Every now and then he would go out, over his sheltered yard, and look in on the horses and the cow; and then he would stroll over to the gate which remained open now. There, the wind would strike him, whistling or moaning around the corner of the bluff, and throw the snow into his face in a fine, prickling, pelting dust …
He would go back to the house and open boxes and bundles and take out stuffs for curtains: plain, white scrims, and others with coloured borders; and he would hold them up against the bare windows and fold them again and put them away …
Or he would take a book and read for a while: books he almost knew by heart: the English Bible, old magazines, some volumes of reports of the Department of Agriculture …
When night fell, at five, he would go once more and feed his horses and milk his cow …
And sometimes, on such days, he would then go to bed and lie and dream wakeful dreams and perhaps get up again: perhaps to put wood in the stove; and perhaps merely to walk about once more …
At other times he would put on sheep-skin and leggings and fight his way blindly across the ribbon of the Marsh that intervened between his and Sigurdsen’s places …
THE OLD MAN was getting to be stranger and stranger. Sometimes he would talk to himself for a long while, taking no notice of Niels’ presence.
“Hi … tya,” he would say. “Listen to the wind. That’s the rigging howling! How she keels over! Mind, George, that girl in Copenhagen? Hi … tya! She laugh …”
He had been a sailor in his day.
Niels would nod. He understood that the old man was talking to the phantoms of his youth. Strange, disquieting things he would sometimes say, trailing off into Icelandic which Niels understood only half: things that seemed to withdraw a veil from wild visions, incomprehensible in one so old …
“Tya … Yo, she laugh … and she turn her hips. And her breasts … Hi … tya. And she bite! Sharp teeth she had, the hussy …”
And this decay of the human faculties, the reappearance of the animal in a man whom he loved, aroused in Niels strange enthusiasms: as if he could have got up and howled and whistled, vying with the wind …
Thus half the night would pass. And perhaps the wind would cease; and morning dawned bright and clear, with the temperature down to its lowest levels …
Then Niels would set out with a load of wheat, or perhaps of barley or hay …
THAT WINTER Niels became naturalised …
And soon after, when he heard that Bobby had left Nelson’s because he wanted to earn real wages, he went and saw him, in the livery stable of Minor, and proposed to him to come to his, Niels’, place, at regular wages, the year around …
And Bobby came …
Thirty-four acres under crop …
Spring again. Breaking and seeding …
Niels proved up.
Sigurdsen was unable to do his work: Niels and Bobby did it for him.
More changes: an American moved into the district, having bought Kelm’s farm. Kelm received nine thousand dollars in cash. He bought a half section of Hudson’s Bay land, just across the creek, north of the bridge …
There was much discussion about this between Niels and Ellen. They would not sell. They were on their land because they loved it: to them it was home.
Yet, since Niels had proved up, there was no obstacle any longer … Why did he wait? …
There had re-entered into their relationship something of the distancing effect of the first few years … Niels began almost to dread the coming of the decisive moment …
There was some unsounded depth in him or the girl …
Something dreadful was coming, coming …
CHAPTER THREE
ELLEN
A chance happening disturbed Niels still more profoundly.
He had gone to town, driving his Percheron team. The mare was in foal. Last year’s filly still ran with her. So he stayed overnight. The next day was hot; he made up his mind to attend to some business he had long postponed and to wait for the evening coolness before he started out for home …
Some time before dinner the train from the south was due. To put in time, he went to the station.
As is usual in small towns, half the population of the place crowded on to the platform as if in greeting or reception of the arrivals. A few—elderly or middle-aged men in shirtsleeves—were there on business; less—ladies, these—to receive visitors or members of their households; most—young boys and girls in “citified” clothes—because the arrival of the train furnished a pretext for joining a crowd or for meeting those of the opposite sex.
To Niels it always seemed that for town-people the most important problem was what to do with their time.
Niels stood silent and alone, frowning, as the train, this “link with a wider world,” lumbered to a stop with screeching brakes and hissing steamvalves. He stood opposite the coupling of two cars. With absent-minded curiosity he scanned the passengers as they alighted.
The first to appear was a bulky, powerful man—from the studied and conscious “magnetism” of his bearing a travelling salesman. Next came two Slavic-looking men, each carrying on his back a gunny-sack full of tools; self-effacing men who slipped through the crowd as if anxious to hide. Then, a girl who was at once taken to the ample bosom of a lady and kissed. Fourthly, another young man, in glaringly polished, pointed shoes, grey-checked trousers, short enough to reveal a fascinating piece of blue silk socks, a loud, striped shirt with flowing necktie, and a tight-fitting coat of the same grey check as his trousers: his line—“ladies’ ready-to-wear”—written all over him …
Last, after a short wait, there came a lady dressed in the height of fashion, a long, narrow skirt enforcing a short, tripping step; a mannish summer coat of “tango” colour; and a wide lace hat—bergère style—under which a peculiarly engaging, smiling, and dimpled face looked out as if it were used to the attention she attracted.
