At last all was settled, and the loads were in the house and the mules gone. In the middle room all gathered to eat and drink before they slept again, each feeling somewhat shy because of the new life ahead. Kinfolk they were, and yet they were strangers, too, now that they were to live together under the same roof. Uncle Tao had not waked and none had called him. Let that be for tomorrow.
Yet the kinswomen were kind and they pressed the newcomers to eat and drink and the kinsmen were courteous and asked how the journey had been. They looked often at the boxes which James had brought and one asked if they contained money. “Only medicines,” James said. “You know I am a doctor.”
To this none answered and he felt them afraid and bewildered by a new thing under the roof.
Peter said not a word. He ate a little and drank some tea and from under his dark eyebrows he looked at these kinfolk of his. He felt not one drop of blood in him that was like the blood in them. Yet they were all Liangs. His father, thousands of miles away, in a world as different from this as though it were upon another star, was still a Liang, with these. Mind knew, but could not comprehend, and heart rebelled. Peter only longed to sleep.
Chen was cheerful. There was nothing here too strange to him. This village was like his own, and these frowzy women and slovenly men were like those who lived in his own father’s household. He made small talk, and asked questions in courtesy and they laughed once or twice at what he said and their eyes were lively. This he did with intent. They must like him, because in days to come he must stand often between them and Mary, and even perhaps Jim. He pitied these two with all his heart for he loved them well. Peter? Peter would not stay here, that he believed. But Jim and Mary were bound by their own wills.
“Now we must sleep,” Chen, said at last. “You, Elder Brothers, are too good. Please go back to your beds.”
So saying all rose and the kinsmen took the newcomers to their rooms, and the kinswomen led Mary to her room where she had slept before. Young Wang lay down upon three chairs in the middle room and wrapped his quilt about him.
All tiptoed as they passed Uncle Tao’s room until they heard his great rumbling cough and then they paused and looked at one another.
“Can it be he has been awake this whole time?” the eldest kinswoman whispered.
For answer there came a second great rumbling cough from Uncle Tao. They waited listening, but he did not speak and neither did he come out. After a long few minutes of such waiting they crept on, each to his own bed.
Uncle Tao lay listening to their footsteps creeping away. He knew very well what had happened. The first dog had wakened him. But he did not get up. He lay slowly making up his mind and only mischief made him cough when he heard them pass his door. Let them know that he was awake and would not get up!
15
A PLEASANT HOME, VIOLET Sung told herself, a pleasant woman, this mother of Alec Wetherston, and Louise was lucky. Violet sat in a comfortable chair in a large living room full of too many things and now and then she looked through the wide window in the central garden of the huge apartment house.
“Dr. and Mrs. Liang will be pleased when I tell them how you feel,” she said in her sweet deep voice. With her instinctive gift she appeared a gentle somewhat simple-hearted young woman before this gentle and very simple-hearted older woman. “You can understand that they have been a little troubled at such a quick marriage. Not everyone would be so generous as you have been. We Chinese pay great heed to the mother-in-law. Therefore it was natural that I should offer, on behalf of my friends, to come and see you first.”
Mrs. Wetherston looked troubled. “I do hope,” she said with pathetic emphasis, “that nobody will think of me as a mother-in-law!”
Violet smiled. “To us a mother-in-law is a revered figure. A son honors his mother, and the son’s wife must both honor and obey.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be obeyed!” Mrs. Wetherston exclaimed. She was a small plump white-haired woman whose face was no whit different from that of any plump white-haired woman whom one might pass on the street. She was dressed in a gray wool frock, tight across her ample hips and bosom, and her feet, crossed upon a worn hassock of red velvet, were encased in black kid pumps, too tight across the instep. But she had grown accustomed to such restrictions and there was something pleasant and good about her. She was a woman sheltered and loved for so long that she did not know her own privilege. The mother of five children, of whom Alec was the youngest, she had already eight grandchildren. But the big apartment was empty now. Sons and daughters had scattered.
Mrs. Wetherston saw Violet’s roaming gaze. “I know this apartment ought to be redecorated,” she said apologetically. “But I just can’t bear to have it done. The children grew up here and I want to keep it like this. That spot on the arm of your chair — Rob, that’s my oldest, spilled his ice cream there when he was having his tenth birthday party. Of course it’s been cleaned but I can remember him so well when he was ten. And the piano stool is a sight, but they would kick it when they were practicing — Lilian plays beautifully, but the others got tired of it except Ken, who sings tenor. Not professionally, of course! I’m sentimental, Miss—”
“Violet Sung—”
“Oh, yes, of course. Chinese names are so — but I can call her Louise right away so it doesn’t matter if I can’t remember—”
“Liang,” Violet said gently.
“Oh yes, of course — though we will want to have them all over to dinner.”
“You really don’t mind having a Chinese daughter-in-law?” Violet asked. She gathered up gloves and bag and handkerchief, preparing to go.
Mrs. Wetherston struggled with truth. “I’ve always said that I would love the people my children married and I intend to love Louise,” she said valiantly. She paused and her good, wrinkled face blushed a dull pink. “What really grieves me is that my boy didn’t tell me about the other one — the first wife — who died — you know — the baby’s mother. I can’t understand—” Her lips trembled, and Violet who comprehended all men, hastened to comfort this mother who could never believe that her sons were only men.
“A first love is sometimes very deep,” she said quietly.
Mrs. Wetherston’s eyes filled. “There was even a child.”
Violet felt danger about her. The innocence of American women was frightening and she must not disturb it. Mrs. Wetherston was the mother of five children and yet she was a virgin. She wondered what Mr. Wetherston could be. His business, she had learned, was prosperous and sound. He was the head of an old legal firm. Her mind toyed for a moment with the idea of Mr. Wetherston. Perhaps American husbands enjoyed keeping their wives virginal. It gave men more liberty. Then she shrank from all responsibility for Mrs. Wetherston’s innocence.
“I am sure your son will tell you everything when he comes,” she said, pressing Mrs. Wetherston’s plump hand. “Meanwhile it is perhaps well that Louise is Chinese. She will look like the baby’s mother and if I were in your place, dear Mrs. Wetherston, I should just forget that she is not.”
Mrs. Wetherston was comforted. When Violet Sung first came in she had been afraid of her because she was beautiful and well dressed but now she saw that she was only a dear and charming girl, in spite of being Chinese. “I hope Louise will be like you,” she said, clinging to Violet’s soft ringed hand.
“She is much better than I am,” Violet said, smiling. “Much younger, much prettier—”
“But you are so understanding,” Mrs. Wetherston said. “You really aren’t like a Chinese!”