Back Aa

That Mother-in-Law of Mine

<h2>CHAPTER V. THE RISE AND FALL.</h2> During the next week of our stay at the Fairview hotel, it grew rather dull. There was little to do but drive on the long country roads, or wander over the hills and in the fields and woods. I could have found plenty of pleasure in that with Bessie and a party of congenial friends, but it didn’t seem to be right always to leave my worthy mother-in-law behind, with her crochet work or the last new novel from the city, on the sunny piazza or in her dim little chamber. She was not averse to drives, in fact enjoyed them very much, but she seemed to divine that I did not really want her company, though I protested, as became a dutiful son-in-law, that I should be very glad to take her at any time. She did go with us once or twice, but the laughter and romping behavior which gave our rides their chief zest were extinguished, and we jogged along in the most proper manner, professing admiration for the outlines of the hills and the far-away stretches of scenery between the more distant mountains. We returned as quiet and demure as if we had been to a funeral. Mrs. Pinkerton saw the effect, and with her fine feeling of independence, she politely but firmly declined to go afterwards. As for walking on anything but level sidewalks or gravel-paths, she could not think of such a thing. The idea of her climbing a hill or getting herself over a fence seemed ridiculous to anybody that knew her. So it was that we were continually forced to leave her behind, or deny ourselves the chief recreation of the country. I was sincerely disinclined to slight her in any way, and desirous of contributing to her pleasure, but what could I do? A fellow can’t get an iceberg to enjoy tropical sunshine. Our dislike to leave the old lady alone, although she insisted that she didn’t mind it at all, led us to pass a large portion of each day, sometimes all day, about the house. It was “deuced stupid,” to use Marston’s elegant phrase, but there was little to do for it. To be sure, there was Desmond, “old Dives,” Fred called him. He seldom went out of sight of the house, but he had a perfect mail-bag of newspapers and letters every morning, and spent the forenoon indoors, holding sweet communion with them and answering his correspondents. In the afternoon he sat on the piazza by the hour, contemplating the mountain-top that had such a fascination for him. He had a prodigious amount of information on all manner of subjects, and a quick and accurate judgment; but he was generally very reticent, as he tipped back in his chair and twisted his fingers in and out of that fine gold chain. My mother-in-law, from her shady nook of the piazza, would glance at him occasionally from her work or her book, as much as to say, “It is strange people can’t make some effort to be agreeable, instead of being so stiff and dignified all the afternoon”; but he seemed unconscious of her looks and her mental comments. His thoughts were probably in the marts of trade. Fred was continually going off to distant towns, or down to the great hotels in the mountains, for livelier diversion. His wife often insisted on going with him, to his evident disgust, not because she cared to be in his company, but because she wanted to go to the same places and could not well go alone. Now, Fred wasn’t a bad fellow at heart. I had known him for years, and used to like him exceedingly. But he was left without a father at an early age, with a considerable fortune, and his mother was indulgent and not overwise. He got rather fast as he grew up, and then he contracted a thoughtless marriage with Lizzie Carleton, a handsome and stylish young lady, fond of dress and gay society, and without a notion of domestic responsibility or duty. Like most women who are not positively bad, she had in her heart a desire to be right, but she didn’t know how. She was all impulse, and gave way to whims and feelings, as if helpless in any effort to manage her own waywardness. As a natural consequence there were constant jars between the pair. Fred took to his clubs and mingled with men of the race-course and the billiard halls, and Lizzie beguiled herself as best she could with her fashionable friends. And where was Miss Van Duzen these long and tedious days? They were never tedious to her, for she was always on the go. She would go off alone on interminable strolls, and bring back loads of flowers and strange plants, and she could tell all about them too. Her knowledge of botany was wonderful, and she could make very clever sketches; she would sit by the hour on some lonely rock, putting picturesque scenery on paper, just for the love of it; for when the pictures were done she would give them away or throw them away without the least compunction. She had a fine sense of the ludicrous and was all the time seeing funny things, which she described in a manner quite inimitable. She had grown up in New York, before her father’s death, in the most select of Knickerbocker circles, but there was not a trace of aristocracy in her ways. She was sociable with the ostler and the office-boy, and agreeable to the neighboring farmers, talking with them with a spirit that quite delighted them. And yet there was nothing free and easy in her ways that encouraged undue familiarity. It was merely natural ease and good nature. She inspired respect in everybody but my mother-in-law, who was puzzled with her conduct, so different from her own ideas of propriety, and yet so free from real vulgarity. Mrs. Pinkerton could by no means approve of