On a certain cloudless September morning eight months later, five
persons were merrily disporting themselves in the warm billows
that rolled upon the island beach. It was one of those radiantly
clear mornings which so often occur in the tropical rainy seasons
when every particle of dust has been washed out of the air, and the
morning breeze is of a spring-like freshness. The sun had not yet
peeped over the Antique coast range, but the mountain flanks were
outlined in soft mauve and gray against the glowing sky. A fishing
fleet off the coast showed tints of pearl, and thin threads of masts
above the quiet sea. Westward there was a sapphire expanse, and a
whole string of lorchas, every inch of canvas set to take advantage
of the fresh wind, standing across on a tack for San Jose or Cuyo.
Charlotte Collingwood, slipping out of the water, paused an instant to
breathe deeply and to feast her eyes upon the solitary beauty of the
scene, before she betook herself to housekeeping cares. Then hastening
across the short extent of ground between the beach and her cottage,
she sought her bathroom and the brisk dousing with fresh water that
would remove the sticky effects of the sea bath.
Half an hour later she emerged from her bedroom as hearty looking a
young woman as you could desire to see. Her shapely figure, clad in a
simple white pique dress, was considerably fuller than it had been in
her hospital days, though it had not degenerated into stoutness. Her
skin was still colorless, for color once faded in the tropics is gone
forever; but her face was fuller, her eye brighter, her expression
one of happiness and content.
The room which she contemplated with a possessive and complacent
eye was one so typical of American housekeeping in the Philippines
that it merits description. It was a perfectly square apartment,
generous in its proportion. Two sides were almost entirely taken
up by windows opening on a deep-eaved veranda. The series of shell
lattices were pushed back to their fullest extent, and on the broad
window-seats were rows of potted ferns, rose geraniums, and foliage
plants, some in gleaming brass jardinieres, some in old blue and
white Chinese jars. The walls were of the plaited bamboo in its
natural color called suali; but the woodwork of soft American pine
had been carefully burnt by Charlotte herself, and gave some richness
of coloring. The floor of close tied bamboo slats was covered with
blue and white Japanese mats. One inside wall was almost entirely
hidden by a great Romblon mat, upon which Collingwood's collection of
spears, bolos, and head axes was artfully displayed. Beneath this,
an army cot, a mattress, and some blue and white Japanese crepe had
been combined into a tempting couch heaped with pillows. The other
inside wall held a very fair collection of hats, ranging from the
cheap sun-defence of the field laborer to the old-time aristocrat's
head-piece of tortoise-shell ornamented with silver. Below these were
some home-made shelves with Charlotte's books upon them. One corner
was occupied by a desk of carved teak inlaid with mother of pearl,
a veritable treasure which Kingsnorth had given to Charlotte as a
wedding present. Another corner held a tall, brass-bound Korean chest
of drawers, which Charlotte had picked up at an auction in Manila. A
suit of Moro armor in carabao horn and link copper hung beside this,
and everywhere there was brass--brass samovars from Manchuria, incense
burners from Japan, Moro gongs and betel-nut boxes, an Indian tea
table with its shining tray. Wherever there was room for them, framed
photographs decorated the walls. Rattan easy-chairs and rockers and a
steamer chair with gay cushions lent a homely comfort to the apartment.
As the room was living-room and dining-room combined, its centre was
occupied by a round narra-table--a beautiful piece of old Spanish
workmanship, the glories of which were hidden at that moment by
the whitest of cloths--and a service of Japanese blue and white
china. There, too, gleamed the remains of the Maryland silver which
had once been the pride of a county--the great breakfast tray with its
urn and attendant dishes, the heavy knives and forks and spoons. It had
lain for twenty years in chests, and Charlotte had brought it with her
to the Philippines, not so much anticipating a use for it, as making
it the evidence of final separation from all that her life had known.
Mrs. Collingwood never ceased to contemplate her living-room,
and especially her table, with satisfaction. The snowy linen, the
gleaming silver and glass, stood for her tastes. She could remember
vividly the depression she had experienced at meal times during her
first two weeks at the island, when the mess made its headquarters
with the Maclaughlins. Mrs. Maclaughlin's dream of table luxury
was a red and white checked cloth, much colored glass in the form
of tumblers, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and vinegar cruets, a set of
brown and white "semi-porcelain" dishes, and knives and forks of German
silver. Charlotte had endured the meals for which Martin had half-way
prepared her, by the exercise of fortitude only; but she had waited
patiently for Mrs. Maclaughlin's own suggestion of a division of labor.
