The Chinaberry Tree

  CHAPTER XV

  MRS. ISMAY was a little thin woman, a Bostonian by birth with all the trade marks of her native city thick upon her. It was impossible to spend an hour in her presence without becoming aware of a gentility which was innate, and of an unaffected sincerity and kindness which even her Boston vowels could not conceal. Laurentine wondered why she had not been attracted to her at first, not knowing that her own coldness and stiffness had created a rampart which few would have attempted twice to scale. But to-day she was weak. The encounter with Hackett had shaken her to her depths. Once she would have taken refuge in scorn and contempt. But to-day she could not, she wanted to relax, to cease being on the defensive; she wanted, she thought, glancing at the placid brown lady beside her, to be serene, gracious, amiable and to be all these things because of the assurance of her place in her world.

  Her hostess led her into the yard surrounding a rather large, rambling house in quite the other end of the town. Laurentine knew the locality though of late she had not visited it; it lay well to the extremity of the Romany Road, a lovely, lonely walk which led through the woods surrounding Red Brook, and then debouched into a highway not far from Aunt Sal’s dwelling. In Laurentine’s childhood “the Road” as it was frequently called had been a famous trysting place for lovers, but the advent of the automobile had changed all this since nowadays each couple knew of a “little spot to be made in twenty minutes in a car where you could be all alone.” And none seemed too poor to possess a car of some description.

  This section of Red Brook had by tacit consent been handed over to the better class of colored people. Dr. Brown’s residence was only three blocks away though his office was more centrally located. Phil Hackett’s father had recently built a large and comfortable bungalow on a street nearby and the Epps’ family, energetic proprietors of a barber shop catering exclusively to whites, lived and had their comfortable being in this vicinity. Melissa knew this neighborhood well but its present condition was new and startling to Laurentine.

  Dr. Ismay came in presently, exclaiming a little testily over his wife’s failure to meet him and drive him home from church. It was a very warm day and beads of perspiration which no amount of sopping could stay, stood out all over his ginger-colored skin.

  “Oh hush,” said Mrs. Ismay unfailingly calm and good-natured. “You were so mixed up with your trustees and stewards and such that I finally prevailed on Miss Strange here to take pity on me and come home to dinner. I didn’t know whether you were coming or not.”

  • • • • •

  Dr. Ismay whirled around, his face a study in amazement. “Miss Strange! Where is she Millie?”

  “In your office looking at those views of Jamaica; go in and speak to her.”

  Obediently he crossed the hall, paid his respects to his visitor and was back at his wife’s side.

  “Gosh-amighty,” he groaned, “what a beaut! No wonder you’ve been raving so about her! What are you going to do with her Millie?”

  “I don’t know,” his wife replied soberly. “It really all depends on what she’s willing to let me do.” She went up close to her husband. “But Robert, from all I’ve been able to hear, she’s had a terribly raw deal, all her life. You’ve got to help me straighten her out. She can’t go on living like this.”

  “Count on me,” he rejoined, speaking with resignation, “only mind, Millie, no match-making.”

  She went to him swiftly and put her slender arm about his neck. “Only if I can find some one as good and dependable as you,” she murmured.

  “Well, that’s impossible,” he assured her with mock relief. “My dear couldn’t we have dinner? I promised Denleigh I’d be waiting for him at two-thirty and it’s two now.”

  • • • • •

  For the first time in her life Laurentine broke bread with colored people of her own rank and sympathies. There was nothing remarkable about the meal or its service. The food was wholesome, well cooked and attractively garnished. However, the same might be said of any meal eaten in her own home. But the lack of restraint the utter feeling of peace and content which pervaded the house created an unforgettable memory. Dr. and Mrs. Ismay chatted of the town, of the way in which the colored population was shifting, of the tendency of the young people to leave South Jersey for Philadelphia, Newark or New York. Outside in the street the voices and chatter of children on rollerskates shattered the Sunday quiet. Within, a hazy veil of sunlight hung over the darkened dining-room, affording a hazy background to what, it seemed to the young guest, must be a dream.

