the green plush, and, leaning on his stick, waited. His mind seemed to
be in utter confusion, his brain all befogged. Nothing was very clear to
him. He regarded the portrait of Emma’s husband, remembering slowly that
he had seen Downes years ago, and held a very poor opinion of him. He
had been a clever enough fellow, but he never seemed to know where he
was going. Emma (he had begun already with a satisfactory feeling of
warmth to think of her thus) was probably well rid of him. She had made
a brave struggle of it. A fine woman! Look how she behaved about this
boy! She believed in facing things. Well, that was a fine, brave
quality. He, too, believed in facing things. He couldn’t let her go on
alone like this. And he began to think of reason after reason why he
should marry Emma Downes.
She was gone a long while, and presently he found his gaze wandering
back to the portrait. The dead husband seemed to gaze at him with an air
of mockery, as if he thought the whole affair was funny. Moses Slade
turned in his chair a little, so that he did not look directly at the
wooden portrait.
And then he fell to thinking of Philip. What was the boy like? Did he
resemble his father or his mother? Had he any character? Certainly his
behavior, as far as you could learn, had been queer and mysterious. He
might be a liability, yes, a distinct liability, one which was always
making trouble. Perhaps he (Moses Slade) ought to go a little more
slowly. Of course the boy might die, and that would leave everything
clear, with Emma to console. (He yearned impatiently to console her.) It
was a wicked thought; but, of course, he wasn’t actually _hoping_ that
the boy would die. He was only facing things squarely, considering the
problem from every point of view as a statesman should.
Again he caught the portrait smirking at him, and then the door opened,
and Emma came in. She had been crying again. He stood up quickly and the
old voice said, “I can’t wait any longer.” He took her hand gently with
a touch which he meant to be interpreted as a sympathetic prelude to
something more profound. She didn’t resist.
“Well?” he asked.
Emma sank down on the sofa. “I don’t know. They thought he’d be better
to-day, and ... and, he isn’t.”
“You mustn’t cry--you mustn’t,” he said in a husky voice.
“I don’t know,” she kept repeating. “I don’t know what I’m to do. I’m so
tired.”
He sat down beside her, thankful suddenly that the room was dark, for in
the darkness courtship was always easier, especially after middle-age.
He now took her hand in both his. There was a long silence in which she
gained control of herself, and she did not withdraw her hand nor resist
in any way.
“Mrs. Downes,” he said presently in a husky voice. “Emma ... Mrs. Downes
... I have something to ask you. I’m a sober, middle-aged man, and I’ve
thought it over for a long time.” He cleared his throat and gave her
hand a gentle pressure. “I want you to marry me.”
She had known all along that it was coming. Indeed, it was almost like
being a girl once more to see Moses Slade, man-like, working his way
with the grace of an elephant toward the point; but now it came with the
shock of surprise. She couldn’t answer him at once for the choke in her
throat. For weeks she had borne so much, known such waves of sorrow,
that something of her unflagging spirit was broken. She thought, “At
last, I am to have my reward for years of hard work. God is rewarding me
for all my suffering.”
She began to cry again, and Moses Slade asked quickly, “You aren’t going
to refuse--with all I can give you....”
“No,” she sobbed, and, leaning forward a little, as if for support,
placed her free hand upon his fat knee. “No ... I’m not going to refuse
... only I can’t quite believe it.... I’ve had such a hard time. I’d
begun to think that I should never have a reward.”
Suddenly he leaned over and took her awkwardly in his arms. She felt the
heavy metal of his gold watch-chain pressing into her bare arm, and then
she heard footsteps descending the stairs in the hallway. It was Mabelle
going home at last. She was certain to open the door, because Mabelle
couldn’t pass a closed door without finding out what was going on behind
it.
“Wait!” said Emma, sitting up very straight. “You’d better sit on the
other chair.”
Understanding what it was she meant, he rose and went back to the green
plush. The steps continued, and then, miraculously, instead of halting,
they went past the door and out into the street.
The spell was broken, and Moses Slade suddenly felt that he had made a
fool of himself, as if he had been duped by an adventuress.
“It’s Mabelle,” said Emma, who had ceased weeping. “My brother Elmer’s
wife. She has such a snoopy disposition, I thought we’d better not be
found ... found ... well, you understand.” She blew her nose. “You’ve
made me happy ... you don’t know what it’s like to think that I won’t
have to go on any more ... alone ... old age is all right, if you’re not
alone....”
