Romance of a Missionary, XI: Individuals and Individuality

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF ''ADDED UPON,". " MARCUS KING,' "THE CASTLE BUILDER," ETC. XL INDIVIDUALS AND INDIVIDUALITY. When Grace Wells was strong enough to be out, Willard Dean went back to London and to work. Grace would remain yet a few days with her friends, and then she promised Willard to call on him on her way to Berlin. London seemed to awaken Willard as from a dream. The streets with their ever-flowing human tide were real enough — that which he had just left must have been a dream of mingled pleassure and pain. But now to work again. Time was precious. He had many friends and investigators on whom he must call. Willard shook his mental self vigorously, to get rid of the last vestige of drowsiness. As soon as possible he called on his friends, the Lorings. They were all glad to see him and they plied him with many questions. He had remained away so long that they feared he had been released and had returned home. "Oh, no," replied Willard, good naturedly. "My work is not complete until I see some of you good people members of the Church." "Well," replied Mrs. Loring, "your release is then due at any time, for there were a number baptized last Sunday, and Nora was among them."

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 861 "What?" asked Willard, as he held out a hand to Nora, "Is that true?" "It is true," she replied. "I could not wait longer, not even until you came back." ' 'I am /ery, very glad," he said, as he looked into the strong face of the young woman, now beaming and made more beautiful with the light of truth. "Who else that I know was baptized? I like to hear good news." "D wight Thornton," said Mrs. Loring; "and I myself would have liked nothing better." Willard understood that Mr. Loring would have objected to his wife's being baptized, and it is not permitted to baptize a woman without the consent of her husband. They talked pleasantly over the tea table, and Willard told them why he was detained in Stonedale. Elder Donaldson's party was well on its way on the continent, he explained, and Grace Wells was to be in Berlin within ten days. He expected her to stop off in London for a few days' visit. "She is not strong yet," Willard said, "and so she must be careful. I should like to get her lodgings in some quiet neighborhood like this. Have you rooms, Mrs. Loring." He looked around on the immaculateness of the little home, and thought how Grace would enjoy staying in it. "We shall be delighted to have her stay, you know, Elder Dean," replied Mrs. Loring. "Let her come right here. She shall be welcome, if she can put up with our small rooms and simple fare." It was raining when Grace came to London. The fifty tons of soot, which, it is stated, hangs suspended in the air above the city must certainly have been well mixed with the descending rain ; and this mixture, no doubt, accounts for the general black color with which everything in London is painted. Willard met Grace at the station, and placed her in a closed carriage in which they drove to Mrs. Loring's. A cozy fire was in the parlor grate, but Willard and Grace preferred the dining room in which to make themselves at home.

862 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "I am going to take you to the cleanest house in London," Willard had told Grace in the carriage; "but be careful of the bric-a-brac in the parlor." Although it was yet summer, the rain was cold. Mrs. Loring therefore had a fire in the grate of the cozy bedroom into which Grace was ushered. When left to herself the girl examined the room. The painted floor shone as if it had been finished but yesterday. The walls were without a stain. The window and its curtains contained not a speck of dust. But the bed! Such a mass of snow-white linen she had never seen on a bed before. She was fearful that her touch would stain that whiteness; and yet she longed to bury herself in the sweet cleanness, and rest content. Willard went into the kitchen where Nora and Mrs. Loring were busy. "Mrs. Loring," he said, "I met Dwight Thornton this morning, and I invited him to our little tea party this afternoon." Nora started and her face flashed, but Willard appeared not to notice it. "You see," he continued, good naturedly, "I believe it's all right sometimes 'to skin the cat and ask permission afterwards.'" "We shall be pleased to see him," replied Mrs. Loring. Dwight Thornton came about tea time, clean, quiet — a changed man. He had with him his little girl, also clean and tidy. Nora greeted hiin in a careful, yet friendly manner, and the child gladly went to her outstretched arms. Willard could see that this was not their only recent meeting. Mr. Loring came home, and they all sat down to the table. Afterwards they went into the parlor, and Grace played a number of selections on the piano. Then there was general conversation, which in time led to gospel subjects. Mr. Loring listened but made no comment. "What you told me about self -effort," said Dwight Thornton to Willard, "set me to thinking; and I could plainly see that if I was to get any help from any outside source, I must first exert what little initial force I possessed. I read carefully the thirty-second chapter of Alma in the Book of Mormon, as you suggested to me, and I received much help from it. The unbelievers were told to

