Chapter II

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

　　About the middle of January Mabel Andrews wrote to Sara Lee fromFrance, where she was already installed in a hospital at Calais.

　　The evening before the letter came Harvey had brought round theengagement ring. He had made a little money in war stocks, and intothe ring he had put every dollar of his profits—and a great love, andgentleness, and hopes which he did not formulate even to himself.

　　It was a solitaire diamond, conventionally set, and larger, far larger,than the modest little stone on which Harvey had been casting anxiousglances for months.

　　"Do you like it, honey?" he asked anxiously.

　　Sara Lee looked at it on her finger.

　　"It is lovely! It—it's terrible!" said poor Sara Lee, and cried on hisshoulder.

　　Harvey was not subtle. He had never even heard of Mabel Andrews, andhe had a tendency to restrict his war reading to the quarter column inthe morning paper entitled "Salient Points of the Day's War News."

　　What could he know, for instance, of wounded men who were hungry? Whichis what Mabel wrote about.

　　"You said you could cook," she had written. "Well, we need cooks, andsomething to cook. Sometime they'll have it all fixed, no doubt, butjust now it's awful, Sara Lee. The British have money and food, plentyof it. But here—yesterday I cut the clothes off a wounded Belgian boy.He had been forty-eight hours on a railway siding, without even soup orcoffee."

　　It was early in the war then, and between Ypres and the sea stretched along thin line of Belgian trenches. A frantic Belgian Government, thrustout of its own land, was facing the problem, with scant funds and with nomatériel of any sort, for feeding that desolate little army. France hadher own problems—her army, non-productive industrially, and the greatand constantly growing British forces quartered there, paying for whatthey got, but requiring much. The world knows now of the starvation ofGerman-occupied Belgium. What it does not know and may never know is ofthe struggle during those early days to feed the heroic Belgian Army intheir wet and almost untenable trenches.

　　Hospital trains they could improvise out of what rolling stock remainedto them. Money could be borrowed, and was. But food? Clothing?Ammunition? In his little villa on the seacoast the Belgian King knewthat his soldiers were hungry, and paced the floor of his tinyliving-room; and over in an American city whose skyline was as pointedwith furnace turrets as Constantinople's is with mosques, over thereSara Lee heard that call of hunger, and—put on her engagement ring.

　　Later on that evening, with Harvey's wide cheerful face turned adoringlyto her, Sara Lee formulated a question:

　　"Don't you sometimes feel as though you'd like to go to France and fight?"

　　"What for?"

　　"Well, they need men, don't they?"

　　"I guess they don't need me, honey. I'd be the dickens of a lot of use!Never fired a gun in my life."

　　"You could learn. It isn't hard."

　　Harvey sat upright and stared at her.

　　"Oh, if you want me to go—" he said, and waited.

　　Sara Lee twisted her ring on her finger.

　　"Nobody wants anybody to go," she said not very elegantly. "I'djust—I'd rather like to think you wanted to go."

　　That was almost too subtle for Harvey. Something about him was ratherreminiscent of Uncle James on mornings when he was determined not togo to church.

　　"It's not our fight," he said. "And as far as that goes, I'm not sosure there isn't right on both sides. Or wrong. Most likely wrong.I'd look fine going over there to help the Allies, and then making up mymind it was the British who'd spilled the beans. Now let's talk aboutsomething interesting—for instance, how much we love each other."

　　It was always "we" with Harvey. In his simple creed if a girl accepteda man and let him kiss her and wore his ring it was a reciprocal loveaffair. It never occurred to him that sometimes as the evening draggedtoward a close Sara Lee was just a bit weary of his arms, and that shesought, after he had gone, the haven of her little white room, and closedthe door, and had to look rather a long time at his photograph beforeshe was in a properly loving mood again.

　　But that night after his prolonged leave-taking Sara Lee went upstairsto her room and faced the situation.

