As the lean, small woman with the patient face and iron-gray hair in its two thin little sick-bed braids lay there so still, none of her relatives and attendants knew the crossing currents of emotion that lifted her thin chest with an occasional shuddering sigh.
‘Now, Eva, you must be brave!’ said her sister, Mrs Arroway. ‘It is hard, I know, but you have always done your duty. You have nothing to blame yourself for.’
Her brother, a heavy man with a determined mouth supplemented by an even more determined moustache, added his words of cheer.
‘You’re left in comfortable circumstances, Eva,’ he said. ‘Very comfortable circumstances for a woman alone. Jason was better fixed than we knew. I won’t worry you with details, but you’ll be well taken care of. There’s no executor or anything named — I suppose you’ll want me to attend to things for you?’
To this she said nothing, but the tears welled afresh, and Mrs Arroway said: ‘Now Frank Peterson, you wait. She’s not strong enough to be troubled about anything yet. You go away.’
So Frank went away, and presently, as Mrs Hines seemed to be asleep, her sister went also. Then after awhile Mrs Hines opened her eyes and looked at the drooping fir boughs by the window. Not far beyond them was a slate-colored wooden wall, the windowless side of the next house. She had looked out through those dark fir boughs at that wooden wall ever since she came to this house, a bride, thirty long years ago. Then she was eighteen. Now she was forty-eight.
When the doctor dropped in on his way home, just to see how she was getting along, she whispered that she wanted to see him alone. So he persuaded Mrs Arroway, who sat, large and warm, in a creaky rocking-chair, fanning herself steadily, that a nap would do her good there and then, and sent her to take it.
‘Your patient’s doing beautifully now,’ he said, ‘and she’ll sleep a bit, too, I think, if she’s by herself.’
The nurse was easily disposed of, and Dr Osgood drew his chair closer and looked down, smiling in his wise friendly way on the pale little woman.
‘You’ve known me near thirty years, haven’t you, Doctor?’
‘I certainly have,’ he agreed. ‘Sick and well — mostly well, I’m glad to say.’
‘And you’ve known — my family too.’
‘Knew your father and mother, and brother and sister, and several cousins — no doubt of it.’
‘Well — I’m not crazy — am I, Doctor?’
‘Crazy! Certainly not. You’ve nothing but a few scalp wounds there, and a broken bone or two. You’ve no fever — you’ll be up in no time.’
‘Your boy Charles is a real lawyer now, isn’t he?’ she pursued. ‘What are you driving at? Yes, Charles is a lawyer all right, and going to be a good one — unless he’s too honest.’
‘Well, I want to see him, Doctor. Frank tells me that I’m left — fairly well off — and he wants to manage the property — and I prefer to have it in my own hands — absolutely. Can’t Charles take care of me?’
‘He certainly can, and he’ll be glad to. You gave my kids many a good time when they were little — and they’re all fond of you. You can count on Charlie. I’ll bring him around in the morning.’
With the benefit of her attorney’s inquiries and advice Mrs Hines ascertained that she was absolute mistress of the place where she had lived so long, of two other houses and a centrally situated lot, and of some fifty thousand dollars in a reliable bank. He gave her all the details, and some wise advice.
‘Is it my very own?’ she said. ‘I can do just as I please with it all?’
‘You can do exactly as you please with every cent of it,’ he told her. ‘You can sell all you have and give to the poor — but I don’t advise it. You can give it all to me — but I won’t charge that much.’
Mr Frank Peterson was offended and made that fact conspicuous. Mrs Arroway was offended too, on general principles, that Eva should consult a lawyer when her own brother was one — it looked so bad — it was so inconsiderate.
To their criticisms and protests Mrs Hines opposed no word, only the pale patient face, the set lines of the mouth. She was weak, she was silent under reproach, but she kept on quietly.
As soon as Mrs Hines was up and about she consulted, further, her minister as well as her lawyer, and more than one real estate man. Her own place she sold at once, sold even at what seemed some sacrifice, showing what her sister called ‘real hardheartedness’ about it. The other two houses were left in Mr Charles Osgood’s hands to rent as before, and Mrs Hines, taking the proceeds of her relinquished home in letters of credit and travelers’ checks, summarily departed.
‘I never saw anything so unnatural!’ her sister protested. ‘She won’t even say where she’s going. She says her lawyer’ll forward her letters. Her lawyer, indeed! And her own brother a lawyer all the time! I don’t believe she knows what she’s doing. I believe her mind’s affected.’
But here Dr Osgood satisfied all inquiries. ‘Fiddlesticks,’ he said. ‘She’s going off for change, travel, and a complete rest. I advised it. If she doesn’t want to tell where she’s going, why should she?’
Mrs Hines, in truth, did not know where she was going. She had one settled determination; to make the price of that home which had held her prisoner so long, now carry her as far as it would hold out. Beyond that she had a longing deep and earnest for health — vigorous health — if it could be had at any price. And beyond that, still deeper and more earnest, was the desire to invest her money so that it should do the most good.
