CHAPTER XXI.

WORK AT ROCK BOTTOM.

MARION stayed at the parsonage to tea, and had a very nice visit.

When she got home, she found two or three letters waiting for her from Hemlock Valley, and one from Lizzy Gates at Holford. The first tones of Gerty's voice told her what she was to expect.

"You are highly favoured in the line of letters, certainly," said Gerty. "What do they find to waste so much time and paper upon?"

"Oh, there is a great deal both of time and paper at Hemlock Valley," said Marion, gayly; "and I like to hear all the news."

"What news is there to tell?"

"Well, the tabby-cat has presented her owner with two tortoise-shell kittens, and Emma's doll Eugenia Stanley has met her death by being eaten up by Meg's puppy, and Mrs. Chris Hollenbeck has a baby girl. I believe those are the most important items of information, only father and Bram are coming over some time next week. And Lizzy Gates tells me all the Holford news about the girls. Oh, there is plenty to tell. See here, Asahel: come and look at my sketch and see if you know what it is meant for."

"The tannery, of course," said Asahel, coming to look at the sketch. "How natural it looks, with the tree over the end and that bit of the bridge coming in! Well, I never thought you would do as much as that, Marion. Your pictures look like real live things. It is worth while to take drawing-lessons if one can succeed in that style. See, Gerty, what a pretty picture Marion has made of the tannery."

"I can't say I see any great beauty in it—no disrespect to Marion," said Gerty, languidly glancing at the picture. "I dare say it is well done for water-colours, but I don't think much of them, anyway; and what is the use of taking so much trouble to make a picture of what one can see every day?"

"It is good study," said Marion; "and besides, the colours are very nice. The old gray building comes out so pretty against that bank of red rock and earth. At home the rocks are all cold and gray, not warm, as they are here."

"I shouldn't think there could be much difference in the temperature—at least in summer," said Asahel, innocently.

Marion laughed, "It isn't the temperature, it is the colour. Our rocks are all gray."

"Marion is doing the artist—don't you understand?" said Gerty. "She has read in a book that red things are warm, or perhaps dear Cousin Helen told her. I must say I don't think it in the best taste to talk so much paint-shop, especially considering that—"

"Well, that what?" asked Marion, looking full at her.

Gerty did not answer directly, but as Marion quitted the room to put away her painting things, she heard Gerty say in a tone which was evidently meant to catch her ear,—

"That her father was a worthless, drunken, dissipated sign-painter. If I were Marion, I'd do anything but paint."

Marion hastened up to her room and locked herself in. She had learned how to conquer now, but it was not always without a struggle. She prayed for grace to forgive and to be patient.

And then, to divert herself, she took out all her letters and read them over. They told her plenty of home and Holford news.

Lizzy was a delightful correspondent, and forgot nothing. Emily Sibley had gone out West to teach, and Mary McIntyre had come into her place, to her great delight. Matty McRae had gone away to boarding-school. Therese was doing admirably, and everybody liked her. They had a French club which met twice a week and talked only French, except when they talked Latin. And herewith Lizzy presented some specimens of Latin and French sentences over which Marion had a hearty laugh, which did her more good than a great many tears.

When she had finished the letters, she leaned back in her chair, absorbed in thought. Was it only a year since she had been a member of Crocker school? Her cheeks turned hot as she went back and remembered how she had wasted her time and employed her thoughts over visions of grandeur and magnificence—of the wonderful things she was to accomplish while she was letting precious time and opportunity pass by her unimproved.

"Oh dear! If I could only have them back!" she sighed. "But Cousin Helen was right. There is only just so much time, anyhow; and if we waste it, we never can find it again. And to think how I abused Aunt Baby's kindness and forbearance! I don't think I need resent Gerty's speeches when I remember how I used to speak to Aunt Baby."

"Don't you mean to come down, Marie?" called Gerty from the bottom of the stairs.

"No, I believe not," Marion answered, trying to speak exactly as usual. "I am pretty tired with my walk, and I think I will get off my things and lie down. Don't come up, Gerty; I don't want anything."

But Gerty insisted on coming up, and was exceedingly kind and solicitous that Marion should have everything comfortable, while Marion tried to accept the kindness and not to think of the tabby-cat playing with a mouse.

