Molly Comes Back
Three days later Blanche’s labours had borne that ample fruit she had
looked for. She had known that Nature would fulfil her good work if
only she could uproot the mental tares that threatened to grow up in
the fruitful soil of Molly’s mind. After the first break through of
the barrier of the girl’s reticence Blanche had laboured incessantly,
with tact and imagination. She had given the girl no excuse for further
unhealthy brooding on the disaster into which her love had plunged her.
And Molly’s natural courage had been her staunch ally.
Had Molly been weakly sentimental, had she obtained her early schooling
in anything less rugged than her mountain world, the task might well
have been more difficult. But Molly was of the very essence of the
mountains. Her emotions of love and passionate resentment, and even
hate, were strong, and as irresistible as the torrential mountain
streams. Her love knew no bounds. Her generosity was no less. And,
equally, when stirred to passionate anger, her mood was without mercy.
Now her anger and hate were as deeply stirred as had been her love for
the man who had betrayed her. And her salvation in those early days
lay in the tremendous reaction of it all, and in the manner in which
Blanche’s sympathy convinced her that her girlish weakness, however to
be regretted, was no crime in the eyes of God and humanity.
So the nurse realised the girl’s swift return to health. And the last
concern remaining to her was the final achievement she looked for.
Her own work was Molly’s complete recovery with her fresh young heart
unburdened. She knew that the white-haired brother she had given up so
much for must accomplish the rest.
It was Molly’s first day in the open mountain air she loved. For nearly
a week she had lived in the shaded bedroom which Blanche had instantly
given up to her. For all that time she had seen no one, and spoken
to no one but Blanche and the little doctor who had stumbled on the
devious road of his professional life. Now, as she gazed out from the
verandah, she felt that the world had again opened its doors, and she
wondered and feared for the reception awaiting her.
She dreaded the daylight that she felt to be searching her soul. She
smelt the sweetness of the mountain air, and felt that in its very
purity it must be condemning her, and mocking her. She longed for the
saddle, that she might hurry home to the farm, where she could hide
herself from the eyes of the world, where she knew that no word of
blame would ever pass the lips of the savage old Lightning. It was a
moment of intense panic when Blanche helped her to a capacious lounging
chair, and set a light rug about her knees and ankles.
Blanche smiled encouragingly as Molly gazed up at her from the depths
of her chair.
“You know, dear, there’s no time in the world for a woman like her
first appearance from a sick-room with men-folk around. They just stand
around saying fool speeches that aren’t true, and pass her all the help
she doesn’t need. It’s the man in them trying to be kind, and, if I’m a
judge, they mostly succeed. In awhile Larry’ll be along, and he’ll be
talking to you as if he wanted to marry you instead of me. Then Jim’ll
get around, with his white hair--he’s only a year older than me--and
you’ll sort of feel you’ve known him all your life. That’s his way.”
“I--I wish they wouldn’t come.”
Molly’s voice was full of her panic.
“My dear, don’t say that,” Blanche expostulated, her eyes full of
laughter. “Why, do you know, I’ve had to fight them both to keep them
out of your sick-room? I almost had to threaten Larry I wouldn’t marry
him before I could get him to do the thing I said. And Jim--why, you
see, it was Jim who carried you right here to this valley. And it was
hard stopping him. Jim’s like some big kid to me, and is just the most
foolish best fellow in the world. He’d never forgive me if he couldn’t
come along and see for himself you haven’t died and been buried in the
dead of night.”
Blanche saw the trouble fade out of Molly’s eyes.
“Why has--Jim--got white hair?” she asked abruptly. “I sort of knew he
was only a young man that time I saw him away back.”
Blanche looked out down the valley, where the cattle were roaming the
pastures, and the workers were busy in the crops. The scene was one of
calm industry, lit by a sun that was powerless to rob the mountain air
of its freshness. There was no sign of the men-folk she had spoken of,
and so she turned, and, drawing up a chair, sat herself close beside
her patient.
“There’s a story to that,” she said seriously. “Shall I tell it you?
His white hair is partly the meaning of this place--this ranch. Partly.
The rest is to do with the quixotic heart of a brother I’d follow to
the ends of the earth if he needed me.”
Molly’s eyes lit. And she leaned back in her chair, waiting for the
story, the promise of which intrigued her.
Blanche began her story in a low, even voice. And as the story
proceeded there was no shadow of lightness that could lessen the
impression which its teller desired to make. She was talking of Jim,
whose personality was something sacred to her. She wanted to reveal him
to this girl in the light in which her own eyes beheld him. Jim had
told her he wanted to marry Molly. So she left out no detail of the
narrative that could display her brother as she saw him.
When she told of Jim’s defence of his brother against the Police, and
the penalty he suffered for his unquestioning loyalty, the girl’s
cheeks flushed deeply, and the shining light of her eyes was something
which filled the older woman with delight.
“It’s a shame!” Molly cried, with swift, passionate indignation. “Oh,
it was cruel! Think! But he got him away. Eddie had done no wrong. No.
