own eyes why I did not eat.
CHAPTER XI
Low at his feet his daughter lies;
Dear father, let me stay!
But no, the cruel wretch replies,
Away, begone, away!
His heart was crusted o'er with years
Of guilt, and shame, and sin;
But still his wretched daughter cries
Oh! father, turn again!
I'll give up all I've dearly loved,
On thee my cares bestow;
With scorn the gray-haired sire thus proved
His hate. Go, daughter, go!
Friday, July 17th.
I feel a little stronger to-day. My husband came in yesterday while I was writing, and put his lordly veto upon my penning another word. I asked him if he had heard anything more from Lucy, or had received an answer from Mr. Benson.
He shook his head and said, "your first business is to get well." I think Emily is disappointed in not hearing from him; and she must be surprised that he does not write, as she supposes him to be only three miles distant. She asked me in a whisper yesterday if I had sent her letter. I told her, I sent it at once, and asked, "Has he replied?"
She shook her head.
"He may be away, and not have received it," I suggested. "I think," I added with hesitation, "I remember to have heard he was going on a journey." She brightened at once, and I turned away from fear lest she should ask more. I am glad to have escaped her scrutiny.
Friday, July 24th.
It is a week since I wrote you, dear mother. How I have longed to have you with me! I shall soon begin to expect another packet of letters. I desire to tell you about poor Emily; but my hand trembles so much, I don't know that I ought to enter upon it.
On Monday last I felt stronger than I had done for a week or two. Frank lifted me in his arms, and carried me down stairs for a short drive. The air was delightful, and I returned much refreshed, and invigorated. I wanted to walk up stairs, for fear Frank would injure himself carrying me. Cæsar stepped eagerly forward; but the Doctor only laughed, and said, "No, Cæsar, I claim this privilege, I can carry her as easily as I could carry a child."
I felt quite an appetite for my dinner, and was resting in my easy chair after it, when Emily came up to my room and walked toward me in such a calm, unnatural manner, I looked at her in alarm.
She seemed to be changed into marble, so colorless and rigid were her features. She silently put an envelop in my hand. I did not recognize the writing, but opened it, and took out a note, which, though written almost illegibly, either from emotion or haste, I saw was from Mr. Benson. It contained but few words, which were exactly these: —
"Miss Lenox,
"Beloved Emily, —
"I have this minute received your note, which has completely unmanned me.
"I am already on my way to Europe, where I shall probably stay several years; and where, until the last few minutes, I had hoped to spend the remainder of my life. It is only by the kindness of Captain B – I am permitted to detain the pilot, while I write these few words.
"We are already out of the channel. May God bless and forgive us both! Dearest, farewell!
"Frederic Benson."Saturday, July 25th.
I must finish telling you about my dear sister. Frank told mother as he came into my room, he should have thought that I was the one who had received sad tidings; for I sat holding Emily's hand tightly in mine, while the tears were streaming down my cheeks. Emily was calm and unmoved. I don't know how she feels; but she appears to be petrified. This appearance made such an impression upon me, that I had a dreadful dream after it. I sprang out of bed with a horrible shriek, thinking my distressed sister was insane, and I was trying to save her from some impending danger.
The next morning Frank looked very grave, and I heard his voice in the next room conversing with mother. The result of which conversation is, that she and Emily have gone for a few weeks to a town about a hundred miles distant, to visit some relatives.
In all the arrangements, sister was entirely passive, exhibiting neither unwillingness, nor interest. I hardly thought she could have left me so coldly. Not a muscle in her face moved as she kissed her farewell. Her hand remained passive in mine, and was cold and clammy. I know her brother is very anxious about her; and I expressed my fear that he had sent her away on my account.
"The journey will do her good," he replied.
Monday, July 27th.
