I
The French Church, properly the Church of Sainte-Agnes, stoodupon a hill. The high, narrow, red-brick building, with its tallsteeple and steep roof, could be seen for miles across the wheatfields,though the little town of Sainte-Agnes was completely hidden awayat the foot of the hill. The church looked powerful and triumphantthere on its eminence, so high above the rest of the landscape,with miles of warm color lying at its feet, and by its position andsetting it reminded one of some of the churches built long ago inthe wheat-lands of middle France.
Late one June afternoon Alexandra Bergson was driving along oneof the many roads that led through the rich French farming countryto the big church. The sunlight was shining directly in her face,and there was a blaze of light all about the red church on thehill. Beside Alexandra lounged a strikingly exotic figure in atall Mexican hat, a silk sash, and a black velvet jacket sewn withsilver buttons. Emil had returned only the night before, and hissister was so proud of him that she decided at once to take him upto the church supper, and to make him wear the Mexican costume hehad brought home in his trunk. "All the girls who have stands aregoing to wear fancy costumes," she argued, "and some of the boys.Marie is going to tell fortunes, and she sent to Omaha for a Bohemiandress her father brought back from a visit to the old country.If you wear those clothes, they will all be pleased. And you musttake your guitar. Everybody ought to do what they can to helpalong, and we have never done much. We are not a talented family."
The supper was to be at six o'clock, in the basement of the church,and afterward there would be a fair, with charades and an auction.Alexandra had set out from home early, leaving the house to Signaand Nelse Jensen, who were to be married next week. Signa hadshyly asked to have the wedding put off until Emil came home.
Alexandra was well satisfied with her brother. As they drovethrough the rolling French country toward the westering sun and thestalwart church, she was thinking of that time long ago when sheand Emil drove back from the river valley to the still unconqueredDivide. Yes, she told herself, it had been worth while; both Emiland the country had become what she had hoped. Out of her father'schildren there was one who was fit to cope with the world, who hadnot been tied to the plow, and who had a personality apart from thesoil. And that, she reflected, was what she had worked for. Shefelt well satisfied with her life.
When they reached the church, a score of teams were hitched infront of the basement doors that opened from the hillside upon thesanded terrace, where the boys wrestled and had jumping-matches.Amedee Chevalier, a proud father of one week, rushed out andembraced Emil. Amedee was an only son,--hence he was a very richyoung man,--but he meant to have twenty children himself, likehis uncle Xavier. "Oh, Emil," he cried, hugging his old friendrapturously, "why ain't you been up to see my boy? You cometo-morrow, sure? Emil, you wanna get a boy right off! It's thegreatest thing ever! No, no, no! Angel not sick at all. Everythingjust fine. That boy he come into this world laughin', and he beenlaughin' ever since. You come an' see!" He pounded Emil's ribsto emphasize each announcement.
Emil caught his arms. "Stop, Amedee. You're knocking the wind outof me. I brought him cups and spoons and blankets and moccasinsenough for an orphan asylum. I'm awful glad it's a boy, sureenough!"
The young men crowded round Emil to admire his costume and to tellhim in a breath everything that had happened since he went away.Emil had more friends up here in the French country than down onNorway Creek. The French and Bohemian boys were spirited and jolly,liked variety, and were as much predisposed to favor anything newas the Scandinavian boys were to reject it. The Norwegian andSwedish lads were much more self-centred, apt to be egotisticaland jealous. They were cautious and reserved with Emil because hehad been away to college, and were prepared to take him down if heshould try to put on airs with them. The French boys liked a bitof swagger, and they were always delighted to hear about anythingnew: new clothes, new games, new songs, new dances. Now theycarried Emil off to show him the club room they had just fitted upover the post-office, down in the village. They ran down the hillin a drove, all laughing and chattering at once, some in French,some in English.
Alexandra went into the cool, whitewashed basement where the womenwere setting the tables. Marie was standing on a chair, buildinga little tent of shawls where she was to tell fortunes. She sprangdown and ran toward Alexandra, stopping short and looking at herin disappointment. Alexandra nodded to her encouragingly.
"Oh, he will be here, Marie. The boys have taken him off to showhim something. You won't know him. He is a man now, sure enough.I have no boy left. He smokes terrible-smelling Mexican cigarettesand talks Spanish. How pretty you look, child. Where did you getthose beautiful earrings?"
"They belonged to father's mother. He always promised them to me.He sent them with the dress and said I could keep them."
Marie wore a short red skirt of stoutly woven cloth, a white bodiceand kirtle, a yellow silk turban wound low over her brown curls,and long coral pendants in her ears. Her ears had been piercedagainst a piece of cork by her great-aunt when she was seven yearsold. In those germless days she had worn bits of broom-straw, pluckedfrom the common sweeping-broom, in the lobes until the holes werehealed and ready for little gold rings.
