UNDERSTANDING
At midnight, Charnock, sitting drowsily in a chair in Norton's office,
roused himself with a jerk. He was too anxious about Festing to go to
bed, but bodily fatigue reacted on his brain and dulled his senses. For
all that, he thought he heard steps in the snow, and getting up quickly
went to the door. The bitter cold pierced him like a knife and he
shivered. A man stood outside, and his dark figure, silhouetted against
the snow, was somehow ominous. Charnock tried to brace himself, for he
feared bad news.
“Well?” he said hoarsely.
“It's Musgrave; the doctor sent me along. Your partner's taken a turn.
He's going the right way now.”
Charnock looked at the messenger. His relief was overwhelming and he
could not speak.
“That's all, but I guess it's good enough, and you can go to sleep,” the
other resumed, and went away.
When he vanished among the trees Charnock returned to his chair. He
thought he ought to have brought the man in and made him some coffee,
but he was horribly tired and did not want to move about and talk.
Besides, he was conscious of a poignant satisfaction that prevented his
thinking about anything else. While he indulged it a wave of fatigue
swept over him and his head drooped. He tried to open his eyes but could
not, and a few minutes later he was sound asleep.
When he awoke the sun shone into the office and he felt stiff and
cramped, but not cold. This was strange, and he glanced at the stove,
which he had expected to find nearly out. The iron, however, glowed a
dull red and he could hear the cordwood snapping. Somebody must have put
in fresh fuel, and looking at his watch he got up with a start. The men
had been at work for two hours, with nobody to superintend them. Then he
heard a movement and turning round saw one in the room.
“Feeling better, boss?” the fellow asked. “Mr. Kerr told me to come and
see if you were awake. Said you'd find breakfast ready if you went to
his place.”
“I expect you thought waiting for me to wake was easier than rolling
logs,” Charnock suggested.
“Oh, well!” said the other; “you won't find we've fooled away much
time.”
Charnock went to Festing's shack and the doctor nodded and indicated his
comrade's bunk. As Charnock stopped beside it Festing turned his head.
“Things going all right, Bob?”
“They were last night,” said Charnock, with some embarrassment. “I don't
know about this morning because I've just got up. But how are you?”
Festing smiled. “Much better; imagine I'm not knocked out yet. You
needn't bother about being late. The boys are a pretty good crowd,
and they like you. I'm rather glad you didn't hustle them as much as I
wanted.”
“That's enough,” said the doctor, who followed Charnock to the door and
gave him a hopeful report.
Charnock ate a very good breakfast in Kerr's shack, but his face
was grave when he began his work. Luck had put upon him a heavy
responsibility, but he must shoulder the load. Sadie and Helen and
Festing had given him much, and now the time had come to pay them back.
Moreover, with the responsibility had come a chance of proving and, so
to speak reinstating, himself. He was entangled in a coil from which
there was but one way out; he must stand by his comrade and finish the
contract, or own himself a wastrel. The difficulties were obvious,
but there was some encouragement. Perhaps the hardest battle had been
fought, for he had grappled with his craving for liquor and thought he
had won. Then the pain had not troubled him for some time.
The men gave him no trouble, and he imagined they worked with more
energy than usual. Now and then one or another stopped to ask, with
obvious sincerity, how the boss was getting on; men from the railroad
gangs, some of whom he scarcely knew, made inquiries, and Charnock felt
moved. His partner's justice had won him respect, but he saw that some
of the sympathy was meant for himself.
Two days later he heard the rumble of an approaching supply train and
walked up the track to meet it. The locomotive stopped farther off than
he expected, and a woman got down. Running forward, he saw that it was
Helen.
“Stephen's doing well; that's the first thing you'll want to know,” he
said when they met.
“I know it already. A man told me as soon as the train stopped; he
seemed to guess who I am.”
“Ah!” said Charnock; “the boys are very good! It makes me proud to feel
they all like Stephen. But why didn't you telegraph us? The Company
would have sent on the message.”
Helen smiled. “I didn't see much use in doing so. You knew when
your letter would arrive and how long it would take me to come. It's
significant that you came to meet the train.”
“Perhaps it's characteristic that I came too late to help you down! But
the engineer stopped short of the usual place, and I really have much to
do just now.”
Helen gave him a quick glance. Bob had not lost his humor, but had
gained something else. He was thin and haggard, but looked determined.
Although his smile was frank, his mouth was firm and his eyes were
steady.
