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Authors: Alice M. Roelke
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out
of the picture, it seemed the best option for his future.
Of course, Mother
sometimes spoke of Jenny reversing the family's fortunes by marrying into a
wealthy family. "After all, you have the breeding!" she often
proclaimed. But Jenny felt nothing but embarrassment at such claims, uneasy in
her skin when Mother talked so. They were poor now, and surely nothing of her
doing could ever change that. At any rate, Mother's plans always fell fuzzily
short of details for how she would meet this rich man. They had no way to give
her an entrance into Society and no wealthy relatives eager to lavish money and
a coming out on her. So she tended brother and mother and learned all the
painting she ever could, and put her hope in her brother, not some brilliant
marriage for herself.
The men she did meet were
not of the sort Mother would have liked. She rubbed shoulders with a far
greater variety of humanity than ever her mother knew, for Jenny did the
marketing and a variety of ordinary household tasks that brought her into
contact with the less than genteel.
Once, one of Father's
sisters had offered to take Jenny in as a companion to her daughter. Jenny was
fifteen and a half at the time, and her brother and mother expressed horror at
the prospect. This particular aunt, Euphenia, was a "right tartar,"
according to Henry; Mother proclaimed that vinegar was sweeter.
Since Jenny desperately wished
to stay with her family, she was relieved by their refusal. She much preferred to
stay with people who loved her, instead of assuming the role of poor relative
and unpaid shabby-genteel servant to those who would lord it over her. But she
hadn't been able to shake the guilty feeling she was a burden.
Shortly afterwards, Mother
died and left her and Henry alone with the pile of debts and their grief. Henry,
at seventeen, had already completed his first portrait, and the money was good.
But a large portion of it had to be applied to their father's debts, and they
lived carefully. It seemed there was no one else in the world either could rely
on.
Their reversal of fortunes
had left Henry bitter and distrustful, particularly of men of the world who won
and lost fortunes with the turn of a card and laughed it off afterwards. He
could not forgive or forget Father's shocking debt, or the fact that he had
gambled away Jenny's portion and Henry's education, not to mention their home
and Mother's health.
He worked so hard that
Jenny had sometimes feared for his health. He was such a diligent young man,
but he had never been strong compared to other boys. When he grew ill, her
worst fears were realised.
At first it had been a
cough that hung on, that would never leave. Then the weakness of breath and his
paleness. Then a cough that sometimes produced blood. The doctor she finally
persuaded him to see (though they could ill afford it), proclaimed it a case of
consumption, untreatable except by laudanum, rest, and a few herbs to ease the
symptoms.
Her world turned grey at
that announcement, greyer even than Mother's death or Father's had left her. Henry
was all she had left, and he simply wasn't allowed to die.
Henry was made of sterner
stuff in this instance, refusing the verdict, heaping scorn on doctors who took
one's money and told one he was meant to die. Henry worked hard, made some
efforts to take better care of himself, and informed his sister in no uncertain
terms that he was not dying.
Jenny began to recover
from the deep, dark place the doctors' words had sent her, but she never forgot
the sentence hanging over his head—especially when his health waned.
She wanted to wrap him up
in a quilt and protect him, yet nearly every day he must go out and work. And
the people he worked for were difficult to please, kept him waiting at all hours,
and never considered his health or comfort at all. She could have cheerfully
wrung necks when her brother came home so utterly exhausted and discouraged
after a day of being kept waiting on some
of the picture, it seemed the best option for his future.
Of course, Mother
sometimes spoke of Jenny reversing the family's fortunes by marrying into a
wealthy family. "After all, you have the breeding!" she often
proclaimed. But Jenny felt nothing but embarrassment at such claims, uneasy in
her skin when Mother talked so. They were poor now, and surely nothing of her
doing could ever change that. At any rate, Mother's plans always fell fuzzily
short of details for how she would meet this rich man. They had no way to give
her an entrance into Society and no wealthy relatives eager to lavish money and
a coming out on her. So she tended brother and mother and learned all the
painting she ever could, and put her hope in her brother, not some brilliant
marriage for herself.
The men she did meet were
not of the sort Mother would have liked. She rubbed shoulders with a far
greater variety of humanity than ever her mother knew, for Jenny did the
marketing and a variety of ordinary household tasks that brought her into
contact with the less than genteel.
Once, one of Father's
sisters had offered to take Jenny in as a companion to her daughter. Jenny was
fifteen and a half at the time, and her brother and mother expressed horror at
the prospect. This particular aunt, Euphenia, was a "right tartar,"
according to Henry; Mother proclaimed that vinegar was sweeter.
Since Jenny desperately wished
to stay with her family, she was relieved by their refusal. She much preferred to
stay with people who loved her, instead of assuming the role of poor relative
and unpaid shabby-genteel servant to those who would lord it over her. But she
hadn't been able to shake the guilty feeling she was a burden.
Shortly afterwards, Mother
died and left her and Henry alone with the pile of debts and their grief. Henry,
at seventeen, had already completed his first portrait, and the money was good.
But a large portion of it had to be applied to their father's debts, and they
lived carefully. It seemed there was no one else in the world either could rely
on.
Their reversal of fortunes
had left Henry bitter and distrustful, particularly of men of the world who won
and lost fortunes with the turn of a card and laughed it off afterwards. He
could not forgive or forget Father's shocking debt, or the fact that he had
gambled away Jenny's portion and Henry's education, not to mention their home
and Mother's health.
He worked so hard that
Jenny had sometimes feared for his health. He was such a diligent young man,
but he had never been strong compared to other boys. When he grew ill, her
worst fears were realised.
At first it had been a
cough that hung on, that would never leave. Then the weakness of breath and his
paleness. Then a cough that sometimes produced blood. The doctor she finally
persuaded him to see (though they could ill afford it), proclaimed it a case of
consumption, untreatable except by laudanum, rest, and a few herbs to ease the
symptoms.
Her world turned grey at
that announcement, greyer even than Mother's death or Father's had left her. Henry
was all she had left, and he simply wasn't allowed to die.
Henry was made of sterner
stuff in this instance, refusing the verdict, heaping scorn on doctors who took
one's money and told one he was meant to die. Henry worked hard, made some
efforts to take better care of himself, and informed his sister in no uncertain
terms that he was not dying.
Jenny began to recover
from the deep, dark place the doctors' words had sent her, but she never forgot
the sentence hanging over his head—especially when his health waned.
She wanted to wrap him up
in a quilt and protect him, yet nearly every day he must go out and work. And
the people he worked for were difficult to please, kept him waiting at all hours,
and never considered his health or comfort at all. She could have cheerfully
wrung necks when her brother came home so utterly exhausted and discouraged
after a day of being kept waiting on some
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