PART IV
The White Mulberry Tree
I
The French Church, properly the Church of
Sainte-Agnes, stood upon a hill. The high, nar-
row, red-brick building, with its tall steeple and
steep roof, could be seen for miles across the
wheatfields, though the little town of Sainte-
Agnes was completely hidden away at the foot
of the hill. The church looked powerful and
triumphant there on its eminence, so high above
the rest of the landscape, with miles of warm
color lying at its feet, and by its position and
setting it reminded one of some of the churches
built long ago in the wheat-lands of middle
France.
Late one June afternoon Alexandra Bergson
was driving along one of the many roads that
led through the rich French farming country to
the big church. The sunlight was shining di-
rectly in her face, and there was a blaze of light
all about the red church on the hill. Beside
Alexandra lounged a strikingly exotic figure in a
tall Mexican hat, a silk sash, and a black vel-
vet jacket sewn with silver buttons. Emil had
returned only the night before, and his sister
was so proud of him that she decided at once
to take him up to the church supper, and to
make him wear the Mexican costume he had
brought home in his trunk. "All the girls who
have stands are going to wear fancy costumes,"
she argued, "and some of the boys. Marie is
going to tell fortunes, and she sent to Omaha
for a Bohemian dress her father brought back
from a visit to the old country. If you wear
those clothes, they will all be pleased. And you
must take your guitar. Everybody ought to do
what they can to help along, 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 Signa and Nelse Jensen, who were to
be married next week. Signa had shyly asked to
have the wedding put off until Emil came home.
Alexandra was well satisfied with her brother.
As they drove through the rolling French coun-
try toward the westering sun and the stalwart
church, she was thinking of that time long ago
when she and Emil drove back from the river
valley to the still unconquered Divide. Yes,
she told herself, it had been worth while; both
Emil and the country had become what she had
hoped. Out of her father's children there was
one who was fit to cope with the world, who had
not been tied to the plow, and who had a per-
sonality apart from the soil. And that, she
reflected, was what she had worked for. She
felt well satisfied with her life.
When they reached the church, a score of
teams were hitched in front of the basement
doors that opened from the hillside upon the
sanded terrace, where the boys wrestled and had
jumping-matches. Amedee Chevalier, a proud
father of one week, rushed out and embraced
Emil. Amedee was an only son,--hence he
was a very rich young man,--but he meant to
have twenty children himself, like his uncle
Xavier. "Oh, Emil," he cried, hugging his old
friend rapturously, "why ain't you been up to
see my boy? You come to-morrow, sure?
Emil, you wanna get a boy right off! It's the
greatest thing ever! No, no, no! Angel not sick
at all. Everything just fine. That boy he come
into this world laughin', and he been laughin'
ever since. You come an' see!" He pounded
Emil's ribs to emphasize each announcement.
Emil caught his arms. "Stop, Amedee.
You're knocking the wind out of me. I brought
him cups and spoons and blankets and mocca-
sins enough for an orphan asylum. I'm awful
glad it's a boy, sure enough!"
The young men crowded round Emil to ad-
mire his costume and to tell him in a breath
everything that had happened since he went
away. Emil had more friends up here in the
French country than down on Norway Creek.
The French and Bohemian boys were spirited
and jolly, liked variety, and were as much pre-
disposed to favor anything new as the Scandi-
navian boys were to reject it. The Norwegian
and Swedish lads were much more self-centred,
apt to be egotistical and jealous. They were
cautious and reserved with Emil because he
had been away to college, and were prepared
to take him down if he should try to put on
airs with them. The French boys liked a bit
of swagger, and they were always delighted to
hear about anything new: new clothes, new
games, new songs, new dances. Now they car-
ried Emil off to show him the club room they
had just fitted up over the post-office, down in
the village. They ran down the hill in a drove,
all laughing and chattering at once, some in
French, some in English.
Alexandra went into the cool, whitewashed
basement where the women were setting the
tables. Marie was standing on a chair, building
a little tent of shawls where she was to tell
fortunes. She sprang down and ran toward
Alexandra, stopping short and looking at her
in disappointment. Alexandra nodded to her
encouragingly.
"Oh, he will be here, Marie. The boys have
taken him off to show him something. You
won't know him. He is a man now, sure enough.
I have no boy left. He smokes terrible-smelling
Mexican cigarettes and talks Spanish. How
pretty you look, child. Where did you get those
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 bodice and kirtle, a yellow silk
turban wound low over her brown curls, and
long coral pendants in her ears. Her ears had
been pierced against a piece of cork by her
great-aunt when she was seven years old. In
those germless days she had worn bits of broom-
straw, plucked from the common sweeping-
broom, in the lobes until the holes were healed
and ready for little gold rings.
