IX.BREAKING UP A HOME.
“It is better to live under God’s sky than under a roof when there’s no luck there.”
Youand I, knowing the use of pen, ink, and paper, and the efficacy of latter-day postal systems, must remember that there are degrees of education; also, that all the methods of communication in well organized communities are as unknown to the ignorant, Americo-alien population of such places as Soot City as is the fate of nations to the speculative schoolboy. Emmaneeded Black’s counsel, but she did not think of the post as a means of getting a letter to a man in her own town. She reasoned that post-office people would slight mail matter not destined to go by train to other cities. So her anxious heart kept her waking to catch the light, that she might get away in secret to Black’s house and there put her case in his ever-open and ever-busy hands.
Youthful weariness demands sleep. Emma was young and overweary, and, as a consequence, overslept.
It was in the fear that calamity might have stolen another march on her that she dressed herself. She had about her a neatness that enragedthe down-at-heel disheartened, of which there are so many in labouring communities.
“The world,” she thought, “has thumped me till I ain’t got half the spring I hed to start on; and that’s the reason I’m goin’ to dress up. I’ll wear cuffs till I’ve got to sell ’em, and a collar, ef I do have to shave for a livin’.”
But she had not enough pleasure in living left to heat the coffee that her father had used at his breakfast; she was only thankful that he had gone away for his paper By the Bridge, and that she might set about vacating the house, with a will. She did not think of consulting him. When a man has consented all his life to anything andnever met any circumstance, crucial or casual, with aught but irrelevant comment, he is rarely a factor in other people’s plans.
She was glad she had not had to get breakfast, for she had to tend Jarlsen. The day was wet, and his hurts seemed the sorer for the damp. When she had done all for him she laid her hand on his, but the dread of packing her wedding things was making war on her energies. She felt she could not rest till she had packed the white gown out of sight and mind. Before now she had held a private service of tears over her six wedding presents. Miss Bentley had given her a jacket edged with good fur, and her sister had given her some finestockings; but her lover’s gift meant more to her than any other inanimate thing. It certainly meant more than bread, for she would have starved before she sold it, and died in happiness had her eyes but met it as they closed finally.
It was a large locket of reddish gold, embossed in clumsy arabesque; within were two photographs—of Jarlsen and of Cheyne Falls, where they were to have spent their wedding week. It was the fashionable tribute from groom to bride in Jarlsen’s circle of Soot citizens, and Emma felt that with this gift he conferred his higher class on her. It was just what he would have given the first foreman’s daughter. She opened thelocket and looked in. Eve may have felt like her and Emma thought of her; it was an angel with a fiery sword who put them both out of God’s Eden, she remembered. But some of Eve’s memories must have been self-reproachful, and Emma was spared that misery. She was also a fine enough type to appreciate that.
She was shutting up her little shrine when Jerry Black found her. They met with tears that had not started at their meeting; for Jerry had wept at having to return in sorrow to the house where but yesterday hope had hurried him.
To begin a new series of troubles just as he had completed an old one told on his nerves. He had spentthe long night praying for Emma, his head on his shiny rosewood dining table.
He always showed this table with pride; it was made from the extra wood he had been commissioned to buy for the Bentley coffins. He had made it himself, and time and again had shown it to Miss Bentley, in whom he felt a great disappointment, as she never manifested any satisfaction at the sight. The cats leaped upon it nightly, as it was Jerry’s habitual place of prayer, and it sometimes seemed to him that they exchanged glances with each other in his despite, glances of criticism at his fervour. He never drove them away, however.
