 Chapter 25. By the time we learn a few of the lessons life teaches, we stop living. I should have known it is the unexpected that happens, but I forgot it. What I expected at Glaxon did not come to pass. At a little station a few miles east of the tiny town to which we were going, Tom and Madeline left our train and waited for a crawling accommodation to Shellby, where later they would be married. From the car window I waved to them and tried to transmit a portion of my courage for which there was no credit and of my enjoyment of which I should have been ashamed and was not ashamed. A taste for adventure will ever be a part of me and I was getting much more pleasure out of an unexpected experience than Madeline was. The playing of Shadda to her substance was not so serious for me as for her and then too I had the joyful irresponsibility of not going to be married. I do not want to be a married person yet. As we left the car at Glaxon I glanced in the mirror at the end of our coach and was pleased. About me was a bridal atmosphere that was unmistakable. Madeline's clothes were new and lovely and I looked well. So did Selvon. As we reached the platform I was undecided whether to cling timidly to Selvon's arm or to walk bravely apart, and the indecision, together with the certainty that someone would put a hand on Selvon's shoulder and say words I had never before heard made my heart beat with the rapidity that was as genuine as if I were soon to become a bride in very truth. The sensation was exhilarating. I liked it. On the platform of the little station, a few neat grows and overalls, two boys and five men having apparently nothing to do were hanging around, hands in their pockets and looking about me I waited. Nothing happened. Ahead of us and across a muddy road half a dozen stores hunched together in a row of detached and shabby frame houses with upper stories seemingly used for residential purposes comprised the business portion of the little town and on our right the post office, telegraph and express offices and telephone exchange were in the one large building of the place. Out of each window facing us someone was looking and in the open door a man was standing, head off and sweater coated, who at regular intervals and with unfailing accuracy of aim ejected tobacco juice into a puddle of water some distance away. No one but ourselves got off the train and its day at the station being short the attention of the loungers nearby and those resting themselves on boxes and barrels in front of the stores across the road was turned terminatedly to us. I looked at Selvon. In his face was relief. In mine was anxiety and, I'm afraid, disappointment. The situation was flat. I had read various accounts of runaway marriages which had taken place at Plaxon, several of which had only succeeded after eluding the sheriff, waiting under orders from irate parents to arrest them and feeling confident Mrs. Wink would wire the proper person to prevent the marriage of her daughter I looked around for the one most likely to do the work. No one appeared. What if my plan had failed and Madeleine in my unwedding garment was to be taken into custody in Shelby? I turned to Selvon. Do you suppose? My voice was low. A man close to me with hands in his pockets had on the back of his head and his left cheek lumpy was looking at us appraisingly. Do you suppose anything will happen at Shelby? Nothing is happening here. Selvon's sigh of relief was long. If nothing happens here, I'll thank God. To keep it out of the papers would have been impossible. Stay here while I see if there is a decent hotel. He looked around speculatively. In the distance a man could be seen on horseback coming down the road which wound from the top of a mountain to the valley below while at our left a covered ox cart, a farm wagon and a Ford car were waiting for their owners. Nothing in which we could ride however was seemingly in sight. A sudden desire to go somewhere do something possessed me. The day was mild and the air clean and clear and calling and the sunshine brilliant. It was a beautiful day. We must go somewhere. For weeks I had been face to face with cruel conditions of life and seen hardships and denials and injustices and dreary monotony of days. And I wanted for a while to get away from it all, to breathe deep of that which would renew and reinforce and revitalize. Wanted to be a child again and with Selvon as my playmate, wander along the winding road with faces to the sun and hearts of hope and faith that God would not forget and the world would yet be well. If nobody was going to do anything to us, if we were not needed to play a part, the hours ahead could be ours. The train on which we were to return did not leave until 3.30. I looked at my watch. It was 10.30. Get something from somebody. Mahan main movement toward the men about us and then in the direction of the shacks and sheds and cabins of the negroes scattered at white intervals apart from the village, which consisted of a long rambling street with a white-framed church at one end, a grey one at the other, a courthouse in the middle and a schoolhouse at its back. Get a buggy and something you can drive and let's have a holiday just by ourselves. What is that house over there? I pointed to a square old-fashioned red brick building, set well back from the road and surrounded by great oak trees and smaller ones of birch and maple and spruce and pine and shrubs of various kinds. It was Klaxon's one redemption. Shading my eyes, I read the tin sign swinging in the wind from a rod nailed at right angles to a sagging post at its gaitless yard. Svan Tavern The name thrilled. I was no longer a 20th century person, but a lady of other days and if a coach and four with outriders had appeared, I would have stepped in it with delight. It did not appear, nor was Selvyn suddenly knee-breaches in buckles and satin coat and brocaded vest. Not even my imagination could so cloth him. His practicality recalled me. I'll go over and find out what sort of place it is and see if we can get anything to ride in. Perhaps this man can tell me, wait here. He put out his hand as if to prevent my speaking first to the man. I didn't intend to speak to him. The man could tell him nothing. He lived seven miles back and had come to the station to meet a friend who had failed to appear. There were teams in the neighbourhood that might be gotten. Svan Tavern didn't have any. Used to, but most people nowadays, specially drummers, wanted automobiles and old Colonel Tavis, who owned the place, wouldn't let an automobile come in his yard. Perhaps Major Bressy might let him have his horse and buggy. The person who gave the information changed his squid of tobacco from his left to his right cheek and, spitting on the ground below the plank loose platform on which we were standing, pointed to a one-room office building down the street, then again surveyed us. Two or three men across the road came over and two or three others hanging around the station drew nearer and nodded to us, while both of the boys, hands in their pants pockets, stared up at Selvon as if something new had indeed come to town. From each of the groups now uncomfortably close to us, the impression radiated that the rite of explanation was theirs as to why we should appear in Plaxon with no apparent purpose for so appearing. Seemingly we were not the sort who usually applied for aid to the minister of the little town, known far and near for his matrimonial activities, and just what we wanted was a