II
SHADES OF THE PRISON HOUSE
Papa taking Mamma south, wherever that may be, in search of health, whatever that may be, carried a rough and wrinkled Father Bear satchel. Mamma, pretty Mamma, taken south in search of health, carried a soft and smooth Mother Bear satchel. And since not only do journeys demand satchels but analogies must be made complete, Emmy Lou left on the way in the keeping of her uncle and her aunties was made happy by a Baby Bear papier-maché satchel, clamps, straps and all. A satchel into which a nightgown could be coaxed, her nightgown, since satchels demand gowns, not to mention a pewter tea set put in on her own initiative, provided she folded and refolded the gown with zeal before essaying the attempt.
After Emmy Lou's establishment in the new household, Aunt Cordelia proposed that the satchel go to the attic where trunks and satchels off duty belong. But Emmy Lou would not hear to this. "Mamma's coming by for me as she goes home, and I want it down here so I can have it ready."
"And she gets it ready at least once a day," Aunt Cordelia told Uncle Charlie. "If she doesn't wear her gowns out trying to put them in it, she will the satchel. However, since she heard that her mother lived in this house when she was a little girl named Emily, I've had no further trouble with her, that is, trouble of a kind. How does one go about a child's religious training, Charlie?"
But to Emmy Lou, Aunt Cordelia knew all about God and heaven. At her bidding she learned a hymn, a pretty text, another prayer.
"'When I turned roan' ag'in I saw 'em goin' in th'ough the doah.'"
"For we must learn a little more about God and Heaven every day along the way," Aunt Cordelia said.
With Emmy Lou at bedtime in her lap, a blanket wrapped about her gown, the fire flickering, Aunt Cordelia, to help her get to sleep, sang about Heaven.
"Thy gardens and thy goodly walks
Continually are green,
Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen—"
"Asleep?" from Aunt Cordelia. "No?"
Emmy Lou in Aunt Cordelia's lap was amazed to hear these things. "Thy gardens and Thy goodly walks!" Hitherto she had been afraid of heaven! And afraid of God!
Aunt Cordelia hearing about it was shocked. Truly shocked and no less dismayed at how to remedy it, if Emmy Lou had but known it.
"Afraid of God? Why, Emmy Lou! He is our Father to go to, just as you run to meet Papa." Aunt Cordelia, gaining heart, took fresh courage. "God is everybody's Father, just as Heaven is our home."
The Aunt Cordelias may generalize, but the Emmy Lous will particularize.
"Izzy's father? And Sister's father? And Minnie's?"
Israel Judah lived next door, little colored Sister lived in the alley, and Minnie lived with the lady next door to Izzy.
"Their Father, and yours and mine and everyone's. Don't you think you can go to sleep now?"
Emmy Lou was positive she could not. God, of whom she had been afraid, is our Father!
Next door to Emmy Lou, at Izzy's, lives an old, old man. His brows are white and his beard falls on his breast. He smiles on Emmy Lou when she goes to his knee to speak to him, but he draws Izzy to him and kisses him. Aunt Katie calls him beautiful. Uncle Charlie calls him a glorious old patriarch. But Izzy's Mamma calls him father.
And suddenly to Emmy Lou, there in Aunt Cordelia's lap, God is a Person! He paces his goodly walks, as Papa does the flagging from the gate to the house with Emmy Lou running to meet him. God paces his walks between his sweet and pleasant flowers and his brows are white and his beard falls on his breast. Will he smile on Emmy Lou? And on Izzy and Sister and Minnie? Or will he draw them to him and kiss them?
"And at last she went to sleep," Aunt Cordelia, coming downstairs, told Uncle Charlie.
Straight from the breakfast table the next morning, Emmy Lou went and brought her cloak.
"Izzy will be waiting for me at his gate," she told Aunt Cordelia. The custom being for the two meeting at Izzy's gate then to go to the alley hunting Sister.
Aunt Katie came downstairs just here, looking for Emmy Lou.
"Do you know where my scissors are? I can't find mine or any others."
