The Two Invalids

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　

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The chamber in which the sick woman lay was furnished with everything that taste could desire or comfort demand. Yet, from none ofthese elegant surroundings came there an opiate for the wearyspirit, or a balm to soothe the pain from which she suffered. Withheavy eyes, contracted brow, and face almost as white as thelace-fringed pillow it pressed, canopied with rich curtains, shereclined, sighing away the weary hours, or giving, voice to herdiscontent in fruitless complainings.She was alone. A little while before, her attendant had left theroom, taking with her a child, whose glad spirits--glad becauseadmitted to his mother's presence--had disturbed her."Take him out," she had said, fretfully."You must go back to the nursery, dear." The attendant spoke kindly,as she stooped to lift the child in her arms."No--no--no. I want to stay here. Do let me stay here, won't you?""Mamma is sick, and you disturb her," was answered."Oh no. I won't disturb her. I'll be so good.""Why don't you take him out at once?" exclaimed the mother, in aharsh, excited voice. "It's too much that I can't have a littlequiet! He's made my head ache already. What does nurse mean byletting him come over here?"As the screaming child was borne from the room, the sick womanclasped her hand to her temples, murmuring--"My poor head! It was almost quiet; but now it throbs as if everyvein were ready to burst! Why don't they soothe that child?"But the child screamed on, and his voice came ringing upon her ears.Nurse was cross, and took no pains to hush his cries; so themother's special attendant remained, for some time, away from thesick-chamber. By slow degrees she succeeded in diverting the child'smind from his disappointment; but it was many minutes after hiscrying ceased before he would consent to her leaving him.In the mean time the sun's bright rays had found a small opening inone of the curtains that draped the windows, and commenced pouringin a few pencils of light, which fell, in a bright spot, on apicture that hung against the wall; resting, in fact upon the fairforehead of a beautiful maiden, and giving a hue of life to thefeatures. It was like a bit of fairy-work--a touch almost ofenchantment. The eyes of the invalid were resting on this picture asthe magic change began to take place.How the lovely vision, if it might so be called, won her fromthoughts of pain! Ah, if we could say so? Raising herself, shegrasped the pendent tassel of the bell-rope, and rang with a violenthand; then sank down with a groan, exhausted by the effort, shut hereyes, and buried her face in the pillow. Leaving the onlyhalf-comforted child, her attendant hastily obeyed the summons."The sun is blinding me!" said the unhappy invalid, as she enteredthe chamber. "How could you be so careless in arranging thecurtains!"A touch, and the sweet vision which had smiled all so vainly for thepoor sufferer, was lost in shadows. There was a subdued light, andalmost pulseless silence in the chamber."Do take those flowers away, their odour is dreadful to me!"A beautiful bouquet of sweet flowers, sent by a sympathizing friend,was removed from the chamber. Half an hour afterward--the attendantthought her sleeping--she exclaimed--"Oh, how that does worry me!""What worries you, ma'am?" was kindly asked."That doll on the mantel. It is entirely out of place here. I wishyou would remove it. Oh, dear, dear! And thattoilette-glass--straighten it, if you please. I can't bear any thingcrooked. And there's Mary's rigolette on the bureau; the carelesschild! She never puts any thing away."These little annoyances were removed, and the invalid was quietagain--externally quiet, but within all was fretfulness and mentalpain."There come the children from school," she said, as the ringing ofthe door-bell and gay voices were heard below. "You must keep themfrom my room. I feel unusually nervous to-day, and my head achesbadly."Yet, even while she spoke, two little girls came bounding into theroom, crying--"Oh, mother! Dear mother! We've got something good to tell you. MissMartin says we've been two of the best"----The attendant's imperative "H-u-s-h!" and the mother's hand wavingtoward the door, the motion enforced by a frowning brow, weresuccessful in silencing the pleased and excited children, who,without being permitted to tell the good news they had brought fromschool, and which they had fondly believed would prove so pleasantto their mother's ears, were almost pushed from the chamber.No matter of surprise is it that a quick revulsion took place intheir feelings. If the voice of wrangling reached, soon after, themother's ears, and pained her to the very soul, it lessened not thepressure on her feelings to think that a little self-denial on herpart, a little forgetfulness of her own feelings, and athoughtfulness for them, would have prevented unhappy discord.And so the day passed; and when evening brought her husband to herbedside, his kind inquiries were answered only bycomplainings--complainings that made, from mental reactions, bodilysuffering the greater. For so long a time had this state of thingsexisted that her husband was fast losing his wonted cheerfulness oftemper. He was in no way indifferent to his wife's condition; fewmen, in fact, could have sympathized more deeply, or sought withmore untiring assiduity to lighten the burden which ill-health hadlaid upon her. But, in her case, thought was all turned to self. Itwas like the blood flowing back in congestion upon the heart,instead of diffusing itself healthfully over the system.Thus it went on--the invalid growing worse instead of better. Not awant was expressed that money did not supply; not a caprice or fancyor appetite, which met not a proffered gratification. But allavailed not. Her worst disease was mental, having its origin ininordinate selfishness. It never came into her. mind to deny herselffor the sake of others; to stifle her complaints lest they shouldpain the ears of her husband, children, or friends; to bear theweight of suffering laid upon her with at least an effort atcheerfulness. And so she became a burden to those who loved her. Inher presence the sweet voices of children were hushed, and smilesfaded away. Nothing that was gay, or glad, or cheerful came near herthat it did not instantly change into sobriety or sadness.Not very far away from the beautiful home of this unhappy invalid,is another sufferer from