Mary Gough

“I think,” said Paul Clifford to Miss Gordon, “that I have found just the person that will suit you, and if you accept I will be pleased to see you safe home.” Belle thanked the young grocer, and gratefully accepted his company.

Belle returned the next day to see her protege and found her getting along comfortably although she could not help seeing it was sorrow more than disease that was sapping her life, and drying up the feeble streams of existence.

“How do you feel this morning?” said Belle laying her hand tenderly upon her forehead.

“Better, much better,” she replied with an attempt at cheerfulness in her voice. “I am so glad, that Mother Graham is here. It is like letting the sunshine into these gloomy rooms to have her around. It all seems like a dream to me, I remember carrying a large bundle of work to the store, that my employer spoke harshly to me and talked of cutting down my wages. I also remember turning into the street, my eyes almost blinded with tears, and that I felt a dizziness in my head. The next I remember was seeing a lady feeding my children, and a gentleman coming in with Aunty Graham.”

“Yes,” said Belle, “fortunately after I had seen you, I met with Mr. Clifford who rendered me every necessary assistance. His presence was very opportune,” just then Belle turned her eyes toward the door and saw Mr. Clifford standing on the threshold.

“Ah,” said he smiling and advancing “this time the old adage has failed, which says that listeners never hear any good of themselves; for without intending to act the part of an eavesdropper, I heard myself pleasantly complimented.”

“No more than you deserve,” said Belle smiling and blushing, as she gave him her hand in a very frank and pleasant manner. “Mrs. Gough is much better this morning and is very grateful to you for your kindness.”

“Mine,” said Mr. Clifford “if you, will call it so, was only the result of an accident. Still I am very glad if I have been of any service, and you are perfectly welcome to make demands upon me that will add to Mrs. Cough’s comfort.”

“Thank you, I am very glad she has found a friend in you. It is such a blessed privilege to be able to help others less fortunate than ourselves.”

“It certainly is.”

“Just a moment,” said Belle, as the voice of Mrs. Gough fell faintly on her ear.

“What is it, dear?” said Belle bending down to catch her words. “Who is that gentleman? His face and voice seem familiar.”

“It is Mr. Clifford.”

“Paul Clifford?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Yes, I knew him years ago when I was young and happy; but it seems an age since. Oh, isn’t it a dreadful thing, to be a drunkard’s wife?”

“Yes it is, but would you like to speak to Mr. Clifford?”

“Yes! Mam, I would.”

“Mr. Clifford,” said Belle, “Mrs. Gough would like to speak with you.”

“Do you not know me?” said Mary, looking anxiously into his face.

“I recognized you as soon as you moved into the neighborhood.”

“I am very glad. I feared that I was so changed that my own dear mother would hardly recognize me. Don’t you think she would pity and forgive me, if she saw what a mournful wretch I am?”

“Yes, I think she has long forgiven you and longs to take you to her heart as warmly as she ever did.”

“And my father?”

“I believe he would receive you, but I don’t think he would be willing to recognize your husband. You know he is very set in his ways.”

“Mr. Clifford, I feel that my days are numbered and that my span of life will soon be done; but while I live I feel it my duty to cling to my demented husband, and to do all I can to turn him from the error of his ways. But I do so wish that my poor children could have my mother’s care, when I am gone. If I were satisfied on that score, I would die content.”

“Do not talk of dying,” said Belle taking the pale thin hand in hers. “You must try and live for your children’s sake. When you get strong I think I can find you some work among my friends. There is Mrs. Roberts, she often gives out work and I think I will apply to her.”

“Mrs. James Roberts on St. James St. near 16th?”

“Yes! do you know her?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Gough closing her eyes wearily, “I know her and have worked for her.”

“I think she is an excellent woman, I remember one morning we were talking together on religious experience, and about women speaking in class and conference meetings. I said I did not think I should like to constantly relate my experience in public, there was often such a lack of assurance of faith about me that I shrank from holding up my inner life to inspection; and she replied that she would always say that she loved Jesus, and I thought Oh, how I would like to have her experience. What rest and peace I would have if I could feel that I was always in harmony with Him.”