“I know!” she answered quickly; “I know what you have done for Stephen
and what you mean to do. There is nobody else who can help him and if
there was, the help would not be like yours.”
“Thank you,” said Charnock. “I'm afraid you're mistaken about one point,
but I have an extra reason for doing the best I can.” Then he paused and
smiled. “We tried to make the place comfortable, but you'll find things
rough. One lives in a rather primitive way at a construction camp.”
“Perhaps, so far, I have found things too smooth.”
Then Helen asked him about the accident and he told her as much as he
thought advisable, until they reached the shack, where the doctor met
them at the door.
“I expect you're Mrs. Festing,” he said. “You'll find your husband able
to talk, but remember that he must be kept calm. I'm going out, but will
be back soon, and we'll see about getting you some food.”
He took Charnock away, and Festing looked up with a strained expression
as Helen crossed the floor. Her eyes were wonderfully gentle, and
stooping beside the bunk she kissed him and put her arm round his neck.
“My dear!” she said softly. “My poor hurt dear! I have come to take care
of you until you get well.”
“I imagine I'll need to be taken care of afterwards,” Festing
answered, with a forced smile. “It looks as if I hadn't much ground for
self-confidence.”
Helen pressed his arm. “We have both made mistakes; but we won't talk
about that now. Do you really feel you're getting better?”
“Of course,” said Festing, smiling. “Very much better! I'll get well
remarkably fast now you have come.”
Helen brought a chair and for a time they engaged in happy but careless
talk. Both knew there was much to be said, but Helen skilfully avoided
striking a serious note. The time for that had not arrived yet.
When it got dark the doctor came in and joined them at a meal.
“The engineers have promised to put me up to-night, and I must leave
to-morrow when the train goes out,” he said. “I'll try to get back, but
Musgrave knows what to do and will send for me if necessary. The most
important thing is to keep Mr. Festing quiet.”
“I'm afraid it will be difficult,” Helen answered.
The doctor's eyes twinkled. “So I imagine, but it's your job. If you
find it too hard, Musgrave will put your husband in plaster.”
He went East next morning with the supply train, and Helen was sorry to
see him go. He had done what was needed with quiet efficiency, but she
knew he had other patients scattered about a wide district.
Charnock came in for a few minutes now and then during the day, and
Musgrave was often about, but Helen was content to be left alone with
her husband. His helplessness moved her; he had been marked by such
vigor and energy, and it was strange to see him unable to move. Yet,
while very pitiful, she felt a vague satisfaction because she could help
him and he needed her.
When it was getting dark she went to the door and looked out. The
evening was calm and belts of pale-yellow broke the soft gray clouds.
The eastern peaks were touched with an orange glow, but the snow lower
down faded through shades of blue and purple into gloom. To the west,
the pines were black and sharp, with white smears on their lower
branches, and a thin haze rose from the river. The coloring of the
landscape was harmoniously subdued, but its rugged grandeur of outline
caught Helen's eye, and she stood for a few minutes, looking about with
half-awed admiration.
“Do you feel the cold, Stephen?” she asked.
“No,” said Festing. “Wonderful view, isn't it? But what's it like
outside?”
“Very still. Everything has a soft look; the harsh glitter's gone and
the air has not the sting it had. Somehow the calm's majestic. The
pictures one sees of the mountains hardly give a hint; one feels this is
the grandest country in the world, but it looks strangely unfinished.”
Festing laughed. “A few ranches, roads, and cornfields would make a
difference? Well, they follow the Steel in Canada and it's my job to
clear the way. But the soft look promises warmer weather, and Bob will
get ahead if a Chinook wind begins to blow. I imagine he hasn't done
very much the last few days.”
“You mustn't bother about what Bob is doing,” Helen said firmly.
“Very well. Light the lamp and sit where I can see you. There's
something I want to say.”
Helen did so and waited until Festing resumed: “To begin with, I've been
a short-sighted, censorious fool about Bob. I'm ashamed to remember that
I said he was a shiftless wastrel. The worst is I can't apologize; it
wouldn't make things better to tell him what I thought.”
“That's obvious,” said Helen, with a smile. “Still, in a way perhaps,
you were not so very wrong. Bob was something of a wastrel; his wife has
made him a useful man.”