Gerty was certainly more trying than she had been. She was not at all well, and had been over to see the doctor at Coaltown. The doctor said Mrs. Van Alstine needed tonics, and had prescribed certain bitters to be taken before meals, and a glass of strong porter or whisky and water after dinner. Gerty was not averse to the medicine. She usually went to bed for a long nap after dinner, and often did not get up till tea-time.

Marion at first thought little of the matter, but by and by she began to be uneasy, and ventured on a remonstrance:

"Don't you think you take rather too much whisky, Gerty? I don't believe you feel as well for it. You seem to have a headache almost every morning."

"That is the reason I need it, child; it helps me every time. There! Don't be alarmed, Marion. I know you think I am going to turn out a drunkard like a wicked woman in a Sunday school book, but there is no danger."

Gerty spoke good-naturedly, and Marion was rather glad she had ventured, especially as Gerty omitted her dose next day, and for two or three succeeding days. She was very fretful and harder than ever to get on with, but Marion bore all patiently, and tried her best to be agreeable. But the amendment did not last.

Gerty went over to Coaltown, and returned with a new set of medicines and directions from the doctor. The next day Gerty did not get up to tea. Marion went to her room to call her, and found her in a dead sleep, with flushed cheeks and parched lips. Marion bent over to kiss her awake, but drew back disgusted and horrified. There was no doubt of the facts of the case: Gerty was dead drunk. She had taken an overdose of the "medicine," and this was the result.

"Oh how glad I am that Asahel is not at home!" was Marion's first thought.

Her next was of how to screen Gerty. She carefully closed the blinds and the door, and came out just in time to meet Mary coming in.

"Mrs. Van Alstine is asleep," said she. "I don't think I will wake her. You can make some fresh tea for her when she wakes up."

"And indeed, then, I can't, miss," answered Mary. "I've to go home and see my sister with her sick children, and Jane has gone to bed with a headache too."

"Then I will," said Marion. "Never mind, Mary; you needn't wait. Go to see your sister, and I will take care of the table."

"And it's yourself that's the nice young lady," said Mary, who was as Irish as the cove of Cork, and very good-natured and obliging. "I wouldn't give you the trouble, only for the children. I'll have everything convanient and make up the fire before I go."

Marion had not much appetite for her lonely meal, but she drank her tea and put away the silver, and then went into Gerty's room again.

She was wide enough awake now, and suffering from a horrible sick headache with all its attendant discomforts. She was sure she was going to die, and would have Marion send for the doctor directly.

"Humph!" said Doctor Noble, whose tongue was not under much better government than Gerty's own, and who had, besides, an old grudge to revenge. "It isn't very hard to see what is the matter. Doctor Smith's patients are very apt to have such attacks. You'll do well enough, only don't take quite so much next time."

Marion sat up with Gerty nearly all night. In the morning she was better, but really sick and miserable enough to be grateful for Marion's care.

"Did any one see me—Mary or any one?" she asked.

"No; I took care of that," said Marion.

"That was clever in you. Of course it was an accident. I hope Doctor Noble will hold his tongue."

"I should not think he would be likely to speak of it," said Marion.

"He may tell his wife, though; and if he does, every one will know it. They will be glad enough to get a handle against me. Marion, whatever you do, don't tell Asahel."

"Of, course not," answered Marion; "but, Gerty, I do wish you would leave off that stuff altogether. I'm sure it is not good for you. Just see how miserable you are this morning, and you grow thin every day."

"Oh, that is only because I took too much. I shall be more careful another time, but I can't leave it off all at once, after taking it so long."

"So long!" repeated Marion, startled. "How long? It isn't so very long since you went to Doctor Smith the first time."

"Yes, but then I used it a little before that. I used to take it when I was a girl, before I was married, till mother got scared and made me promise that I would never touch whisky again without the advice of a physician. I did not for a long time, but I felt so weak and miserable that I know I needed it. I tried to get Doctor Fenn or your uncle to recommend it, but they wouldn't. So finally I began it without any prescription, but I didn't feel really easy till I got Doctor Smith's word for it. But I won't be so careless again, I promise you."

Marion was forced to be content; but, it was not long before the same thing happened again, also when Asahel was away for a day and night. Again Marion screened and covered up and watched. Again Gerty was sorry and declared that it was an accident. She certainly did not thrive on Doctor Smith's treatment. She grew thin and pale, querulous and suspicious.

