Margaret's influence: a secret of the confessional

Foreword

“ Margaret's Influence : A Secret of the Confessional ” is a story embodying the doctrine imparted in the State instruction or special lecture, which the Redemptorist Fathers address to the young people on Catholic missions. The narrative is founded on facts. For obvious reasons, however, the scenes are fictitious. The story depicts the conversion of a young man from the rankest materialism to the true Faith, through the influence of a Catholic young woman.

The reader may be surprised, at first, at the ignorance as well as at the principles and acts of Webster Van Deever. He may be disappointed at a certain weakness in the conduct of Margaret Redmond. But let it be borne in mind that these characters are taken from real life, where, with the exception of Jesus and Mary, no one has attained the perfection of the divine ideal in all details, and some, like Webster Van Deever, have never heard it mentioned favorably.

The Author.

Chapter I An Open Confession

C C T)ARDON me — are you not a Catholic priest? ” It was a cold morning in January, 1902, and I was seated quietly in a Pullman coach, reading my breviary. I had spent some time on the Standing Rock Reservation, where the zealous sons and daughters of St. Benedict have established several flourishing parishes among the Sioux tribes. Before dawn, on the preceding day, I had left Fort Yates for the north, on the primitive stage which connects that sleepy town with the outside world. After a tedious twelve-hour ride over the snow-clad prairies of North Dakota, I arrived at Bismarck, whence I departed on the belated Twin City Express for St. Paul. Here I was to open a mission on the following Sunday, and, as was my custom, I rose early, and had nearly finished Matins and Lauds when interrupted by the remark given above.

I noticed that we were rapidly approaching the eastern terminus of the Northern Pacific and had only a few moments of leisure, so I put aside my breviary and looked up. The young man who had spoken was quite prepossessing in appearance, athletic, intelligent, well-dressed. At first I could scarcely classify him. He did not appear “ sporty,” as some traveling men are termed, and yet there was a certain air about him which puzzled me.

“ I am a Catholic priest,” I answered, “ but as I am a comparative stranger in St. Paul, I may not be able to give you any information — ”

“ Oh ! It is not about St. Paul,” said the young man, and there was a tinge of embarrassment in his tones that aroused my interest. “ The difficulty — is with myself. Will you come into the drawing-room, sir? I should like to have a talk with you.”

The manner which I had thought, unconsciously, a little overbearing, was now one of eager anxiety. He appeared like an honest young fellow in trouble, who felt rather diffident in making an appeal of this sort to a stranger. Very much attracted by his attitude, and the evident perturbation of his mind, I rose and followed him to his apartment.

“ I am also a stranger in this section,” he went on, after he had closed the door, and taken a seat opposite me, “ but my name is well-known. I am Webster Van Deever, son of Homer Van Deever, head of the brokerage firm of New York and Chicago. Our family dates back to the New Amsterdam settlers, and I am my father’s only child and heir.”

I looked at him, I must confess, with astonishment. His manner was so earnest that I could not reconcile it with these somewhat boastful words.

AN OPEN CONFESSION

“ Are you a Catholic, Mr. Van Deever?”

“ Oh, no ! I’m not a Catholic,” he answered, quickly.

“ Not a Catholic ! Then why — ”

“ I am an agnostic. I don’t know a blessed thing about religion. Neither my father nor my grandfather were church members. I am not interested in religion in any way, and I don’t want to discuss it.”

I sat there absolutely puzzled. In the beginning I had expected that this conversation would be about religion, for somehow or other, when a Catholic priest enters a train, there is always sure to crop up a religious discussion of some sort. I had imagined this young man to be a repentant prodigal in need of advice and possibly spiritual assistance. His uncompromising remark showed me my error.

“ Well, my son,” I said, “ if there is anything I can do for you, I wish you would state your case to me at once. We have only a few minutes left, and my destination is St. Paul.”

