SCENE: _At the_ MORTON _place, the same room in which_ SILAS MORTON
_told his friend_ FELIX FEJEVARY _of his plan for the hill. The room has
not altogether changed since that day in 1879. The table around which
they dreamed for the race is in its old place. One of the old chairs is
there, the other two are modern chairs. In a corner is the rocker in
which_ GRANDMOTHER MORTON _sat. This is early afternoon, a week after
the events of Act II_.
MADELINE _is sitting at the table, in her hand a torn, wrinkled piece of
brown paper-peering at writing almost too fine to read. After a moment
her hand goes out to a beautiful dish on the table--an old dish of
coloured Hungarian glass. She is about to take something from this, but
instead lets her hand rest an instant on the dish itself Then turns and
through the open door looks out at the hill, sitting where her_
GRANDFATHER MORTON _sat when he looked out at the hill._
_Her father_, IRA MORTON, _appears outside, walking past the window,
left. He enters, carrying a grain sack, partly filled. He seems hardly
aware of_ MADELINE, _but taking a chair near the door, turned from her,
opens the sack and takes out a couple of ears of corn. As he is bent
over them, examining in a shrewd, greedy way_, MADELINE _looks at that
lean, tormented, rather desperate profile, the look of one confirming a
thing she fears. Then takes up her piece of paper_.
MADELINE: Do you remember Fred Jordan, father? Friend of our Fred--and
of mine?
IRA: (_not wanting to take his mind from the corn_) No. I don't remember
him. (_his voice has that timbre of one not related to others_)
MADELINE: He's in prison now.
IRA: Well I can't help that. (_after taking out another ear_) This is
the best corn I ever had. (_he says it gloatingly to himself_)
MADELINE: He got this letter out to me--written on this scrap of paper.
They don't give him paper. (_peering_) Written so fine I can hardly read
it. He's in what they call 'the hold', father--a punishment cell. (_with
difficulty reading it_) It's two and a half feet at one end, three feet
at the other, and six feet long. He'd been there ten days when he wrote
this. He gets two slices of bread a day; he gets water; that's all he
gets. This because he balled the deputy warden out for chaining another
prisoner up by the wrists.
IRA: Well, he'd better a-minded his own business. And you better mind
yours. I've got no money to spend in the courts. (_with excitement_)
I'll not mortgage this farm! It's been clear since the day my father's
father got it from the government--and it stays clear--till I'm gone. It
grows the best corn in the state--best corn in the Mississippi Valley.
Not for _anything_--you hear me?--would I mortgage this farm my father
handed down to me.
MADELINE: (_hurt_) Well, father, I'm not asking you to.
IRA: Then go and see your Uncle Felix. Make it up with him. He'll help
you--if you say you're sorry.
MADELINE: I'll not go to Uncle Felix.
IRA: Who will you go to then? (_pause_) Who will help you then? (_again
he waits_) You come before this United States Commissioner with no one
behind you, he'll hold you for the grand jury. Judge Watkins told Felix
there's not a doubt of it. You know what that means? It means you're on
your way to a cell. Nice thing for a Morton, people who've had their own
land since we got it from the Indians. What's the matter with your
uncle? Ain't he always been good to you? I'd like to know what things
would 'a' been for you without Felix and Isabel and all their friends.
You want to think a little. You like good times too well to throw all
that away.
MADELINE: I do like good times. So does Fred Jordan like good times.
(_smooths the wrinkled paper_) I don't know anybody--unless it is
myself--loves to be out, as he does. (_she tries to look out, but
cannot; sits very still, seeing what it is pain to see. Rises, goes to
that corner closet, the same one from which_ SILAS MORTON _took the deed
to the hill. She gets a yard stick, looks in a box and finds a piece of
chalk. On the floor she marks off_ FRED JORDAN'S _cell. Slowly, at the
end left unchalked, as for a door, she goes in. Her hand goes up as
against a wall; looks at her other hand, sees it is out too far, brings
it in, giving herself the width of the cell. Walks its length, halts,
looks up_.) And one window--too high up to see out.
(_In the moment she stands there, she is in that cell; she is all the
people who are in those cells_. EMIL JOHNSON _appears from outside; he
is the young man brought up on a farm, a crudely Americanized Swede_.)
MADELINE: (_stepping out of the cell door, and around it_) Hello, Emil.
EMIL: How are you, Madeline? How do, Mr Morton. (IRA _barely nods and
does not turn. In an excited manner he begins gathering up the corn he
has taken from the sack_. EMIL _turns back to_ MADELINE) Well, I'm just
from the courthouse. Looks like you and I might take a ride together,
Madeline. You come before the Commissioner at four.
IRA: What have you got to do with it?
MADELINE: Oh, Emil has a courthouse job now, father. He's part of the
law.
IRA: Well, he's not going to take you to the law! Anybody else--not Emil
Johnson!
MADELINE: (_astonished--and gently, to make up for his rudeness_)
Why--father, why not Emil? Since I'm going, I think it's nice to go in
with someone I know--with a neighbour like Emil.
IRA: If _this_ is what he lived for! If this is why--
(_He twists the ear of corn until some of the kernels drip off_.
MADELINE _and_ EMIL _look at one another in bewilderment_.)
