A Lost Lady

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