Bildungsromans; Feminist fiction; Women -- Employment -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
If ever a man was praised and petted, admired and caressed, it was
Elisha Wilkins that day. His wife fed him with the fat of the land,
regardless of consequences; his children revolved about him with
tireless curiosity and wonder; his neighbors flocked in to applaud,
advise, and admire; every one treated him with a respect most grateful
to his feelings; he was an object of interest, and with every hour his
importance increased, so that by night he felt like a
Commander-in-Chief, and bore himself accordingly. He had enlisted in
David’s regiment, which was a great comfort to his wife; for though her
stout heart never failed her, it grew very heavy at times; and when
Lisha was gone, she often dropped a private tear over the broken pipe
that always lay in its old place, and vented her emotions by sending
baskets of nourishment to Private Wilkins, which caused that
bandy-legged warrior to be much envied and cherished by his mates.
“I’m glad I done it; for it will make a man of Lisha; and, if I’ve sent
him to his death, God knows he’ll be fitter to die than if he stayed
here idlin’ his life away.”
Then the good soul openly shouldered the burden she had borne so long
in secret, and bravely trudged on alone.
“Another great battle!” screamed the excited news-boys in the streets.
“Another great battle!” read Letty in the cottage parlor. “Another
great battle!” cried David, coming in with the war-horse expression on
his face a month or two after he enlisted.
The women dropped their work to look and listen; for his visits were
few and short, and every instant was precious. When the first greetings
were over, David stood silent an instant, and a sudden mist came over
his eyes as he glanced from one beloved face to another; then he threw
back his head with the old impatient gesture, squared his shoulders,
and said in a loud, cheerful voice, with a suspicious undertone of
emotion in it, however:
“My precious people, I’ve got something to tell you: are you ready?”
They knew what it was without a word. Mrs. Sterling clasped her hands
and bowed her head. Letty turned pale and dropped her work; but
Christie’s eyes kindled, as she answered with a salute:
“Ready, my General.”
“We are ordered off at once, and go at four this afternoon. I’ve got a
three hours’ leave to say good-by in. Now, let’s be brave and enjoy
every minute of it.”
“We will: what can I do for you, Davy?” asked Christie, wonderfully
supported by the thought that she was going too.
“Keep your promise, dear,” he answered, while the warlike expression
changed to one of infinite tenderness.
“What promise?”
“This;” and he held out his hand with a little paper in it. She saw it
was a marriage license, and on it lay a wedding-ring. She did not
hesitate an instant, but laid her own hand in his, and answered with
her heart in her face:
“I’ll keep it, David.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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