EMIL: It's too bad anybody has to take Madeline in. I should think your
uncle could fix it up. (_low_) And with your father taking it like
this--(_to help_ IRA) That's fine corn, Mr Morton. My corn's getting
better all the time, but I'd like to get some of this for seed.
IRA: (_rising and turning on him_) You get my corn? I raise this corn
for you? (_not to them--his mind now going where it is shut off from any
other mind_) If I could make the _wind_ stand still! I want to _turn the
wind around_.
MADELINE: (_going to him_) Why--father. I don't understand at all.
IRA: Don't understand. Nobody understands. (_a curse with a sob in it_)
God damn the wind!
(_Sits down, his back to them_.)
EMIL: (_after a silence_) Well, I'll go. (_but he continues to look at_
IRA, _who is holding the sack of com shut, as if someone may take it_)
Too bad--(_stopped by a sign from_ MADELINE, _not to speak of it_) Well,
I was saying, I have go on to Beard's Crossing. I'll stop for you on my
way back. (_confidentially_) Couldn't you telephone your uncle? He could
do something. You don't know what you're going up against. You heard
what the Hindus got, I suppose.
MADELINE: No. I haven't seen anyone to-day.
EMIL: They're held for the grand jury. They're locked up now. No bail
for them. I've got the inside dope about them. They're going to get what
this country can hand 'em; then after we've given them a nice little
taste of prison life in America, they're going to be sent back home--to
see what India can treat them to.
MADELINE: Why are you so pleased about this, Emil?
EMIL: Pleased? It's nothin' to me--I'm just telling you. Guess you don't
know much about the Espionage Act or you'd go and make a little friendly
call on your uncle. When your case comes to trial--and Judge Lenon may
be on the bench--(_whistles_) He's one fiend for Americanism. But if
your uncle was to tell the right parties that you're just a girl, and
didn't realize what you were saying--
MADELINE: I did realize what I was saying, and every word you've just
said makes me know I meant what I said. I said if this was what our
country has come to, then I'm not for our country. I said that--and
a-plenty more--and I'll say it again!
EMIL: Well--gee, you don't know what it means.
MADELINE: I do know what it means, but it means not being a coward.
EMIL: Oh, well--Lord, you can't say everything you think. If everybody
did that, things'd be worse off than they are now.
MADELINE: Once in a while you have to say what you think--or hate
yourself.
EMIL: (_with a grin_) Then hate yourself.
MADELINE: (_smiling too_) No thank you; it spoils my fun.
EMIL: Well, look-a-here, Madeline, aren't you spoiling your fun now?
You're a girl who liked to be out. Ain't I seen you from our place, with
this one and that one, sometimes all by yourself, strikin' out over the
country as if you was crazy about it? How'd you like to be where you
couldn't even see out?
MADELINE: (_a step nearer the cell_) There oughtn't to be such places.
EMIL: Oh, well--Jesus, if you're going to talk about that--! You can't
change the way things are.
MADELINE: (_quietly_) Why can't I?
EMIL: Well, say, who do you think you are?
MADELINE: I think I'm an American. And for that reason I think I have
something to say about America.
EMIL: Huh! America'll lock you up for your pains.
MADELINE: All right. If it's come to that, maybe I'd rather be a
locked-up American than a free American.
EMIL: I don't think you'd like the place, Madeline. There's not much
tennis played there. Jesus--what's Hindus?
MADELINE: You aren't really asking Jesus, are you, Emil? (_smiles_) You
mightn't like his answer.
EMIL: (_from the door_) Take a tip. Telephone your uncle.
(_He goes_.)
IRA: (_not looking at her_) There might be a fine, and they'd come down
on me and take my land.
MADELINE: Oh, no, father, I think not. Anyway, I have a little money of
my own. Grandfather Morton left me something. Have you forgotten that?
IRA: No. No, I know he left you something. (_the words seem to bother
him_) I know he left you something.
MADELINE: I get it to-day. (_wistfully_) This is my birthday, father.
I'm twenty-one.
IRA: Your birthday? Twenty-one? (_in pain_) Was that twenty-one years
ago? (_it is not to his daughter this has turned him_)
MADELINE: It's the first birthday I can remember that I haven't had a
party.
IRA: It was your Aunt Isabel gave you your parties.
MADELINE: Yes.
IRA: Well, you see now.
MADELINE: (_stoutly_) Oh, well, I don't need a party. I'm grown up now.
(_She reaches out for the old Hungarian dish on the table; holding it,
she looks to her father, whose back is still turned. Her face tender,
she is about to speak when he speaks_.)
IRA: Grown up now--and going off and leaving me alone. You too--the last
one. And--_what for? (turning, looking around the room as for those long
gone_) There used to be so many in this house. My grandmother. She sat
there. (_pointing to the place near the open door_) Fine days like
this--in that chair (_points to the rocker_) she'd sit there--tell me
stories of the Indians. Father. It wasn't ever lonely where father was.