‘This much I’ll spend — just spend!’ she told herself, ‘I can live easy enough on the rents of the other two, and then I’ll put that fifty thousand to work for righteousness. But I’ve got to get well — well — strong, and clearheaded.’
The very first thing she did was to take a ‘room and bath’ in a New York hotel. She dined rather timidly in the big room with the music, flowers and lights, spent a riotous evening with three new magazines at once, then, with triumphant memories of the compromises and makeshifts of the large, inconvenient, old-fashioned house she had escaped from, she luxuriated in the shining, white-tiled bathroom, the gleaming porcelain tub, the swift, copious rush of the hot water.
‘He wouldn’t have the hot water connected,’ she thought. ‘He wouldn’t have a porcelain tub — or even an enameled one. And he could have, just as well!’
Then Mrs Hines crept into a wide smooth luxurious bed, and slept. She slept so deep and sound that on waking there was that sense of coming up from deep waters, of complete detachment.
‘Where am I?’ was the first thought, with the worried background of a fear that she would be late with Jason’s breakfast.
Then she remembered.
She lay perfectly still for awhile, then stretched deliciously, as far as she could reach, to the uttermost corners of the wide bed. How fresh and empty the room smelled! How gently the curtain waved in a soft current of air! Mrs Hines preferred the window open. Jason had preferred it shut.
She looked at her watch, smiled happily, and went to sleep again. Wakening at last an idea struck her — a daring, delightful idea. She would have her breakfast sent up!
For some weeks the little woman rested and freshened herself in unwonted idleness and freedom, and then, feeling strong enough to choose, spent a long Summer, half in the cool uplifting mountains, half by the cool refreshing sea.
How hot it used to be in that house — !
This Summer was divided into three equally pleasant processes: Rest, exercise and study. She had found out, in the big city, what she wanted to know, and all Summer she was filling her mind with new knowledge.
It came to her as a revelation, the things the world was doing to improve itself. With all her soft little heart she had grieved over the sorrows, the unnecessary sorrows, of humanity; with all her hard little head she had tried to think of ways of helping. But she had had little time or opportunity, and no money, and her ideas had been laughed at as womanish foolishness.
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sp; Now she found that men, hard-headed business men and statesmen, doctors and writers and scientific students, were thinking and working along these lines.
She had time now — all there was left. She had freedom. And she had fifty thousand dollars.
A year of travel followed. She was not going to be hasty. She could not afford to make mistakes. So she went methodically about from land to land, supplementing her recent study with more careful observation. The Survey and her collateral reading had filled her mind with stirring insight into conditions. The Bureau of Social Service in New York had given her definite lines of inquiry. Now she was learning fast.
‘It mustn’t be charity,’ she said to herself. ‘It must be business, good business. It must prove that it will pay.’
When she came back to her home town she felt as if she had changed from a mouse to an elephant, so much stronger she felt, so much wider was her outlook upon life. So detached and upbuilt was she as to feel even a sort of affection for her brother who had always so rudely domineered over her as to check that natural feeling. Her sister, too, no longer seemed a dampener, a clog upon her spirit. That spirit was strong enough now to smile at their limitations and not mind them. Even the town looked pleasant to her — and to her pleased surprise the house by the big fir trees had become a grocery store.
She took two rooms at the best hotel.
Mrs Arroway remonstrated continuously. ‘Look here, Julia,’ said Mrs Hines at last. ‘I’m a woman of fifty, and ought to know my own mind. I prefer to live in this hotel for the present. Now suppose you just make up your mind to it.’ She was good-natured but firm, and peace ensued.
There was Charles Osgood and his father; there was the one live minister in town; there was out of many one woman’s club with some real ambition to be useful, and the philanthropic associations of the place, such as they were; these were the assets. Ignorance, inertia, prejudice, conservatism and selfishness; these were the liabilities.
It was a large town, or rather, a small city, and small though it was, had many of the disadvantages of large ones, without their ameliorations.
Mrs Hines blew no trumpet. She spent her first season in re-establishing herself in the place on a new basis, in affiliating with church, club and charity, making judicious contributions of money and service. People got to know her. Those who had known her liked her better than they had before.
The only thing she really did that season was to engineer the establishment of a lecture lyceum; the progressive church furnished the auditorium, and Mrs Hines the funds. A number of carefully selected human dynamos were brought to the town, and the local mind was greatly stirred. Before the next Autumn there had risen on that conveniently situated lot of Mrs Hines a building which she quietly announced was a memorial to her husband. It was called simply The Hines Building. Like other memorial buildings she had seen this contained many social conveniences.
The great airy basement was fitted with a swimming-pool and gymnasium; the roof had room for various games, and could be used as a tea-garden. There was an auditorium which could be used for sermon, lecture, mass meeting or theater, and the whole top floor was arranged for dancing or fairs and exhibitions, with a space reserved for the preparation and serving of refreshments.
There was the Hines Circulating Library, an excellent adjunct to the rather meager public one. A committee comprised of Mrs Hines, Charles Osgood, the progressive minister and the extremely progressive librarian they employed, selected the books. If the selection comprised a wide range of sociological works, both in science and fiction, at least no one need read them who did not wish to.