Emmy Lou has a way of hunting scissors for herself and Sister to cut out pictures, but is quite sure this time that she is not culpable.
"I ain't had nary pair," she assured Aunt Katie.
Aunt Katie, apparently forgetting the scissors, swept round on Aunt Cordelia who was just leaving the breakfast table.
"There!" she said accusingly.
"There!" echoed Aunt Louise, still in the dining-room, too. "We told you she would be picking up such things in the alley!"
"Emmy Lou," expostulated Aunt Cordelia, "you didn't mean to say, 'I ain't had nary pair.' You know better. Think hard and see if you can't say it right."
Emmy Lou, the cloak she had brought half on, thought hard. "I ain't had ary pair," she said.
Aunt Katie spoke positively. "I don't think you ought to let her play so much with Sister. Louise and I have said so right along."
Not play with Sister! Emmy Lou was astounded. She loved Sister, smaller than herself! She turned to Aunt Cordelia for corroboration.
Aunt Cordelia was troubled. "Come to me, Emmy Lou, and let me put your cloak on you, and tie your hood. If she were going to be here all the time it would be different," this to Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise. Then to Emmy Lou, "Suppose today you stay next door and play with Izzy?"
Emmy Lou was amazed. "And Minnie?" she asked. "Mayn't I play with Minnie?"
"She means the little girl who works for Mrs. Noble," explained Aunt Cordelia quietly.
"Mrs. Noble is from over the river," said Aunt Louise in tones which, however one may wonder what the river has to do with it, disqualify this lady at once. "She speaks of the child as a little hired girl."
"Emmy Lou," said Aunt Katie, "remember that this side of the Ohio we have servants, not hired girls."
"But she must not call the little girl a servant, Katie," said Aunt Cordelia. "I won't have her hurting the child's feelings, whatever she is."
"I call her Minnie," said Emmy Lou, bewildered.
"Certainly you do," said Aunt Cordelia, and kissed her.
Aunt Louise defended Aunt Katie. "While the child is hardly to be held responsible, she has ways, as well as Sister, we certainly do not want Emmy Lou to imitate."
Ways? Minnie? Marvelous, inexhaustible Minnie? Certainly she has ways, ways that draw one, that hold one. Were Aunt Louise and Aunt Katie casting doubts on Minnie? As they had on Sister? Emmy Lou in cloak and hood looked to Aunt Cordelia for corroboration.
Aunt Cordelia looked worried, "Just as she is beginning to be a little happier, I wish, Louise, you and Katie could let the child alone."
"But Minnie?" Emmy Lou wanted to know.
"Yes, I suppose so. Run along out, now, and play."
A sunny winter day it was as Emmy Lou went, a day to rejoice in, could one at four put the feelings into thought, except that Izzy at his gate in his stout coat and his fur cap is only mildly glad to see her. Izzy is six years old. Usually kind, and as patient to catch her point as to help her to his, just now he is engrossed with looking down the street.
Without turning, he does, however, confide in her. "Minnie has just gone by to the grocery!"
If Emmy Lou had been disposed to be hurt, she understood now! Minnie having gone by to the grocery would be back!
They have known her to speak to now for a week. She stopped one day at Izzy's gate when he and Emmy Lou and Sister were standing there. Her plaits were tied with bits of calico and there was a smudge on her wrist; under her arm was a paper bag and in her hand a bucket. She swept the three of them, Izzy, Emmy Lou, and Sister, up and down with her eyes.
"You go to synagogue," she told Izzy. "An' your mother's gone away sick an' left you," she said to Emmy Lou. Then she turned to Sister.
"Nigger," she said.
But Sister was what she afterward explained as "ready for her." She had met Minnie before, so it proved, and M'lissy, her mother, had her ready if she ever met her again. For all she was a little thing, Sister swept Minnie up and down with her eyes.
"Po' white," she said.
Which, while meaningless to some—Emmy Lou and Izzy for example—brought the angry red to Minnie's cheek.