“I — as I said, my difficulty is not a religious one,” he began again, stumbling a little over the words. “ It will sound foolish — perhaps — but we are strangers, we may never meet again — ” He hesitated, flushing. Then he plunged into the subject as if anxious to get it off his mind : “ It is about a young lady — a Cath-

olic,” he said. “ A poor girl, at that, with neither blue blood nor money, who is in no way my social equal. I met her only a little over two weeks ago . . . and while I am not superstitious, she has haunted me ever since. I actually took this trip to the coast to try to forget her. But it is impossible. So I had to speak to some one, who, I felt, would understand her. That is why I have asked you to listen to me.”

I sat there quietly, weighing him and his speech.

“ A poor girl, with neither blue blood nor money, in no way my social equal ! ”

I am afraid that these words were all that I clearly grasped as this conceited young man proceeded. They gave me the clue to his character. Webster Van Deever, son of Homer Van Deever, whose ancestors had settled New Amsterdam, imagined the whole world prostrate before him! The king’s son could do no wrong! Ah! It was indeed a daring thing for this poor Catholic girl to flout him !

But my imagination was carrying me away — I must listen further.

“ I am still in the dark,” I suggested.

“ This girl — this Margaret Redmond — ”

“ Margaret Redmond ! ” I interrupted. “ There was a young lady of that name at St. Mary’s-on-the- Raisin. Her father, was, I believe, a wealthy Chicago broker.”

“ Then you know her ! ” he exclaimed. “ That is she. Her father lost all he had in the panic of some years ago. He made heroic efforts to save a home for his wife and daughter, but he did not succeed, and the strain and shock killed him. He has been dead two years. Miss Redmond opened an offlce in the Equitable Building, in Chicago, and is an expert and well-known stenographer.”

“ Is that so! ” I exclaimed. “ Well, she was always

AN OPEN CONFESSION a bright girl — her success does not astonish me. You met her, I presume, in a professional way? ”

“ Oh, no ! I met her at the Charity Ball, to which she was escorted by Mr. White, an old and mutual friend, by whom we were introduced. You say you knew Miss Redmond as a schoolgirl ! You should see her now! She is as graceful as a fawn — a real American beauty, with auburn hair, eyes as soft as a dove’s — ”

I could not contain myself. I heard many confessions, but this was a unique experience — a blase young man expatiating on the charms of a young lady who had bewitched him ! I burst into a hearty laugh.

“ Don’t, please ! ” said the young man, earnestly. “ I fell in love with her the moment we met. She danced with me. From the ballroom I escorted her into a little alcove ... I suppose I lost my head . . . He had the grace to pause here.

“ Well ? ” I asked, gravely enough. “ What happened ? ”

“ I tried to kiss her.”

“Oh! You did! And she resented it?”

“ She was furious — why, her eyes fairly scorched me. She got up and rejoined her mother and Mr. White, and for the rest of the time I was there completely ignored me. I have not seen her since. And now I want to know what there is in the Catholic religion that would make her take such an attitude towards me ? She knew who I was — I told her ! ”

The colossal vanity of this handsome young animal, his conceit and ignorance, were so patent, that I felt a hot wave of indignation sweeping over me. My first impulse was perhaps the same as Margaret Redmond’s had been — to rise and leave him. But my experience restrained me from hasty action. I had never met any one quite like this self-worshiper before. What, what had been his companions, his associates, that this young girl should have opened a new world to him? How he must be toadied to and flattered ! How people must hang upon his words ! Ah, was it any wonder that one such as Margaret Redmond must be, grounded in grace and virtue, would brush him aside like an annoying insect !

I am afraid I was uncharitable enough to rejoice over his humiliation, and yet I saw plainly that he was very much attracted. I pitied him, too, for his ignorance, his narrowness. The girl had fascinated him, and it was not to receive an explanation that he had asked me to listen to him, but because he wanted an opportunity to unburden his heart and mind.

