The Wind Before the Dawn Part 13

Elizabeth was walking toward the house which was to be hers, oblivious of time and place, almost unconscious of the man at her side, stunned by the unexpectedness of this precious gift of love which had just been offered her. As they stepped upon the little back porch, he said:

"I brought you over to ask your advice about the stairway; the carpenters want to leave one step in the sitting room. It'll be back far enough from the chimney to be out of the way and it makes their calculations easier about the stairs somehow. What do you think?"

Elizabeth was altogether too new in the sense of possession to grasp the full significance of the question. John Hunter laughed at the look she turned upon him and said, with a large and benevolent wave of the hand, indicating the entire premises:

"The house is yours, little girl, and you are to have it as you want it.

The only desire I have on earth is to do things for you."

Elizabeth shot a quick look of joy up to him. "No one but Aunt Susan has ever wanted to do anything for me," she said, and opening her arms held them out to him, crying, "Am I to be happy? John! John! do you love me, really?"

And that was the burden of their conversation during the entire stay.

"It can't be possible, John," the happy girl said at one point. "I have never known love--and--and I want it till I could die for it."

"Just so you don't die _of_ it, You'll be all right," John Hunter replied, and went home from Nathan's, later, whistling a merry tune. He had not known that love poured itself out with such abandonment. It was a new feature of the little G.o.d's manoeuvring, but John doubted not that it was the usual thing where a girl really cared for a man.

"I'll farm the whole place next year, and It'll be different from boarding at the Chamberlains', where they don't have any napkins and the old man sucks his coffee out of his saucer as if it hurt him. Mother 'll like her too, after we get her away from that sort of thing and brush her up, and get her into the Hunter ways," he told himself as he tied the pony in the dark stall.

The next day was a dream to the young girl, who patiently watched the clock and waited for the hour of visiting the new house again. "I have no higher desire on earth than to do things for you," was the undercurrent of her thoughts. She was to escape from the things which threatened at home.

Instead of always rendering services, which were seldom satisfactory after she had sacrificed herself to them, she was to be served as well. Oh, the glad thought! Not of service as such, but of the mutuality of it. She loved John Hunter and he loved her. There was to be understanding between them. That was the joy of it. To put her hand on the arm of one that appreciated not only her but all that she aimed at, to open her heart to him, to be one with him in aspiration, that was the point of value which Elizabeth Farnshaw never doubted was to be the leading characteristic of their life together.

Now that she was engaged, Elizabeth felt herself emanc.i.p.ated from home authority. She would belong to herself hereafter. She would stay with Aunt Susan till she had her sewing done for the winter at Topeka. She would go to school only one year, just enough to polish up on social ideas and matters of dress. Elizabeth Farnshaw knew that both John Hunter and his mother were critical upon those accomplishments and her pride told her to prepare for the mother's inspection. She knew that she was considered a country girl by those of superior advantages, and she was resolved to show what could be done in a year in the way of improvement; then she would come home and teach for money with which to buy her wedding outfit, and then they would be married. Two years and the certainty of graduation would have suited her better, but two years was a long time. The picture of John without her, and the home he was building for her, planted themselves in the foreground of her thoughts, and Elizabeth was unselfish.

She would not make John Hunter wait. She would make that one year at Topeka equal to two in the intensity of its living. She would remain away the shortest possible length of time which was required for her preparation. Elizabeth was glad that John had his mother to keep house for him, because she did not want him to be lonesome while she was gone, though she did not doubt that he would come to Topeka many times while she was there. Her mind flew off in another direction at that, and she planned to send him word when there were good lectures to attend.

"John likes those things," she thought, and was filled with a new joy at the prospect of their books, and lectures, and intellectual pursuits. Her plan of teaching in the high school was abandoned. It was better to be loved and have a home with John Hunter than to live in Topeka. The more Elizabeth thought of it the more she was convinced that her plan was complete. She was glad there was a month to spare before Mrs. Hunter came.

