The Silver Star
Page 37
And then Jason said roughly, “I guess I wanted to hear that more than anything in my life, Pris!”
“Why, Jason—!”
“As long as you were a big star and I was just a broncoriding cowpoke, I didn’t dare to hope—but now I can say what I’ve felt for a long time.” Jason reached out for her and said, “I love you—”
Priscilla knew suddenly that the restlessness that had plagued her for years was a need to be loved—to be loved by a man of strength and honor. Jason had waited and proven himself, when others had led her astray. He had always been there for her, thinking of her, never demanding. She came to him, surrendering her lips, and as she felt the strength of his arms, it was like coming out of a dry desert into the cool shelter of the oasis. His kiss was gentle but firm, and she knew the stirring in her heart was deep and real. The wound in her heart had finally been healed, and she knew he was a man she could love and trust and who would always protect her.
Finally he lifted his head, saying, “Do you feel what I feel, Pris?”
“Yes, Jason!” She buried her face against his chest, happiness flooding her. They stood there quietly, and finally she whispered, “Can you believe that it’s always going to be like this?”
He tightened his arms and laughed deep in his chest. Lifting her face he kissed her, gently and then again with a possessiveness that she loved.
“Yes, Pris, it’s always going to be like this for us!”
Overhead the stars glittered, and the mare lifted her head and nickered. The wind blew suddenly across the creek, touching her cheek—and then Priscilla said, “Take me home, Jason!”
****
Jolie opened the door and blinked with surprise to see Peter standing there, his head bent and his shoulders slumped. His clothes were wrinkled, and he had not bothered to shave, nor did he offer to come in. “I . . . I just came by,” he said quietly, “to tell you I was wrong the way I spoke to Tom before I left for Wyoming to see my dad.”
“Why, Peter . . . !” Jolie managed to whisper—and then she could not respond for a moment. She had wept over the argument for hours that day after he had sped off in the Maxwell. She knew he had been upset about the news of his father, but the words between them had been harsh and still hurt. She now said, “Come in, Peter.”
“No, I won’t do that. I just wanted to tell you how foolish I acted.”
Jolie quickly said, “I was wrong to scream at you like that. I wanted to apologize right away, but you drove off before I could even think.”
Peter stood there with a strange sense of loss. He finally said, “Priscilla’s getting out of the movie business. She and Jason are staying back home. My dad’s decided to join the farm with uncle Tom’s, and they’ve asked Jason to manage it. Jason and Priscilla are finally going to get married.”
“Oh, I’m so glad! I thought it was the most marvelous thing I ever saw when he threw himself on that lion to save her.”
“That was pretty good,” Peter nodded. “It was like something out of a storybook, wasn’t it?”
“Better than a storybook, I think. He’s such a good man—and your sister, there’s nobody like her.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Peter hesitated, then shuffled his feet and twisted his hat, which he had removed and was holding in his hands. “I came to say good-bye, Jolie.”
“Good-bye?” Jolie’s voice was desolate. She stared at him, her eyes enormous. “What do you mean, Peter? You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Yes, I am. Easy and I are going back to Detroit. He’s already left, driving the car through. I’ve got to stay around here and take care of a few things for Jason, but I’ll be leaving tomorrow on the train.”
He tried to smile and said, “It’s been a long time since we came in on a train. This time I won’t have to ride the rails as a bummer. I can take a Pullman.”
Jolie could not speak. His words seemed to have stricken her dumb, and to her horror she found herself having to swallow to keep from showing the growing emotion she felt inside. She blinked the tears away and could only say, “I’ll . . . I’ll be sorry to see you go, Peter.”
“Me too.” Peter hesitated awkwardly, then stuck out his hand. “Well, good-bye, kid—no, not kid,” he said, holding her hand tightly. “A fine young woman! I’m mighty proud of you, Jolie!”
Quickly he released her hand and turned, saying, “Think of me once in a while.” He jammed his hat on his head, walked off rapidly, then got into the car and drove away.
Jolie stood watching him and sighed, “Oh, Peter . . . !”
****
The train jerked abruptly with a clanking of cars as the engine huffed and puffed. Peter settled back in the comfortable seat as the large coal-burning engine slowly pulled its burden out of the Los Angeles station and headed east. He sat there unaware of the talk of the passengers that buzzed around him. For the next two hours, from time to time, he looked out the window, but felt nothing. He should have been feeling excitement about returning to Detroit to try his luck with the stars of the automobile racing world, but something was missing. He didn’t want to think about the words his father had shared with him the day before he left. He knew his father was right, and that he needed God, but he still had so many things he wanted to do with his life. He shut his mind to his father’s final words and closed his eyes for a time as the train made its rhythmic clicking over the rails.
Finally the mountains reared up before him, and he abruptly recalled coming out of them with Easy and Jolie. The memory saddened him, too, and he shook his head and closed his eyes and tried to catch some sleep.
He had almost dropped off when suddenly a voice right beside him said, “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”
Peter knew that voice! He yanked his hat off, then whirled to see Jolie Devorak standing beside him. She was wearing a close-fitting dress in a light blue flannel with a high lace collar and falling lace cravat blouse. Her lips were turned up in a smile, and her deep blue eyes were sparkling. She laughed as she saw his astonishment and said, “Do you mind if I sit beside you, Mr. Winslow?”
Peter blinked and could not answer, and Jolie took that for an affirmative. She plumped herself down beside him, saying, “A little bit different from the last time we rode a train together, isn’t it, Peter?”
“What are you doing here?” Peter finally managed to say.
“Why, I’m going on a trip, just like you are.”
Peter was confused. For some reason she looked more grown up. If it had not been for the scar on her face, she would have been the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen, perhaps, except for Priscilla. But she did not seem to be thinking about her scar right now. She was looking out the window.
“You remember when we came out of those mountains? I’d just shot a man, and you threw him off the car. That was an exciting time, wasn’t it?”
Peter shook his head. “Jolie! What are you doing on this train?”
“Why, I’m going to Detroit.”
Peter stared at her for a moment, then a smile began to turn his lips. “So am I,” he said.
“That’s right,” Jolie said. “Do you want to know what I’m going for?”
“Yes. Why are you going?”
A roguish smile came to Jolie’s lips, and she said, “Somebody has to look after you.”
The train suddenly gave a jerk, and Peter threw his arm across Jolie to keep her from hitting the seat in front of them. Then easing her back into the seat, he sat there staring at her, a smile playing around his lips. “I guess I need a keeper,” he said finally. “You’re sure this is what you want to do, Jolie?”
“I’m sure.” She looked anxiously at him then, showing doubt for the first time. “Is it all right, Peter? Do you want me to come?”
Peter reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “We’re going to have a great time, Jolie Devorak!”
“Yes, we are, Peter Winslow.”
The train rumbled on, passing over plains and mountains, but the
two inside were more interested in the exciting days that lay ahead of them than the picturesque scenery flashing by outside. Finally the train gave a lonesome whistle, but neither of them heard it, for they were busy listening to each other talk about all the car races Peter was going to win.
GILBERT MORRIS spent ten years as a pastor before becoming Professor of English at Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas and earning a Ph.D. at the University of Arkansas. During the summers of 1984 and 1985, he did postgraduate work at the University of London. A prolific writer, he has had over 25 scholarly articles and 200 poems published in various periodicals, and over the past years has had more than 70 novels published. His family includes three grown children, and he and his wife live in Texas.