The Locusts' Years Part 9

She made no reply beyond one of those reproachful head shakes which indicate the compromise between duty and inclination. Martin grinned. He knew when she tried to be severe, but was yet secretly pleased with him.

Charlotte did what she could to repair the dishevelled appearance caused by sleeping dressed in the steamer chair. A few minutes later, they were all in the boat, speeding straight for the nipa cottages. Martin explained that the launch could go in no further on account of the coral reef; but, he said, a mile or more to the southward, where the hill jutted out, there was a channel cut through the reef, and the launch could come close in and find anchorage in a pool which lay under the cliff. A rude pier had been constructed there, and there their freight would be landed and then dragged up to them along the beach in a carabao cart; for they had one draft animal. He further informed her that the launch lay down at the anchorage every night, and came up abreast the cottages every morning to pick up the fishers, for it was easier to be rowed out than to trudge down the mile of sand.

As they drew near the sh.o.r.e, Charlotte perceived that, in spite of the steep roofs, the cottages had something of an American air, having broad verandas in front; while one, which she imagined must be the Maclaughlin home, was covered with morning glory vines. The houses sat back about fifty yards from the beach, just where the cocoanut grove came to an end, and it was evident that the sea breeze made them deliciously cool.

A man was pacing up and down the beach, and, as the boat grounded, a woman emerged from the vine-wreathed cottage, and came swiftly on, flapping a kitchen ap.r.o.n which she was wearing, and making other gestures of welcome. Charlotte had little time to observe either closely, for her attention was quite taken up with the novel preparations for landing her and her companions. Full thirty feet of water intervened between them and the dry sand, not deep enough to drown in, but quite enough to spoil dress and shoes. The Filipino oarsmen met the difficulty, however, by rolling up their trousers and going overboard. They made a chair of their clasped hands, and Charlotte, seating herself therein, was carried ash.o.r.e and set down in front of Mrs. Maclaughlin.

Mrs. Maclaughlin was tall and bony with iron-gray hair and a large featured, strong face, characteristic of the pioneer. She was not shy, and she seized Mrs. Collingwood by both hands and kissed her, then held her off for inspection.

"Well, Martin Collingwood's a fool for luck," she remarked. "I never thought he'd get a nice, peart, stylish girl like you to follow him off to a place like this. You're either mad--and you don't look it--or you're worse in love than any woman ever was before you."

The informality of the greeting took Charlotte's breath. As she stood blushing, a large, brown, and well-made hand was extended to her.

"How do you do, Mrs. Collingwood?" said a voice in the refined accents of the upper cla.s.s Englishman. "I don't need to introduce myself, do I? Martin has told you all about us, and there are not enough of us to confuse. Don't let Mrs. Mac's plainness of speech annoy you. When you are well acquainted, you'll rather like it. It breaks the monotony of things."

She tried to make some trivial, laughing rejoinder; but the words faltered on her lips, for, as she glanced up into his eyes, she saw there the instant recognition of all that she was, the interrogation flashing into quickly throttled life, as to why she was Martin Collingwood's wife, and what she could possibly have to do with a colony of fisher folk composed of one insouciant blade of fortune, two typical bits of western flotsam, and a renegade from decent society.

CHAPTER VII

On a certain cloudless September morning eight months later, five persons were merrily disporting themselves in the warm billows that rolled upon the island beach. It was one of those radiantly clear mornings which so often occur in the tropical rainy seasons when every particle of dust has been washed out of the air, and the morning breeze is of a spring-like freshness. The sun had not yet peeped over the Antique coast range, but the mountain flanks were outlined in soft mauve and gray against the glowing sky. A fishing fleet off the coast showed tints of pearl, and thin threads of masts above the quiet sea. Westward there was a sapphire expanse, and a whole string of lorchas, every inch of canvas set to take advantage of the fresh wind, standing across on a tack for San Jose or Cuyo.

Charlotte Collingwood, slipping out of the water, paused an instant to breathe deeply and to feast her eyes upon the solitary beauty of the scene, before she betook herself to housekeeping cares. Then hastening across the short extent of ground between the beach and her cottage, she sought her bathroom and the brisk dousing with fresh water that would remove the sticky effects of the sea bath.

