1,99 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
In "According to the Pattern," Grace Livingston Hill weaves a compelling narrative that skillfully blends elements of romance, faith, and social commentary. Set against the backdrop of early 20th-century America, the novel explores the life of a young woman caught between conventional societal expectations and her quest for personal fulfillment. Hill's prose is characterized by its simplicity and elegance, creating an intimate atmosphere that invites readers into the protagonist's complex emotional landscape while addressing themes of grace, redemption, and divine providence. The rich characterization and vivid descriptions offer insight into the moral dilemmas faced by individuals during this transformative period in American history. Grace Livingston Hill, renowned as one of the pioneers of Christian fiction, was deeply influenced by her own experiences, including her strong Christian faith and upbringing in a prominent family of social reformers. Her writings often reflect her passion for spiritual exploration and her keen observations of human relationships, which undoubtedly shaped the intricate dynamics in "According to the Pattern." Hill's literary journey encompassed over fifty novels, making her an impactful voice in Christian literature. This engaging narrative is highly recommended for readers seeking a heartwarming story that not only entertains but also inspires introspection about life's patterns. Hill's ability to intertwine romance with moral teachings provides an enriching experience, making this book a timeless treasure for both faithful readers and lovers of classic literature. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Ähnliche
According to the Pattern
Table of Contents
Introduction
In According to the Pattern, Grace Livingston Hill traces how a conscientious young woman, surrounded by shifting fashions of society and desire, chooses whether to align her life with a steadfast moral design or yield to easier, more decorative cuts that promise approval, comfort, and escape yet threaten the quiet integrity that anchors her soul; as friendships, obligations, and opportunities press in, her daily decisions become stitches in a fabric whose final shape will reveal not only what she values but the pattern she trusts to guide her heart, a tension played out not on grand stages but across the ordinary textures of home, work, and community.
This novel belongs to the tradition of inspirational Christian fiction, interweaving domestic realism with a gentle romantic thread. Set against an American social landscape contemporary to its publication, it evokes the early twentieth century’s rhythms of household responsibilities, emergent professional spaces, and church-centered community life. Composed during Grace Livingston Hill’s productive early period, the book reflects her interest in the moral challenges of everyday living rather than dramatic spectacle. Readers encounter a world of visiting parlors, sober duties, and public expectations, where personal character is tested quietly but persistently. Within that milieu, the story’s stakes feel intimate yet consequential, framed by the era’s decorum and faith-inflected culture.
The premise is simple and resonant: a principled young woman recognizes that small choices add up to a life, and she resolves to shape those choices by a standard that does not shift with circumstance. Hill’s narrative follows the pressures that complicate such resolve—social invitations that blur boundaries, obligations that ask for compromise, and voices that justify a softer line. The experience is measured and reflective rather than sensational. The voice is earnest and transparent, favoring clear moral contrasts without losing sympathy for human frailty. The mood is hopeful, with quiet tension building through everyday tests that reveal character as surely as any crisis might.
Central themes include integrity amid temptation, the difference between appearance and substance, and the slow, cumulative power of habit. The book asks whether a person can hold to convictions without becoming rigid, and whether kindness can coexist with uncompromising standards. It considers how community shapes conscience, and how conscience in turn can gently reshape community. Readers today may recognize the enduring dilemma of negotiating external pressures while remaining true to an internal compass. The novel’s emphasis on steady, ordinary faithfulness offers a counterpoint to quick fixes and performative virtue, suggesting that moral clarity is not merely declared but formed by consistent, thoughtful practice.
Stylistically, Hill favors lucid prose, straightforward plotting, and conversations that surface moral questions in accessible terms. The pacing allows room for contemplation, with scene transitions grounded in the routines of work and home. The title signals a governing metaphor: life fashioned according to a reliable design rather than improvised by impulse. While the narrative does not depend on complex symbolism, it draws on the era’s domestic arts and social forms to illustrate standards, measures, and careful workmanship of character. Readers attuned to quieter fiction will find that the novel’s restraint is purposeful, shaping a story where meaning accumulates through choices as precise as stitches.
