Silver Pitchers: and Independence, a Centennial Love StoryAlcott, Louisa May
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Silver Pitchers: and Independence, a Centennial Love Story
Alcott, Louisa May
Fiction; Short stories, American
Then this dreamer, whose dream was the life of his life, resolved to
carry out his idea to the bitter end. There seemed no place for him
here,--no work, no friend. To go begging conditions was as ignoble as to
go begging money. Better perish of want than sell one's soul for the
sustenance of his body. Silently he lay down upon his bed, turned his
face to the wall, and waited with pathetic patience for death to cut the
knot which he could not untie. Days and nights went by, and neither food
nor water passed his lips. Soul and body were dumbly struggling
together, and no word of complaint betrayed what either suffered.
His wife, when tears and prayers were unavailing, sat down to wait the
end with a mysterious awe and submission; for in this entire resignation
of all things there was an eloquent significance to her who knew him as
no other human being did.
"Leave all to God," was his belief; and in this crisis the loving soul
clung to this faith, sure that the All-wise Father would not desert this
child who tried to live so near to Him. Gathering her children about
her, she waited the issue of the tragedy that was being enacted in that
solitary room, while the first snow fell outside, untrodden by the
footprints of a single friend.
But the strong angels who sustain and teach perplexed and troubled souls
came and went, leaving no trace without, but working miracles within.
For, when all other sentiments had faded into dimness, all other hopes
died utterly; when the bitterness of death was nearly over, when body
was past any pang of hunger or thirst, and soul stood ready to depart,
the love that outlives all else refused to die. Head had bowed to
defeat, hand had grown weary with too heavy tasks, but heart could not
grow cold to those who lived in its tender depths, even when death
touched it.
"My faithful wife, my little girls,--they have not forsaken me, they are
mine by ties that none can break. What right have I to leave them alone?
What right to escape from the burden and the sorrow I have helped to
bring? This duty remains to me, and I must do it manfully. For their
sakes, the world will forgive me in time; for their sakes, God will
sustain me now."
Too feeble to rise, Abel groped for the food that always lay within his
reach, and in the darkness and solitude of that memorable night ate and
drank what was to him the bread and wine of a new communion, a new
dedication of heart and life to the duties that were left him when the
dreams fled.
In the early dawn, when that sad wife crept fearfully to see what change
had come to the patient face on the pillow, she found it smiling at her,
saw a wasted hand outstretched to her, and heard a feeble voice cry
bravely, "Hope!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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