Theodore Dreiser Jennie Gerhardt; a novel

 
 

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CHAPTER LIV 
The little town of Sandwood, "this side of Kenosha," as Jennie had expressed 
it, was only a short distance from Chicago, an hour and fifteen minutes by 
the local train. It had a population of some three hundred families, dwelling 
in small cottages, which were scattered over a pleasant area of lake-shore 
property. They were not rich people. The houses were not worth more than 
from three to five thousand dollars each, but, in most cases, they were 
harmoniously constructed, and the surrounding trees, green for the entire 
year, gave them a pleasing summery appearance. Jennie, at the time they 
had passed by there—it was an outing taken behind a pair of fast horses—
had admired the look of a little white church steeple, set down among green 
trees, and the gentle rocking of the boats upon the summer water. 
"I should like to live in a place like this some time," she had said to Lester, 
and he had made the comment that it was a little too peaceful for him. "I 
can imagine getting to the place where I might like this, but not now. It's too 
withdrawn." 
Jennie thought of that expression afterward. It came to her when she 
thought that the world was trying. If she had to be alone ever and could 
afford it she would like to live in a place like Sandwood. There she would 
have a little garden, some chickens, perhaps, a tall pole with a pretty bird-
house on it, and flowers and trees and green grass everywhere about. If she 
could have a little cottage in a place like this which commanded a view of 
the lake she could sit of a summer evening and sew. Vesta could play about 
or come home from school. She might have a few friends, or not any. She 
was beginning to think that she could do very well living alone if it were not 
for Vesta's social needs. Books were pleasant things—she was finding that 
out—books like Irving's Sketch Book, Lamb's Elia, and Hawthorne's Twice 
Told Tales. Vesta was coming to be quite a musician in her way, having a 
keen sense of the delicate and refined in musical composition. She had a 
natural sense of harmony and a love for those songs and instrumental 
compositions which reflect sentimental and passionate moods; and she 
could sing and play quite well. Her voice was, of course, quite untrained—
she was only fourteen—but it was pleasant to listen to. She was beginning 
to show the combined traits of her mother and father—Jennie's gentle, 
speculative turn of mind, combined with Brander's vivacity of spirit and 
innate executive capacity. She could talk to her mother in a sensible way 
about things, nature, books, dress, love, and from her developing tendencies 
Jennie caught keen glimpses of the new worlds which Vesta was to explore. 
The nature of modern school life, its consideration of various divisions of 
knowledge, music, science, all came to Jennie watching her daughter take 
up new themes. Vesta was evidently going to be a woman of considerable 
ability—not irritably aggressive, but self-constructive. She would be able to 

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take care of herself. All this pleased Jennie and gave her great hopes for 
Vesta's future. 
The cottage which was finally secured at Sandwood was only a story and a 
half in height, but it was raised upon red brick piers between which were set 
green lattices and about which ran a veranda. The house was long and 
narrow, its full length—some five rooms in a row—facing the lake. There was 
a dining-room with windows opening even with the floor, a large library with 
built-in shelves for books, and a parlor whose three large windows afforded 
air and sunshine at all times. 
The plot of ground in which this cottage stood was one hundred feet square 
and ornamented with a few trees. The former owner had laid out flower-
beds, and arranged green hardwood tubs for the reception of various hardy 
plants and vines. The house was painted white, with green shutters and 
green shingles. 
It had been Lester's idea, since this thing must be, that Jennie might keep 
the house in Hyde Park just as it was, but she did not want to do that. She 
could not think of living there alone. The place was too full of memories. At 
first, she did not think she would take anything much with her, but she 
finally saw that it was advisable to do as Lester suggested—to fit out the new 
place with a selection of silverware, hangings, and furniture from the Hyde 
Park house. 
"You have no idea what you will or may want," he said. "Take everything. I 
certainly don't want any of it." 
A lease of the cottage was taken for two years, together with an option for an 
additional five years, including the privilege of purchase. So long as he was 
letting her go, Lester wanted to be generous. He could not think of her as 
wanting for anything, and he did not propose that she should. His one 
troublesome thought was, what explanation was to be made to Vesta. He 
liked her very much and wanted her "life kept free of complications. 
"Why not send her off to a boarding-school until spring?" he suggested once; 
but owing to the lateness of the season this was abandoned as inadvisable. 
Later they agreed that business affairs made it necessary for him to travel 
and for Jennie to move. Later Vesta could be told that Jennie had left him 
for any reason she chose to give. It was a trying situation, all the more bitter 
to Jennie because she realized that in spite of the wisdom of it indifference 
to her was involved. He really did not care enough, as much as he cared. 
The relationship of man and woman which we study so passionately in the 
hope of finding heaven knows what key to the mystery of existence holds no 
more difficult or trying situation than this of mutual compatibility broken or 
disrupted by untoward conditions which in themselves have so little to do 