  Presently a car drove up, a man sprang out, crossed the porch and entered the room with an air of quiet assurance. He was a tall, lean man, not young, certainly not old. His face thin and a little worn was remarkable for its air of serene tolerance. He bowed with pleasant exaggerated courtesy over Mrs. Ismay’s hand.

  “So glad to see you Millie, though you might have asked me to dinner.” His glance moved slowly but without offense to Laurentine, dwelt for a moment thoughtfully on her face. He acknowledged the introduction, however, as remotely as the girl herself, then turned to his host.

  “Come on Ismay, we’ve got to get going if you mean to speak in Trenton to-night. Look for us when you see us, Millie.” The trio moved out on the porch and then Ismay remembering his manners called back: “Good-bye Miss Strange. I’m going to make my wife have you over every Sunday.”

  But the tall stranger forsaking the group for a moment walked back through the long window and stood beside Laurentine who sat thinking rather forlornly on Phil Hackett and her empty life.

  “Good-bye Miss Strange,” he said formally.

  And she, her mind still on many things, answered with equal formality, “Good-bye Dr. Denleigh.”

  CHAPTER XVI

  SUDDENLY the summer burgeoned. It seemed to Melissa that on one day she had been in the thick of the confusion and embarrassment of the circumstances attending the Ice Carnival and on the next she was sitting with Asshur on the last day of June under the Chinaberry Tree. They were silent watching the scorching sun’s assault on the area beyond which the thick foliage of the delectable Tree did not extend. Here in this retreat were rest and cool and shelter. Melissa had brought out a tray with a pitcher and lemonade glasses, a picture magazine and a tennis racket. And Asshur, as was usual in his rare moments of inactivity, sat slouched on the small of his back, a cigarette dangling from his lips, tapping with a light staff the firm large shoe which enclosed his firm large foot.

  For a moment he yielded to his sense of utter content. “You know under this tree M’lissa it’s just as though we were living in a tent; on the desert you know. Burning sands and all that kind of thing.”

  Melissa murmured, “Suppose you’re the Sheik and I’m ”

  “You’re my favorite wife.”

  She headed him off adroitly: “More likely your Christian slave. . . . Oh Asshur what a funny year we’ve had! You know I’ve lived here fourteen months and have gone through all sorts of changes. People in Red Brook are more like the weather than any folks I’ve ever seen.” She was almost talking to herself now, unconsciously uttering secret thoughts and puzzling fancies.

  “You know when I first came here every one was rather cool but not as though they meant to be. Just the way people are when they are satisfied and at ease,—not troubling about the stranger. You know what I mean?”

  “Yep.”

  “And then suddenly everything was wonderful, just, just—I know you won’t understand this Asshur—but just the way a girl would want her life to be, outside of being rich. You know lots of fun, lots of folks, telephone ringing, walks, girls asking you to come over, boys asking you if they can come around. And you being wonderful—and serious.” She glanced at his face from which he had carefully removed every trace of expression. “No need to look blank, Asshur. Don’t think I’ve looked on you as some one to feed my vanity. I’ve been conscious of your nearness and decency all along. You know you really are rather a rock, As
shur.”

  “‘Lion of Judah’ is the correct interpretation, I believe. Dad’s a minister down there in Alabama, that’s how I know that kind of thing. Well what about all these happenings in Red Brook? Any new developments?”

  She hesitated. In a way she hated to inform Asshur who saw her always so exalted, so desirable, of her plight. But there were times when she felt so alone, so menaced.

  “I feel,” she said, shivering even in the hot sunlight, “so often as though something very terrible and dreadfully unusual were hanging over me. I can’t express it. I just know it’s going to happen.”

  She half expected Asshur to laugh at her. Somehow it seemed as though if he had it would have dispelled not only her fear, but the actual danger itself. But contrary to her expectation, he did nothing of the sort. Instead he straightened up from his slouching position and asked quite seriously.

  “Have you felt that way long?”

  “No. Only since Laurentine began to dislike me so.”

