--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Woolman, Ainza collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 29 number: 12 published: 1926-10 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Woolman, Ainza, “Beyond Happiness,” *Improvement Era* 29, no. 12 (October 1926): 1150–1157." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera29012unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera29012unse start_page: 1150 end_page: 1157 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1926-10) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera29012unse publication_year: 1926 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1926, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Beyond Happiness BEYOND HAPPINESS By Ainza Woolman The Saxophone blared. To Thelma Talbot sitting there against the wall, it was like the cry of a soul in pain. She closed her clear, grey eyes momentarily, then opened them again to watch the jazz-mad crowd swirling past. She wished that Ollie and Bert had stayed to see their own wedding dance to a close, instead of exacting the prom- ise of her, while they slipped away to catch the ten-thirty train. Not that she was anxious about going home to those empty rooms. How would she ever be able to stand it, now that Ollie and the boys were gone? She glanced about the long, well filled hall. Copperville matrons in best black silk with spangle6 of jet watched their daughters in filmy gowns of flame and turquoise and coral, giving themselves up unresistingly to the music. To them that inhuman cry of the saxophone meant slide, glide, hesitate, then merge in a smooth succession of steps. To Thelma it meant confusedly a number of things. Most of them having to deal with her present misery. Some- how all the people here tonight were mixed up in it: Copperville burying her father's broken and blackened body. Copperville laying her mother by his side one year later. Copperville looking on with many an injunction, while she struggled with her teaching, and gave every spare moment to her church and welfare work, not counting the time it took for the education of her two younger brothers and baby sister. And now Copperville watching her from the side-lines and saying, "Old Maid!" If she could only forget it all, slip away where nobody knew her, and begin all over again to enjoy her youth. The youth that had been denied her and that Copperville would not let her have now. She had not known that her eyes were fastened so intensely on Arthur Judd until he turned from Mr. Dunyan, president of the school board and looked at her across the hall. It was not the firm chin, the fine contour of the head, the square shoulders that had drawn her eyes to him. It was the recognition of the fact that, somehow, he too had be- come an indefinite part of her misery. As soon as her eyes met his, however, she turned hurriedly, with a flutter at her heart and began talking with Mrs. Muskovitz, the little black-haired, black-eyed woman who sat beside her. All the while she was aware that he had risen and was threading his way slowly in and out among the dancers. "Mrs. Muskovitz, is Angelo quite well?" she began. The foreign-looking woman turned quickly: "Oh, yes, Mees Talbot, he iss well alright, but he iss dumb. You must not worrit about heem. He will not get promote at all, eef his mama do not get hees lesson for heem at night when I been so tired on that washa tub. Always peering so weeth his eyes. Ah eef he was only like my Nita BEYOND HAPPINESS 1151 now, dancing there so pretty and graceful. But no, Angelo must go and be like hees poor dead papa." "But his eyes, Mrs. Muskovitz, don't you think he ought — " She got no further, for Arthur Judd stood before her waiting to speak. Thelma turned toward him. She could not see that he looked at the gold streaks in her fawn-colored hair while his lips said: "I've just been talking to Mr. Dunyan about the health crusade." A shade of disappointment crossed her eyes. Instantly Copperville matrons began to nod their heads: "A fine girl! Too bad he can't forget she's an old-maid school teacher and marry her." And more than one matron smoothed down the folds of her black silk and pictured her own daughter as the wife of Arthur Judd, widower, — occupant of a position of no slight import in the small mining town. Arthur Judd leaning confidentially toward Miss Talbot to pre- clude listeners on either side, continued: "Mr. Dunyan says it will cost too much, having a doctor here to make a physical examination of the children. Says positively that the parents will not follow up the diagnosis. Defective eyesight, adenoids and diseased tonsils are all in the day's program." "He thinks of me only in terms of shop, and I'd so love to dance!" thought Thelma, but aloud she said: "If there is a place on earth where the school children need medical attention it's in a mining town, but as you say, the parents need converting." Arthur Judd's kindly brown eyes looked their relief. "That's what I wanted you to say, Miss Talbot. But after your extra hours spent on the Americanization campaign, I hated to suggest it. Do you realize that it will mean an- other house to house canvass as well as public meetings?" Thelma's eyes looked straight ahead as she attempted a smile and nodded her head. "That's a load off my mind, Miss Talbot." He looked as if he would have said more, but Thelma's eyes were on the dancers and the crimson crept up into her cheeks, lest he might have read her thoughts — for which thoughts she inwardly chided herself. The