Then Madeline Fejevary--my Madeline came to this house. Lived with me in
this house. Then one day she--walked out of this house. Through that
door--through the field--out of this house. (_bitter silence_) Then
Fred--out of this house. Now you. With Emil Johnson! (_insanely, and
almost with relief at leaving things more sane_) Don't let him touch my
corn. If he touches one kernel of this corn! (_with the suspicion of the
tormented mind_) I wonder where he went? How do I know he went where he
_said_ he was going? (_getting up_) I dunno as that south bin's locked.
MADELINE: Oh--father!
IRA: I'll find out. How do I know what he's doing?
(_He goes out, turning left_. MADELINE _goes to the window and looks
after him. A moment later, hearing someone at the door, she turns and
finds her_ AUNT ISABEL, _who has appeared from right. Goes swiftly to
her, hands out_.)
MADELINE: Oh, _auntie_--I'm glad you came! It's my birthday, and
I'm--lonely.
AUNT ISABEL: You dear little girl! (_again giving her a hug, which_
MADELINE _returns, lovingly_) Don't I know it's your birthday? Don't
think that day will ever get by while your Aunt Isabel's around. Just
see what's here for your birthday. (_hands her the package she is
carrying_)
MADELINE: (_with a gasp--suspecting from its shape_) Oh! (_her face
aglow_) Why--_is_ it?
AUNT ISABEL: (_laughing affectionately_) Foolish child, open it and see.
(MADELINE _loosens the paper and pulls out a tennis racket_.)
MADELINE: (_excited, and moved_) Oh, aunt Isabel! that was dear of you.
I shouldn't have thought you'd--quite do that.
AUNT ISABEL: I couldn't imagine Madeline without a racket. (_gathering
up the paper, lightly reproachful_) But be a little careful of it,
Madeline. It's meant for tennis balls. (_they laugh together_)
MADELINE: (_making a return with it_) It's a _peach_. (_changing_)
Wonder where I'll play now.
AUNT ISABEL: Why, you'll play on the courts at Morton College. Who has a
better right?
MADELINE: Oh, I don't know. It's pretty much balled up, isn't it?
AUNT ISABEL: Yes; we'll have to get it straightened out. (_gently_) It
was really dreadful of you, Madeline, to rush out a second time. It
isn't as if they were people who were anything to you.
MADELINE: But, auntie, they are something to me.
AUNT ISABEL: Oh, dear, that's what Horace said.
MADELINE: What's what Horace said?
AUNT ISABEL: That you must have a case on one of them.
MADELINE: That's what Horace would say. That makes me sore!
AUNT ISABEL: I'm sorry I spoke of it. Horace is absurd in some ways.
MADELINE: He's a--
AUNT ISABEL: (_stopping it with her hand_) No, he isn't. He's a
headstrong boy, but a very loving one. He's dear with me, Madeline.
MADELINE: Yes. You are good to each other. (_her eyes are drawn to the
cell_)
AUNT ISABEL: Of course we are. We'd be a pretty poor sort if we weren't.
And these are days when we have to stand together--all of us who are the
same kind of people must stand together because the thing that makes us
the same kind of people is threatened.
MADELINE: Don't you think we're rather threatening it ourselves, auntie?
AUNT ISABEL: Why, no, we're fighting for it.
MADELINE: Fighting for what?
AUNT ISABEL: For Americanism; for--democracy.
MADELINE: Horace is fighting for it?
AUNT ISABEL: Well, Horace does go at it as if it were a football game,
but his heart's in the right place.
MADELINE: Somehow, I don't seem to see my heart in that place.
AUNT ISABEL: In what place?
MADELINE: Where Horace's heart is.
AUNT ISABEL: It's too bad you and Horace quarrel. But you and I don't
quarrel, Madeline.
MADELINE: (_again drawn to the cell_) No. You and I don't quarrel. (_she
is troubled_)
AUNT ISABEL: Funny child! Do you want us to?
(MADELINE _turns, laughing a little, takes the dish from the table,
holds it out to her aunt_.)
MADELINE: Have some fudge, auntie.
AUNT ISABEL: (_taking the dish_) Do you _use_ them?--the old Hungarian
dishes? (_laughingly_) I'm not allowed to--your uncle is so choice of
the few pieces we have. And here are you with fudge in one of them.
MADELINE: I made the fudge because--oh, I don't know, I had to do
something to celebrate my birthday.
AUNT ISABEL: (_under her breath_) Dearie!
MADELINE: And then that didn't seem to--make a birthday, so I happened
to see this, way up on a top shelf, and I remembered that it was my
mother's. It was nice to get it down and use it--almost as if mother was
giving me a birthday present.
AUNT ISABEL: And how she would love to give you a birthday present.
MADELINE: It was her mother's, I suppose, and they brought it from
Hungary.
AUNT ISABEL: Yes. They brought only a very few things with them, and
left--oh, so many beautiful ones behind.
MADELINE: (_quietly_) Rather nice of them, wasn't it? (_her aunt waits
inquiringly_) To leave their own beautiful things--their own beautiful
life behind--simply because they believed life should be more beautiful
for more people.
AUNT ISABEL: (_with constraint_) Yes. (_gayly turning it_) Well, now, as
to the birthday. What do you suppose Sarah is doing this instant?
Putting red frosting on white frosting, (_writing it with her finger_)
Madeline. And what do you suppose Horace is doing? (_this a little
reproachfully_) Running around buying twenty-one red candles.
