by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XX
"WE BEEN SORRY FOR YOU"
Billy Louise, having arrived unexpectedly on the stage, pulled off herfur-lined mittens and put her chilled hands before the snapping blazein the fireplace. Her eyes were tired and sunken, and her mouthdrooped pitifully at the corners, but aside from that she did not seemmuch changed from the girl who had left the ranch two months and morebefore.
"I'll take a cup of tea, Phoebe, but I'm not a bit hungry," she said."I ate just before I left town. How have you been, Phoebe?"
"We been fine. We been so sorry for you--"
"Never mind that now, Phoebe. I'd rather not talk about it.Has--anybody been here lately?"
"Charlie Fox, he come las' week--mebby week before las'. Marthy, shegot rheumatis in her knee. Charlie, he say she been pretty bad onenight. I guess she's better now. I tol' I wash for her if he bringsme clo'es, but he says he wash them clo'es hisself. I guess Charliepretty good to that old lady. He's awful p'lite, that feller is."
"Yes, he is. I'll go up and see her when I get rested a little. Ifeel tired to death, somehow; maybe it's the drive. The road isterribly rough, and it was awful tiresome on the train. Has--Ward beenaround lately?"
"Ward, he ain't been here for long time. I guess mebbe it's been sixweeks I ain't seen him. Las' time he was here he wrote that letter.He ain't come no more. You let me drag this couch up to the fire, andyou lay down and rest yo'self. I'll put on more wood. Seems like thisis awful cold winter. We had six little pigs come, and four of 'emfroze. John, he brung 'em in by the fire, but it's no good; they die,anyway."
Billy Louise dropped apathetically upon the couch after Phoebe hadhelped her pull off her coat. She did not feel as though anythingmattered much, but she must go on with life, no matter how purposelessit seemed. To live awhile and work and struggle and know the pain ofdisappointment and weariness, and then to die: she did not see what usethere was in struggling. But one had to go on just the same. She hadborrowed money for mommie's sickness, and she would have to repay it;and it was all so purposeless!
"How are the cattle wintering?" She forced herself to make some showof interest in things.
"The cattle, they're doing all right. One heifer, she got blackleg anddie, but the rest they're all right. John, he couldn't find all; twoor three, they're gone. He says mebby them rustlers got 'em. Helooked good as he could."
"Are--has there been any more trouble about losing stock?" BillyLouise shut her hand into a fist, but she spoke in the same tired toneas before.
"I dunno. Seabeck, he told John they don't catch nobody yet. Thatinspector, he come by long time ago. I guess he stopped with Seabeck.He ain't come back yet. I dunno where he's gone. Seabeck, he didn'tsay nothing to John about him, I guess. Maybe he went out the otherway."
"I--did you do what I told you, Phoebe, about--mommie's things?"
For once Phoebe did not answer garrulously. "Yes, I done it," she saidsoftly. "The boxes is in the shed when you want 'em."
"All right, Phoebe. Is the tea ready?"
While she sipped creamy tea from a solid-silver teaspoon which had beena part of mommie's wedding-set, Billy Louise looked around the familiarroom for which she had hungered so in those deadly, monotonous weeks atthe hospital. The fire snapped in its stone recess, and the cheerfulwarmth of it comforted her body and in a measure soothed her spirit.She was chilled to the bones with facing that bitter east wind forhours, and she had not seen a fireplace in all the time she had beenaway.
But the place was empty, with no mommie fussing about, worrying overlittle things, gently garrulous. If mommie had come back well, shewould have asked Phoebe about everything in the house and out of it.There would have been a housewifely accounting going on at this minute.Phoebe would be apologetic over those grimy windows, instead of merelysympathetic over the sorrow in the house. Billy Louise wonderedwherein she lacked. For the life of her she could not feel that itmattered whether the windows were clean or dirty; life was drab andcheerless outside them, anyway.
Billy Louise in the last few months had tried to picture herself alone,with mommie gone. Her imagination was too alive and saw too clearlythe possibilities for her never to have dwelt upon this very crisis inher life. But whenever she had tried to think what it would be like,she had always pictured Ward beside her, shielding her from drearydetails and lightening her burden with his whimsical gentleness. Shehad felt sure that Ward would ride down every week for news of her, andshe had expected to find him there waiting for her, after that lastletter. Whatever could be the matter? Had he left the country?