Grace Livingston Hill was a prolific American author widely associated with inspirational and family-friendly fiction, and this book reflects the ethos that secured her readership. She often placed ordinary women at the center of stories about ethical discernment, social expectations, and practical faith. According to the Pattern exemplifies that focus, privileging the formation of character over spectacle and positing that spiritual principles are most persuasive when embodied in everyday conduct. Within the broader landscape of early twentieth-century popular literature, Hill’s work stood apart for its frank moral intentionality coupled with narrative warmth, offering readers not only entertainment but a framework for thinking about the choices that shape a life.
Approached today, the novel reads as both period piece and prompt for reflection. Its decorous settings and measured conflicts provide a calm, absorbing atmosphere, while its questions—what anchors a person, how conviction is kept without harshness, why small compromises matter—retain currency. Readers who appreciate character-driven stories, gentle romance, and faith-conscious narratives will find a consistent, uplifting through line. Those interested in cultural history may also value the window it opens onto everyday ethics in an earlier American era. Above all, According to the Pattern offers the satisfactions of a clear moral arc told with empathy, inviting contemplation without sacrificing narrative momentum.
Synopsis
According to the Pattern follows a young wife at the outset of marriage as she and her husband set up a modest home in a growing American city. He is ambitious and absorbed by a rising position in business; she is intent on building a household shaped by faith, order, and welcome. From the opening chapters, the title’s idea—living by a trustworthy pattern—frames her choices in budgeting, hospitality, and deportment. Early domestic scenes establish warm companionship, quiet routines, and a shared hope for the future, while subtle contrasts emerge between the steady rhythms of home and the glittering pull of his professional world.
In these early months, the wife learns practical skills, chooses simplicity over display, and supports her husband’s long hours without surrendering her convictions. Church friendships and neighborhood obligations expand her circle, and she discovers how small acts—well-cooked meals, careful dressmaking, thoughtful letters—create a refuge. The husband, increasingly valued at the office, meets clients and attends late meetings. Their conversations remain affectionate, yet gaps appear in schedules and expectations. A tone of restraint prevails: the narrative notes shifting priorities without judgment, keeping attention on daily decisions that either reinforce or erode the home’s foundation. The “pattern” functions as both ideal and measuring line.
A turning influence enters through social invitations linked to the husband’s work. A sophisticated acquaintance—stylish, witty, and at ease with late suppers and lively gatherings—introduces a faster pace. The husband is flattered by acceptance into this circle; the wife, courteous yet cautious, weighs what can be embraced without compromising core values. The book traces their responses to dances, cocktails, and new entertainments, emphasizing polite dialogue rather than confrontation. Scene by scene, the widening gap between two ways of life is mapped: one path promises excitement and advancement; the other offers steadiness and quiet joy, grounded in shared belief and mutual respect.
Domestic and social motifs intersect in details of clothing, décor, and schedules. The wife, who sews many of her garments, literally works from patterns, choosing lines that are tasteful and modest rather than flamboyant. She plans home suppers that reflect grace and thrift, hoping to welcome her husband’s associates without adopting every custom they favor. Meanwhile, business pressures pull him toward later nights and more visible alliances. The narrative introduces discreet whispers and small misunderstandings that test trust. Attention centers on tone—the practiced ease of the social set, the serene order of home—and on how competing loyalties begin to strain ordinary days.
Seeking clarity, the wife turns to Scripture and to older women whose steady counsel highlights the book’s guiding phrase: a pattern of good works. Rather than dramatic speeches, she practices restraint—setting boundaries, choosing company wisely, and cultivating a consistent, cheerful presence. Her kindness extends beyond the household as she assists a neighbor facing discouragement, illustrating how convictions can do quiet good. Conversations with her husband remain respectful and sincere, even as they reveal differences. This section underscores process over event: confidence is built habit by habit, and the story shows how convictions tested in small matters prepare one for larger trials.
A pivotal episode arrives through a public occasion connected with the husband’s career, where appearances and loyalties are closely watched. A misread moment, an indiscreet comment, or a too-obvious familiarity sparks talk that reaches the wife. The narrative handles the incident with reserve, presenting the facts and the emotions they stir without sensational detail. The wife must decide how to respond: confront at once, retreat in silence, or maintain composure while seeking truth. Her choice aligns with the central theme, privileging integrity and patience. Tension rises, not from spectacle, but from the moral weight carried by courteous words and measured actions.