“Yes, I understand that!” He was a little upset that she treated the
affair as if they were an elderly pair marrying for the sake of company
in adjoining rocking-chairs. That wasn’t at all the way he had looked
upon it. In fact, he had been rather proud at the thought of the
youthful fervor which had driven him to cross the street a little while
before. By some malicious ill-fortune, Mabelle’s footsteps had cut
short the declaration at the very moment when he had been ready to act
in such a way as to establish the whole tone of their future
relationship.
“Yes, I understand that,” he repeated, “but there’s no use talking about
old age. Why, we’re young--Emma--I suppose I can call you Emma?”
She blushed. “Why, yes, of course.”
“You wouldn’t mind if I called you just Em? That was my mother’s name,
and I always liked it.”
“No, don’t call me Em. It’s a name I hate--not on account of your
mother, of course ... Moses.”
She couldn’t think why she objected to the name: she had been called Em
all her life, but somehow it was connected with the vague far-off memory
of the romantic Jason Downes. He had called her Em, and it seemed wrong
to let this elderly, fleshy man use the same name. It seemed vaguely
sacrilegious to put this second marriage on the same basis as the first.
She had _loved_ Jason Downes. She knew it just now more passionately
than she had ever known it.
“You understand,” she said, laying one hand gently on his.
“Yes, of course, Emma.”
They were standing now, awkwardly waiting for something, and Moses Slade
again suddenly took her in his arms. He pinched her arm, ever so
gently--just a little pinch; and then he began at once to make a fool of
himself again.
“When shall it be?” he asked. “We must fix a date.”
She hesitated for a moment. “Don’t ask me now. I’m all confused and I’ve
had so much to worry me. We mustn’t be hasty and undignified--a man in
your position can’t afford to be.”
“We can be married quietly ... any time. No one would know how long I’d
been courting you.” Then he suddenly became romantic. “The truth is that
I’ve wanted to marry you ever since that day you came to see me. So it’s
been a long time, you see.”
For a moment she was silent and thoughtful. At last she said, “There’s
one thing we ought to consider, Moses. I don’t know about such things,
but you’ll know, being a lawyer. It’s about my first husband. You see
they never found his body out there in China. They only know he
disappeared and must have been killed by bandits. Now what I mean is
this ... he mightn’t be dead at all. He might have lost his mind or his
memory. And if he turned up....”
Moses Slade looked at her sharply. “You _do_ want to marry me, don’t
you, Em ... I mean Emma.... You’re not trying to get out of it?”
“Of course I want to marry you. I only mentioned this because I believe
in facing things.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“It’s twenty-four years this January. I remember it well. It was snowing
that night, just after the January thaw....”
He checked what would have been a long story by saying, “Twenty-four
years ... all alone without a husband. You’re a brave little woman,
Emma.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue, and looked at her
fondly. “Well, that’s a long time ... long enough for him to be
considered dead under law. But we’ll have him declared dead by law and
then we won’t have to worry.”
Emma was staring at the floor with a curious fixed look in her eyes. At
last she said, “Do you think that would be right? He might still be
alive. He might come back.”
Moses Slade grew blustering, as if he were actually jealous of that
shadow of the man who kept looking down at him with an air of sardonic
amusement.
“It won’t make any difference if we declare him dead. Besides, he hasn’t
got any right to you if he _is_ alive.”
It wasn’t that she was simply afraid he might return; the source of her
alarm went much deeper than that. She felt that she couldn’t trust
herself if he did return; but of course she couldn’t explain that to
Moses.
“It wasn’t quite that,” she murmured, and, conscious that the remark
didn’t make sense, she asked quickly, “How long ought it to take?”
“A couple of months.”
“We could be married after that?”
“Yes, as soon as possible.”
Moses Slade took her hand again. “You’ve made me a happy man, Emma. You
won’t regret it.” He picked up his hat. “I’d like to call to-night.
Maybe you’d go to evening service with me?”
“No, I think we’d better not let any one know about it till it’s
settled.”
“Maybe you’re right. Well, I’ll come to the restaurant to-morrow for
lunch.”
