The Island of Faith Part 14

She had believed the statement that she had made, so emphatically, to the Young Doctor--she had believed it very strongly. She had been utterly sure of herself when she begged the Superintendent to let her know more of life. And, during her talk with Ella, she had felt a real kins.h.i.+p to the whole of the Volsky family! But now that she had come face to face with a crisis--now that she was meeting her big test--she knew that her strong beliefs were weakening and that she was no longer at all sure of herself! And as for being kin to the Volskys--the idea was quite unthinkable.

Always, Rose-Marie had imagined that a proposal of marriage would be the greatest compliment that a man could pay a girl. But the proposal of the man in front of her did not seem in the least complimentary.

She realized--with the only feeling of irony she had ever known, that this proposal was her very first. And she was looking upon it as an insult. With a tiny curl of her lips she raised her eyes until they met Jim's eyes.

"It should be quite evident," she repeated, "to any one!"

Jim Volsky's face had turned to a dark mottled red. His slim, well manicured hands were clenched at his sides.

"Y' mean," he questioned, and his voice had an ugly ring, "y' mean I ain't good enough fer yer?"

All at once the sn.o.bbishness had slipped, like a worn coat, from the shoulders of the girl. She was Rose-Marie Thompson again--Settlement worker. She was no better, despite the ancestors with gentle blood, than the man in front of her--just more fortunate. She realized that she had been not only unkind, but foolish. She tried, hurriedly--and with a great scare looking out of her wide eyes--to repair the mistake that she had made.

"I don't mean that I am better than you, Jim," she said softly, "not in the matter of family. We are all the children of G.o.d--we are all brothers and sisters in His sight."

Jim Volsky interrupted. He came nearer to Rose-Marie--so near that only a few inches of floor s.p.a.ce lay between them.

"Don't yer go sayin' over Sunday-school lessons at me," he snarled. "I know what yer meant. Yer think I ain't good enough--t' marry yer.

Well"--he laughed shortly, "well, maybe I ain't good enough--t' marry yer! But I guess I'm good enough t' kiss yer--" All at once his hands shot out, closed with the strength of a vise upon her arms, just above her elbows. "I guess I'm good enough t' kiss yer!" he repeated gloatingly.

Rose-Marie felt cold fear creeping through her veins. There was something clammy in Jim's touch, something more than menacing in his eyes. She knew that her strength was nothing to be pitted against his--she knew that in any sort of a struggle she would be easily subdued. And yet she knew that she would rather die than feel his lips upon hers. She felt an intense loathing for him--the loathing that some women feel for toads and lizards.

"Jim," she said slowly and distinctly, "let go of me _this instant_!"

The man was bending closer. A thick lock of his heavy hair had shaken down over his forehead, giving him a strangely piratical look.

"Not much I won't," he told her. "_So I ain't good enough_--"

All at once Rose-Marie felt the blindness of rage--unreasoning, deadly anger. Only two things she knew--that she hated Jim and that she would not let him kiss her. She spoke sudden defiant words that surprised even herself.

"No," she told him, and her voice was hysterically high, "no, you're not good enough! You're not good enough for _any_ decent girl! You're bad--too bad to lay your fingers upon me. You're--you're unclean! Let go of me or I'll"--her courage was oozing rapidly away, "or I'll _scream_!"

Jim Volsky's too red lips were on a level with her own. His voice came thickly. "Scream, if you want to, little kid!" he said. "Scream t' beat th' band! There ain't no one t' hear yer. Ma an' Ella an' Bennie are at the hospital--givin' Pa th' once over. An' th' folks in this house are used t' yellin'. They'd oughter be! Scream if yer want to--but I'm a-goin' ter have my kiss!"

Rose-Marie could feel the warmth of his breath upon her face. Knowing the futility--the uselessness of it--she began to struggle. Desperately she tried to twist her arms from the slim, brutal hands that held them--but the hands did not loosen their hold. She told herself, as she struggled, that Jim had spoken the truth--that a scream, more or less, was an every-day occurrence in the tenement.

All at once she realized, with a dazed, sinking feeling, that the Young Doctor had had some foundation of truth in certain of his statements.

Some of the slum people were like animals--very like animals! Jim was all animal as he bent above her--easily holding her with his hands. Nothing that she said could reach him--nothing. She realized why the Young Doctor had wanted her to leave the Settlement House before any of her dreams had been shattered, before her faith in mankind had been abused! She realized why, at times, he had hurt her, and with the realization came the knowledge that she wanted him, desperately, at that minute--that he, out of all the people in the world, was the one that her heart was calling to in her time of need. She wanted his strength, his protection.

Once before, earlier in the afternoon, she had realized that there was much of the cat in Jim. Now she realized it again, with a new sense of fear and dislike. For Jim was not claiming the kiss that he wanted, in a straight-forward way--he was holding her gloatingly, as a cat tortures a mouse. He was letting her know, without words, that she was utterly helpless--that he could kiss her when he wanted to, and not until he wanted to. There was something horribly playful in his att.i.tude. She struggled again--but more weakly, her strength was going. If there were only somebody to help--somebody!

