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The Iron Will
by
“And your wife would be taken back under her father’s roof, where there is enough and to spare. Of course she would be happier than she is now.”
“No doubt of that. The old rascal has treated her shabbily enough. But I am well satisfied that if I were out of the way he would gladly receive her back again.”
“Of this there can be no question. So, it is clear, that with our insufficient incomes, our presence is a curse rather than a blessing to our families.”
Logan readily admitted this to be true. His companion then drew a newspaper towards him, and after running his eyes over it for a few moments, read:
“This day, at twelve o’clock, the copper fastened brig Emily, for Charleston. For freight or passage, apply on board.”
“There’s a chance for us,” he said, as he finished reading the advertisement. “Let us go down and see if they won’t let us work our passage out.”
Logan sat thoughtful a moment, and than said, as he arose to his feet.
“Agreed. It’ll be the best thing for us, as well as for our families.”
When the Emily sailed, at twelve o’clock, the two men were on board.
Days came and passed, until the heart of Mrs. Logan grew sick with anxiety, fear and suspense. No word was received from her absent husband. She went to his old employer, and learned that he had been discharged; but she could find no one who had heard of him since that time. Left thus alone, with two little children, and no apparent means of support, Mrs. Logan, when she became at length clearly satisfied that he for whom she had given up every thing, had heartlessly abandoned her, felt as if there was no hope for her in the world.
“Go to your father by all means,” urged the woman with whom she was still boarding. “Now that your husband has gone, he will receive you.”
“I cannot,” was Fanny’s reply.
“But what will you do?” asked the woman.
“Work for my children,” she replied, arousing herself and speaking with some resolution. “I have hands to work, and I am willing to work.”
“Much better go home to your father,” said the woman.
“That is impossible. He has disowned me. Has ceased to love me or care for me. I cannot go to him again; for I could not bear, as I am now, another harsh repulse. No–no–I will work with my own hands. God will help me to provide for my children.”
In this spirit the almost heart-broken young woman for whom the boarding-house keeper felt more than a common interest–an interest that would not let her thrust her out from the only place she could call her home–sought for work and was fortunate enough to obtain sewing from two or three families, and was thus enabled to pay a light board for herself and children. But incessant toil with her needle, continued late at night and resumed early in the morning, gradually undermined her health, which had become delicate, and weariness and pain became the constant companions of her labor.
Sometimes in carrying her work home, the forsaken wife would have to pass the old home of her girlhood, and twice she saw her father at the window. But either she was changed so that he did not know his child; or he would not bend from his stern resolution to disown her. On these two occasions she was unable, on returning, to resume her work. Her fingers could not hold or guide the needle; nor could she, from the blinding tears that; filled her eyes have seen to sew, even if her hands had lost the tremor that ran through every nerve of her body.
A year had rolled wearily by since Logan went off, and still no word had come from the absent husband. Labor beyond her bodily strength, and trouble and grief that were too severe for her spirit to bear, had done sad work upon the forsaken wife and disowned child. She was but a shadow of her former self.