_ CHAPTER XVII. THOSE WHO WAIT
There is nothing in life much harder to bear than suspense. To know the worst, whatever that may be, is far preferable to the long agony of doubt; hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst. Even a hardened criminal has been known to admit that the two or three hours of waiting for the verdict was far worse than the march to the gallows. If this be so, what must it be to the tender, loving hearts of good and true women whose husbands, sweethearts, brothers and sons are facing the dangers of war, and who (God pity them) have to endure this dread suspense for weeks and months when no tidings reach them?
When the train bearing Liddy's soldier boy from sight had rolled away she clung to her father's arm in mute despair. Pride sustained her until they had left the town behind, and were driving across the wide plains toward her home, and then the tears came. The memory of many pleasant moonlit drives along the same road when her lover was with her came back, and with it the realization that it was all ended, perhaps forever, and that the best she could look forward to was three years of weary waiting. Before her, miles away, rose the Blue Hills, distinct in the clear air, and as she looked at them, back came the memory of one day a month before--a day replete with joy and sorrow, when he had paid her the greatest and sweetest compliment a man can pay a woman. She could recall the very tones of his voice and she could almost feel the touch of his arms when he had held her close for one brief moment. In silence she rode along for a time, trying to control herself, and then turning to her father she said:
"Father, there is something I must tell you, and I ask your forgiveness for not doing so before." And then, in her odd, winsome way, resting her cheek against his shoulder and holding her left hand before his face for a moment, she continued: "Can you guess?"
"No, my child," he answered, quickly, wishing to cheer her, "I could not possibly guess. The ways of my little girl are so deep and dark, how could I?" and then continuing in a more cheerful tone: "Don't cry any more, Liddy. Some one is coming back from the war by and by, and some one else will want a lot of new dresses for a wedding, and expects to be happy, and I hope she will be."
Then a little hand began stroking his arm and a still damp face was being rubbed against his shoulder, and presently a soft voice whispered: "Father, you have always been too good to me. You never said a word and you knew it all along, I guess!" which rather incoherent speech may be excused under the circumstances.
The few weeks that followed were not as gloomy to Liddy as later ones. Her home duties outside of school hours had always been numerous, and now she found them a relief. Letters also came frequently from the absent one, and she felt that he was not yet in danger--that was a grain of consolation. But when he wrote that they were to start for the front the next day, her heart grew heavy again and from that time on the dread suspense was never lifted. She wrote him frequently and tried to make her letters brave and cheerful. All the simple details of her home life were faithfully portrayed, and it became a habit to write him a page every night. She called it a little chat, but it might better have been called an evening prayer, for into those tender words were woven every sweet wish and hopeful petition of a loving woman's heart. After the battle of Chancellorsville a cloud seemed resting upon Southton, and Liddy felt that the weary waiting was becoming more oppressive than ever. It had been her father's custom to drive "over town," as it was called, once a day to obtain the news, and she had always met him on his return, even before he entered the house, to more quickly learn the worst. She began to dread even this, lest he should bring the tidings she feared most.
Then came the call for needed supplies to be used in the care of the wounded, and gladly Liddy joined with other good ladies in picking lint, preparing bandages, and the like, and contributing many articles for the use and comfort of the soldiers. In this noble work she came to realize how many other hearts besides her own carried a burden, and to feel a kinship of sorrow with them. Her engagement to Manson seemed to be generally known and the common burden soon obliterated her first girlish reticence concerning it.
"I feel that I am growing old very fast," she wrote him, "and that I am a girl no longer. Just think, it is only ten months since I felt angry when some of the girls told me they heard I was engaged to you, and now I don't care who knows it."
