CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ON THE SHELF
In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, when
‘Vive la liberte!’ becomes their motto. In America, as everyone knows, girls
early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy their freedom with
republican zest, but the young matrons usually abdicate with the first heir to
the throne and go into a seclusion almost as close as a French nunnery,
though by no means as quiet. Whether they like it or not, they are virtually
put upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement is over, and most of
them might exclaim, as did a very pretty woman the other day, “I’m as
handsome as ever, but no one takes any notice of me because I’m married.”
Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experience this
affliction till her babies were a year old, for in her little world primitive
customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired and beloved than
ever.
As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very
strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter exclusion
of everything and everybody else. Day and night she brooded over them
with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to the tender mercies of the
help, for an Irish lady now presided over the kitchen department. Being a
domestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely attentions he had been
accustomed to receive, but as he adored his babies, he cheerfully
relinquished his comfort for a time, supposing with masculine ignorance
that peace would soon be restored. But three months passed, and there was
no return of repose. Meg looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed
every minute of her time, the house was neglected, and Kitty, the cook, who
took life ‘aisy’, kept him on short commons. When he went out in the
morning he was bewildered by small commissions for the captive mamma,
if he came gaily in at night, eager to embrace his family, he was quenched
by a “Hush! They are just asleep after worrying all day.” If he proposed a
little amusement at home, “No, it would disturb the babies.” If he hinted at
a lecture or a concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and a
decided—“Leave my children for pleasure, never!” His sleep was broken
by infant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and
fro in the watches of the night. His meals were interrupted by the frequent
flight of the presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffled
chirp sounded from the nest above. And when he read his paper of an
evening, Demi’s colic got into the shipping list and Daisy’s fall affected the
price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in domestic news.
The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him of
his wife, home was merely a nursery and the perpetual ‘hushing’ made him
feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacred precincts of
Babyland. He bore it very patiently for six months, and when no signs of
amendment appeared, he did what other paternal exiles do—tried to get a
little comfort elsewhere. Scott had married and gone to housekeeping not
far off, and John fell into the way of running over for an hour or two of an
evening, when his own parlor was empty, and his own wife singing
lullabies that seemed to have no end. Mrs. Scott was a lively, pretty girl,
with nothing to do but be agreeable, and she performed her mission most
successfully. The parlor was always bright and attractive, the chessboard
ready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a nice little supper set
forth in tempting style.
John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so lonely,
but as it was he gratefully took the next best thing and enjoyed his
neighbor’s society.
Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it a relief
to know that John was having a good time instead of dozing in the parlor, or
tramping about the house and waking the children. But by-and-by, when the
teething worry was over and the idols went to sleep at proper hours, leaving
Mamma time to rest, she began to miss John, and find her workbasket dull
company, when he was not sitting opposite in his old dressing gown,
comfortably scorching his slippers on the fender. She would not ask him to
stay at home, but felt injured because he did not know that she wanted him
without being told, entirely forgetting the many evenings he had waited for
her in vain. She was nervous and worn out with watching and worry, and in
that unreasonable frame of mind which the best of mothers occasionally
experience when domestic cares oppress them. Want of exercise robs them
of cheerfulness, and too much devotion to that idol of American women, the
teapot, makes them feel as if they were all nerve and no muscle.
“Yes,” she would say, looking in the glass, “I’m getting old and ugly.
John doesn’t find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his faded wife and
goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances. Well, the babies
love me, they don’t care if I am thin and pale and haven’t time to crimp my
hair, they are my comfort, and some day John will see what I’ve gladly
sacrificed for them, won’t he, my precious?”
To which pathetic appeal Daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with a
crow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, which
soothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain increased as politics
absorbed John, who was always running over to discuss interesting points
with Scott, quite unconscious that Meg missed him. Not a word did she say,
however, till her mother found her in tears one day, and insisted on knowing
what the matter was, for Meg’s drooping spirits had not escaped her
observation.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone except you, Mother, but I really do need advice,
for if John goes on much longer I might as well be widowed,” replied Mrs.
Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy’s bib with an injured air.
“Goes on how, my dear?” asked her mother anxiously.
“He’s away all day, and at night when I want to see him, he is continually
going over to the Scotts’. It isn’t fair that I should have the hardest work,
and never any amusement. Men are very selfish, even the best of them.”
“So are women. Don’t blame John till you see where you are wrong
yourself.”
“But it can’t be right for him to neglect me.”
“Don’t you neglect him?”
“Why, Mother, I thought you’d take my part!”
“So I do, as far as sympathizing goes, but I think the fault is yours, Meg.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while you
made it a point to give him your society of an evening, his only leisure
time?”