matter concerning which they were entitled to enlightenment. They said nothing, but looked much, frowningly Selvon bit a slip. Presently he spoke, Can you tell me where I can get a horse and buggy for a few hours? He looked first at one man and then another. We have to wait here for friends who will return with us on the three-thirty train, and we'd like to see something of the country round about here while we are waiting. Can we get lunch over there? At what time do they have it? His hand pointed to Svan Tavern. Don't have lunch. Dinner is at twelve o'clock. The man farthest away took his hands from the pockets of his pants and put them in those of his coat. I reckon you can get Major Bressy's horse and buggy if he ain't using him. The horse ain't much, but it moves along. Want me to see if I can get him for you? I would be very much obliged. Selvon turned to me. Shall we have the buggy sent over to us while we see about lunch? He asked, but not waiting for an answer, spoke again to the man whose kindly offices he had accepted. If you can get anything we can write in comfortably, bring it over, will you, and bring it as soon as you can. Lifting his hat, he turned from the staring strangers and helped me down the three rickety steps that led to the road across which we had to go before turning in to the treeline lane that led to the quaint old tavern. And as we walked, we were conscious of being watched with speculation that would become opinion as soon as we were out of hearing. Picking our way through the mud, we soon reached the house and at its door an untidy old gentleman with the grace and courtesy of the days that are no more greeted us as a gracious host greets warmly welcomed guests and we were led to a roaring fire and told to make ourselves at home. As he left the room to call his wife, I touched Selvon's arm and pointed to an open book on an old desk near the window at which travellers were supposed to register. Ask him if he can't have a lunch fixed for us to take with us, then you won't have to register or explain. Tell him anything will do and please do hurry. He did not hurry. Nobody hurries and clucks in. It was twelve o'clock before the buggy was at the door, a basket of lunch in it and goodbye said, and giving a last look around the big dusty, sunshiny room with cobwebs on its walls and furniture in it that would have made a collector sick with desire, I walked out on the porch and with me went the three dogs which had been stretched in front of the big log fire. Together we went down the steps. Tucking a robe around me, the old gentleman nodded to Selvon, don't let your wife get cold sir and don't stay out too long, the sun's deceiving and it ain't as warm as it looks. Being deaf he spoke loudly. The battlefields are to your left about half a mile from the creek with a water rock hanging over it and now about two miles from here you can't miss them. Over yonder, he pointed to the top of a modest mountain, is where we had a signal station during the war. The view from there can't be beat this side of heaven, I ensure the battlements of heaven itself. But our horse had started and Selvon looking at me laughed. The battlefields have their interest but not today, it's nice isn't it, to be just by ourselves and all the world away. Are you alright? I have orders to keep my wife warm. She's very warm, where are we going? I turned from Selvon's eyes. I don't know, don't care, it is enough that we are to be together. Wouldn't you feel better if you said I told you so? Anyone would want to say it, it was a pretty long trip to take unnecessarily and as we haven't been of service, we needn't have come. I'm sorry. I'm not. Selvon, paying no attention to the horse, who had turned into the road leading to the top of the mountain, kept his eyes still on me. I don't deserve what has come of our adventure, but I shall enjoy it the more, perhaps because of undeserving. It is just we two today, I get so morally tired of people. I don't, I like people, perhaps if I only knew one sort, I would get tired of them. I used to think my people were those I was born among, but I'm beginning to glimpse a little that my family is much larger than I thought and that all people are my people. Still, I laughed and drew in a deep breath of pincented air. Still, Selvon waited. It is nice to get away from everybody now and then and be with just you. I mean, certainly I had not meant to say what I had said and provoked it my thoughtless revealing, at the chance it would give Selvon to say what I did not want him to say, I stopped abruptly, then quickly spoke again. Why don't you make the horse go faster? We'll never get to signal hill at this rate. He's crawling. What difference does it make whether we get anywhere or not? I don't want to get anywhere to be going with you is enough. You are a cruel person, Danny, or you would not make me go so long away alone. I'm not making you go alone. It is you who are making me. I'm much more alone than you. Again I stopped and stared ahead. What was the matter with me that I should be saying things I must not say? In the silence of earth and air, I wondered if Selvon could hear the quick, thick beating of my heart. On the winding road no one was in sight, and from our elevation a view of the tiny town below could be glimpsed through the bare branches of the trees of the little mountain we were ascending. And about us was no sound save the crunch of the buggy wheels on the gravel road and the tread of the slow moving horse. It was a new world we were in, a kindly, simple, strife-less world of peace and plenty and calm and content, and the crowded quarters close to Scarborough Square with its poignant problems of sin and suffering, of scant beauty and weary joy seemed a life apart and very far away. And the world of the avenue, the world of handsome homes and deadening luxuries of social exactions and selfish indulgence of much waste and unused power seemed also far away, and just Selvon and I were together in a little world of our own. We might as well have this out, Danny. An arm on the back of the buggy Selvon looked at me, and in his eyes was that which made me understand he was right. We might as well have it out. For three years you have refused to marry me, and now you say you're more alone than I. We've been beating the air, been evading something, refusing to face the thing that is keeping us apart. What is it? You know my love for you, but yours for me. You have never told me that you loved me. Look at me, Danny. He turned my face toward him. Tell me, is it because you do not love me that you will not marry me? No. A bird on a bow ahead of his pipe to another across the road, and as mate to mate was answered. It is not because I do not love you, Selvon. I do love you. The crushing of my hands hurt, but he said nothing. I shall never marry unless I marry you, but I'm not sure we should be happy. Why not? Is there anything that man could do? I would not do to make you happy. All that I am or maybe all that I have to give, and of love I have much, is for you. What is it then? You fear? Your freedom? I should never interfere with that. I shook my head. It is not my freedom. What I fear is a lack of sympathy with, a lack of understanding of, certain points of view. We look at life so differently. But certainly a woman doesn't expect a man to think just as she thinks, to feel as she feels, to see as she sees, nor does she expect her to see and feel and think his way in all things. As individuals say, Of course I wouldn't