He kissed her again, a bit too ardently, she felt, to be quite pleasant,
and they went into the hall. At the same moment the figure of Naomi
appeared, descending the stairs heavily. She was clad only in a
nightgown and a loose kimono of flowered stuff. Her hair, still in
curl-papers, lay concealed beneath a kind of mob-cap of bright green
satin, trimmed with soiled lace. It was impossible to avoid her.
“Naomi,” said Emma, in a voice of acid, “this is Mr. Slade--Moses, my
daughter-in-law, Naomi.”
Naomi said, “Pleased to meet you.” Moses Slade bowed, went through the
door, and the meeting was over.
When the door closed, Emma stood for a moment with the knob in her hand.
Naomi was watching her with a look of immense interest and curiosity
strangely like the look that came so often into the eyes of Mabelle when
curiosity about the subjects of love and childbirth became too strong
for her feeble control.
“Is that Mr. Slade ... the Congressman?” asked Naomi.
“Yes, it is.” There was something in Naomi’s look that maddened her,
something that was questioning, shameless, offensive, and even accusing.
“What made him come to see us?”
Emma controlled herself. She felt lately that it was all she could bear
always to have Naomi in the house.
“He came to ask about Philip.”
“I didn’t know that he knew Philip.”
“He didn’t, but he’s an old friend of mine.” The lie slipped easily from
her tongue.
“Philip’s better,” Naomi answered. “He opened his eyes and looked at me.
I think he knew me.”
“Did he speak?”
“No, he just closed them again without saying anything.”
Emma moved away from the door as Naomi turned into the dining-room.
“Naomi,” she called suddenly, “is the Reverend Castor coming this
afternoon?”
“Yes ... he said he was.”
“Surely you’re going to put on some clothes before he comes?”
“I was going to fix my hair.”
“You must put on some clothes. I won’t have you going about the house
all day looking like this--half dressed and untidy. You’re a sight! What
will a man like Mr. Slade think--a man who is used to Washington where
there’s good society.”
Naomi stared at her for a moment with an unaccustomed look of defiance
in her pale eyes. (Emma thought, “Mabelle has been making her into a
slattern like herself.”)
“Well, in my condition, clothes aren’t very comfortable. I think in my
condition I might have some consideration.”
Emma began to breathe heavily. “That has nothing to do with it. When I
was in your condition I dressed and went about my work every day. I wore
corsets right up to the end.”
“Well, I’m not strong like you.... The doctor told me....”
Emma broke in upon her. “The doctor didn’t tell you to go about looking
like a slattern all day! I wish you’d tell Mabelle for me that I’d like
to come home just once without finding her here.”
The fierce tension could not endure. When it broke sharply, Naomi sat
down and began to cry. “Now you want to take her away from me,” she
sobbed. “I’ve given up everything to please you and Philip ...
everything. I even gave up going back to Megambo, where the Lord meant
me to be. And now I haven’t got anything left ... and you all hate me.
Yes, you do. And Philip does too sometimes.... He hates me.... You
wanted me to marry him, and now see what’s come of it. I’m even in this
condition because you wanted me to be.” She began to cry more and more
wildly. “I’ll run out into the street. I’ll kill myself. I’ll run away,
and then maybe you’ll be happy. I won’t burden you any longer.”
Emma was shaking her now, violently, with all the shame and fury she
felt at Moses’ encounter with this slatternly daughter-in-law, and all
the contempt she felt for a creature so poor spirited.
“You’ll do no such thing, you little fool! You’ll brace up and behave
like a woman with some sense!”
But it was no good. Naomi was simply having one of her seizures. She
grew more hysterical, crying out, “You’d like to be rid of me ... both
of you. You both hate me.... Oh, I know ... I know ... I’m nothing now
... nothing to anybody in the world! I’m just in your way.”
Emma, biting her lip, left her abruptly, closing the door behind with
ferocious violence. If she had not gone at once, she felt that she would
have laid hands on Naomi.
Moses Slade, bound toward his own house, walked slowly, lost once more
in a disturbing cloud of doubts. With Emma out of sight, the ardent
lover yielded place to the calculating politician. He suffered, he did
not know why, from a feeling of having been duped. The sight of Naomi so
untidy and ill-kempt troubled him. He hadn’t known about the child. The
girl must be at least seven months gone, and he hadn’t known it. Of
course (he thought) you couldn’t have expected Emma voluntarily to
mention a subject so indelicate. Nevertheless, he felt that she should
have conveyed the knowledge to him in some discreet fashion. Even if the
boy did die, the situation would be just as bad, or worse. If he left a
widow and a child.... He felt suddenly as if in some way Emma herself
had tricked him, as if she herself were having a child, and had tricked
him into marrying her to protect herself....