And then, all at once, she remembered--with a blinding sense of relief--what she had been forgetting. She remembered that there was Somebody--a Somebody Who is always ready to help--a Somebody who watches over the fate of every little sparrow.

"If you hurt me," she said desperately, to Jim, "G.o.d will know! Let go of me--or I'll--"

Jim interrupted.

"Yer'll scream!" he chuckled, and there was cruel mirth in the chuckle.

"Yer'll scream, an' G.o.d will take care o' yer! Well--scream! I don't believe as G.o.d can help yer. G.o.d ain't never been in this tenement--as far as I know!"

Despite her weight of fear and loathing, Rose-Marie was suddenly sorry for Jim. There was something pitiful--something of which he did not realize the pathos--in his speech. G.o.d had never been in the tenement--_G.o.d had never been in the tenement_! All at once she realized that Jim's wickedness, that Jim's point of view, was not wholly his fault. Jim had not been brought up, as she had, in the clean out-of-doors; he--like many another slum child--had grown to manhood without his proper heritage of fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne. One could not entirely blame him for thinking of his home--the only home that he had ever known--as a G.o.dless place. She stopped struggling and her voice was suddenly calm and sweet as she answered Jim's statement.

"G.o.d," she said slowly, "_is_ in this tenement. G.o.d is everywhere, Jim--everywhere! If I call on Him, He will help me!"

All at once Jim had swung her away from him, until he was holding her at arm's length. He looked at her, from between narrowed lids, and there was bitter sarcasm in his eyes.

"Call on Him, then," he taunted, "call on Him! Lotta good it'll do yer!"

The very tone of his voice was a sacrilege, as he said it.

Rose-Marie's eyes were blurred with tears as she spoke her answer to his challenge. She was remembering the prayers that she had said back home--in the little town. She was remembering how her aunts had taught her, when she was a wee girl, to talk with G.o.d--to call upon Him in times of deep perplexity. She had called upon Him, often, but she had never really needed Him as she did now. "Help me, G.o.d!" she said softly, "_Help me, G.o.d_!"

The Volsky flat was still, for a moment. And then, with surprising quickness, the door to the inner room swung open. Jim, who was standing with his back to the door, did not see the tiny, golden-haired figure that stood in the opening, but Rose-Marie caught her breath in a kind of a sob.

"I had forgotten Lily--" she murmured, almost to herself.

Jim, hearing her words, glanced quickly back over his shoulder. And then he laughed, and there was an added brutality in the tone of his laughter.

"Oh--Lily!" he laughed. "Lily! She won't help yer--not much! I was sort of expectin' this G.o.d that yer talk about--" The laughter died out of his face and he jerked her suddenly close--so close that she lay trembling in his arms. "Lily can't hear," he exulted, "'r see, 'r speak. _I'll take my kiss--now_!"

It was then that Rose-Marie, forgetting herself in the panic of the moment, screamed. She screamed l.u.s.tily, twisting her face away from his lips. And as she screamed Lily, as silently as a little wraith, started across the room. She might almost have heard, so straight she came. She might almost have known what was happening, so directly she ran to the spot where Rose-Marie was struggling in the arms of Jim. All at once her thin little hands had fastened themselves upon the man's trouser leg, all at once she was pulling at him, with every bit of her feeble strength.

Rose-Marie, still struggling, felt an added weight of apprehension. Not only her own safety was at stake--Lily, who was so weak, was in danger of being hurt. She jerked back, with another cry.

"Oh, G.o.d help me!" she cried, "G.o.d help _us_!"

Silently, but with a curious persistence, the child clung to the man's trouser leg. With an oath he looked back again over his shoulder.

"Leave go of me," he mouthed. "Leave go o' me--y' little brat! 'r I'll--"

And "Let go of him, Lily," sobbed Rose-Marie, forgetting that the child could not hear. "Let go of him, or he'll hurt you!"

The child lifted her sightless blue eyes wistfully to the faces above her--the faces that she could not see. And she clung the closer.

Jim was swearing, steadily--swearing with a dogged, horrible regularity.

Of a sudden he raised his heavy foot and kicked viciously at the child who clung so tenaciously to his other leg. Rose-Marie, powerless to help, closed her eyes--and opened them again almost spasmodically.

"You brute," she screamed, "_you utter brute_!"

Lily, who had never, in all of her broken little life, felt an unkind touch, wavered, as the man's boot touched her slight body. Her sightless eyes clouded, all at once, with tears. And then, with a sudden piercing shriek, she crumpled up--in a white little heap--upon the floor.

XVIII

AND A MIRACLE

For a moment Rose-Marie was stunned by the child's unexpected cry. She hung speechless, filled with wonderment, in Jim's arms. And then, with a wrench, she was free--was running across the floor to the little huddled bundle that was Lily.