her, and yet she could accuse her of no offence which the most rigid could seriously censure. Miss Van was the life of the company when she was about, telling of her adventures, getting up impromptu amusements in the parlor, and planning excursions. She was the only person in the world, probably, who was quite familiar with Mr. Desmond, and she would sit on his knee, pull his whiskers, and call him an “awful glum old fogy,” whereat he would laugh and say she had gayety enough for them both. He admired and loved her for the very qualities that he lacked. All this while I was trying to win the gracious favor of my mother-in-law, but it was up-hill work. She would answer me with severe politeness, and volunteer an occasional remark intended to be pleasant, but the moment I seemed to be gaining headway, a turn at billiards with Marston, for whom she had a great aversion, a thoughtless expression with a flavor of profanity in it, or my cigars, which I now indulged in without restraint, brought back her freezing air of disapproval. “Oh, dear!” I yawned sometimes, “why can’t I go ahead and enjoy myself without minding that very respectable and severe old woman?” But I couldn’t do it. I was always feeling the influence of those eyes, and even of her thoughts. I couldn’t get away from it. Sunday came, and Mrs. Pinkerton expressed the hope that we were to attend divine service together. I hadn’t thought of it till that moment, and then it struck me as a terrible bore. There was no church within ten miles except a little white, meek edifice in the neighboring village, occupied alternately by Methodist and Baptist expounders of a very Calvinistic, and, to me, a very unattractive sort of religion. It was not altogether to my mother-in-law’s liking, but she regarded any church as far better than none. “I presume you will go, sir,” she said, addressing me when I made no reply to the previous hint. She always used “sir,” with a peculiar emphasis, when any suggestion was intended to have the force of a command. “Well, really, I had not thought about it,” I said, rather vexed, as I secretly made up my mind, reckless of my policy of conciliation, that I would not go at any price. A tedious, droning sermon of an hour and perhaps an hour and a half in a country church, full of dismal doctrines,—the sermon, not the church,—I couldn’t stand, I thought. Mrs. Pinkerton’s eyes were upon me, waiting for a more definite answer. “I—well, no, I don’t think I really feel like it this morning. I thought I would read to Bessie quietly in our room, and take a rest.” “Very well, sir,” she said, “Bessie and I will walk down to the village.” “The deuce you will!” I thought; “walk a mile and a half on a dusty road; to be bored!” I knew it was useless to protest, and I was too wilful to take back what I had said, have the team harnessed, and go, like a good fellow, to church. “No, I’ll be blowed if I do!” I muttered. So off went the widow and her daughter without me. Bessie tripped around to me on the piazza, looking like a fairy in her white dress and bit of blue ribbon, gave me a sweet kiss, and said, “I’ll be back before dinner. Have a nice quiet time, now.” “Oh, yes; have a nice quiet time, and you gone off with that old dragon!” It was a wicked thought, for she was not a bit of a dragon, but the feeling came over me that I was going to feel miserable all the forenoon, and so I did. Miss Van and her uncle had gone early to the neighboring town, the largest in the county, for church and the opportunity of observing; Fred and his wife had gone, the night before, round to the other side of the mountains, where there was to be a sort of ball or hop at the leading hotel; and the rest of the people in the house might as well have been in the moon, for all that I cared about them. A nice quiet time! Oh, yes; lounging about and trying to think of something besides Mrs. Pinkerton and my own shabby behavior. I would ten times rather have been in the dullest country church that ever echoed to the voice of the old and unimproved theology of Calvin’s day. But I was in for it, and lay in the hammock and looked through the stables, tried to read, tried to sleep, started on a walk and came back, and almost cursed the quiet country Sunday, as specially calculated to make a man of sense feel wretched. At last Bessie and her mother returned, and we had dinner. In the afternoon I was an outcast from Mrs. Pinkerton’s favor, but I had Bessie and read to her, and, on the whole, got through the rest of the day comfortably. The week following I began to feel that this was getting tiresome. Under other circumstances it might be very pleasant, but really I began to doubt whether I was enjoying it. But I made up my mind that during these days of leisure I ought to be making progress in the favor of my mother-in-law, with whom I was destined to live, nobody could say how many years. I couldn’t and wouldn’t make a martyr or a hypocrite of myself. I wouldn’t conceal my actions or deny myself freedom. So I smoked with Fred, played billiards, rolled ten-pins with Fred’s wife and Miss Van, and even beguiled Bessie into that vigorous and healthful exercise, which brought a gentle reprimand from her mother, addressed to her but directed at me. She did not think that kind of amusement becoming to ladies who had a proper respect for themselves. “Why, mamma, Miss Van Duzen plays, and says she thinks it jolly fun,” said Bessie innocently. “That doesn’t alter the case in the least,” was the rejoinder. “Miss Van Duzen can judge for herself. I don’t think it proper. Besides, your