“Miss Belle I hope you will not be offended with me, for I am very ignorant about these matters; but there was something about Mrs. Roberts dealings with us poor working people, that did seem to me not to be just what I think religion calls for. I found her a very hard person to deal with; she wanted so much work for so little money.”

“But, Mrs. Gough, the times are very hard; and the rich feel it as well as the poor.”

“But not so much. It curtails them in their luxuries, and us in our necessities; perhaps I shouldn’t mention, but after my husband had become a confirmed drunkard, and all hope had died out of my heart, I hadn’t time to sit down and brood helplessly over my misery. I had to struggle for my children and if possible keep the wolf from the door; and besides food and clothing, I wanted to keep my children in a respectable neighborhood, and my whole soul rose up in revolt against the idea of bringing them up where their eyes and ears would be constantly smitten by improper sights and sounds. While I was worrying over my situation and feeling that my health was failing under the terrible pressure of care and overwork, Mrs. Roberts brought me work; ‘What will you do this for,’ she said, displaying one of the articles she wanted made. I replied,’One dollar and twenty-five cents,’ and I knew the work well worth it. ‘I can get it done for one dollar,’ she replied, ‘and I am not willing to give any more.’ What could I do? I was out of work, my health was poor, and my children clutching at my heart strings for bread; and so I took it at her price. It was very unprofitable, but it was better than nothing.”

“Why that is very strange. I know she pays her dressmaker handsomely.”

“That is because her dressmaker is in a situation to dictate her own terms; but while she would pay her a large sum for dressmaking, she would screw and pinch a five-cent piece from one who hadn’t power to resist her demands. I have seen people save twenty-five or fifty cents in dealing with poor people, who would squander ten times as much on some luxury of the table or wardrobe. I[?] often find that meanness and extravagance go hand in hand.”

“Yes, that is true, still Mrs. Gough, I think people often act like Mrs. Roberts more from want of thought than want of heart. It was an old charge brought against the Israelite, ‘My people doth not consider.’”

“What is the matter, my dear?” said Belle a few mornings after this conversation as she approached the bedside of Mary Gough, “I thought you were getting along so nicely, and that with proper care you would be on your feet in a few days, but this morning you look so feeble, and seem so nervous and depressed. Do tell me what has happened and what has become of your beautiful hair; oh you had such a wealth of tresses, I really loved to toy with them. Was your head so painful that the doctor ordered them to be cut?”

“Oh, no,” she said burying her face in the pillow and breaking into a paroxysm of tears. “Oh, Miss Belle, how can I tell you,” she replied recovering from her sudden outburst of sorrow.

“Why, what is it darling? I am at a loss to know what has become of your beautiful hair.”

With gentle womanly tact Belle saw that the loss of her hair was a subject replete with bitter anguish, and turning to the children she took them in her lap and interested and amused them by telling beautiful fairy stories. In a short time Mary’s composure returned, and she said, “Miss Belle, I can now tell you how I lost my hair. Last night my husband, or the wreck of what was once my husband, came home. His eyes were wild and bloodshot; his face was pale and haggard, his gait uneven, and his hand trembling. I have seen him suffering from Manipaotu and dreaded lest he should have a returning of it. Mrs. Graham had just stepped out, and there was no one here but myself and children. He held in his hand a pair of shears, and approached my bedside. I was ready to faint with terror, when he exclaimed, ’Mary I must have liquor or I shall go wild,’ he caught my hair in his hand; I was too feeble to resist, and in a few minutes he had cut every lock from my head, and left it just as you see it.”

“Oh, what a pity, and what a shame.”

“Oh, Miss Gordon do you think the men who make our laws ever stop to consider the misery, crime and destruction that flow out of the liquor traffic? I have done all I could to induce him to abstain, and he has abstained several months at a time and then suddenly like a flash of lightning the temptation returns and all his resolutions are scattered like chaff before the wind. I have been blamed for living with him, but Miss Belle were you to see him in his moments of remorse, and hear his bitter self reproach, and his earnest resolutions to reform, you would as soon leave a drowning man to struggle alone in the water as to forsake him in his weakness when every one else has turned against him, and if I can be the means of saving him, the joy for his redemption will counterbalance all that I have suffered as a drunkard’s wife.”