CHAPTER XXXVI
MRS. DAVIDSON'S CONSCIENCE
It was fall, and the flame of the frost had fallen on the aspen and thecottonwoods, and shorn the willows of most of their leaves. A hundredthousand wild fowl honked their way across the meadows toward the blackflats where once had been a lake, and where now was immeasurable foodfor them. Up in the mountains the elk were braying. The voice of thecoyotes at the pink of dawn seemed shriller now, as speaking of thecoming days of want. But the sun still was kind, the midday hour stillwas one of warmth. A strange, keen value, immeasurably exalting, wasin the air. All nature was afoot, questioning of what was to come.
Mary Gage came in from the stream side that afternoon, the strap of hertrout creel cutting deep into the shoulder of her sweater. She placedthe basket down under the shadow of the willow trees, and hung up acertain rod on certain nails under the eaves of the cabin. Her littledog, Tim, soberly marched in front of her, still guiding her, as hesupposed; but she no longer had a cord upon his neck, a staff in herhand. A hundred chickens, well grown now, followed her about, vocal oftheir desire for attention. She turned to them, taking down the littlesack which contained the leavings of the wheat that had been threshednot so long ago here.
"Chick, chick, chick!" she called gently--"_chick_ee, _chick_ee!" Soshe stood, Lady Bountiful for them as they swarmed about her feet inthe dooryard.
She heard the clang of the new gate, and turned, her hand shading hereyes to see who was coming.
As she stood she made a splendid picture of young womanhood, ruddy andbrown, clear of skin and eye, very fair indeed to look upon. The droopof the corners of her mouth was gone. Her gaze was direct and free.She walked easily, strong and straight and deep of bosom, erect ofhead, flat of back, as fit for love as any woman of ancient Greece.Such had been the ministrations of the sagebrush land for Mary Gage,that once was the weakling, Mary Warren.
She saw two figures coming slowly along the well-worn track from thegate. She could not hear the comment the one made to the other as theyboth advanced slowly, leaning together as gossiping women will, liketwo tired oxen returning from the field.
"Is that her?" asked one of the newcomers, a ponderous sort of woman,whose feet turned out alarmingly as she walked.
"Sure it's her," said Karen Jensen. "Who's it going to be if it ain'ther? Ain't she nice-looking, sort of, after all? And to think she cansee now as good as anybody! Yes, that's her.
"How do you do, Mis' Gage?"
She spoke now aloud as Mary came toward them smiling. The dimples inher cheek, resurrected of late, gave a girlishness and tenderness toher face that it once had lacked in her illness.
"I'm well, thank you, Mrs. Jensen. It's a glorious day, isn't it?I've got some fish for you. I was going to tell Minna to take themdown to you when she went home. She's a dear, your Minna."
"Well, it's right fine you should catch fish for us now," said Mrs.Jensen. "I'll be obliged for some--my man don't seem to get time to gofishing."
"Make you acquainted with Mis' Davidson, Mis' Gage," she continued."This is the school teacher. She comes every fall to teach up above,when she's done living on her Idaho homestead, summers."
"How do you do, Miss--Mrs. Davidson," began Mary, offering her hand."If you know Mrs. Jensen I ought to know you--she's been very good tome. Come in, won't you? Sit down on the gallery."
"Yes, this new porch is about as good as anywheres right now,"commented Mrs. Jensen. "It's a little hot, ain't it?" They foundseats of boxes and ends of logs.
Mrs. Davidson cast a glance into the open door. It included thespectacle of a neat, white-covered bed, a table with a clean whiteoil-cloth cover, a series of covered and screened receptacles such asthe place might best afford out of its resources. She saw a floorimmaculately clean. She spoke after a time ending a silence which wasunusual with her.
"The latter title that you gave me, Mrs. Gage, is correct," said she."I am a widow, having never encountered the oppor-r-r-tunity but once."It was worth going miles out of one's way to hear her say"opportunity"--or to see her wide-mouthed smile.
"As a widow," she resumed with orotundity not lessened by her absencefrom her own accustomed dais, "as a widow yourself, you are arrangedhere with a fair degree of comfort, as I am disposed to believe, Mrs.Gage."
"I cannot complain," said Mary Gage simply.
"A great trait in life, my dear madam; resignation! I endeavor toinculcate in my pupils the virtue of stoicism. I tell them of theSpartan boy, Mrs. Gage. Perhaps you have heard of the Spartan boy?"
