The Way to Peace [12]
an end to the world," Lewis said, smiling.
"I guess," said Brother Nathan, dryly, "there ain't any immediate danger of the world coming to an end."
"I'd like to see that book," Lewis said, when they parted at the pasture-bars where a foot-path led down the hill to his own house.
And that night Brother Nathan had an eager word for the family. "He's asked for a book!" he said. The Eldress smiled doubtfully, but Athalia, with a rapturous upward look, said,
"May the Lord guide him!" then added, practically, "It won't amount to anything. He thinks Shakerism isn't human."
"That's not against it, that's not against it!" Nathan declared, smiling; "I've told him so a dozen times!"
But Athalia was so happy that first year, and so important, that she did not often concern herself with the welfare of the man who had been her husband. Instead--it was early in April-- he concerned himself with hers; he tried, tentatively, to see if it wasn't almost time for Athalia "to get through with it." Of course, afterward, Sister Athalia realized, with chagrin, that this attempt was only a forerunner of the fever that was developing, which in a few days was to make him a very sick man. But for the moment his question seemed to her a temptation of the devil, and, of course, resisted temptation made her faith stronger than ever.
It was a deliciously cold spring night; Lewis had drawn the table, with his books on it, close to the fire to try to keep warm, but he shivered, even while his shoulders scorched, and somehow he could not keep his mind on the black, rectangular characters of the Hebrew page before him. He had been interested in Brother Nathan's explanation of Hosea's forecasting of Shakerism, and he had admitted to himself that, if Nathan was correct, there would be something to be said for Shakerism. The idea made him vaguely uneasy, because, that "something" might be so conclusive, that--But he could not face such a possibility.
He wanted to dig at the text, so that he might refute Nathan; but somehow that night he was too dull to refute anybody, and by-and-by he pushed the black-lettered page aside, and, crouching over the fire, held out his hands to the blaze. He thought, vaguely, of the big fireplace in the old study, and suddenly, in the chilly numbness of his mind, he saw it--with such distinctness that he was startled. Then, a moment later, it changed into the south chamber that had been his mother's bedroom--he could even detect the faint scent of rose-geranium that always hung about her; he noticed that the green shutters on the west windows were bowed, and from between them a line of sunshine fell across the matting on the floor and touched the four-poster that had a chintz spread and valance. How well he knew the faded roses and the cockatoos on that old chintz! Over there by the window he had caught her crying that time he had hurt her feelings, "just for his own pleasure"; the old stab of this thought pierced through the feverish mists and touched the quick. He struggled numbly with the visualization of fever, brushing his hot hand across his eyes and trying to see which was real-- the geranium-sweet south chamber or the chilly house on Lonely Lake Road. Athalia had given him pain in that same way--just for her own pleasure. Poor little Tay! He was afraid it would hurt her, some day, when she realized it; well, when she came to herself, when she got through her playing at Shakerism, he must not let her know how great the pain had been; she would suffer too much if she should understand his misery: and Athalia didn't bear suffering well. . . . But how long she had been getting over Shakerism! He had thought it would only last six months, and here it was a year! Well, if Nathan's reading of the Prophecies was right, then Athalia would never get over it. She ought never to get over it. Then what would become of the farm and the sawmill? And instantly everything was unreal again; he could hear the hum of the driving-wheel and the screech of the saw tearing through a log; how fragrant the fresh planks
"I guess," said Brother Nathan, dryly, "there ain't any immediate danger of the world coming to an end."
"I'd like to see that book," Lewis said, when they parted at the pasture-bars where a foot-path led down the hill to his own house.
And that night Brother Nathan had an eager word for the family. "He's asked for a book!" he said. The Eldress smiled doubtfully, but Athalia, with a rapturous upward look, said,
"May the Lord guide him!" then added, practically, "It won't amount to anything. He thinks Shakerism isn't human."
"That's not against it, that's not against it!" Nathan declared, smiling; "I've told him so a dozen times!"
But Athalia was so happy that first year, and so important, that she did not often concern herself with the welfare of the man who had been her husband. Instead--it was early in April-- he concerned himself with hers; he tried, tentatively, to see if it wasn't almost time for Athalia "to get through with it." Of course, afterward, Sister Athalia realized, with chagrin, that this attempt was only a forerunner of the fever that was developing, which in a few days was to make him a very sick man. But for the moment his question seemed to her a temptation of the devil, and, of course, resisted temptation made her faith stronger than ever.
It was a deliciously cold spring night; Lewis had drawn the table, with his books on it, close to the fire to try to keep warm, but he shivered, even while his shoulders scorched, and somehow he could not keep his mind on the black, rectangular characters of the Hebrew page before him. He had been interested in Brother Nathan's explanation of Hosea's forecasting of Shakerism, and he had admitted to himself that, if Nathan was correct, there would be something to be said for Shakerism. The idea made him vaguely uneasy, because, that "something" might be so conclusive, that--But he could not face such a possibility.
He wanted to dig at the text, so that he might refute Nathan; but somehow that night he was too dull to refute anybody, and by-and-by he pushed the black-lettered page aside, and, crouching over the fire, held out his hands to the blaze. He thought, vaguely, of the big fireplace in the old study, and suddenly, in the chilly numbness of his mind, he saw it--with such distinctness that he was startled. Then, a moment later, it changed into the south chamber that had been his mother's bedroom--he could even detect the faint scent of rose-geranium that always hung about her; he noticed that the green shutters on the west windows were bowed, and from between them a line of sunshine fell across the matting on the floor and touched the four-poster that had a chintz spread and valance. How well he knew the faded roses and the cockatoos on that old chintz! Over there by the window he had caught her crying that time he had hurt her feelings, "just for his own pleasure"; the old stab of this thought pierced through the feverish mists and touched the quick. He struggled numbly with the visualization of fever, brushing his hot hand across his eyes and trying to see which was real-- the geranium-sweet south chamber or the chilly house on Lonely Lake Road. Athalia had given him pain in that same way--just for her own pleasure. Poor little Tay! He was afraid it would hurt her, some day, when she realized it; well, when she came to herself, when she got through her playing at Shakerism, he must not let her know how great the pain had been; she would suffer too much if she should understand his misery: and Athalia didn't bear suffering well. . . . But how long she had been getting over Shakerism! He had thought it would only last six months, and here it was a year! Well, if Nathan's reading of the Prophecies was right, then Athalia would never get over it. She ought never to get over it. Then what would become of the farm and the sawmill? And instantly everything was unreal again; he could hear the hum of the driving-wheel and the screech of the saw tearing through a log; how fragrant the fresh planks