A WOMAN'S NO
Miles and miles of desert country, sometimes a dull red, sometimes
almost yellow of hue; over that a dome of bluest blue; between the
two, air, crystalline, and full of light; and everywhere, scattered
with reckless profusion, from Nature's lavish hand, the splendor of
cactus blossoms. That is Arizona in June. And in this glory of color,
one June day, walked Mrs. Clayton and Esther Bright, returning from a
round of neighborhood calls.
As they approached Clayton Ranch, they paused to admire the cactus
blossoms. The giant cactus, towering above the house, was now covered
with a profusion of exquisite blossoms of deepest pink. Red blossoms,
pink blossoms, white blossoms, yellow blossoms everywhere, but guarded
by thousands of thorns and spines. Esther stopped and picked some
yellow blossoms from the prickly pear, only to find her fingers
stinging from its minute spines.
"It serves me right," she said, making a wry face. "I knew better, but
I love the blossoms."
"Good evening," called a cheery voice from the veranda. It was Mr.
Clayton.
"Kenneth called to see you, Miss Bright," he continued. "He would like
you to go for a drive with him this evening."
"Far?" she asked.
"He didn't say."
The two women entered the house, and soon returned refreshed. On the
spacious veranda, the family gathered in the cool of the day, to feast
their eyes on the gorgeous sunsets.
"Do you know," said Esther, "it refreshes me whenever I _look_ at
snow-capped Mt. Graham?"
She looked far away to the south. "I shall miss it all," she said,
pensively, "all the grandeur of scene, miss all of you here, miss my
dear children, when I go home."
"Oh, I hate to think of your going," said Edith, lifting the teacher's
hand to her cheek. "I'm afraid you won't come back."
"What's that I hear about not coming back?" asked Kenneth Hastings,
who, at that moment, joined them.
"I said I was afraid Miss Bright wouldn't come back," explained Edith.
"I hope you are not thinking of going East soon," said Kenneth
quietly.
When she announced that she should, he protested vigorously.
That evening, Esther rode with him through beautiful mountain scenes.
The heavens were still colored with the soft afterglow, as they sped
along the upland road. Later, the moon rose, flooding the earth with
its weird, transfiguring light.
Once more, Kenneth told Esther his past. He wanted her to know all
there was to know, he said simply.
Then he poured into her ears the old, old story, sweetest story ever
told, when love speaks and love listens. But Esther's eyes were
haunted by a sudden fear.
Kenneth paused, and waited for her to speak.
Then, with a tightening of the lips, he listened to her answer.
She had not thought of love and marriage. She had naturally grown into
thinking that she would devote herself to philanthropic work, as her
grandfather, before her, had done.
"Yes," Kenneth said; "but your grandfather married; and his children
married, and you, I take it, are the joy of his life. Suppose he had
not married. Would his philanthropic work have been greater?"
Then there was more talk, that seemed to give pain to both, for Esther
said:
"I will go soon, and not return; for my presence here would only make
you unhappy."
"No," he urged, "return to Gila.
"You say you regard marriage as very solemn. So do I. You say you
would feel it wrong to marry one you did not love. So should I."
"I have been candid with you," she said in evident distress. To which
he responded bitterly:
"You think me a godless wretch. Well, I guess I am. But I had begun to
grope after God, and stumbled in my darkness. I have been beset with
tormenting doubts. The idea of God is so vast I cannot grasp even a
fraction of it. You are right. I am godless."
"No, no, not godless," she said. "Jesus of Nazareth, what of Him?"
"I am coming to look upon him as a brother. I could have loved him
profoundly, had I known him when he was on earth. But it all seems so
far away in the past. To tell the truth, I have read the Bible very
little."
"Read it," she urged.
"I should feel all the time that religion had placed a great gulf
between you and me, and hate it in consequence. Ought religion to
place a gulf between human souls?"
"The lack of religion might." Silence followed. Then she continued,
"If I loved you, loved you deeply enough, that would sweep away all
obstacles."
"And perhaps," he added, "if I had always lived up to the highest
ideals of life, I might now be worthy of you. I _am_ unworthy, I
confess it."
"Oh, don't put it that way," she said in distress. "Let it be that I
am not worthy of the love you offer me, not capable of loving enough
to--to--marry."
"Miss Bright, you are capable of loving, as few women are. It is my
misfortune that I have not won your love. I need you to help me live
my highest and best. All these months, because of your unconscious
influence, I have been learning to see myself as I am, and as I might
be. For the first time in my life, I have come in contact with a
deeply religious soul, and have felt myself struggling towards the
light. I have wrestled with doubt, again and again, bewildered. You
teach us that the founder of the Christian religion had compassion on
sinful men."
"Yes."
"But _you_ have no compassion on _me_."
"You misunderstand," she said. "You see it sometimes happens that
there is little real happiness, real union, where the wife is a
believer in God, and the husband seeks--"
"The devil," supplemented Kenneth. "I confess I have followed the
devil to some extent."
"Don't," she said. "It hurts me to the heart to hear you speak so. I
meant to say if he had no sympathy with her spiritual life."
"If I were a professing Christian, do you think you would care more
for me?"
"I might."
"Suppose I pretended to be a Christian. Many make that pretense, and
are accounted the real thing."
"Dear Mr. Hastings, let me be a sincere and loyal friend to you, no
more. Some day, I hope, you will win, in marriage, some rare woman who
will make you happy."
"Some rare woman? You are that one, Miss Bright. I want no other."
"But you mustn't think of me, Mr. Hastings."
"Do you know what you are, Miss Bright? You are an iceberg."
She laughed.
"That's fortunate. You will not long care for an iceberg. I will go
soon, and you will forget me."
He turned upon her.
"Forget you? Do you really wish me to forget you?" Did she? She
wondered.
"No," she answered. Then over her face, lifted in the moonlight, he
saw the color come.
Their talk drifted to many subjects touching the life in Gila, and the
larger world outside, to which she was soon to return.
"Will you write to me?" he asked.
"That would make it harder for you to forget," she said, naively.
"I do not wish to forget," he said gloomily. "Why should I forget the
happiest hours I have ever spent?" Why should he?
Back at Clayton Ranch, an older pair of lovers, married lovers, walked
up and down the veranda in the moonlight.
"John," a soft voice was saying, "I just hope Kenneth will propose to
Miss Bright to-night."
He laughed.
"You women! Always interested in a love story! How do you know Kenneth
hasn't proposed to her already?"
"I don't believe he has."
Another silence.
"John?"
"Yes, Mary."
"Does Miss Bright know what a vast fortune Kenneth has inherited?"
"No. Not unless you have told her. He does not wish her to know."
"But, John, that might influence Miss Bright's decision. You know
these Americans care a great deal for money."
"For shame, Mary, to think such a thing of her! Perhaps you do not
know that her grandfather is a man of affluence. But he believes in
the simple life, and lives it. She belongs to a fine old family,
people of distinction, and wealth."
"Is that true, John? She never told me. How can she work like a galley
slave here?"
"Because she is a great woman." Silence again.
"With her mind, and heart, and passion for service, and Kenneth's
intellect, and force of character, and vast wealth, they might be a
tremendous force for the progress of the human race."
"Can't you help matters on, John? I'm so afraid Miss Bright will
reject Kenneth, and leave us."
"Well, if she does, I shall be sorry. But we must keep hands off."
On the following day, John Clayton was astounded to hear from Esther
that she would not return as she had half promised to do in the fall.
But Esther offered no explanations; and Kenneth's calls, from that
day, grew less frequent.
So the days passed, and two lives drifted apart.