Stepping Heavenward [82]
this, and I really believe she thinks I scrimp and pinch and overdo out of mere stinginess.
DECEMBER 30.-Ernest came to me to-day with our accounts for the last three months. He looked quite worried, for him, and asked me if there were any expenses we could cut down.
My heart jumped up into my mouth, and I said in an irritated way:
"I am killing myself with over-work now. Mother says so. I sew every night till twelve o'clock, and I feel all jaded out,"
"I did not mean that I wanted you to do anymore than you are doing now, dear," he said, kindly. "I know you are all jaded out, and I look on this state of feverish activity with great anxiety. Are all these stitches absolutely necessary?"
"You men know nothing about such things," I said, while my conscience pricked me as I went on hurrying to finish the fifth tuck in one of Una's little dresses. "Of course I want my children to look decent."
Ernest sighed.
"I really don't know what to do," he said, in a hopeless way. "Father's persisting in living with us is throwing a burden on you, that with all your other cares is quite too much for you. I see and feel it every day. Don't you think I had better explain this to him and let him go to Martha's?"
"No, indeed!" I said. "He shall stay here if it kills me, poor old man!"
Ernest began once more to look over the bills.
"I don't know how it is," he said, "but since Martha left us our expenses have increased a good deal."
Now the truth is that when Aunty paid me most generously for teaching her children, I did not dare to offer my earnings to Ernest, lest he should be annoyed. So I had quietly used it for household expenses, and it had held out till about the time of Martha's marriage. Ernest's injustice was just as painful, just as insufferable as if he had known this, and I now burst out with whatever my rasped, over-taxed nerves impelled me to say, like one possessed.
Ernest was annoyed and surprised.
"I thought we had done with these things," he said, and gathering up the papers he went off.
I rose and locked my door and threw myself down upon the floor in an agony of shame, anger, and physical exhaustion. I did not know how large a part of what seemed mere childish ill-temper was really the cry of exasperated nerves, that had been on too strained a tension, and silent too long, and Ernest did not know it either. How could he? His profession kept him for hours every day in the open air; there were times when his work was done and he could take entire rest; and his health is absolutely perfect. But I did not make any excuse for myself at the moment. I was overwhelmed with the sense of my utter unfitness to be a wife and a mother.
Then I heard Ernest try to open the door; and finding it locked, he knocked, calling pleasantly:
"It is I, darling; let me in."
I opened it reluctantly enough.
"Come," he said, "put on your things and drive about with me on my rounds. I have no long visits to make, and while I am seeing my patients you will be getting the air, which you need."
"I do not want to go," I said. "I do not feel well enough. Besides, there's my work." "You can't see to sew with these red eyes," he declared. "Come! I prescribe a drive, as your physician."
"Oh, Ernest, how kind, how forgiving you are?", I cried, running into the arms he held out to me, "If you knew how ashamed, how sorry, I am!"
"And if you only knew how ashamed and sorry I am!" he returned. "I ought to have seen how you taxing and over-taxing yourself, doing your work and Martha's too. It must not go on so."
By this time, with a veil over my face, he had got me downstairs and out into the air, which fanned my fiery cheeks and cooled my heated brain. It seemed to me that I have had all this tempest about nothing at all, and that with a character still so undisciplined, I was utterly unworthy to be either a wife or a mother. But when I tried to say so in broken words, Ernest comforted me with the gentleness and tenderness of a woman.
"Your character is not undisciplined, my darling," he said. "Your
DECEMBER 30.-Ernest came to me to-day with our accounts for the last three months. He looked quite worried, for him, and asked me if there were any expenses we could cut down.
My heart jumped up into my mouth, and I said in an irritated way:
"I am killing myself with over-work now. Mother says so. I sew every night till twelve o'clock, and I feel all jaded out,"
"I did not mean that I wanted you to do anymore than you are doing now, dear," he said, kindly. "I know you are all jaded out, and I look on this state of feverish activity with great anxiety. Are all these stitches absolutely necessary?"
"You men know nothing about such things," I said, while my conscience pricked me as I went on hurrying to finish the fifth tuck in one of Una's little dresses. "Of course I want my children to look decent."
Ernest sighed.
"I really don't know what to do," he said, in a hopeless way. "Father's persisting in living with us is throwing a burden on you, that with all your other cares is quite too much for you. I see and feel it every day. Don't you think I had better explain this to him and let him go to Martha's?"
"No, indeed!" I said. "He shall stay here if it kills me, poor old man!"
Ernest began once more to look over the bills.
"I don't know how it is," he said, "but since Martha left us our expenses have increased a good deal."
Now the truth is that when Aunty paid me most generously for teaching her children, I did not dare to offer my earnings to Ernest, lest he should be annoyed. So I had quietly used it for household expenses, and it had held out till about the time of Martha's marriage. Ernest's injustice was just as painful, just as insufferable as if he had known this, and I now burst out with whatever my rasped, over-taxed nerves impelled me to say, like one possessed.
Ernest was annoyed and surprised.
"I thought we had done with these things," he said, and gathering up the papers he went off.
I rose and locked my door and threw myself down upon the floor in an agony of shame, anger, and physical exhaustion. I did not know how large a part of what seemed mere childish ill-temper was really the cry of exasperated nerves, that had been on too strained a tension, and silent too long, and Ernest did not know it either. How could he? His profession kept him for hours every day in the open air; there were times when his work was done and he could take entire rest; and his health is absolutely perfect. But I did not make any excuse for myself at the moment. I was overwhelmed with the sense of my utter unfitness to be a wife and a mother.
Then I heard Ernest try to open the door; and finding it locked, he knocked, calling pleasantly:
"It is I, darling; let me in."
I opened it reluctantly enough.
"Come," he said, "put on your things and drive about with me on my rounds. I have no long visits to make, and while I am seeing my patients you will be getting the air, which you need."
"I do not want to go," I said. "I do not feel well enough. Besides, there's my work." "You can't see to sew with these red eyes," he declared. "Come! I prescribe a drive, as your physician."
"Oh, Ernest, how kind, how forgiving you are?", I cried, running into the arms he held out to me, "If you knew how ashamed, how sorry, I am!"
"And if you only knew how ashamed and sorry I am!" he returned. "I ought to have seen how you taxing and over-taxing yourself, doing your work and Martha's too. It must not go on so."
By this time, with a veil over my face, he had got me downstairs and out into the air, which fanned my fiery cheeks and cooled my heated brain. It seemed to me that I have had all this tempest about nothing at all, and that with a character still so undisciplined, I was utterly unworthy to be either a wife or a mother. But when I tried to say so in broken words, Ernest comforted me with the gentleness and tenderness of a woman.
"Your character is not undisciplined, my darling," he said. "Your