expect, wouldn't want my husband to feel toward all things I feel. I would not want a stupid husband with no mind of his own. You know very well it is nothing of that sort. If however we cared not at all for the same sort of books, if we saw little alike in art and literature, in music or morals, in science or religion, if the same interest did not appeal, if to the same impulse there was no response, we could hardly hope for genuine comradeship. In most of those things we are together, but life is so much bigger than things, and in our ideas of life and what to do with it, we are pretty far apart. Are we? Are you very sure? Are you perfectly sure, Danny, that we are so very far apart? Something warm and sweet, so tempestuously sweet that it terrified, for a moment, surged, and half-blinded, I looked up at him. Do you mean, my fingers interlocked with his, that I would like to live in Scarborough Square? He smiled unsteadily and shook his head, No, I wouldn't know how to live there. I wouldn't fit in, I am just myself. You are a dozen selves in one. But I am beginning to see dimly what you see clearly. Concerning my selfishness, there is certainly nothing hazy. The walls around my house have been pretty high, and perhaps they should come down. You have much to teach me. I have a habit of questioning. So have I, all thinking people, questioned. But in spite of my questioning, perhaps because of it, I know now that my life must count. It isn't mine to use just for myself, or in the easiest way. If there's anything to it, I've got to share it. Down in Scarborough Square, I have been seeing myself in the old life, and when I go back to it, I cannot keep silent concerning what I have learned. I think perhaps we've failed. The men and women of our world, even more discouragingly than the men and women of the worlds I have learned to live in, that the men and women of the worlds I have learned to know. As your wife, you might not care to have me say. I stopped, silenced by the view which lay revealed before us, then I gave a little cry. Peak after peak of tree-filled mountains, raised their heads to a sky of brilliant blue, whose foam clouds curled and tumbled in fantastic shapes, and in the valley below, was the silence and peace of a place unpeopled. I turned to Selwyn, and long resistance yielding to that for which there was no words, I let him see the fullness of surrender. For a long moment we did not speak, then I drew away from his arms. We must get out. There's a heavenly vision. I want— Getting down from the high, old-fashioned buggy, Selwyn held his arms out to me, lifted me in them to the ground. I too want hear, my heavenly vision. It was difficult to hear him. Drawing my face to his, he kissed me again. You have told me that you loved me. You are mine, and I am going to marry you. He turned his head and listened, in his face something of the old impatience. The soft whirl of an automobile, broke the silence of the sun-filled, breeze-blown air, and I made effort to draw away from Selwyn's arms. Someone is coming, I said, under my breath. Shall we go on or stay here? Stay here. Why not? Frowningly, Selwyn for a moment waited. Then, with his hand-holding mind, we walked nearer to the edge of the mountain's plateau, and looked at the ribbon-like road that wound up to its top. The noise of the engine was more distinct than the car, but gradually the latter could be seen clearly, and presently three figures were distinguished in it. They'll have to pass us. There is no other way. Words not utterable were smothered under Selwyn's breath. A few more minutes, and they'll be going down the mountain, however, and will soon be out of sight. Are you cold? Do you mind staying up here for a little while, with all the world away? No, I want to stay. I leaned forward. In the machine, now near enough to see that two people were in its backseat, and the driver alone in front, there was also leaning forward. Then hurried movement, then the man behind got up and waved his hat, and the girl beside him got up also. Slowly Selwyn turned to me, in his eyes rebellious protest. It is Mr. and Mrs. Cressy, and there's no way of getting rid of them. They've motored over instead of waiting for the train. Have they no sense, no understanding? And they think they've been so considerate in hurrying to us. The tone of my voice was that of Selwyn's. Is there nothing we can do? Nothing, unless we tell them to wait here while we go over to Shelby. The reward of virtue was never to my taste. Our one day together. He turned away, but quickly I followed him. In his hand slipped mine. I'm sorry Selwyn, but there will be another day. Be many days. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of People Like That This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. People Like That by Kate Langley-Bosher Chapter 26 Many undeserved blessings have come to me in life, and have made me temporarily meek and humble. But when punishments come which are unwarranted, meekness and humility, of which I have never possessed a sufficient amount, inasmuch as I am a person without money, disappear, and I am not a lowly-minded lady. I was punished for my part in helping Tom and Madeleine get married by action of Mrs. Swink that was as astounding as it was unexpected. Mrs. Swink is a willy woman. She has little education and large understanding of human nature. She knows when she is beaten. In a woman such knowledge is unusual. The day after our return from Klaxon, she appeared in my sitting-room in Scarborough Square, and, throwing her arms around me, kissed me three times, she attempted a fourth kiss, which I prevented, and followed the kisses with an outburst of tears that was proportionate to her person in volume and abundance. Feeling as one does who is overtaken by a shower when the sun is shining, I made a fur to draw away, but my head was again pressed on a broad bosom, and with fresh tears I was thanked for my kindness in chaperoning her daughter on her matrimonial adventure, an adventure which would have subjected her to much criticism, an adventure which would have subjected her to much criticism, had I not been along. Also, Mr. Thorn, the unexpectedness of these thanks was disconcerting, and with an expression that was hardly appreciative of the pose she was assuming, I finally rescued myself from her arms, and, drawing off, looked at her for explanation. Mrs. Swink is not a person I care to have kiss me. Oh, my dear, you do not know the anguish of a mother's heart. You couldn't know it unless you were a mother, and when you are one, I hope your heart won't be rung as mine has been rung. But poor dear Mr. Swink always said bygones ought to be bygones, and now they are married, as suppose it's a bygone, and I ought not to let my heart be rung. But it is, and I've been thinking about poor dear Mr. Swink all day. She took her seat, and wiping her eyes and nose began to cry again. Oh, my dear, you don't know the anguish of a mother's heart. Would you like a fresh handkerchief? I asked. The one in Mrs. Swink's hand was too wet for further use. I started to hurt my bathroom door, but she shook her head. I've got two or three, I think. I'm so easily affected when my heart is rung that I have to keep a good many on hand, but I had to come and thank you. It would have been so dreadful for them to have gone off alone. It makes it very different to have had you and Mr. Thorn along. Yes, indeed, a mother's heart. What was she up to? Fearing that my face would indicate too clearly that I was