by Willa Cather
Western towns were dreamed of. Those rapt evenings beside the lamp
gave him a long perspective, influenced his conception of the
people about him, made him know just what he wished his own
relations with these people to be. For some reason, his reading
made him wish to become an architect. If the Judge had left his
Bohn library behind him in Kentucky, his nephew's life might have
turned out differently.
Spring came at last, and the Forrester place had never been so
lovely. The Captain spent long, happy days among his flowering
shrubs, and his wife used to say to visitors, "Yes, you can see Mr.
Forrester in a moment; I will send the English gardener to call
him."
Early in June, when the Captain's roses were just coming on, his
pleasant labors were interrupted. One morning an alarming telegram
reached him. He cut it open with his garden shears, came into the
house, and asked his wife to telephone for Judge Pommeroy. A
savings bank, one in which he was largely interested, had failed in
Denver. That evening the Captain and his lawyer went west on the
express. The Judge, when he was giving Niel final instructions
about the office business, told him he was afraid the Captain was
bound to lose a good deal of money.
Mrs. Forrester seemed unaware of any danger; she went to the
station to see her husband off, spoke of his errand merely as a
"business trip." Niel, however, felt a foreboding gloom. He
dreaded poverty for her. She was one of the people who ought
always to have money; any retrenchment of their generous way of
living would be a hardship for her,--would be unfitting. She would
not be herself in straitened circumstances.
Niel took his meals at the town hotel; on the third day after
Captain Forrester's departure, he was annoyed to find Frank
Ellinger's name on the hotel register. Ellinger did not appear at
supper, which meant, of course, that he was dining with Mrs.
Forrester, and that the lady herself would get his dinner. She had
taken the occasion of the Captain's absence to let Bohemian Mary go
to visit her mother on the farm for a week. Niel thought it very
bad taste in Ellinger to come to Sweet Water when Captain Forrester
was away. He must know that it would stir up the gossips.
Niel had meant to call on Mrs. Forrester that evening, but now he
went back to the office instead. He read late, and after he went
to bed, he slept lightly. He was awakened before dawn by the
puffing of the switch engine down at the round house. He tried to
muffle his ears in the sheet and go to sleep again, but the sound
of escaping steam for some reason excited him. He could not shut
out the feeling that it was summer, and that the dawn would soon be
flaming gloriously over the Forresters' marsh. He had awakened
with that intense, blissful realization of summer which sometimes
comes to children in their beds. He rose and dressed quickly. He
would get over to the hill before Frank Ellinger could intrude his
unwelcome presence, while he was still asleep in the best bedroom
of the Wimbleton hotel.
An impulse of affection and guardianship drew Niel up the poplar-
bordered road in the early light,--though he did not go near the
house itself, but at the second bridge cut round through the meadow
and on to the marsh. The sky was burning with the soft pink and
silver of a cloudless summer dawn. The heavy, bowed grasses
splashed him to the knees. All over the marsh, snow-on-the-
mountain, globed with dew, made cool sheets of silver, and the
swamp milk-weed spread its flat, raspberry-coloured clusters.
There was an almost religious purity about the fresh morning air,
the tender sky, the grass and flowers with the sheen of early dew
upon them. There was in all living things something limpid and
joyous--like the wet, morning call of the birds, flying up through
the unstained atmosphere. Out of the saffron east a thin, yellow,
wine-like sunshine began to gild the fragrant meadows and the
glistening tops of the grove. Niel wondered why he did not often
come over like this, to see the day before men and their activities
had spoiled it, while the morning was still unsullied, like a gift
handed down from the heroic ages.
Under the bluffs that overhung the marsh he came upon thickets of
wild roses, with flaming buds, just beginning to open. Where they
had opened, their petals were stained with that burning rose-colour
which is always gone by noon,--a dye made of sunlight and morning
and moisture, so intense that it cannot possibly last . . . must
fade, like ecstasy. Niel took out his knife and began to cut the
stiff stems, crowded with red thorns.
He would make a bouquet for a lovely lady; a bouquet gathered off
the cheeks of morning . . . these roses, only half awake, in the
defencelessness of utter beauty. He would leave them just outside
one of the French windows of her bedroom. When she opened her
shutters to let in the light, she would find them,--and they would
perhaps give her a sudden distaste for coarse worldlings like Frank
Ellinger.
After tying his flowers with a twist of meadow grass, he went up
the hill through the grove and softly round the still house to the
north side of Mrs. Forrester's own room, where the door-like green
shutters were closed. As he bent to place the flowers on the sill,
he heard from within a woman's soft laughter; impatient, indulgent,
teasing, eager. Then another laugh, very different, a man's. And
it was fat and lazy,--ended in something like a yawn.
Niel found himself at the foot of the hill on the wooden bridge,
his face hot, his temples beating, his eyes blind with anger. In
his hand he still carried the prickly bunch of wild roses. He
threw them over the wire fence into a mud-hole the cattle had
trampled under the bank of the creek. He did not know whether he
had left the house by the driveway or had come down through the
shrubbery. In that instant between stooping to the window-sill and
rising, he had lost one of the most beautiful things in his life.