Jane, the housemaid went away, and Marion found her hands full enough of work between nursing Gerty, keeping house, and presiding at the table when, as too often happened, Gerty was unable to appear. Tanners are famous for having company. They sleep, dine, and sup at each other's houses as a matter of course; and Marion never knew that she might not have two or three strange gentlemen and ladies to entertain at dinner and tea. She could not tell whether or not Asahel was aware of the true cause of Gerty's attacks, but she felt that the subject was one to which she could not venture to allude. She felt her position to be an awkward and trying one. Certainly it was very different from any ever occupied or contemplated by the heiress of the McGregors, being one where she had a great deal of hard work and annoyance with very little credit.

Gerty was one of the most skilful of housekeepers, but now she could hardly be brought to take any interest or give any directions. With all her pains, Marion often made mistakes and omissions, and Asahel felt the difference, and sometimes commented on it. Mary, an elderly Irish woman, took her own way, with very little respect to Miss Marion's authority, and the new girl broke dishes, slopped water, and blundered without stint. Marion had never worked so hard in her life. Her drawing was entirely laid aside, she had no time to read, and withal she suffered from over-fatigue, and had returns of her old backaches. She had just made up her mind that she must go home, when matters came to a climax.

A gentleman and his wife came to tea. Gerty was asleep, and Marion prepared to do the honours, as usual. By some unlucky accident, Gerty was awakened; and hearing strange voices in the dining-room, she presently made her appearance with scarlet face and disordered dress, and pushing Marion aside, she took her own place at the tea-board uttering incoherent reproaches against her husband and Marion for not calling her when there was company in the house.

It was a dreadful time. The visitors took their leave as soon as they could, and Gerty was got back to bed.

The next day she was very ill, really ill, and before night had a copious bleeding from the lungs. Doctor Campbell was sent for, but gave no hope of her recovery.

Gerty was sober enough now. After the examination, she insisted on knowing what the doctor thought.

He told her as gently as he could.

She received the news very calmly, saying that she had always expected to die of consumption some time or other.

"Do you think there is any use in taking her away? Would a change of air do anything for her?" asked Asahel.

"I think not," replied Dr. Campbell; "the disease is too far advanced. She may rally and be better for a time, but it is not probable."

Now came the question as to what was to be done. Gerty's own mother was dead, and she was not on good terms with her stepmother or her younger sisters. She declared positively that she would have none of her own family.

"Get a nurse to take care of me, and let Marion stay and keep house if she will," said Gerty. "I am used to her now and she knows my ways. Martha is a goose, and Anne and I are too much alike to agree. We should quarrel all the time, just as we used to when I was home."

"But, Gerty, my dear, I am afraid Marion is hardly strong enough," said Mrs. Van Alstine, anxious to please Gerty, but afraid for her own child.

"She shall have no work to do," said Gerty, eagerly. "The girls can do the work, and I will have a nurse to take care of me. But I like Marion; she has been very, very good." The eagerness with which she spoke set her to coughing violently and brought on another bleeding, which lasted a long time and left her evidently very much worse than before.

"Do you think you can stay, Marie?" asked her mother. "I don't like to cross the poor child in what she has set her heart on."

"Of course I can," answered Marion, cheerfully; "I do think I can get on with her better than any one else."

"Yes, you really seem to have some influence. But you must be very careful."

So it was settled. Almira Pratt came from the valley to nurse Gerty, and Marion stayed to keep house and be company for Asahel.

Bram was not at all pleased with the arrangement.

"It is just offering you up on the shrine of Gerty, and I don't think it is fair," said he, when he was taking Marion out for a drive. "I don't see what special claim she has on you."

"She said I just suited her," answered Marion, smiling.

"If you do, you are the first who ever did. I should like to know how you do it."

"By letting her say what she pleases and never answering her, I suppose. At any rate, that is what I do. I used to try to hold my own at first, and make her hear reason, but I found there was no use in that. I was no match for her, and there was no end to it. Besides, I learned to take her speeches at their real value. When she was particularly aggravating, I used to say to myself,—

"'She doesn't mean me; she means the dress that would not fit, or the stains that won't come out of the tablecloth, or the cold in her head.'

