At the end of a long, warm summer day Helen lay in a hammock swung
between two apricot-trees. From time to time, with a light push of a
slippered foot on the grass, she set the hammock swaying, and above
her head the pale, translucent leaves and ruddy fruit shifted into new
patterns against a steel-gray sky.
The mysterious, erie hush of twilight was upon her spirit. Murmuring
voices came vaguely through it; across the street two women were
sitting on the porch of a bungalow, and on its lawn a little girl
played with a dog. The colors of their dresses, of the dog's tawny fur,
of geraniums against brown shingles, were sharp and vivid in the cold
light.
"Mother seems to be staying quite a while at Mrs. Chester's," said
Paul. He moved slightly in the wicker chair, dislodging the ashes from
his cigar with a tap of his finger, and she felt his caressing eyes
upon her. She did not turn her head, saying nothing, holding to the
quietness within her as one clings to a happy dream when something
threatens sleep. A puff of smoke drifted between her and the leaves.
"It _is_ pleasant outdoors, this time of day," he persisted after a
moment. Her low murmur, hardly audible, left him unsatisfied.
"Well, did you have a good time this afternoon?" His voice was brisker
now, full of affectionate interest. She felt his demand for her
response as if he had been tugging at her with his hands.
"Pretty good. Oh, yes, a very good time."
"What did you do?" She might have said, "Please let me alone. Let's be
quiet." But Paul would be worried, hurt; he would not understand; he
would ask questions. She turned a bright face to him.
"Oh, your mother and I went down town, and then we came home, and Mrs.
Lamson came in."
"She's a fine little woman, Mrs. Lamson."
"Yes? Oh, I suppose so. I don't care much for her."
"You will. You'll like her when you know her better." The definiteness
of his tone left her no reply. She felt that it was proper to like Mrs.
Lamson, that he expected her to like Mrs. Lamson, that she must like
Mrs. Lamson. A flash of foolish, little-girl anger rose in her; she
would have liked to stamp her foot and howl that she would _not_ like
Mrs. Lamson. The absurdity of it made her smile.
"What are you smiling at, dear?"
She sat up, setting the hammock swinging.
"Oh, I don't know. Let's go somewhere," she said restlessly. "Let's
take a long walk."
"All right." He was eager to please her. "I'll tell you something
better than that I'll get the car, and we'll ride down to Merced and
get a sundae. Run put on your coat. You'll need it, with that thin
dress."
His pride in the new car was deep and boyish. It was quite the most
costly, luxurious car in town; it was at once the symbol of his
commanding place in the community, and a toy to be endlessly examined
and discussed. She would not think of telling him that at the moment
she would rather walk than ride in it. Like an obedient child she went
for her coat.
The house was dim and quiet. She closed the door of her room behind
her with a little quick gesture, and stood for a moment with her back
against it. She thought that it would be pleasant to stay there. Then
she thought of a long, silent walk under the stars, all alone, quiet,
in the darkness. Then she realized quite clearly that she did not
like Mrs. Lamson, and she thought of the reasons why that amiable,
empty-headed little woman bored her. At that moment the automobile-horn
squawked. Paul was waiting. Hastily she seized her coat and ran out to
the curb.
When the purring machine turned into the brilliantly lighted business
district and the arched sign, "WELCOME TO RIPLEY," twinkled upon them,
tawdry against the pale sky, she felt that she could not bear to go to
Merced. "Let's just run up the boulevard, where it's cool and quiet,
away from people," she said coaxingly.
"Well, if you want to." The car ran smoothly up the long gray highway
hedged with ragged eucalyptus trees. Between their gaunt trunks she
caught glimpses of level alfalfa fields, and whiffs of sun-warmed
perfume swept across her face with the rushing air. In the brimming
irrigation canals, shimmering like silver mirrors across the green
fields, bright-colored caps bobbed and white arms splashed. Beside her
Paul talked with enthusiasm of the car.
"Isn't she a beauty? She'd make eighty miles easy if I wanted to let
her out. And see how flexible! Watch, now."
"Yes, dear. Wonderful!" She was not accustomed to being with people
all day, that was the trouble. Those hours of making conversation with
women who did not interest her seemed to have drained her of some vital
force. When she had her own house she could be alone as much as she
liked. Poor boy, he had been working all day; of course he wanted her
companionship now. "You must let me take it out some day soon, will
you?"
"Why, it's a pretty big car, Helen. I'd rather you'd let me drive it."
She laughed.
"All right, piggy-wig, keep your old car! Some day I'll get a little
Blix roadster and show you how I drive!"
She was astonished at the shadow that crossed his face. His smile was a
bit forced.
"I only meant it would be pretty heavy for a woman to handle. Of course
you can drive it if you want to."
They ran past the gateway of Ripley Farmland Acres, and gazing at the
little town, the thriving farms, and the twinkling lights scattered
over the land that had been a desolate plain, she forgot his words in a
thrill of pride. She had helped build these homes. When he spoke again
she groped blindly for his allusion.
"I don't think you realize, Helen. I wish you wouldn't say things like
that."
"Like what?"
"About the roadster. I wish you would say 'we' sometimes. Last night at
the minister's you said, 'I think I'll buy a little farm and see what I
can do with apricots.' I know you didn't realize how funny it sounded.
It sort of hurts, you know."
"Oh, my dear!" Her cry of pain, her words of miserable apology, made
even more clear to her the chasm between them. How could she apologize
for this, a thing she had done without knowing she was doing it? Gray
desolation choked her like a fog.
"All right. It's all right. I know you didn't mean to," he said
cheerfully. He took one hand from the wheel to put an arm around her
shoulders. "Never mind. You'll learn." His tone confidently took
possession of her, and in a heartsickening flash she saw his hope of
making her what he wanted his wife to be. She felt his hand upon her
tastes, her thoughts, her self, trying to reshape them to his ideal of
her. "You suit me, sweetheart. I know what you are, my wonderful girl!"
Her heart stopped, and she felt that her lips were cold under his
forgiving kiss. He talked happily while they swept on through the
gathering darkness, and she responded in tones that sounded strange
to her. Mysterious darkness covered the wide level land, farm-house
windows glowed warmly yellow through it, and a great moon, rising
slowly over the far hills, flooded the sky with pale light and put out
the stars. At last they rode into Ripley, past the piles of raw lumber
and stone that were to be their bungalow, and down the quiet street.
The wheels crunched the gravel of the driveway. Paul's warm hand
clasped hers, and she stumbled from the running-board into his arms.
His lips were close against his cheek.
"Love me, sweetheart? Tell me. It's been a long, long time since you
said it." She stood rigid, voiceless. "Please?"
In a passion of pity and wild pain she held him close, lifting her face
to his kiss in the darkness. She felt that her heart was breaking.
"You do," he said in deep content. "My dear, my dear!"
When she could reach her room she turned on the full glare of the
electric lights and went softly to the mirror. She stood for a long
time, her hands tight against her breast, looking into the eyes that
stared back at her. "He doesn't love you," she said to them. "He
doesn't want you. It's some one else he wants--the girl you used to
be. O Paul, how can I hurt him so! You'll hurt him more cruelly if you
marry him. You can't be what he wants. You can't. You're some one else.
You couldn't stand it. You can't make yourself over. After all these
years. O Paul, my dear, my dear, I didn't mean to hurt you!"
Some hours later she remembered that a boat sailed for the Orient on
the twentieth. She would have to act quickly, and it was good that
there was so much to do.