　　She was going to marry Harvey. She was committed to that. And she lovedhim; not as he cared, perhaps, but he was a very definite part of herlife. Once or twice when he had been detained by business she had missedhim, had put in a lonely and most unhappy evening.

　　Sara Lee had known comparatively few men. In that small and simplecircle of hers, with its tennis court in a vacant lot, its one or twoinexpensive cars, its picnics and porch parties, there was none of theusual give and take of more sophisticated circles. Boys and girls pairedoff rather early, and remained paired by tacit agreement; there wascomparatively little shifting. There were few free lances among the men,and none among the girls. When she was seventeen Harvey had made itknown unmistakably that Sara Lee was his, and no trespassing. And fortwo years he had without intentional selfishness kept Sara Lee forhimself.

　　That was how matters stood that January night when Sara Lee wentupstairs after Harvey had gone and read Mabel's letter, with Harvey'sphotograph turned to the wall. Under her calm exterior a little flameof rebellion was burning in her. Harvey's perpetual "we," his attitudetoward the war, and Mabel's letter, with what it opened before her, hadset the match to something in Sara Lee she did not recognize—a strainof the adventurer, a throw-back to some wandering ancestor perhaps. Butmore than anything it had set fire to the something maternal that is inall good women.

　　Yet, had Aunt Harriet not come in just then, the flame might have died.And had it died a certain small page of the history of this war wouldnever have been written.

　　Aunt Harriet came in hesitatingly. She wore a black wrapper, and herface, with her hair drawn back for the night, looked tight and old.

　　"Harvey gone?" she asked.

　　"Yes."

　　"I thought I'd better come in. There's something—I can tell you inthe morning if you're tired."

　　"I'm not tired," said Sara Lee.

　　Aunt Harriet sat down miserably on a chair.

　　"I've had a letter from Jennie," she stated. "The girl's gone, and thechildren have whooping cough. She'd like me to come right away."

　　"To do the maid's work!" said Sara Lee indignantly. "You mustn't do it,that's all! She can get somebody."

　　But Aunt Harriet was firm. She was not a fair-weather friend, and sinceJennie was good enough to offer her a home she felt she ought to go atonce.

　　"You'll have to get married right away," she finished. "Goodness knowsit's time enough! For two years Harvey has been barking like a watchdogin front of the house and keeping every other young man away."

　　Sara Lee smiled.

　　"He's only been lying on the doormat, Aunt Harriet," she observed. "Idon't believe he knows how to bark."

　　"Oh, he's mild enough. He may change after marriage. Some do. But,"she added hastily, "he'll be a good husband. He's that sort."

　　Suddenly something that had been taking shape in Sara Lee's small head,quite unknown to her, developed identity and speech.

　　"But I'm not going to marry him just yet," she said.

　　Aunt Harriet's eyes fell on the photograph with its face to the wall,and she started.

　　"You haven't quarreled with him, have you?"

　　"No, of course not! I have something else I want to do first. That'sall. Aunt Harriet, I want to go to France."

　　Aunt Harriet began to tremble, and Sara Lee went over and put her youngarms about her.

　　"Don't look like that," she said. "It's only for a little while. I'vegot to go. I just have to, that's all!"

　　"Go how?" demanded Aunt Harriet.

　　"I don't know. I'll find some way. I've had a letter from Mabel.Things are awful over there."

　　"And how will you help them?" Her face worked nervously. "Is it goingto help for you to be shot? Or carried off by the Germans?" Theatrocity stories were all that Aunt Harriet knew of the war, and allshe could think of now. "You'll come back with your hands cut off."

　　Sara Lee straightened and looked out where between the white curtainsthe spire of the Methodist Church marked the east.

　　"I'm going," she said. And she stood there, already poised for flight.

　　There was no sleep in the little house that night. Sara Lee could hearthe older woman moving about in her lonely bed, where the spring stillsagged from Uncle James' heavy form, and at last she went in and creptin beside her. Toward morning Aunt Harriet slept, with the girl's armacross her; and then Sara Lee went back to her room and tried to plan.