Consequences follow quietly. The husband senses the disparity between transient glamour and dependable affection, noticing how his home remains welcoming despite strain. Interactions with the sophisticated acquaintance reveal practical limitations behind polished appearances—demands, expectations, or shallow loyalties that complicate business and friendship alike. Meanwhile, the wife’s steady witness, joined by discreet support from trusted friends, offers a different picture of strength. The narrative turns on small recognitions: how attention is spent, whom one honors in decisions, and what peace looks like when obligations collide. Through reflection and observation, values sharpen, and the cost of each path becomes clearer.
Resolution develops through circumstances that clarify motives and commitments, drawing the couple toward decisions that acknowledge earlier vows. Without detailing final outcomes, the story charts a movement from uncertainty to definition: roles are rebalanced, social ties are reassessed, and the home’s purpose is reaffirmed. The “pattern” proves not rigid but reliable, guiding apologies, gratitude, and renewed consideration. The book emphasizes restoration achieved through ordinary means—honest conversation, consistent behavior, and practical rearrangements—rather than sudden reversals. By the close, the narrative has sketched a believable arc from testing to stability, leaving the particulars of future days to the reader’s inference.
Taken together, According to the Pattern presents a domestic drama centered on fidelity, conscience, and the quiet influence of a well-ordered life. It portrays marriage as a daily craft shaped by humble skills and generous restraint, and it frames faith as a lived structure rather than a slogan. Key events register in small choices more than in grand gestures, and the central message is clear: lives organized according to a sound pattern can absorb pressure without collapse. The book ends with a tempered hopefulness, suggesting that careful adherence to principle enables affection to endure, community to strengthen, and work to find its rightful place.
Historical Context
According to the Pattern unfolds in the milieu of the American Progressive Era, roughly the first decade and a half of the twentieth century, in a large northeastern city whose rhythms—streetcars, department stores, and burgeoning office towers—shape daily life. Electrified trolleys, widespread by the 1890s, stitched residential neighborhoods to downtown business districts, while telephones and electric lighting redefined domestic and office routines. Middle-class Protestant churches stood near rows of brownstones and new apartment houses, framing expectations for respectable conduct. The novel’s focus on office routines, parlor visits, and church activities mirrors this urban environment, where public and private spheres increasingly overlapped and moral boundaries were tested by modern mobility and work.
Rapid urbanization and the rise of corporate office culture provided the social scaffolding for the novel’s conflicts. The typewriter (commercialized by Remington in 1874) and stenography transformed clerical work; by 1900 roughly one-fifth of clerical workers were women, a share that would approach one-half by 1920. Skyscrapers such as New York’s Flatiron Building (1902) symbolized centralized white-collar employment, with nine-hour days and Saturday half-holidays common. In cities like Philadelphia and New York, electric streetcars made after-hours socializing and office fraternization easier. The book’s depictions of flirtation, reputation, and temptation inside and around the workplace reflect this new proximity and the novel pressures it placed upon marriage and home.
The era’s “New Woman” phenomenon—educated, mobile, and increasingly wage-earning—forms a crucial backdrop. Women’s higher education expanded (e.g., Bryn Mawr, founded 1885), and the National American Woman Suffrage Association consolidated campaigns after 1890, culminating in women’s enfranchisement via the Nineteenth Amendment in 1920. By 1900, about one in five adult women worked for wages, with clerical positions offering comparatively respectable entry into public life. This shift complicated courtship and marriage norms, as offices mixed genders under looser supervision than parlors or church socials. The novel’s portrayal of a wife guarding her household and a stylish, independent coworker courting attention reflects ambivalences surrounding female autonomy and respectability.
Social purity and temperance activism, deeply rooted since the 1870s, set moral coordinates the novel takes seriously. The Woman’s Christian Temperance Union (founded 1874; led by Frances Willard, 1879–1898) and the Anti-Saloon League (1893) mobilized churches against alcohol and vice districts. Public anxiety over “white slavery” spurred investigations like the Chicago Vice Commission (1911) and federal action in the Mann Act (1910) against interstate trafficking. Reformers promoted chaperonage, modest dress, and careful leisure. Although the book is domestic in scale, its warnings about risky amusements, unguarded meetings, and the erosion of self-control echo the era’s purity discourse, casting urban pleasures as fertile ground for moral backsliding.
