More and more Zura had assumed the duties of our housekeeping. The
generous sum Kishimoto San promptly forwarded each month for her
maintenance so relieved the financial pressure that I was able to relax
somewhat my vigilance over the treasury. So I stepped aside that her
ambition and energy might have full expression. I knew that absorbing
work erases restlessness in mind and heart as effectively as a hot iron
smooths out a rough-dried cloth. I urged her to further experiments and
made a joke of her many mistakes, ofttimes when it was sheer waste of
material. But what mattered that? Better to die softheaded, than
hardhearted. I wanted the girl to be happy. Rather than be separated, I
would let her make a bonfire of every bean, potato and barrel of flour
in the house. As even the sun has specks on it, I saw no reason to be
too critical of my understudy, whose shortcomings grew less as she grew
prettier.
With all the cocksureness of youth, Zura seized the domestic steering
gear. Sometimes the weather was very fair and we sailed along. Often it
was squally, but the crew was merry, and I was happy. I had something of
my very own to love.
To Pine Tree and Maple Leaf and the ancient cook the young housekeeper
was a gifted being from a wonderful country where every woman was a
princess. Unquestioningly they obeyed and adored her, but Ishi to whom
no woman was a princess and all of them nuisances--stood proof against
Zura's every smile and coaxing word. Love of flowers amounted to a
passion with the old gardener. To him they were living, breathing beings
to be adored and jealously protected. His forefathers had ever been
keepers of this place. He inherited all their garden skill and his equal
could not be found in the Empire. For that reason, I forgave his
backsliding seventy times one hundred and seventy, and kept him.
Often Zura took the children she used as models for her pictures into
the garden and loaded them with flowers. On the mossy banks they romped
and indulged in feasts of tea and crackers. Ishi would stand near and
invoke the vengeance of eighty thousand deities to descend and
annihilate this forward girl from a land of barbarians. Finding his
deities failed to respond, he threatened to cast his unworthy body upon
the point of a sword, if Zura cut another bud. But I knew, if Ishi's
love of flowers failed to prevent so tragic an end, his love of sake
would do so.
For years the garden had been his undisturbed kingdom, and now that it
should be invaded and the flowers cut without his permission and
frequently without his knowledge enraged him to the bursting point. His
habits were as set as the wart on his nose and he proposed to change
neither one nor the other. "Most very bad," he wailed to me. "All
blossoms soul have got. Bad girl cut off head of same; peaceful makes
absence from their hearts. Their weep strikes my ear."
So on the day we were to celebrate Thanksgiving and Jane's happiness,
and Zura had declared her intention of decorating every spot in the
house, I was not surprised to hear coming from the garden sounds of an
overheated argument. "Ishi, if it weren't for hurting the feelings of
the august pig I would say you were it. Stand aside and let me cut those
roses. There's a thousand of them, if there's one."
The protest came high and shrill. "Decapitate heads! You sha'n't not!
All of ones convey soul of great ancestors."
"Do they?"--in high glee--"all right, I'll make the souls of your
blessed ancestors serve as a decoration for America's glorious festival
day."
The outraged Ishi fairly shrieked. "Ishi's ancestors! America! You have
blasphemeness. I perish to recover!"
Hostilities were suspended for a minute.
Then Zura's fresh young voice called out from below my window: "Ursula,
please instruct this bow-legged image of an honorable monkey to let me
cut the roses. Hurry, else my hand may get loose and 'swat' him."
What the child meant by "swat" I had no idea; neither did I care. She
had called me "Ursula!" Since childhood I had not heard the name. Coming
from her lips it went through me like a sharp, sweet pain. Had she
beheaded every rose and old Ishi in the bargain I would have smiled, for
something in me was being satisfied.
I gave orders to Ishi, to which Zura added, "You are to take your
dishonorable old body to the furthermost shrine, and repent of your
rudeness to your young mistress." As he turned his angry back upon her,
she inquired in honeyed tones, "Mercy, Ishi! How did you ever teach
your face to look that way? Take it to a circus! It will make a
fortune!"
Very soon after she came into the room so laden with roses that I could
just see her face. "Aren't they darlings?" she exclaimed. "Poor old
Ishi, I can't blame him much!" Then to me, "Say, beautifulest, tell you
what: I'll arrange these flowers and I promise, if I find a sign of an
ancestor, I'll go at once and apologize to his mighty madness--if you
will write a note to Mr. Hanaford and bid him to the Thanksgiving
feast."