not deceived by her change of tactics, I shielded it from the fire by the screen, close to the chair in which I sat, and made effort to wait politely, if not with inward patience. For what I would discover if I only gave her time. Something had happened I did not understand. I had forgotten the letter Selbin had sent her. They went away an hour ago on their wedding trip. A fresh handkerchief was drawn from the heaving bosom for the fresh tears which again flowed. My poor head is all in a whirl. So many things had to be done, though Magline wouldn't take but one trunk, and no maid, though I told her she could have freed her, and there are so many things that have got to be attended to before they get back that I don't know where to begin. And I had to come down here right away and thank you the first thing. And of course she will have to have a truso for her poor dear father wouldn't like it if she didn't have one, and the best that could be bought. He was very particular, her father was, and I know he would thank you too if he could. And there will have to be a reception, and it's about that, and a few other things I felt I must talk to you this morning. Being you are responsible in a way for the marriage, I am nothing of the sort. You are responsible for it being the sort of marriage it was. I went with them because, yes indeed I understand. Tom says it was splendid in you, and I had to come and thank you. Everybody will take it so differently when they know you and Mr. Thorn were along. I think it was noble in Mr. Thorn when his poor brother wanted so much to marry Magline. I feel it was such a narrow escape, her not marrying him. I've been hearing all sorts of sad things about him lately, real sad. I was deceived in him. Who deceived you? I might as well not have asked the question. No attention was paid to it. He was such a dear boy, Harry was, so handsome and his family so well known, and he was so in love with Magline that I was deceived in him. Yes indeed I was deceived. A woman is so helpless where men are concerned. She isn't a bit helpless unless she prefers to be. A great many women do. Have you made any inquiries concerning Harry's character? In my day it wasn't expected of a woman to make inquiries. Mrs. Swing's voice was set of righteous reserve. It's very hard on a mother to ask questions about character and things like that. I knew of the Thorn family very well, and of the Thorn house, which I thought Harry would live in, until he and Magline could build a moderner one. And oh no, my child, you don't know the anguish of a mother's heart. You don't know. Cheers not of anguish, but of blighted ambition, caused the flow of words to seize temporarily, and light came to me. Selven's letter had done the work. Harry, being eliminated, the fat old hypocrite was trimming her sails with hands hardened from long experience. Her embers and gratitude were a viewer in a new direction. In a measure I was to be held to account for the present situation, in a sense to be social sponsor from Mrs. Thomas Quessie. A homeless Harry, disapproved of by family and friends, would not have made a desirable son-in-law, and I had been seized upon as the most available opportunity within reach to bring a daughter's marriage desirably before the public. Mrs. Swink had seemingly little understanding of the little you a society has for people who do not entertain. I do not entertain. Nothing was due her, but hoping if I promised help, she might go away, I suggested the possibility of Kitty's entertaining Tom and Madeline on their return from their wedding trip, and at the suggestion, the beady little eyes brightened, and immediately I was deluged with details of the reception she had determined to give the bride and groom implored for help in making out the list of guests to be invited and begged to be one of the receiving party. The last I declined. When at last she was safely gone, I locked the door and sprayed myself with the preparation that is purifying. I was dispirited. There are times when the world seems a weary place and certain of its people beyond hope or pardon. Last night I had a talk with Mrs. Mundy. She had seen the girl I overheard speaking of an ill man who was being nursed by someone she knew, and this girl had admitted that the someone was Etta Blake. By another name, she had been living in Lily Pierce's world. For the past two weeks, however, she had been away from it. When Mrs. Mundy told me, something within gave away, and my head went down in my arms, which fell upon the table, and I held them back no longer. The aching tears which came at last without restraint. The pity, oh the pity of it, was all that I could say, and wisely Mrs. Mundy let me cry it out, the pain and horror which were obsessing me. Hand on my head, she smoothed my hair as does one's mother when her child is greatly troubled, and for a while neither of us spoke. I had feared for some time what I knew now was true, and it was not for Etta alone that pity possessed me. Somehow, for all young girlhood, for the weak and wayward, the bold and brazen, the unprotected and helpless, I seemed somehow responsible, I and other women like me, who were shielded from their temptations and ignorant of the dangers to which they were exposed, and Etta was but one of many who had gone wrong, perhaps, because I had not done right. Something was so wrong with life when such things could happen, as through all ages had happened. Things which men said were impossible to prevent. Perhaps they are, but women are different from men in that they attempt the impossible. When they understand, this too must be attempted. After a while, Mrs. Mundy began to tell me what she had learned. It was an old story. The girl who told her of Etta was a friend of the latters, and had been a waitress in the same restaurant in which Etta was casual. It was at this restaurant that Harry met her. She was crazy to think he meant to marry her, the girl had told Mrs. Mundy. But at first she did think it. For some time he was just nice to her, taking her to ride in his automobile and out to places where he was not up to meet anyone he knew. And then, then, she doesn't blame Harry though. That is, at first she didn't. She was that dead in love with him, she would have gone with him anywhere. But after a while, when she found out the sort he was, she cursed him. It was about the child they had a split. Was it born here? I was cold and moved closer to the fire. Mrs. Mundy shook her head. He sent her to a hospital out of town. But when she came back with the child he told her she would have to send it away somewhere, put it in some place, or he had quit her. He seemed to hate the sight of it. It was an account of the child they had a fuss. Etta wouldn't give it up. She can be a little fury when she's mad, the girl said, and they had an awful row and he went off somewhere and stayed four months. She tried to get work but each time someone told about her and she was turned off because of the child. At one place one of the bosses tried to take some liberty with her and she threw an ink bottle at him and he drove her away. She knew there wasn't any straight way left to her after that unless she starved or went on a rescue place. She tried to get in one and take the baby with her but it was full and then two, she kept hoping she could get work. Then the baby got sick and needed what she couldn't give it and after a while she gave up. She got a woman to look after the child, promised to pay her well and went down into Lily Pierce's