Before the dew dried, the morning had been wrecked for him; and all
subsequent mornings, he told himself bitterly. This day saw the
end of that admiration and loyalty that had been like a bloom on
his existence. He could never recapture it. It was gone, like the
morning freshness of the flowers.
"Lilies that fester," he muttered, "_lilies that fester smell far
worse than weeds_."
Grace, variety, the lovely voice, the sparkle of fun and fancy in
those dark eyes; all this was nothing. It was not a moral scruple
she had outraged, but an aesthetic ideal. Beautiful women, whose
beauty meant more than it said . . . was their brilliancy always
fed by something coarse and concealed? Was that their secret?
EIGHT
Niel met his uncle and Captain Forrester when they alighted from
the morning train, and drove over to the house with them. The
business on w
hich they had gone to Denver was not referred to until
they were sitting with Mrs. Forrester in the front parlour. The
windows were open, and the perfume of the mock-orange and of June
roses was blowing in from the garden. Captain Forrester introduced
the subject, after slowly unfolding his handkerchief and wiping his
forehead, and his fleshy neck, around his low collar.
"Maidy," he said, not looking at her, "I've come home a poor man.
It took about everything there was to square up. You'll have this
place, unencumbered, and my pension; that will be about all. The
live-stock will bring in something."
Niel saw that Mrs. Forrester grew very pale, but she smiled and
brought her husband his cigar stand. "Oh, well! I expect we can
manage, can't we?"
"We can just manage. Not much more. I'm afraid Judge Pommeroy
considers I acted foolishly."
"Not at all, Mrs. Forrester," the Judge exclaimed. "He acted just
as I hope I would have done in his place. But I am an unmarried
man. There were certain securities, government bonds, which
Captain Forrester could have turned over to you, but it would have
been at the expense of the depositors."
"I've known men to do that," said the Captain heavily, "but I never
considered they paid their wives a compliment. If Mrs. Forrester
is satisfied, I shall never regret my decision." For the first
time his tired, swollen eyes sought his wife's.
"I never question your decisions in business, Mr. Forrester.
I know nothing about such things."
The Captain put down the cigar he had taken but not lighted, rose
with an effort, and walked over to the bay window, where he stood
gazing out over his meadows. "The place looks very nice, Maidy,"
he said presently. "I see you've watered the roses. They need it,
this weather. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll lie down for a while.
I did not sleep well on the train. Niel and the Judge will stay
for lunch." He opened the door into Mrs. Forrester's room and
closed it behind him.
Judge Pommeroy began to explain to Mrs. Forrester the situation
they had faced in Denver. The bank, about which Mrs. Forrester
knew nothing but its name, was one which paid good interest on
small deposits. The depositors were wage-earners; railroad
employes, mechanics, and day labourers, many of whom had at some
time worked for Captain Forrester. His was the only well-known
name among the bank officers, it was the name which promised
security and fair treatment to his old workmen and their friends.
The other directors were promising young business men with many
irons in the fire. But, the Judge said with evident chagrin, they
had refused to come up to the scratch and pay their losses like
gentlemen. They claimed that the bank was insolvent, not through
unwise investments or mismanagement, but because of a nation-wide
financial panic, a shrinking in values that no one could have
foreseen. They argued that the fair thing was to share the loss
with the depositors; to pay them fifty cents on the dollar, giving
long-time notes for twenty-five per cent, settling on a basis of
seventy-five per cent.
Captain Forrester had stood firm that not one of the depositors
should lose a dollar. The promising young business men had
listened to him respectfully, but finally told him they would
settle only on their own terms; any additional refunding must be
his affair. He sent to the vault for his private steel box, opened
it in their presence, and sorted the contents on the table. The
government bonds he turned in at once. Judge Pommeroy was sent out
to sell the mining stocks and other securities in the open market.
At this part of his narrative the Judge rose and began to pace the
floor, twisting the seals on his watch-chain. "That was what a man
of honour was bound to do, Mrs. Forrester. With five of the
directors backing down, he had either to lose his name or save it.
The depositors had put their savings into that bank because Captain
Forrester was president. To those men with no capital but their
back and their two hands, his name meant safety. As he tried to
explain to the directors, those deposits were above price; money
saved to buy a home, or to take care of a man in sickness, or to
send a boy to school. And those young men, bright fellows, well
thought of in the community, sat there and looked down their noses
and let your husband strip himself down to pledging his life
insurance! There was a crowd in the street outside the bank all
day, every day; Poles and Swedes and Mexicans, looking scared to
death. A lot of them couldn't speak English,--seemed like the only
English word they knew was 'Forrester.' As we went in and out we'd
hear the Mexicans saying, 'Forrester, Forrester.' It was a torment
for me, on your account, Ma'm, to see the Captain strip himself.
But, 'pon my honour, I couldn't forbid him. As for those white-
livered rascals that sat there,--" the Judge stopped before Mrs.