“No, but I can’t do it now, with two babies to tend.”
“I think you could, dear, and I think you ought. May I speak quite freely,
and will you remember that it’s Mother who blames as well as Mother who
sympathizes?”
“Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I often feel as if
I needed teaching more than ever since these babies look to me for
everything.”
Meg drew her low chair beside her mother’s, and with a little interruption
in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovingly together, feeling
that the tie of motherhood made them more one than ever.
“You have only made the mistake that most young wives make—
forgotten your duty to your husband in your love for your children. A very
natural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be remedied
before you take to different ways, for children should draw you nearer than
ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and John had nothing to do
but support them. I’ve seen it for some weeks, but have not spoken, feeling
sure it would come right in time.”
“I’m afraid it won’t. If I ask him to stay, he’ll think I’m jealous, and I
wouldn’t insult him by such an idea. He doesn’t see that I want him, and I
don’t know how to tell him without words.”
“Make it so pleasant he won’t want to go away. My dear, he’s longing for
his little home, but it isn’t home without you, and you are always in the
nursery.”
“Oughtn’t I to be there?”
“Not all the time, too much confinement makes you nervous, and then
you are unfitted for everything. Besides, you owe something to John as well
as to the babies. Don’t neglect husband for children, don’t shut him out of
the nursery, but teach him how to help in it. His place is there as well as
yours, and the children need him. Let him feel that he has a part to do, and
he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be better for you all.”
“You really think so, Mother?”
“I know it, Meg, for I’ve tried it, and I seldom give advice unless I’ve
proved its practicability. When you and Jo were little, I went on just as you
are, feeling as if I didn’t do my duty unless I devoted myself wholly to you.
Poor Father took to his books, after I had refused all offers of help, and left
me to try my experiment alone. I struggled along as well as I could, but Jo
was too much for me. I nearly spoiled her by indulgence. You were poorly,
and I worried about you till I fell sick myself. Then Father came to the
rescue, quietly managed everything, and made himself so helpful that I saw
my mistake, and never have been able to get on without him since. That is
the secret of our home happiness. He does not let business wean him from
the little cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to let domestic
worries destroy my interest in his pursuits. Each do our part alone in many
things, but at home we work together, always.”
“It is so, Mother, and my great wish is to be to my husband and children
what you have been to yours. Show me how, I’ll do anything you say.”
“You always were my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were you, I’d let
John have more to do with the management of Demi, for the boy needs
training, and it’s none too soon to begin. Then I’d do what I have often
proposed, let Hannah come and help you. She is a capital nurse, and you
may trust the precious babies to her while you do more housework. You
need the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, and John would find his
wife again. Go out more, keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the
sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no fair weather.
Then I’d try to take an interest in whatever John likes—talk with him, let
him read to you, exchange ideas, and help each other in that way. Don’t
shut yourself up in a bandbox because you are a woman, but understand
what is going on, and educate yourself to take your part in the world’s
work, for it all affects you and yours.”
“John is so sensible, I’m afraid he will think I’m stupid if I ask questions
about politics and things.”
“I don’t believe he would. Love covers a multitude of sins, and of whom
could you ask more freely than of him? Try it, and see if he doesn’t find
your society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott’s suppers.”
“I will. Poor John! I’m afraid I have neglected him sadly, but I thought I
was right, and he never said anything.”
“He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn, I fancy. This is
just the time, Meg, when young married people are apt to grow apart, and
the very time when they ought to be most together, for the first tenderness
soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it. And no time is so
beautiful and precious to parents as the first years of the little lives given to
them to train. Don’t let John be a stranger to the babies, for they will do
more to keep him safe and happy in this world of trial and temptation than
anything else, and through them you will learn to know and love one
another as you should. Now, dear, good-by. Think over Mother’s
preachment, act upon it if it seems good, and God bless you all.”
Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the first
attempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it. Of course the
children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as soon as they found out
that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted. Mamma
was an abject slave to their caprices, but Papa was not so easily subjugated,
and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by an attempt at paternal
discipline with his obstreperous son. For Demi inherited a trifle of his sire’s
firmness of character, we won’t call it obstinacy, and when he made up his
little mind to have or to do anything, all the king’s horses and all the king’s
men could not change that pertinacious little mind. Mamma thought the
dear too young to be taught to conquer his prejudices, but Papa believed
that it never was too soon to learn obedience. So Master Demi early
discovered that when he undertook to ‘wrastle’ with ‘Parpar’, he always got
the worst of it, yet like the Englishman, baby respected the man who
conquered him, and loved the father whose grave “No, no,” was more
impressive than all Mamma’s love pats.