“Another thing I was mistaken about! I rather despised Sadie. Now I
want to take off my hat when I think of her. But it's puzzling. A girl
without polish, taste, or accomplishments marries a man who has them
all. She has no particular talents; nothing, in fact, except some
beauty, rude integrity, and native shrewdness. Yet she, so to speak,
works wonders. Puts Bob on his feet and leads him on, when nobody else
could have pulled him out of the mire!”
“She loved him,” said Helen softly. “Love gave her patience and
cleverness. However, I think Sadie did not always lead Bob. She knew
when to drive.”
Festing was silent for a few moments and then went on: “Well, I have
confessed two blunders and think it has done me good; but I'm getting
nearer what I want to say. Bob's something of a philosopher and once
remarked that events and people seldom force us into coils; our
passions and characters entangle us. He was scoffing at the power of the
theatrical villain and used Wilkinson for an example.”
“But Wilkinson had something to do with our troubles.”
“Not very much, after all. Perhaps he's accountable for my broken bones,
but it was my obstinacy and ridiculous self-confidence that sent me
here. That's what I really mean to talk about.”
“Is it necessary?” Helen asked. “I was foolish to be jealous of the
farm. Women have sometimes worse grounds for jealousy.”
“That would have been impossible for us! Nobody who knew you could be
attracted by another woman.”
“Bob was attracted,” said Helen with a blush. “One must own that he was
prudent. I haven't Sadie's courage and patience.”
“In those days, Bob was a besotted whisky-tank; but we are not going to
talk about him. I'm afraid I was forgetful and went my own way like
an obstinate fool. It was wrong, ridiculously wrong; I'm not going to
excuse myself, but I want you to understand.”
He paused, for effort and emotion had tired him, but presently resumed:
“I wouldn't use your money, but this wasn't altogether because I was
too proud to let you help. I wanted to keep you safe; farming's a risky
business, and I couldn't play a niggardly, cautious game. There was the
land, waiting to be worked; I couldn't spare labor or money. But since
both might be lost, I was afraid to use your fortune as a stake.”
“I understand,” said Helen. “All the same, I would have been glad to
take the risk. I don't think I'm very much afraid of hardship--”
Festing smiled. “You have pluck, but don't know the strain that the
wives of the struggling farmers have to bear. My object is to see that
you don't know. But there's another thing, harder to explain; you felt
that I neglected you, and I fear I did!”
“You didn't mean to neglect me. Perhaps I was foolish, Stephen, but I
felt you left me out. There were ways I could have helped.”
“I took the wrong line; that's plain now, but we must think of the
future and not make the same mistake. You are first with me, Helen,
but I must work; it's all I'm fit for. I can't play games and am not an
amusing talker--though I'm talking at large to-night. Well, we have made
our home on the prairie, and all round us the best wheat-soil in the
world is lying waste. They're getting short of food in Europe, America
will soon use all she grows, and folks in the older countries fix their
eyes on us. Then we have room for an industrious population on our wide
plains, cities are waiting to spring up, a new nation is being born.
I and the others who were given the land must clear the way. It's our
business, our only justification for being there. Sounds romantic and
exaggerated, but I think it's true!”
“It is true,” said Helen. “Your views are larger than mine.”
“Well,” said Festing, smiling. “I don't often let myself go and look
far ahead. It's my share to tackle the job before my eyes; to drive
the tractor plow, and the grading scoop along the road reserve. For all
that, it's not a vague sense of duty that really drives me on; I must
work, I'm unhappy when I stop! I'm afraid I'll always feel like that.
what are we going to do about it?”
“You must let me help more.”
“I need help; that's something I have learned, and nobody can help like
you. But the strain will slacken soon. The things that will make life
easier for you are coming fast; branch railroads, telephones, busy
little towns, neighbors, and social amusements. Much that you enjoyed in
England will surround you on the plains. But it will not come as a gift,
as it did at home; we will have worked for and made it possible.”
Helen got up. Her color was higher than usual and her eyes sparkled. She
was romantic and Festing had struck the right note, with rude sincerity
and unconscious power. She saw visions of the future and the dignity of
the immediate task. In this wide, new country, man needed woman's help,
and her part was as large as his. Like Sadie, and many another, she
heard the call for Pioneers. Crossing the door she stood by Festing's
bunk.
“I understand it all, Stephen. We must be patient and allow for small
differences in our points of view, for I think, in the main, we see
together. You must never leave me out again; I want to do my part.”
Festing said nothing, but he pressed her hand and she kissed him.