This was a week ago. Since then Minnie had come out on the pavement twice and joined Emmy Lou and Izzy at play.
Wonderful Minnie! At once instigator and leader, arbiter and propounder. Why? Because she knew. Knew what? Knew everything. About the devil who would come right up out of the ground if you stamped three times and said his name. Though from what Emmy Lou had heard about him at Sunday school, and Izzy knew from some boys down at the corner, one wondered that any would incur the risk by doing either.
And Minnie knew about gypsies who steal little boys and girls out of their beds! Izzy is six, and Emmy Lou is four, and Minnie is ten going on eleven; can it be wondered that they looked up to her?
She speaks darkly about herself. She has brothers and sisters better off than she is, somewhere, who don't want to speak to her when she meets them on the street!
And she speaks darkly about the lady she lives with whom she calls Mis' Snoble. "When Lisa Schmit from the grocery came to play with me, she shoo'd her off with the broom," she said.
Only yesterday she appeared at her gate for a brief moment to say she could not come out and play. "Mis' Snoble's feelin' right up to the mark today; we're goin' to beat rugs an' wash winders."
But this morning as she pauses on her way home from the grocery, her communication to Izzy and Emmy Lou at Izzy's gate is of different import. "Mis' Snoble's not feelin' up to the mark today. Come in with me an' ask her an' maybe she'll let me come an' play."
Go in with Minnie! To Mrs. Noble! Emmy Lou's hand went into Izzy's, as she for one gazed at Minnie appalled!
Yet Minnie's face is eager and her eyes implore. Her plaits are tied with calico, and her face behind its eagerness is thin. Izzy looses Emmy Lou's hand, even as she draws it away, and, behold, his hand now is in one of Minnie's, and Emmy Lou's is in the other. They are going with her to ask Mrs. Noble.
Through Minnie's gate, around by the side pavement, in at the kitchen door, through a hall and to another door. Mrs. Noble has not appeared yet with her broom to shoo them away, but she might!
Minnie pushed this door open and led the way in—wonderful, brave Minnie!—but Izzy and Emmy Lou paused in the doorway.
Mrs. Noble, spare and upright in her chair, crocheting, looked up. Her eyes, having swept up and down Minnie, traveled on to Emmy Lou and Izzy, then returned coldly, as it were, to her work.
"Kitchen's red up," from Minnie eagerly and hopefully in what one supposed must be the language of over the river; "been to the grocery, an' the sink's clean."
If Mrs. Noble heard this she was above betraying it.
"Fire's laid in the stove, but not lit."
Never a sign.
"Potatoes peeled an' in the saucepan waitin'."
Mrs. Noble looked up. "One half-hour, or maybe three-quarters till I call."
And they were gone, Minnie first like a flash, Izzy next, no loiterer in the house of Mrs. Noble himself if he could help it and only the slower-paced because somebody had to wait for Emmy Lou.
More wonderful day than it had been earlier, sunnier and less frosty. Minnie, whose wrap is disturbingly nearer a sacque than a coat in its scant nature, takes her place on the horse-block at the curb before Izzy's house, and he and Emmy Lou take places either side of her.
Minnie, wonderful Minnie, ten years old and over, knows it all. What, for instance? Everything, anything. Such as this matter she brings up now of brothers and sisters. They are a bad lot. She says so. A sort to stop at nothing even to passing a poorer sister without knowing her on the street! As she went to the grocery with her bucket and oil-can just now, her brother passed her on the street. Minnie heard once of a man. When she takes this tone the time has come to draw closer. ". . . O'Rouke was this man's name. He was rich and g-r-rand. So grand he didn't know his own brothers when he met them on the street. An' his brothers made up their minds they would go to his house an' hide theirselves an' watch him when he counted his money. It was a g-r-rand house. Over the mantelpiece was a picture of his dead mother. Over the piano was a picture of his dead father. Over the what-not was a picture of his wife. Over the sofa was a picture of hisself. An' his four brothers came to hide theirselves an' watch him count his money. The room was dark in all the corners. An' one brother clumb up on the mantelpiece an' hid hisself behind the picture of his mother, an' cut holes th'ough the eyes so his eyes r-o-olling could look th'ough. An' the next brother clumb up on the piano an' hid hisself behind the picture of his father an' cut holes th'ough the eyes so his eyes r-o-olling could look th'ough. An' the next brother clumb up on the what-not an' hid hisself behind the picture of the wife an'——"
Sister appeared around the side of Izzy's house and came through the gate. Even though her finger was in her mouth, when she saw Minnie she looked provocative.