"I represent these things for the time being. Besides, I have a fellow-feeling for her. I remember when I thought myself that it was rather smart to hurt people's feelings by saying sharp things."

"Well, anyhow, I don't see why you should stay here; though, to be sure, if one can do the poor thing good. I suppose there is no hope?"

"Uncle Duncan says not. He thinks she will not last long, and that she will go very suddenly."

"Well, don't overwork yourself. I know I am very selfish, but we do want you at home so much."

"Stannie will be home presently, you know," said Marion, consolingly.

"Stannie is Stannie and you are you," was the answer. "She doesn't fill your place at all. Betsy will be furious."

"Oh no, she won't; she will hear reason. And one thing I can tell you, Bram: we don't do justice to Gerty's good qualities at home. There is nothing she won't do for any one who is sick or in trouble, and she is the best housekeeper I ever saw."

"I know that just as well as you do," replied Bram. "You forget that she lived in the valley three years before she came here. But what was the use of her helping people in trouble, when she was tattling from one to the other, making endless mischief among the work-people and everywhere else by her gossiping? If Amity had not been just the frank, outspoken soul she is, there would have been a regular break between the families. She tried her best to make mother jealous of Cousin Helen; and failing that, she got furiously jealous herself. Oh yes, I know all her good qualities, but her tongue spoils it all. It is just like the turpentine that Betsy put into her mother's mincemeat instead of rose-water. There was very little of it, but it spoiled all the pies."

"I know," said Marion, sighing. "And yet Gerty thinks she is a Christian."

"Well, I don't see how she can.

"'If any man among you seem to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue,—'

"you know. Well, Marie, take good care of yourself and come home as soon as you can."

Certainly there was a great change in Marion's relations to the family at the valley.

Almira Pratt proved an excellent nurse, and there was help enough, yet Marion found her task by no means an easy one. Gerty had many days of restlessness and wandering, and at times her old demon of sarcasm seemed to take entire possession of her, so that even Almira Pratt, experienced nurse as she was, found it hard to bear with her patient.

"I've nursed unreasonable folks before," she said one day; "but I never saw anybody who could contrive to hurt folks' feelings as you can, Mrs. Van Alstine. It seems to me if I were where you are, I should be trying to leave pleasant remembrances behind me."

"Well, I can't help it," said Gerty, who seemed to be struck by this blunt way of putting the matter. "It is natural to me to be sarcastic, and I can't help it."

"Did you ever try?" asked Almira.

Gerty did not answer, but it was plain that the words made an impression on her. It was not long afterward that she said to Marion,—

"Marion, when I leave Rock Bottom, I shall not leave a single friend behind me."

"People have been very kind in coming to ask for you and offering to sit up," said Marion.

"Oh yes, I know—they are always that here. It is my own fault. I don't blame any one. I was brought up to think it was smart to be sarcastic and say unkind things. Father always did it, and he and mother used to have regular fencing-matches of words. Whatever annoyance either of them felt came right out, and they were always in the habit of talking over everybody and everything before me. So it is no wonder if I did the same when I grew up."

"But didn't you know it was wrong, Gerty?"

"Yes, I knew it in my own soul, but I would not own it even to myself. I have made my husband unhappy and separated him from all his friends. I have left myself almost alone in the world. Marion, I wish you would send for Mr. Landon. I want to see him. I have used him shamefully, and done all I could to undermine him in the parish, but I think he would come if he knew I wanted him."

"I will go for him myself," said Marion, rejoicing at this sign of relenting, for since her illness Gerty had steadily refused either to see a minister or hear a word on the subject of religion. "I am sure he will come directly."

Mr. Landon came, and had a long interview with Gerty.

There was a great change in her after this. She was far more patient and easier to deal with, though often sad and silent for days together.

Bram came over and relieved Asahel in a great measure from business, so that he could give his time to his wife, and they spent many hours alone together. To him alone Gerty spoke of her religious experience. He told Marion that she was sometimes quite despairing, but at others she was able to lay hold on the hope set before her.