When Emil came back from the village, he
lingered outside on the terrace with the boys.
Marie could hear him talking and strumming
on his guitar while Raoul Marcel sang falsetto.
She was vexed with him for staying out there.
It made her very nervous to hear him and not
to see him; for, certainly, she told herself, she
was not going out to look for him. When the
supper bell rang and the boys came trooping in
to get seats at the first table, she forgot all
about her annoyance and ran to greet the tall-
est of the crowd, in his conspicuous attire. She
didn't mind showing her embarrassment at all.
She blushed and laughed excitedly as she gave
Emil her hand, and looked delightedly at the
black velvet coat that brought out his fair skin
and fine blond head. Marie was incapable of
being lukewarm about anything that pleased
her. She simply did not know how to give a
half-hearted response. When she was de-
lighted, she was 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?" She caught Emil by his
sleeve and turned him about. "Oh, I wish I
lived where people wore things like that! Are
the buttons real silver? Put on the hat, please.
What a heavy thing! How do you ever wear
it? Why don't you tell us about the bull-
fights?"
She wanted to wring all his experiences from
him at once, without waiting a moment. Emil
smiled tolerantly and stood looking down at her
with his old, brooding gaze, while the French
girls fluttered about him in their white dresses
and ribbons, and Alexandra watched the scene
with pride. Several of the French girls, Marie
knew, were hoping that Emil would take them
to supper, and she was relieved when he took
only his sister. Marie caught Frank's arm and
dragged him to the same table, managing to get
seats opposite the Bergsons, so that she could
hear what they were talking about. Alexandra
made 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 to watch Frank's plate and keep it
filled. When Emil finished his account,--
bloody enough to satisfy Mrs. Xavier and to
make her feel thankful that she was not a
matador,--Marie broke out with a volley of
questions. How did the women dress when
they went to bull-fights? Did they wear man-
tillas? Did they never wear hats?
After supper the young people played char-
ades for the amusement of their elders, who sat
gossiping between their guesses. All the shops
in Sainte-Agnes were closed at eight o'clock
that night, so that the merchants and their
clerks could attend the fair. The auction was
the liveliest part of the entertainment, for the
French boys always lost their heads when they
began to bid, satisfied that their extravagance
was in a good cause. After all the pincushions
and sofa pillows and embroidered slippers were
sold, Emil precipitated a panic by taking out
one of his turquoise shirt studs, which every one
had been admiring, and handing it to the auc-
tioneer. All the French girls clamored for it,
and their sweethearts bid against each other
recklessly. Marie wanted it, too, and she kept
making signals to Frank, which he took a sour
pleasure in disregarding. He didn't see the use
of making a fuss over a fellow just because he
was dressed like a clown. When the turquoise
went to Malvina Sauvage, the French banker's
daughter, Marie shrugged her shoulders and
betook herself to her little tent of shawls, where
she began to shuffle her cards by the light of
a tallow candle, calling out, "Fortunes, for-
tunes!"
The young priest, Father Duchesne, went
first to have his fortune read. Marie took his
long white hand, looked at it, and then began to
run off her cards. "I see a long journey across
water for you, Father. You will go to a town
all cut up by water; built on islands, 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 in her ears, and you will be very
happy there."
"Mais, oui," said the priest, with a melan-
choly smile. "C'est L'Isle-Adam, chez ma
mere. Vous etes tres savante, ma fille." He
patted her yellow turban, calling, "Venez
donc, mes garcons! Il y a ici une veritable
clairvoyante!"
Marie was clever at fortune-telling, indulg-
ing in a light irony that amused the crowd. She
told old Brunot, the miser, that he would lose
all his money, marry a girl of sixteen, and live
happily on a crust. Sholte, the fat Russian
boy, who lived for his stomach, was to be disap-
pointed in love, grow thin, and shoot himself
from despondency. Amedee was to have
twenty children, and nineteen of them were to
be girls. Amedee slapped Frank on the back
and asked him why he didn't see what the
fortune-teller would promise him. But Frank
shook off his friendly hand and grunted, "She
tell my fortune long ago; bad enough!" Then
he withdrew to a corner and sat glowering at
his wife.
