CHAPTER XXX

ETHIE’S STORY

“You say you read my letter, auntie; and if you did, you know nearly all that made me go away.  I do not remember now just what was in it, but I know it was very concise, and plain, and literal; for I was angry when I wrote it, and would not spare Richard a bit.  But, oh!  I had been so tired and so wretched.  You can’t guess half how wretched I was at the farmhouse first, where they were all so different, and where one of the greatest terrors was lest I should get used to it and so be more like them.  I mean Richard’s mother, auntie.  I liked the others—­they were kind and good; especially Andy.  Oh, Andy! dear old Andy!  I have thought of him so much during the last five years, and bad as I am I have prayed every night that he would not forget me.

“Aunt Barbara, I did not love Richard, and that was my great mistake.  I ought not to have married him, but I was so sore and unhappy then that any change was a relief.  I do not see now how I ever could have loved Frank; but I did, or thought I did, and was constantly contrasting Richard with him and making myself more miserable.  If I had loved Richard things would have been so much easier to bear.  I was beginning to love him, and life was so much pleasanter, when he got so angry about Frank and charged me with those dreadful things, driving me frantic and making me feel as if I hated him and could do much to worry him.  Don’t look so shocked.  I know how wicked it was, and sometimes I fear God never can forgive me; but I did not think of him then.  I forgot everything but myself and my trouble, and so I went away, going first to ——­, so as to mislead Richard, and then turning straight back to New York.

“Do you remember Abby Jackson, who was at school in Boston, and who once spent a week with me here?  She married, and lives in New York, and believes in women’s rights and wears the Bloomer dress.  She would take my part, I said, and I went at once to her house and told her all I had done, and asked if I could stay until I found employment.  Aunt Barbara, this is a queer world, and there are queer people in it.  I thought I was sure of Abby, she used to protest so strongly against the tyranny of men, and say she should like nothing better than protecting females who were asserting their own rights.  I was asserting mine, and I went to her for sympathy.  She was glad to see me at first, and petted and fondled me just as she used to do at school.  She was five years older than I, and so I looked up to her.  But when I told my story her manner changed, and it really seemed as if she looked upon me as a suspicious person who had done something terrible.  She advocated women’s rights as strongly as ever, but could not advise me to continue in my present course.  It would bring odium upon me, sure.  A woman separated from her husband was always pointed at, no matter what cause she had for the separation.  It was all wrong, she urged, that public opinion should be thus, and ere long she trusted there would be a change.  Till then I would do well to return to Iowa and make it up with Richard.  That was what she said, and it made me very angry, so that I was resolved to leave her the next day; but I was sick in the morning, and sick some weeks following, so that I could not leave her house.