Jennie Gerhardt - Драйзер Теодор (книги бесплатно без онлайн .txt) 📗
He smiled grimly. "Do you think so?" He shook his head, for he thought differently. "Sit down, dear," he went on, "I'm not worrying about that. I want to talk to you again. I want you near me." He sighed and shut his eyes for a minute.
She drew up a chair close beside the bed, her face toward his, and took
his hand. It seemed such a beautiful thing that he should send for her. Her eyes showed the mingled sympathy, affection, and gratitude of her heart.
At the same time fear gripped her; how ill he looked!
"I can't tell what may happen," he went on. "Letty is in Europe. I've wanted to see you again for some time. I was coming out this trip. We are living in New York, you know. You're a little stouter, Jennie."
"Yes, I'm getting old, Lester," she smiled.
"Oh, that doesn't make any difference," he replied, looking at her fixedly.
"Age doesn't count. We are all in that boat. It's how we feel about life."
He stopped and stared at the ceiling. A slight twinge of pain reminded
him of the vigorous seizures he had been through. He couldn't stand many
more paroxysms like the last one.
"I couldn't go, Jennie, without seeing you again," he observed, when the slight twinge ceased and he was free to think again; "I've always wanted to say to you, Jennie," he went on, "that I haven't been satisfied with the way we parted. It wasn't the right thing, after all. I haven't been any
happier. I'm sorry. I wish now, for my own peace of mind, that I hadn't
done it."
"Don't say that, Lester," she demurred, going over in her mind all that had been between them. This was such a testimony to their real union—their
real spiritual compatibility. "It's all right. It doesn't make any difference.
You've been very good to me. I wouldn't have been satisfied to have you
lose your fortune. It couldn't be that way. I've been a lot better satisfied as it is. It's been hard, but, dear, everything is hard at times." She paused.
"No," he said. "It wasn't right. The thing wasn't worked out right from the start; but that wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you that. I'm glad I'm here to do it."
"Don't talk that way, Lester—please don't," she pleaded. "It's all right.
You needn't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. You have always
been so good to me. Why, when I think—" she stopped, for it was hard for her to speak. She was choking with affection and sympathy. She
pressed his hands. She was recalling the house he took for her family in
Cleveland, his generous treatment of Gerhardt, all the long ago tokens of love and kindness.
"Well, I've told you now, and I feel better. You're a good woman, Jennie, and you're kind to come to me this way. I loved you. I love you now. I
want to tell you that. It seems strange, but you're the only woman I ever did love truly. We should never have parted."
Jennie caught her breath. It was the one thing she had waited for all these years—this testimony. It was the one thing that could make everything
right—this confession of spiritual if not material union. Now she could
live happily. Now die so. "Oh, Lester," she exclaimed with a sob, and pressed his hand. He returned the pressure. There was a little silence.
Then he spoke again.
"How are the two orphans?" he asked.
"Oh, they're lovely," she answered, entering upon a detailed description of her diminutive personalities. He listened comfortably, for her voice was
soothing to him. Her whole personality was grateful to him. When it
came time for her to go he seemed desirous of keeping her.
"Going, Jennie?"
"I can stay just as well as not, Lester," she volunteered. "I'll take a room. I can send a note out to Mrs. Swenson. It will be all right."
"You needn't do that," he said, but she could see that he wanted her, that he did not want to be alone.
From that time on until the hour of his death she was not out of the hotel.
CHAPTER LXII
The end came after four days during which Jennie was by his bedside
almost constantly. The nurse in charge welcomed her at first as a relief
and company, but the physician was inclined to object. Lester, however,
was stubborn. "This is my death," he said, with a touch of grim humour.
"If I'm dying I ought to be allowed to die in my own way."
Watson smiled at the man's unfaltering courage. He had never seen
anything like it before.
There were cards of sympathy, calls of inquiry, notices in the newspaper.
Robert saw an item in the Inquirer, and decided to go to Chicago.
Imogene called with her husband and they were admitted to Lester's room
for a few minutes after Jennie had gone to hers. Lester had little to say.
The nurse cautioned them that he was not to be talked to much. When
they were gone Lester said to Jennie, "Imogene has changed a good deal."
He made no other comment.
Mrs. Kane was on the Atlantic three days out from New York the
afternoon Lester died. He had been meditating whether anything more
could be done for Jennie, but he could not make up his mind about it.
Certainly it was useless to leave her more money. She did not want it. He had been wondering where Letty was and how near her actual arrival
might be when he was seized with a tremendous paroxysm of pain.
Before relief could be administered in the shape of an anaesthetic he was dead. It developed afterward that it was not the intestinal trouble which killed him, but a lesion of a major blood-vessel in the brain.
Jennie, who had been strongly wrought up by watching and worrying,
was beside herself with grief. He had been a part of her thought and
feeling so long that it seemed now as though a part of herself had died.
She had loved him as she had fancied she could never love any one, and
he had always shown that he cared for her—at least in some degree. She
could not feel the emotion that expresses itself in tears—only a dull ache, a numbness which seemed to make her insensible to pain. He looked so
strong—her Lester—lying there still in death. His expression was
unchanged— defiant, determined, albeit peaceful. Word had come from
Mrs. Kane that she would arrive on the Wednesday following. It was
decided to hold the body. Jennie learned from Mr. Watson that it was to
be transferred to Cincinnati, where the Paces had a vault. Because of the arrival of various members of the family, Jennie withdrew to her own
home; she could do nothing more.
The final ceremonies presented a peculiar commentary on the anomalies
of existence. It was arranged with Mrs. Kane by wire that the body should be transferred to Imogene's residence, and the funeral held from there.
Robert, who arrived the night Lester died; Berry Dodge, Imogene's
husband; Mr. Midgely, and three other citizens of prominence were
selected as pall-bearers. Louise and her husband came from Buffalo; Amy
and her husband from Cincinnati. The house was full to overflowing with
citizens who either sincerely wished or felt it expedient to call. Because of the fact that Lester and his family were tentatively Catholic, a Catholic priest was called in and the ritual of that Church was carried out. It was curious to see him lying in the parlour of this alien residence, candles at his head and feet, burning sepulchrally, a silver cross upon his breast,
caressed by his waxen fingers. He would have smiled if he could have