Protestant evangelical culture, revival campaigns, and interdenominational associations anchored moral expectations that the narrative endorses. Dwight L. Moody’s late nineteenth-century revivals and the Northfield Conferences (from the 1880s) invigorated Bible study and personal conversion. The Chautauqua Institution (founded 1874 in New York) linked education with piety, while the YMCA/YWCA offered supervised social life for youth arriving in cities. Sunday schools expanded rapidly, and denominational women’s societies organized relief and mission work. According to the Pattern’s emphasis on prayer, Scripture as ethical compass, and the church as a support network matches this institutional landscape, portraying congregational life as a practical counterweight to the isolating temptations of the modern city.
Debates over marriage and divorce intensified as mobility and urban anonymity expanded. The U.S. Census Bureau’s landmark report Marriage and Divorce, 1887–1906 (published 1908) recorded 945,625 divorces in that period and highlighted striking interstate disparities. Reformers sought uniformity: the National Conference of Commissioners on Uniform State Laws (established 1892) and the National Congress on Uniform Divorce Laws (1906–1907, Washington, D.C.) debated standards, as lenient jurisdictions like Nevada attracted notoriety. Advice literature multiplied, stressing domestic duty and self-denial. The novel’s vigilance about flirtation and its depiction of a wife actively safeguarding her home reflect contemporary fears that the urban office and leisure culture, if unregulated, could dissolve marital bonds.
Consumer culture and domestic science redefined home life, another axis central to the story. Department stores—John Wanamaker’s in Philadelphia (expanded in the 1890s; new building dedicated 1911) and Macy’s Herald Square in New York (opened 1902)—promoted aspirational lifestyles through display windows, credit, and seasonal sales. Concurrently, Ellen Swallow Richards advanced home economics; the American Home Economics Association formed in 1908, advocating scientific housekeeping, budgeting, and nutrition. Middle-class households adopted cookbooks, sewing patterns, and time-saving devices. The novel’s title ideal—ordering life “according to the pattern”—resonates with this ethos, portraying a competent mistress of the home who uses discipline and prudence to resist the era’s glamorized, wasteful, and morally ambiguous consumer amusements.
As social and political critique, the book exposes the vulnerabilities created by rapid urban modernity: porous boundaries between work and home, gendered double standards in public comportment, and the class performance encoded in dress and leisure. It indicts office flirtation as a byproduct of commercial culture that commodifies attention and destabilizes marriage, and it resists an easy resort to divorce, echoing reform-era calls for marital responsibility. By elevating personal piety, congregational support, and temperance, it challenges the permissiveness of city amusements and the prestige of conspicuous consumption. The narrative thus defends an ethic of fidelity and duty while quietly critiquing male privilege and the social costs of laissez-faire urban life.
According to the Pattern
Chapter 1: A Fallen Idol
Mrs. Claude Winthrop sat in her pretty sitting room alone under the lamplight making buttonholes. Her eyes were swimming in stringing tears that she would not for the world let fall. She felt as if a new law of attraction held them there to blind and torture her. She could not let them fall, for no more were left; they were burned up by the emotions that were raging in her soul, and if these tears were gone her eyeballs would surely scorch the lids. She was exercising strong control over her lips that longed to open in a groan that should increase until it reached a shriek that all the world could hear.
Her fingers flew with nervous haste, setting the needle in dainty stitches in the soft white dress for her baby girl. She had not supposed when she fashioned the little garment the day before and laid it aside ready for the finishing that she would think of its wearer to-night in so much agony. Ah, her baby girl, and her boy, and the older sister!
Almost the tears fell as another dart pierced her heart, but she opened her eyes the wider to hold them back and sat and sewed unwinkingly. She must not, must not cry. There was a momentous thinking to be done tonight. She had not had time to consider this awful thing since it had come upon her. Was she really sure beyond a doubt that it was so? How long ago was it that she took little Celia, happy and laughing, in the trolley[1] to the park? How little she thought what she was going out to meet as she lifted the child from the car and smilingly humored her fancy to follow a by-path through the woods. How the little feet had danced and the pretty prattle had babbled on like a tinkling brook that needed no response, but was content with its own music.
