The Hero of Hill House | Page 3

death-bed, that she would never again rise to take the burdens of life, that they would have to let her go. He had felt for Henry Hill as he had spoken, for the white horror and anguish in the man's face would have called out sympathy from a harder heart; but he wanted to say also that had she been given a lighter load to carry, if some of the anxiety and concern that now stirred his heart had been expressed when his wife was well, things might not now be as they are. But the kind doctor left these words unsaid. Henry Hill had all he could bear without them.
The holidays, with their festivities, were over, and life had just settled back into its every-day way, when Elizabeth Hill fell sick. She had never been ailing before. Her children had always known her as able to take the constant care and oversight of the family. Without her they were helpless and distraught, for there was no one to take her place. And when after one day's illness it became certain that her condition was critical, the anxiety and tension became intense. He who should have lightened her burden long ago now awoke to her need and was constantly by her side doing all that was in his power to restore her to health. But the black cloud settled heavier upon the home as each day saw the mother coming nearer the gates of death. The children looked at one another with pale faces and wide, frightened eyes as they saw the kind neighbor women come from their mother's bed with averted faces.
Though all was done that could be done, they could not hold her, and one night, with her weeping family around her, she loosed from her earthly habitation and went away. She who had been the soul of that home, lay dead. The calamity came upon the family like a shock. It left no spirit nor life in them. They knew not which way to turn. From the father down to Baby Doyle they were bereft. She to whom they had always looked for counsel and guidance lay in a sublime sleep from which they could not waken her.
As Henry Hill looked upon the motionless form of the woman whose love and confidence he had gained and who had been to him such a faithful wife in spite of his fickleness, he wept, and vowed; but what are tears and vows when the will has been weakened by self-indulgence? He looked about him helplessly. What was he to do? What could he do without her? He was almost a stranger to his children, and had no idea how to care for them. She had always carried the burden, taken the oversight, been the one to go ahead. He faced the future as helplessly as one of his little children.
Her boys looked upon her and knew that they had lost their best friend. Home would have little more attraction for them. George and Wilbur took selfish comfort in the thought that they were old and strong enough to care for themselves, but Austin forgot himself in wondering what would become of the children. The little ones spoke to Mama, but she did not answer, they called to her, but she did not hear, and they went away weeping; for though they could not tell what, they knew something dreadful had happened.
Kind friends and neighbors came in and did what has to be done at such a time. They pitied with full hearts the afflicted family, and they wept for their friend, for they too had loved her. They took her and laid her with others of death's sleepers in the silent churchyard, and her orphaned children returned with their helpless father to the lonely and broken home.
Only those who have returned home after Mother is gone know what these children and father suffered. Kind hands had put the house in order and the familiar furniture in its accustomed place, endeavoring to make the house look as if all were well. But they could not bring back the one who had made this house home, and to the children it was a dreary, lonely place. Fearfully they crept out-of-doors, only to find it as cheerless there.
That first night around the fireside without her, what a desolate place it was! The father sat with drooped head and heaving breast, and the children huddled together and some of them sobbed. Just to escape their misery they went early to bed, and little pillows were wet with tears. When they were all in bed a gentle hand tucked them in with a kind caress. "It is what Mother would have done," thought Austin, as he made the rounds.
In those first days of sorrow