"Go on with the brothers, Minnie," begged Izzy.
"Go on, Minnie," begged Emmy Lou.
But Minnie had no idea of resuming the brothers. Nobody, it would seem, could look provocative with impunity at her!
"Nigger," she said to Sister.
But M'lissy, the mother of Sister, had her ready again. Did she send her around here for the purpose?
"Po' white," said Sister, taking her finger out of her mouth. "An' worser. My mammy said to tell you so. You're a n'orphan."
The solid ground of the accustomed gave way. Confusion followed. Minnie, hitherto the ready, the able, having sprung up to meet Sister's onslaught, whatever it was to be, sank back on the horse-block, and hiding her face in her arms, cried, and more, at touch of the quickly solicitous arms of Izzy and Emmy Lou about her, she sobbed.
Whereupon Emmy Lou arose, Emmy Lou in her stout little coat and her hood and her mittens; and looking about her on the ground, found a switch full seven inches long, and with it drove Sister, little Sister, away, quite away. Had not Emmy Lou's own aunties cast the initial doubt on Sister anyway?
Then she came back to the horse-block. "What's a n'orphan, Minnie?" Izzy was asking.
Emmy Lou wanted to know this very thing.
"It's livin' with Mis' Snoble an' wearin' her shoes when they're too big for you," sobbed Minnie. "'Tain't as if anybody would be one if they could help theirselves."
"What makes you a n'orphan, then, Minnie, if you don't want to be one?" from Izzy.
"You're a n'orphan when your mother goes to Heaven an' leaves you an' forgets you," bitterly.
Heaven? God paces his goodly walks there, between his sweet and pleasant flowers. But would your mother leave you to go there? And going, forget you?
A window went up and Izzy's mamma appeared.
"Israel," she called, "run in to the porch and give grandpa his cane and help him start into the house. It's growing chill."
Minnie on the horse-block flung up her head and wiped away the tears. "That old man again!" she said.
Did Minnie have ways? Ways that Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise did not want their Emmy Lou to imitate? Was this one of her ways?
For Izzy's grandpa of whom Minnie spoke disparagingly was he of the white brows and the flowing beard. On days such as this they helped him to the porch where he sat bundled in a chair in the sun, his cane beside him.
Except when this cane was not, which was the trouble as Minnie saw it. For Izzy's grandpa was forever letting his cane slide to the floor, yet could not get up, or down, or about, without it.
Izzy ran in now. He was affectionate and dutiful. Aunt Cordelia said so. And having put the cane in his grandfather's hand, though not without several efforts at keeping it there, at which his grandfather, slowly—Oh, so slowly this morning!—and with trembling effort, drew him to him and kissed him, he came back.
"Why did your mother go to Heaven and leave you and forget you, Minnie?" he asked.
"Heaven's a better place than this, if what they tell about it's true," bitterly. "I ain't blamin' her for goin', myself."
"Izzy," came the call in a few moments again. "Did you tell grandpa to come in?"
Izzy went running, for when he turned to look, the cane had slipped from his grandfather's hand again and rolled to the foot of the steps, and his head above the snowy beard was fallen on his breast. Nor would he in this world lift it again, though none of the three grasped this.
Aunt Cordelia was decided at the breakfast table the next morning.
"They will not want you next door with Izzy today," she told Emmy Lou.
"Mayn't he come here?"
"I doubt if his mother will want him to come today."