And then they had come to the edge of the park drive where they could look down upon the world of fashion as it swept along, all rubber-tired and silver-mounted[2], in its best array. She had sighed a happy little sigh as she surveyed a costly carriage surmounted by two servants in white and dark-green livery and saw the discontented faces of the over-dressed man and woman who sat as far apart as the width of the seat would allow, and appeared to endure their drive as two dumb animals might if this were a part of their daily round. What if she rode in state like that with a husband such as he? She had shuddered and been conscious of thankfulness over her home and her husband. What if Claude did stay away from home a good deal evenings! It was in the way of his business, he said, and she must be more patient. There would come a time by and by when he would have enough, so that they could live at their ease, and he need not go to the city ever any more. And into the midst of the bright dream she had conjured came little Celia’s prattle:
“Mamma, see! Papa tummin’! Pitty lady!” She had looked down curiously to see who it was that reminded the child of her father, and her whole being froze within her. Her breath seemed not to come at all, and she had turned so ghastly white that the baby put up her hand and touched her cheek, saying, “Mamma, pitty mamma! Poor mamma!”
For there on the seat of a high, stylish cart drawn by shining black horses with arched necks, and just below a tall elegant woman, who was driving, sat her husband. Claude! Yes, little Celia’s papa! Oh, that moment!
She forced herself to remember his face with its varying expressions as she had watched it till it was out of sight. There was no trouble in recalling it; it was burned into her soul with a red-hot iron. He had been talking to that beautiful woman as he used to talk to her when they were first engaged. That tender, adoring gaze; his eyes lovelighted. It was unmistakable! A heart-breaking revelation! There was no use trying to blind herself. There was not the slightest hope that he could come home and explain this away as a business transaction, or a plot between him and that other woman to draw her out into the world, or any of those pretty fallacies that might happen in books. It was all true, and she had known it instantly. It had been revealed to her as in a flash, the meaning of long months of neglect, supposed business trips, luncheons, and dinners at the club instead of the homecoming. She knew it. She ought to have seen it before. If she had not been so engrossed in her little world of the household she would have done so. Indeed, now that she knew it, she recognized also that she had been given warnings of it. Her husband had done his best to get her out. He had suggested and begged, but she had not been well during the first years of the two elder children, and the coming of the third had again filled her heart and mind. Her home was enough for her, always provided he was in it. It was not enough for him. She had tried to make it a happy one; but perhaps she had been fretful and exacting sometimes, and it may be she had been in fault to allow the children to be noisy when their father was at home.
He had always been fond of society, and had been brought up to do exactly as he pleased. It was hard for him to be shut in as she was, but that was a woman’s lot. At least it was the lot of the true mother who did not trust her little ones to servants. Ah, was she excusing him? That must not be. He was her husband. She loved him deeply, tenderly, bitterly; but she would not excuse him. He was at fault, of course. He should not have been riding with a wealthy woman of fashion while his own wife came to the park on the trolley and took care of her baby as he passed by. He was not a man of wealth yet, though they had hoped he would one day be; but how did he get into this set? How came he to be sitting beside that lovely lady with the haughty air who had smiled so graciously down upon him? Her soul recoiled even now as she remembered that her husband should be looking up in that way to any woman—that is, any woman but herself—oh, no! Not even that! She wanted her husband to be a man above, far above herself She must respect him. She could not live if she could not do that. What should she do? Was there anything to do? She would die. Perhaps that was the way out of it—she would die. It would be an easy affair. No heart could bear many such mighty grips of horror as had come upon hers that afternoon. It would not take long. But the children—her three little children! Could she leave them to the world—to another woman, perhaps, who would not love them? No, not that. Not even to save them from the shame of a father who had learned to love another woman than his wife. She reasoned this out. It seemed to her that her brain had never seen things so clearly before in all her life. Her little children were the burden of her sorrow[1q]. That all this should come upon them! A father who had disgraced them—who did not love his home! For this was certainly what it would come to be, even though he maintained all outward proprieties. She told herself that it was probable this had not been going on long. She forced herself to think back to the exact date when her husband began to stay away to dinners and to be out late evenings. How could she have been so easily satisfied in her safe, happy belief that her peace was to last forever, and go off to sleep before his return, often and often?