world. Since the day she went she has never been out except to see the baby until two weeks ago when she moved into a decent place and took two rooms. Harry had come back to her. How old is the child? Ten months. She never intended it to know anything of its mother. She hoped she would die before it was old enough to understand. It's a little girl. Etta is eighteen. The room grew still and, getting up, Mrs. Mundy put more coal on the fire, made blaze spring from it, warm and red. I waited for her to go on. It seems like Mr. Harry can't stay away from her, the girl says. He never sees the child though. The other woman who is married and has children of her own still keeps it for her. She's named Bunch. Mrs. Mundy looked up. I've found where the Bunches live. It's only two squares from where Etta is now living. But Harry, I turned off the light behind me. He is with Etta. He was taken ill on Christmas night except the doctor. No one knows he is with her. He would have been dead by now had it not been for Etta, the doctor says. He had pneumonia. Mr. Gard and Mr. Crimm have gone to see him tonight to see when he can be moved away. And Etta, what would become of her? Mrs. Mundy looked into the fire. What can become of any girl like that but to go back to the old life? She's an outcast forever. And he? I got up. He will go home and feed on the leaven of Pharisees and hypocrites, and later he will marry a girl of his world. And the world that will give him welcome will keep Etta in her hell. I wonder sometimes that God doesn't give us up. We who call ourselves clean and good. We are a lot of cowards, most of us women, afraid cats and cowards. My hands made gesture and, going to the window, I looked out, ashamed of my outburst. Beating one's head against the walls of Custom and Convention accomplished nothing. All sane people agreed concerning the injustice of one person paying the price of the sin of two people. All normal ones admitted that what was wicked in a woman was wicked in a man. But agreement and admission were terms of speech. Translation into action would have meant a bigger price and even sane and normal and righteous people were willing to pay. Men could hardly be blamed, but women should be for the continuance of old points of view. Women are no longer ignorant or dependent, and the time for silence and acceptance is past. Perhaps the women of Lily Pierce's world are not so much to be despaired of as some of mine and other sheltered worlds. The soulless, spineless, selfish ones who cannot always justly draw their skirts aside and yet do draw them with eyebrows raised and curling lips and gesture that means much. I too have been a coward. I too have been longer sleep. But there were other women who had been making splendid fight while I was wasting time and the thought of them came courage and under my breath I prayed God to make it grow. You must bring Etta here. I turned from the window. I want to talk to her to see if something can't be done. Surely something can be done. She might get some rooms not far from here and take the child to live with her. Mr. Thorn will doubtless make his brother go away. Can you see her tomorrow and bring her here? Mrs. Mundy caught up. You were dead tired in order to go to bed. Night before last you didn't sleep two hours and I heard you up late last night. You mustn't take things too hard, Ms. Dandridge. She put her warm hands on my cold ones. You're young, but for over 30 years I've been looking life in the face and I've learned a lot that nothing but time can teach. One of the things is that we all ain't made in the same mold and our minds and hearts ain't any more alike than our bodies. Every day we live we have to get in a new supply of patience and politeness to keep from hitting out at times at folks who don't see our way. Some people ain't ever going to look at things they don't want to see or to listen to what they don't want to hear but they aren't as many people like that as you think. There's many a woman in this world today that God is proud of in the homes and places what they are the head of and on their boats and things they are learning that all women are their kin and after a while they'll make other women understand. I'll see Etta tomorrow and if she will come I will bring her to see you but until Mr. Harry is gone she won't come won't leave him. Sometimes it seems a pity he didn't die. Go to bed Ms. Dandridge you're all tired out. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of People Like That This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org People Like That by Kate Langley-Bosher Chapter 27 For two weeks Etta Blake refused to come to Mrs. Mundy's refused to see the latter when she went to see her to see me when I went but yesterday she came to both of us ten days ago Harry was taken to Selwyn's home and is now practically well. Mr. Gore tells me he is going away going west. I have seen Selwyn but twice since he learned where Harry was found and then not alone. Both times someone was here and he stayed but a short while. He has bitten dust off late and even with me he is encased in a reserve that is impenetrable. There has been no chance to mention Harry's name had he wished to do so. I do not know that he will ever mention it again. Selwyn is the sort of person who rarely speaks of painful or disgraceful things. I was in my sitting room when Mrs. Mundy came up with Etta. As the latter stood in the doorway prayers sprang in my heart that I would not shrink but the heritage of the ages was upon me and for a half minute I could only think of her as one is taught to think as a depraved, polluted creature hardly human and then I saw she was a suffering sinful child and I took her hands in mine and led her to the fire. To see clearly see without confusion and with no blinding of sentimental sympathy but as a woman should see woman I had been trying to face life frankly for someone's past yet when I saw Etta I realised I had gone but a little way on the long and lonely road awaiting if I were to do my part. And then I remembered Harry he had gone back to the proudest hottest home in town and Etta where could Etta go? Hackless and in a shabby dress with her short dark curly hair parted on the side she looked even younger than when I had first seen her but about her twisting mouth where lines that hardened it and in her appellate eyes which now short flame and fire and now paled with weariness I saw that which made me know in bitter knowledge she was old and could never again be young youth and its rights for her were gone beyond returning she would not sit down grew rigid when I tried to make her you want to see me she looked from me to Mrs. Mundy and back again to me what do you want to see me about why did you want me to come here we want to talk to you to see what is best for you to do I spoke heartingly it was difficult to speak at all with a rise upon me there were strange eyes for a girl of 18 best for me to do she laughed witheringly and turned from the fire her hands twisting in nervous movements there are only two things ahead of me death or worse which would you advise me to do without waiting for answer the slight shoulders straightened and went back scorn, hate, bitterness wearing her unconscious pose and from her eyes came fire if you sent for me to preach you can quit before you start there ain't anything you can do for me I'm done for what do people like you care what becomes of girls like us maybe we send ourselves to hell but you see to it that we stay there