The day following, however, Aunt Cordelia and Aunt Katie went next door from the breakfast table and when they came back they brought Izzy with them, not for a while, but for the day. His dark eyes were troubled and his cheeks were pale. He was kindly and affectionate. Aunt Cordelia said so.
And Aunt Cordelia agreed that after dinner Bob could ask Mrs. Noble to let Minnie come over.
"How can you, Sister Cordelia?" expostulated Aunt Louise. "A little servant girl!"
Bob came back with Minnie. "For a nour," she said as she arrived. "I can stay until the pork-house whistle blows for four."
She waited until Aunt Cordelia, having settled them in the sunny back room, went out the door.
"What's happened to your gran'pa?" then she said to Izzy. Did she say it not as if she did not know, but as if she did?
"He's gone to sleep," said Izzy. "He won't be sick or tired any more."
"Sleep?" from Minnie. "Haven't they told you yet? We watched 'em start, Bob and I, before we came in."
Start? Start where? Izzy's eyes, already troubled, were big and startled now. "Where's grandpa going? Where's my grandpa going?"
Did Minnie in some way imply that she knew more than she meant to tell? "To Heaven," virtuously. "I've told you about it. That's why he won't be sick or tired any more. You ought to be glad. Here!" with quick change in tone. "Where you going? What's the matter with you now? You can't keep him back if you try!"
But Izzy was gone. Nor when Minnie, who was nothing but a little servant girl after all, for Aunt Louise said so, ran after him, did he pause; only called back as he hurried down the stairs. He was a dutiful little boy, Aunt Cordelia said so.
"If Grandpa has to go he'll need his cane. He can't get anywhere without his cane."
Emmy Lou, coming in through the kitchen from play, a week later, met Uncle Charlie in the hall just arriving by the front door.
He neither spoke to her nor saw her as he overtook her on the lowest stair, but pushed by and hurried up.
Emmy Lou's heart swelled. It was not like Uncle Charlie. She clambered the curving flight after him. He had gone ahead into Aunt Cordelia's room and she, on her way there herself, trudged after.
What did it mean? Why did it frighten her? Aunt Katie, Aunt Louise, weeping? Uncle Charlie now beside the fireplace, bowed against its shelf? This bit of yellow paper at his feet on the floor?
Aunt Cordelia, weeping herself, would know. "What is it?" faltered Emmy Lou.
Aunt Cordelia knew and held out her arms to the call. No evasions now; truth for Emmy Lou.
"Mamma will not be back. She has gone ahead to Heaven. Come to Aunt Cordelia and let her comfort you, precious baby."
But Emmy Lou, still in her coat and hat, did not come; she did not pause to dally. She hurried past the various hands outstretched to stay her, to her own little room adjoining.
Complete her papier-maché satchel was, even to its clamps and straps, sitting beside her bed ready, her satchel which would hold a gown, and other treasure such as pewter dishes could she stop for such now. She dragged at a drawer of her own bureau.
"What in the world——?" from Aunt Cordelia, who had followed.
"What are you doing——?" from Aunt Katie and Aunt Louise, who had followed Aunt Cordelia.
Emmy Lou knew exactly what she was doing. Izzy had known too when he went hurrying after. Minnie in her time, had she known, might have gone hurrying too. A nightgown, at her pull, trailed from the open drawer.
Yet what was there in the faces about her to disturb her? To make her loose her hold on the gown, look from one to the other of them and falter? Uncle Charlie, too, had come into the room now.
Were they casting doubts again? As they cast them on Sister who until then had in truth been a little sister? As they cast them on Minnie who until then had been neither hired girl nor servant, but Minnie? Emmy Lou turned to Aunt Cordelia for corroboration.
Even as she looked, she knew. We must learn a little more each day along the way, even as Aunt Cordelia had said.
The nightgown trailing from her hand fell limply. The satchel, relinquished, rolled along the floor. Those goodly walks receded, their sweet and pleasant flowers drooped their listless heads. Emmy Lou, nearing five years old, was a step further from heaven.
"How shall we teach a little child?" said Aunt Cordelia, weeping.
"How indeed?" said Uncle Charlie.