The Island of Faith

by Margaret E. Sangster

  XIII

  ELLA MAKES A DECISION

  And then the climax of Ella's life--the crash that Rose-Marie had beenexpecting--happened. It happened when Ella came furiously into the Volskyflat, early one afternoon, and--ignoring the little Lily, who satplacidly on Rose-Marie's lap--hurried silently into her own room. Mrs.Volsky, bending over the wash-tubs, straightened up as if she couldalmost feel the electric quality of the air, as Ella passed her, butRose-Marie only held tighter to Lily--as if, somehow, the slim littlebody gave her comfort.

  "I wonder what's the matter?" she ventured, after a moment.

  Mrs. Volsky, again bending over the wash-tubs, answered.

  "Ella, she act so funny, lately," she told Rose-Marie, "an' there is somefeller; Bennie, he tell me that he have seen her wit' some feller! A richfeller, maybe; maybe he puts Ella up to her funny business!"

  There were sounds of activity from the inner room, as if clothing wasbeing torn down from hooks--as if heavy garments were being flung intobags. Rose-Marie listened, apprehensively, to the sounds before shespoke again.

  "Perhaps I'd better go in and see what's the matter," she suggested.

  Mrs. Volsky, looking back over her shoulder, gave a helpless littleshrug. "If you t'inks best," she said hopelessly. "But Ella--she notnever want to take any help..."

  Only too well Rose-Marie knew what Mrs. Volsky meant by her twistedsentence. Only too well she understood that Ella would never allowherself to be biased by another's judgment,--that Ella would not allowherself to be moved by another's plea. And yet she set Lily gently downupon the floor and rose to her feet.

  "I'll see what she's doing," she told Mrs. Volsky, and pushed open theinner door.

  Despite all of the time that she had spent in the Volsky flat,Rose-Marie had never been past the front room with its tumbled heaps ofbedding, and its dirt. She was surprised to see that the inner room,shared by Ella and Lily, was exquisitely neat, though tiny. There wereno windows--the only light came from a rusty gas fixture--butRose-Marie, after months in the slums, was prepared for that. It was thegeranium, blooming on the shabby table, that caught her eye; it was theclean hair-brush, lying on the same table, and the framed picture of aMadonna, upon the wall, that attracted her. She spoke of them, first, tothe girl who knelt on the floor, packing a cheap suit-case--spoke ofthem before she questioned gently:

  "You're not going away, are you, Ella?"

  Ella glanced up from her packing.

  "Yes. I'm going away!" she said, shortly. And then, as if against herwill, she added:

  "I got th' flower an' th' picture for Lily. Oh, sure, I know that shecan't see 'em! But I sorter feel that she knows they're here!"

  Rose-Marie's voice was very soft, as she spoke again.

  "I'm glad that you chose the picture you did," she said, "the picture ofthe Christ Child and His Mother!"

  Ella wadded a heavy dress into the suit-case.

  "I don't hold much with religious pictures," she said, without lookingup; "religion never did much fer me! I only got it 'cause th' Baby hadhair like Lily's hair!"

  Rose-Marie crouched down, suddenly, upon the floor beside the girl. Shelaid her hand upon the suit-case.

  "Where are you going, Ella?" she asked abruptly. "Where are yougoing--and when will you be back?"

  Ella's lips drew up into the semblance of a smile--a very bitter one--asshe answered.

  "It's none of yer business where I'm goin'," she said, "an' I may notever come back--see?"

  Rose-Marie caught her breath in a kind of sob. It was as she hadguessed--and feared!

  "Ella," she asked slowly, "are you going alone?"

  The girl's face coloured swiftly, with a glorious wave of crimson. Shetossed her head with a defiant movement.

  "No, I ain't goin' alone!" she told Rose-Marie. "You kin betcha life Iain't goin' alone!"

  Rose-Marie--sitting beside her on the floor--asked God, silently, forhelp before she spoke again. She felt suddenly powerless, futile.

  "_Why_ are you going, dear?" she questioned, at last.

  Ella dropped the shoes that she had been about to tuck into thesuit-case. Her eyes were grim.