you're good at your job all right I hate you you good women hate you I heard Mrs. Mundy's in-drawn breath saw her quick glance of shock and distress then I went over to Etta she was trembling with hot emotion long repressed and as one at bay she drew back reckless defiant and breathing unsteadily I do not wonder that you hate us I'm sorry so sorry for you Etta for a full minute she stared at me as if she had not heard a right and the dull color in her face deepened into crimson then with spring she was at the door her face buried in her arms leaning heavily against it she made convulsive efforts to keep back sound sorry oh my god in a heap she crumpled on the floor her face still hidden in her hands I do not know in all the world anybody was sorry you can't be sorry I am I motioned Mrs. Mundy to go out leave her with me I said come back presently but leave her a while with me going over to the window I stood beside it until the choking sobs grew fainter and fainter and then turning away I drew two chairs close to the fire and told Etta to come and sit by me for a while neither of us spoke and when at last we tried to speak it was difficult to hear her I didn't mean to let go like that I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't said you were sorry you have no cause to be sorry for me I'm not worth it I was crazy to care as I cared I ought to have known gentlemen like him don't marry girls like me but I didn't have the strength to to make him leave me or to go away myself and then one day he told me it had to be a choice between him and the baby he seemed to hate the sight of the baby he said I must send it away swaying slightly she caught herself against the side of the table close to her and again I waited she's a delicate little thing and I couldn't put her in a place where I didn't know how they'd treat her he told me it had to be one or the other and I had rather he'd killed me than made me say which one but I couldn't give the baby up she needed me and then my voice too was low he got mad and went away I thought I hated him but I can't hate him I've tried and I can't when he came back and found where I was living a long low shiver came from the twisting lips about five weeks ago I moved to where he was taken sick and now now he has gone home again and I she got up as if the torment of her soul made it impossible for her to sit still and again she faced me it doesn't matter what becomes of me what do rich people and good people and people who could change things care about us and neither do they care what we think of them and especially of good women do you suppose we think you really believe in the Christ who did not stone us we don't we laugh at most Christians spit at them we know you don't believe in him or you'd remember what he said she turned sharply Mrs. Mundy with Kitty behind her was at the door the latter hesitated and seeing it Etta nodded to her come in I won't hurt you you need not be afraid speaking first to Etta Kitty kissed me and I saw she had come upstairs because she too was wondering if there was something she could do Kitty is no longer the child she once was she is going someday to be a brave and big and splendid woman at the window she sat down and as though she were not in the room Etta turned toward me you said just now you wanted to help wanting won't do that she snapped her fingers you've got to stop wanting and will to do something men laugh at the laws men make but we don't blame men like we blame women who let their men be bad and then smile on them marry them in Britain they do not know they do not want to know if you made men pay the price you make us pay the world would be a safer place to live in men don't do what women won't stand for Kitty leaned forward and Etta with twisting hands looked at her and then at Mrs. Monty and then at me and an arise with piteous appeal there's no chance for me but I've got a little baby girl what's going to become of her in God's name can't you do something to make good women understand make them know the awfulness awfulness again the room grew still and presently with dragging steps Etta turned toward the door quickly I followed her she must not go I had said nothing got in nowhere and there was much that must be said that something might be done to have her leave without some plan to work toward would be loss of time she was but one of thousands of bits of human wreckage in danger herself and of danger to others and somebody must do something for her I put my hand on her shoulder to draw her back and as I did so the door half a jar opened more widely motionless and as one transfixed she stared at it wide eyed and into her face crept the pallor of death Selwyn and Harry were standing in the doorway end of chapter 27 chapter 28 of people like that this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org people like that by Kate Langley-Bosher chapter 28 stumbling back as if struck Harry leaned against the door frame and the hat in his hand dropped to the floor Selwyn too for a half minute drew back then he came inside and spoke to Etta and to me and to Mrs. Monty and to Kitty pushing a chair close to the fire he took Harry by the arm and led him to it sit down he said quietly you'll be better in a minute Harry had given Etta no sign of recognition but the horror in his once handsome face now white and drawn told of a shock at finding her with me and fear and recoil weakened him to the point of faintness in his effort to recover himself to resist what might be coming he struggled as one for breath but from him came no word no sound infinite pity for Selwyn made it impossible for me to speak for a moment and before words could come Mrs. Monty and Kitty had gone out of the room and Selwyn had turned to Etta with shoulders again drawn back and eyes dark with fear and defiance she looked at him why have you come here she asked what are you going to do you've taken him home and left me to go back to where he drove me isn't that enough why have you brought him here to ask Ms. Heath to say what you must do that is why I have come pushing the trembling girl in a chair behind Harry's Selwyn looked up at me you must decide what is to be done Dandridge this is a matter beyond a man's judgment I do not seem able to think clearly you must tell me what to do I? oh no it is not for me surely you cannot mean that I must tell you the blood in my body surged thickly and I drew back a part that such decision should be laid upon me such responsibility be mine what is it you want of me to tell me what Harry must do in Selwyn's face was the whiteness of death but his voice was quiet I did not know until David Gard told me that there was a child and that Harry was its father and that because of the child Etta would not go away as I tried to make her I did not know she had no father or brother to see that as far as possible her wrong is righted I want you to forget that Harry is my brother and remember the girl and tell me what he must do from the chair in which Harry sat came a lurching movement and I saw his body bent forward saw his elbows on his knees his face buried in his hands and then I heard a sudden sob a soft little cry that stabbed and Etta was on the floor beside him crouching at his feet holding his hands to her heart and uttering broken foolish words and begging him to speak to her to tell her that he would marry her that he would marry her and take her away Harry oh Harry faintly we could hear the words that came stumblingly could we be married Harry and go away oh