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 863 awake and arouse their faculties, and put the word of God to the test; and I did this." " 'Mormonism,' " said Willard, "or in other words, the gospel of Jesus Christ, comprehends all truths, and among the most sublime of these is that of the importance of the individual. The religions of the East teach that in time the individual will be annihilated, and that personality will be lost or swallowed up in some uniform state of existence; and modern Christianity is fast drifting into a similar condition of belief. It is pretty hard to describe this unreal, and to me, unthinkable condition, On the other hand my religion teaches me that the ego or intelligence of man is one of the original units of the universe. The fact that there are no two individuals alike goes far to prove this statement; and I think that one of the chief purposes of life is not to destroy this individuality, but to develop it. As we progress in the scale of intelligence I shall be more myself and you will be more yourself. This may sound selfish; but in truth it is not." "I have some faults that are very personal to me," said Mrs. Loring. "What about them?" "Our faults are no part of our original selves. They are accretions which are gotten rid of as we perfect ourselves. Some day I hope we shall be faultless, but not attributeless; we shall be one with Christ as he is one with the Father, but we shall have individual form, feature and characteristics to distinguish us from each other. The countless leaves of a tree may all be perfect, yet no two be exactly alike." Mr. Loring lighted his pipe. As a rule, smokers have lost the delicate sense of courtesy. Tobacco smoke is most obnoxious to some persons, and yet smokers who would not think of annoying people in others ways, make no scruples of puffing smoke into their faces. Mr. Loring was no exception to this rule; clouds of smoke arose from his pipe up to the ceiling. "This subject is further illustrated in another way," continued Willard, addressing himself to Mr. Loring. "For instance, there is no woman in all the world just like your wife. Her personality, something about her — call it what you will, differentiates her from all others. That is what drew you to her — that subtle, essential element which makes her Susan Loring, and no one else,

864 IMPRO VEMENT ERA . You want that preserved, otherwise the term 'my wife' would lose its most precious element; you want that in this life, you want it always." Mr. Loring gave a little grunt which could not be distinguished from yes or no, but which could have been taken for either. The wife could see that either Grace Wells or the smoker would have to leave the room, and so she called her husband into the kitchen. He came back to the parlor again without his pipe; and Willard wondered whether Mr. Loring fully appreciated the argument on woman's personality — especially his wife's. During this little discussion Grace Wells sat by the grate in an easy chair, between a frail flower vase on one side, and an equally fragile piece of statuary on the other. She dared not move to the right or to the left, but she looked across to where Willard Dean, the missionary, sat. As she listened to his talk, she wondered at the change that had come to him. He had left home a shy, reticent boy, shambling in gait, awkward in manners, and blundering in speech. Now she found a man, tall, straight, walking with head erect and firm step. He looked with a steady eye into the face of the person to whom he was speaking, and he spoke as if he was sure of what he was saying. His speech and actions were those of a man who had come into the possession of his own . Grace thought as she looked at him, that she would not now dare to treat him as she once had done, even if she should have the opportunity or the wish. When the party broke up that evening, Willard and D wight Thornton walked homeward together. The little girl was not with her father, therefore Willard asked about her. "She was asleep and Nora asked me to let her stay. I couldn't refuse. Nora is very kind." "Are you getting acquainted again?" asked Willard. "We meet at services only," was the reply. "When I ask Nora Loring to marry me — which I intend to do again some day — she shall have no occasion to refuse me, at least on account of the old charge." "I glory in your determination, brother. God bless and prosper you in it."

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 865 Willard did not neglect his work because Grace was in London. He asked the conference president to spend a little time with her and show her some of the sights. In the week that Grace was at Loring's, Willard called twice. The afternoon of the day she was to leave for Berlin, Willard visited the British museum with her. Willard took her across London bridge. It was a little out of the way, but he had an object in it. When they paused midway on the bridge Willard said to her: "Do you remember when we used to play 'London bridge is falling down?' " "Yes; I remember." "Do you recall the time when you became angry at me because our side lost?" Grace had no recollection of such an event. "Well, /remember it." "You have been forgiven long ago, Willard," she said. Then after a pause she continued: "London bridge isn't going to fall yet awhile. It seems solid enough to stand for ages." "But I wouldn't object to having the play bridge fall again," said Willard. He looked into her face and saw that she understood. And that was the nearest Willard came to "love making," according to his own judgment. On their return that evening Grace was handed a letter from Stonedale. It was from Bessie Fernley and stated that Elsa was seriously ill- "Poor girl," said Grace, "she wasn't well when I left. See, it says 'seriously ill' She wore herself out waiting on me." Grace mused for a moment as she slowly folded the letter. "I'm going back to see her," she said. "But you were going to Berlin in the morning." "Berlin can wait. I believe I owe my life to Elsa's care, and I'm going back to see her and help her." "You are not strong — you must be careful— you— " "I'm going to Stonedale in the morning. Will you help me to the station?" The next morning Willard saw her safely away. He expected

