Chapter D: Moonlight on Angel Island

The sea lay like a carpet of silver stretched taut from the white line of the waves to the black seam of the sky. The land lay like a crumpled mass of silver velvet, heaped to tinselled brightness here, hollowed to velvety shadow there. Over both arched the mammoth silver tent of the sky. In the cleft in the rock on the southern reef sat Julia and Billy. Under a tree at the north sat Peachy and Ralph. Scattered in shaded places between sat the others. The night was quiet; but on the breeze came murmurs sometimes in the man’s voice, sometimes in the woman’s. Fragmentary they were, these murmurs, and inarticulate; but their composite was ever the same.

E.

Sunrise on Angel Island.

In and out among the trees, wound a procession following the northern trail. First came Lulu, white-clad, serious, pale, walking with Honey. The others, crowned with flowers and carrying garlands, followed, serious and silent, the women clinging with both hands to the men, who supported their snail-like, tottering progress with one arm about their waists. On the point of the northern reef, a cabin made of round beach-stones fronted the ocean. It fronted the rising sun now and a world, all ocean and sky, over which lay a rose dawnlight. Still silent, the procession paused and grouped about the house. Frank Merrill stepped forward and placed himself in front of Honey and Lulu.

“We are gathered here this morning,” Frank said in his deep academic voice, “to marry this man to this woman and this woman to this man. If there is any reason why you should not enter into the married state, pause before it is too late.” His voice came to a full stop. He waited. “If not, I pronounce you man and wife.”

Silently still, the others placed their garlands and wreaths at the feet of the wedded pair. Turning, they walked slowly back over the trail.

F.

Midnight on Angel Island.

Julia sat alone on the stone bench at the door of the Honeymoon House. She gazed straight ahead out on a star-lighted sea, which joined a star-lighted sky and stretched in pulsating star-gleams to the end of space. She gazed straight out, but apparently she saw nothing. Her eyes were abstracted and her brow furrowed. Her shoulders drooped.

A man came bounding up the path.

“Has Ralph been here?” he asked curtly. Billy’s face was fiery. His eyes blazed.

“He’s been here,” Julia answered immediately. “He’s gone!”

“By God, I’ll kill him!” Billy turned white.

Julia’s brow smoothed. She smiled a little. “No, you will not kill him,” she said with her old serene air. “You will not have to kill him. He will never come again.”

“Did he try to make love to you?”

“Yes.”

“How did he justify himself?”

“He appealed to me to save him. I did not quite understand from what. He said I could make a better man of him.” Julia laughed a little.

“How did you know he was here?”

“I stopped at their cabin. He was not there. Peachy did not know where he was. Of course, I guessed at once. I came here immediately.”

“Did Peachy seem troubled?”

“No. She doesn’t care. Pete was there, examining her drawings. They’re half in love with each other. And then again, Pete doesn’t know, or if he does know, he doesn’t care, that Clara is doing her damnedest to start a flirtation with Honey. And Lulu has walked about like a woman in a dream for weeks. What are we all coming to? There’s nothing but flirting here!”

“It must be so,” Julia said, “as long as men and women are idle.”

“But how can we be anything but idle? There’s nothing to do on this island.”

“I don’t know,” said Julia slowly; “I don’t know.”

“Julia,” Billy said in a pleading voice, “marry me!”

A strange expression came into Julia’s eyes. Part of it was irresolution and part of it was terror. But a poignant wistful tenderness fused. both these emotions, shot them with light.

“Not yet,” she said in a terrified voice. “Not yet!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know - why. Only that I cannot.”

“Then, when will you marry me? Julia, I see all the others together and it - - . You don’t know what it does to me.”

“Yes, I know! It kills me too.”

“Then why wait?”

“Because - - .” The poignant look went for an instant from Julia’s eyes. A strange brooding came in its place. “Because a little voice inside says, ‘Wait!’”

“Julia, do you love me?”

Julia did not answer. She only looked at him.

“You are sure there is nobody else?”

“I am sure. There could never be anybody else - after that first night when I waked you from sleep.”

“It is forever, then?”

“Forever.”

Billy sighed. “I’ll wait, then - until eternity shrivels up.”

They sat for a long time, silent.

“Here comes somebody,” Billy said suddenly. “It’s one of the girls,” he added after a moment of listening. “I’ll leave you, I guess.”

He melted into the darkness.

A woman appeared, dragging herself along by means of the rail. It was Lulu, a strange Lulu, a Lulu pallid and silent, but a Lulu shining-eyed. She pulled herself over to Julia’s side. “Julia!” “Julia! Oh, Julia!”

Lulu’s voice was not voice. It was not speech. Liquid sound flowed from her lips, crystallizing at the touch of the air, to words. “Julia, I came to you first, after Honey. I wanted you to know.”

“Oh, Lulu,” Julia said, “not - - .”

Her eyes reflected the stars in Lulu’s eyes. And there they stood, their two faces throwing gleam for gleam.

“Yes,” said Lulu. Suddenly she knelt sobbing on the floor, her face in Julia’s lap.

G.

Mid-afternoon on Angel Island.

Four women sat in the Honeymoon House, sewing. Outside the world still lay in sunshine, the land cut by the beginning of shadow, the sea streaked with purple and green.

“Why didn’t you bring the children?” Julia, asked.

Lulu answered. “Honey and Frank were going in swimming this morning, and they said they’d take care of them. I’m glad to get Honey-Boy off my hands for an afternoon.”

“And why hasn’t Peachy come?” Julia asked. I stopped as I went by,” Lulu explained. Oh, Julia, I wish you didn’t live way off here - it takes us an hour of crawling to pull ourselves along the path. Angela hadn’t waked up yet. It was a longer nap than usual. Peachy said she’d come just as soon as she opened her eyes. I went in to look at her. Oh, she’s such a darling, smiling in her sleep. Oh, I do hope I have a girl-baby sometime.”

“I do, too,” said Clara. “Peterkin’s fun, of course. But I can’t do the things for a boy that I could for a girl.”

“I’d rather have boys,” Chiquita said; “they’re less trouble.”

“Would you rather have boys or girls, Julia?” Lulu asked.

“Girls!” said Julia decisively. “A big family of girls.”

“Then,” Lulu began, and a question trembled in her bright eyes and on her curved lips.

But, “Here’s Peachy!” Julia exclaimed before she could go on.

Peachy came toiling up the path, pulling herself along, both hands on the wooden rail. She tottered, but in spite of her snail-like progress, it was evident that she hurried. A tiny bundle hung between her shoulders. It oscillated gently with her haste.

“Let me take Angela,” Julia said as Peachy struggled over the threshold.

“Wait!” Peachy panted. She sank on a couch.

There was a strange element in her look, an overpowering eagerness. This eagerness had brimmed over into her manner; it vibrated in her trembling voice, her fluttering hands. She sat down. She reached up and lifted the baby from her shoulders to her lap. Angela still slept, a delicate bud of a girl-being. But Peachy gave her audience no time to study the sleeping face. She turned the baby over. She pulled the single light garment off. Then she looked up at the other women.

The little naked figure lay in the golden sunlight, translucent, like an angel carved in alabaster. But on the shoulder-blades lay shadow, deep shadow - no, not shadow, a fluff of feathery down.

“Wings!” Peachy said. “My little girl is going to fly!”

“Wings!” the others repeated. “Wings!”

And then the room seemed to fill with tears that ended in laughter, and laughter that ended in tears.