Part 22 (1/2)
”No, Jane, it didn't; only it was signed by the Chicago Bank. But Kobu told me he was sure Page was the man. He has cabled the authorities to come.”
”He has cabled, has he? He knows, does he? Kobu has himself going to another thought. Isn't that what Zura says? Page Hanaford is no more the man wanted for borrowing that bank's money than I am a fas.h.i.+on plate wanted in Paris.” Her words were light, but very sure.
Her apparent levity irritated me. ”How do you know? What are you saying, Jane?” I asked sharply.
”Oh, I just have a feeling that way. Page is too good-looking,” answered my companion.
”For the love of heaven, Jane Gray, that's no reason. Good looks don't keep a man from sin.”
”Maybe not, but they help; and Page loves poetry too,” she ended with quiet stubbornness. Then after a pause: ”That program did not say what particular thing our boy was wanted for, did it?” Neither in joy nor sorrow did Jane's talent desert her for misusing words.
”No, the circular did not state the details. But if you think there is any mistake about the whole thing go to the room and look at that policeman pacing up and down before the door. And if you think the boy's not desperately ill, look inside and see those two doctors and that speck of a trained nurse watching his every breath. You can read the paper yourself, if you don't believe me.”
”Miss Jenkins, don't pin your faith to a program; they tell awful fibs.
Once I wrote one myself for a meeting and I said, 'The audience will remain standing while collection is taken,' and it made me say: 'The remains of the audience will be collected while standing.'”
”How can you?” I asked. Hot tears stung my eyes.
Instantly Jane was by my side. ”How can I? Because it's best never to believe anything you hear and only half of what you see. I know the dear boy is ill. But he's not guilty. The idea of that sweet boy, with such a nice mouth and teeth, doing anything dishonorable! It's all a mistake. I know guilt when I see it, and Page hasn't a feature of it.”
Jane Gray exasperated me to the verge of hysteria, but her sure, simple faith had built a hospital and changed the criminal record of a city.
The thought that she might be right, in spite of the circular and Kobu, gave me so much comfort that the tears flowed unchecked.
My companion looked at me critically for a moment, then left the room.
She returned shortly bearing a heaped-up tray, which she arranged before me. ”Honey, you can't be hopeful when you are hungry. You told me so yourself. I don't believe you've eaten since morning. Here's just a little bite of turkey and mince pie and chicken salad. Eat it. There's plenty more, for n.o.body's touched that big dinner we were going to celebrate Page's new position with. Now turn around to the lamp so you can see. What a funny fat shadow you make! But how sweet it is to know if we keep our faces to the light the shadows are always behind us! Now I must run and get a little sleep. Zura says I am to go on watch at three.”
I thought her gone, when the door opened again and I could see only her gray head and bright, though tired face. ”Miss Jenkins, please don't let that layer cake fool you. It is not tough. I just forgot to take the brown papers from the bottom of the layers when I iced them. Do as I tell you, eat and sleep.”
”What if to-morrow's care were here Without its rest?
I'd rather He'd unlock the day And, as the hours swing open, say, 'Thy will be best.'”
”Good-night, dear friend.”
Then she was gone. The tables were turned in more ways than one. Jane was counselor and I the counseled, she the comforter and I to be comforted.
In the daughters of j.a.pan lies a hidden quality ever dormant unless aroused by a rough shake from the hand of necessity; it is the power to respond calmly and skilfully to emergencies. In this, as never before, Zura Wingate declared her Oriental heritage. On the tragic morning when I had gone with Page to the Kencho I had left her a singing, joyous girl, her feet touching the borderland of earth's paradise. I returned and found her a woman, white lipped and tense, but full of quiet command. The path to love's domain had been blocked by a sorrow which threatened desolation to happiness and life. Not with tears and vain rebellion did she protest against fate or circ.u.mstances, nor waste a grain of energy in useless re-pinings. With the lofty bearing her lordly forefathers wore when going forth to defeat or victory this girl stood ready, and served so efficiently that both nurse and doctors bestowed their highest praise when they told her she was truly a j.a.panese woman.
So frequent were the demands from household and sick-room that I feared for her strength. I knew she suffered. Rigid face muscles and dark-rimmed eyes so testified; but aside from these some tireless spirit held her far above weariness. Alert to see and quick to perform, under her hand, after a few days, the house settled down into a routine where each member had a special duty. In turn we watched or waited while the heavy, anxious days dragged themselves along until they numbered ten.
In the last half of each night Zura and I watched by Page and wrestled with the cruel thing that held him captive. They were painful, but revealing hours. I was very close to the great secrets of life, and the eternal miracle of coming dawn was only matched in tender beauty by the wonder of a woman's love. It was Zura's cool, soft hand that held the burning lids and shut out the hideous specters Page's fevered eyes saw closing down upon him. It was her voice that soothed him into slumber after the frenzy of delirium.
”Ah,” he'd pant, weary of the struggle with a fancied foe, ”you've come, my lovely princess. No! You're my G.o.ddess!” Then with tones piteous and beseeching he would begin anew the prayer ever present on his lips since his illness. ”Beloved G.o.ddess, tell me--what did I do with them? You are divine; you know. Help me to find them quick. Quick; they are shutting the door; it has bars. I cannot see your face.”
”I am here, Page,” Zura would answer. ”If the door shuts, I'll be right by your side.”
In love for the boy each member of the house was ready day or night for instant service, but vain were our combined efforts to help the fevered brain to lay hold of definite thought long enough for him to name the thing that was breaking his heart. From pleading for time to search for something, he would wander into scenes of his boyhood. Once he appealed to me as his mother and asked me to sing him to sleep. Before I could steady my lips he had drifted into talk of the sea and tried to sing a sailor's song. Often he fancied himself on a pirate s.h.i.+p and begged not to be put off on some lonely island. He fiercely resisted. But his feebleness was no match for Zura's young strength, and as she held him she would begin to sing: