WHY A CHEEK BLANCHES
Mrs. West had been watching the road for nearly an hour, each moment
expecting Bess to come. The man had started after the girl early in the
morning, and she was impatient for their arrival. At last her anxiety
was relieved as she caught a glimpse of Mauchacho hurrying toward home.
She clasped the girl in a loving embrace and told her how long the time
had been and how lonely she had felt.
“I am never going to let you go away again, my dear; I cannot be happy
without you!”
“I’m going—to—to—a—be married next month!” came like a thunderbolt
from a clear sky. Bess slowly continued to draw off her riding gloves,
then to unfasten her sombrero, and flung them upon the steps where she
stood. She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her
face, glancing at the same time at the “little Mother,” whose silence
became alarming. The woman’s face grew white, and her eyes dimmed by a
thin film.
“Next month—Mr. Davis—he will take me away—” continued Bess,
disconnectedly. Then pulling herself together she told Mrs. West of Mr.
Davis’ visit; how he had implored her to end his unhappiness; that he
could not go away without her.
“I thought it all over as I came riding home. James will not always
care to be tied down by an ‘old maid’ sister, as I realize that before
very long he and Berenice Morton will be married; and while I know that
their home would gladly be shared with me, still I could not forever be
an encumbrance. You—little Mother—the only mother I have ever known—I
would gladly stay near you—always. But he needs me, too—I have made him
care for me, and now can I honestly, honorably, destroy his happiness,
or perhaps his life?”
Mrs. West listened closely to the serious declaration, then lifting
the lovely face with both her hands, she questioned: “Do you love him,
Bess?”
For an instant the eyelids quavered, then with hesitation Bess replied:
“How can I know? He fills me with a strange excitement. It must be
love! I do not know.”
“Well, my dear—I pray you may be happy. He must convince you that you
do love him, that you understand the new and subtle voice in your
heart.”
“Yes—yes—” came from the girl’s lips in an abstracted tone, while her
soft brown eyes sought something in far-off space. She did not hear
when Mrs. West again addressed her, and gave a sudden start as one
awakened abruptly from slumber when the white-haired woman touched her
tenderly.
“You did not hear what I told you, dear; I said that I also had a
surprise for you. See! Here it is,” as she held up a yellow envelope.
“It is a message from your friend, Miss Morton. Fearing it contained
some very important news, I took the liberty to read it in case I
should need to send a messenger after you to the camp. It came two days
ago.”
Bess read the telegram eagerly. “Oh, joy! Then she should reach here
tomorrow! I wonder if I can ever wait so long!”
How she flew about during the early afternoon hours, making
preparations for her friend’s reception! Her dainty room, all fresh
and clean, was at last given the finishing touches, and she stood back
near the doorway with her pretty head perked on one side, like a saucy
wren’s, and her hands folded tightly together behind her. A critical
eye scanned every article in the room, and as it swept the mirror it
caught sight of a very flushed face with a frame of soft, brown hair
that had rebelled at longer being confined beneath the little white
dust cap. An involuntary laugh escaped from the girl’s lips as she saw
the disheveled reflection, but almost instantly her merry countenance
changed to an expression of seriousness, as she suddenly remembered
that she had promised to give Dave Davis his answer today. Even then
she heard some one approach, and running to the open window she looked
through the curtain to see who the visitor was.
“Oh! but he is splendid—I never saw before how tall and great he
really is! How red his cheeks are today; how brown his eyes are! Oh! I
never noticed before that he had such lovely hair—and feet—and—” ran
tumultuously through her mind. She was looking at her lover through
different glasses now, and saw with other eyes than before.
“Yes, little Mother,” she called hastily, in response to a gentle tap
at her door, “please say that I shall be down presently.”
Would her hair never go up properly? Such thumbs for fingers! Where on
earth were her shoes? Everything else was out of place!
“I will put on my ‘dear’ little dress,” she thought, as she drew from
its corner her treasure. Pale yellow crepe, soft, silken, crepy, with
knots and loops of brilliant orange-colored velvet. In her hair she
fastened a tiny golden butterfly, whose gauzy wings swayed with her
every movement. Tiny golden slippers peeped from beneath her gown, and
amber beads gleamed through the folds of lace about her throat. How the
gown recalled the only time she had worn it, one night at a musicale
when she had sung Nevin’s _Mon Desir_.
“I think that my riding togs feel more comfortable, after all,” she
thought, as she surveyed herself once more in the long mirror, before
going into the library.