Niels stared; and then he froze into a statue of almost indignant aloofness: that lady was Mrs. Vogel.
She, too, stared at him as she alighted.
And then, as she came straight up to him, her face broke into that smile which had once thrilled him.
“Why,” she said as she held out her hand, “this is the nicest of all surprises. Coming back as I do, almost a stranger in these parts, to be greeted by the face of a friend!”
Niels was at a loss what to say. The consciousness of old thoughts, dreams, and thrills sent a flush into his face. Awkwardly he doffed his cap when he accepted her hand which was encased in a grey suède glove. But Mrs. Vogel relieved him of the necessity of speaking.
“I’m on my way to the place in the bush,” she said; and the old expression of feminine helplessness came over her. She had looked tall and commanding on the steps of the car; now she seemed to dwindle till she was no more than a bit of humanity which needed protection. “I am selling the place and have to attend to all kinds of things. I am quite at a loss, not being a business woman. I was going to hire a livery rig. But perhaps I could get a ride with you?”
“I can give you the ride,” Niels said; “but I’m not going out till late. My Percherons must not sweat …”
Niels was aware that they formed the centre of a watching group. Mrs. Vogel’s appearance had become the object of the local young ladies’ absorbed attention; he himself was being scanned by the travelling salesmen …
A commotion arose. The conductor’s “All-aboard” rang out; and with a jerk and a great puffing of steam the train began to glide out to the north.
“That would suit me just right,” Mrs. Vogel said. “I shall have to see Mr. Thorpe, the lawyer; and I shall have to change before we start. I am just in time for dinner at the hotel, I believe.”
SHORTLY AFTER, they sat in the dining room of the hotel.
When the rouged and powdered waitress came, Niels gave his order in a curt, gruff tone which was almost insulting.
Mrs. Vogel smiled; she seemed to be making fun of him: her
voice, in addressing the waitress, was so pointedly sweet and measured.
“How strange,” Mrs. Vogel said after a while, “that you should be the first man I meet. Of all men you. Do you know, Niels, how often I have thought of you during these years in the city?”
Niels felt as he had felt years ago, at Nelson’s wedding, in the house that was falling to ruins in the bush: Lund’s house, ages ago … He almost trembled when she used his first name.
Mrs. Vogel inquired after Mrs. Lund, after others …
“I still have that pony and buggy,” she said. “I hope Bert Rowdle is going to buy them …”
“Is he the one who is taking your place?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Bert Rowdle has been farming his brother’s and my places together. His brother left a few years ago, playing hide-and-seek with his creditors, I believe. He is coming back. So Bert wants to buy … And you are on the old place still?”
“Yes.”
“Doing well?”
“Not too badly. I have proved up.”
“You have? That’s splendid.” It sounded like mockery. “Too bad you should still be unmarried …”
Niels kept silent. At last, by chance, he looked up.
Her eyes were resting on his, not mockingly now, but with a serious, glowing interest that seemed to deprive him of his speech. For the first time he noticed her hair: it was parted in the centre, rolling out in big puffs to both sides, and twisted into curly roll after roll behind. Strange that it should never have struck him before that it was coppery-red …
Her complexion was still that almost transparent white; her lips, full and red; her cheeks, covered with a roseate bloom. A faint, heady perfume exhaled from her …
When this scrutiny became embarrassing, Niels tried to recall what she had said. “How do you know?” he asked.
“I can tell.” She smiled again.
And in sudden exasperation he said, “How?”
For a moment she looked at him in silence. Then she said very slowly, “You are a conqueror, Niels; but you do not know it. With women you are a child. A woman wants to be taken, not adored. But if you are ever to marry, the woman will have to take you …”
Niels reddened and frowned.
“Well,” said Mrs. Vogel when the meal was finished, “when do you go?”
“I’ll come for you at six,” he said. “I’ll put plenty of hay in the box.” And it struck him as absurd to offer this lady of the city a place in the hay.
But she nodded. “So long then.”
NIELS HAD REALLY NOTHING to do. But he strolled over to the bank to inquire about his balance which he knew as well as the banker.
The manager, a slim and exceedingly polite young man by name of Regan, asked him into his private office when he saw him.
“How’s the farm?” he enquired. “You’re in a good location there, Mr. Lindstedt. They’ve never had a failure yet in that district … And it seems you have the right idea; always keeping a comfortable balance on the right side of the ledger … However, I have been wanting to say this to you. Should you at any time wish to do something for which your cash resources are insufficient, come in and talk it over with us. The chances are that we should be glad to back you.”
“I believe in going without when I cannot pay cash.”
“A good principle, very good,” Mr. Regan said. “However, if we had no credit, there would be few binders or sewing machines on our farms …”
“I have my binder,” Niels objected.
