Her only comment was, "His memory has long ears, has it? So has mine,
and they'll grow longer, for I have longer to live."
In the first intimate talk I had with my protégée, her one idea was to
earn the money to return to America, where there was "more chance to
make a living." So far as she knew her father was without relatives.
There was no one to look to for help. But she could work; she knew many
girls who worked; and there was always "something to do" in Seattle.
"How good it will be to get back to it. Wish I could get a whiff of the
air right now. Yes, indeed! I am American to the ends of my fingers, and
hallelujah to the day when I sail back."
I entered into her plans with enthusiasm, reserving my determination
never to lose sight of her till she was in safer hands than mine.
She was very eager to begin earning money for her passage home, offering
to teach, to scrub, and even to learn to cook, if we'd learn to eat it.
I pointed out that, with her ability to sketch and her natural
fascination for young girls, the forming of classes would be a simple
matter. She was only to teach them drawing at first.
To this she demurred; the pay was so poor that she pleaded to be allowed
to have one little class in English.
I was dubious; but, as it was only a beginner's class, I consented--upon
her solemn promise to "cut out all ragtime classics and teach plain cats
and dogs, rats and mice."
The process of readjustment in life is sometimes as painful as skin
grafting. The passing of each day under the new conditions which Zura's
coming had brought about marked for both of us either a decided growth
or a complete backset. With earnestness I endeavored to make my old eyes
see the world and all its allurements from the windows of Zura's
uncontrolled youth. Earnestly I then appealed to her to try to
understand that life was a school and not a playground and to look
without prejudice at the reasonableness of conventions which life in any
country demanded, if happiness was to come.
For the first time since I had known her the girl seemed fully to
realize that regulated law was a force, and no bogey man which crabbed
old grandfathers dangled before pleasure-loving girls, and for her
running loose in the green pasture of life was at an end. The bit she
must learn to wear would teach her to be bridle wise. However stupid,
the process was an unavoidable necessity.
Zura was really serious when we finished our long conference. She leaned
over and put her hand on mine. "Nobody but father was ever so kind to
me. I'll truly do my best." As if afraid of growing too serious she
added: "But, Miss Jenkins,"--her voice was low and her eyes sparkled,
proving how hard the old Zura was dying--"I just bet I kick over the
traces some time. I feel it in my system."
"You what?" I reminded.
"Madam, I have a premonition that this process of eliminating the gay
and the festive will be something of a herculean task. In other words,
keeping in the middle of the road is a dull, tough job."
"Oh, Zura!" I cried despairingly.
"Yes'm. But from this minute I am starting down the track on the race
for reformation. Give me time. Even a colt can't get a new character and
a sweet disposition in a week."
* * * * *
As the days passed it proved not a race, but a hard, up-hill battle,
where in gaining one fight she sometimes lost two, and while still
aching with the last defeat had to begin all over again. The vision,
though, of the home-going to America lured and beckoned her to the
utmost effort to conquer not only circumstances, but herself.
Jane and I helped whenever we could, but there were places so dark
through which the girl must pass alone, that not even our fast
increasing love could light the shadows of the struggles.
I realized that a young girl should have young company of her own kind;
but there was none for her. In Hijiyama, and especially in our
neighborhood, were many high-class families. Even members of the royal
line claimed it as residence. With these the taint of foreign blood in
any Japanese marked that person impossible. I dreaded to tell Zura this.
She saved me the trouble by finding it out for herself. Ever afterward,
when by chance she encountered the elect, her attitude caused me no end
of delight and amusement. In courteous snubbing she outclassed the
highest and most conservative to them. In absenting herself from their
presence Zura's queenly dignity would have been matchless, had she been
a little taller.
As much as possible, I made of myself a companion for her and the most
of our days were spent together.
It was a curious pact between young and old. One learning to keep the
law, the other to break it, for in my efforts to be a gay comrade as
well as a wise mother I came as near to breaking my neck as my
well-seasoned habits. Zura had a passion for out-of-door sketching, as
violent as the whooping cough and lasting longer and the particular view
she craved proved always most difficult of access, It severely tested my
durability and mettle. I wondered if Zura had this in mind, but I stuck
grimly to my task and though often with aching muscles and panting
lungs, scrambled by dangerous paths to the edge of some precipice where
I dared neither to stand up nor to sit down, but I had longed for
excitement and happenings and dared not complain when my wish was
fulfilled.