I agreed, and she went her busy way. In addressing the note to Page, I
was reminded that a few days before his servant had called for a package
of his master's clothing which Jane and I kept in repair. To my surprise
the servant said that Hanaford San had gone away on business.
Possibly my look of astonishment at the news invited confidence. After
glancing around to make sure we were alone, he approached and in mixed
Japanese and broken English told me how his heart was weighed "with
anxious" for his employer. He said his master was very kind. Therefore,
Master's trouble was his. Sometimes the young man was happy and sang
tunes through whistle of lips; but one day he walked the floor all
night. Lately he sat by the windows long hours and look fast into
picture scenery. He feared illness for master. Often he forget to sing,
whistle, and eat foods; just sit with hand on head. "One time I say
'Master, have got painful in brain spot? Or have fox spirit got brain?'
He give big laugh; then myself makes many fools to see happy stay with
master."
He wished Hanaford San had some people, but in his room was not one
picture of ancestor. He never had a happy time with many guests, and
samisens and feast drinks, like other young American Dana Sans in
Yokohama. When not teaching he sat alone with only his pipe and heart
for company, sometimes a book.
It was not polite for him to speak of Master's affairs but he hoped the
foreign Sensies could advise him how to make Hanaford San have more
happy thoughts all of time.
I told the boy that Mr. Hanaford had lost his money and all his people,
and probably it was thoughts of these losses that caused his sad hours;
he would be all right in time.
"Time," murmured the unsatisfied man, "time very long for troubled heart
of young."
Then, as if trying to forget that he was powerless to help, he began to
recite the events of a recent visit to the city of a group of Tokio's
famous detectives. They were searching for special fugitives and making
the rounds of all suspicious quarters. It was most exciting and because
of master's absence he had been able to see much. Though he wished Page
had been at home. It might have entertained him. With many thanks for my
"listening ear" the servant left.
Everywhere I looked I seemed to see this question written: Was Page
Hanaford's absence at the time of the detectives' visit accidental or
planned? Try as I would to put the hateful thought away from me, it came
back again and again.
The boy's slow return to health had troubled me more than I could well
say. It was so unnatural. Jane and I did everything that sincere
affection could suggest to ward off the hours of strange dejection, and
he never failed in appreciation; yet we made no headway to a permanent
sunny spot in his life, where he could be always happy and healthy, as
was the right of youth. I gave him every opportunity to tell me what
caused his moods. I showed him by my interest and sympathy that I wanted
to believe in him and would stand by him at any cost. There were times
when he seemed on the verge of making a confidant of me, but his lips
refused to utter the words.
Usually he responded eagerly to Zura's gay coaxings to friendship and
gladly shared her blithesome fun; but sometimes there was a look in his
eyes such as a youthful prisoner might have when he knew that for life
he is barred from blue skies. As time went on less often appeared the
playful curve of his lips, the crinkly smile in the corners of his eyes.
Once in the moonlight I saw him stretch out his hand as if to touch
Zura's glistening hair. Some memory smote him. He drew back sharply.
At times I was sure that he was purposely avoiding her. Yet the thought
seemed foolish. If ever there was a goodly sight for eyes glad or sad it
was the incarnation of joyous girlhood whose name was Zura Wingate.
Unable to solve the puzzle, I could only give my unstinted attention to
the boy and girl. If only our armor of love could shield the beloved!
I sent the invitation for the Thanksgiving celebration, and was much
relieved by the answer that Mr. Hanaford would join us that evening.
The dinner was a great success. For all of us it was full of good
cheer. Jane in her happiness looked years younger. She was in high glee.
"Do you know, my friends in the Quarters are so happy over the
hospital," she exclaimed. "I was obliged to ask the Sake Ya to sell only
one little bottle of wine to each man. He promised and said he would
dilute it at that. Wasn't it good of him to do it? Oh! it's beautiful
how big difficulties are melting away--just like fax in the wire!" She
joined in the laugh at her expense.
Zura urged, "Lady Jinny, please get you a pair of crutches for that limp
in your tongue."
"Better than that, child. First operation in the hospital will be to
take the kinks out of my foolish, twisted words."
Afterwards in the sitting-room Zura went through her pretty little
ceremony of making after-dinner coffee and serving it in some rare old
Kutani cups. The wonderful decoration of the frail china led her to talk
of the many phases of Japan and its life that appealed to the artist. Of
the lights and shadows on land and sea the effects of the mists and the
combination of color that defied mere paint.
I'd never heard Zura talk so well nor so enthusiastically on a sensible
subject. For a moment I had a hope that her love for the beauty of the
country would overcome her antagonism to her mother's people. I was
quickly undeceived.