“No doubt. In fact, I know. You might want a tractor one day …”
“Not till I can grow gasoline on my fields … I am raising colts …”
“Good stock, too. They’ll make money for you. Well,” and the banker rose, chiefly in order to uphold the fiction that he was a very busy man … “should the occasion arise … Good-day, Mr. Lindstedt …”
NIELS WENT to the stable to feed his horses.
Then he left town, following the road to the east, along the Muddy River, walking.
A feeling of general dissatisfaction possessed him. This was the first time he had spent more than a few hours in town. He had often had the same feeling before.
On his land he was master; he knew just how to act. Here in town, people did with him as they pleased. Store-keepers tried to sell him what he did not want; at the hotel they fed him with things he did not like. The banker with whom he had sought no interview dismissed him at his own imperious pleasure …
And the attitude of superiority everybody assumed … They were quicker at repartee—silly, stupid repartee: and they were quick at it because they did not do much else but practise it …
Women want to be taken, not adored …
Mrs. Vogel perhaps, had he wanted her, might be taken … Had he wanted her … But he had wanted her!
Yet, she had been in the city: and he had not even known it! She had simply disappeared from his horizon.
Would such a thing have been possible with Ellen? It would not …
He was impatient to get back to the farm … Yet he waited where he had crouched down on the bank of the little river …
IN FRONT OF the hotel he sat in his wagon for half an hour before Mrs. Vogel appeared.
“Why, Niels,” she exclaimed, “what a team! … I’ll be out in a minute.”
Shortly after, she appeared again. She wore a plain skirt and a waist, carrying her coat over her arm.
When Niels reached for her suitcase, he noticed that several faces had crowded together behind the glass of the door to the lobby. She climbed over the wheel to the seat by his side.
He had never been quite so close to her before; he had never, since he had been a man, been so close to any woman on earth. And this was an artful woman. She enveloped him in a cloud of delicate scents; she smiled at him from her black, beady eyes when the horses bent into their collars and stretched the traces.
They left the town.
He felt as if he were thrown back into chaos …
He had thought that he had fought all this down years ago. His conquest had been a specious one. He had conquered by the aid of a fickle ally; circumstance … Something was still stirred in him by this woman, something low, disgraceful …
In spite of his twenty-nine years he was not experienced enough to know that this something would have been stirred in him by any woman … And this was an artful woman: artful enough not to speak …
THE SUN HAD SET. They passed the point where the trail branched off to the east, angling over the sand-flats. This was wild land, overgrown with low brush which was washed by the almost palpable bluish light of the high half moon. Every now and then a patch of silvery-grey wolf-willow glistened softly in the dark-green cushions of symphoricarpus.
Niels slipped off the wagon. “I’ll walk for a while,” he said.
And he did so, the filly that followed her mother whisked her furry tail and shot ahead.
He took his supper out and munched away while he walked, the lines idly slung over his shoulders.
Soberly, now, the filly trotted ahead of him.
Hours went by … At last Niels spoke.
“I am going to stop,” he said. “I want to feed. I suppose you had better lie down;”—vaguely addressing the woman on the seat.
She nodded, almost overcome with sleep.
He pulled out on the side of the trail, in the lee of a copse of willows …
Slowly he stripped the harness off his horses, tied their halter-shanks to the wheels, poured oats on a piece of canvas, and spread the hay.
The woman climbed into the box of the wagon. She smiled and nearly stumbled with sleepiness.
“Won’t you lie down yourself?” she asked.
“No,” he answered. “It isn’t worth while …”
She smiled up at him, half asleep already, as he stood between the horses by the wagonbox; and just as she was on the point of closing her eyes, she reached languidly up with one hand, pushed his cap off, and rumpled his
hair.
It was as if a stream of liquid fire had run through his veins. Completely bewildered he stepped back …
GREY DAWN CREPT over the eastern world …
Niels who had lain down after all, on the ground, got up and stretched. Then he yawned and reached for the harness which was hanging over the tongue of the wagon.
He glanced at the woman. She was sound asleep. Somehow her artificiality was half stripped away; she looked like a relic of ancient temptations …
A few minutes later the wagon was jolting along; the filly nickered, prancing about on her stilt-like, heavy-jointed legs …
In front of him, by-and-by, rose the sun, lifting himself out of glowing vapours. All about stretched the sandy margin of the Marsh, level as a prairie field, for the hollows were filled with snow-white mists. It was chilly.
Thus Niels was nearing his homestead with unexpected freight …
The woman behind him stirred, awoke, sat up. Niels did not turn. Several minutes passed.
Then her voice, shot with mocking notes, “Don’t look back now. I am going to fix myself up a little.” But it sounded more like a summons to look than like anything else.
Niels chose to disobey the implication rather than the explicit words …
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