THE BUDDED HEARTSEASE by Emma S. Bromley

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Nov 28, 1906

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 32, No. 46.

THE BUDDED HEARTSEASE.

By Emma S. Bromley

O HOW sweet of Maude to send me her little plant! Let me have it here in my bed where I can see it, please, mother."

The voice which uttered the words was thin and weak, and as the mother's hands placed the tiny flower-pot within reach of her daughter, her eyes rested in tenderest love upon the wan face. The girl had evidently seen scarcely twenty years, and now was slowly but surely fading from earth. Suddenly a bright look of pleasure lit the blue eyes and the delicate lips said, hardly above a whisper, yet in an accent of unmistakable happiness,

"O, mother, it is budded and almost ready to open. See, under the highest leaf is hidden the bud almost bursting into bloom. To-morrow it will be a flower."

She lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes a few moments, but soon looked up at the face of her mother and said, "Tell me about the country and the beautiful mountains. It rests me to think of the green grass and trees and shade."

The brave little woman questioned with her own heart one moment. Could she be strong enough to talk; to tell of places and pleasures when her heart was facing the agonizing thought that perhaps e'er the morn should dawn, her loved one would be at rest and she would stand alone between the grave of her husband and the bier of her only child? Could she find words to say aught except the great cry of her torn heart? And yet—the eager eyes must not plead in vain for some glimpse into her past. No, no, to-night she must give over to the last happiness her heart could ever bestow on her loved one. To-night she would live in the comfort of her darling's presence and to-morrow—she would face the future when it came, but not now.

The struggle was but a moment, and then she stooped and kissed the white face, and, sitting down beside the bed said calmly, "Did I ever tell you about the little forget-me-not brook near your grandfather's house?"

"No, tell me mother mine," said the girl, and looked eagerly in her mother's eyes, waiting to hear the story she knew would be a restful one.

"In a field not far from the house was a plat which father set apart for a flower garden for mother and I; we had large beds of flowers, mostly old-fashioned ones. In one corner we fixed a hotbed with some old windows over it, and the pansies grew so fast there. Then farther over was a bed of blue forget-me-nots. We worked there several years, and fairly loved the plants into blossoming. But when mother was taken sick they were neglected, and in a year or two much of the beauty of the place was spoiled by weeds and grass.

"Still the forget-me-nots grew and spread out into a garden in itself, blossoming wonderfully. Then a strange thing happened. There was a brook in the field which came from a spring on the other side of the road. One day father found it necessary to repair the bridge, and in so doing the course of the brook was turned. For several reasons father liked the new course better, and he scarcely remembered that the new path lay directly through the forget-me-not patch.

"I came away soon after and when I went back a few years ago I found some forget-me-nots on the banks of the brook at least a mile from the bed. I followed along and discovered that the entire length was edged with the wild forget-me-nots, which had been washed along from the bed mother and I had planted. It was a pretty stream, so narrow in places that I could easily step over it, then widening into a shallow pool with a yellow sandy bottom, with the bright pebbles glistening where the rays of sunlight shot through the trees and touched their smooth faces. But all the way were the tiny blossoms, so I named it, 'Little Forget-me-not River.'"

"O mama, what a sweet story! I like to think about it and my little budded heartsease. Let me sleep now and dream of the flowers!"

She slept and the brave woman kept her vigil until the morning.

In the early dawn the girl awoke and asked to see again the plant and now it was in full bloom. "I'm sure it blossomed to cheer me and be a heartsease to you when I am gone. It will blossom many times and the flowers will always speak of remembrance. Do not mourn too hard for me, mother mine. My life here is but the leaves, the bud, not complete, but over there in that better world it will be the flowers. We will meet again some day and be all together. Look ahead mother, to the blossoming time."

She lay back exhausted and the heavy-hearted watcher noted how fast she was sinking away, realizing how soon the life would be yielded up to God, and the frail form would be at rest till the Master should call to the life and land where all our brightest dreams find their perfect fulfilment.

Soon the blue eyes opened again and sought the mother's face. The pale lips parted and softly came the words, "It is only a little while, mother mine, till the Master shall call to the morning of the eternal day. It is only a little while—be heart-easy, trust in Him—in Him who giveth life." Too weak to say any more she closed her eyes once more, to open them when the Life-giver should call to that land of flowers she had seen in her dream.

The blossomed heartsease was planted on her grave and as each new bud became a purple-and-gold flower the mother thought of the ones gone before and thanked our Father for the assurance of the resurrection of the dead and the hope that she might see those she had loved and lost on earth in that land where no sorrow comes.

EMMA S. BROMLEY.