Sunday it was, and Val had insisted stubbornly upon going back to the
ranch; somewhat to her surprise, if one might judge by her face, Arline
Hawley no longer demurred, but put up lunch enough for a week almost, and
announced that she was going along. Hank would have to drive out, to bring
back the team, and she said she needed a rest, after all the work and worry
of that dance. Manley, upon whose account it was that Val was so anxious,
seemed to have nothing whatever to say about it. He was sullenly
acquiescent--as was perhaps to be expected of a man who had slipped into
his old habits and despised himself for doing so, and almost hated his wife
because she had discovered it and said nothing. Val was thankful, during
that long, bleak ride over the prairie, for Arline's incessant chatter. It
was better than silence, when the silence means bitter thoughts.
“Now,” said Arline, moving excitedly in her seat when they neared Cold
Spring Coulee, “maybe I better tell you that the folks round here has kinda
planned a little su'prise for you. They don't make much of a showin' about
bein' neighborly--not when things go smooth--but they're right there when
trouble comes. It's jest a little weddin' present--and if it comes kinda
late in the day, why, you don't want to mind that. My dance that I gave was
a weddin' party, too, if you care to call it that. Anyway, it was to raise
the money to pay for our present, as far as it went--and I want to tell you
right now, Val, that you was sure the queen of the ball; everybody said you
looked jest like a queen in a picture, and I never heard a word ag'inst
your low-neck dress. It looked all right on _you_, don't you see? On me,
for instance, it woulda been something fierce. And I'm real glad you took a
hold and danced like you did, and never passed nobody up, like some woulda
done. You'll be glad you did, now you know what it was for. Even danced
with Polycarp Jenks--and there ain't hardly any woman but what'll turn
_him_ down; I'll bet he tromped all over your toes, didn't he?”
“Sometimes,” Val admitted. “What about the surprise you were speaking of,
Mrs. Hawley?”
“It does seem as if you might call me Arline,” she complained irrelevantly.
“We're comin' to that--don't you worry.”
“Is it--a piano?”
“My lands, no! You don't need a fiddle and a piano both, do you? Man,
what'd you rather have for a weddin' present?”
Manley, upon the front seat beside Hank, gave his shoulders an impatient
twitch. “Fifty thousand dollars,” he replied glumly.
“I'm glad you're real modest about it,” Arline retorted sharply. She was
beginning to tell herself quite frequently that she “didn't have no time
for Man Fleetwood, seeing he wouldn't brace up and quit drinkin.”
Val's lips curled as she looked at Manley's back. “What I should like,” she
said distinctly, “is a great, big pile of wood, all cut and ready for the
stove, and water pails that never would go empty. It's astonishing how
one's desires eventually narrow down to bare essentials, isn't it? But as
we near the place, I find those two things more desirable than a piano!”
Then she bit her lip angrily because she had permitted herself to give the
thrust.
“Why, you poor thing! Man Fleetwood, do you--”
Val impulsively caught her by the arm. “Oh, hush! I was only joking,” she
said hastily. “I was trying to balance Manley's wish for fifty thousand
dollars, don't you see? It was stupid of me, I know.” She laughed
unconvincingly. “Let me guess what the surprise is. First, is it large or
small?”
“Kinda big,” tittered Arline, falling into the spirit of the joke.
“Bigger than a--wait, now. A sewing machine?”
Arline covered her mouth with her hand and nodded dumbly.
“You say all the neighbors gave it and the dance helped pay for it--let me
see. Could it possibly be--what in the world could it be? Manley, help me
guess! Is it something useful, or just something nice?”
“Useful,” said Arline, and snapped her jaws together as if she feared to
let another word loose.
“Larger than a sewing machine, and useful.” Val puckered her brows over the
puzzle. “And all the neighbors gave it. Do you know, I've been thinking all
sorts of nasty things about our poor neighbors, because they refused to
sell Manley any hay. And all the while they were planning this sur--” She
never finished that sentence, or the word, even.
With a jolt over a rock, and a sharp turn to the right, Hank had brought
them to the very brow of the hill, where they could look down into the
coulee, and upon the house standing in its tiny, unkempt yard, just beyond
the sparse growth of bushes which marked the spring creek. Involuntarily
every head turned that way, and every pair of eyes looked downward. Hank
chirped to the horses, threw all his weight upon the brake, and they
rattled down the grade, the brake block squealing against the rear wheels.
They were half-way down before any one spoke. It was Val, and she almost
whispered one word:
“Manley!”