Forrester and ruffled his bushy white hair with both hands, "By
God, Madam, I think I've lived too long! In my day the difference
between a business man and a scoundrel was bigger than the
difference between a white man and a nigger. I wasn't the right
one to go out there as the Captain's counsel. One of these smooth
members of the bar, like Ivy Peters is getting ready to be, might
have saved something for you out of the wreck. But I couldn't use
my influence with your husband. To that crowd outside the bank
doors his name meant a hundred cents on the dollar, and by God,
they got it! I'm proud of him, Ma'm; proud of his acquaintance!"
It was the first time Niel had ever seen Mrs. Forrester flush. A
quick pink swept over her face. Her eyes glistened with moisture.
"You were quite right, Judge. I wouldn't for the world have had
him do otherwise for me. He would never hold up his head again.
You see, I know him." As she said this she looked at Niel, on the
other side of the room, and her glance was like a delicate and very
dignified rebuke to some discourtesy,--though he was not conscious
of having shown her any.
When their hostess went out to see about lunch, Judge Pommeroy
turned to his nephew. "Son, I'm glad you want to be an architect.
I can't see any honourable career for a lawyer, in this new
business world that's coming up. Leave the law to boys like Ivy
Peters, and get into some clean profession. I wasn't the right man
to go with Forrester." He shook his head sadly.
"Will they really be poor?"
"They'll be pinched. It's as he said; they've nothing left but
this place."
Mrs. Forrester returned and went to waken her husband for lunch.
When she opened the door into her room, they heard stertorous
breathing, and she called to them to come quickly. The Captain was
stretched upon his iron bed in the antechamber, and Mrs. Forrester
was struggling to lift his head.
"Quick, Niel," she panted. "We
must get pillows under him. Bring
those from my bed."
Niel gently pushed her away. Sweat poured from his face as he got
his strength under the Captain's shoulders. It was like lifting a
wounded elephant. Judge Pommeroy hurried back to the sitting-room
and telephoned Dr. Dennison that Captain Forrester had had a
stroke.
A stroke could not finish a man like Daniel Forrester. He was kept
in his bed for three weeks, and Niel helped Mrs. Forrester and Ben
Keezer take care of him. Although he was at the house so much
during that time, he never saw Mrs. Forrester alone,--scarcely saw
her at all, indeed. With so much to attend to, she became
abstracted, almost impersonal. There were many letters to answer,
gifts of fruit and wine and flowers to be acknowledged. Solicitous
inquiries came from friends scattered all the way from the Missouri
to the mountains. When Mrs. Forrester was not in the Captain's
room, or in the kitchen preparing special foods for him, she was at
her desk.
One morning while she was seated there, a distinguished visitor
arrived. Niel, waiting by the door for the letters he was to take
to the post, saw a large, red-whiskered man in a rumpled pongee
suit and a panama hat come climbing up the hill; Cyrus Dalzell,
president of the Colorado & Utah, who had come over in his private
car to enquire for the health of his old friend. Niel warned Mrs.
Forrester, and she went to meet the visitor, just as he mounted the
steps, wiping his face with a red silk bandanna.
He took both the lady's hands and exclaimed in a warm, deep voice,
"Here she is, looking as fresh as a bride! May I claim an old
privilege?" He bent his head and kissed her. "I won't be in your
way, Marian," he said as they came into the house, "but I had to
see for myself how he does, and how you do."
Mr. Dalzell shook hands with Niel, and as he talked he moved about
the parlour clumsily and softly, like a brown bear. Mrs. Forrester
stopped him to straighten his flowing yellow tie and pull down the
back of his wrinkled coat. "It's easy to see that Kitty wasn't
with you this morning when you dressed," she laughed.
"Thank you, thank you, my dear. I've got a green porter down
there, and he doesn't seem to realize the extent of his duties.
No, Kitty wanted to come, but we have two giddy nieces out from
Portsmouth, visiting us, and she felt she couldn't. I just had my
car hitched on to the tail of the Burlington flyer and came myself.
Now tell me about Daniel. Was it a stroke?"
Mrs. Forrester sat down on the sofa beside him and told him about
her husband's illness, while he interrupted with sympathetic
questions and comments, taking her hand between his large, soft
palms and patting it affectionately.
"And now I can go home and tell Kitty that he will soon be as good
as ever,--and that you look like you were going to lead the ball
tonight. You whisper to Daniel that I've got a couple cases of
port down in my car that will build him up faster than anything the
doctors give him. And I've brought along a dozen sherry, for a
lady that knows a thing or two about wines. And next winter you
are both coming out to stay with us at the Springs, for a change of
air."
Mrs. Forrester shook her head gently. "Oh, that, I'm afraid, is a
pretty dream. But we'll dream it, anyway!" Everything about her
had brightened since Cyrus Dalzell came up the hill. Even the long
garnet earrings beside her cheeks seemed to flash with a deeper
colour, Niel thought. She was a different woman from the one who
sat there writing, half an hour ago. Her fingers, as they played
on the sleeve of the pongee coat, were light and fluttery as
butterfly wings.
"No dream at all, my dear. Kitty has arranged everything. You
know how quickly she thinks things out. I am to come for you in my