  “Laurentine! Hey, that’s a new one! I didn’t know she disliked you. I’ve always thought of her as being rather decent. How does she show it? How long has it been going on?”

  “Ever since—now let’s see—yes I think ever since that night you quarrelled with Harry Rob-bins.” Frowning she paused a moment,—she hated to think of that evening. “And I don’t know why; she’s never spoken to me about it. It was just at that time Phil Hackett stopped coming to see her. At first I thought she was so disappointed about him that it just made her generally hateful. I made allowances,” said Melissa in her young magnanimity, “but she’s stayed the same way for months now. And anyhow, what could I have had to do with it?”

  Asshur stood up, his hands in his pockets, looking rather wonderful in his brown, youthful perfection and again as on a former occasion she thrilled to his sheer masculinity. If only he weren’t so set on being a farmer!

  “I don’t understand any of it Melissa. I like Laurentine—what I’ve seen of her. But I sure don’t like the idea of this sudden turn she’s taken against you. Tell you what—” his eyes ran the length of her smart figure in her white mesh sports dress; the red blood began mounting under his thin bright brown skin. “Tell you what Melissa, marry me now—before I go away, I can take care of you, protect you ”

  “Before you go away! Where are you going? Why Asshur you never said ”

  “I know,” he interrupted, “I just found out myself about it to-day, that’s why I’ve come over so early. My father runs a summer school down home, you know. He wants me to come and help him this summer and then in the fall he’s going to send me somewhere to a good agricultural college—maybe South, maybe Cornell, I don’t know. Uncle Ceylon’s going to let me practically run his place at Birneysville when I get through.” He caught her hands.

  “Melissa, it would be so wonderful!”

  She said stubbornly, “You know I don’t want to live on a farm, Asshur.” But she was conscious of a sick terror. Laurentine’s dislike was bad enough. But now with Asshur gone. Her hands clung to his.

  “How long will you be gone, Asshur?”

  “Well, if I’m to go to school in the South, I’ll probably stay right on after summer school. I couldn’t afford to come up and go right back. I’m afraid we won’t see each other for a year.”

  “For a year—Asshur!”

  “Better come with me, Hon.”

  But her ambition was stronger even than her fear of loneliness. “Oh Asshur, I can’t. When are you going?”

  “Friday.”

  “This very week?”

  “Yep. Got to go send my father a special delivery this very minute. I’ll see you every day before I go.” He turned abruptly and left her, the muscles in his lean cheek twitching.

  The Chinaberry Tree looked down on her first real weeping.

  • • • • •

  She fled to her cool room. The winter draperies had been replaced by cool chintzes and meshed curtains of palest lavender. There were touches of lilac in a cover or in a pillow; a bowl of irises struck a deep, rich, purple note. She loved her room, its complete beauty, its sense of affording a haven struck her afresh, only to be lost temporarily in the realization of this new and genuine sorrow.

  The mirror reflected her woebegone face. With the naïve vanity of youth she straightened out her puckered brow, went to the glass and surveyed and estimated her personal assets, her clear light brown skin, her carefully treated reddish hair, her surprising green eyes, her thin, supple figure.

  “Not so bad,” she murmured, her spirits rising,—“And far too good for a farmer’s wife.” She thought of Nina Mae McKinney, a colored girl who had reached Hollywood; she remembered the name of Edna Thomas, a beautiful, older woman who had appeared frequently on the New York stage.

  “Anything, anything could happen,” she told the image in the glass “if you’ll just wait, Miss.”

  She would dress and go for a walk. As she opened the closet door, she remembered her diary carefully tucked away between the inside wall and an old heavy suitcase filled with odds and ends of sewing which no one ever disturbed. Involuntarily her hand closed on the purple bound book, into which so many of her self-revelations had gone. Crossing to her little dressing table she wrote with complete absorption.

  Presently she read it over: “I am the captain of my fate. Here to-day I was so blue, but ever since I’ve been thinking of those actresses I’ve felt better. Of course I can’t buck this color problem and I’m not going to try because anyway I think lots of colored people are pretty well off as they are. I shall always be on top. Not now of course but at least I can keep on going.