I thanked God that the girl had been true to the teachings of St. Mary’s, and I also felt that it was a pity that one so favored by nature and fortune should have such exaggerated ideas of his own importance. Had Webster Van Deever been the eldest of ten children of hard-working parents instead of the only and spoiled darling of wealth, he would have had a cleaner and saner outlook on life. He sat looking at me as these thoughts flashed through my mind.

“ I am afraid,” I said, coldly, “ that even if I were the custodian of Miss Redmond’s thoughts, and her

AN OPEN CONFESSION counselor, the time left us would not permit me to give you a satisfactory explanation.”

“ So ! There is an explanation from a Catholic standpoint ! ” exclaimed young Van Deever. “ I have always heard that Catholics are strange people . . .

something like Shakers or Quakers . . . with

queer ideas — but I haven’t ever met any, only my servant Andy.”

“ There is an explanation from a moral standpoint,” I said, a little testily. “ You grossly insulted a modest and good young girl, who honored you by granting you the favor of a dance with her.”

“ Oh! ” said Van Deever, with a wave of his hand, “ that’s nonsense. That was all very nice in the olden days when the people were absurdly proper and decorous, but we’ve gotten over that. The world has changed with the times — all but you Catholics, who, I suppose, still cling to your prudish notions! My father is a popular man, welcomed everywhere, accepted by the best people, who are proud to be among the number of his friends. I have always followed his advice and have found no reason to regret it. After all, a woman is really man’s inferior. I am scrupulously courteous to every woman, but men have certain privileges, certain rights — ”

“ From a Christian standpoint, Mr. Van Deever, there are nobler things than the honors, riches and pleasures of this life, more lasting treasures than the goods of this world.”

He looked at me with a cynical smile.

“We are not taught these things at the University, ” he said.

“ To Miss Redmond,” I pursued, quietly, “ a true child of God, there is no greater pleasure than knowing, loving, and serving Him. That is why you are in every way her inferior, for your millions and your birth are merely accidents. It seems incredible that I should have to say this to any man or woman in this age and in this country. Miss Redmond values her dignity, her modesty, far above your wealth or your position, and she was morally bound to resent your unpardonable breach of etiquette.”

The young man shrugged his shoulders.

“ There may be something in that,” he said carelessly. “ And here is the depot, so that we can not pursue this question further. I have only one thing to say before bidding you good-by. I mean to kiss Miss Redmond — even if I have to marry her to do it.”

“ I rejoice sincerely,” I retorted, “ that I can not congratulate you on your prospects of success.”

Chapter II A Fixed Resolve

TJERHAPS Webster Van Deever was more impressed by the priest than he cared to let him see. At any rate after the reverend gentleman left the train, the young man sat lost for a few moments in a profound reverie. He was absolutely ignorant of more than the mere outlines of Christianity, and as for Catholic belief — to him it seemed as if those who practiced that faith were forced to observe a weary round of rules to which no sensible man or woman could conform. Nevertheless, he had made up his mind to one thing: he had an end to attain, and to bring it about there should be no means left untried. What this end was declared itself during his wait at St. Paul. Alighting from the train, he wrote out a message to his Chicago office announcing his return. He then sent another telegram to Meyer and Son, well-known Chicago florists.

“ Send two dozen American Beauty roses to Miss Margaret Redmond, 93-2 Equitable Building. Sign the card * With a friend’s best wishes.’

Van Deever.”

IO

“ That will do for the present,” he said, pacing up and down the waiting-room.

It was something to have found an interest that was so vital in his hitherto idle, pleasure-loving life. Little by little the conversation with the priest returned to him. He was vaguely aware that he had been the object of some contempt, even disgust, although the calling of the man had kept his indignation under bounds. He realized the great gulf that separated him from Margaret Redmond — a gulf that the priest had understood existed, for he had given him a reason for her conduct. This thought aroused his envy, even his jealousy. He was face to face with a mystery. He had education, influence, wealth, but he was not happy. He had never been happy, and it was because he knew this that Margaret Redmond had aroused such different sentiments in his breast.

