Amy Berl was demonstrating the world-old truth, that love, however
selfish, ennobles and softens the life into which it enters. With feeble
brain but loving heart, she was working out for herself the truth that
love which feeds on sensuous beauty or sensuous passion alone, dies the
death of the brute; that the love which is born not to die, must drink
deeper and ever deeper with the passing years at the fountain of eternal
youth; that to a love thus thirst-quenched, every gray hair that marks a
day forever gone, every wrinkle on flesh shrivelling at the touch of
time, eyes dimmed with the shedding of many tears, every footstep
trembling with the passing of the weary milestones of life, are bonds
which the fires of hell cannot melt, nor the peace of heaven dissolve
away. Amy did not know it, she could not have grasped the fact had it
been told her, that she was laying hold of the saving element of life,
that animated as she had been by a love that was still seeking itself
alone, she was yet nourishing a power that would raise her from the
ashes of despair.
Amy had not forgotten the task she had set herself. She had obtained "A
& B's Elements," and day after day, she was striving to master the
simple problems that would enable her to take Helen Lonsdale's place in
her husband's life. The coming of Mrs. MacGregor had not interfered with
her purpose, nor with her hours of study. Through the day, Mrs.
MacGregor and Elijah were absent, inspecting the desolate stretches of
red hillsides, or the struggling green of seeping springs in deep
arroyos.
Mrs. MacGregor's plans with Elijah were shaping to a desired end,
but,--there was an uncertain element which she could not resolve. There
was no lack of keen, exact penetration in Elijah; but there was now a
reticence about his personal feelings which she did not dare openly to
break. Indirect openings which she gave, he passed by without notice.
She was unable to decide whether his reticence was due to wounded pride,
in that he had been betrayed into an exhibition of the inner chambers of
his heart, or whether it was due to a growing resentment of her attack
upon Helen Lonsdale. Another surmise and nearer the truth, had she known
it, was that he had been brought face to face with his position as
regarded his wife. If Mrs. MacGregor had been sure of Elijah's ultimate
decision, her course of action might have been different. As it was, she
was fairly confident that she knew every element in Elijah, and that she
could predicate its logical end. She was certain that she knew Amy, and
that sooner or later a separation would come, and that the sooner it
came, the better it would be for her own personal designs.
Mrs. MacGregor soon reached another conclusion which she regarded as
final. She had carefully studied Amy in every contact with Elijah. She
saw in her every attitude before him, in her every word to him, an eager
assurance of confidence and love which in reality was an evident doubt
of it, or at least a fear for it. She was in effect, doing in her
pitiful way, what she had always done, mirroring to her husband every
phase of himself which he presented to her. It was inert, impersonal,
and, in Elijah's present state of mind, not only passively, but actively
exasperating to him. It wholly lacked the power to soothe, much less to
inspire.
It was several days after Mrs. MacGregor had reached her conclusion that
Amy was impossible, before she began an aggressive campaign against her.
Elijah had been called to Ysleta and had gone alone. Mrs. MacGregor had
been invited to accompany him, but for personal reasons, had declined.
Her ostensible reason was that he had kept her so busy that she had had
no time in which to give herself up to the beauties of his place.
Poor innocent Amy! She and Mrs. MacGregor were seated on the verandah.
Through the trembling leaves, the tempered sunlight filtered and waltzed
to and fro, in dreamy, peaceful measures across the floor. The songs of
many birds, the flutter of their wings, the rustle of leaves, these
soothed and lulled the senses to a restful peace. There is nothing like
it in the world; nowhere but in California, newly awakened. The rank
growth of fruit and flower, a growth roused from its fiery sleep, now
striving in a day to make up for ages of helpless bondage.
Mrs. MacGregor was sitting with her hands folded in her lap, but her
thoughts were busy. At last she spoke.
"Are you happy in California?"
Amy looked up in unfeigned surprise.
"Why shouldn't I be?"
A trained diplomat could not have parried the thrust more deftly. Mrs.
MacGregor looked fixedly but calmly at Amy. Was that answer accidental
or designed?
