CHAPTER XLV
SNOW-BOUND
Late in the following afternoon Ethel awoke and lay for a long timerevelling in her new-found happiness, and thinking of the big man whohad come once more into her life, this time bringing her only gladnessand the joy of an infinite love.
Her heart glowed with pride as she thought of the strength and the finecourage of him, and she flushed as she wondered how, even with thebonds in her hands, she could have doubted his innocence. Ah, well, shewould never doubt him again.
She smiled fondly, but the smile slowly faded, for in her mind at thatmoment was a doubt--a vague, elusive doubt, that rested upon theslender fabric of a half-breed's fireside tale.
Somewhere in the wild country was another girl--a girl who wasbeautiful and who loved this man--_her_ man.
In the small hours of the morning as they talked he had not mentionedthis girl, and Ethel forbore to question him, hoping that he would tellher of his own accord. But whether or not he purposely avoided thesubject she did not know.
She believed in him--believed in his great love for her, in hisabsolute honesty and the new-found strength in him. Yet, hovering likea specter, intangible, elusive, menacing--the one disturbing element inher otherwise perfect happiness--was the other girl.
Who was she? What was she? What had she been to him? What had beentheir relations? And why had she accompanied him on his journey out ofthe woods? The phantom girl took on a sinister form as the questiontantalized her brain.
This wild woman had helped to draw him from the river, had nursed himthrough a long sickness. He was under obligations to her, and--was thatthe _only obligation_?
The girl flushed hotly, and with an impatient movement flung theblankets from her, and proceeded to dress.
"I will never, never ask him," she decided, as she sat upon the thickbearskin in front of the stove and drew on her stockings. "He loves meand I love him.
"If he tells me it will be of his own free will; he shall not know thatI ever heard of this girl. What is past, is past. There are sealedchapters in the lives of most men--why should I care?
"He is mine--mine!" she cried aloud, "and I love him!"
But deep down in her heart she knew that she did care--and that shewould always care. And the knowledge hurt.
Her toilet completed, the girl passed into the other room, whereAppleton and Sheridan were engaged in a lively discussion with theladies.
"How is he?" She addressed her uncle, who answered with twinkling eyes.
"Bill? Oh, he's all right. Feeling fit as a fiddle. Wanted to get outon the job, but I wouldn't let him. He was going anyhow, and the onlyway I could make him stay in was to threaten to wake you up to give himhis orders straight from headquarters."
Ethel blushed furiously as the smiles of the others were directedtoward her. "Yup, he wouldn't stand for that," went on Appleton. "Saidhe'd rather lie in bed for a week than have you puttering around."
With a disdainful toss of her head the girl seated herself at thetable.
"Now, Hubert Appleton, you stop teasing that poor girl!" Aunt Margaretrallied in her defence. "Don't pay any attention to him, honey. Bill isdoing nicely, and we're all crazy to congratulate you. We think he isjust _grand_!"
Dinner had been kept piping hot, and Ethel hid her confusion behind anappetizing array of steaming dishes.
"And what do you think?" continued her aunt, who hovered about thetable with fussy little pats and arrangement of dishes, "we have tostay here all winter!"
"What?" cried the girl in dismay.
"That is just what we both said--Mary and I. But there is no help forit. The tote-road is drifted twenty feet deep. Hubert and Mr. Sheridanare going to make the trip on snowshoes; they must get back tobusiness. The supplies will have to be brought in on dog-sleds, and wehave got to stay."
"I'll bet Ethel could think of a worse predicament," grinned Appleton."She'll be a regular sourdough before spring; won't want to come out."
"But I have nothing to wear!"
"Nothing to wear!" scoffed her uncle. "Tell me, please, what in timeyou women have got packed in those half a dozen trunks, then? It's notgrub. I'll bet there's clothes enough in those trunks to last threewomen fourteen years! Still, if you really get cold, you might ask Billto lend you a pair of his----"
"Hubert Appleton!" The lumberman glanced at his wife in surprise. "Apair of his moccasins--they'll keep your toes warm."