Billy Louise's faith had compromised definitely with her doubts of him.Guilty or innocent, she would be his friend always; that was thecondition her faith had laid down challengingly before her doubts. Butunless he were innocent and proved it to her, she would never marryhim, no matter how much she loved him. That was the concession herfaith had made to her doubts.
Billy Louise had a wise little brain, for all she idealized life andher surroundings out of all proportion to reality. She told herselfthat if she married Ward with her doubts alive, her misery would be fargreater than if she gave him up, except as a friend. Of course, herideals stepped in there with an impracticable compromise. She broughtback the Ward Warren of her "pretend" life. She dreamed of him as amutely adoring friend who stood and worshiped her from afar, andbecause of his sins could not cross the line of friendship.
If he were a rustler, she would shield him and save him, if that werepossible. He would love her always--Billy Louise could not conceive ofWard transferring his affections to another less exacting woman--and hewould be grateful for her friendship. She could build long, lovelyscenes where friendliness was put to the front bravely, while love hidbehind the mask and only peeped out through the eyes now and then. Shedid not, of course, plan all this in sober reason; she just dreamed itwith her eyes open.
It had been in such a spirit that she had written to Ward; though hewould undoubtedly have read love into the lines and so have beenencouraged in the planning of that house with the wide porch in front!She had dreamed all the way home of seeing Ward at the end of thejourney. Perhaps he would come out and help her down from the stage,when it stopped at the gate, and call her Bill-Loo--never once had Wardspoken her name as others spoke it, but always with a twist of his ownwhich made it different, stamped with his own individuality--and hewould walk beside her to the house and comfort her with his eyes, andnever mention mommie till she herself opened the way to her grief.Then he would call her Wilhemina-mine in that kissing way he had--
Someone came upon the doorstep and stood there for a moment, stampingsnow off his feet. Billy Louise caught her breath and waited, her eyesveiled with her lashes and shining expectantly. A little color cameinto her cheeks. Ward had been delayed somehow, but he was coming nowbecause she needed him and he wanted her--
It was only John Pringle, heavy-bodied, heavy-minded, who came in andsqueaked the door shut behind him. Billy Louise gave him a glance anddropped her head back on the red cushion. "Hello, John!" she greetedtonelessly.
John grinned, embarrassed between his pleasure at seeing Billy Louiseand his pity for her trouble. His white teeth showed a little underhis scraggy, breath-frosted mustache.
"Hello! You got back, hey? She's purty cold again. Seems like it'sgoin' storm some more." He pulled off his mittens and tugged at theice dangling at the corners of his lips. "You come on stage, hey? Ibet you freeze." He went over and stood with his back to the fire, hisleathery brown hands clasped behind him, his face still undecided as tothe most suitable emotion to reveal. "Well, how you like town, hey?No good, I guess. You got plenty trouble now. Phoebe and me, we stickby you long as you want us to."
"I know you will, John." Billy Louise bit her lips against a suddenimpulse to tears. It was not Ward, but the crude sympathy of this oldhalfbreed was more to her than all the expensive flowers that had beenstacked upon mommie's coffin. She had
felt terribly alone in Boise.But her chilled soul was beginning to feel the warmth of friendship inthese two half-savage servants. Even without Ward, her home-coming wasnot absolutely cheerless, after all.
"Well, we make out to keep things going," John announced pridefully."We got leetle bad luck, not much. One heifer, she die--blackleg.Four pigs, they froze--leetle fellers. I save the rest, all right.Ole Mooley, she goin' have a calf purty queeck now. I got her inleetle shed by hog-pen. Looks like it storm, all right."
"Felt like it, too." Billy Louise made an effort to get back into theold channels of thought. "We'll milk old Mooley, John; I feel as if Icould live on cream and milk for the next five years. You ought to seethe watery stuff they call milk in Boise! Star must be pretty near drynow, isn't she?"
"Purty near." John's voice was beginning to ooze the comfort thatwarmth was giving his big body. "She give two quart, mebby. Spot, shegive leetle more. I got that white hog fat. I kill him any time nowyou say."
