COLONEL McCLINTOCK AGREES WITH VICKY
The pink of apple blossoms was in Mollie’s cheeks, the flutter of a
covey of quails in her blood. At the least noise her startled heart
jumped. Sometimes it sang with a leaping joy beyond control. Again it
was drenched with a chill dread. The Confederacy had made its last grand
gesture at Appomattox. A million men and more were homeward bound. Scot
McClintock had written that to-day, on his way back to Virginia City
from the front, he would stop off at Carson for a few hours.
She was afraid to meet him. In the hour when they had talked over their
decision she had begged him never to see her again, to put her out of
his mind as though he had never met her. The fear lurked in the
hinterland of her mind that perhaps he had done this. He had been a
soldier, busy with the work given him to do, rising step by step by the
force of his personality. Was it likely he still cherished the wild
love, fruition of which had been denied them?
Mollie had always pushed far back into her secret consciousness the
sweet memories of Scot that had persisted. It had been a matter of duty.
Her code bound her to the view that she could not be the wife of one
man, though in name only, and at the same time love another even in the
secret recesses of her soul. Yet it was never hidden from her that she
loved Scot. No power within her could change that. All she could do was
to flog herself because of it.
And to-day he was coming back, covered with honour and glory. Was she
going to meet a stranger or the ardent friend who had brought colour
into her life?
Into the house burst a girl, shining in the radiance and clean strength
of her young teens. She was slim and straight and dark, and in her eager
face glowed a wonderful colour that came and went as the flame of her
emotions quickened or died. With a whirlwind rush of her supple body she
launched herself on her sister.
“Oh, Mollie—Mollie darling,” she cried. “It’s been the _longest_ time
since I saw you. What made you stay so long up in Virginia? And who did
you see there? Tell me all about _everything_.”
A soft flame beat into the older sister’s cheeks. Victoria’s enthusiasm
was always a tonic for her.
“I’ve had a letter from—from Colonel McClintock,” she said. “He expects
to pass through Carson this morning.”
Vicky hugged her again. “Oh, goody, goody! Three _whacking_ cheers for
our colonel.” It was characteristic of her speech that stressed words
stood out like telegraph poles on a railroad track.
“He’s not our colonel,” reproved Mollie gently.
“He’s mine,” answered Vicky. “Isn’t he my guardian? And doesn’t he send
me the _best_ present every Christmas? He likes you, too. Think I don’t
know, Sis?”
Mollie’s startled eyes fastened to those of Vicky. She was always being
surprised by the acute observation of this helter-skelter youngster. Of
course she couldn’t know, but——
“Why don’t you marry him, now you’ve got a divorce?” the child rushed on
with the ruthless innocence of her age.
The colour poured into Mollie’s cheeks. “How you talk!” she gasped.
“About things you know nothing about. He—Colonel McClintock—has been a
good friend to us. You mustn’t get foolish notions.”
“They’re _not_ foolish.” She had Mollie in her arms once more. “Why
don’t you marry him, dearest? I would. I’d snap him up. ’N him a
hero—decorated for bravery, like the _Enterprise_ said.”
Mollie’s eyes fell. “You mustn’t talk that way,” she breathed
tremulously. “You’re only a girl, and you don’t know anything about it.”
“But I just do,” triumphed Vicky. “You think you’d stand in his way or
_somep’n_ now he’s a big officer. Or you think——”
“I think your imagination is too active, dear,” Mollie countered drily.
“You haven’t the least reason to think there is anything but friendship
between me and Colonel McClintock.”
Vicky caught her by the shoulders. “Sister Mollie, can you tell me,
honest Injun, that you don’t love him?”
The gaze of Mollie wavered before the steady searching eyes of
inexorable youth.
“Or that he doesn’t care for you?” Vicky went on.
There was a mist of tears in Mollie’s eyes. “How do I know? I haven’t
seen him for years. Maybe he doesn’t—any longer——”
The girl protested vigorously. “Don’t you know him better’n that? Of
_course_ he does. You’ll see.”
The pent-up secret of Mollie’s heart came out tremulously. “I sent him
away. I told him to forget me. Men don’t remember always—like we women
do.”
Vicky took active charge of the campaign. “I’ll tell you what, Sister
Mollie. You put on that blue-print dress, the one with the flowered
pattern—an’ lemme fix your hair—an’ when you see him forget every
single thing except how glad you are to see him.”
Light-footed and swift, Vicky moved about the room making ready for the
transformation of her sister. She was a girl given at times to silences,
but just now she was voluble as a magpie. Her purpose was to divert
Mollie’s thoughts from herself for the present.
After the flowered dress had been donned and the soft thick hair
arranged to Vicky’s satisfaction, that young lady stood back and clapped
her hands. “Come into the parlour and look at the sweetest and prettiest
thing in Carson,” she cried, catching her sister’s hand and dragging her
forward. “If Colonel McClintock doesn’t think you’re _just dear_, it’ll
be because he’s gone blind.”