husband’s familiar way with those ladies—one of whom is married and no better than she ought to be, if appearances mean anything—does not please me at all.” “O mamma, how absurd! I see no harm in it at all, and poor Lizzie, I am sure, never means any harm.” “Well, well, my dear, I don’t wish to say anything about other people, and I only hope you will never have occasion to see any harm in your husband’s evident preference for the company of people with loose notions about proper and becoming behavior.” On Saturday of that week a little incident occurred that raised me perceptibly in Mrs. Pinkerton’s estimation. The great, lumbering stage-coach came up just at evening, more heavily laden than usual, and top-heavy with trunks piled up on the roof. The driver dashed along with his customary recklessness, the six horses breaking into a canter as they turned to come up the rather steep acclivity to the house. The coach was drawn about a foot from its usual rut, one of the wheels struck a projecting stone, and over went the huge vehicle, passengers, trunks, and all. The driver took a terrible leap and was stunned. The horses stopped and looked calmly around on the havoc. There was great consternation in and about the house. Here my natural self-possession came into full play. I took command of the situation at once, directed prompt and vigorous efforts to the extrication of the passengers, had the injured ones taken into the house, applied proper restoratives, and in a few minutes ascertained that only one was seriously hurt. She was a young girl, who had insisted on riding outside, higher up even than the driver. She had been thrown headlong, striking, fortunately, on the grass, but terribly bruising one side of her face and dislocating her left shoulder. In a trice I had made her as comfortable as possible; dashed down to the village for the nearest doctor, having had the forethought to order a team harnessed in anticipation of such a necessity; and, having started the doctor up in a hurry, kept on to the neighboring county town for a surgeon who had considerable local reputation. I had him on the ground in a surprisingly short time, and before bedtime the unfortunate girl was put in the way of recovery, having received no internal injury. My behavior in this affair, as I said, gave me a lift in my mother-in-law’s estimation, and of course filled Bessie with the most unbounded admiration, though I had never thought of the moral effect of my action. In the morning I determined to follow up my advantage. It was Sunday again, and I bespoke the team early, to go to the neighboring town, where there was an Episcopal church, and where, for that day, a distinguished divine from the city, who was spending his vacation in those parts, was to hold forth. When I had announced my preparation for the religious observance of the day, I actually received what was almost a smile of approval from my mother-in-law. I enjoyed the ride, and was not greatly bored by the service, for I was thinking of something else most of the time, or amusing my mind with the native congregation. We got back late to dinner, and the rest had left the dining-room. The ladies went in without removing their bonnets, and after dinner retired to their rooms. As I came out on the piazza, Fred, who was walking about in a restless way, puffing his cigar with a sort of ferocity, as though determined to put it through as speedily as possible, shouted, “Hello! Charlie, old boy, where the eternal furies have you been? Here I have been about this dead, sleepy, stupid place all the morning, with nothing to do and nobody to speak to!” “Why, where’s Mrs. M.?” “Lib? Oh, she’s been here, but then she was reading a ghastly stupid novel, and wasn’t company; and she went off to the big boarding-house down the road half a mile, to dine with a friend. I wouldn’t go to the blasted place, and really think she didn’t want me to. But where in thunder were you all the while?” “At church, to be sure, with my wife and her mother.” “Oh, yes!” was the reply, peculiarly prolonged, as if the idea never occurred to him before. “How long since you became so pious, old man? Didn’t suppose you knew what the inside of a church was used for. The outside is mainly useful to put a clock on, where it can be seen. Old Pink,—beg pardon! Mrs. Pinkerton,—I suppose, dragged you along by main force.” “Not at all. I went of my own motion; in fact, suggested it to the ladies.” “You don’t say so! Well, I see she is bringing you around. It is she that is destined to gain the supremacy.” “Pshaw! Is my going to church such an indication of submission? It wouldn’t do you any harm to go to church once in a while, Fred.” “Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, taking out his cigar, and stretching his feet to the top of the balustrade; “I don’t know about that. I am afraid it might be the ruin of me. I might become awfully pious, and then what a stick and a moping man of rags I should become. I tell you, Charlie, my boy, there’s many a good fellow spoilt by too much church and Sunday school.” “Perhaps,” I replied, “but you and I are beyond danger.” “Well, yes, but you can’t be too careful of yourself, you know.” There was no answering that, and we relapsed into commonplace, and finished our cigars. “Where’s old Dives to-day, and his charming niece, the lively Van?” asked Fred, after an uncommon fit of silent contemplation. “They went over to some town thirty or forty miles away, yesterday, and haven’t got back,” I replied. “I tell you, that girl knows how to circumvent these