The Island of Faith

by Margaret E. Sangster

  XVII

  AN ANSWER

  There was eagerness--and a hint of something else--in Jim's voice as herepeated his question.

  "Well," he asked for the second time, "what d' yer say about it--huh?How'd yer like ter marry me?"

  Rose-Marie's fascinated eyes were on his face. At the first she hadhardly believed her ears--but her ears had evidently been functioningproperly. Jim wanted to marry her--to marry _her_! It was a possibilitythat she had never dreamed of--a thought that she had never, for onemoment, entertained. Jim had always seemed so utterly of anotherworld--of another epoch, almost. He spoke a language that was far removedfrom her language, his mind worked differently--even his emotions weredifferent from her emotions. He might have been living upon anotherplanet--so distant he had always seemed from her. _And yet he had askedher to marry him_!

  Like every other normal girl, Rose-Marie had thought ahead to the timewhen she would have a home and a husband. She had dreamed of the day whenher knight would come riding--a visionary, idealized figure, always, buta noble one! She had pictured a hearth-fire, and a blue and white kitchenwith aluminum pans and glass baking dishes. She had even wondered howtiny fingers would feel as they curled about her hand--if a wee headwould be heavy upon her breast.

  Of late her dreams, for some reason, had become a little less misty--alittle more definite. The figure of her knight had been a trifle moreclear cut--the armour of her imagination had given place to rough tweedsuits and soft felt hats. And the children had looked at her, from out ofthe shadows, with wide, dark eyes--almost like real children. Herthoughts had shaped themselves about a figure that was not the romanticcreation of girlhood--that was strong and willing and very tender. Dr.Blanchard--had he not been mistaken upon so many subjects--would havefitted nicely into the picture!

  But Jim--of all people, _Jim!_ He was as far removed from the boundariesof her dream as the North Pole is removed from the South. His patentleather hair--she could not picture it against her arm--his mouth,thin-lipped and too red.... She shuddered involuntarily, as she thoughtof it and the man, bending above her, saw the shudder.

  "Well," he questioned for the third time, "what about it? I'm a reg'larguy, ain't I? How'd you like to marry me?"

  Rose-Marie moistened her lips before she answered. Her voice, when itcame, was very husky.

  "Why, Jim," she said faintly, "what an idea! How did you ever come tothink of it?"

  The man's face was flushed. His words tumbled, quickly, from hisunsteady mouth.

  "I'm crazy about yer, kid," he said, "crazy about yer! Don't think thatbein' married t' me will mean as you'll have ter live in a dump likethis-there"--the sweep of his arm was expressive--"fer yer won't! You'llhave th' grandest flat in this city--anywhere yer say'll suit me! Yer'llhave hats an' dresses, an' a car--if yer want it. Yer'll haveeverything--if yer'll marry me! What d' yer say?"

  Rose-Marie's face was a study of mixed emotions--consternation strugglingwith incredulity for first place. The man saw the unbelief; for hehurried on before she could speak.

  "Yer think that I'm like my pa was"--he told her--"livin' on measlywages! Well, I ain't. Some nights I make a pile that runs interthousands--an' it'll be all fer yer! All fer yer!"

  Of a sudden, Rose-Marie spoke. She was scarcely tactful.

  "How do you make all of this money, Jim?" she questioned; "do you come byit honestly?"

  A dark wave of colour spread over the man's face--dyeing it to anugly crimson.

  "What's it matter how I get it," he snarled, "long's I get it! Whatbusiness is it of yers how I come by my coin? I ain't stagin' ainvestergation. And"--his face softened suddenly, "an' yer wouldn'tunderstand, anyhow! Yer only a girl--a little kid! What's it matter how Igets th' roll--long as I'm willin' ter spend it on m' sweetie? What's itmatter?" He made a movement as if to take her into his arms--"_What's itmatter_?" he questioned again.

  Like a flash Rose-Marie was upon her feet. With a swing of her body shehad evaded his arms. Her face was white and drawn, but her mind wasexceptionally active--more active than it had ever been in all of herlife. She knew that Jim was in a difficult mood--that a word, one way orthe other, would make him as easy to manage as a kitten or as relentlessas a panther, stalking his prey. She knew that it was in her power to saythe word that would calm him until the return of his mother and hissister. And yet she found it well-nigh impossible to say that word.