　　She had a little money, and she had heard that living was cheap abroad.She could get across then, and perhaps keep herself. But she must domore than that, to justify her going. She must get money, and thendecide how the money was to be spent. If she could only talk it overwith Uncle James! Or, with Harvey. Harvey knew about business and money.

　　But she dared not go to Harvey. She was terribly frightened when sheeven thought of him. There was no hope of making him understand; andno chance of reasoning with him, because, to be frank, she had noreasons. She had only instinct—instinct and a great tenderness towardsuffering. No, obviously Harvey must not know until everything wasarranged.

　　That morning the Methodist Church packed a barrel for the Belgians.There was a real rite of placing in it Mrs. Augustus Gregory's oldsealskin coat, now a light brown and badly worn, but for years the onlyone in the neighborhood. Various familiar articles appeared, to bethrust into darkness, only to emerge in surroundings never dreamed ofin their better days—the little Howard boy's first trouser suit; theclothing of a baby that had never lived; big Joe Hemmingway's dress suit,the one he was married in and now too small for him. And here and therethings that could ill be spared, brought in and offered with resolutecheerfulness.

　　Sara Lee brought some of Uncle James' things, and was at once set towork. The women there called Sara Lee capable, but it was to take othersurroundings to bring out her real efficiency.

　　And it was when bending over a barrel, while round her went on thatpitying talk of women about a great calamity, that Sara Lee got hergreat idea; and later on she made the only speech of her life.

　　That evening Harvey went home in a quiet glow of happiness. He had hada good day. And he had heard of a little house that would exactly suitSara Lee and him. He did not notice his sister's silence when he spokeabout it. He was absorbed, manlike, in his plans.

　　"The Leete house," he said in answer to her perfunctory question. "WillLeete has lost his mind and volunteered for the ambulance service inFrance. Mrs. Leete is going to her mother's."

　　"Maybe he feels it's his duty. He can drive a car, and they have nochildren."

　　"Duty nothing!" He seemed almost unduly irritated. "He's tired of thecommission business, that's all. Y'ought to have heard the fellows inthe office. Anyhow, they want to sub-let the house, and I'm going totake Sara Lee there to-night."

　　His sister looked at him, and there was in her face something of theexpression of the women that day as they packed the barrel. But shesaid nothing until he was leaving the house that night. Then she puta hand on his arm. She was a weary little woman, older than Harvey,and tired with many children. She had been gathering up small overshoesin the hall and he had stopped to help her.

　　"You know, Harvey, Sara Lee's not—I always think she's different,somehow."

　　"Well, I guess yes! There's nobody like her."

　　"You can't bully her, you know."

　　Harvey stared at her with honestly perplexed eyes.

　　"Bully!" he said. "What on earth makes you say that?"

　　Then he laughed.

　　"Don't you worry, Belle," he said. "I know I'm a fierce and domineeringperson, but if there's any bullying I know who'll do it."

　　"She's not like the other girls you know," she reiterated ratherhelplessly.

　　"Sure she's not! But she's enough like them to need a house to live in.And if she isn't crazy about the Leete place I'll eat it."

　　He banged out cheerfully, whistling as he went down the street. Hestopped whistling, however, at Sara Lee's door. The neighborhoodpreserved certain traditions as to a house of mourning. It loweredits voice in passing and made its calls of condolence in dark clothesand a general air of gloom. Pianos near by were played only with thewindows closed, and even the milkman leaving his bottles walked ontiptoe and presented his monthly bill solemnly.

　　So Harvey stopped whistling, rang the bell apologetically, and—faced anew and vivid Sara Lee, flushed and with shining eyes, but woefullyfrightened.

　　She told him almost at once. He had only reached the dining room ofthe Leete house, which he was explaining had a white wainscoting whenshe interrupted him. The ladies of the Methodist Church were going tocollect a certain amount each month to support a soup kitchen as nearthe Front as possible.

