CHAPTER V. - A BEREFT WIDOW.

 

"O ANNIE! I am indeed a widow! The husband who was mine, but a few hours ago, is mine no longer. We are separated—oh, we are separated! And yet how I love him—the husband of my youth—my first and only love, and the father of my six beautiful children."

 

I covered my face with my hands, and wept as I had never wept before.

 

"Surely he is bereaved, and I am widowed! He desires oblivion and everlasting death. I desire—oh, what is my desire?"

 

"That is the real question at issue," said Sigismund. "What is your greatest desire? for all desires or prayers are at length answered. The soul can desire nothing which natural law cannot supply. Do you desire, after what you have seen of heaven, to live within yonder cold form of clay once more?

 

"No—no!" I cried, in shuddering horror. "I would as soon be buried alive. It would seem very much like it after having known the meaning of true life."

 

"Then, dear Mary," said Annie, "try to think, and tell us what you most desire."

 

Again my soul was agitated, shaken to its depths; again I stood between two worlds, the material and spiritual, and really not of either. I did not desire the material, and scarcely knew what to desire of the spiritual. My mother heart was equally divided between my three children on earth and my three in heaven; two boys and a girl on earth, two girls and a boy in heaven. My earthly children had their father, my heavenly children now had their mother, of whom they had long been deprived. Thus I stood perplexed and sorrowful. What did I most desire? Really, I could not tell.

 

"O! would to God I could span this great gulf!" I at length cried," unite earth with heaven, and heaven with earth!"

 

"Precisely," said Sigismund. "That, then, is the greatest desire of your soul?"

 

"But that desire can never be realized," I said. "This gulf cannot be crossed. My husband cannot hear or see me. To my children I am cold and dead. To my mother, and other relatives, am shut up in heaven, purgatory, or, perhaps—alas!—hell; with no power to reach them. How is it possible, then, to unite heaven and earth?"

 

"How is it possible?" repeated Sigismund. Precisely! How is it possible? First, you have an earnest desire, and then you ask for the requisite knowledge whereby to obtain that desire. Your desire was created by your great love, and now you wish to unite your love with wisdom, so you desire or pray for knowledge."

 

I stared at this Sigismund with wide open, surprised eyes. Surely, this husband of Annie's was a very singular being. Annie smiled upon him lovingly, their hands at the same time fondly clasped.

 

"Sister," said Annie, kissing my brow, "you and my precious Sigismund are both right. It is wisdom or knowledge which we must all obtain, and, united with our love, the great gulf of ignorance is easily spanned."

"But where is one to obtain this knowledge how to unite heaven and earth?"

"At the never failing fountain of truth," answered Sigismund.

"But where is one to find the fountain of truth?" I asked, rather impatiently, for his words seemed to me

ambiguous.

"Search and ye shall surely find," he replied.

"You are repeating the words of Christ," I said, "and here I am, and dead, still have not seen Christ," and I burst into tears.

"Yet if you had sought earnestly for a bright jewel of truth and had found it, it would have taught you that the word Christ is only another name for love. It is truth, now, which you are seeking, and not love. Your love, at present, is greater than your wisdom. When you have obtained wisdom enough to balance your love, the gulf will be spanned."

I dried my eyes and looked at him earnestly.

"I understand your meaning at last. You mean that when I have wisdom enough to span the gulf it will be bridged over, and then my dear husband and children will know that I can cross, and be with them whenever they and I desire it. O Sigismund! tell me, if you can, how long it will take to bridge over this abyss, and where and how one is to obtain the necessary wisdom?"

"Before you can do this," replied Sigismund, "you must thoroughly understand the laws appertaining to the immortal spirit and its eternal life within the heavenly spheres."

I sank down in a crouching position, and covered my face with my hands.

"O, that will take acres upon ages I cried, despairingly.

Annie gently drew my hands away, and holding them within her own warm clasp, she gave me a sweet, encouraging smile.

"Mary, my dear sister, do you realize that we have ages upon ages in which to gain the required wisdom?

"O, I cannot wait!" I exclaimed, for the impatience of earthly life had not yet left my soul.

"If you cannot wait to gain the wisdom necessary to bridge the gulf, then must it for ever remain unbridged, as far as yourself and your husband and children are concerned," said Sigismund, with a grave and rather sorrowful look.