It happened that Mrs. Maclaughlin greatly desired to devote herself to
poultry and gardening. The islanders had to depend wholly upon poultry,
fish, pigs, and goats for meat, and upon tinned vegetables. Everybody
yearned for green foods and better meats, so that Mrs. Maclaughlin's
ambitions received a hearty support. A kitchen was added to the
Collingwood quarters, the stove and kitchen utensils were transferred,
and Charlotte found plenty of occupation in her new duties.
The work was naturally to her taste. She possessed an ample
home-making instinct, and she had had, in addition to the usual
"Domestic Science" course of a modern college, her nurse's training in
dietetics. Collingwood's exuberant delight in the changes she made in
their manner of living was just second to Kingsnorth's. For decency's
sake, that gentleman had refrained from comment in Mrs. Maclaughlin's
presence; but after their first meal he had taken Mrs. Collingwood
aside, and had assured her with unmistakable sincerity that she
was no less than a fairy godmother in their midst. He execrated
Mrs. Maclaughlin's cooking, her taste in foods, and her ideas of
table service; and his gratitude to Charlotte was profound.
Mrs. Collingwood was contemplating her breakfast table and smiling
softly at the memory, when her husband came out of their bedroom in
his working clothes--flannel shirt, khaki trousers, and sea boots. He
gave her a hearty kiss.
"You vain creature," he said, "looking at your housekeeping and
thinking how you can lay it over Mrs. Mac."
"That wouldn't be much to do. Do you remember that red and white
tablecloth?"
"Don't I? And how Kingsnorth used to curse it!" He eyed her
reflectively. "Kingsnorth is mighty grateful to you, Charlotte,
and mighty fond of you."
To this, at first, no answer was returned. Mrs. Collingwood fingered
a bowl which stood in the window, flushed slightly, and looked
embarrassed. At last, as if his continued silence demanded response,
she said perfunctorily:
"Well, of course, if I have made things pleasanter for him,
incidentally, in doing it for you, I'm glad."
"That's the only thing you've disappointed me in. I wanted you and him
to be good friends. I think he has tried, but you have been stubborn;
there's no denying that, pet."
"I've tried my very hardest. I'm sorry, Martin. You'll have to give
me time."
"Give you all the time you want," he cried gayly. "But you'll have to
come round in the end." She shrugged her shoulders half seriously,
half teasingly, but a reply was obviated by the entrance of the
Maclaughlins and of the person under discussion.
The Englishman, beak nosed, high nostrilled, fair, and tall, was
typical of his race. But drink had dulled his eye, his skin was
flabby, and an unspeakable air of degeneration hung about him. Even
the exaggerated deference of his manner to Mrs. Collingwood seemed
a travesty upon the once easy courtesy of the well-born Briton. As
for Charlotte, she stiffened perceptibly. Try as she would, she could
not overcome her proud resentment at being expected to associate with
John Kingsnorth.
"Any special plans for to-day, Mrs. Collingwood?" Kingsnorth demanded
as they sat down to breakfast.
"There never are any, I believe. I am going to make a lemon pie under
the direct supervision of Mrs. Maclaughlin. My husband has impressed
it upon me that I can never fulfil his ideal of a cook till I can
make such lemon pies as Mrs. Maclaughlin does."
In a second Kingsnorth's manner changed, just a fine hostile change
which implied that no pie made by Mrs. Maclaughlin's recipes could
interest him. "With limoncitos" he said slightingly, "or with those big
knotty yellow things that the women use in laundering their camisas?"
"Why, you are quite up in native customs," Charlotte exclaimed. "I
didn't know that. Are you sure?"
A faintly cynical smile played for an instant over Kingsnorth's
features. "Oh, yes, I'm sure," he replied.
Charlotte became suddenly aware of a changed atmosphere. Martin and
Maclaughlin were looking discreetly into their plates, Mrs. Maclaughlin
was gazing with a hostile eye at Kingsnorth.
"You certainly do know a great deal about Filipino customs," she
said meaningly.