In a kind of anguish he regretted again that he had been so impetuous in
his proposal to the widow Barnes that he had shocked her into refusal.
_She_ wasn’t so fine-looking a woman as Emma, but she was free, without
encumbrances or responsibilities, without a child. Of course, Emma would
never know that in the midst of his courtship he had been diverted by
the prospect of Mrs. Barnes. She would never know what had been the
reason for the months of silence....
21
Since the reconciliation, the Sunday dinner at Elmer Niman’s had again
been resumed, and Emma, on her way there, suffered as keenly from doubts
as her suitor had done on his homeward journey. Now that the thing was
accomplished, or practically so, she was uneasy. It was not, she
reflected, a simple thing to alter the whole course of one’s life at her
age. There would be troubles, difficulties, for Moses Slade was not, she
could see, an easy man to manage. To be sure, he was less slippery than
Jason had been: a Congressman could never run off and disappear. But, on
the other hand, he was as rocklike and solid as his own portly figure.
She faced the thing all the way to Elmer’s house, examining it from
every possible angle, except the most important of all--the angle of
ambition. In the bottom of her heart, hidden and veiled by all the
doubts and probings, there lay a solid determination to marry Moses
Slade. The restaurant was a complete success, enlarged to a size
commensurate with the possibilities of the Town. Nothing more remained
to be done, and she was still a healthy, vigorous woman in the prime of
life. As the wife of Moses Slade, new vistas opened before her.... There
had never been any doubt about her course of action, but she succeeded
in convincing herself that she was going slowly and examining every
possibility of disaster.
What she found most difficult to bear was the lack of a confidante. Even
though, as she admitted to herself, it was silly to think of such a
thing as love between herself and Moses, she had nevertheless an
overwhelming desire to share the news with some one. It was almost as
strong as the feeling she had experienced twenty-seven years earlier
after accepting Jason’s declaration. She could not, she felt, go in
safety beyond the borders of a discreet hinting to any of her woman
friends: a mere rumor soon spread among them with the ferocity of a fire
in a parched forest. Naomi was the last person to tell, especially since
that queer Mabelle look had come into her eyes. And her brother? No, she
couldn’t tell him, though she supposed he would be pleased at her
marrying so solid a man. It wasn’t clear to her why she couldn’t bring
herself to tell him, save that it was connected vaguely with the memory
of his behavior on the occasion of announcing her engagement to Jason.
He might behave in the same fashion again; and on the first occasion he
had only forgiven her when Jason had vindicated his opinion by
disappearing. Elmer, she knew, loved to say, “I told you it would end
like this.”
There remained only Philip, and he was too ill to be told; but when she
thought of it, she began to doubt whether she would have told him if he
had been well.
It was the first time since his return that she had had need to confide
in him, and now she found herself troubled by the feeling that it
wouldn’t be easy. Until now she had gone bravely on, ignoring the
changes in their relations as mother and son, but now that a test had
arisen, she saw that there had been a change. She saw, despite herself,
that he had become in a way a stranger--her boy, who had always loved
her, whom she worshipped with a maternal passion too intense to be put
into words. Her boy, whose very character she had created as she had
created his flesh, had become a stranger with whom she couldn’t even
discuss her own plans. Once he would have believed that whatever she did
was right.
As she thought of it, she walked more rapidly. Why, she asked herself,
had this happened to her? Hadn’t she given all her life to him? Hadn’t
she worked her fingers to the bone? Hadn’t she watched and guarded him
from evil and sin, kept him pure? Had she ever thought of anything but
his welfare and saving him from the pitfall of his father’s weaknesses?
A lump came into her throat, and a moisture into her eyes. What had she
done to deserve this?
She felt no resentment against him. It was impossible to blame him in
any way. He was a good boy, who had never caused her any trouble--not
trouble in the real sense, for his doubts about his calling were
temporary, and perhaps natural. Since he could never go back to Africa,
he would in the end settle down with some church of his own. He might
even perhaps become a bishop, for certainly he was more clever than most
preachers, a thousand times more clever than the Reverend Castor, and
more of a gentleman, more of what a bishop ought to be. And after this
illness perhaps he would see the light once more. Perhaps the Lord had
sent this illness for just that reason.