The girl finished her belated dinner, and throwing a coat over hershoulders stepped out into the clear, crisp air. Immediately in frontof the building the wind had swept the ground almost bare of snow, butEthel gasped with surprise as her eyes sought the other buildings ofthe camp.
The blacksmith's shop was entirely buried under a huge drift; only onehalf of the cook-shack roof was visible, and the bunk-house was buriedto the eaves. A twenty-foot drift cut off the view of the stables, andthe whole crew was busy digging paths and breaking out skidways.
The storm had ceased as suddenly as it had come, and the sun shone withdazzling whiteness upon the mystic, snow-buried world.
In the office she found Bill fully dressed, propped against hispillows, a villainous black pipe between his lips, reading. He laidaside his book and pipe and stretched his arms toward her.
She crossed, blushing, to his side, and for a long time sat with herhead resting upon his shoulder, while his great arms held her closeagainst his beating heart.
And under the spell of his presence and his gently murmured words oflove, the disquieting fear vanished, and she knew that he was all hers.And she laughed at her fear, and drove it from her in the foolishbelief that it could never return.
"Dear," she said later when their conversation assumed an intelligibleform, "you must send those bonds back by Uncle Appleton. Justthink--your father thinks you _stole_ them!"
The man smiled:
"Yes, poor old dad. It must be kind of rough on him to think his son isa thief. He was sore that morning, and so was I, and we didn't part thebest of friends. But I would rather return the bonds myself. Darling,we will take them to him, you and I, next summer, when we go back tothe old town."
"Go back!" exclaimed the girl.
"Sure. When we go back on our honeymoon. Now that I have you I amnever, never going to let you go, and when next you see the big burg,you will be Mrs. Bill Carmody."
He kissed the serious blue eyes that looked up into his.
"But, dear, we are coming back here?"
"Back here!" he exclaimed in surprise. "You! Back here! In the woods!"
The girl nodded.
"I love the woods; I will always love them. It was in the woods thatyou found _yourself_ and your place among men. And it was in the woodsthat I found you--the _real_ you--the _you_ I have always loved!"
"But, dear heart, it is a rough life up here. It is new to you now, andyou are enchanted; but there is so much you would miss. I have to comeback, of course--will have to for several years to come. We could havea house in Minneapolis, and Charlie could go to school."
"What! And only have you for five or six months in the year? No, _sir_!Charlie could live with Uncle and Aunt Margaret and go to school, butyou and I are coming into the woods.
"Aunt Margaret lived in camps for years when she was first married, andthey were as poor as church mice. She told me all about it. Of course,there is hard work; but it is all so big, and grand, and free, andthere is lots of fun, too, and you will have to teach me to shoot andwalk on snowshoes and fish through holes cut in the ice.
"I can cook and sew, and we will have a victrola, and lots of books andthings--anyway, that is the way it is going to be, so there is no usearguing about it." And the boss smiled as he realized what Appletonmeant when he said: "Orders straight from headquarters."
The two lumbermen took their departure the following morning amid thehearty farewells of the snow-bound camp. They were accompanied by BloodRiver Jack, who reluctantly agreed to see the dog-team tote serviceestablished before returning
to his lodge at the foot of the rapid.
"We'll come up for you in the spring," called Appleton, "and we'llfollow the drive in a bateau. You got a bigger taste of the old lifethan you bargained for, little girl," he smiled at his wife; "but thetote-road is ruined for this winter and you'll have to make the best ofit."
"H. D. and I will sure think of you girls while we're sitting in thebaldheaded pews at the Gaiety this winter gloating over the grand operawe're missing!" called Sheridan, rolling his cigar juicily between hisgrinning lips.
"Men of your age----" began Mrs. Sheridan.
"Hubert Appleton! If I hear----" But the protests of the "girls" fellupon deaf ears as the men disappeared in the wake of the guide,slapping each other upon the back in high glee.
The question of grand opera was a joke of long standing between them,and up to the present had been on the husbands, who, despite theirprotests, had manfully endured their annual week of martyrdom.
"Cheer up, ladies," smiled Bill, "the graphophone is a very good one,and in the office is a whole box of records of my own selection. If weare snow-bound we will not have to entirely forego even grand opera."
The Promise Page 46