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with the real force and beauty of the relationship itself. These days of final 
dissolution in which this household, so charmingly arranged, the scene of so 
many pleasant activities, was literally going to pieces was a period of great 
trial to both Jennie and Lester. On her part it was one of intense suffering, 
for she was of that stable nature that rejoices to fix itself in a serviceable 
and harmonious relationship, and then stay so. For her life was made up of 
those mystic chords of sympathy and memory which bind up the transient 
elements of nature into a harmonious and enduring scene. One of those 
chords—this home was her home, united and made beautiful by her 
affection and consideration for each person and every object. Now the time 
had come when it must cease. 
If she had ever had anything before in her life which had been like this it 
might have been easier to part with it now, though, as she had proved, 
Jennie's affections were not based in any way upon material considerations. 
Her love of life and of personality were free from the taint of selfishness. She 
went about among these various rooms selecting this rug, that set of 
furniture, this and that ornament, wishing all the time with all her heart 
and soul that it need not be. Just to think, in a little while Lester would not 
come any more of an evening! She would not need to get up first of a 
morning and see that coffee was made for her lord, that the table in the 
dining-room looked just so. It had been a habit of hers to arrange a bouquet 
for the table out of the richest blooming flowers of the conservatory, and she 
had always felt in doing it that it was particularly for him. Now it would not 
be necessary any more—not for him. When one is accustomed to wait for the 
sound of a certain carriage-wheel of an evening grating upon your carriage 
drive, when one is used to listen at eleven, twelve, and one, waking naturally 
and joyfully to the echo of a certain step on the stair, the separation, the 
ending of these things, is keen with pain. These were the thoughts that were 
running through Jennie's brain hour after hour and day after day. 
Lester on his part was suffering in another fashion. His was not the sorrow 
of lacerated affection, of discarded and despised love, but of that painful 
sense of unfairness which comes to one who knows that he is making a 
sacrifice of the virtues—kindness, loyalty, affection—to policy. Policy was 
dictating a very splendid course of action from one point of view. Free of 
Jennie, providing for her admirably, he was free to go his way, taking to 
himself the mass of affairs which come naturally with great wealth. He could 
not help thinking of the thousand and one little things which Jennie had 
been accustomed to do for him, the hundred and one comfortable and 
pleasant and delightful things she meant to him. The virtues which she 
possessed were quite dear to his mind. He had gone over them time and 
again. Now he was compelled to go over them finally, to see that she was 
suffering without making a sign. Her manner and attitude toward him in 

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these last days were quite the same as they had always been—no more, no 
less. She was not indulging in private hysterics, as another woman might 
have done; she was not pretending a fortitude in suffering she did not feel, 
showing him one face while wishing him to see another behind it. She was 
calm, gentle, considerate—thoughtful of him—where he would go and what 
he would do, without irritating him by her inquiries. He was struck quite 
favorably by her ability to take a large situation largely, and he admired her. 
There was something to this woman, let the world think what it might. It 
was a shame that her life was passed under such a troubled star. Still a 
great world was calling him. The sound of its voice was in his ears. It had on 
occasion shown him its bared teeth. Did he really dare to hesitate? 
The last hour came, when having made excuses to this and that neighbor, 
when having spread the information that they were going abroad, when 
Lester had engaged rooms at the Auditorium, and the mass of furniture 
which could not be used had gone to storage, that it was necessary to say 
farewell to this Hyde Park domicile. Jennie had visited Sandwood in 
company with Lester several times. He had carefully examined the character 
of the place. He was satisfied that it was nice but lonely. Spring was at 
hand, the flowers would be something. She was going to keep a gardener 
and man of all work. Vesta would be with her. 
"Very well," he said, "only I want you to be comfortable." 
In the mean time Lester had been arranging his personal affairs. He had 
notified Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien through his own attorney, Mr. 
Watson, that he would expect them to deliver his share of his father's 
securities on a given date. He had made up his mind that as long as he was 
compelled by circumstances to do this thing he would do a number of other 
things equally ruthless. He would probably marry Mrs. Gerald. He would sit 
as a director in the United Carriage Company—with his share of the stock it 
would be impossible to keep him out. If he had Mrs. Gerald's money he 
would become a controlling factor in the United Traction of Cincinnati, in 
which his brother was heavily interested, and in the Western Steel Works, of 
which his brother was now the leading adviser. What a different figure he 
would be now from that which he had been during the past few years! 
Jennie was depressed to the point of despair. She was tremendously lonely. 
This home had meant so much to her. When she first came here and 
neighbors had begun to drop in she had imagined herself on the threshold 
of a great career, that some day, possibly, Lester would marry her. Now, 
blow after blow had been delivered, and the home and dream were a ruin. 
Gerhardt was gone. Jeannette, Harry Ward, and Mrs. Frissell had been 
discharged, the furniture for a good part was in storage, and for her, 
practically, Lester was no more. She realized clearly that he would not come 

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back. If he could do this thing now, even considerately, he could do much 
more when he was free and away later. Immersed in his great affairs, he 
would forget, of course. And why not? She did not fit in. Had not 
everything—everything illustrated that to her? Love was not enough in this 
world—that was so plain. One needed education, wealth, training, the ability 
to fight and scheme, She did not want to do that. She could not. 
The day came when the house was finally closed and the old life was at an 
end. Lester traveled with Jennie to Sandwood. He spent some little while in 
the house trying to get her used to the idea of change—it was not so bad. He 
intimated that he would come again soon, but he went away, and all his 
words were as nothing against the fact of the actual and spiritual 
separation. When Jennie saw him going down the brick walk that afternoon, 
his solid, conservative figure clad in a new tweed suit, his overcoat on his 
arm, self-reliance and prosperity written all over him, she thought that she 
would die. She had kissed Lester good-by and had wished him joy, 
prosperity, peace; then she made an excuse to go to her bedroom. Vesta 
came after a time, to seek her, but now her eyes were quite dry; everything 
had subsided to a dull ache. The new life was actually begun for her—a life 
without Lester, without Gerhardt, without any one save Vesta. 
"What curious things have happened to me!" she thought, as she went into 
the kitchen, for she had determined to do at least some of her own work. 
She needed the distraction. She did not want to think. If it were not for 
Vesta she would have sought some regular outside employment. Anything to 
keep from brooding, for in that direction lay madness.