  "Because," she said, "I'm tired of all o' this," Her finger pointed inthe direction of the outer room. "I'm tired o' dirt, and drunken people,and Jim's rotten talk. I'm tired o' meals et out o' greasy dishes, an'cheap clothes, and jobs that I hate--an' that I can't nohow seem terhold! I'm tired, dog-tired, o' life. All that's ever held me in thisplace is Lily. An' sometimes, when I look at her, I don't think thatshe'd know the difference whether I was here 'r not!"

  Rose-Marie was half sobbing in her earnestness.

  "Ah, but she would know the difference," she cried. "Lily loves you withall of her heart. And your mother is really trying to be neater, to makea better home for you! She hasn't a pleasant time of it, either--yourmother. But she doesn't run away. She stays!"

  There was scorn in the laugh that came, all at once, from Ella's twistedmouth. Her great eyes were somberly sarcastic.

  "Sure, she stays," said Ella, "'cause she ain't got enough gumption terbe gettin' out! I know."

  In her heart Rose-Marie was inclined to agree with Ella. She knew,herself, that Mrs. Volsky would never have the courage to make any sortof a definite decision. But she couldn't say so--not while Ella wasstaring at her with that cynical expression.

  "I guess," she said bravely, "that we'd better leave your mother out ofthis discussion. After all, it's between you--and your conscience."

  "Say," Ella's face was suddenly drawn and ugly, "say, where do you getoff to pull this conscience stuff? You've always had a nice home, an'pretty clothes, an' clean vittles, an'--an' love! I ain't had any of it.But," her eyes flamed, "I'm goin' to! Don't you dast ter pull thisconscience stuff on me--I've heard you profess'nal slummers talkbefore--a lot o' times. What good has a conscience ever done me--huh?"

  Rose-Marie had been watching the girl's face. Of a sudden she shot herthunderbolt.

  "Are you running away to be married, Ella?" she asked.

  A second flush ran over Ella's face, and receded slowly--leaving it verypale. But her head went up rather gallantly.

  "No, I ain't," she retorted. "Marriage," she said the words parrot-like,"was made fer th' sort o' folks who can't stick at nothin' unless they'retied. I ain't one of those folks!"

  Across the nearly forgotten suit-case, Rose-Marie leaned toward EllaVolsky. Her eyes were suddenly hot with anger.

  "Who gave you that sort of an argument?" she demanded. "Who has beenfilling your head with lies? You never thought of that yourself, Ella--Iknow you never thought of that yourself!"

  Ella's eyes met Rose-Marie's angry glance. Her words, when she spoke,came rapidly--almost tumbled over each other. It was as if someclass-resentment, long repressed, were breaking its bounds.

  "How d' you know," she demanded passionately, "that I didn't think ofthat myself? How do you know? You're th' only one, I s'pose," her tonewas suddenly mocking, "that knows how t' think! No"--as Rose-Mariestarted to interrupt--"don't try t' pull any alibi on me! I know th' wayyou Settlement House _ladies_"--she accented the word--"feel about _us_.You have clubs for us, an' parties, an' uplift meetin's. You pray ferus--an' with us. You tell us who t' marry, an' how t' bring up ourchildren, an' what butcher t' buy our meat off of. But when it comes t'understandin' us--an' likin' us! Well, you're too good, that's all." Shepaused, staring at Rose-Marie's incredulous face with insolent eyes.

  "You're like all th' rest," she went on, after a moment, "just likeall th' rest. I was beginnin' t' think that you was diff'rent. You'vebeen so white about Bennie. An' you washed Ma's hair--I wouldn't 'a'done that myself! But now--now it sticks out all over you; th'I'm-better-'n-you-are stuff. I never could think of a thing, _I_couldn't. But you--you're smart, you are. You could think--"

  Rose-Marie's cheeks were flushed with a very real resentment, as sheinterrupted the girl's flow of half-articulate speech.

  "Ella," she said, and her words, too, c
ame rapidly, "you know that you'renot being fair--you know it! I've never held apart from you in any way.Oh, I realize that we've been brought up in different--surroundings. Andit's made us different from each other in the unimportant things. Butwe're both girls, Ella--we're both young and we've both got all of lifebefore us. And so, perhaps, we can understand each other"--she wasfumbling mentally for words, in an effort to make clear hermeaning--"more than either of us realize. I wasn't, for one moment,trying to patronize you when I said what I did. I was only wondering howyou happened to say something that I wouldn't ever dream of saying--thatno nice girl, who had a real understanding of life"--she wondered, evenas she spoke the words, what the Young Doctor would think if he couldhear them issuing from her lips--"would dream of saying. You're a nicegirl, Ella--or you wouldn't be in the same family with Bennie and Lily.And you're a sensible girl, so you must realize how important and sacredmarriage is. Who told you that it was a mistake, Ella? Who," her childishface was very grave, indeed, "who told you such a terrible thing?"