Pauline is taking nice care of me, while Ann is busy about her morning work. The dear little thing is so proud to do anything for mamma. Sometimes she tries to help too much. After Ann curled her hair this morning, she accidentally left the brush on the dressing table. Pauline soon espied it, and stepping softly across the room made herself look like a fright. Her hair needs to be wet before it can be combed, and now being brushed when dry, it stood out like a broom all over her head. I told Ann not to laugh so much, lest the child should be encouraged to do it again, and should give us great trouble.
I asked Frank this morning, if he thought Lucy would come and sit with me. I feel rather lonely without mother or Emily, as I can neither read nor write but a few minutes at a time. He answered, "No!" decidedly.
"I want to see somebody," I said.
"How should you enjoy a visit from Aunt Susy?"
I almost jumped from my chair. This made him decide at once that she would not do. He said "You must rest, mind and body, in order to get well."
Tuesday, July 28th.
Yesterday afternoon I had arisen from my bed after a refreshing nap, and was seated in my easy chair by the window, when Frank came up stairs talking with some one whose voice I did not recognize, until she said, "I had hoped ere this to see thee at our house. Thee must come before Elizabeth goes;" and Friend Estes kindly advanced toward me, "I am truly sorry to see thee ill, my dear."
I tried to rise, and take her bonnet; but Frank said, she was his company, and he would do the honors. He took the friendly "poke," and carried it to the bed, where he spread a napkin carefully over it.
I looked in surprise; but the good lady smiled as she said, "Thy husband is well acquainted with friendly ways."
"I am sorry to leave such good company," he said, "but I have work enough for the afternoon." He was just leaving the room, when she detained him a moment, to ask whether Thomas Jones had recovered, and whether his family were in need of assistance. Frank replied that Thomas would soon be able to go to his work; until then, they were supported by charity.
There is something composing and soothing in the very voice and manner of the Friends. Certainly this is true with regard to my dear Friend Estes.
"Does thee like to have thy hair smoothed, my daughter? because I should love to do it for thee."
I said, I should like it very much, if she would let me sit before her, as I used to sit before my dear mother. She brought me a cricket, and I sat down and laid my head in her lap, where, for nearly an hour she passed her smooth hand lovingly across my forehead and hair. At the same time she discoursed so sweetly, that the afternoon passed too quickly away. If her conversation had not been so interesting, I should certainly have been lulled to sleep.
She told me of her daughter Elizabeth, who is soon to be married to a worthy young man every way approved by her parents, and the meeting.
"Is she to marry a Quaker?" I asked.
"Yes. He is now of our persuasion; but he was not educated so. He became a Friend by 'convincement.' The wedding is to take place in P – ." And she invited us to be present, kindly offering me a seat in her carriage, if Frank could not spare the time to accompany me.
Before she went, she said something which sent the blood to my cheeks, but which makes me so happy I must tell you about it. I was sitting with my head in her lap, looking up into her kind face, when she remarked, "Thee has a kind, loving husband."
"O yes! I cannot think of one thing in which I should wish him to be different." She smiled a moment, and then said, "I am pleased thou art so well suited. Would thee like to hear what he said of thee?"
"O, please tell me!" I said, before I thought, and then my cheeks burned. I hid my face and added, "If you think it would be proper, and he would like it."
She laughed merrily at my embarrassment, as she said: "I presume, dear, he has told thee the same, many times. He said, 'If I had searched the world through, I couldn't have found one so exactly suited to my idea of a true wife.' He concluded, being quite warmed with his subject, 'She is a perfect little darling, and I thank God for her every day of my life.'"
O, mother, you can't tell how happy she made me. I couldn't lift up my head for a long time, for fear she would see the blissful tears. She kissed me tenderly, and when she left, my mind was fully determined on one point, – if I ever am sick and need a nurse, I shall desire of all others a Friend, if I can get one anything like her.
I know, dear mother, you will be glad that your Cora has not so far, disappointed the expectations of her husband.
Friday, July 31st.