  "I'm tired of deceit," she told herself, as she stepped back in thedirection of the door. "I'll not say anything to him that isn't true! ...Nothing can happen to me, anyway," she assured herself. "This is thetwentieth century, and I'm Rose-Marie Thompson. This is a civilizedcountry--nothing can hurt me! I'm not afraid--not while God is takingcare of me!"

  Jim had straightened up. He seemed, suddenly, to tower.

  "Well," he growled, "how about it? When'll we be married?"

  Rose-Marie raised her head gallantly.

  "We won't ever be married, Jim Volsky!" she told him, and even to her ownsurprise there was not the suggestion of a quaver in her voice. "We won'tever be married. I'm surprised at you for suggesting it!"

  The man stared at her, a moment, and his eyes showed clearly that he didnot quite understand.

  "Yer mean," he stammered at last, "that yer t'rowing me down?"

  Rose-Marie's head was still gallantly lifted.

  "I mean," she said, "that I won't marry you! Please--we'll let the matterdrop, at once!"

  The man came a step nearer. The bewilderment was dying from his face.

  "Not much, we won't let the matter drop!" he snarled. "What's yer reasonfer turnin' me down--huh?"

  It was then that Rose-Marie made her mistake. It was then that she ceasedto be tactful. But suddenly she was tired, desperately tired, of Jim'spersistence. Suddenly she was too tired even to be afraid. The lift ofher chin was very proud--proud with some ingrained pride of race, as sheanswered. Behind her stood a long line of ancestors with gentle blood,ancestors who had known the meaning of chivalry.

  Coolly she surveyed him. Dispassionately she noticed the lack of breedingin his face, the marks of early dissipation, the lines that sin hadetched. And as she looked she laughed with just the suggestion ofhauteur. For the first time in her life Rose-Marie was experiencing atouch of snobbishness, of class distinction.

  "We won't discuss my reason," she told him slowly; "it should be quiteevident to _any one_!"

  Not many weeks before, Rose-Marie had told the Young Doctor--in thepresence of the Superintendent--that she loved the people of the slums.She had been so sure of herself then--so certain that she spoke thetruth. More recently she had assured the Superintendent that she couldcope with any situation. And that very afternoon she had told Ella thatthey were alike, were just young girls--both of them--with all of life infront of them, with the same hopes and the same fears and the sameambitions.

  She had believed the statement that she had made, so emphatically, to theYoung Doctor--she had believed it very strongly. She had been utterlysure of herself when she begged the Superintendent to let her know moreof life. And, during her talk with Ella, she had felt a real kinship tothe whole of the Volsky family! But now that she had come face to facewith a crisis--now that she was meeting her big test--she knew that herstrong beliefs were weakening and that she was no longer at all sure ofherself! And as for being kin to the Volskys--the idea was quiteunthinkable.

  Always, Rose-Marie had imagined that a proposal of marriage would bethe greatest compliment that a man could pay a girl. But the proposalof the man in front of her did not seem in the least complimentary.She realized--with the only feeling of irony she had ever known, thatthis proposal was her very first. And she was looking upon it as aninsult. With a tiny curl of her lips she raised her eyes until theymet Jim's eyes.

  "It should be quite evident," she repeated, "to any one!"

  Jim Volsky's face had turned to a dark mottled red. His slim, wellmanicured hands were clenched at his sides.

  "Y' mean," he ques
tioned, and his voice had an ugly ring, "y' mean Iain't good enough fer yer?"

  All at once the snobbishness had slipped, like a worn coat, from theshoulders of the girl. She was Rose-Marie Thompson again--Settlementworker. She was no better, despite the ancestors with gentle blood,than the man in front of her--just more fortunate. She realized thatshe had been not only unkind, but foolish. She tried, hurriedly--andwith a great scare looking out of her wide eyes--to repair the mistakethat she had made.

  "I don't mean that I am better than you, Jim," she said softly, "not inthe matter of family. We are all the children of God--we are all brothersand sisters in His sight."