It was a sad time, and rather a hard one for Marion, who had most of the responsibility of housekeeping, and was very anxious to keep a comfortable home for Asahel. A year ago she would have failed utterly even if she had attempted the task, but now she gave her whole mind to the work, and on the whole succeeded remarkably well. It was good discipline for her, and kept her from falling into her old daydreaming habits, a temptation to which she was rather apt to give way over her painting or her sewing. She made mistakes enough in her housekeeping to keep her from being set up in her own conceit or thinking herself a model housekeeper. Asahel never complained, however, and hardly seemed to know whether he had anything to eat or not, and Bram thought all Marion's doings right because she did them.

It was a sad time, but it did not last long. The first week in July, Gerty seemed better; she sat up more, had a little appetite, and for the first time expressed a wish to get out of her room.

One pleasant afternoon Asahel carried her into the parlour and laid her on the sofa. Marion had taken great pains to arrange everything just as she knew Gerty liked it. A beautiful dish of flowers sent in by a neighbour was on the little table, and the garden was gay and sweet with roses and lilies. Gerty looked round with interest.

"How nice the room looks!" said she. "Marion, you must have taken a deal of care of everything."

"I have tried," said Marion.

Gerty was silent a while, and then began asking about one thing and another concerning the housekeeping. Marion answered all her questions, brought her the napkins and clothes that she might judge of the new girl's washing, and displayed the fine darning with which she had repaired a cut tablecloth.

Gerty was pleased with everything, enjoyed everything, and seemed so bright and strong that both Asahel and Marion were encouraged, but Almira shook her head sadly.

"You had better send for your pa and ma if you want them to see her," she said to Marion, privately. "I'm much mistaken if you don't see a change to-night or to-morrow."

"But she seems so much stronger, Almira!"

"It is just the lighting up for death," said Almira. "I've seen it too many times to be mistaken."

The event proved that the experienced nurse was right.

Gerty lay on the sofa in the parlour all the afternoon, and took her tea there.

"Hadn't you better go back now?" said Almira.

"I suppose so," answered Gerty. She sat up, and even rose to her feet and stood for a minute or two looking wistfully about her.

"I wish you could carry me into the dining-room," said she. "Do you think you could without hurting yourself, Asahel?"

Asahel looked at Almira.

"It won't hurt her," said Almira, answering the look with one which Asahel and Marion well understood.

So Gerty was carried into the dining-room, and then into the kitchen for a moment.

"There! That will do," said Gerty. "I wanted to see it all once more. It looks very nice and pleasant. I've always been a good housekeeper, haven't I, Asahel?"

"Yes, indeed you have. Never was a better."

"I don't know about that," said Gerty. "If it was to do again, I should use my house more as Mother Van Alstine does. Marion is going to make a good housekeeper too, I see. She keeps things in nice order."

"I tried to keep them as I thought you would like to see them," said Marion, with a tight pain in her throat, but trying to speak cheerfully. She felt that Gerty was taking a last farewell of her house and home.

Once more Gerty stopped on the threshold of her room and looked about her for a moment. Then she drew a long, deep, sorrowful sigh.

"If it was to go over again, I would try to do differently in some things," she repeated. "But it is all at an end now. I have done with it all. There, lay me down, Asahel, I have done with it all."

Marion went out and left them together—to the parlour where Almira was picking up the pillows and shawls.

"What do—" Marion paused.

"What do I think? I think as she says, poor thing! She has done with it all."

"Why do you think so?"

"How can I tell? I know the signs, but I couldn't describe them to any one who hadn't the experience."

"How long do you think it will be?"

"I can't tell that, either. If she lasts over the turn of the night, she will live till sunrise, perhaps till noon. She may last two or three days, but I don't think so."

The nurse was right. At midnight there was a cry made,—

"Behold the Bridegroom cometh!"

Marion was called and came down to find Gerty sighing her life away on her husband's shoulder. She was quite herself, calm and collected, and aware of her situation. She was not afraid, she said. She had been a great sinner, but she believed she had been forgiven. She spoke a few words at longer and longer intervals:

"Marion, whatever your health may be, don't let any doctor get you into the habit of living on stimulants. I always took them—opium or something. I think I shouldn't have been so bad only for that. Give my love to them all at the valley. Tell father he was right."

So died Gertrude Van Alstine, a woman with many admirable qualities, which were made all but useless by her envenomed tongue, by the reckless sarcasm, misrepresentation, and scandal which made her disliked and dreaded by almost every one with whom she had to do.