A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved to try a social
evening with John, so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor in order,
dressed herself prettily, and put the children to bed early, that nothing
should interfere with her experiment. But unfortunately Demi’s most
unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night he
decided to go on a rampage. So poor Meg sang and rocked, told stories and
tried every sleep-prevoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, the big
eyes wouldn’t shut, and long after Daisy had gone to byelow, like the
chubby little bunch of good nature she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the
light, with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression of countenance.
“Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while Mamma runs down and gives
poor Papa his tea?” asked Meg, as the hall door softly closed, and the well-
known step went tip-toeing into the dining room.
“Me has tea!” said Demi, preparing to join in the revel.
“No, but I’ll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you’ll go bye-
bye like Daisy. Will you, lovey?”
“Iss!” and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry the
desired day.
Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away and ran
down to greet her husband with a smiling face and the little blue bow in her
hair which was his especial admiration. He saw it at once and said with
pleased surprise, “Why, little mother, how gay we are tonight. Do you
expect company?”
“Only you, dear.”
“Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?”
“No, I’m tired of being dowdy, so I dressed up as a change. You always
make yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are, so why shouldn’t
I when I have the time?”
“I do it out of respect for you, my dear,” said old-fashioned John.
“Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke,” laughed Meg, looking young and pretty again,
as she nodded to him over the teapot.
“Well, it’s altogether delightful, and like old times. This tastes right. I
drink your health, dear.” and John sipped his tea with an air of reposeful
rapture, which was of very short duration however, for as he put down his
cup, the door handle rattled mysteriously, and a little voice was heard,
saying impatiently…
“Opy doy. Me’s tummin!”
“It’s that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is,
downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering over that canvas,” said Meg,
answering the call.
“Mornin’ now,” announced Demi in joyful tone as he entered, with his
long nightgown gracefully festooned over his arm and every curl bobbing
gayly as he pranced about the table, eyeing the ‘cakies’ with loving glances.
“No, it isn’t morning yet. You must go to bed, and not trouble poor
Mamma. Then you can have the little cake with sugar on it.”
“Me loves Parpar,” said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternal
knee and revel in forbidden joys. But John shook his head, and said to
Meg…
“If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him do it,
or he will never learn to mind you.”
“Yes, of course. Come, Demi,” and Meg led her son away, feeling a
strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her, laboring
under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as soon as they
reached the nursery.
Nor was he disappointed, for that shortsighted woman actually gave him
a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any more promenades
till morning.
“Iss!” said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and regarding
his first attempt as eminently successful.
Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when
the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies by
boldly demanding, “More sudar, Marmar.”
“Now this won’t do,” said John, hardening his heart against the engaging
little sinner. “We shall never know any peace till that child learns to go to
bed properly. You have made a slave of yourself long enough. Give him one
lesson, and then there will be an end of it. Put him in his bed and leave him,
Meg.”
“He won’t stay there, he never does unless I sit by him.”
“I’ll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as Mamma
bids you.”
“S’ant!” replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted ‘cakie’,
and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity.
“You must never say that to Papa. I shall carry you if you don’t go
yourself.”
“Go ’way, me don’t love Parpar.” and Demi retired to his mother’s skirts
for protection.
But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to the
enemy, with a “Be gentle with him, John,” which struck the culprit with
dismay, for when Mamma deserted him, then the judgment day was at hand.
Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong hand
to that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain his wrath, but openly
defied Papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the way upstairs. The
minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on the other, and made
for the door, only to be ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga
and put back again, which lively performance was kept up till the young
man’s strength gave out, when he devoted himself to roaring at the top of
his voice. This vocal exercise usually conquered Meg, but John sat as
unmoved as the post which is popularly believed to be deaf. No coaxing, no
sugar, no lullaby, no story, even the light was put out and only the red glow
of the fire enlivened the ‘big dark’ which Demi regarded with curiosity
rather than fear. This new order of things disgusted him, and he howled
dismally for ‘Marmar’, as his angry passions subsided, and recollections of
his tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat. The plaintive wail
which succeeded the passionate roar went to Meg’s heart, and she ran up to
say beseechingly…
“Let me stay with him, he’ll be good now, John.”
“No, my dear. I’ve told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him, and he
must, if I stay here all night.”
“But he’ll cry himself sick,” pleaded Meg, reproaching herself for
deserting her boy.
“No, he won’t, he’s so tired he will soon drop off and then the matter is
settled, for he will understand that he has got to mind. Don’t interfere, I’ll
manage him.”
“He’s my child, and I can’t have his spirit broken by harshness.”
“He’s my child, and I won’t have his temper spoiled by indulgence. Go
down, my dear, and leave the boy to me.”