"Yes," said Mary. "I know something about stoicism, I hope. But nowI'm going to get you some berries--I picked some, up beyond, on themeadows." She rose now and passed into that part of her cabin whichconstituted the kitchen.
"An extr-r-r-aordinary young woman!" said Mrs. Davidson to KarenJensen. "An extra_or_dinary person to be here. Why, she is a personof culture, like myself. And once married--married to that man!"
Mrs. Davidson's lips were tight pursed now.
"I don't reckon she ever was, real," said Karen Jensen, simply. "Idon't hardly believe they _was_."
Mrs. Davidson showed herself disposed to regard all the proprieties,hence she but coughed ponderously and shook her head ponderously,turning from side to side two or three times in her chair ponderouslyalso.
"For what has happened here," said she at last, "I thank God. Ifthings had happened worse it would have been my fault. Never againshall I address myself to the task of writing advertisements for men insearch of wives. Great Providence! An extraordinary woman like this!To-night I shall pray on my two knees for forgiveness for what I did,and what it might have meant. When I consider how near I cameto--to----"
"To raising hell?" inquired Karen Jensen sympathetically, seeing thather companion lacked the proper word at the time.
The other woman nodded in emphatic though unconscious assent. Alwaysthere was present before her mind her own part in the little drama ofthis place. It was she who had helped to bring this woman here--whohad helped to deceive her. She thanked Providence that perhaps fateitself sometimes saves us from the full fruit of our follies, after all.
"Just a little sugar, thank you, Mrs. Gage," said she as Mary offeredher some of the fresh whortle berries. "And these little cakes--youmade them?"
"Oh, yes--I do most of my cooking, when I can keep Annie away. Youknow about Annie, of course. And Minna, Mrs. Jensen's little, girl,who is my companion here most of the time--as I said, she's a dear.I've been teaching her to read all summer--spoiling your work, Mrs.Davidson!"
"I wish more and more that I might have aid in that undertaking in thisvalley," said Sarah Davidson, herself a great soul in her way, andCovenanter when it came to duty. "It is perhaps primitive here, moreso than elsewhere, but the people--the people--they need so much, andthey--they----"
"They _are_ so much," said Mary Gage gently. "They _are_ so much. Inever knew before what real people were. I'm so glad."
Mrs. Davidson's face worked strangely, very strangely, Mary thought, sothat she believed her to be afflicted with some nervous disease of thefacial muscles. But in truth Sarah Davidson was only endeavoring toget under control her own emotions, which, like all else about her,were ponderous and slow.
"Then, my dear--you will let me say 'my dear,' won't you? It'sbecoming such a habit with me at my time of life--you will permit me toinquire if that is an actual expression of your attitude toward thepeople here? You say you are glad? Do you mean that, or is it a mereconventionality with you?"
Mary turned toward her with that gravity which quite commonly markedher face when all her features were at rest.
"I quite mean it all, Mrs. Davidson," said she. "I'm thankful with allmy heart that I came out here. It's a great place to fight things out.I'd never have been happy in all my life if I had not come here. I'mreally glad, and you may believe that, because I do--now."
"You would forgive--you would cherish no malice a
gainst any who actedas the ah--instigators--of your original journey here?"
A sudden question arose in Mrs. Davidson's mind as to whether or notany of Mary Gage's associates and neighbors ever had told her all thestory of that original endeavor, whose object was matrimony. Whereuponshe concluded now to let sleeping dogs lie, and not to urge the matter.Nor was Mary herself the more disposed at the moment to speak of thepast. She only looked out across the valley, as was her custom.
They passed on to some talk of the peace news, and demobilization plansfor the men still abroad, for the visitors had brought the latest paperwith them.
"Our men!" exclaimed Mary Gage as she read the headlines. "They'refine. They are always fine, everywhere, all of them. I'd have likedto see them in the great parades, in the cities."
"'Twould be a gr-r-r-and sight," said Mrs. Davidson, "for women whohave had no oppor-r-r-tunity!"
"Ah? Women who haven't had what women wish?" said Mary Gage, a strangeconfidence in her own tones. "Don't you suppose God knows the way?Why be trying to change----" The word did not come at first.
"The plan?" suggested Mrs. Davidson.
"The plan!" said Mary.
"I must be going before long," said Karen Jensen, having finished hersaucer of berries, and caring little for philosophizing. "I've got tomilk seven cows yet."
