A Good Woman (Bromfield)/Part 2/Chapter 6
It was impossible, of course, for the three of them to continue playing the game of hide-and-seek, pretending that Philip and Naomi had not returned or that Philip was too ill to go out; it was impossible for Naomi to go about forever disguised by a thick veil. Even Emma's eternal policy of allowing things to work themselves out appeared after a month to be productive of no result, for Philip's "mental condition" showed no signs of improvement. He remained, rocklike, in his determination, while the two women watched, stricken with uneasy fears because the Philip whom they had once known so well that they could anticipate and control his every impulse, now seemed a creature filled with vague and mysterious moods and ideas that lay quite beyond the borders of their understanding.
Their watching became at times unbearable to him, for it gave him the suffocating sense of being a maniac who was not to be trusted alone. He took to spending more and more time away from the house, either walking the country roads or wandering through the black Flats where he was safe from encountering any one or anything, save the gray figure of Irene Shane, going her tireless rounds. Once he had a glimpse of the old lady herself—Irene's mother—riding by wrapped in sables on the last ride she was ever to take.
A sense of waiting, more definite, more intense, than the tension of the long day at Megambo, settled over the slate-colored house. It was broken on the fourth Sunday after Philip's return when the three of them lunched, as usual on boiled mutton, at Uncle Elmer's. It was a gloomy lunch, tainted by the sense of Philip's sin. The gloom enveloped all of them, save Aunt Mabelle and her ten-year-old daughter, Ethel, who showed already signs of resembling her mother in feebleness of character and inertia of mind. The room was, through a lack of windows, dark, and under the fog of smoke that enveloped the Town it became even more cavernous and dreary; but Elmer Niman never permitted his wife to waste gas in illumination. One groped for food in the dark, while Elmer talked of the low pressure occasioned by the sad waste of gas in the Town.
The break came only after considerable preparation on the part of Emma. She said, quite casually, "I saw Reverend Castor yesterday. He came into the restaurant to see me."
"He's not looking as well," put in Aunt Mabelle. "It must be a strain to have an invalid wife. It's not natural for a man to live like that."
Elmer interrupted her, feeling perhaps that she was bound toward one of those physiological observations which she sometimes uttered blandly and to the consternation of all her world.
"He is a good man. We are fortunate in having him."
"God will reward him for his patience," observed Emma.
"I talked to him day before yesterday," said Naomi. "I think I may go to sing in the choir while we are on our holiday."
Vaguely Philip began to sense the existence of a plot, conceived and carried out with the express purpose of forcing him to do something he had no desire to do. It seemed to him that they had rehearsed the affair.
"There is an empty place on the alto side," observed Emma. "They could use a good strong voice like yours."
"Of course," said Naomi, "it's so long since I've sung—not since I used to lead the singing at the revival meetings."
"And Philip—he used to sing."
"He never does now. He wouldn't help me teach the natives at Megambo."
Philip, listening, fancied that he caught a sympathetic glance from Aunt Mabelle. She was silly and stupid, but sometimes it seemed to him that she had flashes of uncanny intuition: she had, after all, had great experience with the tactics of Elmer and his sister. She sat opposite Philip, eating far too much, lost in cowlike tranquillity. She was still bearing patiently the burden which by some error in calculation had been expected hourly for more than a month. Only yesterday she had said, "I expect little Jimmy will have all his teeth and be two years old when he is born!"—a remark that was followed by an awkward silence. Married to another man she would undoubtedly have had ten or fifteen children, for she was born to such a rôle.
"That's how I met Elmer," she said brightly, "singing in the choir. I used to sing alto, and he sang bass. He sat right behind me and his foot. . . ."
"Mabelle!" said Elmer.
She veered aside from the history of a courtship which always engaged her with a passionate interest. "Well, I've always noticed that lots of things begin in church choirs. There was that Bunsen woman who ran off with. . . ."
Emma trod upon her, once more throttling her flow of reminiscences.
"That's right, Naomi," she said, "it'll help pass the time while you're waiting." And then, polishing her spoon with her napkin (an action which she always performed ostentatiously as an implication upon the character of Mabelle's housekeeping) she said, "By the way, he's planned a Sunday night service which is to be given over entirely to you and Naomi—Philip. Think of that. It's quite an honor." (She would sit well down in front that night where she could breathe in all the glory.) "I told him, of course, that you'd be delighted to do it."