  Ella's eyes were blazing--Rose-Marie almost thought that the girlwas going to strike her! But the blazing eyes wavered, after amoment, and fell.

  "My gentleman fren' says marriage is wrong," said Ella. "He knows a lot.And he has _so_ much money"--she made a wide gesture with her hands--"Ican have a nice place ter live, Miss Rose-Marie, an' pretty clothes.Lookit Ma; she's married an' she ain't got nothin'! I can have coats an'hats an'--"

  Rose-Marie touched Ella's hand, timidly, with her cool fingers.

  "But you'll have to pay for them, Ella," she said. "Think, dear; will thecoats and hats be worth the price that you'll have to pay? Will they beworth the price of self-respect--will they be worth the price ofhonourable wifehood and--motherhood? Will the pretty clothes, Ella, makeit easier for you to look into the face of some other woman--who has keptstraight? Will they?"

  Ella raised her eyes and, in their suddenly vague expression, Rose-Mariesaw a glimmering of the faded, crushed mother. She hurried on.

  "What kind of a chap is this gentleman friend," she raged, "to ask somuch of you, dear? Is there--is there any reason why he can't marry you?Is he tied to some one else?"

  All at once Ella was sobbing, with gusty, defiant sobs.

  "Not as far as I've heard of, there ain't nobody else," she sobbed. "Idon't know much about him, Miss Rose-Marie. Jim gimme a knockdown terhim, one night, in a dance-hall. I thought he was all right--Jim said hewas ... An' he said he loved me, an'"--wildly--"I love him, too! An' Ihate it all, here, except Lily--"

  Rose-Marie, thinking rapidly, seized her advantage.

  "Will going away with him," she asked steadily, "be worth never seeingLily again? For you wouldn't be able to see her again--you wouldn't feelable to touch her, you know, if your hands weren't--clean. You boughther a religious picture, Ella, and a flower. Why? Because you know, inyour heart, that she's aware of religion and beauty and sweetness! Goingaway with this man, Ella, will separate you from Lily, just ascompletely as an ocean--flowing between the two of you--would make aseparation! And all of your life you'll have to know that she'ssuffering somewhere, perhaps; that maybe somebody's hurting her--thather dresses are dirty and her hair isn't combed! Every time you hear alittle child crying you'll think of Lily--who can't cry aloud. Everytime a pair of blue eyes look into your face you'll think of hereyes--that can't see. Will going away with him be worth never knowing,Ella, whether she's alive or dead--"

  Ella had stopped sobbing, but the acute misery of her face was somehowmore pitiful than tears. Rose-Marie waited, for a moment, and then--asElla did not speak--she got up from her place beside the suit-case, andgoing to the dividing door, opened it softly.

  The room was as she had left it. Mrs. Volsky was still bending above thetubs, Lily was standing in almost the same place in which she had beenleft. With hurried steps Rose-Marie crossed the room, and took thechild's slim, little hand in her own.

  "Come with me, honey," she said, almost forgetting that Lily could nothear her voice. "Come with me," and she led her gently back to theinner room.

  Ella was sitting on the floor, her face still wan, her attitudeunconsciously tragic. But as the child, clinging to Rose-Marie's hand,came over to her side, she was suddenly galvanized into action.

  "Oh, darlin', darlin'," she sobbed wildly, "Ella was a-goin' ter leaveyou! Ella was a-goin' away. But she isn't now--not now! Darlin'," herarms were flung wildly about the little figure, "show, some way, that youforgive Ella--who loves you!"

  Rose-Marie was crying, quite frankly. All at once she dropped down on thefloor and put her arms about the two sisters--the big one and the littleone--and her sobs mingled with Ella's. But, curiously enough, as shestood like a little statue between them, a sudden smile swept across theface of Lily. She might, almost, have understood.