Twenty-two--one to grow on. Big birthday cake. Party to-night.
MADELINE: But, auntie, I don't see how I can be there.
AUNT ISABEL: Listen, dear. Now, we've got to use our wits and all pull
together. Of course we'd do anything in the world rather than see
you--left to outsiders. I've never seen your uncle as worried,
and--truly, Madeline, as sad. Oh, my dear, it's these human things that
count! What would life be without the love we have for each other?
MADELINE: The love we have for each other?
AUNT ISABEL: Why, yes, dearest. Don't turn away from me Madeline.
Don't--don't be strange. I wonder if you realize how your uncle has
worked to have life a happy thing for all of us? Be a little generous to
him. He's had this great burden of bringing something from another day
on into this day. It is not as simple as it may seem. He's done it as
best he could. It will hurt him as nothing has ever hurt him if you now
undo that work of his life. Truly, dear, do you feel you know enough
about it to do that? Another thing: people are a little absurd out of
their own places. We need to be held in our relationships--against our
background--or we are--I don't know--grotesque. Come now, Madeline,
where's your sense of humour? Isn't it a little absurd for you to leave
home over India's form of government?
MADELINE: It's not India. It's America. A sense of humour is nothing to
hide behind!
AUNT ISABEL: (_with a laugh_) I knew I wouldn't be a success at world
affairs--better leave that to Professor Holden. (_a quick keen look
from_ MADELINE) They've driven on to the river--they'll be back for me,
and then he wants to stop in for a visit with you while I take Mrs
Holden for a further ride. I'm worried about her. She doesn't gain
strength at all since her operation. I'm going to try keeping her out in
the air all I can.
MADELINE: It's dreadful about families!
AUNT ISABEL: Dreadful? Professor Holden's devotion to his wife is one of
the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
MADELINE: And is that all you see it in?
AUNT ISABEL: You mean the--responsibility it brings? Oh, well--that's
what life is. Doing for one another. Sacrificing for one another.
MADELINE: I hope I never have a family.
AUNT ISABEL: Well, I hope you do. You'll miss the best of life if you
don't. Anyway, you have a family. Where is your father?
MADELINE: I don't know.
AUNT ISABEL: I'd like to see him.
MADELINE: There's no use seeing him today.
AUNT ISABEL: He's--?
MADELINE: Strange--shut in--afraid something's going to be taken from
him.
AUNT ISABEL: Poor Ira. So much has been taken from him. And now you.
Don't hurt him again, Madeline. He can't bear it. You see what it does
to him.
MADELINE: He has--the wrong idea about things.
AUNT ISABEL: 'The wrong idea!' Oh, my child--that's awfully young and
hard. It's so much deeper than that. Life has made him into
something--something he can't escape.
MADELINE: (_with what seems sullenness_) Well, I don't want to be made
into that thing.
AUNT ISABEL: Of course not. But you want to help him, don't you? Now,
dear--about your birthday party--
MADELINE: The United States Commissioner is giving me my birthday party.
AUNT ISABEL: Well, he'll have to put his party off. Your uncle has been
thinking it all out. We're to go to his office and you'll have a talk
with him and with Judge Watkins. He's off the state supreme bench
now--practising again, and as a favour to your uncle he will be your
lawyer. You don't know how relieved we are at this, for Judge Watkins
can do--anything he wants to do, practically. Then you and I will go on
home and call up some of the crowd to come in and dance to-night. We
have some beautiful new records. There's a Hungarian waltz--
MADELINE: And what's the price of all this, auntie?
AUNT ISABEL: The--Oh, you mean--Why, simply say you felt sorry for the
Hindu students because they seemed rather alone; that you hadn't
realized--what they were, hadn't thought out what you were saying--
MADELINE: And that I'm sorry and will never do it again.
AUNT ISABEL: I don't know that you need say that. It would be gracious,
I think, to indicate it.
MADELINE: I'm sorry you--had the cake made. I suppose you can eat it,
anyway. I (_turning away_)--can't eat it.
AUNT ISABEL: Why--Madeline.
(_Seeing how she has hurt her_, MADELINE _goes out to her aunt_.)
MADELINE: Auntie, dear! I'm sorry--if I hurt your feelings.
AUNT ISABEL: (_quick to hold out a loving hand, laughing a little_)
They've been good birthday cakes, haven't they, Madeline?
MADELINE: (_she now trying not to cry_) I don't know--what I'd have done
without them. Don't know--what I will do without them. I don't--see it.
AUNT ISABEL: Don't try to. Please don't see it! Just let me go on
helping you. That's all I ask. (_she draws_ MADELINE _to her_) Ah,
dearie, I held you when you were a little baby without your mother. All
those years count for something, Madeline. There's just nothing to life
if years of love don't count for something. (_listening_) I think I hear
them. And here are we, weeping like two idiots. (MADELINE _brushes away
tears_, AUNT ISABEL _arranges her veil, regaining her usual poise_)
Professor Holden was hoping you'd take a tramp with him. Wouldn't that
do you good? Anyway, a talk with him will be nice. I know he admires you
immensely, and really--perhaps I shouldn't let you know
this--sympathizes with your feeling. So I think his maturer way of
looking at things will show you just the adjustment you need to become a
really big and useful person. There's so much to be done in the world,
Madeline. Of course we ought to make it a better world. (_in a manner of
agreement with_ MADELINE) I feel very strongly about all that. Perhaps
we can do some things together. I'd love that. Don't think I'm hopeless!
