“I will,” he promised.
And so they sat, and would have sat another long space, so comforting were they, mother and son, to each other, except that Ch’iuming chose this moment to come and make a request of Madame Wu which had long been in her mind to make.
All these months that she had been living with Rulan Ch’iuming had listened to the young widow’s sorrowing talk about her love for her dead husband. And the more she listened to Rulan the more Ch’iuming found her thoughts turning to Fengmo, and the more she knew that she must leave the house and take her child and go away. Yet where could she go?
One night, when Rulan had not been able to sleep and when they had talked long of the things which are deepest in women’s hearts, Ch’iuming broke her own vow of silence and told Rulan of her love for Fengmo.
“I am wicked,” she told Rulan. “I allow myself to think of him.”
Rulan had listened to her with burning attention. She threw back her hair from her shoulders. “Oh, I wish you and I could get out of this house,” she cried. “Here we are all locked behind these high walls. The family preys upon itself. We love where we should not and we hate where we should not. We are all too near to one another while we hate and we love.”
“Are we not safe behind these walls?” Ch’iuming asked. She was always a little timid before Rulan, admiring while she feared her boldness.
“We are not safe from one another,” Rulan had retorted.
It was at this moment that the same thought had come to them both. Eyes stared into eyes.
“Why should we stay?” Rulan had asked.
“How dare we go?” Ch’iuming had asked.
And then they had begun to plot. Ch’iuming would ask first to be allowed to live in the ancestral village. To her old village she could not return, for it would appear that the Wu family had sent her out, and this even Madame Wu would never allow. But she would ask to go and live in a Wu village, and then when Madame Wu demurred that a young woman should not live alone in a farmer’s village, she would ask for Rulan. And when Rulan had to speak for herself, she would say that she wanted to begin a school for young children in the village as a good work for her widowhood. Everyone knew that widows should make good works. This conclusion they had reached after much talk, for Rulan wanted to go immediately and speak out for herself. But Ch’iuming pointed out the discourtesy of this, for how could Madame Wu, if she was unwilling, be put to the difficulty of refusing her daughter-in-law to her face? It was better for Ch’iuming to go first and take the brunt of refusal if it must come. Then there need be no difference between Madame Wu and her daughter-in-law.
This Rulan cried out against as being old-fashioned, but Ch’iuming declared it to be only decency, and so it was settled.
Now, Ch’iuming knew well enough where Fengmo was, but she had decided in her own mind that she would approach Madame Wu in his presence and would greet him only in Madame Wu’s presence, and never would she speak to him otherwise. So she dressed her child in a clean red dress and washed the little creature’s hands and face and painted a red spot between her brows and braided her hair and tied the ends with new red yarn, and with the child, who was now a very fair fat little girl; she appeared unannounced.
Thus Madame Wu looked to the door and saw Ch’iuming. It was late afternoon, for Fengmo had come home in the morning. The sun had left the court, but it was filled with mellow light, and in this Ch’iuming stood, her child in her arms. She looked almost beautiful, and Madame Wu saw this, to her dismay. Ch’iuming’s love, secret and unrequited though it was, had made her soft and alive. She looked quickly at her son to know what he saw. But he saw now nothing. Ch’iuming greeted Fengmo carefully.
“Ah, our Third Sir, you have come home,” she said.
Fengmo answered as simply, “Yes, yes. Are you well?”
“I am well,” Ch’iuming replied.
She looked at him once and then did not look at him again. Instead she said to Madame Wu, “Our Lady, may I ask a favor even now, and not be held too coarse for disturbing you?”
Madame Wu knew that Ch’iuming must have a purpose in coming at this time, and so she inclined her head. “Sit down and let the heavy child stand on her own feet,” she said.
So Ch’iuming, blushing very much, did as she was told. She asked for the favor, and Madame Wu listened.
“Very good,” she said, “very good.”
She comprehended at once the purpose that Ch’iuming had in coming here at this time. Ch’iuming wished to make clear to Madame Wu that she wanted to retire from this house now that Fengmo had come home, and to disturb nothing in the family. Madame Wu was grateful for such goodness.
When Madame Wu’s permission was given, Ch’iuming then asked for Rulan also. “Since the family mourning is over, and since her own mourning can never cease, she wishes to ease her sorrow by good works,” Ch’iuming said. “She wishes to make a school for the children of the farmers.”
At this Fengmo, who had been staring down at the floor, looked up astonished. “That,” he declared, “is what I have come home to do.”
Here was confusion! Ch’iuming was aghast and Madame Wu confounded.
“You said nothing of this, my son,” she exclaimed with silvery sharpness.
“I had not reached the point,” Fengmo declared. “After what happened, it became necessary to consider what work I could do.”
Madame Wu held up one narrow hand. “Wait,” she commanded him. She turned to Ch’iuming. “Have you any other request?” she asked kindly.
“None,” Ch’iuming replied.
“Then you have my permission to go, you and Rulan also,” Madame Wu said. “I will call the steward in a few days and bid him find suitable houses for living and school, and you shall go when you like after that. But you will need special furniture, better than what is usually in a farmhouse, as well as other goods. Decide what you need, and I will tell Ying to prepare it. You will need, two maids with you and a cook. The head cook can send one of the undercooks with you.”
At this Fengmo spoke again. “If they live in the village they should not live too far above the others there, or they will be lonely.”
Ch’iuming threw him a soft quick look and did not speak. She was surprised that he could know this, who all his life had lived in a rich house. How did he know what common people felt? Then she put the question away. It was not for her ever to ask a question about him.
She rose and lifted up her child and thanked Madame Wu and went away. Rulan waited for her, and as soon as she heard the permission she and Ch’iuming began to plan their new lives with more joy than could have been possible to them even yesterday.
In the room which Ch’iuming had left, Madame Wu spoke to her son. “Explain your heart to me,” she commanded him.
He rose and walked restlessly to the open door and stood looking out. The quietness of coming night was in the walled space. Here the seasons came, even as they did over the whole world.
“It is necessary for me to devote myself,” he said. “So much Brother André taught me. If I am not to devote myself to one thing, it must be to another. After I left here I cast about for devotion. Religion is not for me, Mother. I am no priest. As far as a man can go, Brother André taught me, but not beyond.”
“Good, my son,” Madame Wu said, and waited.
He sat down again. “The way was shown me entirely by accident,” Fengmo went on. He drew out of his pockets some foreign tobacco and a short foreign pipe and filled it and began to smoke. Madame Wu had not seen these before, but she would not allow her curiosity to interrupt him.