“Emma,” he said, his lips tremblingand his pale eyes filling fast, “your trouble’s fearful heavy, but you won’t give in. I’ve seen to Quarry, and it jest ain’t no use; you can’t get anything out of him; he give it all in to the Workers’ Protective Circle. He give it in to the aggression fund. They’re going to order a strike for the same pay for winter days nine hours’ work, as they get for a ten-hours’ summer’s day. I think that’s it. My work’s among the peaceful, and sometimes I thank God I hev it mostly among dead men, seein’ what the live ones is like. But, Emma, he’s give the money in, so’s the strike fund can grow. He’s a gainin’, winnin’ kind of speaker, and he’s give up what he took to their cause,and no one ain’t a-goin’ to touch him. Now you jest remember that the night’s blackest just before the sun comes, and don’t you loose your grip. When Jarlsen comes out from the blast you want him to find you jest es straight and steady es when he was took—don’t you now?”
The tears slipped from Emma’s eyes at the little man’s tone. Her face was as tranquil as it was sorrowing, and, as she answered, there was no bitterness in her voice and no fretfulness or rebellion in gesture or look. She did not feel bound to exhibit spirit in his presence. “O Jerry,” she said, “I think I do. But I can’t stay fit for him when I live with thieves who robhim. I’m glad he got the blast ef I have to get low-toned; he’ll be nearer a mate for me.”
Jerry stayed on and helped her. He packed away the white dress; he was used to handling things that were sacred to the memory of a happy past, and began to pull Emma’s house to pieces as only a woman could be expected to do. Martha Long came in; she was sewing as she walked. She was a brisk woman, and got through half her work on the wing.
“God’s name!” she said to Black, “what’s come to Emma? She looks hurt, and white as a death-sheet.”
Jerry told her what had happened, and Martha, without a word,went over and took both the girl’s hands in hers and pressed them to her sides; she never lost hold of her sewing, and presently set to work again.
“Well,” she half screamed in indignation, “of all the poison toads and irregular vipers in the world and out of it, I guess Quarry’s the lowest down. He’s a dirt-mean man! I suppose you’ll move out, and take the yeller house on the Pastures. There ain’t no one in it since last May, and it has a porch. You won’t stay there long,” Martha said with conviction. “Your kind don’t keep to no rent-free Stonepastures. You’ll come back to the town, and the crowd’ll cheer you—you’ll see.”
“Well,” Emma replied, “I’m going this afternoon.”
Accordingly, at five, or a little later, Jerry brought a funeral carriage By the Bridge, and old Butte and Emma and Jerry and Martha carried Jarlsen on a shake-down along the Tracks. The sun, as Jerry observed, was “leanin’ pretty near the west line,” and the sky was bright above the Stonepastures. It had cleared in the early afternoon, and all the odours, bad and good, seemed flying about, riding on the cool breezes that swept over the Tracks. The high-standing ripe grasses caught the level shafts of sun and bowed before the wind, glorified in the bright light. Jarlsen questioned them about his removal,but gave no evidence that he heard their replies except once, when he said that Emma “sounded” tired. But his voice died away in groanings, and he could not answer their other questions. Emma felt that he heard her voice and did not distinguish the words.
Jerry felt so too. He reminded Emma of the blind man in the Testament. “He seen the men first as trees,” he said, “even when he was cured with grace, and not with herbs and ointment and such; he didn’t get clear vision right away.”
Emma felt happier than she had thought possible. She ran back into the yard and slipped off hershoe. “I’ll get the favour of home for him,” she thought.
But while the handful of mould was still in her hand she put her shoe on again. “I’d liefer shake off the dust from my feet,” she said; “this ain’t no home to get the favour from.”
Martha Long stood at the gate, “You’re in a hurry to go,” she remarked.
“To-morrow begins the new month’s rent,” said Emma. “I quit to-day or pay to-morrow. I’m goin’ where there ain’t no rents to pay. I can’t afford rents and city doctors together.”
Martha’s face darkened. “I’m layin’ for him right here,” she called as the funeral carriage moved away.She was surprised at Emma’s good-bye mood; it was so resolute and cheerful. “He’s a pretty low reptile,” was the last thing she called to Emma as the conveyance grew smaller on the distant road.