Way down deep we have the same feeling. Yes, here's Professor Holden.
(HOLDEN _comes in. He seems older_.)
HOLDEN: And how are you, Madeline? (_holding out his hand_)
MADELINE: I'm--all right.
HOLDEN: Many happy returns of the day. (_embarrassed by her half laugh_)
The birthday.
AUNT ISABEL: And did you have a nice look up the river?
HOLDEN: I never saw this country as lovely as it is to-day. Mary is just
drinking it in.
AUNT ISABEL: You don't think the further ride will be too much?
HOLDEN: Oh, no--not in that car.
AUNT ISABEL: Then we'll go on--perhaps as far as Laughing Creek. If you
two decide on a tramp--take that road and we'll pick you up. (_smiling
warmly, she goes out_)
HOLDEN: How good she is.
MADELINE: Yes. That's just the trouble.
HOLDEN: (_with difficulty getting past this_) How about a little tramp?
There'll never be another such day.
MADELINE: I used to tramp with Fred Jordan. This is where he is now.
(_stepping inside the cell_) He doesn't even see out.
HOLDEN: It's all wrong that he should be where he is. But for you to
stay indoors won't help him, Madeline.
MADELINE: It won't help him, but--today--I can't go out.
HOLDEN: I'm sorry, my child. When this sense of wrongs done first comes
down upon one, it does crush.
MADELINE: And later you get used to it and don't care.
HOLDEN: You care. You try not to destroy yourself needlessly. (_he turns
from her look_)
MADELINE: Play safe.
HOLDEN: If it's playing safe it's that one you love more than yourself
be safe. It would be a luxury to--destroy one's self.
MADELINE: That sounds like Uncle Felix. (_seeing she has hurt him, she
goes over and sits across from him at the table_) I'm sorry. I say the
wrong things today.
HOLDEN: I don't know that you do.
MADELINE: But isn't uncle funny? His left mind doesn't know what his
right mind is doing. He has to think of himself as a person of
sentiment--idealism, and--quite a job, at times. Clever--how he gets
away with it. The war must have been a godsend to people who were in
danger of getting on to themselves. But I should think you could fool
all of yourself all the time.
HOLDEN: You don't. (_he is rubbing his hand on the table_)
MADELINE: Grandfather Morton made this table. I suppose he and
Grandfather Fejevary used to sit here and talk--they were great old
pals. (_slowly_ HOLDEN _turns and looks out at the hill_) Yes. How
beautiful the hill must have been--before there was a college there.
(_he looks away from the hill_) Did you know Grandfather Morton?
HOLDEN: Yes, I knew him. (_speaking of it against his will_) I had a
wonderful talk with him once; about Greece--and the cornfields, and
life.
MADELINE: I'd like to have been a pioneer! Some ways they had it fierce,
but think of the fun they had! A whole big land to open up! A big new
life to begin! (_her hands closing in from wideness to a smaller thing_)
Why did so much get shut out? Just a little way back--anything might
have been. What happened?
HOLDEN: (_speaking with difficulty_) It got--set too soon.
MADELINE: (_all of her mind open, trying to know_) And why did it?
Prosperous, I suppose. That seems to set things--set them in fear. Silas
Morton wasn't afraid of Felix Fejevary, the Hungarian revolutionist. He
laid this country at that refugee's feet! That's what Uncle Felix says
himself--with the left half of his mind. Now--the Hindu
revolutionists--! (_pause_) I took a walk late yesterday afternoon.
Night came, and for some reason I thought of how many nights have
come--nights the earth has known long before we knew the earth. The moon
came up and I thought of how moonlight made this country beautiful
before any man knew that moonlight was beautiful. It gave me a feeling
of coming from something a long way back. Moving toward--what will be
here when I'm not here. Moving. We seem here, now, in America, to have
forgotten we're moving. Think it's just _us_--just now. Of course, that
would make us afraid, and--ridiculous.
(_Her father comes in_.)
IRA: Your Aunt Isabel--did she go away--and leave you?
MADELINE: She's coming back.
IRA: For you?
MADELINE: She--wants me to go with her. This is Professor Holden,
father.
HOLDEN: How do you do, Mr Morton?
IRA: (_nods, not noticing_ HOLDEN_'s offered hand_) How'do. When is she
coming back?
MADELINE: Soon.
IRA: And then you're going with her?
MADELINE: I--don't know.
IRA: I say you go with her. You want them all to come down on us? (_to_
HOLDEN) What are you here for?
MADELINE: Aunt Isabel brought Professor Holden, father.
IRA: Oh. Then you--you tell her what to do. You make her do it. (_he
goes into the room at left_)
MADELINE: (_sadly, after a silence_) Father's like something touched by
an early frost.
