Never having been within hailing distance before of the processes of
love and proceedings of courtship there were no signposts in my
experience to guide me as to what should be my next step, if it were
mine to take. I had been too busy a woman to indulge in many novels, but
in the few I had read the hero lost no time in saying, "Will you?" and
at once somebody began to practise the wedding march. I suppose the
fashion in lovemaking changes as much as the styles; nothing I ever
thought or dreamed on the subject seemed to fit the case in hand.
I waited for Zura to tell me, but she didn't. She only sang the more as
she went about her work, doubling her efforts in making sweet the home
and herself. She seemed to find fresh joy in every hour.
Any thoughts I'd cherished that young Hanaford would come at once, clear
up all the confusion about himself, frankly declare his love for Zura
and be happy forever afterward died from lack of nourishment.
Only my deep affection for the boy restrained my anger at his silence.
The love and sympathy which bolstered up my faith in him were reinforced
by his gentle breeding and high mental quality; but circumstances forced
me reluctantly to admit that the story he told when he first came was
not true. Page Hanaford was not only under a shadow, but also was
undoubtedly seeking to conceal his whereabouts. And why? The question
sat on the foot of my bed at night and made faces at me, scrawled itself
all over my work and met me around every corner.
It was next to impossible to connect him with dishonesty or baseness
when looking into his face, or hearing him talk. But why didn't he speak
out, and why hide his talents in this obscure place? He was gifted. His
classes had increased to large numbers, and so excellent were his
methods his fame had gone abroad. The Department of Education had
offered him a lucrative position as teacher in the Higher Normal College
in a neighboring city. But, instead of snatching at this good fortune,
he asked for time to consider.
He came frequently to talk it over with me; at least that's what he
said he came for. The law required the applicant for such a position to
answer questions concerning himself and all his ancestors. In my talks
with Page about this law I emphasized every detail of the intimate
questions that would be put to him. I tried to impress upon him the
necessity of having either a clean record, or a very clever tongue when
he went before the judgment seat of the Japanese authorities. I hoped my
seriousness would bring about a speedy explanation, denial,
declaration--anything, so it came quickly. The truth is I don't believe
he ever heard a word of what I said on the subject.
If Zura was out of the room, his eyes were glued to the door watching
for it to open. If she were present, his eyes would be fixed on her
face. If I made an excuse to leave the room, Page made another to keep
me, as if he feared the thing he most desired. What did it all mean? If
Page Hanaford could not explain himself honorably, what right had he to
look at the girl with his heart in his eyes? If no explanation could be
given, what right had Zura Wingate to grow prettier and happier every
day?
I had always believed that love was as simple and straightforward as
finding the end of a blind alley. There was good reason for me to change
my belief as the days passed and nothing was said on the subject.
Of course, I could have hauled the two up before me, like children, and
told them what I had seen and was still seeing; but I dreaded to force
the man's secret and I had to acknowledge that, for the time, I was no
more equal to guiding this thing called "love" than I was to instructing
birds to build a nest.
Jane was not a bit of help to me. Refusing to discuss anything except
the sentimental side of the affair, she repeated verse till I was almost
persuaded this poetical streak was a disease rather than a habit.
Between stanzas she proffered food and drink to Page, in quantities
sufficient to end quickly both man and mystery, had he accepted. Her
attitude to Zura was one of perfect understanding and entire sympathy.
Every time she looked at the girl, she sighed and went off into more
poetry.
Troubled thoughts stormed my brain as hailstones pelt a tin roof. I
prayed for wisdom as I had never prayed for happiness.
The announcement one day that Mr. Tom Chalmers had called caused no
sudden rise in my spirits, but a second card, bearing the name of Mrs.
Tom, somewhat relieved my mind. Their coming offered a diversion and
proved Pinkey of a forgiving spirit.
They were on their wedding journey, he told us after I had summoned
Zura. Greetings and congratulations were soon over. While the steamer
was coaling in a near-by port he thought he would just run over in
jinrikishas to say "Hello!" and show Mrs. Chalmers to us. Yankee Doodle
with a hat full of feathers could not have been more proud.
What there was of Mrs. Pinkey to exhibit was indeed a show. Her youthful
prettiness belonged more to the schoolroom period than wifehood; and
Heaven forbid that the clothes she wore should be typical of my country;
there was not enough material in her skirt to make me a comfortable pair
of sleeves! I marveled how, in so limited a space, she advanced one limb
before the other.
Later Zura explained the process to me: "It's a matter of politeness,
Ursula. One knee says to the other, 'You let me pass this time, and I'll
step aside when your turn comes.'"