stupid Sundays, don’t she, though? And she takes old Dives along wherever she wants to go. I believe she would take him where the other Dives went, if she was disposed to take a trip there herself. But, holy Jerusalem! what are we to do to get through the rest of the day. No company, no billiards, no fishing. Confound the prejudices of society. I tell you, it is just such women as that mother-in-law of yours that keep society intimidated, as it were, into artificial proprieties. Now where’s the harm of a pleasant game on a Sunday, more than sitting here and grumbling and cursing because there’s nothing to do?” I made no reply, and Fred lighted another cigar. He was evidently thinking of something. “Look here, old fellow,” he said at length in an undertone, something very unusual with him, “come up to my room. You haven’t seen it. Lib won’t be back till teatime, and perhaps we can find something to amuse ourselves.” He led the way and I followed, thinking no harm. His room was up stairs and on the back of the house, looking up the great hill that stretched back to the clouds. As we entered, I found he had brought a good many things with him, and given the room much the air of the quarters of a bachelor in the city. His sleeping-room was separate from that, and formed a sort of boudoir for his wife. He motioned me to an easy-chair, set a box of fine cigars on the table, and going to the closet brought out a decanter of sherry and some glasses. “In these cursed places, you can get nothing to drink,” he said, “unless on the sly, and I hate that; so I bring along my own beverages, you see.” I saw and tasted, and found it very good. He was still fumbling about the closet, with profane ejaculations, and finally emerged with something in his hand that I at first took for a small book. But he unblushingly put on the table that pasteboard volume sometimes called the Devil’s Bible. “Come,” he said, “where’s the harm? Let us have a quiet game of Casino or California Jack, or something else. It is better than perishing of stupidity.” I demurred. I was not over-scrupulous, but I had sufficient of my early breeding left to have a qualm of conscience at the thought of playing cards on Sunday. “Oh, nonsense!” said Fred, carelessly, as he proceeded to deal the cards for Casino. “There, you have an ace and little Casino right before you. Go ahead, old man!” I made a feeble show of protesting, but took up my cards, and, finding that I could capture the ace and little Casino, took them. From that the play went on; I became quite absorbed, and dismissed my scruples, when, as the sun was getting low, a shadow passed the window. “Great Jupiter!” I exclaimed, looking up. “Does that second-story piazza go all the way round here?” “To be sure,” answered Fred, whose back was to the window. “Why not? What did you see,—a spook?” “My mother-in-law!” “The devil!” “No, Mrs. Pinkerton!” “Well, what do you care? You are your own boss, I hope.” “Yes, of course; but she will be terribly offended, and I think it would be pleasanter for all concerned to keep in her good graces.” “Gammon! Assert your rights, be master of yourself, and teach the old woman her place. D—— me, if I would have a mother-in-law riding over me, or prying around to see what I was about!” “Oh, I am sure she passed the window by accident. She would never pry around; it isn’t her style; she has a fine sense of propriety, has my mother-in-law!” “Oh, yes, old Pink is the pink of propriety, no doubt about that!” said the rascal, laughing heartily at his heartless pun. But I couldn’t laugh. I saw plainly enough that I had lost more than all the ground that I had gained in my mother-in-law’s favor, and my task would be harder than ever. I had no more desire to play cards, and sauntered down stairs and out of doors as if nothing had happened. At the tea-table Mrs. Pinkerton was very impressive in her manner, but showed no direct consciousness of anything new. On the piazza, after tea, she was uncommonly affable to her daughter, and, I thought, a little disposed to keep Bessie from talking to me. The latter appeared troubled somewhat, and looked at me in an anxious way, as if longing to rush into my arms and ask me all about it and say how willingly she forgave me; but her mother kept her within the circle of her influence, and I sat apart, harboring unutterable thoughts and saying nothing. At last Mrs. Pinkerton arose, and said sweetly, “I wouldn’t stay out any later, dear, it is rather damp.” “Stay with me, Bessie,” I said, “I want to speak to you. Your mother is at liberty to go in whenever she pleases.” It was then she gave me a disdainful look and swept in, and I muttered the wish regarding her transportation to a distant clime, which brought out the gentle rebuke with which this story opens. I saw no prospect of enjoying a longer stay at the Fairview, unless some burglary or terrible accident should occur to give me chance for a new display of my heroic qualities, and even then, I thought, it would be of no use, for I should spoil it all next day. So we determined to go home a week earlier than we had intended. The Marstons were going to Canada and Lake George, and wouldn’t reach home till October. Mr. Desmond and his niece stayed a month longer where they were, and that would bring them home about the same time. Bessie and I went home with a lack of that buoyant bliss with which we had travelled to the mountains and spent those first two weeks. There was no change in us, but it was all due to my mother-in-law. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.