CHAPTER XVII
Belle Makes a Decision and Jim Evades One
It was late on Wednesday afternoon. Belle was working at the sewingmachine in the back room of the Boyd home when there was a familiarknock at the front door. She was not unprepared for it and yet shedreaded this inevitable interview. Lowe had been pointedly cold for sometime. He had been to the house only once in the past month and he hadmade it quite plain that Hartigan was the objectionable figure in thehorizon. Belle realized that their relations had come to a crisis. Shehad not admitted frankly to herself what she would do when this talktook place, but in her heart there was not the slightest doubt.
At the sound of his step and knock she went into the parlour, closingthe door into the rear room to insure some measure of privacy, and thenadmitted Jack. His greeting had the obvious air of a man who has beenwronged. For a while, with characteristic obliquity, he talked of hisschool work. Belle sewed meanwhile, asking occasional questions. After aquarter of an hour of this the conversation languished. Belle wasdetermined that he should open the subject himself, and in the awkwardpause that ensued she busied herself basting up a lining for her frock.At last, clearing his throat, Lowe began:
"Belle, I've got something else to say to you."
She looked at him squarely, the direct gaze of her clear, dark eyes instriking contrast with his close-lidded, shifting glance. He went on:
"I think that you and the new preacher are going too far and it hadbetter stop now."
"Just what do you mean, Jack? What do you accuse me of, exactly?"
From the very beginning of their friendship he had always writhed underthe directness of her mental processes. He was ever for evasion,indirection; she for frank, open dealing in all things. He tried toretreat.
"I'm not accusing you of anything."
"No, but of _something_," she replied with a faint smile. "What is it?"
"There's a lot of talk about town--about you and Hartigan. It makes me alaughing stock. If we weren't engaged----"
Belle interrupted:
"That's just what I want to speak about. I've been wanting to have afrank talk with you for some time, Jack, and we may as well have it now.
"I have always liked you and you have been awfully attentive and helpfulto me. I thought I was in love with you, but you know that when we hadour talk a year ago, I begged you not to make an announcement and whenyou insisted on telling a few friends it was agreed that I was to have ayear to decide finally. That was why I never wore your ring." She drew abox from her breast and held it out to him.
"We have both made a mistake, Jack. I made the worst one when I allowedyou to over-persuade me a year ago; but we are not going to spoil twolives by going on with it."
Lowe's mind was not of particularly fine calibre. For some months,whenever he faced the truth, he had realized that he would never marryBelle. He was fond of her to the extent possible in a nature such as hisand he was keenly alive to the financial advantage of becoming Boyd'sson-in-law. His past history would not bear close inspection andlatterly some of his youthful vices had come to light and to life. Heknew only too well what a marriage into the Boyd family would do for hisfortunes, financially and socially, and a dull rage of several weeks'nursing burned in him against Hartigan. As he took his hat to depart hewas foolish enough to speak what was in his mind. He uttered a sillyattack on the Preacher. It moved Belle and brought the colour to herface. His bitter comments on their own relations had not called forthany response from her, but this shaft went home, as he meant it should.She controlled herself and merely remarked:
"I would not say that; it might get to his ears."
And so he departed.
* * * * *
It was on that same afternoon that Hartigan had a new and, to him,terrifying experience in the dangerous world of the emotions.
He had ridden forth to make a pastoral call at the Hoomer homestead, outon the plain five miles northeast of Cedar Mountain. When first heglimpsed the house among the low log stables, there were two women insight; when he came to the door and entered, there was but one, themother. Half an hour later, the daughter, Lou-Jane, appeared arrayed forconquest. She was undeniably handsome, in spite of a certain coarsenessthat made Hartigan subtly uneasy, though he could not have told why. Shewas of the rare vigorous type that is said to have appeared in Irelandafter many survivors of the great Armada were washed ashore on therugged western coast. The mingling of the Irish and Spanish blood in herhad resulted in black eyes, black eyebrows, and red, or golden-red hair,combined with a clear, brilliant Irish complexion. She was lively,energetic, rather clever, and tremendously taken with the new preacher.
Jim was naturally shy with women, as most big men seem to be, and themasterful Lou-Jane smote him with utter confusion. She prattled on aboutthe tea, about the church, the Rev. Dr. Jebb, the local people, thefarm, national politics, dry-farming, horses, cows and alfalfa, with thedefinite purpose of finding out his interests. Getting the best responseon the topic of horses, she followed it up.
"You must come and see my pony. He's a beauty. I got first prize on himas girl rider at the fair last year. I'm so glad you like horses."
She laid her hand on his arm a dozen times to guide him here or there;she took his hand at last and held on, to his utter embarrassment, longafter he had helped her over a fence, and looked disappointed when shegot no flirtatious response. She led out her saddle pony and laughinglysaid:
"Here, give me a hand."
Grasping her raised foot, he lifted her with a sweep to the pony's bareback.
"My, you're strong," was her flattering comment, and she swung thehackima and loped the pony round the field and back to the stable,delighted to see in his eye a frank glow of admiration for her skill.
"Will you lift me down?" she said merrily; not that she had the leastneed of help, but she liked to feel those strong arms about her; and ashe did so, she made herself quite unnecessarily limp and clinging.
Jim did not usually lack words, but Lou-Jane was so voluble that he wascompletely silenced. At the stable, where Ma Hoomer was milking,Lou-Jane delayed for a moment to whisper: "Stay here till I come foryou."
Then she tripped on with Jim at her heels. As they entered the houseHartigan looked at his watch.
"Now please don't hurry," said Lou-Jane. "Ma'll be back in a fewminutes, then we'll have a cup of tea. Sit here; you'll find it morecomfortable," and she motioned to a sofa.
Sitting down beside him so that they were very close together and givingthe archest of smiles, she said:
"I wonder if I might ask you a question."
"Why, sure," said Jim, just a little uneasy at the warmth of the tone.He had instincts, if not experience.
"Were you ever in love?" she said softly. Her arm, resting on the backof the sofa, moved accidentally and lay across his shoulder.
"Why, no--I--no--I guess not," and Hartigan turned red anduncomfortable.
"I wish you would let me be your friend," she continued. "I do like youvery much, you know. I want to be your friend and I can help you in somany ways."
She leaned toward him, and Jim, being more terrified than he had everbeen, murmured something inarticulate about "not being a lady's man."What he would have done to effect his escape he was never afterward ableto decide. A spell of helplessness was upon him, when suddenly a heavystep was heard outside and Pa Hoomer's voice calling:
"Ma, Ma! Who's left that corral gate open?"
Lou-Jane sprang up, shook her bright hair from her flushed face, andwith a hasty apology went to meet her father. The Preacher also rosewith inexpressible relief, and, after a hurried farewell, he mounted androde away.
The Preacher of Cedar Mountain: A Tale of the Open Country Page 18