"I will come often, if I may, Mrs. Gage, now that I am again located inthis valley," said her companion, rising also.
"Oh, won't you, please!" said Mary Gage. "And--won't you do me alittle favor now? I have a letter--I was just going up to the cornerto put it in the box. If you're going that way, will you drop it infor me?"
Karen Jensen hesitated, looking across at the shortcut across thefields, but Mrs. Davidson, not being well organized for barbed wireentanglements, offered for the errand, which would take her around bythe road.
"Surely, I shall be most happy," said she. "I will walk around by thebox and drop your letter very gladly. No, no, don't mind coming. It'snothing--I always go home that way."
But Sarah Davidson after all was the school teacher when she had passedbeyond the gate in the willow lane. She felt that in her wererepresented all the privileges of what priesthood might be claimed inthis valley. She felt that her judgment was large enough to beinfallible, since she so long had been arbiter here in all mootedmatters. It was, therefore, surely her right to have intelligence asto the plans, the emotions, the mental process of all these people,including all newcomers. Were they not indeed in her charge?
Her right? Indeed, was it not her duty to know what there was in thisletter from the woman whom she herself had brought out here not so longago? It caused her vast perturbation, for she had a conscience whichdated back to ages of Scottish blood, but she was not one to deviatefrom her duty once she had established it! This letter--to Major AllenBarnes, in yonder city--what was in it?
It was a letter going to that outer world, from the very person whomshe, Sarah Davidson, had brought into this sagebrush world and had setdown among these neighbors. Just now she had confessed herself to behappy here. Why? Could it be a violation of confidence--aneavesdropping--opening this letter? Not in the least! It was onlyoppor-r-r-tunity! As to that, who did not know that for years everyletter to a soldier was opened and censored? Obviously it was her dutyas social censor of Two Forks also to open and read this letter.
Therefore, looking behind her cautiously to see she was not observed,she stepped behind the cover of the willows and ran the point of herpencil along the edge of the sealed envelope--it had been sealedthoroughly. Still, she tore it but very little in the process.
There came out into her hand a single sheet of paper. It bore noaddress and no signature. It showed a handwriting evidently that of alady of culture, of education. There was nothing to show that it wasan answer--an answer long deferred but not now to be changed, a woman'sanswer to the great question.
Mrs. Davidson was standing in a sort of consternation, the two parts ofthe letter in her two hands, when she nearly sprang into the wire fenceat the sudden voice she heard, the voice of a man speaking close athand.
"Good Lord, Mr. Gardner!" said she, "you gave me a turn. I wasn'tthinking of you."
"What was you thinking of, Mis' Davidson?" asked Wid, smiling. "Youwas all in a trance. Something on your mind, huh? I bet I know.You're sending out a ad on your own account--'object, matrimony!'"
"Sir-r-r!" said Sarah Davidson, flushing red for the first time WidGardner had ever seen it occur, "such conver-r-r-sation is not welcomeon your part, not in the least! I prefer-r-r that you shall not againmention that act which I have so long regretted. The past is past. Awoman's real love is for to-day and to-morrow, when with her own eyesand her own hear-r-rt she has chosen honorably, sir-r--honor-r-ably! Ibid you good evening, Mr. Gar-r-r-dner. I request you never to speakof that incident again!"
Nor did he, so far as known.
But when Wid himself, chuckling innocently, had passed on down towardthe gate with the loaf of bread which Annie was sending over to MaryGage for her evening meal, Sarah Davidson was passing up the roadtoward the school house--entirely forgetting to turn to the left towardNels Jensen's, where she boarded.
She was wiping away large, ponderous tears--tears of joy that the worldhad in it love of men and women--that God, after all, did know--thatthe world still was as it was in the beginning, incapable ofdestruction even by war, incapable of diversion from the plan of peaceand hope. She guessed so much--and guessed the future of Mary Gage'slife--from data meager enough, but which may have served.
What she saw on the single, unsigned page, and what opened all thefountains of emotion in her own really gentle soul, was a part of whatMary once had heard come to her in a world of darkness. The words nowwere written by herself in a world of light.
She had promised him when he went away that, if ever everything wasclear in her own mind regarding what was past, she might write to himone day. So now she had written:
"Only thoughts of you remain In my heart where they have lain; Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining, A hid sweetness, in my brain. Others leave me; all things leave me: You remain."
The Sagebrusher: A Story of the West Page 36