p. 9 | CHRYSANTHEMUMS by Frances Eugenia Bolton

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · May 19, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 20.

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

By Frances Eugenia Bolton

(Concluded.)

A Change of Name.

“Yes, I am to leave Washington next week,” said Mrs. Carew to Mrs. White. “My heart is almost broken over it, but it is the only thing to do. Of course, I have grown to love the people; but duty seems to point in another direction at present. Brother’s wife feels that she can not be bothered with father any longer. He is as weak and helpless as a child, poor old man, and needs a great deal of attention. Husband’s mother is getting old and feeble, too. She is on the old farmstead in Pennsylvania. My son and wife have been keeping up the farm, and Charlie, Fred, and Flora, my children, have been helping them, but Belle is not well, and wants to go home for awhile. Then Auntie Campbell wants to live with me. Poor auntie! She was once a beauty, wealthy and popular; but after her husband died, she had a stroke of paralysis, and she is quite helpless still. She is willing to pay for the attention that I can give her, and as long as I have to go home anyway, and shall be glad of every penny, I do not know as it will materially add to my burdens.”

“Will your husband go with you?”

“No. He must stay in the field, and he will miss me, poor dear! but there is no other way but for me to go.”

“We shall all miss you, and feel so sorry that you are going. O, by the way, where is that young colored girl, Sukey, that you took such an interest in a couple of years ago?”

“We do not call her Sukey now, but Chrys—Chrysanthemum. She has gone to a missionary training hospital, and is doing splendidly. I have a letter from her every week, and the way the girl is advancing is marvelous.”

“So she is getting her heart’s desire. I remember what a desire she had to be a nurse.”

“Yes, when she left the hospital after her sickness, her mind was fully made up. I happened to know the director of this training school, and wrote him something of her history. The ladies furnished her with a nice little wardrobe, and she looked really charming in her neat new costumes. She went off joyfully, and I know that she is going to make a splendid woman.”

“You call her Chrys—how is that?”

“Well, she said that chrysanthemum just meant to her what she wanted her life to mean to God and to those with whom she should come in contact—‘something with a flower on it when everything else is dead,’ she said; and so I said, ‘We’ll call you Chrysanthemum instead of Sukey.’ So everyone calls her Chrys now. She will graduate in a year, and then go south to her own people. She says she wants to gather in the poor black lambs and sheep, and lead them to the great Shepherd. She is a true little lamb.”

Things at the Farm.

Mrs. Carew went to her home, and she said it was certainly time Flora went to college. This was Flora’s one great desire. “No matter how hard I have to work,” she said to her daughter’s faint protest, “your young life is not to be spoiled.” It was evident Belle needed a change and rest. How pleased grandpa seemed to get home again; and auntie’s joy could be expressed only by tears and broken utterances of thanks.

“I hope I can spend the rest of my days with you,” she sighed. “God grant they may not be many; yet, many or few, God give me grace to endure them with patience. My lot is much brighter than that of many another invalid.”

So it came about that Mrs. Carew was soon loaded up with burdens that had slipped from other people’s shoulders. Herbert went with Belle to her home for a change. Grandpa and auntie came to the farm. Grandma laid all her cares upon her burden-bearing daughter-in-law. Flora went to the academy, and Fred, and Charlie, and the hired man had the care of the farm, while Mrs. Carew undertook the care of the household and the invalids. It was a good deal for her, tho she reckoned herself a strong woman. But it was evident to herself, long before it was to others, that she had reckoned beyond her strength. As the months went by, she said: “It will be easier when Florrie comes from school. If I can keep up until vacation, I will have a little time to recuperate. It would be too bad to break into Florrie’s school year.”

Herbert and Belle had decided to keep house for themselves. Fred and Charlie were the only ones to help, and they were slow to notice how pale and thin she was getting; but toward the end of June Fred said one day:—

“I tell you, Charlie, mother is overdoing, and it is about time to call a halt. I went into the wash-house, and caught her looking as white as death. If she hadn’t groaned, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed that; but I tell you mother’s sick, and we have been fools for letting all this burden fall on her.”

“Ask Chrys if she can come for a little while,” Mrs. Carew had whispered, “and send for Florrie right away.” So Fred wrote “Miss Chrysanthemum Daily” on a neat letter, containing a few brief words to the effect that mother might die, and that Chrys would find a hospital at Rosewood farm, and a corps of raw hands to turn into nurses.