"Yes," said Naomi, "he spoke to me about it. We'll tell our experiences." The prospect of so much glory kindled a light in the pale eyes—the light of memories of revival meetings when she had been the great moving force.
Then Philip spoke for the first time. "I won't do it—I'm through with all that."
There was a horrible silence, broken only by the clatter of a fork dropped by little Ethel on her plate.
"What do you mean?"
"I told you all that before. I thought you must have understood by now. I can't go on saying it forever."
"But, Philip . . . you can't refuse a good man like the Reverend Castor. You can't when he's been so kind. He always prayed for you and Naomi every Sunday, publicly, as if you were our special missionaries."
There was only silence from Philip. The dark jaw had hardened suddenly.
"When we were all looking forward to it so much," added Emma.
Then suddenly there came to him a faint suspicion—shadowy and somewhat shameful—of what it was all about. They were looking forward to an orgy of public notice and glory, to sitting bathed in the reflected light while he talked about Africa to a congregation of faithful admirers. He even suspected that this was the reason they were so determined to ship him back to Africa. They would find glory in his sufferings. He was angry suddenly, even hostile.
"You can tell him I won't do it."
"But, Philip, you must tell him yourself."
"I don't want to see him."
Here Uncle Elmer took a hand, using the familiar tactics. "Of course, I can understand that—Philip's not wanting to see him." He grimaced suddenly at Emma to let him manage it. "I'll speak to Reverend Castor myself. I'll explain about Philip's condition."
For a second Philip grew hot with anger; he even pushed back his chair from the table as if to rise and leave. It was, oddly enough, Aunt Mabelle who restrained him. He fancied he caught a sudden twinkle in her round eyes, and the anger subsided.
Another painful silence followed, in which Rose, the negro maid-of-all-work, placed the Floating Island violently before Aunt Mabelle to be served. The room grew darker and darker, and presently Uncle Elmer said, "I suppose, Philip, if you intend to stay here you'll be looking for some sort of work. It will mean, of course, starting life all over again."
"Yes."
"Of course you could teach—a young man with a good education like yours. It cost your mother a lot of work and trouble to educate you."
"Yes."
"But if you can't get such work right away, I could make a place in the factory for you. Of course," and here Uncle Elmer smiled his most condescending smile, "of course, with your kind of training you wouldn't be much good at first. You'd have to learn the business from the ground up. You could begin in the shipping department."
It was the first time any of them had admitted even a chance of his not returning to Africa; but they did not mean to yield, for Emma said, "That perhaps would help him over this nervous trouble."
And then Philip shattered everything with an unexpected announcement. It was as if a bomb had exploded in the dust and shadows beneath the table.
"I've already got a job," said Philip. "I'm going to work to-night at midnight."
"To-night—at midnight?" asked Emma. "What on earth do you mean?"
"I'm going to work in the Mills. I've got a job."
"The Mills! You're crazy. What do you mean—the Mills?"
"I mean the Mills," said Philip, looking at his plate. "It's all been settled."
Suddenly Naomi began to cry, at first silently, and then more and more noisily, as if all the dammed emotions of months had given way. Emma rose to comfort her, and Aunt Mabelle, murmuring, "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" helplessly pushed the water-pitcher across the table. Little Ethel, conscious of the strain of the whole meal, and frightened by the outburst of hysterics, began to cry too, so that Aunt Mabelle became occupied in comforting her.
Philip, able to stand it no longer, rose and, flinging back his chair, said, "Damn!" in a loud voice, and walked out of the house. His swearing moved Naomi to new outbursts. She began to cry about the Englishwoman—the source of all her troubles.
It was all horrible, and it was the last time that Philip ever entered his uncle's house.
When he returned late that night he found them all waiting for him in the parlor, ready to attack once more, but they accomplished nothing. He went upstairs and changed his clothes. When he came down, he was dressed for the Mills in an old pair of trousers, an old coat and a flannel shirt. Aunt Mabelle, round and sloppy, was standing in the ghoulish light of the green lamp. The others were all seated in the parlor gloomily, as if brooding over the problem of a daughter gone astray.
From the shadows, Aunt Mabelle seized his arm, "Is it true? Is Naomi going to have a little baby?"
Philip looked at her with a sudden astonishment. "No," he said savagely. "Who gave you such an idea?"
Aunt Mabelle seemed to shrink into herself, all softness and apology. "I didn't know . . . I just couldn't understand a woman carrying on like that if she wasn't."