HOLDEN: Yes. (_seeing his opening and forcing himself to take it_) But
do you know, Madeline, there are other ways of that happening--'touched
by an early frost'. I've seen it happen to people I know--people of fine
and daring mind. They do a thing that puts them apart--it may be the
big, brave thing--but the apartness does something to them. I've seen it
many times--so many times--so many times, I fear for you. You do this
thing and you'll find yourself with people who in many ways you don't
care for at all; find yourself apart from people who in most ways are
your own people. You're many-sided, Madeline. (_moves her tennis
racket_) I don't know about it's all going to one side. I hate to see
you, so young, close a door on so much life. I'm being just as honest
with you as I know how. I myself am making compromises to stay within. I
don't like it, but there are--reasons for doing it. I can't see you
leave that main body without telling you all it is you are leaving. It's
not a clean-cut case--the side of the world or the side of the angels. I
hate to see you lose the--fullness of life.
MADELINE: (_a slight start, as she realizes the pause. As one recalled
from far_) I'm sorry. I was listening to what you were saying--but all
the time--something else was happening. Grandfather Morton, big and--oh,
terrible. He was here. And we went to that walled-up hole in the
ground--(_rising and pointing down at the chalked cell_)--where they
keep Fred Jordan on bread and water because he couldn't be a part of
nations of men killing each other--and Silas Morton--only he was all
that is back of us, tore open that cell--it was his voice tore it
open--his voice as he cried, 'God damn you, this is America!' (_sitting
down, as if rallying from a tremendous experience_) I'm sorry--it should
have happened, while you were speaking. Won't you--go on?
HOLDEN: That's a pretty hard thing to go on against. (_after a moment_)
I can't go on.
MADELINE: You were thinking of leaving the college, and then--decided to
stay? (_he nods_) And you feel there's more--fullness of life for you
inside the college than outside?
HOLDEN: No--not exactly. (_again a pause_) It's very hard for me to talk
to you.
MADELINE: (_gently_) Perhaps we needn't do it.
HOLDEN: (_something in him forcing him to say it_) I'm staying for
financial reasons.
MADELINE: (_kind, but not going to let the truth get away_) You don't
think that--having to stay within--or deciding to, rather, makes you
think these things of the--blight of being without?
HOLDEN: I think there is danger to you in--so young, becoming alien to
society.
MADELINE: As great as the danger of staying within--and becoming like
the thing I'm within?
HOLDEN: You wouldn't become like it.
MADELINE: Why wouldn't I? That's what it does to the rest of you. I
don't see it--this fullness of life business. I don't see that Uncle
Felix has got it--or even Aunt Isabel, and you--I think that in buying
it you're losing it.
HOLDEN: I don't think you know what a cruel thing you are saying.
MADELINE: There must be something pretty rotten about Morton College if
you have to sell your soul to stay in it!
HOLDEN: You don't 'sell your soul'. You persuade yourself to wait.
MADELINE: (_unable to look at him, as if feeling shame_) You have had a
talk with Uncle Felix since that day in the library you stepped aside
for me to pass.
HOLDEN: Yes; and with my wife's physician. If you sell your soul--it's
to love you sell it.
MADELINE: (_low_) That's strange. It's love that--brings life along, and
then it's love--holds life back.
HOLDEN: (_and all the time with this effort against hopelessness_)
Leaving me out of it, I'd like to see you give yourself a little more
chance for detachment. You need a better intellectual equipment if
you're going to fight the world you find yourself in. I think you will
count for more if you wait, and when you strike, strike more maturely.
MADELINE: Detachment. (_pause_) This is one thing they do at this place.
(_she moves to the open door_) Chain them up to the bars--just like
this. (_in the doorway where her two grandfathers once pledged faith
with the dreams of a million years, she raises clasped hands as high as
they will go_) Eight hours a day--day after day. Just hold your arms up
like this one hour then sit down and think about--(_as if tortured by
all who have been so tortured, her body begins to give with sobs, arms
drop, the last word is a sob_) detachment.
HOLDEN _is standing helplessly by when her father comes in_.
IRA: (_wildly_) Don't cry. No! Not in this house! I can't--Your aunt and
uncle will fix it up. The law won't take you this time--and you won't do
it again.
MADELINE: Oh, what does _that_ matter--what they do to _me_?
IRA: What are you crying about then?
MADELINE: It's--the _world_. It's--
IRA: The _world_? If that's all you've got to cry about! (_to_ HOLDEN)
Tell her that's nothing to cry about. What's the matter with you.
Mad'line? That's crazy--cryin' about the world! What good has ever come
to this house through carin' about the world? What good's that college?
Better we had that hill. Why is there no one in this house to-day but me
and you? Where's your mother? Where's your brother? The _world_.
HOLDEN: I think your father would like to talk to you. I'll go
outside--walk a little, and come back for you with your aunt. You must
let us see you through this, Madeline. You couldn't bear the things it
would bring you to. I see that now. (_as he passes her in the doorway
his hand rests an instant on her bent head_) You're worth too much to
break.
IRA: (_turning away_) I don't want to talk to you. What good comes of
talking? (_In moving, he has stepped near the sack of corn. Takes hold
of it_.) But not with Emil Johnson! That's not--what your mother died
for.
MADELINE: Father, you must talk to me. What did my mother die for? No
one has ever told me about her--except that she was beautiful--not like
other people here. I got a feeling of--something from far away.
