Chapter XXII

by Susan Glaspell

　　Ann remained in her room all of the next day. Katie encouraged her to doso, wishing to foster the idea of illness.

　　It did not need much fostering. She had not gone back to those old dayswithout leaving with them most of her newly accumulated vitality. But itwas weakness rather than nervousness. Talking to Katie seemed to haverelieved a pressure.

　　It was Katie who was nervous. It was as if a battery within her had beencharged to its uttermost. She was in some kind of electric communicationwith life. She was tingling with the things coming to her.

　　So charged was she with new big things that it was hard to manage theaffairs of her household as old things demanded they be managed that day.She told Mrs. Prescott again how sorry she and Ann were that Ann hadgiven way. Mrs. Prescott received it with self-contained graciousness.Her one comment was that she trusted when her son decided to marry hewould content himself with a wife who had not gone upon a quest.

　　Katie smiled and agreed that it might get him a more comfortable wife.

　　The son himself she tried to avoid. That thing which had tried to shapeitself between her and Ann still remained there, a thing without bodybut vaguely outlined between Ann and all other things.

　　They had not drawn any nearer to it. They let the story rest at the placewhere all of life had not been going over the wire.

　　And Katie told herself that she understood. That Ann was to be judgedby the Something Somewhere she had formed in her heart rather than bywhatever it was life had tardily and ungenerously and unwiselybrought her.

　　That Ann might still cling to a Something Somewhere—a thing for whicheven yet she would keep the heart right—was suggested that afternoonwhen Katie told her of Captain Prescott.

　　She had not meant to tell her. She tried to think she was doing it inorder to know how to meet Harry, but had to admit finally that she did itfor no nobler reason than to see how Ann would take it.

　　She took it most unexpectedly. "I am sorry," she said simply, "but I donot care at all for Captain Prescott. I—" She paused, coloring slightlyas she said with a little laugh: "We all like to be liked, don't we,Katie? And with me—well it meant something just to know I could beliked—in that nice kind of way. It helped. But that's all—so I hope hedoesn't care very much for me. Though if he does," concluded Ann sagely,"he'll get over it. He's not the caring sort."

　　The words had a familiar sound; after a moment she remembered them aswhat he had said that night of the "Don't You Care" girls.

　　While she would have been panic-stricken at finding Ann interested, shewas more discomfited than relieved at not finding her more impressed. "Tomarry into the army, Ann," she said, "is considered very advantageous."

　　Ann was lying there with her face pillowed upon her hand. She turned herlarge eyes, about which just then there were large circles, seriously, itwould even seem rebukingly, upon Katie. "If I ever should marry," shesaid, "it will be for some other reason than because it is'advantageous.'"

　　Katie felt both rebuked and startled. Most of the girls she knew—girlswho had never worked in factories or restaurants or telephone offices, orhad never thought of taking their own lives, had not scorned to look uponmarriages as advantageous.

　　Nor, for that matter, had Katie herself.

　　Ann's superior attitude toward marriage turned Katie to religion. As theniece of a bishop she was moved to set Ann right on things within abishop's domain. And underlying that was an impulse to set her rightwith herself.

　　"Ann," she said, "if somebody said to you, 'I starve you in the name ofKatie Jones,' wouldn't you say, 'Oh no you don't. Starve me if you wantto, but don't tell me you do it in the name of Katie Jones. She doesn'twant people starved!'"

　　"I could say that," said Ann, "because I know you, and know you don'twant people starved. But if I'd never heard anything about you exceptthat I was to be starved in your name—"

　　"I should think even so you might question. Didn't it ever occur to youthat God had more to do with your Something Somewhere than He did withthings done in His name in Centralia?"

　　"Why, Katie, how strange you should think of that. For I thought ofit—but I supposed it was the most wicked thought of all."

　　"How strange it would be," said Katie, "if He had more to do with the'call' than with the God-fearing things you were called from."

　　For an instant Ann's face lighted up. But it hardened. "Well, if He had,"she said, "it seems He might have stood by me a little better after I was'called.'"

　　Katie had no reply for that, so she turned to her uncle, the Bishop.