Even this courtesy had failed to prevent a catastrophe; one seam of her
dress was ripped for a foot above the ankle. The coat of this remarkable
costume was all back and no front, and from the rear edge of her hat
floated a wonderful feather like a flag from the stern of a gunboat.
I could see by her face how funny she thought my clothes. I hoped she
did not realize how near to scandalous her outfit seemed to me. Usually
the point of view depends on which side of the ocean one is when
delivering judgment.
Pinkey was as eloquent on the subject of his wedding as if he had been
the only Adam who ever marched down a church aisle. He was most joyful
at the prospect of showing to his bride all the curiosities and
shortcomings of the East. He felt he had encompassed wide and intimate
knowledge of it in his two or three trips. I asked Mrs. Chalmers how she
liked Japan.
She took her adoring eyes off her newly-acquired husband long enough to
answer: "It is lovely. Wonderful little people--so progressive and
clean. It's too bad they are so dishonest; of course you must have lost
a lot of money."
"No, I can't say that I have. I've been in the country thirty years and
never lost a 'rin' except when my pocket was torn. Come to think of it,
if histories, travelers and police records state facts, dishonesty is
not peculiar to the Orient."
The little bride answered: "I don't know about that; but the Japanese
must be awfully tricky, for Pinkey says so and the captain of the ship,
who hates every inhabitant of the Empire, said the banks had to employ
Chinese clerks."
Why waste words? What were real facts, or the experience of a lifetime
against such unimpeachable authority as Mr. Pinkey Chalmers and the
captain of a Pacific steamer! Why condemn the little bride, for after
all she was human. Nationally and individually, the tighter we hug our
own sins and hide their faces, the more clearly we can see the distorted
features of our neighbor's weakness. There was more of pity than anger
due a person who, ignoring all the beauty in the treasure house before
her, chose as a souvenir a warped and very ancient skeleton of a truth
and found the same pleasure in dangling it, that a child would in
exhibiting a newly-extracted tooth.
Mr. Chalmers had been talking to Zura, but when he caught the word
"bank" he included the entire company in his conversation. "Talking
banks, are you? Well that is a pretty sore subject with me. Just lost my
whole fortune in a bank. Had it happened before the wedding I'd have
been obliged to put the soft pedals on the merry marriage bells. Guess
you heard about the million-dollar robbery of the Chicago Bank; biggest
pile any one fellow ever got away with. And that's the wonder: he got
clean away, simply faded into nothing. It happened months ago and not a
trace of him since. Detectives everywhere are on the keen jump; big
reward hung up. He's being gay somewhere with seventy-five dollars of my
good money."
Tea was served and we indulged in much small talk, but I was not sorry
when Pinkey said he "must be moving along" to the steamer. He charged us
to wireless him, if we saw a strange man standing around with a bushel
of gold concealed about his person. It was sure to be the missing
cashier. "By-the-way," he asked, pausing at the door, "where is that
chap I met when I was here before, who took such an interest in my
business? Maybe he is among those absent wanted ones. What was he doing
here anyhow?"
Zura answered with what I thought unnecessary color that Mr. Hanaford
was in the city, and was soon to be promoted to a very high position in
the educational world.
Pinkey looked into her face and, turning, gave me a violent wink. "Oho!
Now I'm getting wise." At the same time humming a strain supposed to be
from a wedding march.
Oh, but I wished I could slap him! Think of his seeing in a wink what I
hadn't seen in months!
My visitors said good-by and went their happy way, but in the story of
the missing cashier Mr. Chalmers left behind a suggestion that was as
hateful as it was painful and haunting.
* * * * *
Page spent that evening with us. He was lighter of heart than I had ever
seen him, more at ease and entertaining, and as far removed from crime
as courage is from cowardice.
My heart ached as I looked at him, for I longed for his happiness as I
yearned to know he was clean of soul.
If some cruel mistake had darkened his life, why did he not say so and
let us, his friends, help him forget? Why not start anew with love as a
guide?
It was another Page we were seeing that night. Was it the magic of love
that made him hopeful, almost gay? Or was it for the moment he was
permitted one more joyous flight in the blue skies of freedom before he
was finally caught in the snare of the shadow?
For the time he sunned his soul in the garden of friendship and love
and gave us, not only glimpses of other worlds, but disclosed another
side of himself. If the new man I was seeing in Page Hanaford captivated
me the revelation of the undiscovered woman in Zura mystified and amazed
me. Till now her every characteristic was so distinctly of her father's
race, everything about her so essentially Western, that I was beginning
to think she had tricked a favorite law of Nature and defied maternal
influence.