Something from long ago. Rare. Why can't Uncle Felix talk about her? Why
can't you? Wouldn't she want me to know her? Tell me about her. It's my
birthday and I need my mother.
IRA: (_as if afraid he is going to do it_) How can you touch--what
you've not touched in nineteen years? Just once--in nineteen years--and
that did no good.
MADELINE: Try. Even though it hurts. Didn't you use to talk to her?
Well, I'm her daughter. Talk to me. What has she to do with Emil
Johnson?
IRA: (_the pent-up thing loosed_) What has she to do with him? She died
so he could live. He lives because she's dead, (_in anguish_) And what
is _he_ alongside her? Yes. Something from far away. Something from long
ago. Rare. How'd you know that? Finding in me--what I didn't know was
there. Then _she_ came--that ignorant Swede--Emil Johnson's
mother--running through the cornfield like a crazy woman--'Miss Morton!
Miss Morton! Come help me! My children are choking!' Diphtheria they
had--the whole of 'em--but out of this house she ran--my Madeline,
leaving you--her own baby--running as fast as she could through the
cornfield after that immigrant woman. She stumbled in the rough
field--fell to her knees. That was the last I saw of her. She choked to
death in that Swede's house. They lived.
MADELINE: (_going to him_) Oh--father, (_voice rich_) But how lovely of
her.
IRA: Lovely? Lovely to leave you without a mother--leave me without her
after I'd had her? Wasn't she worth more than them.
MADELINE: (_proudly_) Yes. She was worth so much that she never stopped
to think how much she was worth.
IRA: Ah, if you'd known her you couldn't take it like that. And now you
cry about the world! That's what the world is--all coming to nothing. My
father used to sit there at the table and talk about the world--my
father and her father. They thought 'twas all for something--that what
you were went on into something more than you. That's the talk I always
heard in this house. But it's just talk. The rare thing that came here
was killed by the common thing that came here. Just happens--and happens
cruel. Look at your brother! Gone--(_snaps his fingers_) like that. I
told him not to go to war. He didn't have to go--they'd been glad enough
to have him stay here on the farm. But no,--he must--make the world safe
for democracy! Well, you see how safe he made it, don't you? Now I'm
alone on the farm and he--buried on some Frenchman's farm. That is, I
hope they buried him--I hope they didn't just--(_tormented_)
MADELINE: Oh, father--of course not. I know they did.
IRA: How do you know? What do you care--once they got him? _He_ talked
about the world--better world--end war. Now he's in his grave--I hope he
is--and look at the front page of the paper! No such thing--war to end
war!
MADELINE: But he thought there was, father. Fred believed that--so what
else could he do?
IRA: He could 'a' minded his own business.
MADELINE: No--oh, no. It was fine of him to give his life to what he
believed should be.
IRA: The light in his eyes as he talked of it, now--eyes gone--and the
world he died for all hate and war. Waste. Waste. Nothin' but waste--the
life of this house. Why, folks to-day'd laugh to hear my father talk. He
gave his best land for ideas to live. Thought was going to make us a
better people. What was his word? (_waits_) Aspiration. (_says it as if
it is a far-off thing_) Well, look at your friend, young Jordan. Kicked
from the college to prison for ideas of a better world. (_laughs_) His
'aspiration' puts him in a hole on bread and water! So--mind your own
business, that's all that's so in this country. (_constantly tormented
anew_) Oh, I told your brother all that--the night I tried to keep him.
Told him about his mother--to show what come of running to other folks.
And he said--standing right there--(_pointing_) eyes all bright, he
said, 'Golly, I think that's great!' And then _he_--walked out of this
house. (_fear takes him_) Madeline! (_she stoops over him, her arm
around him_) Don't you leave me--all alone in this house--where so many
was once. What's Hindus--alongside your own father--and him needing you?
It won't be long. After a little I'll be dead--or crazy--or something.
But not here alone where so many was once.
MADELINE: Oh--father. I don't know what to do.
IRA: Nothing stays at home. Not even the corn stays at home. If only the
wind wouldn't blow! Why can't I have my field to myself? Why can't I
keep what's mine? All these years I've worked to make it better. I
wanted it to be--the most that it could be. My father used to talk about
the Indians--how our land was their land, and how we must be more than
them. He had his own ideas of bein' more--well, what's that come to? The
Indians lived happier than we--wars, strikes, prisons. But I've made the
corn more! This land that was once Indian maize now grows corn--I'd like
to have the Indians see my corn! I'd like to see them side by
side!--their Indian maize, my corn. And how'd I get it? Ah, by
thinkin'--always tryin', changin', carin'. Plant this corn by that corn,
and the pollen blows from corn to corn--the golden dust it blows, in the
sunshine and of nights--blows from corn to corn like a--(_the word
hurts_) gift. No, you don't understand it, but (_proudly_) corn don't
stay what it is! You can make it anything--according to what you do,
'cording to the corn it's alongside. (_changing_) But that's it. I want
it to stay in my field. It goes away. The prevailin' wind takes it on to
the Johnsons--them Swedes that took my Madeline! I hear it! Oh, nights
when I can't help myself--and in the sunshine I can see it--pollen--soft
golden dust to make new life--goin' on to _them_,--and them too ignorant
to know what's makin' their corn better! I want my field to myself.
