A Good Woman (Bromfield)/Part 3/Chapter 2
With that first fall of snow the fever began to lose a little its hold upon the twice-stricken community. As it waned the new terror came to take its place—a terror that, like the fever, rose out of the black of the Flats.
Bristling barriers of ugly barbed-wire sprang up overnight and for days each train brought in criminals shipped from the slums of a dozen cities to protect the sheds and furnaces. In the beginning it was neither the strikers, nor the men who owned the Mills, but the Town itself which suffered. Business in the shops bordering the diseased area fell off; but, far worse than that, there began to occur one after another, with terrifying regularity, a whole series of crimes. Houses were broken into, a woman was attacked at twilight in the raw, new park, two fat business men were held up and beaten, and the Farmers' and Industrial Bank, the institution of the corrupt Judge Weissman, was robbed and then quickly failed under mysterious circumstance. It was the gunmen brought in to make war on the strikers who committed the crimes, but it was the strikers who were accused. Save for Philip and Mary Conyngham, and perhaps McTavish, they had no friends on the Hills. The Shanes could not be counted, since they stood apart in an isolation of their own. A panic-stricken community began to imagine innumerable horrors. The newspapers wrote editorials predicting anarchy and dissolution. They talked of the "sacred rights of property" and used clouds of similar high-sounding phrases. Moses Slade, seeing perhaps a chance to harvest new crops of votes by "standing by his community in such a crisis," returned to head a sort of vigilance committee whose purpose was to fasten all crime upon the strikers.
By this heroic act he soon rose high in the esteem of Emma, so high indeed that it seemed to wipe out all her doubts concerning her marriage. It was an action of which she approved with all her spirit. She herself went about talking of "dirty foreigners" and the need of making laws to exclude them from a nation favored by God, until Moses took her aside and advised her not to talk in such a vein, because the very strength of the Mills depended on new hordes of cheap labor. If they throttled immigration, labor would rule. Didn't she understand a simple thing like that?
She understood. Moses Slade seemed to her a paragon. "Why," she told Philip, "he understands all the laws of economics."
Philip, restless and convalescent, listened to her in silence. He even met the Honorable Moses Slade, who eyed him suspiciously as a cat and asked about his future plans.
"I haven't any," said Philip. "I don't know what I mean to do," and so put Moses Slade once more upon a bed of pins and needles concerning Emma's qualifications as a bride.
The omnipresence of the Congressman's name in Emma's conversation had begun to alarm Philip. He saw presently that she meant to tell him something, and after a time he came to guess what it was. He saw that she was breaking a way through his prejudices and her own; and in that odd sense of detachment born of the fever he faced the idea with disgust. It was not only that he disliked Mr. Slade; it seemed to him that there was something disgraceful in the idea of his mother marrying again after so many years. It was in a strange way a disloyalty to himself. Moses Slade was a new ally in the forces against him. The idea came to torment him for hours at a time, when he was not pondering what was to be done about Naomi, how he could escape from her without hurting her too deeply.
The two women, Naomi and his mother, hovered over him with the solicitude of two women for a man whom they had snatched from death. In these first days when he came downstairs to sit in the parlor there was always one of them with him. Naomi left him only long enough to nurse the twins. She was, as Mabelle observed, very fortunate, as she was able to feed them both, and there were not many women, Mabelle remarked with a personal pride, who could say the same. And under Mabelle's guidance Naomi adopted the same methods: the moment the twins set up a wail they were fed into a state of coma. Mabelle had great pride in them, as if she had played in some way a part in their very creation. She was always in the house now, for Emma's request and Elmer's commands were of no avail against her instinct for human companionship. With the twins crying and little Jimmy running about, the house seemed overrun with children. And little Jimmy had turned into what Mabelle described as "a whiner."
"I don't know what to do about him," she said. Her method was to cuff him over the head, thus changing the whine instantly into a deafening squall.
Naomi used her own convalescence as an excuse for clinging to the soiled flowered kimono and the green mob-cap.
It was a state of affairs which could not long endure and the climax arose on the afternoon when Emma, returning unexpectedly, found a scene which filled her with horror. In his chair by the window sat Philip, looking white and sick. Behind him on the sofa Naomi in wrapper and mob-cap fed the twins. Little Jimmy sat on the floor pulling photographs out of the album at the back of the family Bible. Draping the backs of the mahogany chairs hung white objects that were unmistakably diapers. Two of the objects were even hung to dry upon the very frame of Jason Downes' enlarged photograph!
For a moment Emma simply stood in the doorway in a state of paralysis. At the sight of her Naomi sat up defiantly and Mabelle smiled blandly. Philip, wearily, did not even turn to witness the picture. And then, quickly, like a bird of prey, Emma swooped upon the diapers, gathering them up in a neat roll. Then she turned on Naomi.
"It's the last time I want this to happen in my house." She seized the family Bible from Jimmy, who began to squall, setting off the twins like matches brought too close to a fire. "I won't have it looking like a bawdy-house," she cried. "With you sitting here all day in a wrapper, like a chippy waiting for trade." Words that she would have denied knowing came to her lips in a stream.
This time Naomi did not weep. She sprang up from the sofa as if to attack Emma. "Take care what you say! Take care what you say! You old hypocrite!"
Emma turned suddenly to Philip. "You hear what she called me!"
And Naomi, like an echo, cried, "You heard what filthy names she called me."
Mabelle, terrified, rolled her cowlike eyes, and tried to stifle Jimmy's screams. Philip did not even turn. He felt suddenly sick.
Naomi was saying, "If I hadn't all the work to do. . . . If I had the right kind of husband—"
Emma interrupted. "I took care of my child and did all the work as well. I never complained or made excuses."
"You didn't have twins. . . . Sometimes my back fairly breaks. Oh, if I had the right kind of husband, I wouldn't be in your dreary old house!"
Emma turned again, "Philip . . . Philip. . . ."
But Philip was gone. She saw him, hatless and without an overcoat, running through the snow that had begun to come down slowly and softly as a white eiderdown.