far away where nobody knows I will work for you live for you die for you if need be Harry we could be happy I would try oh I would try so hard to make you happy and the baby would have a name you would not hate her if we were married she was never to know she had a mother she was to think her real mother was dead and that I was just someone who loved her but if we were married I would not have to die to her tell me oh tell me Harry that we can be married and go away where nobody knows but he would tell her nothing with twitching shoulders and head turned from her he tried to draw his hands from those which held his impetuous appeal and presently she seemed to understand and into her face came a ghastly shuddering smile and slowly she got up and drew a deep breath as she stood aside Harry with a sudden movement was on his feet at the door his hand was on the knob and he tried to open the door but instantly Selwyn was by him and with hold none too gentle he was thrust back into the room you damned coward Selwyn's voice was low she's the mother of your child and you want to quit her to run rather than pay your price by god I'll see you dead before you do again the room grew still the ticking of the clock and the beat of raindrops on the windowpane smingled with the soft purring of the fire's flames and each waited we knew not for what and then Etta spoke but you too would have to pay if you were made to pay the price she looked at Selwyn it is not fair that you should pay I will go away somewhere it does not matter about the baby or me thank you but goodbye I'm going away before I could reach her hold her back she was out of the room and running down the steps and the front door had closed Mrs. Mundy looked up as I leaned over the banister it is better to leave her alone today she said and I saw that she was crying we can see her tomorrow she had better be by herself for a while back in the room Selwyn and I looked at each other with white and troubled faces we had bungled badly and nothing can be done come tomorrow night I must see David Gard must see Etta again before I come tomorrow and I will tell you I must be sure I turned toward Harry but he had gone into the hall quickly my hands went out to Selwyn and for a long moment he held them in his then without speaking he turned and left me End of Chapter 28 Chapter 29 of People Like That This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org People Like That by Kate Langley-Bosher Chapter 29 I know I should not think too constantly about it I try not to but I cannot shake off the shock the horror of Etta's death Selwyn enclosed the note she wrote him in the letter he sent me just before leaving with Harry for the west but he did not come to see me before he left when I try to sleep the words of Etta's note pass before me like frightened children crying, crying and then again these children sing a dreary chant and still again the chant becomes a chorus which repeats itself until I'm unnerved and they seem to be calling me these little children and begging me to help make clean and safe the parts that they must read I am just one woman what can I do I knew Etta was dead before Selwyn received her note Mrs. Banch the woman who kept the child for her came running to Mrs. Monty the day after Etta had been to see me and incoherently sobbingly with hands twisting under her apron she told us of finding Etta with the baby in her arms lying on her bed as she thought asleep but she was not asleep she was dead she had done it as deliberate as getting ready to go on a long journey the woman had sobbed everything was fixed and in its place and after bathing and dressing the baby in a clean gown she wrote on a piece of paper that all of its clothes were for my little girl and that she wouldn't do what she was doing if there was any other way with a fresh outburst of tears the woman handed me a half sheet of note paper various as we are it read I am taking the baby with me Etta we will come with you Mrs. Monty who had gotten out her hat and coat to go to see Etta before Mrs. Banch came in hurriedly put them on while I went for mine and together we followed the woman to the small and shabby house in the upper part of which Etta had been living for some weeks past the lower part being occupied by an old shoemaker and his wife who had been kind to her and as we entered the room where the little mother and her baby lay I did not try to keep them back the tears that were too late last night I was standing at the door when she came by with a letter in her hand as Mrs. Banch talked she was still quivering from the shock of her discovery and her words came brokenly on her way back from mailing it I asked her to come in and sit with me but she wouldn't do it she said she was going to take the baby with her to spend the night as she didn't want to be by herself and going upstairs she wrapped her up good and took her away with her I don't know why but I felt worried all last night and this morning I couldn't get down to nothing till I ran around to see how she was and how the baby was and when I went up in a room the woman's work worn hands were pressed to her breast God! this world is a hard place for girls who sin it don't seem to matter about men but women presently she raised her head and looked at us I never seen a human being what had her spirit for enduring she paid her price without whining but something must have happened what she couldn't stand she had a heart if she was if she was two days later as quietly as her life had ended it is body with her baby on its breast was put into the ground and mingled with David Gard's voice as he read the service for the dead was the far-off murmur of city noises the soft rise and fall of city sounds with Mrs. Mundy and Mrs. Banch the old shoemaker and his wife I stood at the open grave and watched the earth piled into a mount that marked a resting place at last for a broken body and a soul no one had tried to reach that it might save but I did not hear the beating of the clods of clay nor the twittering of the birds in the trees nor the wind in their tops I heard instead it as quiet a kitty and to me in God's name can somebody do something to make good women understand it is these words that beat into my brain at night these and the words I did not speak in time and which on the next day were too late the note she sent Selvon also keeps me awake I am going she wrote so the thought of me will not make you afraid you tried to help me but there isn't any help for girls like me I'm taking the baby with me I want to be sure she will be safe it would be too hard for her the fight she adapt to make I can't leave her here alone Etta last night David guard came in for a few minutes leaning back in a big chair he half closed his eyes and in silence watched the flames of the fire and seeing he was far away in thought I went on with the writing of the letter I had put aside when he came in I always know when he is tired and worn and I have learned to say nothing to be as silent as he when I see that the day's work has so worried him he does not wish to talk at other times we talk much talk of life and its possibilities of old cults and new philosophies of books and places of the endless struggles of men like himself to be intellectually honest and spiritually free but oftenest we speak of the people around us the people on whom the injustices of a selfish social system fall most heavily and among them sharing their hardships understanding their burdens recognizing their limitations and