Mollie took one look in the glass, then caught at the sideboard to
steady herself. For a voice from the doorway answered Vicky’s prophecy.
“He does think so, just as he always has.”
Scot came across the room in three long strides and swept Mollie into
his arms. The breath of life flooded her cheeks and flung out a flag of
joy. Her soldier had come home from the wars. He still wanted her.
“You’ve heard,” she cried.
“That the courts have freed you. Of course.”
Mollie wept happy tears through which smiles struggled. Vicky, dominated
by a sense of delicacy, regretfully withdrew and left them to talk the
murmurous disjointed language of lovers that has come down from Adam and
Eve in the garden. Fifteen minutes later she poked her head back into
the room and coughed discreetly.
“Vicky, when can you have my girl ready?” Scot demanded.
“Ready for what?” she asked.
But she knew for what. Her face sparkled. The slim body wriggled with
excitement, as a happy, expectant puppy does.
“For the wedding, of course.”
“In twenty minutes,” answered Vicky promptly.
“Good. I met Father Marston at the Ormsby House when the stage came in.
I’ll be back in time.”
Mollie protested, blushing. She had no clothes. She did not think she
wanted to be married in such a hurry. Proper arrangements must be made.
Vicky and Scot brushed her excuses aside peremptorily.
In his blue uniform McClintock strode down the street, the sword still
swinging at his side. He knew where to find Father Marston, who was
chaplain of the legislature, now in special session.
Delavan Marston was a character. Rough and rugged, he struck straight
from the shoulder. His tastes and habits were liberal. He liked a good
cigar and a good glass of wine. Generally he was called Father Marston,
though he was a Protestant.
He rose, tall and gaunt, to open the assembly with prayer, just as Scot
came into the hall. The soldier listened to a remarkable petition. A
member of the legislature had been complaining because the chaplain’s
prayers were too long.
“And they don’t get practical results,” the member had added. “If they’d
make the rock in my tunnel any softer or the water in my ditch more
plentiful I’d favour ’em. But they look to me like a waste of time.”
A kind friend had reported the grumbler’s words to Marston. This morning
he made his petition short enough and direct enough.
“O Lord,” he prayed sonorously, “we ask Thee to remember in particular
one of our number. Make the rock in his tunnel as soft as his head and
the water in his ditch as plentiful as the whisky he daily drinks.
Amen.”
McClintock stopped the parson on his way out of the building.
Father Marston swept the handsome figure from head to foot with his grim
eyes. He was very fond of Scot McClintock, but he disapproved of many of
his actions. He was the only man alive except old Alexander McClintock
who dared tell him so.
“Colonel, that uniform is an honour to any living man. They tell me
you’ve not disgraced it in the army. That’s right. I’d expect you to be
a good soldier. But there are soldiers of peace, sir. They have their
battles to fight, too. Isn’t it about time you quit hellin’ around and
set this country round here a good example? Folks like and admire you.
The Lord knows why. They set a heap o’ store by you. They’ll be
disappointed if you go back to dealing faro.”
Scot gave him his frank disarming smile. “I’ll not disappoint them in
that particular way, Father. Hugh and I are going into business together
as soon as he is discharged from the army. Tell you-all about that
later. Right now I want you to marry me.”
“Who to?”
“To Mrs. Dodson.”
“A divorced woman.”
Scot met him eye to eye. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t believe in divorces, Colonel.”
“There are divorces and divorces, Father. Do you know anything about
Robert Dodson and Mollie Dodson?”
“Know ’em both. She’s a good woman. The less said about him the better,
I reckon. Maybe she’s entitled to a good husband. Looks thataway to me.
I’ll marry you. If it’s a sin the Lord will have to charge it against
me. When do you want to be married?”
“Now. Soon as I can get a license. Meet you at her house in fifteen
minutes.”
“I’ll be there on time, sir.”
Father Marston was waiting when Scot reached the house with the license.
Vicky came into the parlour, slim and straight as a half-grown boy. She
drew her heels together and lifted a hand to her rebellious black hair.
“Colonel, I have to report that the bride is ready.”
To Vicky it seemed that all Mollie’s troubles would now melt in the warm
sunshine of happiness. She could not understand the reason for the
tremulous mist of tears in her sister’s soft eyes while she made the
responses. After the ceremony she flung herself into Mollie’s arms and
kissed her rapturously.
“I always wanted a sure enough prince for you, Mollie,” she whispered.
“And now you’ve got him. Don’t you dare not to be happy now.”
Mollie nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. She did not know whether
happiness was to be her portion or not. All she was sure of was that she
could walk through life beside the man she loved. And that, just now,
was all she asked.