"Because I don't, that's why." She stooped and began picking up the
remnants of the lunch, placing spoons and glass bottles swiftly and
thriftily into the lunch box. Nap stepped around behind her.
"Let me help," he said. And then his arm was about her and his face
was close to hers, and Tessie did not like it. He kissed her after a
little wordless struggle. And then she knew. She had been kissed
before. But not like this. Not like this! She struck at him
furiously. Across her mind flashed the memory of a girl who had worked
in the finishing room. A nice girl, too. But that hadn't helped her.
Nap Ballou was laughing a little as he clasped her.
At that she heard herself saying: "I'll get Chuck Mory after you--you
drunken bum, you! He'll lick you black and blue. He'll----"
The face, with the ugly, broken brown teeth, was coming close again.
With all the young strength that was in her she freed one hand and
clawed at that face from eyes to chin. A howl of pain rewarded her.
His hold loosened. Like a flash she was off. She ran. It seemed to
her that her feet did not touch the earth. Over brush, through bushes,
crashing against trees, on and on. She heard him following her, but the
broken-down engine that was his heart refused to do the work. She ran
on, though her fear was as great as before. Fear of what might have
happened--to her, Tessie Golden, that nobody could even talk fresh to.
She gave a sob of fury and fatigue. She was stumbling now. It was
growing dark. She ran on again, in fear of the overtaking darkness.
It was easier now. Not so many trees and bushes. She came to a fence,
climbed over it, lurched as she landed, leaned against it weakly for
support, one hand on her aching heart. Before her was the Hatton summer
cottage, dimly outlined in the twilight among the trees.
A warm, flickering light danced in the window. Tessie stood a moment,
breathing painfully, sobbingly. Then, with an instinctive gesture, she
patted her hair, tidied her blouse, and walked uncertainly toward the
house, up the steps to the door. She stood there a moment, swaying
slightly. Somebody'd be there.
The light. The woman who cooked for them or the man who took care of
the place. Somebody'd----
She knocked at the door feebly. She'd tell 'em she had lost her way
and got scared when it began to get dark. She knocked again, louder
now. Footsteps. She braced herself and even arranged a crooked smile.
The door opened wide. Old Man Hatton!
She looked up at him, terror and relief in her face. He peered over
his glasses at her. "Who is it?" Tessie had not known, somehow, that
his face was so kindly.
Tessie's carefully planned story crumbled into nothingness. "It's me!"
she whimpered. "It's me!"
He reached out and put a hand on her arm and drew her inside.
"Angie! Angie! Here's a poor little kid----"
Tessie clutched frantically at the last crumbs of her pride. She tried
to straighten, to smile with her old bravado. What was that story she
had planned to tell?
"Who is it, Dad? Who----?" Angie Hatton came into the hallway. She
stared at Tessie. Then: "Why, my dear!" she said. "My dear! Come in
here."
Angie Hatton! Tessie began to cry weakly, her face buried in Angie
Hatton's expensive shoulder. Tessie remembered later that she had felt
no surprise at the act.
"There, there!" Angie Hatton was saying. "Just poke up the fire, Dad.
And get something from the dining room. Oh, I don't know. To drink,
you know. Something----"
Then Old Man Hatton stood over her, holding a small glass to her lips.
Tessie drank it obediently, made a wry little face, coughed, wiped her
eyes, and sat up. She looked from one to the other, like a trapped
little animal. She put a hand to her tousled head.
"That's all right," Angie Hatton assured her. "You can fix it after a
while."
There they were, the three of them: Old Man Hatton with his back to
the fire, looking benignly down upon her; Angie seated, with some
knitting in her hands, as if entertaining bedraggled, tear-stained
young ladies at dusk were an everyday occurrence; Tessie, twisting her
handkerchief in a torment of embarrassment. But they asked no
questions, these two. They evinced no curiosity about this disheveled
creature who had flung herself in upon their decent solitude.
Tessie stared at the fire. She looked up at Old Man Hatton's face and
opened her lips. She looked down and shut them again. Then she flashed
a quick look at Angie, to see if she could detect there some suspicion,
some disdain. None. Angie Hatton looked--well, Tessie put it to
herself, thus: "She looks like she'd cried till she couldn't cry no
more--only inside."
And then, surprisingly, Tessie began to talk. "I wouldn't never have
gone with this fella, only Chuck, he was gone. All the boys're gone.
It's fierce. You get scared, sitting home, waiting, and they're in
France and everywhere, learning French and everything, and meeting
grand people and having a fuss made over 'em. So I got mad and said I
didn't care, I wasn't going to squat home all my life, waiting----"
Angie Hatton had stopped knitting now. Old Man Hatton was looking down
at her very kindly. And so Tessie went on. The pent-up emotions and
thoughts of these past months were finding an outlet at last. These
things which she had never been able to discuss with her mother she now
was laying bare to Angie Hatton and Old Man Hatton! They asked no
questions. They seemed to understand. Once Old Man Hatton interrupted
with: "So that's the kind of fellow they've got as escapement-room
foreman, eh?"
Tessie, whose mind was working very clearly now, put out a quick hand.
"Say, it wasn't his fault. He's a bum, all right, but I knew it,
didn't I? It was me. I didn't care. Seemed to me it didn't make no
difference who I went with, but it does." She looked down at her hands
clasped so tightly in her lap.
"Yes, it makes a whole lot of difference," Angie agreed, and looked up
at her father.
At that Tessie blurted her last desperate problem: "He's learning all
kind of new things. Me, I ain't learning anything. When Chuck comes
home he'll just think I'm dumb, that's all. He----"
"What kind of thing would you like to learn, Tessie, so that when Chuck
comes home----"
Tessie looked up then, her wide mouth quivering with eagerness. "I'd
like to learn to swim--and row a boat--and play tennis--like the rich
girls--like the girls that's making such a fuss over the soldiers."
Angie Hatton was not laughing. So, after a moment's hesitation, Tessie
brought out the worst of it. "And French. I'd like to learn to talk
French."
Old Man Hatton had been surveying his shoes, his mouth grim. He looked
at Angie now and smiled a little. "Well, Angie, it looks as if you'd
found your job right here at home, doesn't it? This young lady's just
one of hundreds, I suppose. Thousands. You can have the whole house
for them, if you want it, Angie, and the grounds, and all the money you
need. I guess we've kind of overlooked the girls. Hm, Angie? What
d'you say?"
But Tessie was not listening. She had scarcely heard. Her face was
white with earnestness.
"Can you speak French?"
"Yes," Angie answered.
"Well," said Tessie, and gulped once, "well, how do you say in French:
'Give me a piece of bread'? That's what I want to learn first."
Angie Hatton said it correctly.
"That's it! Wait a minute! Say it again, will you?"
Angie said it again, Tessie wet her lips. Her cheeks were smeared
with tears and dirt. Her hair was wild and her blouse awry.
"DONNAY-MA-UN-MORSO-DOO-PANG," she articulated painfully. And in that
moment, as she put her hand in that of Chuck Mory, across the ocean,
her face was very beautiful with contentment.