Half an hour later she emerged from her bedroom as hearty looking a young woman as you could desire to see. Her shapely figure, clad in a simple white pique dress, was considerably fuller than it had been in her hospital days, though it had not degenerated into stoutness. Her skin was still colorless, for color once faded in the tropics is gone forever; but her face was fuller, her eye brighter, her expression one of happiness and content.

The room which she contemplated with a possessive and complacent eye was one so typical of American housekeeping in the Philippines that it merits description. It was a perfectly square apartment, generous in its proportion. Two sides were almost entirely taken up by windows opening on a deep-eaved veranda. The series of sh.e.l.l lattices were pushed back to their fullest extent, and on the broad window-seats were rows of potted ferns, rose geraniums, and foliage plants, some in gleaming bra.s.s jardinieres, some in old blue and white Chinese jars. The walls were of the plaited bamboo in its natural color called suali; but the woodwork of soft American pine had been carefully burnt by Charlotte herself, and gave some richness of coloring. The floor of close tied bamboo slats was covered with blue and white j.a.panese mats. One inside wall was almost entirely hidden by a great Romblon mat, upon which Collingwood's collection of spears, bolos, and head axes was artfully displayed. Beneath this, an army cot, a mattress, and some blue and white j.a.panese crepe had been combined into a tempting couch heaped with pillows. The other inside wall held a very fair collection of hats, ranging from the cheap sun-defence of the field laborer to the old-time aristocrat's head-piece of tortoise-sh.e.l.l ornamented with silver. Below these were some home-made shelves with Charlotte's books upon them. One corner was occupied by a desk of carved teak inlaid with mother of pearl, a veritable treasure which Kingsnorth had given to Charlotte as a wedding present. Another corner held a tall, bra.s.s-bound Korean chest of drawers, which Charlotte had picked up at an auction in Manila. A suit of Moro armor in carabao horn and link copper hung beside this, and everywhere there was bra.s.s--bra.s.s samovars from Manchuria, incense burners from j.a.pan, Moro gongs and betel-nut boxes, an Indian tea table with its shining tray. Wherever there was room for them, framed photographs decorated the walls. Rattan easy-chairs and rockers and a steamer chair with gay cushions lent a homely comfort to the apartment.

As the room was living-room and dining-room combined, its centre was occupied by a round narra-table--a beautiful piece of old Spanish workmanship, the glories of which were hidden at that moment by the whitest of cloths--and a service of j.a.panese blue and white china. There, too, gleamed the remains of the Maryland silver which had once been the pride of a county--the great breakfast tray with its urn and attendant dishes, the heavy knives and forks and spoons. It had lain for twenty years in chests, and Charlotte had brought it with her to the Philippines, not so much antic.i.p.ating a use for it, as making it the evidence of final separation from all that her life had known.

Mrs. Collingwood never ceased to contemplate her living-room, and especially her table, with satisfaction. The snowy linen, the gleaming silver and gla.s.s, stood for her tastes. She could remember vividly the depression she had experienced at meal times during her first two weeks at the island, when the mess made its headquarters with the Maclaughlins. Mrs. Maclaughlin's dream of table luxury was a red and white checked cloth, much colored gla.s.s in the form of tumblers, sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and vinegar cruets, a set of brown and white "semi-porcelain" dishes, and knives and forks of German silver. Charlotte had endured the meals for which Martin had half-way prepared her, by the exercise of fort.i.tude only; but she had waited patiently for Mrs. Maclaughlin's own suggestion of a division of labor.

It happened that Mrs. Maclaughlin greatly desired to devote herself to poultry and gardening. The islanders had to depend wholly upon poultry, fish, pigs, and goats for meat, and upon tinned vegetables. Everybody yearned for green foods and better meats, so that Mrs. Maclaughlin's ambitions received a hearty support. A kitchen was added to the Collingwood quarters, the stove and kitchen utensils were transferred, and Charlotte found plenty of occupation in her new duties.

The work was naturally to her taste. She possessed an ample home-making instinct, and she had had, in addition to the usual "Domestic Science" course of a modern college, her nurse's training in dietetics. Collingwood's exuberant delight in the changes she made in their manner of living was just second to Kingsnorth's. For decency's sake, that gentleman had refrained from comment in Mrs. Maclaughlin's presence; but after their first meal he had taken Mrs. Collingwood aside, and had a.s.sured her with unmistakable sincerity that she was no less than a fairy G.o.dmother in their midst. He execrated Mrs. Maclaughlin's cooking, her taste in foods, and her ideas of table service; and his grat.i.tude to Charlotte was profound.

