Love stories; Unmarried mothers -- Fiction; Women household employees -- Fiction
When she came home Mrs. Gerhardt, who was in the kitchen, received her
with her usual affectionate greeting. “Have you been working very
hard?” she asked. “You look tired.”
“No,” she said, “I’m not tired. It isn’t that. I just don’t feel good.”
“What’s the trouble?”
“Oh, I have to tell you something, mamma. It’s so hard.” She paused,
looking inquiringly at her mother, and then away.
“Why, what is it?” asked her mother nervously. So many things had
happened in the past that she was always on the alert for some new
calamity. “You haven’t lost your place, have you?”
“No,” replied Jennie, with an effort to maintain her mental poise, “but
I’m going to leave it.”
“No!” exclaimed her mother. “Why?”
“I’m going to New York.”
Her mother’s eyes opened widely. “Why, when did you decide to do that?”
she inquired.
“To-day.”
“You don’t mean it!”
“Yes, I do, mamma. Listen. I’ve got something I want to tell you. You
know how poor we are. There isn’t any way we can make things come out
right. I have found some one who wants to help us. He says he loves me,
and he wants me to go to New York with him Monday. I’ve decided to go.”
“Oh, Jennie!” exclaimed her mother. “Surely not! You wouldn’t do
anything like that after all that’s happened. Think of your father.”
“I’ve thought it all out,” went on Jennie, firmly. “It’s really for the
best. He’s a good man. I know he is. He has lots of money. He wants me
to go with him, and I’d better go. He will take a new house for us when
we come back and help us to get along. No one will ever have me as a
wife—you know that. It might as well be this way. He loves me. And I
love him. Why shouldn’t I go?”
“Does he know about Vesta?” asked her mother cautiously.
“No,” said Jennie guiltily. “I thought I’d better not tell him about
her. She oughtn’t to be brought into it if I can help it.”
“I’m afraid you’re storing up trouble for yourself, Jennie,” said her
mother. “Don’t you think he is sure to find it out some time?”
“I thought maybe that she could be kept here,” suggested Jennie, “until
she’s old enough to go to school. Then maybe I could send her
somewhere.”
“She might,” assented her mother; “but don’t you think it would be
better to tell him now? He won’t think any the worse of you.”
“It isn’t that. It’s her,” said Jennie passionately. “I don’t want her
to be brought into it.”
Her mother shook her head. “Where did you meet him?” she inquired.
“At Mrs. Bracebridge’s.”
“How long ago?”
“Oh, it’s been almost two months now.”
“And you never said anything about him,” protested Mrs. Gerhardt
reproachfully.
“I didn’t know that he cared for me this way,” said Jennie defensively.
“Why didn’t you wait and let him come out here first?” asked her
mother. “It will make things so much easier. You can’t go and not have
your father find out.”
“I thought I’d say I was going with Mrs. Bracebridge. Papa can’t object
to my going with her.”
“No,” agreed her mother thoughtfully.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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