Pearl Buck - Angry Wife

She ran into the next room, obedient for once. Then the hall door opened and Joe came in. The white showed around the pupils of his eyes. “Lordy, lordy, what we goin’ to do?” he groaned. “The war’s bust out again — what the Yankees want now, marster?”

Before Pierce could answer, there was a loud knock and John MacBain came in, fully dressed. He had a telegram in his hand.

“I’ve got to get to Pittsburgh, Pierce,” he announced abruptly. “The Pennsylvania militia has been ordered out — they’re fighting mobs in the streets, there, too, by Gawd!”

“Pittsburgh!” Pierce groaned. “The whole country has gone mad.”

“They’re burning rolling stock there,” John said heavily. “You’ve got to meet the directors without me, Pierce.”

“If I have to, I have to,” Pierce said doggedly.

They clasped hands firmly and John was gone. Pierce turned. Behind him Joe stood waiting to shave him, mug in one hand and razor in the other. Pierce saw his hand shaking like an aspen.

“Give the razor to me. If you’re as scared as that, you’ll cut my throat,” he said sharply. All this nonsense, he thought angrily. What was the matter with him?

He dipped the brush in the soapy water briskly, swabbed his chin, and began to shave himself with long even strokes.

Behind him, Joe moaned, “We all be killed, I reckon!”

“Nonsense,” Pierce replied. Now that action was necessary he felt strong and competent. He had been an officer in the army, and he felt his blood grow cool again. He was not afraid of battle, now that he knew who the enemy was. He had sworn never again to enter a war against his fellow men but these communists were not fellow men. They were devils of destruction.

“You tell Georgia to help your mistress and the girls pack up right away,” he commanded Joe. “After breakfast I’ll get them into the private car and off to Washington.”

“You and me—” Joe faltered.

“We’re going to stay right here,” Pierce said grimly.

“Oh my — oh my!” Joe whispered under his breath.

He tiptoed out of the room and Pierce dressed himself. He had just buttoned his collar when the door opened smartly and he saw Sally mirrored over his shoulder. She was dressed for travel in her blue suit and hat. Her cheeks were flaming and her blue eyes were bright.

“Papa—” She came in and shut the door. “I’m not going to Washington—”

Pierce felt enormous irritation. “Oh yes, you are,” he retorted to her reflection in the mirror. “I’m going to be too busy to look after women—”

“Papa, I want to stay, with you—”

“You can’t stay with me — you must stay out of my way.”

“Papa—” she began again, but he snapped at her.

“Now, Sally, you can’t have your wish this time! The whole country is in danger. I’ve got to get to the company offices as fast as I can get rid of you girls.”

“But, Papa — why are they fighting?”

“It’s a strike — you know that—” He was trying to fasten his tie.

“But why, Papa?”

“Well — they don’t want their wages cut.”

“Why do you cut them, Papa?”

“It’s not I — it’s the company.”

“But you told the company to do it—”

“I simply gave my opinion — the company is losing money — why, our profits are cut in half! The men have to share in the loss, that’s all. Management can’t take it all—”

“But, Papa, did you lose money or only just not make so much?”

“It’s the same thing,” Pierce declared.

“No, it isn’t,” Sally maintained.

Pierce turned to his beloved child with wrath and fury. “Now Sally, you don’t know what you’re talking about. If I expect to make five thousand dollars on a horse and I don’t make but twenty-five hundred, I’ve lost twenty-five hundred dollars.”

“No, you haven’t, Papa — you haven’t lost anything. You have the twenty-five hundred.”

She made such a picture of beauty as she stood there, her pretty face serious, her cheeks flaming, her red-gold hair curling under her blue hat, that his heat was smitten in the midst of his anger, and he softened.

“Honey, don’t you try to tell a man he hasn’t lost money when he knows his pocket is lighter than it ought to be. You get along — have you had your breakfast?”

Sally shook her head.

“Well, then, eat fast — I’m going straight to the station to see about a train to pull the car out — a freight or anything—”

“Papa, I warn you—” His daughter flung up her head and faced him. “If you make me go to Washington — I’ll — I’ll run away!”

“Sally — Sally!” he groaned.

From the street the roar came beating through the closed windows into the room. “There’s no time, child!”

“I will run away,” she repeated.

“What shall I do with her?” he asked loudly, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

He wheeled and crossed the room and opened Lucinda’s door. She was in the next room with Georgia and Lucie, and all of them were packing the bags.

“Lucinda!” he shouted. “Sally is playing the fool—”

“I sent her to you,” Lucinda said briefly. “I can do nothing with her. She insists on staying with you. You’ve spoiled her, Pierce, though I’ve warned you again and again.”

In the doorway Sally stood smiling, triumphant. “Neither of you can do anything with me,” she said pleasantly. “So — I’m not going!”

Her parents looked at her, Lucinda coldly, Pierce savagely. “I’ve a good mind to give you a beating,” he muttered through his teeth.

“It’s too late,” Lucinda reminded him. “You wouldn’t lay a finger on her when she was little.”

Georgia looked up. “If you are willing, ma’am — sir — could I take Miss Sally to Philadelphia? Joe can go in my place to Washington, ma’am.”

They turned to her, grasping at the straw of escape.

“I’ve been thinking I would ask you to let me visit Bettina, please,” Georgia said. “If you’re willing, ma’am — Miss Sally can come, too.”

“No,” Lucinda said.

“Yes!” Sally cried. “Yes — yes — Papa, I’ve always wanted to see Uncle Tom again—”

“Sally!” Lucie’s prim whisper, horror-struck, hissed across the room.

“I don’t care — I do,” Sally insisted.

“Sally can stay at a hotel,” Pierce reasoned to Lucinda. “Georgia can be with her and look after her and Tom can come and see her.”

A volley of shots struck in the street and a window pane shattered.

Lucinda put her hands to her ears. “We’ve got to get away before we’re all killed—”

An hour later Pierce stood alone on the platform of the railroad station. His private car had gone, the last in a line of passage cars headed for the south. No one knew when the next train would leave, if ever. Trains were still leaving irregularly for the north, and on one of them he had put Sally and Georgia into a day coach, jammed with frightened people trying to leave Baltimore. He had held Sally close for a moment, exasperated with love for this wilful child of his. But Sally had been gay and excited.

“Mind you stay at a hotel,” he had commanded. “Your mama will never let me hear the end of it if you don’t.”

“Of course,” she had promised, without, he felt, in the least meaning it. He saw them on the train, squeezed against the window, and through the open window he had continued to talk.

“If things quiet down,” he said, “I may run up myself for a day or so, tell Tom. If I find you’ve been disobedient, Sally—”

“Oh, no!” she trilled.

The whistle blew and she waved and laughed. He saw Georgia’s face, softly alight, behind her.