The House of the Misty Star Part 15

Our quiet was broken by a knock at the door. Maple Leaf appeared bearing on a tray a pink folded paper.

"It's a cable; I know its color," exclaimed Zura, "and it's for Miss Jane Gray."

With shaking fingers Jane tore open the message. She read, then dropped her face in her hands.

"What is it?" I asked anxiously.

"It's the hospital."

"In a cable?" cried Zura. "Think of that and break into tears."

"No, the money for it."

"Money! Where did you get it?" I demanded, thinking that Jane had suddenly gone crazy.

"I prayed and wrote letters," she answered. "Read."

Still doubting I took the paper and read aloud:

Build hospital. Draft for four thousand dollars on way.

FRIENDS OF THE CAUSE.

For minutes the ticking of the clock sounded like the dropping of pebbles in a still pool. I could not speak, for the wonder of a miracle was upon me. By faith the impossible had come to pa.s.s. Finally Jane looked up and asked wistfully, "Oh! Zury, aren't you glad for me?"

"Glad!" echoed the girl, leaning over and caressing the faded cheek.

"I'm as happy as if I were pinning on my own orange blossoms this minute. Dear, dear little Jinny with her beautiful dream coming true!"

I had never thought Zura beautiful. Now, as she bent over Jane, flushed with excitement, her eyes deep glowing, her shining hair flashing back the red of the firelight, she was as brilliant as a golden pheasant hovering above a little gray sparrow.

With some sudden memory the girl stood erect and reached for a calendar.

"Hurrah!" she cried, "It's true! To-morrow is Thanksgiving at home. We are going to celebrate too, if I have to sell my shoes."

Seeing Jane still shaken with emotion and the glad tears so close to hand, Zura jumped up on a chair and began to read from the calendar as if it were a proclamation:

"Know all ye! Wherever you be up above or down below, far or near on the to-morrow, by my command, every citizen of these United States is to a.s.semble all by himself, or with his best girl and give thanks. Thanks for living and for giving. Thanks for hospitals and people to build them. Sermons to preach and sinners to hear. Then give thanks and still more thanks, that to you and to me, the beautifulest land the good G.o.d ever made spells home, and friends, and America! Amen."

XIII

A THANKSGIVING DINNER

More and more Zura had a.s.sumed the duties of our housekeeping. The generous sum Kishimoto San promptly forwarded each month for her maintenance so relieved the financial pressure that I was able to relax somewhat my vigilance over the treasury. So I stepped aside that her ambition and energy might have full expression. I knew that absorbing work erases restlessness in mind and heart as effectively as a hot iron smooths out a rough-dried cloth. I urged her to further experiments and made a joke of her many mistakes, ofttimes when it was sheer waste of material. But what mattered that? Better to die softheaded, than hardhearted. I wanted the girl to be happy. Rather than be separated, I would let her make a bonfire of every bean, potato and barrel of flour in the house. As even the sun has specks on it, I saw no reason to be too critical of my understudy, whose shortcomings grew less as she grew prettier.

With all the c.o.c.ksureness of youth, Zura seized the domestic steering gear. Sometimes the weather was very fair and we sailed along. Often it was squally, but the crew was merry, and I was happy. I had something of my very own to love.

To Pine Tree and Maple Leaf and the ancient cook the young housekeeper was a gifted being from a wonderful country where every woman was a princess. Unquestioningly they obeyed and adored her, but Ishi to whom no woman was a princess and all of them nuisances--stood proof against Zura's every smile and coaxing word. Love of flowers amounted to a pa.s.sion with the old gardener. To him they were living, breathing beings to be adored and jealously protected. His forefathers had ever been keepers of this place. He inherited all their garden skill and his equal could not be found in the Empire. For that reason, I forgave his backsliding seventy times one hundred and seventy, and kept him.

Often Zura took the children she used as models for her pictures into the garden and loaded them with flowers. On the mossy banks they romped and indulged in feasts of tea and crackers. Ishi would stand near and invoke the vengeance of eighty thousand deities to descend and annihilate this forward girl from a land of barbarians. Finding his deities failed to respond, he threatened to cast his unworthy body upon the point of a sword, if Zura cut another bud. But I knew, if Ishi's love of flowers failed to prevent so tragic an end, his love of sake would do so.

For years the garden had been his undisturbed kingdom, and now that it should be invaded and the flowers cut without his permission and frequently without his knowledge enraged him to the bursting point. His habits were as set as the wart on his nose and he proposed to change neither one nor the other. "Most very bad," he wailed to me. "All blossoms soul have got. Bad girl cut off head of same; peaceful makes absence from their hearts. Their weep strikes my ear."

So on the day we were to celebrate Thanksgiving and Jane's happiness, and Zura had declared her intention of decorating every spot in the house, I was not surprised to hear coming from the garden sounds of an overheated argument. "Ishi, if it weren't for hurting the feelings of the august pig I would say you were it. Stand aside and let me cut those roses. There's a thousand of them, if there's one."