Club rooms, large and small, filled the remaining space.
‘There!’ said Mrs Hines, when it was done.
The place was opened by an invitation audience that filled the theater, addressed by a group of well-known ministers and philanthropists, followed by a reception in the big ball-room, with refreshments. Everybody went over the building from roof to basement, interested and admiring, and all those interested in social betterment held forth to congenial groups about the things they thought of preeminent importance to the world.
Then Mrs Hines opened accommodations, free, to the two leading philanthropic societies of the town, which offer was accepted promptly. She made the rent of her club rooms so reasonable that one after another the women’s clubs grew to use them. ‘It was so central,’ they delightedly agreed. ‘And they could have tea and things when they wanted them — very reasonable, too.’
The wealthy found that that big ballroom was a delightful place to give dances, high, cool, with the whole broad roof for strolling couples between dances. Men’s clubs, as well as women’s, began to engage rooms; girls’ clubs and boys’ clubs; classes of various descriptions; lectures, debates and private theatricals were held there.
The library was open evenings, all the evening, and many found it a pleasant place to rest and read, to meet friends, to change for the gymnasium, the dancing-room, the airy restaurant or the more airy roof, at will.
When that ball-room was not engaged by special patrons it was put to good use. Excellent dancing teachers were engaged, a man and wife, and good music furnished by a pianist more definite and regular than a pianola, and a muscular boy with a violin, who supported a widowed mother by that tireless right arm and those quick, strong fingers. Then they had classes, friendly groups of different ages, one which admitted no one under forty, and had more fun than the youngest class of children.
The rents were low, but the patronage was continuous. It was astonishing how popular the place became. There was a club or class-ticket which enabled any regular patron of the building to use the women’s parlor upstairs, or the men’s lounging room in the basement, and the number of those who took advantage of them was surprising.
The superintendent and his wife, who had a little apartment on the premises, proved both useful and popular, especially in keeping up the interest of the boys’ and girls’ clubs. Some initiative, some direction, is always valuable.
Boy Scouts and Camp-Fire Girls met there; a ‘roque’ court on the roof drew increasing memberships; classes in swimming and gymnastics followed one another swiftly. There are never enough places for water sports, and this pool was so big, so clean and fresh, and so enlivened with spring-boards, glistening chutes and all the machinery for clean, natural fun.
From the busy class-rooms, the earnest club-rooms, the gay ball-rooms, the quiet reading rooms, to the shrieks of laughter from the jolly crowds in the basement, the whole space teemed with happy, social life, natural and developing.
Before the year was out Mrs Hines had the pleasure of seeing that her memorial building was going to pay her ten per cent above all expenses, and besides a sinking fund which bade fair to replace her capital in ten years’ time.
‘Good!’ said Mrs Hines. ‘Jason wouldn’t object to that anyway!’
BEE WISE
‘IT’S a queer name,’ said the man reporter.
‘No queerer than the other,’ said the woman reporter. ‘There are two of them, you know — Beewise and Herways.’
‘It reminds me of something,’ he said, ‘some quotation — do you get it?’
‘I think I do,’ she said. ‘But I won’t tell. You have to consider for yourself.’ And she laughed quietly. But his education did not supply the phrase.
They were sent down, both of them, from different papers, to write up a pair of growing towns in California which had been built up so swiftly and yet so quietly that it was only now after they were well established and prosperous that the world had discovered something strange about them.
This seems improbable enough in the land of most unbridled and well-spurred reporters, but so it was.
One town was a little seaport, a tiny sheltered nook, rather cut off by the coast hills from previous adoption. The other lay up beyond those hills, in a delightful valley all its own with two most precious streams in it that used to tumble in roaring white during the
rainy season down their steep little canyons to the sea, and trickled there, unseen, the rest of the year.
The man reporter wrote up the story in his best descriptive vein, adding embellishments where they seemed desirable, withholding such facts as appeared to contradict his treatment, and doing his best to cast over the whole a strong sex-interest and the glamor of vague suspicions.
The remarkable thing about the two towns was that their population consisted very largely of women and more largely of children, but there were men also, who seemed happy enough, and answered the questions of the reporters with good-will. They disclaimed, these men residents, anything peculiar or ultra-feminine in the settlements, and one hearty young Englishman assured them that the disproportion was no greater than in England. ‘Or in some of our New England towns,’ said another citizen, ‘where the men have all gone west or to the big cities, and there’s a whole township of withering women-folks with a few ministers and hired men.’
The woman reporter questioned more deeply perhaps, perhaps less offensively; at any rate she learned more than the other of the true nature of the sudden civic growth. After both of them had turned in their reports, after all the other papers had sent down representatives, and later magazine articles had been written with impressive pictures, after the accounts of permitted visitors and tourists had been given, there came to be a fuller knowledge than was possible at first, naturally, but no one got a clearer vision of it all than was given to the woman reporter that first day, when she discovered that the Mayor of Herways was an old college mate of hers.
The story was far better than the one she sent in, but she was a lady as well as a reporter, and respected confidence.
Complete Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman Page 159