　　"Well there's one place where you're wrong, Ann; and that is thatreligion is incompatible with the love of dogs. You know my uncle—mymother's brother—is a bishop. I don't know just how well uncleunderstands God, but if he understands Him as well as he does dogs thenhe must be well fitted for his office. I don't think in his heart unclewould have any respect for any person—no matter how religious—or evenhow much they subscribed—who wouldn't appreciate the tragedy of losingone's dog. Uncle has a splendid dog—a Great Dane; they're real chums. Heoften reads his sermons to Caesar. He says Caesar can stay awake underthem longer than some of the congregation. I once shocked, but I thinksecretly delighted uncle, by saying that he rendered to Caesar thethings that were Caesar's and to God what Caesar left. Well, one dreadfulday someone stole Caesar. They took him out of town, but Caesar got awayand made a return that has gone down into dog history. Poor uncle hadbeen all broken up about it for three days. He was to preach thatmorning. My heart ached for him as he stood there at his study windowlooking down the street when it was time to go. I knew what he was hopingfor—the way you go on hoping against hope when your dog's lost. And thenafter uncle had gone, and just as I was ready to start myself, I heardthe great deep bark of mighty Caesar! You may know I was wild aboutit—and crazy to get the news to uncle. I hurried over to church, butservice had begun. But because I was bursting to tell it, and because Iappreciated something of what it would mean to talk about the goodness ofGod when you weren't feeling that way, I wrote a little note and sent itup. I suppose the people who saw it passed into the chancel in dignifiedfashion thought it was something of ecclesiastical weight. What it saidwas, 'Hallelujah—he's back—safe and sound. K—.'

　　"It was great fun to watch uncle—he's very dignified in his officialcapacity. He frowned as it was handed him, as if not liking theintrusion into holy routine. He did not open it at once but sat thereholding it rebukingly—me chuckling down in the family pew. Then headjusted his glasses and opened it—ponderously. I wish you could haveseen his face! One of our friends said he supposed it read, 'Will givefifty thousand.' He quickly recalled his robes and suppressed his grin,contenting himself with a beatific expression which must have been veryuplifting to the congregation. I think I never saw uncle look sospiritual. And I know I never heard him preach as feelingly. When hecame to the place about when sorrow has been upon the heart, and seemedmore than the heart could bear, but when the weight is lifted, as theloving Father so often does mercifully lift it—oh I tell you there weretears in more eyes than uncle's. I had my suspicions, and that night Iasked, 'Uncle, did you preach the sermon you meant to preach thismorning?' And uncle—if he weren't a bishop I would say he winked atme—replied, 'No, dear little shark. I had meant to preach the one aboutman yearning for Heaven because earth is a vale of tears.' I'm justtelling you this yarn, Ann, to make you see that religion doesn'tnecessarily rule out the love of dogs."

　　"It's a nice story, and I'm glad you told me," replied Ann. "Only myfather would say that your uncle had no religion."

　　Katie laughed. "A remark which has not gone unremarked. Certainly hehasn't enough to let it harden his heart. As I am beginning to thinkabout things now it seems to me uncle might stand for more vital thingsthan he does, but for all that I believe he can love God the more forloving Caesar so well."

　　They were quiet for a time, thinking of Ann's father and Katie's uncle;the love of God and the love of dogs and the love of man. Many things.Then Ann said: "Naturally you and I don't look at it the same way. Isee you were brought up on a pleasant kind of religion. The kind thatdoesn't matter."

　　That phrase started the electric batteries within Katie and the batteriesgot so active she had to go for a walk.

　　In the course of the walk she stopped at the shops to see Wayne. Shewanted to know if he would let Worth go into the country for a week withAnn. An old servant of theirs—a woman who had been friend as well asservant to Katie's mother—lived on a farm about ten miles up the riverand it had been planned that Worth—and Katie, too, if she would—go upthere for a week or more during the summer. It seemed just the thing forAnn. It would get her away from Captain Prescott and his mother, and fromMajor Darrett, who was coming in a few days. Katie believed Ann wouldlike to be away from them all for about a week, and get her bearingsanew. And Katie herself would like to be alone for a time and get herbearings, too, and make some plans. In one way or other she was going tohelp Ann find her real Something Somewhere. Perhaps she would take her toEurope. But until things settled down, as Katie vaguely put it, shethought it just the thing for Ann to have the little trip with Worth.

　　Wayne listened gravely, but did not object. He was quiet, and, Katiethought, not well. She suggested that working so steadily during the hotweather was not good for him.

　　He laughed shortly and pointed through the open door to the shops wherelong rows of men were working at forges—perspiration streaming downtheir faces.

　　But instead of alluding to them he asked abruptly: "How is she today?"

　　"Tired," said Katie. "She didn't sleep well last night."

　　Something in the way he was looking at her brought to Katie acuterealization of how much she cared for Wayne. He was her big brother. Shehad always been his little sister. They were not giving to thinking of itthat way—certainly not speaking of it—but the tenderness of therelationship was there. Consciousness of it came now as she seemed toread in Wayne's look that she hurt him in withholding her confidence, innot having felt it possible to trust even him.

　　She broke under that look. "Wayne dear," she said unevenly, "I don't denythere is something to tell. I'd like to tell you, if I could. If ever Ican, I will."

　　His reply was only to dismiss it with a curt little nod.

　　But Katie knew that did not necessarily mean that he was feeling curt.

　　She was drawn back to the open door from which she could see the longdouble line of men working steadily at the forges.

　　"What are those men doing?" she asked.

　　"Forging one of the parts of a rifle," he replied.

　　It recalled what the man who mended the boats had said of the saddles:that the first war those saddles would see would be the war over themanufacture of them. Would he go so far as to say the first use for therifles—?

　　Surely not. He must have been speaking figuratively.

　　But something in the might of the thing—the long lines of men at work onrifles to be used in a possible war—made the industrial side of it seemmore vital and more interesting than the military phase. This was here.This was real. There was practically no military life at the Arsenal—notmilitary life in the sense one found it at the cavalry post. That hadmade it seem, from a military standpoint, uninteresting. But here was thereal life—over in what the women of the quarter vaguely called "theshops," and dismissed as disposed of by the term.

　　Suddenly she wondered what all those men thought about God. Whethereither the hard blighting religion of Ann's father, or the aestheticcomfortable religion of her uncle "mattered" much to them?

　　Were the things which "mattered" forging a religion of their own?

　　But just what were those things that mattered?

　　A young man had entered and was speaking to Wayne. After a second'shesitation Wayne introduced him to Katie as Mr. Ferguson, who washelping him.

　　He had an open, intelligent face—this young mechanic. He did not seemoverwhelmed at being presented to Captain Jones' sister, but merelyreplied pleasantly to her greeting and was turning away.

　　But Katie was not going to let him get away. If she could help it, Katiewas not going to let any one get away who she thought could tell heranything about the things which were perplexing her—all those thingspressing closer and closer upon her.

　　"Do many of these men go to church?" she asked.

　　He appeared startled. Katie's gown did not suggest a possible tractconcealed about it.

　　"Why yes, some of them," he laughed. "I don't think the majorityof them do."

　　Then she came right out with it. "What would you say they look upon asthe most important thing in life?"

　　He looked startled again, but in more interested way. "Higher wages andshorter hours," he said.

　　"Are you a socialist?" she demanded.

　　It came so unexpectedly and so bluntly that it confused him. "Why,Katie," laughed her brother, "what do you mean by coming over here andinterviewing men on their politics?"

　　"What made you think I was a socialist?" asked Ferguson.

　　"Because you had such a quick answer to such a big question, and seemedso sure of yourself. I'm reading a book about socialists. They don't seemto think there is a particle of doubt they could put the world to rights,and things are so intricate—so confused—I don't see how they can be sosure they're saying the final word."

　　"I don't know that they claim to be saying the final word, but they doknow they could take away much of the confusion."

　　Katie was thinking of the story she had heard the night before. "Do youthink socialism's going to remove all the suffering from the world? Reachall the aches and fill all the empty places? Get right into the innerthings that are the matter and bring peace and good will and lovingkindness everywhere?"

　　She had spoken impetuously, and paused with an embarrassed laugh. Theyoung mechanic was looking at her gravely, but his look was less strangethan Wayne's.

　　"I don't think they'd go that far, Miss Jones. But they do know thatthere's a lot of needless misery they could wipe out."

　　"They're out and out materialists, aren't they? Everything'seconomic—the economic basis for everything in creation. They seem verycocksure that getting that the way they want it would usher in themillennium. You said the most important thing in life to these men washigher wages and shorter hours. I don't blame them for wanting them—Ihope they get them—but I don't know that I see it as very promising thatthey regard it as the most important thing in life. To do less and getmore is not what you'd call a spiritual aspiration, is it?" she laughed."This is what I mean—it's not the end, is it?"

　　"Socialists wouldn't call it the end. But it's got to be the end until itcan become the means."

　　"Yes, but if you get in the habit of looking at it as an end, will therebe anything left for it to be a means to?"

　　"Why yes, those spiritual aspirations you mention."

　　"Unless by that time the world's such an economic machine it doesn't wantspiritual aspirations."

　　"Well Heaven help the working man that's got them in the present economicmachine," said Ferguson a little impatiently.

　　She, too, moved impatiently. "Oh I don't know a thing about it. It'sabsurd for me to be talking about it."

　　"Why I don't think it's at all absurd, only I don't think you see thething clear to the end, and I wish you could talk to somebody who seesfarther than I do. I'm new to it myself. Now there's a man doing a lot ofboat repairing up here above the Island. I wish you could talk to him.He'd know just what you mean, and just how to meet you."

　　"Oh, would he?" said Katie. "What's his name?"

　　"Mann. Alan Mann."

　　"Why, Katie," laughed Wayne, "it must be that he's that same mythicalcreature known as the man who mends the boats."

　　"Yes," said Katie, "I fancy he's the very same mythical creature."

　　"My little boy talks about him," Wayne explained.