No, Philip was a perfect son. She was sure that he still loved her.
She tried to hate the Mills, but that was impossible, and in the end the
suspicion came to her that the change was due in some way to Naomi. It
must be Naomi. She had always thought that Naomi disliked her. Why, she
didn’t know. Hadn’t she done everything for Naomi? Hadn’t she treated
her as if she were her own daughter?
And her only reward was spite and jealousy.
While she thought of it, it occurred to her that the change in
Philip--the _real_ change--his slipping away from her--had begun at the
time that Naomi became his wife in more than name: until that time he
had always been her boy who adored her. Suddenly, she saw it all
clearly; it was Naomi for whom she had done everything, who had stolen
Philip from her.
Her tears were dried by the time she reached her brother’s front step,
but the lump in her throat was still there, and it remained all through
the lunch, so that at times she felt that she might suddenly weep,
despite herself. In her sorrow, she paid little heed to her brother’s
usual long speeches, or to Mabelle’s idiotic interruptions. But she was
able to despise Mabelle with a contempt which made any previous emotion
pale by comparison. Because Mabelle was Naomi’s friend, she, too, seemed
responsible for what had happened.
After lunch, when Mabelle had gone out to the kitchen for a time, Emma
took her brother aside in the grim parlor, and said, “Elmer, I have
something to ask of you.”
He looked at her sharply, in a way in which he had looked at her for
years on occasions when he thought she might be asking for money. It had
never yet happened, but the unguarded look of alarm had never wholly
died since the moment that Jason Downes left his wife penniless.
“It’s not what you think,” said Emma coldly. “It’s only about Mabelle. I
want you to keep her from coming to the house so often.”
“But why, Emma?”
“You don’t know that she spends all her days there. I never go home
without finding her ... and I think she’s bad for Naomi ... just now.”
“How bad for her?”
He was standing with his hands clasped behind him, watching her. For a
moment she looked squarely into his eyes, hesitating, wondering whether
she dared speak the truth. Then she took the plunge, for she felt
suddenly that Elmer would understand. There was a bond between them not
of fraternal affection (for there were times when they actually disliked
each other), but a tie far stronger. He would understand what she meant
to say, because he was, in spite of everything, very like her. They
were two people who had to rule those about them, two people who were
always right. She knew that he understood her contempt for Mabelle as a
woman and as a housekeeper; the fact that Mabelle was his wife made
little difference.
“You’ll understand what I mean, Elmer. You know that Mabelle doesn’t
keep house well. You know she’s ... well, lazy and untidy. And that is
why she’s bad for Naomi. Naomi wasn’t meant for a wife and mother, I’m
afraid. She’s a miserable failure at it. I’m trying to put character
into her, to make something of her ... but I can’t, if Mabelle’s always
there. She undoes all I can do.”
He unclasped his hands, and, after a moment, said, “Yes, I think I know
what you mean. Besides, Mabelle ought to be at home looking after her
own house a little. You’d think that she couldn’t bear the sight of it.
She’s always gadding.” He turned away. “She’s coming now. I’ll speak to
her, and if she still bothers you let me know.”
Mabelle came through the swinging beaded portières. “It’s too bad Naomi
couldn’t come, too, for lunch. It’s a pity she feels like she does about
being seen in the street. I have tried to make her sensible about it.
Why, when I was carrying Ethel....”
Both of them gave her black looks, but Mabelle, seating herself at once
in the rocking-chair, rattled on without noticing.
22
The inspiration came to Emma at the evening service, when she was struck
again by the quality of sympathy in the voice and countenance of the
Reverend Castor. He, of course, was the one with whom to discuss the
problem of her marriage. He would understand, and he would be able, as
well, to give her advice. Nor did he ever betray all the ladies of his
congregation who came to him with their troubles. And he had been so
sympathetic over Philip’s long illness, showing so deep a solicitude,
calling at the house three or four times a week.
Almost at once she felt happier.
At the end of the service, she waited until he had shaken hands with all
the congregation, smiling and making little jests with them, as if he
had not done so twice a day for fifty-two Sundays a year, ever since he
had felt the call. When they had all gone, she said, “Could I take a
moment of your time, Reverend Castor? I want advice over something that
worries me.”