Chapter XL

by Susan Glaspell

　　Katie Jones was very gay that winter. She made her home at her uncle's,near Washington, though most of the time she was in Washington itself,with various cousins and friends; there were always people wanting Katie,especially that winter, when she had such unfailing zest for gayety.

　　They wondered that she should not be more broken up at her brother'sabsurd move in quitting the army—just at the time the army offered himso much. She seemed to take it very easily; though Katie was not one totake things hard, too light of spirit for that. And they wondered abouthis marriage to a girl whom nobody but Katie knew anything about. Katieseemed devoted to her and happy in the marriage.

　　"Why, naturally I am pleased," she said to a group of army people whowere inquiring about Wayne's bride. "She is my best friend. The girl Icare most about."

　　Major Darrett was one of the group. Some one turned to him and asked ifhe had met her when she visited Katie at the Arsenal the summer before.He replied that he had had that pleasure and that she was indeedbeautiful and very charming.

　　Katie hated him the more for having to be grateful to him.

　　She knew that he was sorry for her and grew more and more gay. She couldnot talk of it, so was left to disclaim tragedy in frivolity. It wasroyally disclaimed.

　　There were a few serious talks with older army men, men who had known herfather and who were outraged at Wayne's leaving the army when he wasworth so much to it and it to him. In her efforts to make them see, shewas forced to remember what the man who mended the boats said of theirlack of hospitality. They were unable to entertain the idea of therebeing any reason for a man's leaving the army when he was being as welltreated in it as Wayne was. Katie's explanations only led them to shaketheir heads and say: "Poor Wayne."

　　It was impossible to bury certain things in her, for those were thethings she must use in defending Wayne. And in defending him, especiallyto her uncle, she was forced to know how far those things were from beingdecently prepared for burial. She was never more gay than after one ofher defenses of her brother.

　　The winter had passed and it was late in April, not unlike that May dayjust the year before when she had first seen her sister-in-law. Try asshe would she could not keep her thoughts from that day and all that ithad opened up.

　　She had received a letter from her sister-in-law that morning. It washard to realize that the writer of that letter was the Ann of theyear before.

　　Her thoughts of Ann led seductively to the old wonderings which Ann hadin the beginning opened up. She wondered how many of the people with whomthings were all wrong, people whom good people called bad people, weresimply people who had been held from their own. She wondered how many ofthose good people would have remained good people had life baffled them,as it had some of the bad people. The people whom circumstances had madegood people were so sure of themselves. She had observed that it was fromthose who had never sailed stormy waters came the quickest and harshestjudgments on bad seamanship in heavy seas.

　　Ann had met Helen and did not seem to know just what to think about her."She's nice, Katie," she wrote, "but I don't understand her very well.She has so many strange ideas about things. Wayne thinks you and shewould get on famously. She doesn't seem afraid of anything and wants todo such a lot of things to the world. I'm afraid I'm selfish; I'm sohappy in my own life—it's all so wonderful—that I can't get as excitedabout the world as Helen does."

　　And yet Ann would not have found the world the place she had found itwere it the place Helen would have it. But Ann had found joy andpeace—safety—and was too happy in her own life to get excited about theworld—and thought Helen a little queer!

　　That was Ann's type—and that was why there were Anns.

　　Ann was radiant about the mountains and their life in them. "Helen saidit about right, Katie. They're hard on the hair and the skin—but goodfor the soul!" They would be for the summer in one of the most beautifulmountain towns of Colorado and wanted Katie to come and bring Worth.Wayne had consented to leave him for a time with Katie at their uncle's.That Katie knew for a concession received for staying in New York withAnn until after her marriage.

　　She believed she would go. She was so tired of Zelda Fraser that shewould like to meet Helen. And she would like the mountains. Perhaps theywould do something for her soul—if she had not danced it quite away.She was getting very wretched about having to be so happy all the time.

　　She was on her way to Zelda's that afternoon, Zelda having asked her tocome in for a cup of tea and a talk. A whiff of some new scandal, shesupposed. That was the basis of most of Zelda's "talks."

　　Though possibly she had some things to tell about Harry Prescott'sapproaching marriage to Caroline Osborne. Katie had been asked to be abridesmaid at that wedding.

　　"While we have known each other but a short time," Caroline had writtenin her too sweet way, "I feel close to you, Katie, because it was throughyou Harry and I came together. Then whom would we want as much as you!And as it is to be something of an army wedding, may I not have you, whomHarry calls the 'most bully army girl' he ever knew?"

　　Mrs. Prescott had also written Katie the glad news, saying she was happy,believing Caroline would make Harry a good wife. Katie was disposed tobelieve that she would and was emphatically disposed to believe that Mr.Osborne would make Harry a good father-in-law. Katie's knowledge of armyfinances led her to appreciate the value of the right father-in-law foran officer and gentleman who must subsist upon his pay.

　　But she had made an excuse about the wedding, in no mood to be abridesmaid, especially to a bride who would enter the bonds of matrimonyon the banks of the Mississippi, just opposite a certain place whereboats were mended.

　　She walked on very fast toward Zelda's, trying to occupy the whole of hermind with planning a new gown.

　　But Zelda had more tender news to break that day than that of a newscandal. "Katie," she approached it, in Zelda's own delicate fashion,"what would you think of Major Darrett and me joy-riding through lifetogether?"

　　"I approve of it," said Katie, with curious heartiness.

　　"Some joy-ride, don't you think?"

　　"I can fancy," laughed Katie, "that it might be hard to beat. I think,"she added, "that he's just the one for you to marry. And I further think,Zelda, that you're just the one for him to marry."