weaknesses leading and directing them he has found life in losing it and it now has meaning for him that is bigger and finer than the best that earth can give presently he stirred drew a long breath as one awaking and when he spoke he did not turn toward me I saw Mr. Thorn the night before he left with Harry for his friend's ranch in Arizona he is going to give him another chance and it's pretty big of him to do it but I doubt if anything will come of it Harry belongs to a type of humanity beyond awakening to a realization of moral degeneracy a type that believes so confidently in the divine right of class privilege that it believes little else Harry's failure to appreciate the hideousness of certain recent experiences has made them all the more keenly felt by his brother I have rarely seen a man suffer as a latter has suffered in the past few days but unless I'm mistaken the pen in my hand dropped upon the desk and for a while I did not speak then I got up and went toward David Gard who had also risen you mean the words died in my throat that he is beginning to understand why you came to Scarborough Square to grasp the necessity of human contact for human interpretation he too is seeing himself his life his world from the viewpoint of Scarborough Square and what he sees gives neither peace nor pride nor satisfaction he will never see so clearly as you perhaps but certain cynicism certain intolerances certain indifferences and endurances will yield to keener perception of the necessity of new purposes in life he held out his hand he needs you very much I've got to go goodbye for a long time I sat by the fire and watched it die was David Gard right or had it been in vain the venture that had brought me to Scarborough Square I had told Selvon I had come that I might see from its vantage ground the sort of person I was and what I was doing with life but it was also in the secret hope that he too might see the kindred of all men to men the need of each for each that I had come if together we could stand between those of high and low degree between the rich and the poor the strong and the weak with hands outstretched to both and so standing bring about perhaps a better understanding of each other than my coming would have been worthwhile but would we ever so stand all that I had hoped for seemed as dead as the ashes on the hearth I had brought him pain and humiliation drawn back without intention curtains that hit ugly cruel things and for him Scarborough Square would mean forever bitter memories of bitter revealing I had failed I had tried and I had failed and I could hold out no longer getting up I pressed my hands to my heart to still triumph from throbbing it had won I did not hate his house I hated its walls but I could no longer live without him I would marry him when he came back End of Chapter 29 Chapter 30 of People Like That This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org People Like That by Kate Langley-Bosher Chapter 30 My hands in his Selwyn looked long at me then again drew me to him again raised my face to his A thousand times I've asked A thousand times could give myself no answer Why did you wire me to come back Danny? You were staying too long He smiled No, it was not that There was something else What was it? I wanted to see you He shook his head What was it? Why did you send for me? To tell you I would marry you whenever you wish me to His face whitened and the grip of his hands hurt Presently he spoke again But there was something else You had other reasons Surely between us there is to be complete and perfect understanding What is it Danny? I drew away and motioned him to sit beside me on the sofa In the fire lit room faint fragrance of the flowers with which he kept it filled crept to us and around it we both glanced as if its spirit were not intangible and it unspoken thought his hands again held mine You sent for me He leaned toward me Because I heard an unbelievable thing David Gard tells me You have sold your house I can think of nothing else Tell me it is not true Selvin Surely it is not true It is true With a little pry my fingers interlaced with his and words died on my lips As quietly as if no fight had been fought No sleepless nights endured No surrender made it cost of pride beyond computing He answered me But in his face was that which made me turn my face away And in silence I clung to him The room grew still So still we could hear each other's breathing Quick and unsteady Then again I looked up at him But why Selvin? Why did you sell your house? You would not be happy in it You do not care for it I am ready now to live wherever you wish But I am ready too to live where you wish Don't you see it does not matter where one lives What matters is one must be very sure One cannot live apart And that one spirit must have chance Why did you not tell me Selvin? Why did you do this without letting me know? You would have told me not to do it Would not have consented There was no other way to be sure that I was willing to do my part I know now there is something to be done No I must no longer live behind high walls But the house will be needed when the walls come down It is not where one lives but how that counts You must not sell your house But I have sold it Something of the old impatience was in his voice When the frown faded There was no other way to be sure Were the walls down? I did not think perhaps that walls could be anywhere It is too late now The house was sold while I was away The papers will be signed next week Again the room grew still And I made effort to think quickly definitely I was not willing that Selvin should make such sacrifice for me I would let the sunshine into his house And love it when its cold aloofness became friendly warm And together we could learn in it what life would teach The house must not be sold but how prevent I bent my head down to the violets on my breast Drew in deep breath Suddenly a thought came to me I looked up When a man sells a piece of property Doesn't his wife have to sign the papers as well as himself? She does Selvin smiled And the sale couldn't be consummated until she signed them It could not you know the law Again he smiled not having a wife But he will have before those papers are ready to be signed I'm not going to sign them I mean don't you see what I mean? I'm not quite sure I do Selvin's voice was grave uncertain Is it that We will have to be married next week And then you can tell the party who wants your house That your wife does not wish it to be sold Put the blame on me It would be disappointing to many people If there was not something Even about my marriage For which they could criticise me You mustn't sell the house Selvin That is why I wired you to come I was afraid it might be too late If I waited Still doubting Selvin looked at me as if it could not be true That which I was saying And again the room grew still Then Presently and after a long and understanding while He broke its stillness Though when he spoke it was difficult to hear him We will always keep them These rooms in Scarborough Square We will need them as well as a house Without its walls And I You must have patience with me Danny Are you sure you have enough I have not quite as much as you will need for me And yet When there is love enough There is enough of all things else We have waited long enough to be sure Surely Oh surely now We know He bent lower Yes I think now We know End of Chapter 30 End of People Like That by Kate Langley-Bosher Recorded by Nidu Ayer Thanks Brenda and Anne