  “And that’s why I won’t marry Asshur though I like him such an awful lot. If I get stuck with him what chance would I have to go further? No I’ll either go on the stage or I’ll marry one of these professional men and get somewhere and have a good time. One thing, I won’t be like Laurentine. Of course she can’t help about poor Aunt Sal, but she could help letting herself get stuck in this place. Where’ll she be ten years from now? I know where I’ll be. Either in New York or Queen of the May in Red Brook. Believe I’ll take proud Laurentine as a horrible warning.”

  • • • • •

  But on Friday she forgot her brave words, her fine resolutions. She clung to Asshur.

  “Oh Asshur, Asshur, don’t go!”

  “Melissa you know I have to. But if you want me to, if you really mean you want me, I’ll come back Christmas,—and take you back to ’Bam with me. My father and mother would like you. We live very near Tuskegee, that’s where I’m going you know. I’d be home every week-end.”

  Something about him spelled safety, assurance, peace—all this apart from love. Almost she yielded. It took all her courage to smile wanly, to tell him bleakly:

  “I’ll write Asshur,—maybe I’ll be the one to come.”

  But he felt the great moment had passed. “The train’s coming Melissa.” His voice was cold. And then with a sudden rush of memory. “But mind what I’ve always told you, Melissa! You be good, do you hear, just as good as you can be. Don’t let anything make you miss your step. And if you ever need me really, I’ll come—from anywhere.”

  He had her by her shoulders, almost shaking her. “Promise me—you’ll be very good Melissa.”

  That steadied her more than anything he could have said. “You know I’ll be good Asshur—you know me. Good-bye darling.” Her kiss was very tender. But the tears were nearer his eyes than hers.

  She watched the train fade into the horizon; she could feel the excitement and the tension of the moment drop from her like a discarded garment. Rather forlornly she turned to go home.

  • • • • •

  Near the Post Office she met Kitty Brown frowning over an opened letter.

  “Hello,” said Kitty, “you here too? Come and have an orangeade.” They sipped the brilliantly colored stuff, leaning negligently against the counter.

  “What do you mean, me here too??
?? asked Melissa. “Where else would I be? Where else would you be?”

  “Atlantic City usually,” Kitty answered, “but Doc Brown (she frequently spoke of her father thus) wouldn’t let me go this year because I failed in Latin and chemistry. That stuff!” exclaimed Miss Brown with supreme contempt. “Kept me home all summer with a tutor. Says if I don’t pass it off he won’t let me go to Howard next year. And I do want to go there. You have lots of fun at the colored schools. . . . What do you do with yourself Melissa?”

  “Nothing,” said Melissa truthfully. “I don’t seem to get along with the girls here. We used to be very friendly, but I don’t know what happened to them.”

  “Got mad because you copped most of their fellows I’ll bet,” said Kitty shrewdly, who bothered very little with the local Lotharios.

  Melissa was truthful. “I used to see a lot of them, but they don’t come around much either any more.”

  Kitty showed a remarkable knowledge of the doings of her contemporaries. “You don’t mean to tell me that Lane boy doesn’t come?”

  “No,” said Melissa suddenly solaced by the coupling of his name with hers, “only he’s gone away,—forever, I think—anyway for a year. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the summer.”

  “Kind of out of luck,” said Kitty with unexpected sympathy. “Tell you what. Come on over tomorrow afternoon. Mother’s letting me have some girls and fellows in from places around here. We’ll have supper in the yard, and dance a little if it’s not too hot, and play some bridge. Think you’d like that?”

  “I’d love it,” said Melissa, trying hard not to seem too pleased.

  • • • • •

  “Did my good deed to-day,” Kitty told her mother that evening. “Asked Melissa Paul to my party; you know she’s that girl lives down in little Italy with that good-looking dressmaker Mrs. Ismay’s always shooting off about.”

  “She’s no dressmaker ; she’s a modiste,” her mother laughed good-naturedly. “That was a nice thing to do Kitty. It must be hard on a young girl living down there with those two funny women.”