John's mother was the only warning finger on Elizabeth's horizon. She had always been conscious of a note of anxiety in John Hunter's voice and manner whenever he spoke of his mother coming to Kansas to live, and she found the anxiety had been transferred to her own mind when she began to consider her advent into the home John was building. She had gathered, more from his manner than anything definitely said, that his mother would not approve of much that she would be obliged to meet in the society about them, that she was a social arbiter in a cla.s.s of women superior to these simple farmers' wives, and that her whole life and thought were of a different and more desirable sort. When Elizabeth thought of Mrs. Hunter she unconsciously glanced down at herself, her simple print dress, her brown hands, and the heavy shoes which much walking made necessary, and wondered how she did really appear; and there was a distinct misgiving in everything where the older woman had to be considered.

John came early that evening. The carpenters had raised new questions about shelves and doors and Elizabeth must go over and decide those matters. They walked over, and it was late before all the simple arrangements could be decided upon. As they returned they walked close together in the centre of the deep road so as to avoid the dew-laden gra.s.s on either side. The open door of Nathan's house gave out a hospitable light, but they were content to saunter slowly, listening to the harvest crickets which were already chirruping in the weeds about them, and looking at the lazy red disk of the moon just peeping above the eastern horizon.

"I shall write mother of our engagement to-night," John said after a rather long silence.

"Oh, don't," the girl replied, awakened suddenly from a reverie of a different sort. "Let's keep it a secret for a while. I haven't told Aunt Susan yet, and I don't want to tell her till I go to Topeka. Of course I'll have to explain if you come down there to see me."

"To Topeka?" John exclaimed in astonishment.

Elizabeth laughed merrily. "Why, yes," she said. "Isn't it like me to think you knew all about that? I'm going to Topeka to school this winter--and--and I hope You'll come a lot. We'll have awfully good times.

Then I'll teach another term and get my wedding clothes and get them made, and then, John Hunter, I am yours to have and to hold," she ended happily.

"You don't mean that you are going to school again now that you are going to get married?" John Hunter asked with such incredulity that Elizabeth laughed a little joyous laugh full of girlish amus.e.m.e.nt, full of love and antic.i.p.ation.

"Why of course--why not? All the more because we are going to be married.

I'll want to brush up on lots of things before I have to live near your mother; and--and we'll have awfully good times when you come to see me."

"Oh, goodness!" John said irritably. "I'd counted on being married this fall. I simply can't wait two years, and that is all there is about it."

Elizabeth argued easily at first, certain that it could be readily arranged, but John became more and more positive. At last she became worried.

The harvest crickets were forgotten as the young girl pressed closer to his side, explaining the necessity, pointing out that it was to be her last little fling at the education for which she had planned so long, her timidity where his mother was concerned, and her desire to enter the family upon equal social terms.

"It is all tomfoolery," John answered with fixity of purpose. "You don't need a thing that you haven't already got--except," he added slowly, "except what mother could help you to. But that isn't the point. I shall need you. It's time for me to get down to business and raise some money.

Between building the house and going"--John hesitated--"and not applying myself as I should, I'm not making anything this summer. I want to get away from this--from here--some day, and I want to begin real work at once. Mother can help you in anything you don't know; she's up on all those things; and we've got to get down to business," he repeated.

There was a tone of finality in it. Elizabeth recognized it, but her plans were made and she was not ready to give them up.

"I can't go into your house, John, I simply cannot, without getting away and learning some things. When I become your wife I want to be a woman you are proud to take to your mother. I can't have it otherwise."

There was quiet while she waited for the answer to her a.s.sertion.

Elizabeth thought he was formulating a reply. The silence lengthened, and still she waited. They were getting nearer the house and she moved more slowly, drawing on his arm to check his advance. At last, realizing that he did not intend to speak when they were just outside of the lighted doorstep, Elizabeth stopped and, facing around so that she could see him in the dim light, asked:

"What is it? What have I done to offend you?"

"Nothing, only it upsets every plan I have on earth. I tell you, it's all foolishness; and besides, I need you. Now see here"--and he went on to show her how his mother knew all the things she was going to Topeka to learn, and to outline his schemes for the future.