"Because," she spoke deliberately, "in California there is not a single
thing to suggest your New England home."
"Except Elijah." Amy did not look up this time. She was taking her guest
and her words as a matter of course.
"Haven't you noticed any change in Elijah?"
"No-o." Amy's voice faltered, for she was truthful. She was wondering if
it was wicked to tell this lie. It did not occur to her to resent the
necessity for it.
"It would not be strange if he had changed. California has changed, is
changing. Those who come here must change,--for better or for worse."
"Elijah could not change for worse."
Amy's meaning was plain, but Mrs. MacGregor smiled at her words.
"I knew Elijah as a boy and as a young man. Then our paths diverged for
six years. They have come together again and I am astonished at the
change. He was strong, but his strength had not found a worthy purpose.
It has found it here."
Amy was beginning to take an active interest in the conversation.
"Yes, when we first came here, the people laughed at us. Now, Elijah has
got more than ten thousand orange trees growing where no one thought of
their growing. People are after him all the time now. He is going to
bring water to thousands of acres of desert land."
Mrs. MacGregor listened impatiently to a recital of Elijah's labors, as
dreary as Homer's catalogue of ships.
"Yes, I know. Elijah has told me something of this and I have seen more.
His strength has found a purpose. He has done a great work; but it is
only a beginning, a preparation for a greater." Mrs. MacGregor began to
launch forth into generalities. "At rare intervals in the progress of
the world, great opportunities arise and only one man who is equal to
the grasping and working out of the opportunity. Such a man, we call a
genius. A genius transcends the limitations of his fellows and he also
transcends their laws. It is his right; he cannot work without it. He
must not be hindered or obstructed. At whatever cost of pain to those
who are near and dear to him, his work must go on. It is for the good of
unknown and unnumbered humanity; humanity is everything, individuals do
not count. You doubtless have thought of all this; possibly have decided
upon your course of action. The question is, are you ready to sacrifice
yourself even, for the sake of Elijah's work?"
Amy caught eagerly at the last sentence of Mrs. MacGregor's words. The
more eagerly, because they were the only words that had to her the
slightest meaning.
"I _have_ sacrificed myself and I have never complained once. Not even
when we were traveling around from place to place in a covered wagon,
and sleeping on the ground, and when we had only oatmeal to eat day in
and day out; not even when our babies were sick and we had no money to
pay a doctor. I was afraid they were going to die, but Elijah did not
know; he was busy with his work. That was after we came here, and I
never told him." Amy did not look up, but Mrs. MacGregor was watching
her. From under the veiling lids, she saw the tears gather, roll across
the pink cheeks and fall on the work in her lap. Mrs. MacGregor did not
know, perhaps Amy did not, whether the tears were for the past she was
reciting, or for the future which she was fearing. Without looking up,
she drew her hand across her eyes. "I don't know why I am telling you
all this. I have never told any one before; not even my mother."
Unflinchingly Mrs. MacGregor turned to Amy.
"I have no doubt that you have done your duty so far as you have seen
it; but here is the point. Are you willing to make further sacrifices,
from your standpoint, the supreme sacrifice?"
Amy's mind had been overstrained in an effort to follow even the small
part of Mrs. MacGregor's words that was at all intelligible to her;
there was a suggestion of petulance in her reply.
"There is no need of any more sacrifice. Just see." She pointed through
the roses to the dark green orange trees full of golden fruit which
covered the hillside below them. "Elijah has no need to do more. He has
enough for us all now. Even if he should leave the Water Company, he
would have enough. When that is done, he will come home to me and I
shall have him all to myself; I and the children."
"Elijah's work is only begun. What he has done, is only a preparation
for the work that is to be done, that he alone can do. Nothing must
stand in his way, not even wife and children."
Amy answered passionately.
"He has done enough!"