Miss Proctor is here, spending a few days with me. I enjoy her society exceedingly. As we sat together in my room, I did not like to spend the time in writing. This afternoon Cæsar has driven her in the carriage to Lee Hall, and Pauline accompanied them.
I sent Lucy a magnificent bouquet, which Cæsar made me for the occasion, with a little note expressing my affection and sympathy.
I had a call from Mrs. Jones this morning. Frank sent her here to see Miss Proctor, who is making some clothes for the children.
She appears truly humble and devout. Thomas has not tasted a drop of spirit since he recovered, and is now beginning to work. She took Miss Proctor's advice very kindly with regard to neatness and economy; that her husband might feel that he had a respectable and decent home. She said, "I have now more heart about him than I have had for many years, because he distrusts himself and looks above for help and strength."
Monday, August 3d.
Lucy Lee sent by Miss Proctor a note requesting me, if able, to call upon her in the course of a few days; and if unable, begging me to ask the Doctor to call. He went early this afternoon, when she showed him a letter, she had received from Allen, and asked him what she should do.
The letter stated that Allen, feeling a strong desire to know the character of the man, rumor had affianced to his Lucy, had placed himself in the way of one of Joseph's associates, an old schoolmate, who had told him some astonishing facts. These, Frank only related to me in brief, and, indeed, would have wholly kept from me if possible.
When Mr. Arnold was first introduced to Lucy, it had not occurred to her brother to force him upon her acquaintance. But when that gentleman told him of his love for his beautiful sister, and solicited his cooperation and influence in winning her hand, he had willingly consented, out of hatred to Allen. While, however, Arnold's passion increased, her aversion became every day more evident, until, in a fit of exasperation, he had made a contract with her brother, that on the day she became his wife, he, as her husband, would make over to him one half of his property. This contract Allen's informant was called upon to witness.
The reason of Joseph's cruel determination to force Lucy to a marriage with his friend was now evident. Allen begged her to be firm in refusing to be sold in so vile a manner.
The Doctor requested to see Joseph, being determined to appeal to his affection as a brother, and his honor as a gentleman, if, indeed, he had any such feelings. But he was informed that he had gone with Mr. Arnold to the city. Frank then advised her to embrace this favorable opportunity to impart to her father her decided refusal to marry Mr. Arnold. With this advice poor Lucy, with a shudder, promised to comply. She is too fearful.
Tuesday, August 4th.
I long to hear from Lee Hall. If I do not in a day or two, I will try to persuade Frank to allow me to call there.
To-day we received wedding cards from Dr. and Mrs. Clapp. I shall take an early opportunity to visit them. We also received a letter from mother, and can you believe it? Frank almost refused to let me read it. I felt so hurt, I could only say, "Dear husband, would you like me to conceal anything from you?"
Without another word, he read it aloud. Emily remains exactly as she was when they left; neither better nor worse; she talks, walks, and acts like an automaton.
Mother fears insanity. She says this state cannot last much longer, – a reaction must take place. She closed with the kindest messages to me, and particular inquiries about my health.
"Frank," I said, when he had finished, "will you please to do me a great favor?"
"Certainly, my love, I shall be most happy to do so."
"Well then, please write to mother at once, and ask her to bring Emily home. I know she longs to do so; and I am almost well now." He hesitated what to reply. "You have promised," I said.
"Well, be it so," he answered, "but I am convinced that it is not safe for a man to promise so blindly."
"Blindly! – a wife! oh, Frank! I would promise to do any thing in the world, you might ask. I have such entire confidence in you, I know you would not ask me to do wrong."
He looked very, very much pleased and drew me to his side. "Dear Cora, you have unconsciously given me the strongest proof of entire love; but I do not deserve it, though I shall endeavor not to forfeit so precious a token of your affection. This is the feeling, sweet wife, we should cultivate toward our heavenly Father. He knows what is best for us; and it is safe for us to confide in him. He sometimes leads us through dangerous paths. Let us trust Him, though clouds gather and break over our heads."