When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and never
regretted her docility.
“Please let me kiss him once, John?”
“Certainly. Demi, say good night to Mamma, and let her go and rest, for
she is very tired with taking care of you all day.”
Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory, for after it was
given, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottom of the
bed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind.
“Poor little man, he’s worn out with sleep and crying. I’ll cover him up,
and then go and set Meg’s heart at rest,” thought John, creeping to the
bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep.
But he wasn’t, for the moment his father peeped at him, Demi’s eyes
opened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms, saying with a
penitent hiccough, “Me’s dood, now.”
Sitting on the stairs outside Meg wondered at the long silence which
followed the uproar, and after imagining all sorts of impossible accidents,
she slipped into the room to set her fears at rest. Demi lay fast asleep, not in
his usual spreadeagle attitude, but in a subdued bunch, cuddled close in the
circle of his father’s arm and holding his father’s finger, as if he felt that
justice was tempered with mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder and wiser
baby. So held, John had waited with a womanly patience till the little hand
relaxed its hold, and while waiting had fallen asleep, more tired by that
tussle with his son than with his whole day’s work.
As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to herself,
and then slipped away again, saying in a satisfied tone, “I never need fear
that John will be too harsh with my babies. He does know how to manage
them, and will be a great help, for Demi is getting too much for me.”
When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachful
wife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg placidly trimming a bonnet,
and to be greeted with the request to read something about the election, if
he was not too tired. John saw in a minute that a revolution of some kind
was going on, but wisely asked no questions, knowing that Meg was such a
transparent little person, she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and
therefore the clue would soon appear. He read a long debate with the most
amiable readiness and then explained it in his most lucid manner, while
Meg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelligent questions, and keep
her thoughts from wandering from the state of the nation to the state of her
bonnet. In her secret soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad as
mathematics, and that the mission of politicians seemed to be calling each
other names, but she kept these feminine ideas to herself, and when John
paused, shook her head and said with what she thought diplomatic
ambiguity, “Well, I really don’t see what we are coming to.”
John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty little
preparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded it with the
genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken.
“She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I’ll try and like millinery for
hers, that’s only fair,” thought John the Just, adding aloud, “That’s very
pretty. Is it what you call a breakfast cap?”
“My dear man, it’s a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-and-theater
bonnet.”
“I beg your pardon, it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one of the
flyaway things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?”
“These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so,” and
Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet and regarding him with an air of
calm satisfaction that was irresistible.
“It’s a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looks young and
happy again,” and John kissed the smiling face, to the great detriment of the
rosebud under the chin.
“I’m glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the new
concerts some night. I really need some music to put me in tune. Will you,
please?”
“Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like. You have
been shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and I shall enjoy it, of
all things. What put it into your head, little mother?”
“Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how nervous
and cross and out of sorts I felt, and she said I needed change and less care,
so Hannah is to help me with the children, and I’m to see to things about the
house more, and now and then have a little fun, just to keep me from getting
to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman before my time. It’s only an
experiment, John, and I want to try it for your sake as much as for mine,
because I’ve neglected you shamefully lately, and I’m going to make home
what it used to be, if I can. You don’t object, I hope?”
Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the little
bonnet had from utter ruin. All that we have any business to know is that
John did not appear to object, judging from the changes which gradually
took place in the house and its inmates. It was not all Paradise by any
means, but everyone was better for the division of labor system. The
children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, steadfast John brought
order and obedience into Babydom, while Meg recovered her spirits and
composed her nerves by plenty of wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and
much confidential conversation with her sensible husband. Home grew
homelike again, and John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with
him. The Scotts came to the Brookes’ now, and everyone found the little
house a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love. Even
Sallie Moffatt liked to go there. “It is always so quiet and pleasant here, it
does me good, Meg,” she used to say, looking about her with wistful eyes,
as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use it in her great house,
full of splendid loneliness, for there were no riotous, sunny-faced babies
there, and Ned lived in a world of his own, where there was no place for
her.
This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meg
had found the key to it, and each year of married life taught them how to
use it, unlocking the treasuries of real home love and mutual helpfulness,
which the poorest may possess, and the richest cannot buy. This is the sort
of shelf on which young wives and mothers may consent to be laid, safe
from the restless fret and fever of the world, finding loyal lovers in the little
sons and daughters who cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or
age, walking side by side, through fair and stormy weather, with a faithful
friend, who is, in the true sense of the good old Saxon word, the ‘house-
band’, and learning, as Meg learned, that a woman’s happiest kingdom is
home, her highest honor the art of ruling it not as a queen, but as a wise
wife and mother.
