Kinfolk

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!”

These words, said so innocently, fell into Violet’s heart like a dart thrown by a child. They made a little wound which she quickly concealed. “Good-by, dear Mrs. Wetherston,” she said. “I will tell my friends how kind you are.”

In the street again she took a passing cab and went directly to Dr. Liang’s apartment. During the family distress Mrs. Liang had subdued her jealousy and now it was she who met Violet at the door.

“Come in, come in,” she said warmly in English. “Tell us all about something.”

She pattered into the living room ahead of Violet and as she passed the closed door of the study she raised her voice. “Eh, Liang! Violet Sung got here.”

There was no answering voice. Dr. Liang heard her and was displeased at the rude summons. He did not therefore move for some five minutes. Had anyone opened the door he would have been sitting at his desk, a brush held upright between his thumb and two fingers as he wrote Chinese letters. But no one opened the door and after the five minutes he got up and walked with slow dignity into the living room.

“Forgive me,” he said to Violet. “I was just finishing a stop-short.”

He had taught her the necessary qualities of the four-line poem thus named, and she smiled at him. “You must let me read it,” she said.

He made a deprecating gesture. “It is far from perfect yet,” he replied. “I have worked on it for four days, but I am not satisfied.”

“Now, Liang,” his wife broke in, “don’t talk some poetry. Sit down. Miss Sung wants to tell us how is Wetherstons.”

In her eagerness she was to Dr. Liang’s perceptions more than usually vulgar. To quiet her therefore he sat down and prepared to listen. Violet, glancing at his sensitive and handsome face, imagined that she saw suffering there. Certainly his pallor was deeper than usual. She proceeded very gently.

“You are fortunate. The home is a good one. It is not too rich, but there is some money. The mother-in-law is kind, and she wishes to do well but she does not know anything. Everything will depend upon Louise. The mother believes that her sons are all good and even great men, and Louise must learn the wisdom of agreeing with her mother-in-law.”

Mrs. Liang cried out at this. “Our Louise? She cannot agree with anybody. What do you say, Liang?”

“Please go on, Miss Sung,” he said.

Violet went on. “The mother-in-law, wanting to be kind and correct, is determined that she does not mind her daughter-in-law being Chinese. But in her heart she minds because it is something strange. It makes her different from other women she knows. Also she is not sure how Louise will fit into the home. I told her Louise was very American — is indeed by birth a citizen — and this comforts her somewhat but not wholly. And she is wounded that her son told her nothing of his first love affair or that a child was born.”

Dr. Liang had been making up his mind rapidly as Violet talked. The Wetherston family was not distinguished. The Liang family was better. It was therefore an honor for the Wetherstons to be connected with him. He would maintain this position.

Violet Sung went on. “She hopes to invite you to dinner.”

Mrs. Liang brightened. “I like to go and see,” she exclaimed.

Dr. Liang rose. “Thank you very much, Miss Sung,” he said formally. “You have done us a great service. Let us be glad that the family is respectable. I suppose we should not hope for more. The man might have been someone from the slums. It is useless to pretend, however, that I am pleased. I shall not feel the same toward my daughter Louise.”

“Please wait,” Violet said. “It may all turn out very well. I believe that blood and body differences do not matter if minds and hearts are the same.”

Mrs. Liang agreed to this with enthusiasm. “Miss Sung, you say true. I also! Of course, it is much better to marry Chinese if possible. If not possible, then American is not too bad. Liang, I am not agreeing. I am happy seeing my daughter, and I am feeling nice to her husband. As for baby, it is boy, and that is some better than girl. I say everything is not too bad.”

Dr. Liang ignored this. He spoke only to Violet. “I suppose,” he said with a slight smile, “that it is only natural for me to maintain certain superiorities. Will you forgive me if I go back now to my studies?”

He bowed and walked out of the room, conscious that Violet was looking at him thoughtfully.