“It is better to live under God’s sky than under a roof when there’s
no luck there.”
YOU and I, knowing the use of pen, ink, and paper, and the efficacy
of latter-day postal systems, must remember that there are degrees
of education; also, that all the methods of communication in well
organized communities are as unknown to the ignorant, Americo-alien
population of such places as Soot City as is the fate of nations to the
speculative schoolboy. Emma needed Black’s counsel, but she did not
think of the post as a means of getting a letter to a man in her own
town. She reasoned that post-office people would slight mail matter not
destined to go by train to other cities. So her anxious heart kept her
waking to catch the light, that she might get away in secret to Black’s
house and there put her case in his ever-open and ever-busy hands.
Youthful weariness demands sleep. Emma was young and overweary, and, as
a consequence, overslept.
It was in the fear that calamity might have stolen another march on her
that she dressed herself. She had about her a neatness that enraged
the down-at-heel disheartened, of which there are so many in labouring
communities.
“The world,” she thought, “has thumped me till I ain’t got half the
spring I hed to start on; and that’s the reason I’m goin’ to dress up.
I’ll wear cuffs till I’ve got to sell ’em, and a collar, ef I do have
to shave for a livin’.”
But she had not enough pleasure in living left to heat the coffee that
her father had used at his breakfast; she was only thankful that he had
gone away for his paper By the Bridge, and that she might set about
vacating the house, with a will. She did not think of consulting him.
When a man has consented all his life to anything and never met any
circumstance, crucial or casual, with aught but irrelevant comment, he
is rarely a factor in other people’s plans.
She was glad she had not had to get breakfast, for she had to tend
Jarlsen. The day was wet, and his hurts seemed the sorer for the damp.
When she had done all for him she laid her hand on his, but the dread
of packing her wedding things was making war on her energies. She felt
she could not rest till she had packed the white gown out of sight and
mind. Before now she had held a private service of tears over her six
wedding presents. Miss Bentley had given her a jacket edged with good
fur, and her sister had given her some fine stockings; but her lover’s
gift meant more to her than any other inanimate thing. It certainly
meant more than bread, for she would have starved before she sold it,
and died in happiness had her eyes but met it as they closed finally.
It was a large locket of reddish gold, embossed in clumsy arabesque;
within were two photographs--of Jarlsen and of Cheyne Falls, where they
were to have spent their wedding week. It was the fashionable tribute
from groom to bride in Jarlsen’s circle of Soot citizens, and Emma
felt that with this gift he conferred his higher class on her. It was
just what he would have given the first foreman’s daughter. She opened
the locket and looked in. Eve may have felt like her and Emma thought
of her; it was an angel with a fiery sword who put them both out of
God’s Eden, she remembered. But some of Eve’s memories must have been
self-reproachful, and Emma was spared that misery. She was also a fine
enough type to appreciate that.
She was shutting up her little shrine when Jerry Black found her. They
met with tears that had not started at their meeting; for Jerry had
wept at having to return in sorrow to the house where but yesterday
hope had hurried him.
To begin a new series of troubles just as he had completed an old one
told on his nerves. He had spent the long night praying for Emma, his
head on his shiny rosewood dining table.
He always showed this table with pride; it was made from the extra wood
he had been commissioned to buy for the Bentley coffins. He had made it
himself, and time and again had shown it to Miss Bentley, in whom he
felt a great disappointment, as she never manifested any satisfaction
at the sight. The cats leaped upon it nightly, as it was Jerry’s
habitual place of prayer, and it sometimes seemed to him that they
exchanged glances with each other in his despite, glances of criticism
at his fervour. He never drove them away, however.
“Emma,” he said, his lips trembling and his pale eyes filling fast,
“your trouble’s fearful heavy, but you won’t give in. I’ve seen to
Quarry, and it jest ain’t no use; you can’t get anything out of him;
he give it all in to the Workers’ Protective Circle. He give it in to
the aggression fund. They’re going to order a strike for the same pay
for winter days nine hours’ work, as they get for a ten-hours’ summer’s
day. I think that’s it. My work’s among the peaceful, and sometimes I
thank God I hev it mostly among dead men, seein’ what the live ones is
like. But, Emma, he’s give the money in, so’s the strike fund can grow.