　　"Yes, he's the same one. I've seen him talking to your little boy and oneof the soldiers. He's a queer genius."

　　"In what way is he a queer genius?" asked Katie.

　　"Why—I don't know. He's always got a way of looking at a thing that youhadn't seen yourself." He looked up with a little smile from the tool hewas trying to adjust. "I'd like to have you tell him you were worryingabout socialism hurting spiritual aspirations."

　　"Would he annihilate me?"

　　"No, he wouldn't want to annihilate you, if he thought you were trying tofind out about things. He'd guide you."

　　"Oh—so he's a guide, is he? Is he a spiritual or an economic guide?"she laughed.

　　"I think he might combine them," he replied, laughing too.

　　"He must be remarkable," said Kate.

　　"He is remarkable, Miss Jones," gravely replied the admirer of the manwho mended the boats. "I wish you could have heard him talking to a crowdof men last Sunday."

　　"Dear me—is he a public speaker?"

　　"Yes—in a way. And he writes things."

　　Katie wanted to ask what things, but they were cut short by the entranceof Captain Prescott. It was curious how his entrance did cut them short.She smiled to herself, wondering what he would have thought of theconversation.

　　He followed her to the door and inquired for Miss Forrest. His manner wasconstrained, but his eyes were begging for an explanation. He lookedunhappy, and Katie hurried away from him. It seemed she could not bear tohave any more unhappiness come pressing against her, even theunhappiness she was confident would pass away.

　　In her mood of that day it seemed to Katie that the affairs of the worldwere too involved for any one to have a solution for them. Life surged intoo fiercely—too uncontrollably—to be contained within a formula.

　　As she continued her walk, winding in and out of the wooded paths, awespread its great wings about her at thought of the complexity and thefathomlessness of the relationships of life. She had but a little peepinto them, but that peep held the suggestion of limitlessness.

　　Because a lonely girl in a barren little town in Indiana had dreameddreams which life would not deliver to her, life now was beating in uponKatie Jones. Because Ann had been foiled in her quest for happiness,sobering shadows were falling across the sunny path along which Katie hadtripped. Did life thwarted in one place take it out in another? BecauseAnn could not find joy was it to be that Katie could not have peace? HadAnn's yearning for love been the breath blowing to flame Katie's yearningfor understanding? Because Ann could not dream her way to realities didit mean that Katie must fight her way to them?

　　They were such big things—such resistless things—these wild new thingswhich were sweeping in upon her. With the emotion of the world surging inand out like that how could any one claim to have a solution for thewhole question of living?

　　She seemed passing into a country too big and too dark for her of thesunny paths. She needed a guide. She grew lonely at thought of how badlyshe needed her guide.

　　She turned for comfort to thought of the things she would do for Ann. Shewould pay it back in revealing to Ann the beauty of the world. She wouldassume the responsibility of the Something Somewhere. Perhaps infulfilling a dream she would find a key to reality.

　　She found pleasure in the vision of Ann in the old world cathedrals. Howwisely they had builded—builders of those old cathedrals—in expressingreligion through beauty. At peace in the beauty of form, might Ann notfind an inner beauty? She believed Ann's nature to be an intenselyreligious one. How might Ann's soul not flower when she at last saw Godas a God of beauty?

　　Thus she soothed herself in building a future for Ann. Sought to appeasethose surgings of life with promise that Ann should at last find theloveliness of life.

　　But in the end it led to a terrifying vision. A vision of thousands uponthousands of other dreamers of dreams whose soul stuff might be slowlyebbing away in long dreary days of putting suspenders in boxes. Ofthousands of other girls who might be growing faint in operating thewires for life. Oh, she had power to fill Ann's life—but would that havepower to still for her the mocking whispers from the dreams which haddied slow deaths in all the other barren lives? Even though she took Annfrom the crowd to a far green hill of happiness, would not Katie herselfsee from that far green hill all the other girls "called" to life, goingforth as pilgrims with the lovely love-longing in their hearts only tofind life waiting to seize them for the work of the woman who wore thewhite furs?

　　A sob shook Katie. The woe of the world seemed surging just beneathher—rising so high that it threatened to suck her in.

　　But because she was a fighter she mastered the sob and vowed that ratherthan be sucked in to the woe of the world she would find out about theworld. Certainly she would sit apart no longer. She would study. Shewould see. She would live.

　　Life had become a sterner and a bigger thing. She would meet it ina sterner and bigger way. To understand! That was the greatestthing in life.

　　That passion to understand grew big within her. How could she hope to golaughing through a world which sobbed? How turn from life when she sawlife suffering? Why she could not even turn from a little bird which shesaw suffering!

　　There was a noble wistfulness in her longing to talk again with the manwho mended the boats.