　　"Good work!" said Harvey heartily. "I suppose they do get hungry, poordevils. Now about the dining room—"

　　"Harvey dear," Sara Lee broke in, "I've not finished. I—I'm goingover to run it."

　　"You are not!"

　　"But I am! It's all arranged. It's my plan. They've all wanted to dosomething besides giving clothes. They send barrels, and they never hearfrom them again, and it's hard to keep interested. But with me there,writing home and telling them, 'To-day we served soup to this man, andthat man, perhaps wounded.' And—and that sort of thing—don't you seehow interested every one will be? Mrs. Gregory has promised twenty-fivedollars a month, and—"

　　"You're not going," said Harvey in a flat tone. "That's all. Don'ttalk to me about it."

　　Sara Lee flushed deeper and started again, but rather hopelessly.There was no converting a man who would not argue or reason, who basedeverything on flat refusal.

　　"But somebody must go," she said with a tightening of her voice."Here's Mabel Andrews' letter. Read it and you will understand."

　　"I don't want to read it."

　　Nevertheless he took it and read it. He read slowly. He did nothingquickly except assert his masculine domination. He had all the faultsof his virtues; he was as slow as he was sure, as unimaginative as hewas faithful.

　　He read it and gave it back to her.

　　"I don't think you mean it," he said. "I give you credit for too muchsense. Maybe some one is needed over there. I guess things are prettybad. But why should you make it your affair? There are about a millionwomen in this country that haven't got anything else to do. Let them go."

　　"Some of them will. But they're afraid, mostly."

　　"Afraid! My God, I should think they would be afraid! And you're askingme to let you go into danger, to put off our wedding while you wanderabout over there with a million men and no women and—"

　　"You're wrong, Harvey dear," said Sara Lee in a low voice. "I am notasking you at all. I am telling you that I am going."

　　Sara Lee's leaving made an enormous stir in her small community. Opinionwas divided. She was right according to some; she was mad according toothers. The women of the Methodist Church, finding a real field ofactivity, stood behind her solidly. Guaranties of funds came in in asteady flow, though the amounts were small; and, on the word going aboutthat she was to start a soup kitchen for the wounded, housewives sentin directions for making their most cherished soups.

　　Sara Lee, going to a land where the meat was mostly horse and wherevegetables were scarce and limited to potatoes, Brussels sprouts andcabbage, found herself the possessor of recipes for making such sick-roomdainties as mushroom soup, cream of asparagus, clam broth with whippedcream, and from Mrs. Gregory, the wealthy woman of the church—greenturtle and consomme.

　　She was very busy and rather sad. She was helping Aunt Harriet to closethe house and getting her small wardrobe in order. And once a day shewent to a school of languages and painfully learned from a fierce andkindly old Frenchman a list of French nouns and prefixes like this: Lelivre, le crayon, la plume, la fenêtre, and so on. By the end of tendays she could say: "La rose sent-elle bon?"

　　Considering that Harvey came every night and ran the gamut of theemotions, from pleading and expostulation at eight o'clock to blackfury at ten, when he banged out of the house, Sara Lee was amazinglycalm. If she had moments of weakness, when the call from overseas wasless insistent than the call for peace and protection—if the nightlydrawn picture of the Leete house, with tile mantels and a white bathroom,sometimes obtruded itself as against her approaching homelessness, SaraLee made no sign.

　　She had her photograph taken for her passport, and when Harvey refusedone she sent it to him by mail, with the word "Please" in the corner.Harvey groaned over it, and got it out at night and scolded it wildly;and then slept with it under his pillows, when he slept at all.

　　Not Sara Lee, and certainly not Harvey, knew what was calling her. Andeven later, when waves of homesickness racked her with wild remorse, sheknew that she had had to go and that she could not return until she haddone the thing for which she had been sent, whatever that might be.