Scenes of Clerical Life: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

They laid her in the grave--the sweet mother with her baby in her
arms--while the Christmas snow lay thick upon the graves. It was Mr.
Cleves who buried her. On the first news of Mr. Barton's calamity, he had
ridden over from Tripplegate to beg that he might be made of some use,
and his silent grasp of Amos's hand had penetrated like the painful
thrill of life-recovering warmth to the poor benumbed heart of the
stricken man.

The snow lay thick upon the graves, and the day was cold and dreary; but
there was many a sad eye watching that black procession as it passed from
the vicarage to the church, and from the church to the open grave. There
were men and women standing in that churchyard who had bandied vulgar
jests about their pastor, and who had lightly charged him with sin; but
now, when they saw him following the coffin, pale and haggard, he was
consecrated anew by his great sorrow, and they looked at him with
respectful pity.

All the children were there, for Amos had willed it so, thinking that
some dim memory of that sacred moment might remain even with little
Walter, and link itself with what he would hear of his sweet mother in
after years. He himself led Patty and Dickey; then came Sophy and Fred;
Mr. Brand had begged to carry Chubby, and Nanny followed with Walter.
They made a circle round the grave while the coffin was being lowered.
Patty alone of all the children felt that mamma was in that coffin, and
that a new and sadder life had begun for papa and herself. She was pale
and trembling, but she clasped his hand more firmly as the coffin went
down, and gave no sob. Fred and Sophy, though they were only two and
three years younger, and though they had seen mamma in her coffin, seemed
to themselves to be looking at some strange show. They had not learned to
decipher that terrible handwriting of human destiny, illness and death.
Dickey had rebelled against his black clothes, until he was told that it
would be naughty to mamma not to put them on, when he at once submitted;
and now, though he had heard Nanny say that mamma was in heaven, he had a
vague notion that she would come home again tomorrow, and say he had been
a good boy and let him empty her work-box. He stood close to his father,
with great rosy cheeks, and wide open blue eyes, looking first up at Mr.
Cleves and then down at the coffin, and thinking he and Chubby would play
at that when they got home.

The burial was over, and Amos turned with his children to re-enter the
house--the house where, an hour ago, Milly's dear body lay, where the
windows were half darkened, and sorrow seemed to have a hallowed precinct
for itself, shut out from the world. But now she was gone; the broad
snow-reflected daylight was in all the rooms; the Vicarage again seemed
part of the common working-day world, and Amos, for the first time, felt
that he was alone--that day after day, month after month, year after
year, would have to be lived through without Milly's love. Spring would
come, and she would not be there; summer, and she would not be there; and
he would never have her again with him by the fireside in the long
evenings. The seasons all seemed irksome to his thoughts; and how dreary
the sunshiny days that would be sure to come! She was gone from him; and
he could never show her his love any more, never make up for omissions in
the past by filling future days with tenderness.

O the anguish of that thought that we can never atone to our dead for the
stinted affection we gave them, for the light answers we returned to
their plaints or their pleadings, for the little reverence we showed to
that sacred human soul that lived so close to us, and was the divinest
thing God had given us to know.

Amos Barton had been an affectionate husband, and while Milly was with
him, he was never visited by the thought that perhaps his sympathy with
her was not quick and watchful enough; but now he re-lived all their life
together, with that terrible keenness of memory and imagination which
bereavement gives, and he felt as if his very love needed a pardon for
its poverty and selfishness.

No outward solace could counteract the bitterness of this inward woe. But
outward solace came. Cold faces looked kind again, and parishioners
turned over in their minds what they could best do to help their pastor.
Mr. Oldinport wrote to express his sympathy, and enclosed another
twenty-pound note, begging that he might be permitted to contribute in
this way to the relief of Mr. Barton's mind from pecuniary anxieties,
under the pressure of a grief which all his parishioners must share; and
offering his interest towards placing the two eldest girls in a school
expressly founded for clergymen's daughters. Mr. Cleves succeeded in
collecting thirty pounds among his richer clerical brethren, and, adding
ten pounds himself, sent the sum to Amos, with the kindest and most
delicate words of Christian fellowship and manly friendship. Miss Jackson
forgot old grievances, and came to stay some months with Milly's
children, bringing such material aid as she could spare from her small
income. These were substantial helps, which relieved Amos from the
pressure of his money difficulties; and the friendly attentions, the kind
pressure of the hand, the cordial looks he met with everywhere in his
parish, made him feel that the fatal frost which had settled on his
pastoral duties, during the Countess's residence at the Vicarage, was
completely thawed, and that the hearts of his parishioners were once more
open to him. No one breathed the Countess's name now; for Milly's memory
hallowed her husband, as of old the place was hallowed on which an angel
from God had alighted.

When the spring came, Mrs. Hackit begged that she might have Dickey to
stay with her, and great was the enlargement of Dickey's experience from
that visit. Every morning he was allowed--being well wrapt up as to his
chest by Mrs. Hackit's own hands, but very bare and red as to his
legs--to run loose in the cow and poultry yard, to persecute the
turkey-cock by satirical imitations of his gobble-gobble, and to put
difficult questions to the groom as to the reasons why horses had four
legs, and other transcendental matters. Then Mr. Hackit would take Dickey
up on horseback when he rode round his farm, and Mrs. Hackit had a large
plumcake in cut, ready to meet incidental attacks of hunger. So that
Dickey had considerably modified his views as to the desirability of Mrs.
Hackit's kisses.

The Misses Farquhar made particular pets of Fred and Sophy, to whom they
undertook to give lessons twice a-week in writing and geography; and Mrs.
Farquhar devised many treats for the little ones. Patty's treat was to
stay at home, or walk about with her papa; and when he sat by the fire in
an evening, after the other children were gone to bed, she would bring a
stool, and, placing it against his feet, would sit down upon it and lean
her head against his knee. Then his hand would rest on that fair head,
and he would feel that Milly's love was not quite gone out of his life.

So the time wore on till it was May again, and the church was quite
finished and reopened in all its new splendour, and Mr. Barton was
devoting himself with more vigour than ever to his parochial duties. But
one morning--it was a very bright morning, and evil tidings sometimes
like to fly in the finest weather--there came a letter for Mr. Barton,
addressed in the Vicar's handwriting. Amos opened it with some
anxiety--somehow or other he had a presentiment of evil. The letter
contained the announcement that Mr. Carpe had resolved on coming to
reside at Shepperton, and that, consequently, in six months from that
time Mr. Barton's duties as curate in that parish would be closed.

O, it was hard! Just when Shepperton had become the place where he most
wished to stay--where he had friends who knew his sorrows--where he lived
close to Milly's grave. To part from that grave seemed like parting with
Milly a second time; for Amos was one who clung to all the material links
between his mind and the past. His imagination was not vivid, and
required the stimulus of actual perception.

It roused some bitter feeling, too, to think that Mr. Carpe's wish to
reside at Shepperton was merely a pretext for removing Mr. Barton, in
order that he might ultimately give the curacy of Shepperton to his own
brother-in-law, who was known to be wanting a new position.

Still, it must be borne; and the painful business of seeking another
curacy must be set about without loss of time. After the lapse of some
months, Amos was obliged to renounce the hope of getting one at all near
Shepperton, and he at length resigned himself to accepting one in a
distant county. The parish was in a large manufacturing town, where his
walks would lie among noisy streets and dingy alleys, and where the
children would have no garden to play in, no pleasant farm-houses to
visit.

It was another blow inflicted on the bruised man.

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