He did right. And then--and then--they punished--Jim?”
Blanche smiled.
“No,” she said. “He escaped.”
Molly sighed, and Blanche went on to tell of the escape. The girl
listened with a further deepening of interest as she came to the moment
of Jim’s desperate straits. It never occurred to her to question the
identity of the man from whom Jim had escaped, and Blanche scrupulously
withheld his name.
Then came the moment of Jim’s approach to her father’s farm, and Molly
became even more deeply absorbed. And at the end her eyes lit with
excitement.
“I remember,” she cried. “Oh, yes. I packed his wallets with food.
Think of it! Just think! It was your Jim, an’ I fixed his food! Tell
me.”
And so the story went on to Jim’s meeting with Dan Quinlan, and of his
sojourn in the Valley of Hope. It told of how Dan had fed him, and how
his privations turned his hair white. It told of how, in those long
winter months he conceived the idea of helping, through the agency of
that great valley, others who, like himself, had stumbled on the road
of life. It told of his ultimate safe return to civilisation, and of
the help he had sought from her, Blanche, in setting up this refuge.
And it was not until the story reached its close that Blanche, with
keen instinct for her purpose, concerned herself with McFardell’s place
in it.
“Do you know who it was that Jim escaped from on his way to
penitentiary?” she asked. “Can you guess? Sure you can if you think
awhile.”
For a moment Molly gazed at her blankly. It was as though the interest,
the wonder, of the man’s story still held her. Then of a sudden her
eyes hardened like grey granite, and Blanche realised the completeness
of the thing she had achieved.
“Andy McFardell,” she said, in a low, hard voice.
Blanche nodded.
“Yes. And Andy McFardell has discovered Jim’s hiding-place here, and
hopes to regain his place in the Police by betraying it to them. Even
now he’s working to send Jim down to the penitentiary.”
The girl sat up in her chair.
“But he won’t succeed--you won’t let him succeed?” Molly cried, in an
agitation she made no effort to conceal. “It’s just too crazy that he
can get away with it. Andy? Oh, no, no! Tell me it won’t be. Tell me
Jim’s too clever. Tell me, promise me, you--you won’t let that wretched
man succeed. It’s--it’s awful.”
Blanche shook her head. And her confidence was reassuring.
“Now, don’t scare yourself, dear. There’s no Police could get Jim
in this valley. There’s a hundred ways of making a getaway. Nature
didn’t set up these mountains for a trap for folk like Jim. I’ve a big
conviction that Andy McFardell can’t get away with this play. If I
didn’t feel that way I wouldn’t be sitting around with you now without
a worry. I trust Jim as I never trusted any human creature in my life.
I---- But here he is himself, coming along up on the rush from the
barns. Maybe he’s located who’s sitting around.”
Blanche rose from her seat and waved a greeting to the hurrying man,
and Molly remained where she was, a victim of an overwhelming return of
that panic which Blanche had done so much to dispel.
Jim bared his white head as he came. His smile was one of frank delight.
At that moment Molly’s one desire was for flight. She yearned that the
earth might open and swallow her up. Never in her life had her shame
seemed so great a thing. This good man, it seemed to her, could have
nothing but contempt for a creature like herself. And yet his eyes
were smiling, the clean-shaven mouth was so generous, and his whole
expression so tremendously kind. Then his voice as he greeted her!
“At last,” he cried. “Why, this is great!” He laughed delightedly.
“You know, Molly, Sis here has been all sorts of a terror to us
fellers. The best we could get out of her was you were going on right.
Larry implored and even threatened her. I--why, I’d have promised her
anything in the wide world for a sight of you. But----”
“Promised, yes,” Blanche laughed.
Jim nodded at her indulgently.
“Anyway, you’re around at last, Molly, and I’m God thankful that’s
so. These hills’ll soon set colour in your cheeks, and in a day or so
you’ll be racing down this old valley of ours in the saddle. Why----
Oh,” he cried, as he took possession of Blanche’s chair, “Sis has beat
it. Well, we’ll sit around and yarn.”
He glanced round at the open French window through which Blanche had
retreated. Then, for all his promise of talk, he gazed out down the
valley and remained silent.
Molly made no attempt to reply. She was beyond words, completely
overwhelmed by the presence of this white-haired man whom she had
learned to know only through his sister. At last, however, a single
remark from Jim set a great peace sweeping through her troubled soul.
“God Almighty’s pretty good, Molly,” he said, in a voice that rang with
sincerity. “I’ve just lived for the day when I could pass a hand to
those who helped me to the life that looked to be passing right out of
me. You were part of that bunch.”
For the first time the girl dared to look into his face. But it was
with a mist of tears that blurred her vision that she stumbled out her
reply.
“I--I’m--just glad,” she said.
And after that talk came easily, and they sat on talking, talking, with
the intimacy of a great friendship.
And so Blanche found them later, when she deemed it the moment to
exercise her authority as nurse. She took Molly back to her room with a
feeling of great thankfulness at the amazing change Jim had wrought in
her. The girl was transformed.