As much as she loved pretty clothes, and regardless of the pressure
brought to bear by her grandfather, she had refused to wear the native
garb, preferring the shabby garments she brought with her from America.
I had never thought of her being Japanese; but that evening, when Page
was announced and Zura walked into the room clothed in kimono and obi,
my eyes were astonished with as fair a daughter of old Nippon as ever
pompadoured her hair or wore sandals on her feet.
She was like a new creature to me. Her daring and sparkling vivacity
were tempered by a tranquil charm, as if a slumbering something, wholly
of the East had suddenly awakened and claimed her. With eyes half
lowered she responded with easy familiarity to Page's talk of other
lands. She said her father had traveled far and had spent many of their
long winter evenings in spinning yarns of foreign countries for her
enjoyment. She'd been brought up more regularly on pictures than she had
food. Once they had copies of all the great paintings. Mother sold the
last one to get money to pay the passage to come to Japan.
And so they talked. Jane, snug in her chair, was content to listen, and
I, who had been blind, was now dumb with the startling surprises that
the game of life being played before me revealed.
The girl glowed as softly bright as a firefly and the light lured the
man to happy forgetfulness. For once he let love have full sway. He
neither sought to conceal what he felt, nor to stem the tide which was
fast sweeping him--he knew not nor cared not whither so long as his eyes
might rest upon the dearness of Zura's face, as with folded feet and
hands she sat on a low cushion, the dull red fire reflecting its glory
in the gold embroidery of her gown.
There had been a long silence. Then Zura recalled the event of the day:
"Oh, Mr. Hanaford, by the way. You remember Pinkey Chalmers, don't
you--the nice boy you and Ursula entertained so beautifully in the
garden when he called the last time? He was here again to-day; had his
bride with him. Ursula will tell you what she looked like. I do wish you
had been here. Mr. Chalmers told us the most exciting news about a
Chicago cashier who skipped away with a million dollars and hid both
himself and the money--nobody knows where. They think he is out this way
and I think I am going to find him."
In the passing of one second the happiness in Page Hanaford's face
withered. Like a mask fear covered it. He thrust his strained body
forward and with shaking hand grasped the shoulder of the girl. "Hid it!
Tell me, in heaven's name, tell me where could a man hide a million
dollars?" His voice was tense to the breaking point. He searched the
girl's face as if all eternity depended upon her reply.
Before she could make it he sank back in his chair, pitifully white and
limp. He begged for air. We opened the window. Zura ran for water. While
I bathed his face he said, looking at Zura: "I beg your pardon. I'm not
at all well, but I didn't mean to startle you."
"I'm not startled," she answered, and lightly added: "but I was just
wondering why anybody would care so much where a million old dollars
were hid. I know a hundred things I'd rather find."
The man laid his hand on that of the girl as it rested on the arm of the
chair. "Name one, Zura."
"Love." And on her face the high lights were softened to compassion and
tenderness.
Page took his hand from hers and covered his eyes.
* * * * *
There I stood waiting to put another cold cloth on the boy's head.
Neither one of them knew I was on earth. I hardly knew it myself. For
the first time in my life I was seeing the real thing and the wonder of
it almost petrified me.
What else might have happened is an untold tale. Jane saved the
situation. I had not noticed her absence. She now entered, carrying a
tray well filled with crackers and a beverage which she placed before
Page. "Honey, I don't believe in any of those spirit-rising liquors even
when you faint, but I made this jape gruice right off our own vine and
fig tree and I know it's pure and innocent. Yes, Zura, grape juice is
what I said. Page can drink every gallon I have if he wants it, and I'll
toast cheese and crackers for him all night."
The twist in Jane Gray's tongue might lead to laughter, but her heart
never missed the road to thoughtful kindness.
Very soon Page said he felt much better and would get home and to bed.
When he took his coat and hat from the hall he looked so weak, so near
to illness, I begged him to stay and let us care for him. He gently
refused, saying he would be all right in the morning. I followed him to
the gate. He turned to say good-night.
I put my hands on his shoulders and with all the affection at my command
I invited his confidence. "What is it, son? I'm an old woman, but maybe
I can help you. Let me try."
He lifted his hands to mine and his grasp was painful. The dim light
from the old bronze lantern reflected the tears in his eyes as he
answered: "Help me? You have in a thousand ways. I'll soon be all right.
I'm just a little over-worked. Haven't slept much lately. Need rest."
Then leaning near with sudden tenderness: "Heaven bless you, dear woman.
You have been as good to me as my own mother. Some day--perhaps.
Good-night. Don't worry, Miss Jenkins."
Why didn't he throw me over into a bramble patch and tell me not to get
scratched? I just leaned my old head up against the gate and cried.