Frank's case was all the more painful because
he had no one in particular to fix his jealousy
upon. Sometimes he could have thanked the
man who would bring him evidence against his
wife. He had discharged a good farm-boy, Jan
Smirka, because he thought Marie was fond of
him; but she had not seemed to miss Jan when
he was gone, and she had been just as kind to
the next boy. The farm-hands would always do
anything for Marie; Frank couldn't find one so
surly that he would not make an effort to please
her. At the bottom of his heart Frank knew
well enough that if he could once give up his
grudge, his wife would come back to him. But
he could never in the world do that. The grudge
was fundamental. Perhaps he could not have
given it up if he had tried. Perhaps he got more
satisfaction out of feeling himself abused than
he would have got out of being loved. If he
could once have made Marie thoroughly un-
happy, he might have relented and raised her
from the dust. But she had never humbled her-
self. In the first days of their love she had been
his slave; she had admired him abandonedly.
But the moment he began to bully her and to be
unjust, she began to draw away; at first in tear-
ful amazement, then in quiet, unspoken dis-
gust. The distance between them had widened
and hardened. It no longer contracted and
brought them suddenly together. The spark of
her life went somewhere else, and he was always
watching to surprise it. He knew that some-
where she must get a feeling to live upon, for
she was not a woman who could live without
loving. He wanted to prove to himself the
wrong he felt. What did she hide in her heart?
Where did it go? Even Frank had his churlish
delicacies; he never reminded her of how much
she had once loved him. For that Marie was
grateful to him.
While Marie was chattering to the French
boys, Amedee called Emil to the back of the
room and whispered to him that they were going
to play a joke on the girls. At eleven o'clock,
Amedee was to go up to the switchboard in the
vestibule and turn off the electric lights, and
every boy would have a chance to kiss his
sweetheart before Father Duchesne could find
his way up the stairs to turn the current on
again. The only difficulty was the candle in
Marie's tent; perhaps, as Emil had no sweet-
heart, he would oblige the boys by blowing out
the candle. Emil said he would undertake to do
that.
At five minutes to eleven he sauntered up to
Marie's booth, and the French boys dispersed
to find their girls. He leaned over the card-
table and gave himself up to looking at her.
"Do you think you could tell my fortune?"
he murmured. It was the first word he had
had alone with her for almost a year. "My
luck hasn't changed any. It's just the same."
Marie had often wondered whether there
was anyone else who could look his thoughts
to you as Emil could. To-night, when she met
his steady, powerful eyes, it was impossible
not to feel the sweetness of the dream he was
dreaming; it reached her before she could shut
it out, and hid itself in her heart. She began
to shuffle her cards furiously. "I'm angry
with you, Emil," she broke out with petu-
lance. "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 it
awfully!"
Emil laughed shortly. "People who want
such little things surely ought to have them,"
he said dryly. He thrust his hand into the
pocket of his velvet trousers and brought out a
handful of uncut turquoises, as big as marbles.
Leaning over the table he dropped them into
her lap. "There, will those do? Be careful,
don't let any one see them. Now, I suppose you
want me to go away and let you 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? How could you
ever come away?"
At that instant Amedee laid hands on the
switchboard. There was a shiver and a giggle,
and every one looked toward the red blur that
Marie's candle made in the dark. Immediately
that, too, was gone. Little shrieks and currents
of soft laughter ran up and down the dark hall.
Marie started up,--directly into Emil's arms.
In the same instant she felt his lips. The veil
that had hung uncertainly between them for so
long was dissolved. Before she knew what she
was doing, she had committed herself to that
kiss that was at once a boy's and a man's, as
timid as it was tender; so like Emil and so
unlike any one else in the world. Not until it
was over did she realize what it meant. And
Emil, who had so often imagined the shock of
this first kiss, was surprised at its gentleness
and naturalness. It was like a sigh which they
had breathed together; almost sorrowful, as if
each were afraid of wakening something in the
other.
When the lights came on again, everybody was laughing and shouting, and all the French girls were rosy and shining with mirth. Only Marie, in her little tent of shawls, was pale and quiet. Under her yellow turban the red coral pendants swung against white cheeks. Frank was still staring at her, but he seemed to see nothing. Years ago, he himself had had the power to take the blood from her cheeks like that. Perhaps he did not remember--perhaps he had never noticed! Emil was already at the other end of the hall, walking about with the shoulder-motion he had acquired among the Mexicans, studying the floor with his intent, deep-set eyes. Marie began to take down and fold her shawls. She did not glance up again. The young people drifted to the other end of the hall where the guitar was sounding. In a mo- ment she heard Emil and Raoul singing:--
"Across the Rio Grand-e There lies a sunny land-e, My bright-eyed Mexico!"
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. Marie stiffened under that kind,
calm hand. Alexandra drew back, perplexed
and hurt.
There was about Alexandra something of the impervious calm of the fatalist, always discon- certing to very young people, who cannot feel that the heart lives at all unless it is still at the mercy of storms; unless its strings can scream to the touch of pain.
