Emily was dazed. She murmured her incredulity.
"I told you you wouldn't believe it! You could have knocked me down with a feather when she told me. Did you ever hear of such a thing in your life? It's too funny, mother. Why did we take so to each other, in the first place? Why did she understand me so? Because she'd been through the same hell herself! It's too strange!"
"Why Martha! How old is she?"
"I don't know how old she is, exactly. I don't think she's more than thirty-five. She kept the child with her for four years; then she had to have more money, and she came to Chicago to teach, and left her there, not at her own house, but in Iowa. She was a very delicate child, and she couldn't leave her and go teaching, with just anybody. She has an awfully good home for her, and she's going to bring her to Chicago when she starts high school, if she keeps well. Imagine, mammie! It makes me boiling mad when I think of that woman slaving away to support that child, and some damned man running around not caring. Isn't she magnificent, mammie? Being good to all those dirty kids in her school! That's why she never has a cent to spend; that's why she eats thirty-cent suppers. And when I think how I came along, and just took care of her and helped her all I could, not knowing, I could just sing! You see those dresses Ruth has got? I bought them all for her; she had only—sort of plain little things, and not enough. They had to be washed out. Makes me so mad to think about it."
"But, Martha, how—how did you find this out?"
"She told me herself. You see—she wouldn't say what she was going to do when her school was out, at first. She sort of hung off—she wouldn't say who was coming into the flat, or when she'd rented it for. Then when I insisted on staying—the other girls were leaving—she said she wanted to keep it a few days, because she was having company from the country. I knew she was tired out, so I said I'd help her entertain them. I'd drive them around. But she didn't want me to. I thought, maybe, they were—sort of funny country people, or something. And, anyway, she didn't intend having any real vacation. She said she was going to spend her vacation with her sister, whose husband has T.B. of the bones, and she has a whole family of children, and she does her own washing and everything. Miss Curtis was going to take care of that man sick in bed, and of the kids, and give her sister a rest. That's just like her, mother. And I just put my foot down and said she had to come here and have a few days' rest herself first. And then she hummed and hawed, and said her niece wanted to come and see Chicago. And then, when all the girls were gone, she told me. She said, 'She's my very own child, Martha.' Just like that! I'd begun to suspect something funny by that time; and even then I thought maybe she had adopted her or something. I couldn't believe it. How could I believe that of a woman like Miss Curtis? And then, mammie, I wish you'd have seen those two when Ruth got there. They just sat down together and cried for joy! You know me, mammie; I'm not sentimental, but I went into my room and cried my eyes out when I remembered how they looked at each other!"
"Well, of all things!"
"Yes! To think that I found her! She said once to me that she'd lived in that flat with students for six years, and she'd never let anybody share her meals with her but me. She doesn't make friends easily—naturally. We understood each other; I didn't know why, of course! And I suppose the reason she talked to me about all her relations so much was so I wouldn't suspect she was hiding anything! Think what she's been through, mammie! Ruth doesn't live near her people, you know. They're in Iowa. They must know about her, of course, but apparently she doesn't take Ruth to them. She just goes out there to see her, or takes her some place. And, mammie, that family that keep her, they love her; they want to adopt her; they do everything for her. Miss Curtis won't be jealous of them, but they have her nearly all the time. My God! Mammie, when I think of it! She can always come here, can't she, mammie? We can be friends to her, mammie!" And when Martha turned to her mother her eyes were swimming with tears. "Think of that child's future! Isn't she a sweet little thing? She doesn't do very well in school; she's so happy, she's lazy. Miss Curtis says she absolutely refused to bring her here until I told her Mrs. Bissel and May had gone to the lakes."
"Of course she can come here! We'll make a home for Ruth here!"
"But we can't do much, mammie. Miss Curtis is so independent, I can hardly manage her. You see, she won't accept anything from me, hardly. But she can't refuse to let me get Ruth things. I got her that doll, of course. I'd like to get hold of that child's father a little while! I bet I'd put the fear of God into him! Mammie, I can't tell you how worked up I've been over this, this last week. When I look at that woman, I just sort of shiver with admiration. She breaks me up so. Isn't she sporting? Isn't she a brick? Look what she is and what she's been through! I look at her and wonder if there's anything in the world a woman can't do! And like as not the school board will find it all out, some day, and fire her! I'm never going to lose track of that child; I'm going to keep friends with her! Mammie, I've been—excited all week! I had to tell you! It seems too strange!"