Arline's eyes were wet, and there was a croak in her voice when she cried
jubilantly: “Well, ain't that better 'n a sewin' machine--or a piano?”
But Val did not attempt an answer. She was staring--staring as if she could
not convince herself of the reality. Even Manley was jarred out of his
gloomy meditations, and half rose in the seat that he might see over Hank's
shoulder.
“That's what your neighbors have done,” Arline began eagerly, “and they
nearly busted tryin' to git through in time, and to keep it a dead secret.
They worked like whiteheads, lemme tell you, and never even stopped for the
storm. The night of the dance I heard all about how they had to hurry. And
I guess Kent's there an' got a fire started, like I told him to. I was
afraid it might be colder'n what it is. I asked him if he wouldn't ride
over an' warm up the house t'day--and I see there's a smoke, all right.”
She looked at Manley, and then turned to Val. “Well, ain't you goin' to say
anything? You dumb, both of you?”
Val took a deep breath. “We should be dumb,” she said contritely. “We
should go down on our knees and beg their pardon and yours--I especially. I
think I've never in my life felt quite so humbled--so overwhelmed with the
goodness of my fellows, and my own unworthiness. I--I can't put it into
words--all the resentment I have felt against the country and the people in
it--as if--oh, tell them all how I want them to forgive me for--for the way
I have felt. And--_Arline_--”
“There, now--I didn't bargain for you to make it so serious,” Arline
expostulated, herself near to crying. “It ain't nothing much--us folks
believe in helpin' when help's needed, that's all. For Heaven's sake, don't
go 'n' cry about it!”
Hank pulled up at the gate with a loud _whoa_ and a grip of the brake. From
the kitchen stovepipe a blue ribbon of smoke waved high in the clear air.
Kent appeared, grinning amiably, in the doorway, but Val was looking
beyond, and scarcely saw him--beyond, where stood a new stable upon the
ashes of the old; a new corral, the posts standing solidly in the holes dug
for those burned away; a new haystack--when hay was almost priceless! A
few chickens wandered about near the stable, and Val recognized them as
Arline's prized Plymouth Rocks. Small wonder that she and Manley were
stunned to silence. Manley still looked as if some one had dealt him an
unexpected blow in the face. Val was white and wide-eyed.
Together they walked out to the stable. When they stopped, she put her hand
timidly upon his aim. “Dear,” she said softly, “there is only one way to
thank them for this, and that is to be the very best it is in us to be. We
will, won't we? We--we haven't been our best, but we'll start in right now.
Shall we, Manley?”
Manley looked down at her for a moment, saying nothing.
“Shall we, Manley? Let us start now, and try again. Let's play the fire
burned up our old selves, and we're all new, and strong--shall we? And we
won't feel any resentment for what is past, but we'll work together, and
think together, and talk together, without any hidden thing we can't
discuss freely. Please, Manley!”
He knew what she meant, well enough. For the last two days he had been
drinking again. On the night of the dance he had barely kept within the
limit of decent behavior. He had read Val's complete understanding and her
disgust the morning after--and since then they had barely spoken except
when speech was necessary. Oh, he knew what she meant! He stood for another
minute, and she let go his arm and stood apart, watching his face.
A good deal depended upon the next minute, and they both knew it, and
hardly breathed. His hand went slowly into a deep pocket of his overcoat,
his fingers closed over something, and drew it reluctantly to the light.
Shamefaced, he held it up for her to see--a flat bottle of generous size,
full to within a inch of the cork with a pale, yellow liquid.
“There--take it, and break it into a million pieces,” he said huskily.
“I'll try again.”
Her yellow-brown eyes darkened perceptibly. “Manley Fleetwood, _you_ must
throw it away. This is your fight--be a man and _fight_.”
“Well--there! May God damn me forever if I touch liquor again! I'm through
with the stuff for keeps!” He held the bottle high, without looking at it,
and sent it crashing against the stable door.
“Manley!” She stopped her ears, aghast at his words, but for all that her
eyes were ashine. She went up to him and put her arms around him. “Now
we can start all over again,” she said. “We'll count our lives from this
minute, dear, and we'll keep them clean and happy. Oh, I'm so glad! So glad
and so proud, dear!”
Kent had got half-way down the path from the house; he stopped when Manley
threw the bottle, and waited. Now he turned abruptly and retraced his
steps, and he did not look particularly happy, though he had been smiling
when he left the kitchen.
Arline turned from the window as he entered.
“Looks like Man has swore off ag'in,” she observed dryly. “Well, let's hope
'n' pray he stays swore off.”