orchestra was playing the Home Sweet Home waltz. Peo- ple were scurrying to and from the tiny dressing room, while a few still lingered on the floor. Men and women nodded goodnight to Thelma, as they passed. Arthur Judd looked down at her. "Well, Miss Talbot — well — if — would you — are you? — " But just then Mr. and Mrs. Cordy, Thelma's next door neigh- bors stopped in front of them. "Going home now, Thelma? Want to walk along with us? Ah, I see you've been trying to vamp Mr. Judd." Laughingly Mrs. Cordy shook a finger at her. Thelma held out her hand to Mr. Judd and bade him a hasty "good night," as she darted a silencing glance at Mrs. Cordy. With a baffled look in his eyes he took her hand. "We'll discuss the health crusade in teacher's meeting tomorrow, Miss Talbot," he said with a business-like voice, 1152 IMPROVEMENT ERA Thclma walked silently by Mrs. Cordy's side along the single, torturous street to her own door. And with a "Good night, Thelma. Hope you don't get the 'willies' now you're left alone. They say hard work is a cure for the blues," the Cordys walked on. Thelma turned the key in the lock and went in. She switched on the light and took a look around. The little chintzy living room was in a state of disorder from Ollie's last change to going-away things. She perfunctorily removed a pair of white-silk hose from the phono- graph and Ollie's white-kid shoes from the floor. Then she placed the disarranged furniture in order and sank into the one leather chair. The corners of her mouth drooped slightly. She was so weary. He never even thought of asking me to dance, she ruminated. He and all Copperville have me settled down for the rest of my days. They think my only interest lies in teaching children the three R's, and how to keep their teeth clean. Well, for eleven years now I've toiled and slaved for the happiness of someone else. From now on I shall look to my own. I'm not begrudging Frank or Jim or Ollie what I did for them. They'd likely have done the same for me, if I'd been left the younger. Wearily she arose to go into the little, cream-colored bed room. She hung Ollie's wedding dress away and started to remove her own clothes. As she stood before the mirror the corners of her mouth lifted. She stooped forward to the glass, and her fingers smoothed the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. "I am not old," she said. "I'll go to the city this Summer. I'll wear flame and turquoise and coral. I'll have the youth and happiness that I've missed. And Copperville shall never know, to laugh at me behind my back." But she thought Mrs. Cordy would surely suspect, for her neigh- bor had dropped in one evening when Thelma was sewing. There were little piles of soft, pink lingerie strewn over the couch. "Good land, Thelma," she exclaimed. "Anyone would think you was makin' your trousseau. I should think you'd got enough to do visitin' them miners' homes every night after school without makin' high fallutin' underwear. Best let me take that home and make it for you." Thelma was grateful. After all, Mrs. Cordy meant well. As the Spring wore on she became more and more obsessed with her plans. It was always as if she said: "My happiness is just around the corner." In point of fact, it was with her daily in the school room. And the faces of her pupils she translated into the faces of new people whom she would meet. Their gaucheries she changed with a magic wand into the culture and knowledge of her new friends to whom she responded as one long accustomed. Mr. Judd, explaining to her the rules of the health contest, became her companion at a fashionable resort obsequiously handing her the menu card — but he wasn't asking her what she would take for refreshments, he was saying: "Ask them what they eat for breakfast, Miss Talbot. Many of our health prob- lems will be solved when we get our pupils to eat the right kind of food in proper combinations." And the card he had given her was BEYOND HAPPINESS 1153 merely an announcement of the day and hours during which Dr. San- ford would examine the pupils of Miss Talbot's room, fourth grade A. II Thelma sat at her desk making a card record of each child as the doctor gagged them with the tongue depressors, placed the steel specu- lum in their nostrils, peered into their ears. She hoped that their ears were clean. "Tony Gorlinsky, enlarged tonsils and adenoids," boomed the doctor's voice. "Emma-Jean Rosetti defective hearing." Miss Talbot's pencil moved swiftly. It moved swiftly during the entire morning. There was but one child left in the room. Each had been excused as his ex- amination was finished. "Angelo Muskovitz" — there was a pause. Thelma took advantage of the pause to look out of the window. Little patches of green were bravely struggling here and there to sur- vive in that smoke-blackened atmosphere. A drought-crippled apple tree in an adjoining lot boasted a few blossoms on its discolored twigs. Sparrows, dun-colored, like their surroundings, twittered, eternally twittered, in lieu of more varied repertoire. All her life she had been a sparrow. She had never realized until now how sick she was of it all. Soon she would be trying her wings as a blue-bird. She came out of her day dream with a start. The doctor stood before her holding Angelo Muskovitz by the shoulders. He was look- ing at her strangely. Little Angelo, white-faced, eyes dully dark, was peering at her. What did it mean? Then the doctor began to speak. "Look into this boy's eyes, Miss Talbot," Thelma looked. "Have you ever noticed anything about him different