“ She is a child of God,” said the priest, “ whose sole delight is in knowing, loving, and serving Him.”

Ah! Then the object of some human lives was more than the material and the temporal! He was wrong, his whole world was wrong ! He felt his soul hungering within him for an indefinable something that would put him on a level with that girl. On a level? Could it be possible he thought her his superior? In spite of his vain boasting, his assumed arrogance, his conceit, he did ! And the superior, as well, of those others of his acquaintance who would have laughed indulgently over his attempted love-making. They would have understood his pleasantry — she understood, but would not tolerate it !

A FIXED RESOLVE ii

“ She is a child of God ! ” said the priest again, in his ear. Well, all right, if that would solve the difficulty, he, Webster Van Deever, would see what it meant to be a child of God also!

Further thought was interrupted by the stentorian voice of the train crier.

“Chicago and Northwestern for Chicago! All aboard for Eau Claire — Elroy — Madison — Janesville — Chicago — Track — No. 5 ! ”

As Webster Van Deever entered the drawing-room of the Badger State Express, he realized that his conversation with the priest had been as oil and wine poured into the wounds of his spirit. He remembered, with delight, his first glimpse of Margaret Redmond, only two short weeks before. He could see her in all her charming loveliness, Mr. White on one hand, her mother on the other. He eagerly sought the gentleman, and when Margaret bent her large, soft blue eyes upon him in pleasant greeting, and gave him her small hand with a delicious frankness, he was conscious of the great pleasure this moment occasioned him.

“ Tickets ! ” suddenly demanded the conductor. “ Tickets, tickets ! ”

Completely absorbed in his mental vision, Mr. Van Deever presented the official with his hat. That gentleman did not want a hat. His rough hand on Van Deever’s shoulder aroused the young man from his delightful abstraction, and he scowled as he produced the slip of cardboard which alone seemed to satisfy the other’s demands. He settled himself comfortably then, and, being undisturbed, once more drifted off into the realms of fancy. She was no longer Miss Redmond — she was Margaret ! Margaret ! What an ideal couple they would make — he was tall and dark, she just up to his shoulder and fair as a lily. He prided himself on his manliness — she was certainly the most womanly of women!

As long as Van Deever confined himself to material matters he could proceed with mathematical accuracy. There was no further comparison now between himself and Margaret Redmond. Her attire had been so modest, her complexion so beautifully clear without a trace of artifice — all had been fresh, charming, natural.

And then those sparkling blue eyes flashed fire, that charming face was filled with indignation, that red mouth was curved in scorn and anger — all with the suddenness of a thunderclap out of a clear sky! His consternation had taken him from the ballroom ; he resolved to go away, where he could think over the evening’s incident at his leisure. Hence his disappearance from accustomed haunts for a fortnight.

And now that he had resolved to dare all once more, he felt at ease. He would compel this girl to acknowledge his importance. Thinking thus, he glanced at his watch, surprised to discover that it was past the noon hour, and that he had entirely forgotten his breakfast. The porter entered opportunely just then.

“ Beg pardon, sir,” he said, politely, “ but don’t you want some dinner ? ”

A FIXED RESOLVE

Webster Van Deever certainly wanted dinner, and ordered it, finishing it up with a good cigar. As the clouds of smoke formed, changed, and dissolved above his head, his day-dreams continued. The faces of friends, dearly-loved, floated before him, greeting him like fairies from a land of enchantment. He lived all his happiest moments over again — the happy days of boyish independence, the excitement of baseball and footfall, and the relaxation of vacation, the college debates, and the crowning glory of all, when, at his graduation, he read his original dissertation on “ Rousseau and the Genesis of Darwin,” which had won the applause of his associates, the degree of doctor of philosophy from the faculty, and the present of one million dollars from a proud and idolizing father !