866 IMPRO VEMENT ERA . a letter the day after, but none came. On the third day he received a telegram which read: "Elsa is dying. Come immediately." XII. BROTHERLY AND SISTERLY LOVE. Willard Dean sped northward on one of England's fastest express trains. It was morning when he arrived at Bradford, and he immediately went to the elders' quarters . None of them was at home, so he took the tramcar out to Stonedale. Bessie met him at the door, and let him in. She was haggard and pale and quiet. "Yes; she is yet alive," she said in reply to Willard's question. "Mamma is lying down trying to rest, but I shall call Sister Grace." In a few minutes Grace came. She also looked worn and tired. She took Willard's proffered hand (it becomes second nature for a missionary to shake hands) and then led him quietly up the stairs. They paused at the sick girl's room and Grace softly opened the door and peeped in. She closed it again, and took Willard to a seat by an open window in the hall. "She appears to be resting quietly," said Grace, "and we will not disturb her just now." She seated herself on a low stool and leaned her arms on the window sill. A window was open, and a breeze played with her somewhat dishevelled locks. Willard looked at her, and then out beyond through the window into the fields and meadows. A hill arose not far away, and from it jutted a stony precipice from which the village had derived its name. The morning was quiet. The noises of the busy city reached Stonedale in the form of a subdued hum. Willard spoke in a low voice. "Is it typhoid?" he asked. "No; some sort of nervous trouble," said Grace. "The doctor seems in doubt what to call it." "Are the elders here?" "Yes, they are now over to Brother Moore's. They are doing all they can."

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 867 Willard drew his chair closer to the window. The breeze felt good. Grace looked at him steadily in a way she had never done before. "Willard Dean, what have you said and done to Elsa Fernley?" she asked. It was then that he looked at her in a way which he also had never done before as he replied: "What do you mean? I do not understand you." "I think you do, Willard. You and I are to a great extent responsible for this girl's condition." Willard was not so dull that he failed to see the purport of Grace's talk. A wave of pain swept through his heart, as he comprehended what it meant. With all his care, was his mission to end thus in a tragedy? "0 God," he prayed in his heart, "what shall I do? Help me to think, help me to act for the best!" Grace saw the troubled face, but could not see the real cause; and so she misjudged. "Grace," said he, "I am innocent of any wrong doing towards Elsa. I tell you in all sincerity that I have not deceived the girl in word or act." "Perhaps you have not deceived her. Perhaps you have meant all you have expressed to her." "What have I expressed to her — tell me? You seem to know." "[ only know that this girl loves you, Willard; yes, loves you to distraction, and I fear it will be her undoing." There was a movement in the sick room, and Grace tip-toed to the door, looked in for a moment, and then came back. By that time Willard had control of himself. Grace stood looking out of the window. Willard arose and stood by her. "Grace," he said with tender firmness, "you seem not to believe me, and so I shall not try to plead for myself; but I tell you that if Elsa Fernley loves me, it is none of my doing. If I am the cause of that love, I am the innocent cause. I have never tried to win the love of any girl since — since — well a long time ago. And then it was a failure, a complete failure, Grace." "Don't be so sure of that," she said, without looking away