I could always count upon it that, whatever place Zura chose, from there
one could obtain the most splendid view of vast stretches of sea, the
curve of a temple roof, a crooked pine, or a mass of blossom. She was as
irresistibly drawn to the beautiful as love is to youth. Her passion for
the lovely scenery of Japan amounted almost to worship.
I had never been a model for anything. Now I was used as such by my
companion indiscriminately, in the background, in the foreground and
once as a grayhaired witch. I was commanded to sit still, to not wink an
eyelash, though the mosquitoes feasted and the hornets buzzed.
Fortunately the summer holiday gave me some leisure. I absorbed every
moment seeking comprehension of youthful ways of looking at things, and
in Zura's effort to reduce her wild gallop to a sober pace, the way was
as rough for the girl, as the climb up the mountain side was for me.
Often she stumbled and was bruised in the fall. Brushing aside the
tears of discouragement she pluckily faced about and tried again.
There were many battles of tongue and spirit but when the smoke had been
swept away, the vision was clearer, the purpose firmer.
That monotony might not work disaster or routine grow irksome our
workdays were interspersed with picnics, journeys to famous spots and,
for the nights, moonlight sails on the Inland Sea.
Page Hanaford was our frequent guest. To Jane and me his attitude was
one of kindly deference and attention. Towards Zura it was the mighty
call of youth to youth. She answered with ready friendship. It was easy
to see that the boy was buoyant by nature, but the moods that sometimes
overtook him were strange. Often at a moment when the merriment was at
its height, the hand of some invisible enemy seemed to reach out and
clutch him in a dumb horror, confused the frankness of his eyes, left
him with bloodless lips. From light-hearted happiness he plunged to
silent gloom.
Twice it had occurred when the day was heavy with moisture, thick and
superheated by the summer's sun. The last time it happened, to the heat
was added the excitement of a police launch stopping our little
pleasure craft and demanding our names and business. When it left Page
grew silent and, until we landed, lay in the prow his face hidden by his
hat. Mental or physical I could not say. I wished I knew for it
subtracted the joy from the day as surely as dampness takes the kink out
of unnatural curls.
When I mentioned the incident to Jane, she only looked wise and smiled.
I could almost believe she was glad, for it gave her unlimited
opportunity for coddling. Zura made no comment. So great was the rebound
partial freedom induced, her spirits refused to descend from the
exhilarating heights of "having a good time and doing things." She
blandly ignored any suggestion of hidden trouble, or the possibility of
it daring to come in the future. Untiring in her preparations for our
festivities, the hour of their happening found her so gracious a
hostess, naturally she was the pivot around which the other three of us
swung.
I wondered if, in our many festivities we were not forming habits of
useless dissipation. Jane said our parties were much livelier than
church socials at home. Our experienced leader assured me, however,
these picnics were as slow as a gathering of turtles in a coral cave,
but they continued, ceasing only when the nights grew too chill for
comfort. Our pleasures were then transferred to the homeyness of the
little living-room in "The House of the Misty Star."
* * * * *
In my adoption of Zura the humor was incidental; in Zura's adoption of
Jane it was uppermost. From the first the girl assumed proprietorship
and authority that kept the little gray missionary see-sawing between
pleasure and trouble. By Zura's merry teasing Jane's naturally
stammering tongue was fatally twisted. She joked till tears were near;
then with swift compunction Jane was caught in arms tender and strong
and loved back to happiness.
Like a mother guarding a busy careless child, Zura watched Miss Gray's
comings and goings. Overshoes and wraps became a special subject of
argument. There was no denying that in the arrangement of Jane's clothes
there was a startling transformation.
My attention was called to this one morning when I heard a merry,
audacious voice cry out, "See here, Lady Jinny, do you think it a
hallmark of piety to have that hefty safety-pin showing in your
waistband? Walk right back and get your belt."