Then, as if fearful that praise for the glories of old Nippon might make
her seem forgetful of the festal day of her own land, she flashed out,
"But please don't anybody forget that I am an American to the
marrow-bone." She turned to Page. "Did you come direct from America to
Japan?"
The usual miserable flush of confusion covered the boy's face.
"Well--you see, I never keep track of dates; guess I'm too--maybe I've
traveled a bit too much to count days--"
Either ignoring Page's evasion or not seeing it, Zura continued, "But
you love the blessed old country, don't you?"
"With all my heart," he answered fervently.
"Then why do you stay out here? A man can go where he pleases."
"I have my work on hand and riches in mind. You know the old saw about a
rolling stone?"
"Indeed I do. It gathers no moss. Neither does it collect burrs in gray
whiskers and hayseed in long hair. I tell you," she half-whispered,
leaning towards him confidentially, "Let's you and I kidnap Jane and
Ursula and emigrate to 'Dixie Land, the land of cotton, where fun and
life are easily gotten.' Are you with me?" she audaciously challenged.
Page's face matched the white flowers near him. With a lightness, all
assumed, he answered, "All right; but wait till I make a
fortune--teaching." He arose, saying he would go out on the balcony for
a smoke.
Soon after that Jane left, saying she must write many letters of thanks.
I was alone with Zura. The night being mild for the time of year, she
proposed that we stroll in the garden. To her this lovely spot was
something new and beautiful. To me it was something old and tender, but
the charm, the spell it wove around us both was the same. It lay in
perfect peace, kissed to silence and tender mystery by the splendor of
the great, red, autumn moon. More beautiful now, the legend said,
because the gods gathered all the brilliant coloring from the dying
foliage and gave it to the pale moon lady for safe keeping.
"And look," exclaimed Zura, as we walked beside the waters which gave
back the unclouded glory, "if the shining dame isn't using our lake for
a looking-glass. You know, Ursula, this is the only night in the year
the moon wears a hat. It's made from the scent of the flowers. Doesn't
that halo around her look like a chapeau?"
We strolled along, and to Zura's pleadings I answered with ghost legends
and myths from a full store gathered through long, lonely years. Charmed
by the magic of the night and the wonder of the garden, we lingered
long.
We paused in the ghostly half-light of the tall bamboo where the
moonlight trickled through, to listen to the song of the Mysterious Bird
of the Spirit Land. The bird is seldom seen alive, but if separated from
its mate, at once it begins the search by a soft appealing call. If
absence is prolonged the call increases to heart-breaking moaning, till
from exhaustion the bird droops head downward and dies from grief.
That night the mate was surely lost. The lonely feathered thing made us
shiver with the weirdness of its sad notes.
Suddenly we remembered the lateness of the hour and our guest. We took a
short cut across the soft grass toward the house.
We turned sharply around a clump of bamboo and halted. A few steps
before us was Page Hanaford. Seated on the edge of an old stone lantern,
head in hands, out of the bitterness of some agony we heard him cry,
"God in Heaven! _How_ can I tell her!"
Zura and I clutched hands and crept away to the house. Even then we did
not dare to look each other in the face.
Soon after Page came in. He gave no sign of his recent storm, but said
good-night to me and, looking down at Zura, he held out his hand without
speaking.
Now that I could see the girl's face I could hardly believe she was the
same being. With flushed cheeks and downcast eyes she stood in wondering
silence, as if in stumbling upon a secret place in a man's soul, she had
fallen upon undiscovered regions in her own.
When I returned from locking the door after Page, Zura had gone to her
room.
In the night I remembered that not once had Page referred to his absence
from the city.
Zura, Jane and I had not often discussed young Hanaford. When we did, it
was how we could give him pleasure rather than the probable cause of his
spells of dejection. But when I found Jane alone the next day and told
her what we had seen in the gardens, omitting what we'd heard, she had
an explanation for the whole affair.
[Illustration: "God in Heaven. How can I tell her!"]
"It is perfectly plain, Miss Jenkins. Page has been disappointed in
love. I know the signs," Jane said with a little sigh, brightening as
she went on, "but that doesn't kill, just hurts, and makes people moody.
I am going to tell Page I know his secret. I know, too, a recipe that
will soon heal wounds like his. We have it right here in the house."
"Oh! Jane Gray," I said, exasperated, "do cultivate a little common
sense. Now you run along and make us some beaten biscuit for supper by
that recipe that you know is infallible, and do not add to Page's burden
whatever it is, by trying your sentimental remedies on him."