from the other boys?" She nodded. She would not hurt Angelo's feelings by telling the doctor how stupid he really was. "Do you see the reason for it?" he queried. She looked at him,, then back at the boy and her eyes dilated. "Not, — not blind?" The doctor nodded an affirmative. "He can still distinguish ob- jects, but he cannot read a single word of print. The condition has developed very rapidly during the past few weeks." Blind! Blind! And her own vision so blurred that she had be- lieved him only stupid — had allowed plans for her own happiness to completely obsess her. And poor little Angelo timidly shrinking into himself to keep the outside world from knowing! In a whirlwind of self-accusation she turned again to the doctor. "Is there any hope?" "Oh, yes, provided he is operated on at the right time. I should think that by the time school is out the development in both eyes will be sufficient to warrant a successful operation." 1154 IMPROVEMENT ERA Thclma clasped her fingers till the knuckles parted in white grooves. "What about his folks? Will they be able to take him to the city? Have to have him in the hospital. Cost in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars!" Slowly she shook her head. "The mother is a widow with five other children, dependent on a small compensation, and what she earns at the wash tub." "Too bad, too bad," ejaculated the doctor as he hurriedly looked at his watch. "Well, must have some lunch, if I am to get through with Miss Alder's room this afternoon." And he hastened away. Silently, stonily Thelma took Angelo by the hand and walked with him to his home. The mother wrung her hands. "He tella me alia time he was so dumb an' could not read," she wailed. "And all the time it was hees poor, poor eyes." Mrs. Muskovitz held his head against her bosom and sobbed. "Wat you tink, Mees Talbot, that I can have money for operate? Company only pay me fourteen dollar a week for have my man keeled. Not moche mon keepa six kid, an' me on tha wash tub efery day." Slowly, sadly Thelma shook her head and departed. Once with- in the safety of her own house she threw herself down on the couch and covered her face with her hands. "Always something to stand between me and happiness," she moaned. Then suddenly clenching her hands — "But I won't let it. I won't!" * * * It was the last day of school. The closing exercises were over. Fourth Grade A had won the prize in the health contest and had been duly commended by the President of the school board in his pompous speech. "Every case in Miss Talbot's room, with one exception," he concluded, "has received treatment." He mentioned no names, but many eyes turned accusingly or pityingly toward Mrs. Muskovitz who sat with pale little Angelo by her side. Thelma was glad when it was all over. She had sat in white and stony silence during the speech and with the same stony silence had received the prize awarded her. There was nothing but dumb agony tugging at her heart. She hurried from the auditorium to her own room, locked her desk, and was putting on her hat when the principal entered. "Miss Talbot, I want to thank you personally for your — " He got no further. Swiftly with tear-filled eyes Thelma turned from him. "Please don't," she said in a quavering voice and fled from the room. At four o'clock the next afternoon Thelma bought her ticket to the city. She raked off her change from the little rubber mat and in- quired if the train was on time. "On time, madam," snapped the ticket agent. She compared her wrist watch with the station clock. Twenty minutes to train time. Then suddenly the fog that had blurred her consciousness cleared away. "Of course, it was Mrs. Muskovitz BEYOND HAPPINESS 1155 and Angclo who were going to the city, not she." Her feet moved swiftly off the station platform. Breaking into a run she traversed the short distance between the depot and the Muskovitz shack. Darting in at the door she began quickly, though quietly, giving orders about catch- ing this train for the city — hospital — operation. Mrs. Muskovitz stood bewildered. The tousle-headed children stared in wonderment. Thelma snatched a hat that looked like a last year's bird nest from a peg, and thrust it on Mrs. Muskovitz' head — slipped off her own new coat, and thrust the astonished woman's arms into it. She grasped little Angelo firmly by the hand and began to run with him to the depot. To Mrs. . Muskovitz, who followed panting, she tried to explain about money in the bag, which she held out to her, about sending more for doctor and hospital expenses. A cloud of belching smoke, a whistle, the train had come to a stand still. Thelma helped Angelo and his mother up the steps. "Good- bye, good-bye," she called. "Don't worry about the other children. I'll take care of them until you come back with Angelo' s eyes all well again." Not until she had returned to the shack did she fully realize what she had done. She looked at Nita standing sullen in the doorway — at the uncombed heads and grimy faces of the four smaller children, who were whimpering for their mother. Then she sank in a chair by the table and buried her face in her arms. Presently she was aware of an imminent silence. She lifted her head. They were all about her star- ing in wonderment. Hastily she dried her eyes and laughed at them, till they laughed back again. With Nita's help she washed their faces, combed their tangled hair, and found a few clean odds and ends with which to clothe them, and marched them all off to her own home. * * * Mrs. Cordy's voice vibrated with