Her silken petticoats rustled and swished as she descended the stairs,
as if they fain would silence the beatings of her heart. She halted for
a moment before the half-open door, nervously wiping her lips with a
dainty handkerchief. Then she stepped calmly into the room.
Davis arose and started eagerly forward, but stopped abruptly as he
beheld the delightful picture which she made. Neither spoke for an
instant, as each gazed directly into luminous brown eyes.
With an effort, as she again brushed the bit of lace across her lips,
Bess spoke: “I have decided, Mr. Davis. My answer is—yes!”
How long he held her in passionate embrace, how fervently he rained
caresses upon her eyes, her mouth, her hair, Bess did not know.
Instead, she wondered if the butterfly in her hair would suddenly
become animate and fly away, so persistently did it flutter its gauzy
wings. She heard the rustle of the silken crepe of her gown under
the pressure of his arm. She felt the amber beads trickle down her
shoulders and strike with soft patter on the rug, as they became
released as if scissors had snapped their cord. Unconsciously she
stooped to pick them up, but the man held her fast.
“Oh—please—!” she cried. Summoning all her strength she wrested herself
free, her heart beating wildly.
“Forgive me, dear—I could devour you! You were never so beautiful, so
lovable before! I’m sorry to have frightened you,” said Davis, his
voice scarcely audible in its emotion.
“Bess,” he began more calmly, “I dare not tell myself how happy you
have made me. To think that you are really mine—mine! To know that I
may take you away from here, this dreadful country with its sordid
conditions, its Indians. To feel that you have given me the right to
place you in a realm where you may be the queen that you are!”
Taking her gently by the hand he led her to a seat and then began
telling her his plans. He said that no preparations need be made as to
trousseau, as everything could be procured after they had reached New
York, as she objected to being married so soon. Rather reluctantly he
consented to her wish to be married here at _HW_ ranch and by Father
Damien of St. Ignatius Mission. It should be very quiet with no guests
present.
“I shall have a bridesmaid, however,” said Bess. “I have just received
word that my dearest friend will be here tomorrow—Berenice Morton.”
“Mor—ton—did you say—Morton?” asked Mr. Davis, in a strange voice.
“Have I never told you of her?” added Bess, apparently unnoticing any
embarrassment. “We were at the convent school together, and just
the greatest of chums! I have not seen her since then, and now I can
scarcely wait until she arrives. She wrote me that her visit could be
only three weeks, but I am sure that she can be prevailed upon to be
my bridesmaid, and then she could return with me—with us—as far as
New York. Where is her home, did you ask? She, with her father and an
invalid sister, have been spending the past few months in the mountains
in New Hampshire. I do not know whether they will return to their home
near Boston or not. You see—so many—many heartaches were—” Bess could
not finish her sentence. The swift rush of tears choked her voice as
the flood of memory swept over her.
Twice did Mr. Davis attempt to speak before he felt he had assumed
control of his voice. It was not pity, nor sympathy, however, which
stirred his soul. It was fear—fear lest she should detect his
confusion; fear lest her friend should prove to be the same girl
whom he had met only once before—five years before. But then, if she
were the same, he had changed so greatly that surely she would not
remember him. An invalid sister! Could it be possible that after all
she—_she_—was still living! Surely, she had died—he was positive!
Perhaps there had been a third sister—there must have been; still ...
“What are you thinking of so seriously?” asked Bess, as his prolonged
silence made her turn from the window.
“I was thinking, my dear, of how—of what I have to tell you. I have
received word from Washington to come there at once. Undoubtedly it is
business concerning my—resignation, which I recently submitted. I fear
it may keep me from you for several weeks, and that my return may be
impossible before the tenth of October.”
“Oh! you need not mind. I am sure that Berenice and I shall be able to
enjoy ourselves,” said Bess, carelessly. If he felt any chagrin at her
indifference he did not exhibit it when he bade her good-bye. As the
man remounted his horse and rode away he did not see the interested
pair of eyes watching him through the curtains.
As much as he dreaded being parted from his love for several endless
weeks, still he felt thankful that he would not be obliged to meet
Berenice Morton until shortly before the wedding, as there might be a
possibility of his being recognized, and should such be the case he
feared the consequences. As it was, he was taking a long chance, and
unless something unforeseen should occur he must face the inevitable
meeting.
“Ah,” he thought, “why not, after I am gone, try to persuade her to
come to me? I can easily find some excuse which will make her coming to
me imperative!”
As he hastened on he already tried to formulate some plan whereby his
return would be unnecessary, and consequently an embarrassing meeting
might be eliminated.