"Oh, Zury," pleaded the harassed woman, "what's the use of putting it
on? I'll just have to take it off to-night and, my dear, people are
waiting for me."
"Let 'em whistle, Sweetheart," was the unmoved response. "Even though
the heathen roar, I cannot turn aside from my purpose of making you a
Parisian fashion-plate."
"Yes, child! It is good of you to want to dress me up. But," with a
half-laugh, "don't try to make me resemble one of those foreign fashion
ladies. I saw one picture in a style paper that looked almost immoral.
The placket of the dress was at the foot and showed two inches of the
ankle."
"Trust your mother, innocent child," Zura advised, "those picture ladies
don't wear dresses, just symptoms and I'd slap anybody that would ask
you to wear a symptom. Now, tell me where to search for your belt."
Jane, ever weak in certain resistances, yielded and adored the more
while submitting.
Under Zura's care Jane's person grew neater and trimmer. In her face,
now filled out with proper food and rest, there was a look of happiness
as if some great hope foreshadowed fulfilment.
The self-appointed missionary in her talks with me seldom referred to
her work in detail. I respected her reserve and asked no questions, for
I gravely doubted any good results from her labor. But to Zura she
confided her plans and her dreams, and Zura having many dreams of her
own, listened and sympathized. In all the Empire there was no collection
of humanity that could surpass in degradation and sordid evil the
inhabitants of the quarter that Jane Gray had chosen to uplift. Time and
again the best-trained workers had experimented in this place. Men and
women with splendid theories, and the courage to try them had given it
up as hopeless, for fear of their lives.
Once only I remonstrated with Miss Gray and that when there had been in
that section an unprovoked murder of particular horror. The answer of
the frail woman was:
"I don't want to make you anxious, Miss Jenkins, but I must go back. The
people are my friends. I've been charged with a message for them and I
must deliver it. My poor life would be small forfeit, could I but make
them fully understand."
I said no more for I thought if Jane was set on dying that way she'd
just as well get all the pleasure out of it possible. To my surprise,
unmolested and unafraid, she made her way through streets where no one
officer went alone. Haunts of criminals and gamblers, murderers in
hiding followed by their unspeakable womenkind.
This dream of Miss Gray's scorned to limit itself to a hospital for
diseased bodies of the wretched inhabitants, but included a chapel for
sick souls. These days it was difficult enough to get money for real
things, the unreal stood no chance. Without resources of her own, backed
by no organization, it seemed to me, like a child planning a palace. To
the little missionary the dawn of each glorious day brought new
enthusiasm, fresh confidence and the vision was an ever beckoning fire,
which might consume her body if it would accomplish her desire.
At present she rented a tiny house in the Quarters and called it her
preaching place. I was told that to it flocked the outcasts of life who
listened in silent curiosity to the strange foreign woman delivering a
message from a stranger foreign God.
As the days went by the members of my household were deeply absorbed in
dreams of a hospital, pursuit of passage money to America, and wisdom in
guiding girls.
In all the years in my adopted country I'd never seen so lovely an
autumn. Colors were brighter, the haze bluer, and far more tender the
smile of the heavens on the face of the waters.
The song of the North wind through the top of the ancient pines was no
melancholy dirge of the dying summer, but a hymn of peace and restful
joy to the coming winter.
One lovely day melted into another. The year was sinking softly to its
close when one evening found Zura, Jane and me quietly at work in the
living-room of the House of the Misty Star. Jane was knitting on the
eternal bibs, Zura adding figures in a little book.
Our quiet was broken by a knock at the door. Maple Leaf appeared bearing
on a tray a pink folded paper.
"It's a cable; I know its color," exclaimed Zura, "and it's for Miss
Jane Gray."
With shaking fingers Jane tore open the message. She read, then dropped
her face in her hands.
"What is it?" I asked anxiously.
"It's the hospital."
"In a cable?" cried Zura. "Think of that and break into tears."
"No, the money for it."
"Money! Where did you get it?" I demanded, thinking that Jane had
suddenly gone crazy.
"I prayed and wrote letters," she answered. "Read."
Still doubting I took the paper and read aloud:
Build hospital. Draft for four thousand dollars on way.