868 IMPR 0 VEMENT ERA . from the spire of the church which showed above the trees. "But Willard, I am not doubting your words now. Perhaps I spoke unthinkingly. I judged from what poor, dear Elsa said in her fevered talk. I think she wants to see you, Willard, and that's why I sent for you." She sat down on the low seat again, and Willard leaned on the window sill. "The doctor says there is very little hope," she continued, "and so I want you to do what you can -I want you to go to her, talk to her, and bless her— and tell her that you love her!" Grace put her hands to her face and cried softly. "I can't do that, Grace, — not all of that." "Why?" ' 'Because I do not love her in the way you mean . I cannot deceive her in that manner." "But, Willard, she is dying, and you ought to do anything in your power — " There was a sob in his voice, too, as he replied, "I cannot let her take into the next world something from me which would deceive her — something which is not true. I do love Elsa, for she is a dear, sweet girl; but it is as I love all such as she, and in no other way. "Yes," said Grace, "I, too, love her. I have never met such a girl before. She has taught me many a lesson, Willard. The long days and nights she sat by my bedside and comforted me, I shall never forget. She has shown me what a selfish life I have been leading back at home. It has been self, self, always. Many a time she made me ashamed of my ignorance. She thought that I, coming from Zion, would know ever so much more than she about the principles of the gospel; but I was as ignorant as a child compared with her. Why, she seems to know as much as the wisest among us. And what sacrifices she has made! And now to think that she is dying!'' Tears came again, and Willard, standing above her, placed his hand on her head. All around him was suffering, and his big, tender heart was touched. Then Sister Fernley came up the stairs. She greeted Willard and then passed into the sick chamber. Grace followed her in, then came back to the door and beckoned to Willard. He went

ROMANCE OF A MISSIONARY. 869 softly into the room. There lay Elsa with her wide open eyes fastened on him as he entered. He went up to the bed and sat down near her. She held out her pale, weak hand to him and smiled. Willard took the hand and held it closely in his. Every-' thing in the room was very still. Presently Grace, and then Sister Fernley, slipped out of the room. Elsa closed her eyes. Why had they gone? thought Willard. Perhaps the girl was dying. He had never seen any one die, and Elsa surely looked as though every weak breath would be the last. He sat and looked at the pale, shrunken face, her rosy cheeks all gone, but beautiful still. He thought of what Grace had said, and examined himself, to find if possible, wherein he was to blame. He had left Bradford and Stonedale, but perhaps it had not been soon enough. What could he now do? What could he do for this dying girl? Down-stairs noises came to him faintly. Breakfast was no doubt being prepared. The living at least must eat, though he himself had no desire for food. Elsa still lay with eyes shut. Her fingers closed on Willard's hand in a gentle grip, and he let it lie. Then he placed his other hand on her brow and gently stroked back the mass of beautiful hair. "Elsa," he whispered to her, "Elsa, the Lord will bless you and give you strength. You must get well. Elsa, do you hear?" She smiled faintly, but did not open her eyes or try to speak, "You must not give up," he continued, "Your work is not yet finished, dear sister." • Just a fainter smile this time . Was she dying? Why did not some one come? He would have called, but dared not. The grip on his hand seemed stronger when he made an effort to draw it away. He rested his hand on her brow and then on the sunken cheeks. He leaned over to catch the faint breath, and then without any thought of impropriety, he gently pressed his lips to her forehead and to her cheek, as he would to those of a child. Elsa opened her eyes wide and looked into his face. The grip on his hand tightened perceptibly. Then she closed her eyes again, and lay for some time as if asleep. The door opened and Grace came in, followed by the doctor and two elders. The doctor looked at Willard, closely, then went

870 IMPRO VEMENT ERA . to the patient, felt her pulse, and noted the moisture on the face. ''She is better," he said. Out in the hall he turned to Willard and with his hand on the young man's shoulder said, ' 'You have helped me save her life." "I — how?" stammered he. "Never mind how, but you have, young man." The first emotion of joy turned to fear in Willard's heart, but Grace who was standing near said: "Willard, I am so glad; you have helped, I know. Come now and have some breakfast." Elsa improved rapidly; and before Willard left she was out of danger. He spent most of his time in Bradford, calling at the Fernley home only once a day to enquire about the sick girl's progress. Grace remained with her, waited on her, and supplied her with dainties to tempt her appetite. Under Sister Fernley's directions the visitor was getting some valuable lessons in housekeeping, she explained to Willard. The day Willard was to leave for London, Grace called on him at Bradford. He welcomed her with poorly disguised pleasure, and suggested to her that they spend a few hours in sightseeing around the town. "There are some pretty spots in this smoke-begrimed city also," he explained. Grace readily accepted his offer as she needed a little outing. As the day was fair and warm they first took a ride on top of the tram car out to Idle, a suburb of the city. The ride took them over hills and down dales, along shady lanes and through green fields. Smoking chimneys stuck up into the sky everywhere. "Bradford, you must know," explained Willard, "is engaged largely in the manufacturing of woolen goods. Some of the finest in the world are made here. — Out here in Idle there was in early days a large branch of the Church. Here, in 1842, died and was buried the first missionary who laid down his life in a foreign field. His name was Lorenzo D. Barnes, and the Prophet Joseph Smith preached a sermon to his memory."