Confused by his opposition, and not knowing just how to meet this first difference of opinion, Elizabeth listened and made no reply. It was her way to wait when disturbed until she saw her way clear. Elizabeth was sound and st.u.r.dy but not quick and resourceful when attacked. John talked on till he had finished his argument and then turned to the house again.

When they arrived at the step he said a whispered good-bye and was gone before Elizabeth realized that he was not coming in with her.

Susan Hornby had risen from her chair, thinking that John was coming into the house, and when she saw that he did not she slipped her arm about the young girl and kissed her as she was pa.s.sing.

"I'm going to bed, Aunt Susan," Elizabeth said, and pa.s.sed on to the door of her own room. Susan Hornby knew that something had gone wrong.

Sat.u.r.day morning was spent by Elizabeth sewing on a dress she was anxious to finish before Mrs. Hunter came, and when there were only mornings and evenings in which to sew, and inexperience made much ripping necessary, the work did not progress rapidly. As she sewed she considered. No, she would not give up the year away at school. It was absolutely essential that she come into the Hunter family equipped and ready to a.s.sume the role which a wife should play in it. She would be married without a whole new outfit of clothes, but the year at school was a necessity. Elizabeth's pride revolted against being taught social customs by John Hunter's mother. As she thought of the year he must spend alone, however, she was quite willing to give up teaching an extra year for the sake of the usual bridal finery. She resolved to tell him that. She would be married in the simplest thing she had if he wished.

Fate in the person of John Hunter himself took the settlement of the bride's gown out of Elizabeth's hands. Just before noon he stopped, on his way back from Colebyville, to give Susan Hornby the mail he had brought out from the post-office. Elizabeth followed him to the wagon when he went out.

"Well, I wrote mother. Can you be ready by October?" He spoke across the backs of the horses as he untied them, and was very busy with the straps.

Elizabeth Farnshaw's face contracted visibly. He had taken advantage of her.

"How could you do it?" she asked indignantly.

"Why, I thought it was settled! I told you I couldn't wait a whole year, much less two. I told you about getting Mitch.e.l.l County land and getting down to cattle raising right off. You didn't say anything."

There was such righteous innocence in his voice that the sting of deception was drawn from her mind. The young girl made no reply, but leaned her head against the withers of the horse at her side and looked down at her foot to hide her tears. It was a blow. She was conscious that somehow there had been a lack of high principle in it. Her silence the night before _had_ given some colour to the claim of it having been settled, but there had been a haste about this letter which was suspicious. Why could he not have stopped on the way to town as well as now on the way home?

The question which was forming in Elizabeth's mind was cut short by feeling John's arm stealing around her. She started and glanced at the house apprehensively.

"Oh, they can't see us," John said, glad to have that phase of the situation up for argument. "It wouldn't matter if they did, since we are to be married so soon." He added the last warily and watched to see its effect upon her.

"But I didn't want it to be as soon as that," the girl objected half-heartedly, making her usual mistake of laying the vital point of difference away to be settled in her own mind before she discussed it.

Perhaps after all John had thought it was settled the night before; at any rate she would not speak of her suspicion till sure on that point.

John Hunter noticed that she did not refuse outright to consent to the early marriage and drew her complacently to him.

"I couldn't wait that long, sweet. I want you and I want you now."

He drew her close, in a firm, insistent grasp of his strong arm. Her resistance began to melt.

"I love you," his voice said close to her ear. She felt his eyes seeking hers. His was the position of advantage. Elizabeth loved love, and she had never had it before. She had never been wanted for love's sake. She wished to believe him. It came over her that she had wronged him by even the thought of an advantage having been taken of her. John's arm was about her, he was pleading his love. Why be unpleasant about it? It was only a little thing. As she had said in her engagement hour, Elizabeth wanted love till she could die for it. She gave up, though something in her held back and was left hungry.

As John Hunter drove home to Liza Ann's waiting dinner he said to himself: