Jennie Gerhardt: A Novel

  CHAPTER XI

  The incidents of the days that followed, relating as they didpeculiarly to Jennie, were of an order which the morality of our dayhas agreed to taboo.

  Certain processes of the all-mother, the great artificing wisdom ofthe power that works and weaves in silence and in darkness, whenviewed in the light of the established opinion of some of the littleindividuals created by it, are considered very vile. We turn our facesaway from the creation of life as if that were the last thing that manshould dare to interest himself in, openly.

  It is curious that a feeling of this sort should spring up in aworld whose very essence is generative, the vast process dual, andwhere wind, water, soil, and light alike minister to the fruition ofthat which is all that we are. Although the whole earth, not we alone,is moved by passions hymeneal, and everything terrestrial has comeinto being by the one common road, yet there is that ridiculoustendency to close the eyes and turn away the head as if there weresomething unclean in nature itself. "Conceived in iniquity and born insin," is the unnatural interpretation put upon the process by theextreme religionist, and the world, by its silence, gives assent to ajudgment so marvelously warped.

  Surely there is something radically wrong in this attitude. Theteachings of philosophy and the deductions of biology should find morepractical application in the daily reasoning of man. No process isvile, no condition is unnatural. The accidental variation from a givensocial practice does not necessarily entail sin. No poor littleearthling, caught in the enormous grip of chance, and so swerved fromthe established customs of men, could possibly be guilty of that depthof vileness which the attitude of the world would seem to predicate soinevitably.

  Jennie was now to witness the unjust interpretation of that wonderof nature, which, but for Brander's death, might have been consecratedand hallowed as one of the ideal functions of life. Although herselfunable to distinguish the separateness of this from every other normalprocess of life, yet was she made to feel, by the actions of all abouther, that degradation was her portion and sin the foundation as wellas the condition of her state. Almost, not quite, it was sought toextinguish the affection, the consideration, the care which,afterward, the world would demand of her, for her child. Almost, notquite, was the budding and essential love looked upon as evil.Although her punishment was neither the gibbet nor the jail of a fewhundred years before, yet the ignorance and immobility of the humanbeings about her made it impossible for them to see anything in herpresent condition but a vile and premeditated infraction of the socialcode, the punishment of which was ostracism. All she could do now wasto shun the scornful gaze of men, and to bear in silence the greatchange that was coming upon her. Strangely enough, she felt no uselessremorse, no vain regrets. Her heart was pure, and she was consciousthat it was filled with peace. Sorrow there was, it is true, but onlya mellow phase of it, a vague uncertainty and wonder, which wouldsometimes cause her eyes to fill with tears.

  You have heard the wood-dove calling in the lone stillness of thesummertime; you have found the unheeded brooklet singing and babblingwhere no ear comes to hear. Under dead leaves and snow-banks thedelicate arbutus unfolds its simple blossom, answering some heavenlycall for color. So, too, this other flower of womanhood.

  Jennie was left alone, but, like the wood-dove, she was a voice ofsweetness in the summer-time. Going about her household duties, shewas content to wait, without a murmur, the fulfilment of that processfor which, after all, she was but the sacrificial implement. When herduties were lightest she was content to sit in quiet meditation, themarvel of life holding her as in a trance. When she was hardestpressed to aid her mother, she would sometimes find herself quietlysinging, the pleasure of work lifting her out of herself. Always shewas content to face the future with a serene and unfaltering courage.It is not so with all women. Nature is unkind in permitting the minortype to bear a child at all. The larger natures in their maturitywelcome motherhood, see in it the immense possibilities of racialfulfilment, and find joy and satisfaction in being the hand-maiden ofso immense a purpose.

  Jennie, a child in years, was potentially a woman physically andmentally, but not yet come into rounded conclusions as to life and herplace in it. The great situation which had forced her into thisanomalous position was from one point of view a tribute to herindividual capacity. It proved her courage, the largeness of hersympathy, her willingness to sacrifice for what she considered aworthy cause. That it resulted in an unexpected consequence, whichplaced upon her a larger and more complicated burden, was due to thefact that her sense of self-protection had not been commensurate withher emotions. There were times when the prospective coming of thechild gave her a sense of fear and confusion, because she did not knowbut that the child might eventually reproach her; but there was alwaysthat saving sense of eternal justice in life which would not permither to be utterly crushed. To her way of thinking, people were notintentionally cruel. Vague thoughts of sympathy and divine goodnesspermeated her soul. Life at worst or best was beautiful--hadalways been so.

  These thoughts did not come to her all at once, but through themonths during which she watched and waited. It was a wonderful thingto be a mother, even under these untoward conditions. She felt thatshe would love this child, would be a good mother to it if lifepermitted. That was the problem--what would life permit?

  There were many things to be done--clothes to be made; certainprovisions of hygiene and diet to be observed. One of her fears wasthat Gerhardt might unexpectedly return, but he did not. The oldfamily doctor who had nursed the various members of the Gerhardtfamily through their multitudinous ailments--DoctorEllwanger--was taken into consultation, and he gave sound andpractical advice. Despite his Lutheran upbringing, the practice ofmedicine in a large and kindly way had led him to the conclusion thatthere are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in ourphilosophies and in our small neighborhood relationships. "So it is,"he observed to Mrs. Gerhardt when she confided to him nervously whatthe trouble was. "Well, you mustn't worry. These things happen in moreplaces than you think. If you knew as much about life as I do, andabout your neighbors, you would not cry. Your girl will be all right.She is very healthy. She can go away somewhere afterward, and peoplewill never know. Why should you worry about what your neighbors think.It is not so uncommon as you imagine."

  Mrs. Gerhardt marveled. He was such a wise man. It gave her alittle courage. As for Jennie, she listened to his advice withinterest and without fear. She wanted things not so much for herselfas for her child, and she was anxious to do whatever she was told. Thedoctor was curious to know who the father was; when informed he liftedhis eyes. "Indeed," he commented. "That ought to be a brightbaby."

  There came the final hour when the child was ushered into theworld. It was Doctor Ellwanger who presided, assisted by the mother,who, having brought forth six herself, knew exactly what to do. Therewas no difficulty, and at the first cry of the new-born infant thereawakened in Jennie a tremendous yearning toward it. This washer child! It was weak and feeble--a little girl, and itneeded her care. She took it to her breast, when it had been bathedand swaddled, with a tremendous sense of satisfaction and joy. Thiswas her child, her little girl. She wanted to live to be able to workfor it, and rejoiced, even in her weakness, that she was so strong.Doctor Ellwanger predicted a quick recovery. He thought two weekswould be the outside limit of her need to stay in bed. As a matter offact, in ten days she was up and about, as vigorous and healthy asever. She had been born with strength and with that nurturing qualitywhich makes the ideal mother.

  The great crisis had passed, and now life went on much as before.The children, outside of Bass, were too young to understand fully, andhad been deceived by the story that Jennie was married to SenatorBrander, who had died. They did not know that a child was coming untilit was there. The neighbors were feared by Mrs. Gerhardt, for theywere ever watchful and really knew all. Jennie would never have bravedthis local atmosphere except for the advice of Bass, who, havingsecured a place in Cleveland
some time before, had written that hethought when she was well enough it would be advisable for the wholefamily to seek a new start in Cleveland. Things were flourishingthere. Once away they would never hear of their present neighbors andJennie could find something to do. So she stayed at home.