Nor were feminine charms lacking from the array of faces. His handsome personality, fine physique, perfect health, and the charm of his wealth had won him smiles a plenty, and adulation that would have been less harmful had not the spoiled young fellow accepted it in such good faith. His position as manager of the Chicago office had not interfered with any of his pleasures. But he was awakened from his self-indulgent, self-satisfied mood when Margaret Redmond met his glance with her own charming, innocent gaze.

“ Yes,” echoed the words of the priest. “ She is a child of God! And her whole delight consists in her knowing, loving, and serving Him ! ”

“ After all,” Webster Van Deever asked himself,

“ why should we suppose that God does not exist ? Does evolution adequately account for the existence of matter? Especially of organic matter? But if the creation theory is correct, how can we account for the presence of evil in the world? The God of goodness in whom Christians believe, should have prevented evil. . . .

“ It is almost certain that I have free will. Supposing, then, that the God of Christianity is my Master, how would I fare before His judgment-seat if this train had been wrecked by falling down the mountain-side ? . . .

“ But my philosophy denies the existence of man’s spiritual nature . . . and yet . . . and yet

. . . does not Margaret Redmond’s very fascina-

tion consist in the fact that we are direct opposites? She is refined, true . . . there are many young

ladies of my acquaintance cultured and refined. . . . She is attractive physically . . . not

more so than others whom I know. But she is spiritual, I am sensual — and as long as those others are vain, selfish, and worldly-minded as myself, I can not esteem them for the very faults which I feel they and I must have in her eyes.”

So much for Webster Van Deever’s reasoning. He did not know the truth St. Paul expressed to the Galatians — he had never heard it : “ The flesh

lusteth against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh, for these are contrary one to the other.” He was simply exemplifying it by his conduct, for never is this truth more clearly proven than by the fact that

A FIXED RESOLVE every man, no matter how loose his conduct has been, instinctively seeks a pure, clean-hearted woman for his wife.

And thinking these things he drifted off into the land of dreams. Margaret Redmond appeared to him as she had been the night of the ball, charming, graceful and lovely. In her hand, however, she seemed to hold a roll of manuscript, and as he gazed upon it, he saw that it was his dearly-loved essay, “ Rousseau and the Genesis of Darwinism.”

“Will you do me a favor, Mr. Van Deever?” she asked, in a pleading tone.

He marveled how she had heard of this, which had really been the one achievement of his life of which he was inordinately proud. But he answered without hesitation that he would stop at no sacrifice for her sake.

“ Then burn this nonsense,” she said, and her eyes flashed and her lips curled as they had done on that never-to-be-forgotten night.

“ I will, I will ! ” he exclaimed. “ Anything, anything, only do not look at me like that, Margaret ! ”

“ Chicago ! All change ! ”

The porter, with a broad smile, was standing over him, shaking him vigorously. He had overheard that last remark, which Van Deever had uttered aloud.

“ You certainly had a fine sleep, mister ! ” he said, as the young man arose, and, after a liberal tip, turned from his compartment toward the station.

Chapter III

TJHILIP REDMOND had been a Georgetown graduate, and began his business career in Baltimore, where he met and married Katharine Hawley. Shortly afterward the young man inherited a small fortune and went to Chicago with his bride, opening a brokerage office in State Street. By integrity and application he succeeded so well in a material way that he was able to provide comforts, even luxuries, for his wife and their one child, Margaret. As the girl grew up she was given the advantages of a thorough education, and then, as she and her father were inseparable, and as she dearly loved to assist him in his work, she took a commercial course after her graduation, and acquired special proficiency as a stenographer. Because of this it happened that when the crisis came, and Margaret was unexpectedly thrown on her own resources, she was equipped to enter the ranks of the bread-earners. Her father’s death, and the feeling that her mother would depend entirely upon her only child in the future weighed heavily on the girl at first, especially the sense of responsibility. But this soon passed, and ere long she took a more cheerful view.