And then her conscience, arising from a refreshing sleep, began to take up its neglected work and accused her smartly. It was all her fault. She could see her mistakes as clearly now as if they had been roads leading off from the path she ought to have kept. She had allowed her husband to become alienated from herself. She could look back to the spot where she ought to have done something, just what she did not know. She did not even stop to question whether it had been possible in her state of health, and with their small income, which was eaten up so fast in those days by doctor’s bills and little shoes. But all that was past. It could not be lived over. She had been a failure—yes, she, Miriam Hammond Winthrop—who had thought when she married that she would be the most devoted of wives, she had let her husband drift away from her, and had helped on the destruction that was coming surely and swiftly to her little children. Was it too late? Was the past utterly irretrievable? Had he gone too far? Had he lost his love for her entirely? Was her power all gone? She used to be able to bring the lovelight into his eyes. Could she ever do it again?
Suddenly she laid down the little white garment with the needle just as she was beginning to take the next stitch and went to the mirror over the mantel to look at herself.
She turned on all the gas jets and studied her face critically. Yes, she looked older, and there were wrinkles coming here and there. It seemed to her they had come that afternoon. Her eyes looked tired too, but could she not by vigorous attention to herself make her face once more attractive to her husband? If so it was worth doing, if she might save him, even if she died in the attempt. She took both hands and smoothed her forehead, rubbed her cheeks to make them red, and forgot to notice that the tears had burned themselves up, leaving her eyes brighter than usual. She tossed her hair up a little like the handsome woman’s she had seen in the park. It really was more becoming. Why had she not taken the trouble to dress it in the present style? Then she went back to her chair again and took up the work. The buttonholes that she had expected would take several evenings to finish were vanishing before her excited fingers without her knowing it. It was a relief to her to do something; and she put all her energy into it so that her hands began to ache, but she was only conscious of the awful ache in her heart and sewed on.
If there were some one to advise her! Could she do it?
Could she make a stand against the devil and try to save her Eden? Or was it more than one poor shy woman, with all the odds of the gay world against her, could accomplish?
She longed to have her husband come home that she might throw herself at his feet and beg and plead with him for her happiness, to save their home; she longed to accuse him madly, and fling scorching words at him, and watch his face as she told him how she and his baby had seen him that afternoon; and then she longed again to throw her arms about his neck and cry upon his breast as she used to do when they were first married, and any little thing happened that she did not like. How she used to cry over trifles then! How could she, when such a world of sorrow was coming to her so soon?
She was wise enough to know that none of these longings of her heart must be carried into effect if she would win her husband. In his present attitude he would laugh at her fears! She seemed to understand that her anguish would only anger him because he would feel condemned. Her own soul knew that she could not take him back into her heart of hearts until she won him back and he came of his own accord confessing his wrong to her. But would that ever be? He was a good man at heart, she believed. He would not do wrong, not very wrong, not knowingly. Perhaps he had not learned to love any other woman, only to love society, and—to—cease to love her.
If her dear, wise mother were there! But no! She could not tell her. She must never breathe this thing to any living soul if she would hope to do anything! His honor should be hers. She would protect him from even her own condemnation so long as she could. But what to do and how to do it!
Out of the chaos of her mind there presently began to form a plan. Her breath came and went with quick gasps and her heart beat wildly as she looked the daring thing in the face and summoned her courage to meet it.
Could she perhaps meet that woman, that outrageous woman, on her own ground and vanquish her? Could she with only the few poor little stones of her wits and the sling of her love face this woman Goliath of society and challenge her? What! expect that woman, with all her native grace and beauty, her fabulous wealth, and her years of training to give way before her? A crimson spot came out on either cheek, but she swallowed hard with her hot dry throat and set her lips in firm resolve. She could but fail. She would do it.
But how? And with what? It would take money. She could not use her husband’s, at least not much of it, not to win him back. There was a little, a few hundreds, a small legacy her grandmother had left to her. How pitifully small it seemed now! She cast a glance at a fashion magazine that lay upon her table. She had bought it the day before because of a valuable article on how to make over dress skirts to suit the coming season’s style. How satisfied with the sweet monotony of her life had she been then! It came to her with another sharp thrust now! But that magazine said that gowns from five to seven hundred dollars were no longer remarkable things. How she had smiled but the evening before as she read it and curled her lip at the unfortunates whose lives were run into the grooves of folly that could require such extravagance. Now she wished fiercely that she might possess several that cost not merely seven hundred but seven thousand dollars, if only she might outstrip them all and stand at the head for her husband to see.