Mrs. Collingwood was contemplating her breakfast table and smiling softly at the memory, when her husband came out of their bedroom in his working clothes--flannel shirt, khaki trousers, and sea boots. He gave her a hearty kiss.

"You vain creature," he said, "looking at your housekeeping and thinking how you can lay it over Mrs. Mac."

"That wouldn't be much to do. Do you remember that red and white tablecloth?"

"Don't I? And how Kingsnorth used to curse it!" He eyed her reflectively. "Kingsnorth is mighty grateful to you, Charlotte, and mighty fond of you."

To this, at first, no answer was returned. Mrs. Collingwood fingered a bowl which stood in the window, flushed slightly, and looked embarra.s.sed. At last, as if his continued silence demanded response, she said perfunctorily:

"Well, of course, if I have made things pleasanter for him, incidentally, in doing it for you, I'm glad."

"That's the only thing you've disappointed me in. I wanted you and him to be good friends. I think he has tried, but you have been stubborn; there's no denying that, pet."

"I've tried my very hardest. I'm sorry, Martin. You'll have to give me time."

"Give you all the time you want," he cried gayly. "But you'll have to come round in the end." She shrugged her shoulders half seriously, half teasingly, but a reply was obviated by the entrance of the Maclaughlins and of the person under discussion.

The Englishman, beak nosed, high nostrilled, fair, and tall, was typical of his race. But drink had dulled his eye, his skin was flabby, and an unspeakable air of degeneration hung about him. Even the exaggerated deference of his manner to Mrs. Collingwood seemed a travesty upon the once easy courtesy of the well-born Briton. As for Charlotte, she stiffened perceptibly. Try as she would, she could not overcome her proud resentment at being expected to a.s.sociate with John Kingsnorth.

"Any special plans for to-day, Mrs. Collingwood?" Kingsnorth demanded as they sat down to breakfast.

"There never are any, I believe. I am going to make a lemon pie under the direct supervision of Mrs. Maclaughlin. My husband has impressed it upon me that I can never fulfil his ideal of a cook till I can make such lemon pies as Mrs. Maclaughlin does."

In a second Kingsnorth's manner changed, just a fine hostile change which implied that no pie made by Mrs. Maclaughlin's recipes could interest him. "With limoncitos" he said slightingly, "or with those big knotty yellow things that the women use in laundering their camisas?"

"Why, you are quite up in native customs," Charlotte exclaimed. "I didn't know that. Are you sure?"

A faintly cynical smile played for an instant over Kingsnorth's features. "Oh, yes, I'm sure," he replied.

Charlotte became suddenly aware of a changed atmosphere. Martin and Maclaughlin were looking discreetly into their plates, Mrs. Maclaughlin was gazing with a hostile eye at Kingsnorth.

"You certainly do know a great deal about Filipino customs," she said meaningly.

"You keep still, Jenny," Maclaughlin threw in hastily. His wife tossed her head scornfully, but subsided. Kingsnorth went on eating. His expression was not agreeable. Charlotte threw herself into the silence that followed.

"Martin, who is that bucolic looking j.a.panese that I saw strolling up the beach this morning?"

"Bucolic! What do you mean by that long word? You are always springing the dictionary upon me."

This charge was an indication that Collingwood was highly pleased. It was the nearest open tribute he ever paid to his wife's education. She made no reply but smiled at him, indulgent of his wit.

"Well, explain," Martin went on teasingly. "What does it mean?" But Charlotte only went on smiling.

"Greek for hayseed," Kingsnorth put in lightly. "You know that word, Collingwood?"

"Right you are. He is a hayseed. That is our new diver. He came down on the lorcha last week, and we picked him up with the launch. Been promenading around here, did you say?"

"In kimono and parasol," said Charlotte.

"Well, he goes to work to-morrow. He won't get much more time to parade."

"Have you three divers, then?"

"No. The fellow that Mac kicked hasn't been able to get over it. He resigned immediately, but I succeeded in convincing him that he couldn't quit the job till I got a new man in his place. I believe he wants to go to law about it."

"Can he make any trouble? Isn't that taking the law into your own hands?"