"You keep still, Jenny," Maclaughlin threw in hastily. His wife tossed
her head scornfully, but subsided. Kingsnorth went on eating. His
expression was not agreeable. Charlotte threw herself into the silence
that followed.
"Martin, who is that bucolic looking Japanese that I saw strolling
up the beach this morning?"
"Bucolic! What do you mean by that long word? You are always springing
the dictionary upon me."
This charge was an indication that Collingwood was highly pleased. It
was the nearest open tribute he ever paid to his wife's education. She
made no reply but smiled at him, indulgent of his wit.
"Well, explain," Martin went on teasingly. "What does it mean?" But
Charlotte only went on smiling.
"Greek for hayseed," Kingsnorth put in lightly. "You know that word,
Collingwood?"
"Right you are. He is a hayseed. That is our new diver. He came down
on the lorcha last week, and we picked him up with the launch. Been
promenading around here, did you say?"
"In kimono and parasol," said Charlotte.
"Well, he goes to work to-morrow. He won't get much more time to
parade."
"Have you three divers, then?"
"No. The fellow that Mac kicked hasn't been able to get over it. He
resigned immediately, but I succeeded in convincing him that he
couldn't quit the job till I got a new man in his place. I believe
he wants to go to law about it."
"Can he make any trouble? Isn't that taking the law into your own
hands?"
Martin shrugged his shoulders. Kingsnorth laughed. "It would
be dangerous on British soil," he said, "but not under the great
republic. Who is going to tack back and forth across this channel in
a lorcha or a parao, because a Jap got kicked? His nearest magistrate
is a Filipino juez de paz on the Antique coast. I wish him joy of
all the law he can get there. When it comes to the island of Maylubi,
Martin, Mac, and I are the law. 'L'etat, c'est nous.'"
Mrs. Collingwood smiled discreetly at the French, and pushed her chair
back. Kingsnorth often threw a phrase of French into his speech, and
she felt that it was aimed directly at her, and implied an exclusion
of the others from their superior plane of conversation. It was
not an act characteristic of an Englishman of his class, and she
realized that only the intensity of his desire to establish himself
on a footing of intimacy could induce him to use such methods.
They all walked down to the beach together, and after Charlotte
had watched their row-boat pull alongside the launch, she sat down
on a bit of sand grass beneath a cocoanut tree and revelled in the
morning breeze. It was a "four man breeze" as they say when four men
are needed on the outriggers of the paraos; and more than one deep-sea
fishing craft swept by with its four naked squatting outriders sitting
at ease on their well sprayed stations with the great sail bellying
above them. As the tide went out, troops of children wandered up the
beach, digging skilfully with their toes for clams, or pouncing with
shrieks of delight on some stranded jelly fish. From the field beyond
the house, their gardener could be heard hissing at their one draft
animal, and once in awhile Mrs. Maclaughlin's voice arose in a rain
of pigeon Spanish as she bent over her garden beds, or ranged through
her poultry yards.
It was very lonely, but Charlotte did not mind it. Barring
the discomforts of their experiences in the early days with
Mrs. Maclaughlin's food, and the difficulty of holding John Kingsnorth
in his place without betraying her feelings about him to Martin, she
might have said that her island life hardly boasted of the crumpled
rose leaf. Even Kingsnorth's evident determination to be accepted
as an intimate, did not imply a desire to establish any sentimental
relation to herself, nor could she explain to her whole satisfaction
just why she so vigorously thwarted him. She was only conscious of
feeling that to accept his tacit offer of good fellowship was a clearly
defined step downward, an open throwing over of standards which, if
she had endangered them by her marriage, she had still high hopes of
maintaining, and to which she hoped ultimately to win her husband.
On the whole, her thoughts were very sweet and wholesome as she sat
there in the growing warmth. More than once a sense of housekeeping
responsibility urged her to rise and betake herself indoors, but
she could not bring herself to disturb her reverie till a respectful
cough attracted her attention.
An old man and a young girl, carrying a child in her arms, stood a
few feet away. The man was dressed in spotless white trousers with
a Chinese shirt of white muslin. One sleeve was decorously adorned
with a black mourning band, and his white bamboo plaited hat was also
wreathed in sable. The girl was dressed in the deepest of Filipino
mourning--black calico skirt, black alpaca tapis, or apron, and a
camisa of thin barred black net, shiny and stiff with starch. Through
its gauzy texture her white chemise, trimmed with scarlet embroidery,
showed garishly, while the immense sleeves made no pretence of hiding
her plump, gold-colored arms. Her face, of a very Malaysian type, was
decidedly pretty, and the haughty column of her neck and a wealth of
jetty hair lent still further charm. As she caught Charlotte's eye,
she stepped forward, throwing back, as she did so, the black veil
which had hidden the child's face.