He’s a gainin’, winnin’ kind of speaker, and he’s give up what he took
to their cause, and no one ain’t a-goin’ to touch him. Now you jest
remember that the night’s blackest just before the sun comes, and don’t
you loose your grip. When Jarlsen comes out from the blast you want him
to find you jest es straight and steady es when he was took--don’t you
now?”
The tears slipped from Emma’s eyes at the little man’s tone. Her face
was as tranquil as it was sorrowing, and, as she answered, there was
no bitterness in her voice and no fretfulness or rebellion in gesture
or look. She did not feel bound to exhibit spirit in his presence. “O
Jerry,” she said, “I think I do. But I can’t stay fit for him when I
live with thieves who rob him. I’m glad he got the blast ef I have to
get low-toned; he’ll be nearer a mate for me.”
Jerry stayed on and helped her. He packed away the white dress; he
was used to handling things that were sacred to the memory of a happy
past, and began to pull Emma’s house to pieces as only a woman could be
expected to do. Martha Long came in; she was sewing as she walked. She
was a brisk woman, and got through half her work on the wing.
“God’s name!” she said to Black, “what’s come to Emma? She looks hurt,
and white as a death-sheet.”
Jerry told her what had happened, and Martha, without a word, went
over and took both the girl’s hands in hers and pressed them to her
sides; she never lost hold of her sewing, and presently set to work
again.
“Well,” she half screamed in indignation, “of all the poison toads
and irregular vipers in the world and out of it, I guess Quarry’s the
lowest down. He’s a dirt-mean man! I suppose you’ll move out, and take
the yeller house on the Pastures. There ain’t no one in it since last
May, and it has a porch. You won’t stay there long,” Martha said with
conviction. “Your kind don’t keep to no rent-free Stonepastures. You’ll
come back to the town, and the crowd’ll cheer you--you’ll see.”
“Well,” Emma replied, “I’m going this afternoon.”
Accordingly, at five, or a little later, Jerry brought a funeral
carriage By the Bridge, and old Butte and Emma and Jerry and Martha
carried Jarlsen on a shake-down along the Tracks. The sun, as Jerry
observed, was “leanin’ pretty near the west line,” and the sky was
bright above the Stonepastures. It had cleared in the early afternoon,
and all the odours, bad and good, seemed flying about, riding on the
cool breezes that swept over the Tracks. The high-standing ripe grasses
caught the level shafts of sun and bowed before the wind, glorified
in the bright light. Jarlsen questioned them about his removal, but
gave no evidence that he heard their replies except once, when he said
that Emma “sounded” tired. But his voice died away in groanings, and
he could not answer their other questions. Emma felt that he heard her
voice and did not distinguish the words.
Jerry felt so too. He reminded Emma of the blind man in the Testament.
“He seen the men first as trees,” he said, “even when he was cured with
grace, and not with herbs and ointment and such; he didn’t get clear
vision right away.”
Emma felt happier than she had thought possible. She ran back into the
yard and slipped off her shoe. “I’ll get the favour of home for him,”
she thought.
But while the handful of mould was still in her hand she put her shoe
on again. “I’d liefer shake off the dust from my feet,” she said; “this
ain’t no home to get the favour from.”
Martha Long stood at the gate, “You’re in a hurry to go,” she remarked.
“To-morrow begins the new month’s rent,” said Emma. “I quit to-day or
pay to-morrow. I’m goin’ where there ain’t no rents to pay. I can’t
afford rents and city doctors together.”
Martha’s face darkened. “I’m layin’ for him right here,” she called as
the funeral carriage moved away. She was surprised at Emma’s good-bye
mood; it was so resolute and cheerful. “He’s a pretty low reptile,” was
the last thing she called to Emma as the conveyance grew smaller on the
distant road.