So, in spite of the protests of her friends, Margaret Redmond opened an office in the Equitable Building, and by her charming manner and conscientious and clever work, soon established a reputation. She had done fairly well for two years past, though she was never as prosperous as her friends imagined. As long as work was plentiful and the income regular, she was able to meet current expenses. But there were times when she was forced to draw on her meager reserve. The coming of the dull winter season often saw a material increase in expenses, and an alarming irregularity of income, which soon ceased altogether, practically. She was passing through one of these experiences now — only that it seemed a little harder to bear than the preceding ones, for she was forced to draw out the last dollar she had deposited.

This was surely enough to fill the most courageous heart with gloom, and it certainly had a depressing effect on Margaret Redmond. She had trusted in Providence utterly to see her through this period of disaster, but she asked herself often, with the humility of a really pious soul, if she deserved the blessings of heaven. At this time there was an even greater trial in store. Her mother was taken quite ill one morning, first with a severe chill, followed by a high fever. Though Mrs. Redmond’s health was not robust, she had managed to do all that was necessary in her small home. Of late, however, this strength seemed failing, and Dr. King, the family physician, hastily summoned, did all he could to make her comi8 fortable. He ordered her to remain in bed and insisted on extreme punctuality in the giving of the medicine. He shook his head gravely in answer to Margaret’s inquiring look as she accompanied him to the door.

“ I’m afraid it is the grippe,” he said. “ She needs absolute quiet and good nursing. I will call again this evening. Be sure, above all, to give her the medicine regularly.”

This injunction was unnecessary for a daughter as devoted as Margaret had always been. She busied herself about the house and waited on her mother with tenderest care, determined that no matter how her affairs went she would not leave her alone until she was fully recovered.

“ God bless you, Margaret ! ” murmured Mrs. Redmond, feebly. “ I can never thank God enough for the consolation you have been to me since your dear father died. But you must not neglect the office — go down if only for an hour, since I am so comfortable. Give me my beads like a good girl. So. Thank you, dear.”

No wonder Margaret Redmond felt worried and depressed as she kissed her mother good-by for a short while. Never before had the sense of responsibility and helplessness weighed so heavily upon her. She seated herself at her desk and tried to think. Instead of aiding, fortune seemed to taunt her this gloomy January morning. She could see no ray of sunlight in the darkness, and lost in painful thought she was staring abstractedly before her. Rent-bills, grocery-bills, light-bills, coal-bills, doctor’s-bills, seemed to assail her on every side. In her distress Margaret breathed a fervent prayer to Our Lady of the Rosary that she might tide her over present difficulties. For once her prayer seemed answered before she had concluded her devotions. Margaret distinctly heard the clicking of the elevator — then came a rapid step along the corridor, and a quick knock at her door.

The girl’s heart jumped expectantly as she looked up and said, “ Come in ! ”

To her surprise a messenger boy entered, deposited a parcel on her desk, raised his cap, bowed politely and disappeared as quickly as he had come, before the girl had time to ask him any questions.

“ Thank God ! ” she said. “ It’s some typewriting to be done, I suppose.”

She picked up the parcel — it seemed very light, and now Margaret was indeed mystified. She opened it with some misgivings, and there, before her astonished gaze, lay a bunch of superb American Beauty roses. She picked up the card attached. “ With a friend’s best wishes.” For a few moments the girl sat staring at the roses, inhaling their delicious fragrance. What woman does not revel in flowers! and these, among the choicest she had ever seen, were splendid. She took one of the long-stemmed beauties in her hand and brushed it softly across her face with a caressing motion.

“ Who sent you ? ” she asked, coaxingly. “ Where did you come from? Not from any old friend, that is sure, or you would have gone to the house. From one of my employers? But that is simply out of the question.”

A vague foreboding of some new danger suddenly descended upon the girl. In her abstraction she pulled at the rose she held. Unconscious of what she was doing, she stripped the petals one by one until only the naked stem remained in her trembling hand. The sound of merry voices roused her, and she looked around to see two of her girl friends entering the room.