  Jim Volsky interrupted. He came nearer to Rose-Marie--so near that only afew inches of floor space lay between them.

  "Don't yer go sayin' over Sunday-school lessons at me," he snarled. "Iknow what yer meant. Yer think I ain't good enough--t' marry yer.Well"--he laughed shortly, "well, maybe I ain't good enough--t' marryyer! But I guess I'm good enough t' kiss yer--" All at once his handsshot out, closed with the strength of a vise upon her arms, just aboveher elbows. "I guess I'm good enough t' kiss yer!" he repeatedgloatingly.

  Rose-Marie felt cold fear creeping through her veins. There wassomething clammy in Jim's touch, something more than menacing in hiseyes. She knew that her strength was nothing to be pitted againsthis--she knew that in any sort of a struggle she would be easilysubdued. And yet she knew that she would rather die than feel his lipsupon hers. She felt an intense loathing for him--the loathing that somewomen feel for toads and lizards.

  "Jim," she said slowly and distinctly, "let go of me _this instant_!"

  The man was bending closer. A thick lock of his heavy hair had shakendown over his forehead, giving him a strangely piratical look.

  "Not much I won't," he told her. "_So I ain't good enough_--"

  All at once Rose-Marie felt the blindness of rage--unreasoning, deadlyanger. Only two things she knew--that she hated Jim and that she wouldnot let him kiss her. She spoke sudden defiant words that surprisedeven herself.

  "No," she told him, and her voice was hysterically high, "no, you're notgood enough! You're not good enough for _any_ decent girl! You'rebad--too bad to lay your fingers upon me. You're--you're unclean! Let goof me or I'll"--her courage was oozing rapidly away, "or I'll _scream_!"

  Jim Volsky's too red lips were on a level with her own. His voice camethickly. "Scream, if you want to, little kid!" he said. "Scream t' beatth' band! There ain't no one t' hear yer. Ma an' Ella an' Bennie are atthe hospital--givin' Pa th' once over. An' th' folks in this house areused t' yellin'. They'd oughter be! Scream if yer want to--but I'ma-goin' ter have my kiss!"

  Rose-Marie could feel the warmth of his breath upon her face. Knowing thefutility--the uselessness of it--she began to struggle. Desperately shetried to twist her arms from the slim, brutal hands that held them--butthe hands did not loosen their hold. She told herself, as she struggled,that Jim had spoken the truth--that a scream, more or less, was anevery-day occurrence in the tenement.

  All at once she realized, with a dazed, sinking feeling, that the YoungDoctor had had some foundation of truth in certain of his statements.Some of the slum people were like animals--very like animals! Jim was allanimal as he bent above her--easily holding her with his hands. Nothingthat she said could reach him--nothing. She realized why the Young Doctorhad wanted her to leave the Settlement House before any of her dreams hadbeen shattered, before her faith in mankind had been abused! She realizedwhy, at times, he had hurt her, and with the realization came theknowledge that she wanted him, desperately, at that minute--that he, outof all the people in the world, was the one that her heart was calling toin her time of need. She wanted his strength, his protection.

  Once before, earlier in the afternoon, she had realized that there wasmuch of the cat in Jim. Now she realized it again, with a new sense offear and dislike. For Jim was not claiming the kiss that he wanted, in astraight-forward way--he was holding her gloatingly, as a cat tortures amouse. He was letting her know, without words, that she was utterlyhelpless--that he could kiss her when he wanted to, and not until hewanted to. There was something horribly playful in his attitude. Shestruggled again--but more weakly, her strength was going. If there wereonly somebody to help--somebody!

  And then, all at once, she remembered--with a blinding sense ofrelief--what she had been forgetting. She remembered that there wasSomebody--a Somebody Who is always ready to help--a Somebody who watchesover the fate of every little sparrow.

  "If you hurt me," she said desperately, to Jim, "God will know! Let go ofme--or I'll--"

  Jim interrupted.

  "Yer'll scream!" he chuckled, and there was cruel mirth in the chuckle."Yer'll scream, an' God will take care o' yer! Well--scream! I don'tbelieve as God can help yer. God ain't never been in this tenement--asfar as I know!"