Chrys received the letter just when she was planning for the graduation night. The director had found her a good post in the south, under the supervision of a dear, unselfish woman, who, like herself, intended to devote her life to work among the poor and sick; and this news was something of a shock to her plans. Still, when she came out of the director’s office, after telling him that she must pack up and set off immediately for Rosewood farm, there was a shiny look in her teary eyes.

“It’s all nipped off now,” said Chrys, speaking half aloud.

“Nipped off? what is?” said a patient standing near.

“O, only superfluous buds.”

“So sorry you are not going to graduate now, and with us,” said the nurses, as they stood bidding Chrys good-by.

“Never mind,” retorted Chrys brightly; “I have decided to take a higher course, and graduate when the Teacher thinks best.”

“Bless her unselfish heart,” they said as they wiped the tears away to see the last of Chrys’ waving handkerchief. “There is a real chrysanthemum for you, and I shouldn’t wonder if the rare flower would be found on her.”

The telegram for Flora met with something of a different reception. For the eleventh time she had laid out her white dress that she expected to wear on commencement day, and was full of plans for vacation; for she intended writing home that very day for permission to stop at Sarah Cooley’s for a couple of weeks, before plunging into the drudgery of housework. The preceptress had handed her the telegram that read, “Come home as soon as possible. Mother is very sick.” Flora threw herself on the bed and sobbed.

“Poor child,” said the kind preceptress. “It’s awful news. But after all it may be nothing serious.”

“Of course it’s nothing serious,” sobbed Flora, “it’s those foolish boys who think that if mother has a headache she is going to die. Something always comes to spoil everything, anyway.”

So it happened that two very different faces gleamed in the darkened doorway of Rosewood farm. One was dark, yet bright; the other white, yet dark.

“Nothing very serious, as I can see,” said Flora to her brothers. “If Chrys was coming, I should have thought you might have let me stay through graduation week anyway.”

Chrys heard this murmur and shook her little head. “It’s very serious, dear. Maybe you may realize it when it is too late. But I would rather be her than you. She is not thinking of herself, but is so worried over your moody face. Come, do cheer up for her sake. Forget yourself, let the old buds be nipped off.”

“Chrys is the most curious girl,” said Flora. “Of course she couldn’t care as I do about being disappointed. I am going to ask her what she means about the buds. I suppose, tho, she thinks I am selfish, and want things, when I ought to be good and sweet whatever happens.”

Flora was washing the dishes, and the bitter tears fell into the pan unheeded. She rattled the plates, slammed the pantry door. “I hate this work,” she said, scraping the porridge out of the pots with a look of disgust. “I hate the whole thing. There’s auntie. What on earth did mother want to have her here for? She might have known that it would break her down. Grandpa ought to be in some old man’s home. Grandma isn’t so helpless. Mother always would take on burdens she had no need to.”

“Flora, dear, you are making an awful clatter. Maybe you don’t know how it jars on your poor mother and auntie. Of course, grandpa and grandma can’t hear very well, and what a blessing it is that people get deaf as they get old and feeble. Here, dear, let me set the dishes away for you.”

What was it that made Flora feel so cross?

Not that little, springy, quiet step, surely. That little dark face lit up so? What was it?

She said to herself, “It was the impertinence of some folks who think they know too much.” Whom did she mean? Not that little humble nurse, surely, who rung out hot and cold flannels for her suffering mother, who drew down auntie’s blinds, and chased the flies out so that the helpless muscles would not need to twitch in vain to get rid of them, who laid rugs all over the hard floor to deaden the steps of the boys, and who prayed that God might spare Flora an orphan’s sorrow.

“Do you think you can stand it, Miss Daily?” the doctor said. “I fear it will be a heavy strain on you; but I shall have to ask you to care for Mrs. Carew almost day and night until the crisis is past. It is the only hope for her life.”

“She saved mine,” said Chrys, “and I’ll save hers, if the Lord is willing.”

Well, no one knew what Chrys went through. She scarcely slept at all. She kept up untiring vigilance. She soothed Mrs. Carew’s delirious fancies. She knew nothing save her responsibilities to the suffering. When the doctor left, after giving her directions to have everything quiet, she called a council.

“Boys and dear Flora,” she said with tears in her eyes, “your mother is very low. The only hope for her life is to keep everything quiet. I shall have to ask you to take off your boots at the door, to keep in the back room, to not shout, or even sing. You said I would find a hospital, and a hospital is a sacred place. It’s a place where love and selfishness, life and death, battle for the mastery. Now all of you must turn nurses.”