When Emil came back from the village, he lingered outside on theterrace with the boys. Marie could hear him talking and strummingon his guitar while Raoul Marcel sang falsetto. She was vexedwith him for staying out there. It made her very nervous to hearhim and not to see him; for, certainly, she told herself, she wasnot going out to look for him. When the supper bell rang and theboys came trooping in to get seats at the first table, she forgotall about her annoyance and ran to greet the tallest of the crowd,in his conspicuous attire. She didn't mind showing her embarrassmentat all. She blushed and laughed excitedly as she gave Emil herhand, and looked delightedly at the black velvet coat that broughtout his fair skin and fine blond head. Marie was incapable of beinglukewarm about anything that pleased her. She simply did not knowhow to give a half-hearted response. When she was delighted, shewas as likely as not to stand on her tip-toes and clap her hands.If people laughed at her, she laughed with them.
"Do the men wear clothes like that every day, in the street?" Shecaught Emil by his sleeve and turned him about. "Oh, I wish I livedwhere people wore things like that! Are the buttons real silver?Put on the hat, please. What a heavy thing! How do you ever wearit? Why don't you tell us about the bull-fights?"
She wanted to wring all his experiences from him at once, withoutwaiting a moment. Emil smiled tolerantly and stood looking down ather with his old, brooding gaze, while the French girls flutteredabout him in their white dresses and ribbons, and Alexandra watchedthe scene with pride. Several of the French girls, Marie knew, werehoping that Emil would take them to supper, and she was relievedwhen he took only his sister. Marie caught Frank's arm and draggedhim to the same table, managing to get seats opposite the Bergsons,so that she could hear what they were talking about. Alexandramade Emil tell Mrs. Xavier Chevalier, the mother of the twenty,about how he had seen a famous matador killed in the bull-ring.Marie listened to every word, only taking her eyes from Emil towatch Frank's plate and keep it filled. When Emil finished hisaccount,--bloody enough to satisfy Mrs. Xavier and to make herfeel thankful that she was not a matador,--Marie broke out witha volley of questions. How did the women dress when they went tobull-fights? Did they wear mantillas? Did they never wear hats?
After supper the young people played charades for the amusementof their elders, who sat gossiping between their guesses. All theshops in Sainte-Agnes were closed at eight o'clock that night, sothat the merchants and their clerks could attend the fair. Theauction was the liveliest part of the entertainment, for the Frenchboys always lost their heads when they began to bid, satisfied thattheir extravagance was in a good cause. After all the pincushionsand sofa pillows and embroidered slippers were sold, Emil precipitateda panic by taking out one of his turquoise shirt studs, which everyone had been admiring, and
handing it to the auctioneer. All theFrench girls clamored for it, and their sweethearts bid againsteach other recklessly. Marie wanted it, too, and she kept makingsignals to Frank, which he took a sour pleasure in disregarding.He didn't see the use of making a fuss over a fellow just becausehe was dressed like a clown. When the turquoise went to MalvinaSauvage, the French banker's daughter, Marie shrugged her shouldersand betook herself to her little tent of shawls, where she beganto shuffle her cards by the light of a tallow candle, calling out,"Fortunes, fortunes!"
The young priest, Father Duchesne, went first to have his fortuneread. Marie took his long white hand, looked at it, and thenbegan to run off her cards. "I see a long journey across water foryou, Father. You will go to a town all cut up by water; built onislands, it seems to be, with rivers and green fields all about.And you will visit an old lady with a white cap and gold hoops inher ears, and you will be very happy there."
"Mais, oui," said the priest, with a melancholy smile. "C'estL'Isle-Adam, chez ma mere. Vous etes tres savante, ma fille." Hepatted her yellow turban, calling, "Venez donc, mes garcons! Ily a ici une veritable clairvoyante!"
Marie was clever at fortune-telling, indulging in a light ironythat amused the crowd. She told old Brunot, the miser, that hewould lose all his money, marry a girl of sixteen, and live happilyon a crust. Sholte, the fat Russian boy, who lived for his stomach,was to be disappointed in love, grow thin, and shoot himself fromdespondency. Amedee was to have twenty children, and nineteen ofthem were to be girls. Amedee slapped Frank on the back and askedhim why he didn't see what the fortune-teller would promise him.But Frank shook off his friendly hand and grunted, "She tell myfortune long ago; bad enough!" Then he withdrew to a corner andsat glowering at his wife.