"If it doesn't storm, you might kill him to-morrow or next day, John.I'll take a roast up to Marthy when I go. I'll go in a day or two."She glanced toward the kitchen end of the long room. Phoebe was busyin the pantry with the door shut. "Have you seen or heard anything ofWard lately?" she asked carelessly.
"No. I ain't seen Ward for long time. I thought mebbe he be down longtime ago. He ain't come." John shifted a little farther from theblaze and stood teetering comfortably upon the balls of his feet, likea bear. "Mebbe he's gone out other way to work."
"Did he say anything?"
"No, he don't say nothin' las' time he come. That's--" John rolled hisblack eyes seekingly at the farther wall while he counted mentally theweeks. "I guess that mus' be fo' or five weeks now. Charlie Fox, hecome las' week."
"John, you better kill a chicken for Billy Louise. I bet she ain't hadno chicken since she's gone." Phoebe came from the pantry with herhands all flour. "You go now. That young speckled rooster be good,mebby. He's fat. He's fightin' all the chickens, anyway."
"All right. I kill him." John answered with remarkable docility.Usually he growled at poor Phoebe and objected to everything shesuggested.
His ready compliance touched Billy Louise more than anything since herreturn. She felt anew the warm comfort of their sympathy. If onlyWard had been there also! She got up from the couch and went to thewindow where she could look across at the bleak hilltop. She stoodthere for some minutes looking out wistfully, hoping that she would seehim ride into view at the top of the steep trail. After awhile shewent back and curled up on the wide old couch and stared abstractedlyinto the fire.
John had gone out after the young speckled rooster that fought theother chickens and must now do his part toward salving the hurt andcheering the home-coming of Billy Louise. John returned, mumbled withPhoebe at the far end of the room, and went out again. Phoebe workedsilently and briskly, rattling pans now and then and lifting the stovelids to put in more wood. Billy Louise heard the sounds but dimly.The fire was filled with pictures; her thoughts were wandering here andthere, bridging the gap between the past and the misty future. Afterawhile the savory odor of the young speckled rooster, that had foughtall the other chickens but was now stewing in a mottled blue-and-whitegranite pan, smote her nostrils and won her thoughts from dreaming.She sat up and pushed back her hair like one just waking from sleep.
"I'll set the table, Phoebe, when you're ready," she said, and hervoice sounded less strained and tired. "That chicken sure does smellgood!" She rose and busied herself about the room, setting things inorder upon the reading-table and the shelves. Phoebe was good as gold,but her housekeeping was a trifle sketchy.
"Ward, he borried some books las' time," Phoebe remarked, lifting thelid of the stew kettle and letting out a cloud of delicious-smellingsteam. "I dunno what they was. He said he'd bring 'em back nex' timehe come."
"Oh, all right," said Billy Louise, and smiled a little. Even soslight a thing as borrowed books made another link between them. For agirl who means to be a mere friend to a man, Billy Louise harbored somerather dangerous emotions.
She picked up the two letters she had written Ward, brushed off thedust, and eyed them hesitatingly. It certainly was queer that Ward hadnot ridden down for some word from her. She hesitated, then threw thethin letter into the fire. Its message was no longer of urgent,poignant need. Billy Louise drew a long breath when the grief-ladenlines crumbled quickly and went flying up the wide throat of thechimney. The other letter she pinched between her thumbs and fingers.She smiled a little to herself. Ward would like to get that. She hada swift vision of him standing over there by the window and reading itwith those swift, shuttling glances, holding the handkerchief squeezedup in his hand the while. She remembered how she had begun it--"BraveBuckaroo"--and her cheeks turned pink. He should have it when he came.Something had kept him away. He would come just as soon as he could.She laid the letter back upon the mantel and set a china cow on it tokeep it safe there. Then she turned brightly and began to set thetable for Phoebe and John and herself, and came near setting a fourthplace for Ward, she was so sure he would come as soon as he could.Mommie used to say that if you set a place for a person, that personwould come and eat with you, in spirit if not in reality.
Phoebe glanced at her pityingly when she saw her hesitating, with thefourth plate in her hands. Phoebe thought that Billy Louise hadunconsciously brought it for mommie. Phoebe did not know that love isstronger even than grief; for at that moment Billy Louise was notthinking of mommie at all.