excitement and her light-blue eyes bulged from their thin and carroty lashes as she sat on Mrs. Samp- son's red plush sofa and told her the news. "I was looking through my pantry window when I saw Thelma come out of her front door and lock it. She's goin' somewheres, says I. I'll just watch and see where. She went first to the depot. Then she went tearin' along over to that Muskovitz woman's place and first thing I knew she was rushin' with Angelo and his mother to the train. And that Eyetalian woman was wearin' Thelma's coat an' carryin' her suit case. Later with the five Muskovites that's left I saw her come back to her own house and they're all in there now." "T-T-T — " clucked Mrs. Sampson's tongue. "She's gone an' give up some kind of trip she's been plannin' fur herself, so that poor foreign kid could have his eyes operated on. I been suspectm' something all the time, the queer way she's been actin'. And now all the feather-stitching I done on the nice, pink underwear will go to waste on that Muskovitz woman's back," wailed Mrs. Cordy. Thelma had washed the four little Muskovitzes for the third time, 1156 IMPROVEMENT ERA fed their empty maws and tucked them into bed. She glanced at Nita, curled up on the couch absorbed in a book. Then she stood before her window looking at the smoke-lined mountains against the background of which the ore cars scuttled over the aerial tramway, and decided to steal down into her own back garden for a few minutes alone. The little bench on which she and Ollie had so often sat reading and sewing gleamed dully green in the struggling moonlight. She sat down and drew her scarf closer about her shoulders. The Summer nights in the mountains were never too warm. There was such a sheen among the twinkling leaves of her one little cherry tree that almost it seemed like starlight shimmering through. It was the first minute she had had to herself since she returned with the children and she began wondering about the wonderful sense of calm and peace that had possessed her during the entire afternoon. Happiness — peace — and after that — ? And instantly there flashed into her mind the words of Walt Whitman: "In this broad earth of ours. Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Enclosed and safe within its central heart. Nestles the seed Perfection. By every life a share, or more or less, None born but it is born, concealed or unconcealed The seed is waiting." There was something beyond happiness for which she must strive. Perhaps it was the uncovering of that little seed of perfection, not only in herself but here among these people — amid the measureless gross- ness and the slag. Her heart welled up within her but a click of the garden gate brought her back to reality. Copperville matrons coming to investigate. Well, let them come. She was ready to meet them all with a new courage. The steps hesitated and stopped — then started forward again. They were not the steps of women. Thelma turned swiftly to face Arthur Judd. "I hope — I didn't startle you. Nita said I would find you here." "No," she said, with forced calmness. "Won't you sit down." He sat beside her and looked at the dancing leaves. She ought to apologize for running away from him that afternoon. Probably he had forgotten it. She had thought he would be gone for his vacation. He probably wanted her to do Summer welfare work. Well she was willing. Abruptly he turned upon her, "Why," he said, "why do you al- ways run from me?" There was a note of sadness in his voice. "Why, Mr. Judd, I — I thought — I was just thinking that I ought to apologize for the way — " Instantly he reached for her hands and held them tightly clasped. "Don't," he said, "if it's a matter for apology — I had hoped — Thelma, can't you see, haven't you known all along that I've loved you? I BEYOND HAPPINESS 1157 couldn't go away without telling you. I've just learned from Mrs. Sampson, my landlady, what you did for little Angelo. It isn't that — you've always been just like that with your own folks and everybody, giving all and taking nothing — Thelma couldn't you — Oh tell me that you do care. I — I need you more than any of the others ever have." Her head dropped forward. She rose slowly and walked toward the cherry tree with its shimmering moonbeams. After all, she was better prepared for disappointments than for happiness. This twisted her heart until she could not speak. The silence between them throbbed. Presently she lifted her head. A faint smile flickered through her tears. This, she thought, was one kind of perfection. She stood trembling, expectant. Arthur Judd was at her side. He clasped her hand eagerly — r"Thelma, can you? Do you mean that you really — ?" There was no further need for speech, for a something that is beyond happiness caught them and wrapped them together in its folds. Salt Lake City. Victory Some men's lives are loads of care; Worry and toil are planted there. Others seem to be free from this, With nothing marring peaceful bliss. I'll choose my lot among the first; Maybe go hungry, maybe thirst, Fighting, struggling on to the end, Trying hard my cause to defend. And should I finish, colors high, Or under the load nobly die, May it be said in truthful light, "He tried his best to win the fight." When things are given free of cost, There's nothing won and nothing lost. Success is told in this one sum: "No gain, if we don't overcome." So give me all that I can bear Of toil and strife; I'll take my share; And from the load my head will rise, When I have won the victor's prize. Pcouo, Utah C. H. DURRANT