The protest came high and shrill. "Decapitate heads! You sha'n't not!

All of ones convey soul of great ancestors."

"Do they?"--in high glee--"all right, I'll make the souls of your blessed ancestors serve as a decoration for America's glorious festival day."

The outraged Ishi fairly shrieked. "Ishi's ancestors! America! You have blasphemeness. I perish to recover!"

Hostilities were suspended for a minute.

Then Zura's fresh young voice called out from below my window: "Ursula, please instruct this bow-legged image of an honorable monkey to let me cut the roses. Hurry, else my hand may get loose and 'swat' him."

What the child meant by "swat" I had no idea; neither did I care. She had called me "Ursula!" Since childhood I had not heard the name. Coming from her lips it went through me like a sharp, sweet pain. Had she beheaded every rose and old Ishi in the bargain I would have smiled, for something in me was being satisfied.

I gave orders to Ishi, to which Zura added, "You are to take your dishonorable old body to the furthermost shrine, and repent of your rudeness to your young mistress." As he turned his angry back upon her, she inquired in honeyed tones, "Mercy, Ishi! How did you ever teach your face to look that way? Take it to a circus! It will make a fortune!"

Very soon after she came into the room so laden with roses that I could just see her face. "Aren't they darlings?" she exclaimed. "Poor old Ishi, I can't blame him much!" Then to me, "Say, beautifulest, tell you what: I'll arrange these flowers and I promise, if I find a sign of an ancestor, I'll go at once and apologize to his mighty madness--if you will write a note to Mr. Hanaford and bid him to the Thanksgiving feast."

I agreed, and she went her busy way. In addressing the note to Page, I was reminded that a few days before his servant had called for a package of his master's clothing which Jane and I kept in repair. To my surprise the servant said that Hanaford San had gone away on business.

Possibly my look of astonishment at the news invited confidence. After glancing around to make sure we were alone, he approached and in mixed j.a.panese and broken English told me how his heart was weighed "with anxious" for his employer. He said his master was very kind. Therefore, Master's trouble was his. Sometimes the young man was happy and sang tunes through whistle of lips; but one day he walked the floor all night. Lately he sat by the windows long hours and look fast into picture scenery. He feared illness for master. Often he forget to sing, whistle, and eat foods; just sit with hand on head. "One time I say 'Master, have got painful in brain spot? Or have fox spirit got brain?'

He give big laugh; then myself makes many fools to see happy stay with master."

He wished Hanaford San had some people, but in his room was not one picture of ancestor. He never had a happy time with many guests, and samisens and feast drinks, like other young American Dana Sans in Yokohama. When not teaching he sat alone with only his pipe and heart for company, sometimes a book.

It was not polite for him to speak of Master's affairs but he hoped the foreign Sensies could advise him how to make Hanaford San have more happy thoughts all of time.

I told the boy that Mr. Hanaford had lost his money and all his people, and probably it was thoughts of these losses that caused his sad hours; he would be all right in time.

"Time," murmured the unsatisfied man, "time very long for troubled heart of young."

Then, as if trying to forget that he was powerless to help, he began to recite the events of a recent visit to the city of a group of Tokio's famous detectives. They were searching for special fugitives and making the rounds of all suspicious quarters. It was most exciting and because of master's absence he had been able to see much. Though he wished Page had been at home. It might have entertained him. With many thanks for my "listening ear" the servant left.

Everywhere I looked I seemed to see this question written: Was Page Hanaford's absence at the time of the detectives' visit accidental or planned? Try as I would to put the hateful thought away from me, it came back again and again.

The boy's slow return to health had troubled me more than I could well say. It was so unnatural. Jane and I did everything that sincere affection could suggest to ward off the hours of strange dejection, and he never failed in appreciation; yet we made no headway to a permanent sunny spot in his life, where he could be always happy and healthy, as was the right of youth. I gave him every opportunity to tell me what caused his moods. I showed him by my interest and sympathy that I wanted to believe in him and would stand by him at any cost. There were times when he seemed on the verge of making a confidant of me, but his lips refused to utter the words.

Usually he responded eagerly to Zura's gay coaxings to friendship and gladly shared her blithesome fun; but sometimes there was a look in his eyes such as a youthful prisoner might have when he knew that for life he is barred from blue skies. As time went on less often appeared the playful curve of his lips, the crinkly smile in the corners of his eyes.

Once in the moonlight I saw him stretch out his hand as if to touch Zura's glistening hair. Some memory smote him. He drew back sharply.

At times I was sure that he was purposely avoiding her. Yet the thought seemed foolish. If ever there was a goodly sight for eyes glad or sad it was the incarnation of joyous girlhood whose name was Zura Wingate.