My money is run out again. I sat down in a puddle this
afternoon, but it dried up pretty quick and did n't hurt my clothes, so no
more from your son
JACK.
This was the sort of message that had been coming to Susanna of late, bringing
up little pictures of home duties and responsibilities, homely tasks and
trials. "John giving up the store for good"; what did that mean? Had he gone
from bad to worse in the solitude that she had hoped might show him the
gravity of his offenses, the error of his ways? In case she should die, what
then would become of the children? Would Louisa accept the burden of Jack, for
whom she had never cared? Would the Shakers take Sue? She would be safe;
perhaps she would always be happy; but brother and sister would be divided and
brought up as strangers. Would little Sue, grown to big Sue, say some time or
other, "My mother renounced the world for herself, but what right had she to
renounce it for me? Why did she rob me of the dreams of girlhood and the
natural hopes of women, when I was too young to give consent?" These and other
unanswerable questions continually drifted through Susanna's mind, disturbing
its balance and leaving her like a shuttlecock bandied to and fro between
conflicting blows.
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