　　Zelda looked at her keenly. "No slam on either party?"

　　"On the contrary, a sort of double-acting approval," she turned itwith a laugh.

　　"Then as long as your approval has a back action, so to speak, I cop youout right now, Katie, for a bridesmaid."

　　"Don't," said Katie quickly. "No, Zelda, I'm not—suitable."

　　"Why not?"

　　"Oh, too old and worn," she laughed. "Bridesmaids should be buds."

　　"Showing up the full-blowness of the bride? Don't you think it!"

　　"So you hastened to get me!"

　　"Come now, Katie, you know very well why I want you. Why wouldn't I wantyou? Anyhow," she exposed it, "father wants you. Father thinks you're sonice and respectable, Katie."

　　"And so, for that matter," she added, "does my chosen joy-rider."

　　"I'm not so sure of his being particularly impressed with myrespectability," replied Katie.

　　"He's always been quite dippy about you, Katie. I don't know how Iever got him."

　　Zelda spoke feelingly of the approaching nuptials of her old schoolfriend. "Cal's considerable of a prissy, but take it from me, HarryPrescott will see that all father's money doesn't pour into homes for thefriendless—so there's something accomplished. Heaven help the poorfellow who must live on his pay," sighed Zelda piously.

　　Major Darrett, too, was to be congratulated on his father-in-law. Justthe father-in-law for a man ambitious to become military attache.

　　It was nice, Katie told herself as she walked away, to know of so manyweddings. She insisted upon asserting to herself that she was glad allher friends were getting on so famously.

　　Though if Zelda persisted, she would have to go West earlier than she hadplanned. She could not regard Ann's sister-in-law as suitable person forattendant at Major Darrett's wedding. That would be a little too muchlike playing the clown at a masked ball.

　　The image was suggested by seeing one of those grotesque figures acrossthe street. He was advertising some approaching festivity. With the clownwas a monkey. He put the monkey down on the sidewalk and it dancedobediently in just the place where it was put down.

　　Suddenly it seemed to Katie that she was for all the world like thatmonkey—dancing obediently in the place where she was put down, notasking about the before or after, just dutifully being gay. That monkeydid not know the great story about monkeys; doubtless he was even toodegraded by clowns to yearn for a tree. He only danced at the end of thestring the clown held—all else shut out.

　　She—shutting out the before and after—was that pathetically festivelittle monkey; and society was the clown holding the string—the whole ofit advertising the tawdry thing the clown called life.

　　Only she knew that there were trees. She had danced frantically inseeking to forget them, but the string pulled by the clown fretted hermore and more.

　　She could not make clear to herself why it had seemed that if Wayne wereto be "free," she could not be; it was as if all the things she hadworked out for herself had been appropriated by her brother. Everybodycould not go into more spacious countries! There were some who must staybehind and make it right for the deserters.

　　Wayne's marrying Ann had turned her back to familiar paths. It hadterrified her. There seemed too much involved, too little certainty as towhere one would find one's self if one left the well-known ways.

　　She had been put in the position of the one hurt just when she had beensteeled to bring the hurt. It gave her a new sense of thehurts—uncertainty as to the right to deal them.

　　And probably no monkey would dance more obediently than the monkeywho had run away and been frightened at a glimpse of the vastness ofthe forest.

　　She would have to remain and explain Wayne, because she felt responsibleabout Wayne. It was her venturings had found what had led Wayne toventure—and, in the end, go. How could she outrage the army as long asWayne had done so?

　　So it had seemed to Katie in her hurt and bewilderment. And thebewilderment came chiefly because of the hurt. It appalled her to find itdid hurt like that.

　　But it was spring—and she knew that there were trees!

　　She paused and watched a gardener removing some debris that had covered aflower bed. It was spring, and there were new shoots and this gardenerwas wise and tender in taking the old things away, that the new shootsmight have air. Katie could see them there—and tender green of them, ashe lifted the old things away that the growing things might come through.The gardener did not seem to feel he was cruel in taking the dead thingsaway. As a good gardener, he would scout the idea of its being unkind totake them away just because they had been there so long. What did thatmatter, the wise gardener would scornfully demand, when there weregrowing things underneath pushing their way to the light?

　　And if he were given to philosophizing he might say that the kindestthing even to the dead things was to let the new things come through.Thus life would be kept, and all the life that had ever been upon theearth perpetuated, vindicated, glorified.

　　It seemed to Katie that what life needed was a saner gardener. Not agardener who would smother new shoots with a lot of dead things tellinghow shoots should go.

　　She drew a deep breath, lifted her face to the sky, and knew. Knew thatshe herself had power to push through the dead things seeking to smotherher. Knew that if she but pushed on they must fall away because it waslife was pushing them away.

　　She walked on slowly, breathing deep.

　　And swinging along in the April twilight she had a sense of havingalready set her face toward a more spacious country. And of knowing thatit had been inevitable all the time that she should go. The delay hadbeen but the moment's panic. Her life itself mattered more than what anygroup of people thought about her life.

　　Spring!—and new life upon the earth. It was that life itself, not thephilosophy men had formulated for or against it, was pushing the deadthings away. It was not even arrested by the fear of displacingsomething.

　　She had held herself back for so long that in the very admission that shelonged to see him there was joy approaching the sweetness of seeing him.A long time she walked in the April twilight—knowing that it wasspring—and that there was new life upon the earth.

　　Harry Prescott would be married within two weeks. It seemed nothing wasso important as that she witness that ceremony. Dear Harry Prescott, whowould be married on the banks of the Mississippi, close by a certainplace where boats were mended.