Mrs. MacGregor's eyes were cold and merciless as those of a snake
watching its victim. She thought long before speaking. She was conscious
that there was danger in handling for one's own purposes a mind so
feeble and hesitating as Amy's, but she must make the attempt. Should
she rest content with having instilled the subtle poison in Amy's mind,
leaving it to work slowly to a doubtful end? Could she be sure that it
would do its work? On the other hand, to one of Amy's mental caliber,
would the plain, brutal statement, stripped of ambiguity, be more than a
suggestion? In this latter course there lay the danger that Amy would
grasp the full import of her words and that in the mental agony that
would surely follow, she would go to Elijah at once. Would she go to
Elijah? Mrs. MacGregor felt sure that she would not. Weak as Amy was,
she would intuitively feel the hopelessness of an appeal to him. Already
she was vaguely conscious that her hold upon him was slight, how slight
she would not dare to put to the test. She would not openly acknowledge
this fear to herself, much less to others, least of all to Elijah. She
had a fixed purpose in her mind, to fit herself to take Helen's place
and upon its success she had staked all. To abandon her secret efforts
would leave her again wandering, wavering, to go over the whole weary
ground again. Mrs. MacGregor made her decision. Her voice was modulated,
almost sympathetic, but it was firm and decided.
"No, Amy, he has not done enough. You have not done enough. He must go
on. He must give you up. You must give him up."
Amy sprang from her chair. Her work slipped from her lap and lay huddled
at her feet. Slowly, painfully, the meaning of Mrs. MacGregor's words
was boring into her brain. Her eyes were wide open, pitifully pleading,
like the eyes of a shrinking victim in the clutch of a beast of prey.
Then they changed to a look as hard and resolute as her eyes were
capable of expressing.
"Give up Elijah! I'll never give up Elijah. Never! Never! Never!" Then
she fled through the open door.
Mrs. MacGregor smiled complacently. "Never," was a long time. She had
steered close to the line, but she felt that she had won. As it
happened, chance aided her. Had Elijah been at home, in her first agony,
Amy would doubtless have gone to him and have risked all in a frantic
appeal. But Elijah was away and it was late before he returned. In her
room, Amy sat with the dumb misery of a suffering animal. It did not
occur to her to rise up in righteous wrath against the brutal woman who
had inflicted this torture upon her, much less against her husband. She
was thinking of herself, of her happiness that had been, of the awful
fear that was consuming her. Justice or injustice was far from her
thoughts. In bitter desperation she clung to the feeble purpose that she
had fashioned for her salvation. Gradually this purpose regained its
hold upon her. She was wasting time and there was none to lose.
Trembling in every nerve she hastened from her room, from _their_ room,
and with trembling fingers turned the pages of "A & B's Elements" and
bent herself to her all but hopeless task. With quivering lips and hard,
dry eyes she wrote and rewrote the problems of the book and strove to
master them. She was unconscious of time, only that it was long and
bitter. The magnitude of her task appalled her, the hopelessness of it
overwhelmed her, she tried to hold herself to it; but in vain. With a
wailing cry she buried her head in her arms and gave way to the tears
that at last came to her relief.
It was late that night when Elijah returned. He gave his horses in
charge of the sleepy Mexican and entered the house. He went directly to
their room, but Amy was not there. The bed was undisturbed. Elijah
passed quietly to the next room. It was Amy's own. A light softly
glowing beneath the door-sill told him that the room was occupied. He
opened the door gently and stood stiffened, immovable, at the sight
before him. Amy was seated at her little work-table. A shaded lamp threw
its full light upon her head, resting upon her outstretched arms. Her
face was turned toward him; the light showed lids, red and tear-stained.
Near one outstretched hand was a pencil, fallen from the sleep-loosened
fingers. There was a worn book lying open, surrounded by loose papers.
Elijah moved softly toward the table. He picked up the book. It was "A &
B's Elements." The tear-blotched papers were covered with figures.
Elijah replaced the book and papers. Like a flash the whole explanation
of the open book, and the figure-covered papers came to him. His eyes
were upon the bowed head, upon the baby lips moving pathetically in
their troubled sleep. His guardian angel was pleading hard within him.
With wide-open, motionless eyes he bent forward, his hands outstretched,
his foot lifted to take the step that would redeem him. Then his hands
fell slowly to his side; he straightened and turned away abruptly. As
softly as he had entered the room, so softly he left it.