  Despite her weight of fear and loathing, Rose-Marie was suddenly sorryfor Jim. There was something pitiful--something of which he did notrealize the pathos--in his speech. God had never been in thetenement--_God had never been in the tenement_! All at once she realizedthat Jim's wickedness, that Jim's point of view, was not wholly hisfault. Jim had not been brought up, as she had, in the cleanout-of-doors; he--like many another slum child--had grown to manhoodwithout his proper heritage of fresh air and sunshine. One could notentirely blame him for thinking of his home--the only home that he hadever known--as a Godless place. She stopped struggling and her voice wassuddenly calm and sweet as she answered Jim's statement.

  "God," she said slowly, "_is_ in this tenement. God is everywhere,Jim--everywhere! If I call on Him, He will help me!"

  All at once Jim had swung her away from him, until he was holding her atarm's length. He looked at her, from between narrowed lids, and there wasbitter sarcasm in his eyes.

  "Call on Him, then," he taunted, "call on Him! Lotta good it'll do yer!"The very tone of his voice was a sacrilege, as he said it.

  Rose-Marie's eyes were blurred with tears as she spoke her answer to hischallenge. She was remembering the prayers that she had said backhome--in the little town. She was remembering how her aunts had taughther, when she was a wee girl, to talk with God--to call upon Him in timesof deep perplexity. She had called upon Him, often, but she had neverreally needed Him as she did now. "Help me, God!" she said softly, "_Helpme, God_!"

  The Volsky flat was still, for a moment. And then, with surprisingquickness, the door to the inner room swung open. Jim, who wasstanding with his back to the door, did not see the tiny,golden-haired figure that stood in the opening, but Rose-Marie caughther breath in a kind of a sob.

  "I had forgotten Lily--" she murmured, almost to herself.

  Jim, hearing her words, glanced quickly back over his shoulder. And thenhe laughed, and there was an added brutality in the tone of his laughter.

  "Oh--Lily!" he laughed. "Lily! She won't help yer--not much! I was sortof expectin' this God that yer talk about--" The laughter died out of hisface and he jerked her suddenly close--so close that she lay trembling inhis arms. "Lily can't hear," he exulted, "'r see, 'r speak. _I'll take mykiss--now_!"

  It was then that Rose-Marie, forgetting herself in the panic of themoment, screamed. She screamed lustily, twisting her face away from hislips. And as she screamed Lily, as silently as a little wraith, startedacross the room. She might almost have heard, so straight she came. Shemight almost have known what was happening, so directly she ran to thespot where Rose-Marie was struggling in the arms of Jim. All at once herthin little hands had fastened themselves upon the man's trouser leg, allat once she was pulling at him, with every bit of her feeble strength.

  Rose-Marie, still struggling, felt an added weight of apprehension. Notonly her own safety was at stake--Lily, who was so weak, was in danger ofbeing hurt. She jerked back, with another cry.

  "Oh, God help me!" she cried, "God help _us_!"

  Silently, but with a curious persistence, the child clung to the man'strouser leg. With an oath he looked back a
gain over his shoulder.

  "Leave go of me," he mouthed. "Leave go o' me--y' little brat! 'r I'll--"

  And "Let go of him, Lily," sobbed Rose-Marie, forgetting that the childcould not hear. "Let go of him, or he'll hurt you!"

  The child lifted her sightless blue eyes wistfully to the faces aboveher--the faces that she could not see. And she clung the closer.

  Jim was swearing, steadily--swearing with a dogged, horrible regularity.Of a sudden he raised his heavy foot and kicked viciously at the childwho clung so tenaciously to his other leg. Rose-Marie, powerless to help,closed her eyes--and opened them again almost spasmodically.

  "You brute," she screamed, "_you utter brute_!"

  Lily, who had never, in all of her broken little life, felt an unkindtouch, wavered, as the man's boot touched her slight body. Her sightlesseyes clouded, all at once, with tears. And then, with a sudden piercingshriek, she crumpled up--in a white little heap--upon the floor.