“What can we do?” said Fred, with a pale, set face.

“Be cheerful and pray. Take care of grandpa as if he were the only one in the world, and he your sick mother. And you, Charlie boy, look after auntie. You are her boy, you know. I shall not have much time to give her. And Flora, you must be the woman of the house. O, what a chance God has given us all to grow into the image of His Son right here. Now let’s let the Gardener nip off the superfluous buds, and He will see that our strength is sufficient to bring forth the flower of pure love.”

’Twas almost pitiful to see how they all tried to follow out Chrys’ orders. What a little general she proved to be! After a while Mr. Carew came home, and relieved Chrys a little in the dark chamber.

Flora’s heart was broken with the realization of the danger that threatened her mother’s life, and with a view of her own selfish heart. All looked on Chrys, who was not thinking of herself at all, as a light in the dark.

One night the doctor patted her on the back.

“Well done, good and faithful,” he said. “You’ve saved her. She’ll get better.”

Chrys nearly broke down and cried from sheer gladness and weariness; but O, there were toilsome days yet to go through. There were the long hours of the convalescence, when the rest grew a bit careless; but at last mother was queen again of her own household.

“And now,” said Chrys, “is my mission done?”

“Not if the court knows itself,” said Mr. Carew. “It is time now to take care of you. I am going to take mother, and you, and Charlie up to the mountains, just to revel in sunshine, and to drink it in, and to boil it down for winter.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Chrys; “you want us all to be yellow chrysanthemums.”

“Yes, winter is coming on. But you are not to go south till the birds do, and, O, how we shall miss you!” Mr. Carew’s voice was a bit husky.

“How we all shall miss her!” quavered auntie’s voice out of her invalid couch. Charlie, Fred, and Flora all looked ready to cry, and the tears did slip down Mrs. Carew’s cheeks.

“This will never do,” laughed Chrys. “Don’t cry till I am gone. ‘Don’t cross de riber till you git’s dar.’ Perhaps I won’t miss you—no, not at all.”

So the party went to the mountains, and Flora and Fred stayed at home with grandpa, grandma, and auntie.

“I wish they would let me stay and you go,” whispered Chrys to Flora.

“No, indeed. Do you think you are the only one who wants to have the flower? I wouldn’t go for the world. The Gardener wants to cut off some of my superfluous buds, and I want Him to, too.” Flora’s voice was a bit trembly. “Pray for me, Chrys. I am so hateful and selfish, and you have been a chrysanthemum to me.”

Six weeks in the mountains! O, how delightful it was! Chrys came home with a tint of rosy color in her brown cheeks, and Mrs. Carew was her old self again.

“O, look at the chrysanthemums!” exclaimed Chrys, jumping from the carriage. “What a beautiful sight!”

The windows were all aglow with their nodding plumes. The neighbors around had sent the flowers when they heard how the children wanted to decorate up for the home-coming.

But winter came, the birds went south, and with them went Chrys. The director had held her post for her, and sent her her diploma. Chrys opened it with great awe and tearfulness, as tho the great Master Himself had sent it to her from heaven. With a new sense of life’s glorious meaning, she got ready for her chosen work.

“I shall see mother and Bob, and his wife and baby,” said Chrys joyfully. “O, if I can only bring in some of those dear lambs of His, as you brought me in through the Shepherd’s love, I shall be so happy, so blessed!”

There was a tearful company on the steps as Chrys stepped out of the door of Rosewood farm.

Auntie was there, and with her trembling hands blessed Chrys. “Your quieting presence,” she said, “has brought such comfort to me. My poor nerves were so tired when you came. The Lord bless thee, and make thee a blessing.”

“We will never slam the doors again, auntie,” said Fred. “If we do, you must just say Chrys, and that will remind us.”

“This is for you to take with you;” said Charlie, handing Chrys a potted chrysanthemum with one huge, beautiful flower on it.

“That’s you,” pointing to the flower; “all the little buds have died for the big one, and that’s the love that God put into you. May it go with you always. Wish there were more girls like you.”

Then came the tender parting between Mrs. Carew and Chrys, and then the carriage started for the station. They strained their eyes down the road, and saw Chrys and the yellow blossoms disappear round the corner at the end of the lane.

“Wish there were more girls like her,” said Charlie, plunging through the house; and the door slammed, but it slammed to drown the sound of a sob.

FRANCES EUGENIA BOLTON.

35 Champion Street, Battle Creek, Mich.