ill-health. We will look in upon her. Thechamber is poorly furnished, containing scarcely an article theabsence of which would not have abridged the comfort of itsoccupant. We enter.What a light has come into those sunken eyes, and over that paleface! We take the thin, white hand; a touch of sadness is in ourvoice that will not be repressed, as we make inquiries about herhealth; but she answers cheerfully and hopefully."Do you suffer pain?""Yes; but mostly at night. All day long I find so much to interestme, and so many thoughts about my children fill my mind, that Ihardly find time to think of my own feelings. Care is a blessing."With what a patient, heavenly smile this is said! How much of life'strue philosophy is contained in that closing sentence! Yes, care isa blessing. What countless thousands would, but for daily care, beunutterably miserable. And yet we are ever trying to throw off care;to rise into positions where we will be free from action or duty.The voice of a child is now heard. It is crying."Dear little Aggy! What can ail her?" says the mother, tenderly. Andshe inclines an ear, listening earnestly. The crying continues."Poor child! Something is wrong with her. Won't you open the door amoment?"The door is opened, and the sick mother calls the name of "Aggy" twoor three times. But her voice too feeble to reach the distantapartment.We second the mother's wishes, and go for the grieving little one."Mother wants Aggy."What magic words! The crying has ceased instantly, and rainbowsmiles are seen through falling tears."Dear little dove! What has troubled it?" How tender and soothingand full of love is the voice that utters these words! We lift Aggyupon the bed. A moment, and her fresh warm cheek is close to thepale face of her mother; while her hand is nestling in her bosom.The smile that plays so beautifully over the invalid's face hasalready answered the question we were about to ask--"Will not thechild disturb you?" But our face has betrayed our thoughts, and shesays--"I can't bear to have Aggy away from me. She rarely annoys me. Adear, good child--yet only a child, for whom only a mother can thinkwisely. She rarely leaves my room that she doesn't get into sometrouble; but my presence quickly restores the sunshine."The bell rings. There is a murmur of voices below; and now lightfeet come tripping up the stairs. The door opens and two littlegirls enter, just from school. Does the sick mother put up her handto enjoin silence? Does she repel them,--by look or word? Oh no."Well, Mary--well, Anna?" she says, kindly. They bend over and kissher gently and lovingly; then speak modestly to the visitor."How do you feel, mother?" asks the oldest of the two girls. "Doesyour head ache?""Not now, dear. It ached a little while ago; but it is better now.""What made it ache, mother?""Something troubled Aggy, and her crying sent a pain through mytemples. But it went away with the clouds that passed from herdarling little face.""Why, she's asleep, mother!" exclaimed Anna."So she is. Dear little lamb! Asleep with a tear on her cheek. Turnher crib around, love, so that I can lay her in it.""No, you mustn't lift her," says Mary. "It will make your headache." And the elder of the children lifts her baby-sister in herarms, and carefully lays her in the crib."Did you say all your lessons correctly this morning?" now asks themother."I didn't miss a word," answers Mary."Nor I," says Anna."I'm glad of it. It always does me good to know that you have saidyour lessons well. Now go and take a run in the yard for exercise."The little girls leave the chamber, and soon their happy voices cameringing up from the yard. The sound is loud, the children in theirmerry mood unconscious of the noise they make."This is too loud. It will make your head ache," we say, making amotion to rise, as if going to check the exuberance of theirspirits."Oh no," is answered with a smile. "The happy voices of my childrennever disturb me. Were it the sound of wrangling, my weak head wouldthrob instantly with pain. But this comes to me like music. Theyhave been confined for hours in school, and health needs a reaction.Every buoyant laugh or glad exclamation expands their lungs,quickens the blood in their veins, and gives a measure of health tomind as well as body. The knowledge of this brings to me a sense ofpleasure; and it is better for me, therefore, that they should begay and noisy for a time, after coming out of school, than it wouldbe if they sat down quietly in the house, or moved about stealthily,speaking to each other in low tones lest I should be disturbed."We could not say nay to this. It was true, because unselfish,philosophy."Doesn't that hammering annoy you?" we ask."What hammering?""In the new building over the way."She listens a moment, and then answers--"Oh no. I did not remark it until you spoke. Such things neverdisturb me, for the reason that my mind is usually too much occupiedto think of them. Though an invalid, and so weak that my hands arealmost useless, I never let my thoughts lie idle. A mother, withthree children, has enough to occupy her mind usefully--and usefulthoughts, you know, are antidotes to brooding melancholy, and notunfrequently to bodily pain. If I were to give way toweaknesses--and I am not without temptations--I would soon be anunhappy, nervous, helpless creature, a burden to myself and allaround me.""You need sympathy and strength from others," we remark."And I receive it in full measure," is instantly replied. "Notbecause I demand it. It comes, the heart-offering of true affection.Poorly would I repay my husband, children, and friends, for thethousand kindnesses I receive at their hands, by making home thegloomiest place on all the earth. Would it be any the brighter forme that I threw clouds over their spirits? Would they more trulysympathize with me, because I was for ever pouring complaints intotheir ears? Oh no. I try to make them forget that I suffer, and, intheir forgetfulness, I often find a sweet oblivion. I love them alltoo well to wish them a moment's sadness."What a beautiful glow was on her pale countenance as she thus spoke!We turn from the home of this cheerful invalid with a lesson in ourhearts not soon to be forgotten. Ill-health need not always bringgloom to our dwellings. Suffering need not always bend the thoughtspainfully to self. The body may waste, the hands fall nerveless tothe side, yet the heart retain its greenness, and the mind its powerto bless.

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