 

"Would it not be better, dear sister," said Annie, "to commence at once and learn all you possibly can, and as fast as you can. That is the only way in which to construct the bridge. Impatience and despair will never accomplish anything toward it; besides, they are the opposites of true wisdom. Patience is far more beautiful than impatience, and hope is a queen to despair. Impatience and despair are victims of hell, while patience and hope are bright angels of heaven; in other words, when one gives way to impatience and despair, one is in hell; but when one admits hope and patience within one's soul, then, one is in heaven; and wisdom is the key with which to unlock all heavenly treasures. Rise up, dear sister, and let us return; for victory is the reward of diligence. Patience, hope, and diligence: these three will eventually conquer all things."

 

"Then, must I again leave my darlings?"

 

"If you remain here for ever," replied Sigismund, "the bridge will never be built, and you will not, even, have wisdom enough to do them any good whatever. Do you not wish to benefit these dear ones? Do you not wish to aid and help your children? Love is not potent without wisdom, and wisdom is of no use without love; the two must equally blend and balance each other. The love you bear your children has no potency because you have not wisdom, but when your wisdom equals your love, then you will be able to bless, aid, and teach your children. Come, dear sister, let us go. We can do no good by remaining here."

 

Ah—true! I had no power, as yet, to help my loved ones; not even the power to comfort them. Once more I kissed my babes, threw my arms about my husband's neck, one lingering, farewell pressure of my spiritual lips to his, and, then, with a longing, backward glance I followed my guides. This time I was not unconscious, but widely, most earnestly awake, eager and anxious to observe and understand everything which I might see or hear. A great determination entered my soul. Wisdom I would have, if earnest seeking and diligence could obtain it. This time my guides did not bear me between them; they told me I must learn to move, or walk, without aid.

 

"Mary," said Annie, "if an infant was never allowed to use its little legs, it would not be able to walk, but must always be carried in the arms of those who could walk. You would consider such a course a great injustice to the child, would you not? in fact, an irreparable wrong, and if we were to continue to bear you up between us we should do you a great injustice. You must learn to walk alone, or guide yourself; and, like the infant, the only way to do this is to desire and will it. Now, we will lead the way, and you must follow. You will find no trouble if you keep us in view, and earnestly desire to follow us."

 

Saying this, they moved on before me, and I tremblingly followed. At first, my unaided motions were slow and faltering, then my sweet guides would look back with encouraging smiles and beckoning of white hands. Thus, upward and onward we went. The scenery was much the same as it had been when we descended, and long before we arrived at Annie's home, I became weary like a child who first tries to walk alone.

 

When my sweet sister and her noble Sigismund observed my fatigue, they again bore me between them: soon we entered the house, and the room from which we had started on our earthly visit. I sank down into the restful chair, closed my eyes, and when I opened them Annie was just placing a dish heaped with fruit on a small table near by. I looked at the fruit in surprise. The thought of eating had not entered my mind since finding myself a spirit, had not supposed that spirits could eat, but the fruit looked exceedingly tempting; and, really, I was hungry. Annie smiled at my questioning look of surprise.

 

"You thought, dear Mary, that angels never ate anything; but try these luscious grapes, one or two of those red-ripe strawberries, and you will agree with me that it is better to eat than to starve. This fruit is spiritual as you are spiritual, also the flowers and all things else here are spiritual; this being the case they are adapted to your needs."

 

Annie now wheeled my chair to the table. Sigismund had already taken a seat, and she seated herself opposite him, handing me a small dish of berries, and placing a large bunch of grapes on my plate. Tasting them, their flavor was delicious; still I was greatly astonished at the thought of eating in heaven, and could not hide my surprise. Sigismund looked at me earnestly.

 

"Mary," said he, "you were not very much surprised to find flowers in heaven, and you have discovered that there are animals, trees, water and houses. Now it is not reasonable to suppose that fruit alone is left out. If flowers are here, the same law that governs flowers governs fruit. Flowers are but incipient fruit, and fruitage is evolved from them, therefore, is a step in advance of them. If anything were left out of heaven it would be the lower and not the higher; consequently, you find fruit here as well as flowers, and pleasant to your taste, is it not?

 

"Indeed, it is, and very refreshing; reanimates me and takes away all my weariness."

 

"Just so," he said. "But you will readily understand that we eat no animal food whatever, as the life of a living creature cannot be taken. It would be impossible to kill yonder little dog, the pony on which Joey rides, or any other animal. Spirits eat bread and fruit only."