But this was folly. She had only a little and that little must do! It had been put aside for a rainy day, or to send the children to college in case father failed. Alas! And now father had failed, but not in the way thought possible, and the money must be used to save him and them all from destruction, if indeed it would hold out. How long would it take, and how, how should she go about it?
With sudden energy she caught up the magazine and read. She had gone over it all the day before in her ride from the city where she had been shopping, and had recognized from its tone that it was familiar with a different world from hers. Now with sudden hope she read feverishly, if perchance there might be some help there for her.
Yes, there were suggestions of how to do this and that, how to plan and dress and act in the different functions of society; but of what use were they to her? How was she to begin? She was not in society and how was she to get there? She could not ask her husband. That would spoil it all. She must get there without his help.
If she only had that editor, that woman or whoever it was who answered those questions, for just a few minutes, she could find out if there was any way in which she could creep into that mystic circle where alone her battle could be fought. She had always despised people who wrote to newspapers for advice in their household troubles and now she felt a sudden sympathy for them. Actually it was now her only source of help, at least the only one of which she knew. Her cheeks burned as the suggestion of writing persistently put itself before her. She could hear her husband’s scornful laugh ringing out as he ridiculed the poor fools who wrote to papers for advice, and the presumption that attempted to administer medicine—mental, moral, and physical—to all the troubles of the earth.
But the wife’s heart suddenly overflowed with gratitude toward the paper. It was trying to do good in the world, it was ready to help the helpless. Why should she be ashamed to write? No one would ever know who it was. And she need not consider herself from last night’s view-point. She had come to a terrible strait. Trouble and shame had entered her life. She no longer stood upon the high pinnacle of joy in happy wifehood! Her heart was broken and her idol clay. What should she care for her former ideas of nicety? It was not for her to question the ways or the means. It was for her to snatch at the first straw that presented itself, as any sensible drowning person would do.
With firm determination she laid down the magazine and walked deliberately to her desk. Her fingers did not tremble nor the resolute look pass from her chin as she selected plain paper and envelope and wrote. The words seemed to come without need of thought. She stated the case clearly in a few words, and signed her grandmother’s initials. She folded, addressed the letter, and sent her sleepy little maid to post it before the set look relaxed.
Then having done all that was in her power to do that night she went up to her room in the dark and smothering her head in the pillow so that the baby should not be disturbed she let the wild sobs have their way.
Chapter 2: A Trip Abroad
“It is just barely possible I may have to take a flying trip to Paris[3],” Claude Winthrop announced casually, looking up from the newspaper which had been engrossing his attention.
It was the next morning and his wife unrefreshed from her night’s vigil was sitting quietly in her place at the breakfast table. She looked now and then at the top of her husband’s head, thinking of his face as she had seen it in the park, and trying to realize that all around her was just the same outwardly as it had been yesterday and all the days that had gone before, only she knew that it was all so different.
She made some slight reply. He had said so many times that he hoped his business would take him abroad soon, that she ceased to reproach him for desiring to go without her and the children as she had done at first. She began to feel that he would not really go after all. It had been a source of uneasiness to her many times, for she had a morbid horror of having the wide ocean separate her from the one she loved better than all on earth besides. But this morning, in the light of recent discoveries, she realized that even this trouble of the past was as nothing beside what was laid upon her now to bear.
How often it is that when we mock at a trouble, or detract from its magnitude, it comes upon us suddenly as if to taunt us and reveal its true heaviness. Miriam Winthrop felt this with a sudden sharp pang a little later that day when she received and read a brief note from her husband brought by a messenger boy. For the moment all her more recent grief was forgotten and she was tormented by her former fears and dread.
“Dear Miriam,” he had scrawled on the back of a business envelope, “I’ve got to go at once. The firm thinks I’m the only one who can represent them in Paris just now, and if I don’t go there’ll be trouble. I’m sorry it comes with such a rush but it’s a fine thing for me. Pack my grip[4] with what you think I need for a month. I don’t want to be bothered with much. I may not get home till late and fear I shall have to take the midnight train. Haste. Claude.”