Charlotte's first exclamation of surprise and pity was followed by
an indignant flush. The child, which was evidently dying of anaemia,
was a mestizo. Its blue eye, its almost fair hair above a pasty skin
and something indefinably British in the stamp of its expression
betrayed its paternity at once.
The man spoke neither Spanish nor English, and the girl had only a
few phrases of each; but with Charlotte's command of the vernacular
she managed to get a few facts in some sort of sequence. For brevity
and to spare the reader an elliptical conversation in three languages
they can be set down as Charlotte summed them up afterwards.
The man was the child's grandfather; the girl, its aunt. Its mother had
died a week or so before at a village on the Antique coast. The woman
and her people had lived with Kingsnorth openly in his house up to the
morning of the senora Americana's arrival. At that time Kingsnorth had
come in in great excitement, had bundled them all off in short order,
and had established them in the coast village. As he was their only
source of income, they accepted his mandate without question.
But the mother had died, of what they could not make quite clear,
though the girl pressed her hands upon her heart and repeated "muy,
muy triste" more than once. After the mother's death, the baby lacked
nourishment, though its father gave money to buy milk. They had come
over on a fish parao to show it to its father, and had received orders
to keep out of Mrs. Collingwood's way; but hearing from the villagers
of that lady's skill in curing the sick and of her willingness to use
it, they could not forbear bringing the child to her. But with tears,
they besought her to keep the secret. The old man made a very fair
representation of bestowing a hearty kick, and the girl, weeping,
ejaculated "Pega, pega mucho," many times.
Charlotte had been interested during her hospital experience
in a series of experiments made by one of the surgeons in
infant-feeding. The mortality among Filipino children is enormous,
and much attention is given to infant care. It happened that she had
been trying the food process on one or two babies in the village,
and it was doubtless the news of that fact which had induced the
people to risk Kingsnorth's anger and appeal to her.
She led them homeward, gave the child some nourishment, and set to work
to show the girl how to prepare the canned milk for future use. It
was not till they had departed that she realized that they had not
said whether or not the mother had been legally married. Later she
decided that the fact was immaterial, but she was inclined to believe
the child illegitimate.
For the next ten days the girl presented herself with the child for
treatment. She watched carefully to see that the fishers had gone
each day, and that Mrs. Maclaughlin was not around. The child thrived,
and with returning health showed a somewhat engaging appearance.
Charlotte could never be quite certain of her reasons for keeping
silence to her husband on the subject. At first undoubtedly she desired
to avoid making trouble for the old man and the girl; but later, when
Mrs. Maclaughlin had met the girl face to face on Charlotte's veranda
steps, and she knew the fact had been retailed to Maclaughlin and
to the other men, she was still wordless. For a few days the sullen
demeanor of Kingsnorth showed that he dumbly resented her knowledge;
but in the end his proteges established themselves in the village,
and when Charlotte walked that way she often saw his taffy-colored
son, in a single garment, staring with incongruous blue eyes from
the floor of a nipa shack.
What was stranger, even, than anything else, Mrs. Maclaughlin showed
an eager desire to avoid the subject. Charlotte had anticipated, with
some dread, that the lady would break forth garrulously once the cat
was out of the bag; but she was most pleasantly disappointed. Between
herself and Martin the matter was never mentioned. There were times
when she would have liked to ask him what he had really expected
her to do before Kingsnorth saved the situation by packing off his
impedimenta; but she was afraid that, if the subject were ever opened
up between them, she would express herself too frankly, and she was
too thoroughly happy with her husband to care to risk disturbing their
satisfaction in each other. As time went on, she ceased to give the
matter any thought at all. After all, she reflected, had she not known
it all potentially the first time she ever saw Kingsnorth? What did
the addition of a few specific data matter? At that time all her will
was bent to the determination to make the best of her romance, to be
happy at any cost, and to postpone indefinitely, if not ultimately,
any hour of settlement.