For the next three months there were no battles that he was engaged in, and yet the suspense was the same. Then when the new year came another burden was added, for her mother grew worse, and it seemed to Liddy as if the shadows were thick about her. An event that occurred in the early spring, and two months after the battle of Tracy City, made a deep impression on her. Captain Upson, promoted from first lieutenant of Company E, was wounded at that battle, and dying later, was brought to Southton for burial. He was universally respected and almost the entire townsfolk gathered at the church to pay their tribute. Hundreds failed to gain admission, and it was said to have been the largest funeral ever known in the town. Liddy had never seen a military funeral and the ceremonies were sadly impressive. The long service at the church; the touching words of the minister uttered over the flag-draped coffin, upon which rested a sword; the sad procession to the cemetery, headed by muffled drum and melancholy fife mingling their sounds with the tolling bell, and then the arched arms of soldiers, beneath which the body was borne; the short prayer; the three volleys; and last of all, lively music on the return. This feature impressed her as the saddest of all, for it seemed to say: "Now, we will forget the dead as soon as possible," which in truth was what it meant in military custom.
It is needless to say as she returned with her father to their now saddened home, a possible event of similar import in which she must be a broken-hearted mourner entered her mind. During the next month came another and far worse blow. Her mother, long an invalid, contracted a severe cold and, in spite of all possible effort to save her, in three short days passed away. To even faintly express the anguish of that now bereaved husband and motherless girl is impossible and shall not be attempted.
When the funeral was over and they once more sat by the fire in the sitting-room, as was customary each evening, their pleasant home seemed utterly desolate, and the tall clock in the hall ticked with far deeper solemnity. Liddy in fact was, as she felt herself to be, walking "through the valley and shadow of death." To add to her utter wretchedness, if that were possible, she had received no letter from Manson for three weeks, and there were no rifts of sunshine in her horizon. She wrote him a long account of her loss and all the misery of mind she was experiencing and then, as she had no address to mail it to, held the letter in waiting, and finally tore it up. "It will only give him pain to know it," she thought, "and he has enough to bear." When she next heard from him she realized more than ever how many lonely and homesick hours he had to endure, and was glad she had kept her sorrow to herself.
A few weeks later her father, thinking to make the house more cheerful, proposed that her Aunt Mary--a widowed sister of his--should come and live with them.
"No, father," said Liddy, after the matter had been discussed, "I would rather be alone and take care of you myself." Then she added, with a little quiver in her voice: "You are the only one I've got to love now and perhaps the only one I shall ever have."
Liddy was essentially a home-loving girl and cared but little for company. A few friends, and good ones, might be considered as the text of her life, and even at school it had been the same. Her home duties and her father's needs were a sufficient kingdom, and over it she was a gracious queen. For the first three months after her mother's death she and her father lived a life of nearly silent sadness. Almost daily he visited the town, dreading far worse than Liddy ever knew lest he must return with sad tidings. He knew what was ever in her heart, and as her life-happiness was dear to him, he wasted no time in discussing war news with his friends in the village. When June came Liddy felt that a change in the morose current of their lives must be made, and in her peculiar way set about to carry out her idea. She knew his fiftieth birthday came during that month, and when the day arrived she said to him:
"Come home early to-night, father, I have a great, big favor to ask of you." All that afternoon she worked at her little plot, and when tea time came and he entered the house a surprise awaited him. The dining-table had been moved into the sitting-room, set with the best china, and in the center was a vase of flowers. Draped from the hanging lamp above it, and extending to each corner were ropes of ground pine, and around his plate was a double row of full-blown roses. It was a pretty sight, and when he looked at it he smiled and said: "Expecting company, Liddy?"
"Yes, you," was her answer; "and I've made a shortcake, and I picked the strawberries myself."
When he was seated in his accustomed chair he looked at the array of roses, and in a surprised voice remarked: "Why didn't you put some around your own plate, Liddy?"
"Because it's not my birthday," came the answer; "count them, father."
The thoughtful tribute touched him, and a look of sadness crept in his face. "I had forgotten how old I was," he said.
Liddy made no reply until she had poured his tea, and then she said, in her earnest way: "Now, father, I don't want you to think of that any more, or anything else that is past and gone. Please think how hard I worked all the afternoon to fix the table and how much I want to make you happy."
When it came time to retire, he said: "You haven't told me yet what that big favor is, Liddy!"
For answer she went to him and taking his face in her hands, she kissed him on either cheek and whispered: "Wait till to-morrow!" _