Frank's case was all the more painful because he had no onein particular to fix his jealousy upon. Sometimes he could havethanked the man who would bring him evidence against his wife.He had discharged a good farm-boy, Jan Smirka, because he thoughtMarie was fond of him; but she had not seemed to miss Jan whenhe was gone, and she had been just as kind to the next boy. Thefarm-hands would always do anything for Marie; Frank couldn't findone so surly that he would not make an effort to please her. Atthe bottom of his heart Frank knew well enough that if he could oncegive up his grudge, his wife would come back to him. But he couldnever in the world do that. The grudge was fundamental. Perhapshe could not have given it up if he had tried. Perhaps he got moresatisfaction out of feeling himself abused than he would have gotout of being loved. If he could once have made Marie thoroughlyunhappy, he might have relented and raised her from the dust. Butshe had never humbled herself. In the first days of their loveshe had been his slave; she had admired him abandonedly. But themoment he began to bully her and to be unjust, she began to drawaway; at first in tearful amazement, then in quiet, unspoken disgust.The distance between them had widened and hardened. It no longercontracted and brought them suddenly together. The spark of herlife went somewhere else, and he was always watching to surpriseit. He knew that somewhere she must get a feeling to live upon,for she was not a woman who could live without loving. He wantedto prove to himself the wrong he felt. What did she hide in herheart? Where did it go? Even Frank had his churlish delicacies;he never reminded her of how much she had once loved him. For thatMarie was grateful to him.
While Marie was chattering to the French boys, Amedee called Emilto the back of the room and whispered to him that they were goingto play a joke on the girls. At eleven o'clock, Amedee was to goup to the switchboard in the vestibule and turn off the electriclights, and every boy would have a chance to kiss his sweetheartbefore Father Duchesne could find his way up the stairs to turn thecurrent on again. The only difficulty was the candle in Marie'stent; perhaps, as Emil had no sweetheart, he would oblige the boysby blowing out the candle. Emil said he would undertake to dothat.
At five minutes to eleven he sauntered up to Marie's booth, andthe French boys dispersed to find their girls. He leaned over thecard-table and gave himself up to looking at her. "Do you thinkyou could tell my fortune?" he murmured. It was the first word hehad had alone with her for almost a year. "My luck hasn't changedany. It's just the same."
Marie had often wondered whether there was anyone else who couldlook his thoughts to you as Emil could. To-night, when she met hissteady, powerful eyes, it was impossible not to feel the sweetnessof the dream he was dreaming; it reached her before she could shutit out, and hid itself in her heart. She began to shuffle hercards furiously. "I'm angry with you, Emil," she broke out withpetulance. "Why did you give them that lovely blue stone to sell?You might have known Frank wouldn't buy it for me, and I wanted itawfully!"
Emil laughed shortly. "People who want such little things surelyought to have them," he said dryly. He thrust his hand into thepocket of his velvet trousers and brought out a handful of uncutturquoises, as big as marbles. Leaning over the table he droppedthem into her lap. "There, will those do? Be careful, don't letany one see them. Now, I suppose you want me to go away and letyou play with them?"
Marie was gazing in rapture at the soft blue color of the stones."Oh, Emil! Is everything down there beautiful like these? Howcould you ever come away?"
At that instant Amedee laid hands on the switchboard. There was ashiver and a giggle, and every one looked toward the red blur thatMarie's candle made in the dark. Immediately that, too, was gone.Little shrieks and currents of soft laughter ran up and down thedark hall. Marie started up,--directly into Emil's arms. In thesame instant she felt his lips. The veil that had hung uncertainlybetween them for so long was dissolved. Before she knew what shewas doing, she had committed herself to that kiss that was at oncea boy's and a man's, as timid as it was tender; so like Emil andso unlike any one else in the world. Not until it was over didshe realize what it meant. And Emil, who had so often imaginedthe shock of this first kiss, was surprised at its gentleness andnaturalness. It was like a sigh which they had breathed together;almost sorrowful, as if each were afraid of wakening something inthe other.
When the lights came on again, everybody was laughing and shouting,and all the French girls were rosy and shining with mirth. OnlyMarie, in her little tent of shawls, was pale and quiet. Under heryellow turban the red coral pendants swung against white cheeks.Frank was still staring at her, but he seemed to see nothing. Yearsago, he himself had had the power to take the blood from her cheekslike that. Perhaps he did not remember--perhaps he had nevernoticed! Emil was already at the other end of the hall, walkingabout with the shoulder-motion he had acquired among the Mexicans,studying the floor with his intent, deep-set eyes. Marie began totake down and fold her shawls. She did not glance up again. Theyoung people drifted to the other end of the hall where the guitarwas sounding. In a moment she heard Emil and Raoul singing:--
"Across the Rio Grand-e There lies a sunny land-e, My bright-eyedMexico!"
Alexandra Bergson came up to the card booth. "Let me help you,Marie. You look tired."
She placed her hand on Marie's arm and felt her shiver. Mariestiffened under that kind, calm hand. Alexandra drew back, perplexedand hurt.
There was about Alexandra something of the impervious calm of thefatalist, always disconcerting to very young people, who cannotfeel that the heart lives at all unless it is still at the mercyof storms; unless its strings can scream to the touch of pain.