FATE
Mary waked next morning with the delicious sense of impending happiness.A wonderful dream had come to thrill her half-conscious moments, repeating itself in increasing vividness and beauty with each awakening.The vision had been interrupted by the unusual noise of the snow machines on the car tracks, and yet she had fallen asleep after each break and picked up the rapturous scene at the exact moment of its interruption.
She was married and madly in love with her husband.His face she could never see quite clearly.His business kept him away from home on long trips.But his baby was always there--a laughing, wonderful boy whose chubby hands persisted in pulling her hair down into her face each time she bent over his cradle to kiss him.
Ella was chattering in German to someone on the stairs.She wondered again for the hundredth time how this poor, slovenly, one-eyed, ill-kempt creature, scrub-woman and janitress, could speak two languages with such ease.Her English, except in excitement, seemed equally fluent with her German.How did such a woman fall so low? She was industrious and untiring in her work.She never touched liquor or drugs.She was kind and thoughtful and watched over her tenants with a motherly care for which no landlord could pay in dollars and cents.She was on her knees on the stairs now, scrubbing down the steps to be crowded again with muddy feet from the street below.
Mary lay for half an hour snuggling under the warm blankets, weaving a romance about Ella's life.A great love for some heroic man who died and left her in poverty could alone explain the mystery that hung about her.She never spoke of her life or people.Mary had ventured once to ask her.A wan smile flitted across the haggard face for a moment, and she answered in low tones that closed the subject.
"I haven't any people, dear," she said slowly."They are dead longago."
The girl wondered if it were really true.In her joy this morning she felt her heart go out to the pathetic, drooping figure on the stairs.She wished that every living creature might share the secret joy that filled her soul.
She drew the kitten from his nest beside her pillow and rubbed her cheek against his little cold nose.He always waked her with a kiss on her eyelids and then coiled himself back for a tiny cat-nap until she could make up her mind to rise.
She sprang from the couch with sudden energy and stretched her dainty figure with a prodigious yawn.
"Gracious, Kitty, we must hurry!" she cried, thrusting her bare feet into a pair of embroidered slippers and throwing her blue flannel kimono on over her night-dress.
The coffee-pot was boiling busily when she had bathed and dressed.Each detail of her domestic schedule was given an extra care this morning.The stove was carefully polished, each pot and pan placed in its rack with a precision that spoke an unusual joy within the heart of the housewife.
And through it all she hummed a lullaby that haunted her from the memories of a happy childhood.
Breakfast over, the kitten fed, the birds given their bath, their sand and seed, she couldn't stop until the whole place had been thoroughly cleaned and dusted.Exactly why she had done this on Thursday morning it was impossible to say.Some hidden force within had impelled her.
Then back into the dream world her mind flew on joyous wings.It was a sign from God in answer to prayer.Why not? The Bible was full of such revelations in ancient times.God was not dead because the world was modern and we had steam and electricity.The routine of school was no longer dull.Around each commonplace child hung a halo of romance.They were love-children today.She wove a dream of tenderness, of chivalry, and heroic deeds about them all.She searched each face for some line of beauty caught in the vision of her own baby who had looked into her heart from the mists of eternity.
Three days passed in a sort of trance.Never had she felt surer of life and the full fruition of every hope and faith.Just how this marvelous blossoming would come, she could not guess.Her chances of meeting her Fate were no better than at any moment of the past years of drab disillusionment, and yet, for some reason, her foolish heart kept singing.
Why?
There could be but one answer.The event was impending.Such things could be felt--not reasoned out.
She applied herself to her teaching with a new energy and thoroughness.She must do this work well and carry into the real life that must soon begin the consciousness of every duty faithfully performed.
A boy asked her a question about a little flower which grew in a warm crevice of the stone wall on which the iron fence of the school yard rested.She blushed at her failure to enlighten him and promised to tell him on Monday.
Botany was not one of her tasks but she felt the tribute to her personality in his question, and she would take pains to make her answer full and interesting.
Saturday afternoon she hurried to the Public Library, on Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street, to look up every reference to this flower.
The boulevard of the Metropolis was thronged with eager thousands.Handsome men and beautifully dressed women passed each other in endless procession on its crowded pavements.The cabs and automobiles, two abreast on either side, moved at a snail's pace, so dense were the throngs at each crossing.Her fancy was busy weaving about each throbbing tonneau and limousine a story of love.Not a wheel was turning in all that long line of shining vehicles that didn't carry a woman or was hurrying to do a woman's bidding.
Her hero was coming, too, somewhere in the crowd with his gloved hand on one of those wheels.She could feel his breath on her cheek as he handed her into the seat by his side and then the sudden leap of the car into space and away on the wings of lightning into the future!