What'd I work all my life for? Work that's had to take the place o' what
I lost--is that to go to Emil Johnson? No! The wind shall stand still!
I'll make it. I'll find a way. Let me alone and I--I'll think it out.
Let me alone, I say.
(_A mind burned to one idea, with greedy haste he shuts himself in the
room at left_. MADELINE _has been standing there as if mist is parting
and letting her see. And as the vision grows power grows in her. She is
thus flooded with richer life when her_ AUNT _and Professor_ HOLDEN
_come back. Feeling something new, for a moment they do not speak_.)
AUNT ISABEL: Ready, dear? It's time for us to go now.
MADELINE: (_with the quiet of plentitude_) I'm going in with Emil
Johnson.
AUNT ISABEL: Why--Madeline. (_falteringly_) We thought you'd go with us.
MADELINE: No. I have to be--the most I can be. I want the wind to have
something to carry.
AUNT ISABEL: (_after a look at Professor_ HOLDEN, _who is looking
intensely at_ MADELINE) I don't understand.
MADELINE: The world is all a--moving field. (_her hands move, voice too
is of a moving field_) Nothing is to itself. If America thinks
so--America is like father. I don't feel alone any more. The wind has
come through--wind rich from lives now gone. Grandfather Fejevary, gift
from a field far off. Silas Morton. No, not alone any more. And afraid?
I'm not even afraid of being absurd!
AUNT ISABEL: But Madeline--you're leaving your father?
MADELINE: (_after thinking it out_) I'm not leaving--what's greater in
him than he knows.
AUNT ISABEL: You're leaving Morton College?
MADELINE: That runt on a high hill? Yes, I'm leaving grandfather's
college--then maybe I can one day lie under the same sod with him, and
not be ashamed. Though I must tell you (_a little laugh_) under the sod
is my idea of no place to be. I want to be a long time--where the wind
blows.
AUNT ISABEL: (_who is trying not to cry_) I'm afraid it won't blow in
prison, dear.
MADELINE: I don't know. Might be the only place it would blow. (EMIL
_passes the window, hesitates at the door_) I'll be ready in just a
moment, Emil.
(_He waits outside_.)
AUNT ISABEL: Madeline, I didn't tell you--I hoped it wouldn't be
necessary, but your uncle said--if you refused to do it his way, he
could do absolutely nothing for you, not even--bail.
MADELINE: Of course not. I wouldn't expect him to.
AUNT ISABEL: He feels so deeply about these things--America--loyalty, he
said if you didn't come with us it would be final, Madeline.
Even--(_breaks_) between you and me.
MADELINE: I'm sorry, auntie. You know how I love you. (_and her voice
tells it_) But father has been telling me about the corn. It gives
itself away all the time--the best corn a gift to other corn. What you
are--that doesn't stay with you. Then--(_not with assurance, but feeling
her way_) be the most you can be, so life will be more because you were.
(_freed by the truth she has found_) Oh--do that! Why do we three go
apart? Professor Holden, his beautiful trained mind; Aunt Isabel--her
beautiful love, love that could save the world if only you'd--throw it
to the winds. (_moving nearer_ HOLDEN, _hands out to him_) Why
do--(_seeing it is not to be, she turns away. Low, with sorrow for that
great beauty lost_) Oh, have we brought mind, have we brought heart, up
to this place--only to turn them against mind and heart?
HOLDEN: (_unable to bear more_) I think we--must go. (_going to_
MADELINE, _holding out his hand and speaking from his sterile life to
her fullness of life_) Good-bye, Madeline. Good luck.
MADELINE: Good-bye, Professor Holden. (_hesitates_) Luck to you.
(_Shaking his head, stooped, he hurries out_.)
MADELINE: (_after a moment when neither can speak_) Good-bye--auntie
dearest. Thank you--for the birthday present--the cake--everything.
Everything--all the years.
(_There is something_ AUNT ISABEL _would say, but she can only hold
tight to_ MADELINE_'s hands. At last, with a smile that speaks for love,
a little nod, she goes_. EMIL _comes in_.)
EMIL: You better go with them, Madeline. It'd make it better for you.
MADELINE: Oh no, it wouldn't. I'll be with you in an instant, Emil. I
want to--say good-bye to my father.
(_But she waits before that door, a door hard to go through. Alone_,
EMIL _looks around the room. Sees the bag of corn, takes a couple of
ears and is looking at them as_ MADELINE _returns. She remains by the
door, shaken with sobs, turns, as if pulled back to the pain she has
left_.)
EMIL: Gee. This is great corn.
MADELINE: (_turning now to him_) It is, isn't it, Emil?
EMIL: None like it.
MADELINE: And you say--your corn is getting better?
EMIL: Oh, yes--I raise better corn every year now.
MADELINE: (_low_) That's nice. I'll be right out, Emil.
(_He puts the corn back, goes out. From the closet_ MADELINE _takes her
hat and wrap. Putting them on, she sees the tennis racket on the table.
She goes to it, takes it up, holds it a moment, then takes it to the
closet, puts it carefully away, closes the door behind it. A moment she
stands there in the room, as if listening to something. Then she leaves
that house_.)
CURTAIN