Reno - a Book of Short Stories and Information Part 6

I hope, if it be true, that there yet remains another life in some dim land of mystery; that they may again walk together, and sing, as in the long ago; hand in hand; for love such as theirs will live through eternity, and ever after....

PART 3

RENO ROMANCE

Reno and Romance go hand in hand I should say. If you asked half a dozen of your friends what the word Romance means, I dare say each one would give a different answer. I think one of the most beautiful plays I have ever seen was a play called "Romance"; yet to me the play seemed rather a tragic story.... I have looked up the word in an English dictionary and it gives the definition, "An imaginative story, fiction." How prosaic! To me Romance has always been something poetical and very real indeed.

At any rate, it is real in Reno; everywhere there is evidence of it; and it is easy to lay one's finger on the romantic cases. Just peep into the room of this new arrival; there is a bower of beautiful flowers, and there is a telegram on the dressing table. The lady's lawyer had been telegraphed to and has given instructions that a garden of flowers be arranged as a welcome to the fair exile; the telegram contains words of encouragement and consolation.

I heard of many romances that were beautiful and interesting; that pictured to my mind youthful mistakes righted, dreams realized and ideal future homes, with love reigning supreme and peace and harmony keeping the charm ever radiant. I can't tell you about all of them, therefore I shall select the one I thought most beautiful. The heroine of my selected romance is Mrs. Beuland, of Virginia.

Never have I found it so difficult to describe a woman as I find it to describe Mrs. Beuland; I wish I could picture to you this most unusual woman as I knew her in the southland, a mere girl of sixteen; as I think of her now she brings to my mind a poem of William Wordsworth:

"I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too: Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food-- For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles."

Yes, she was like a poem, with much of the untamed grace of a panther, and the gentleness of a dove.....

In Balzac's unique story, "A Pa.s.sion in the Desert," a question is asked: "How did their friends.h.i.+p end?" The answer is, "Like all great pa.s.sions--in a misunderstanding. One suspects the other. One is too proud to ask for an explanation and the other too stubborn to offer it." And so it was with Mrs. Beuland, else I should not be recording her romance here.

I am glad the story of Balzac did not read: "Like all great loves,"

because I believe that a great love always brings with it harmony and understanding. The misunderstanding in this case was due to the fact, that the girl did not know that under this great pa.s.sion lay slumbering a wonderful love of everlasting endurance.

Surely the heroine of this romance was deserving of a great love. She was like a sunbeam when she entered a room, she always brought gladness; she radiated the joy of living.

She rode like a princess, danced like a fairy, was a child of nature and at the same time a woman of the world. I have seen her romp in a daisy field and gather flowers with the children, as much a child as any of them, and a few hours later I have met her in a drawing room, an entirely different person, all dignity and self possession.

Mrs. Beuland was a daughter of one of the first families of Virginia; tall and stately, with a splendid, graceful physique, blue eyes, black hair and olive skin. Her physical charm and mental attraction were always struggling for supremacy.

She was a girl of many moods; sometimes the joy of living would just radiate from her and her care-free laughter and musical voice would be that of a happy child; another time her eyes would lose the sparkling, captivating expression and become dreamy and thoughtful, as though they were peering into the great beyond; her voice would tremble with earnestness as she would discuss some serious subject. And then again there would be a note of sadness, though never of bitterness.

I knew Mrs. Beuland as Nell Wilbur in Virginia, before her marriage to Mr. Beuland. Her family were among the victims of the Civil War who were left paupers after the wreckage of the South.

Nell Wilbur had always been proud, willful and highly strung. Her mother had died young. Her father after futile attempts to guide her steps in the right direction, finally concluded that it was better to let her have her head; she would run away with the bit anyway. She might break her neck, but she surely would have to learn life's lessons in her own way, and she did.

Her family tried to make a match for her but she refused, saying, "I want to be the captain of my own soul; I will make my own mistakes": and she kept her word. Just seventeen, she went to visit an aunt in New York, glowing with youth and health, with a mind full of romance and ideals; an enthusiast, and a dreamer of dreams. She at once found herself surrounded by devoted admirers, all rivaling with each other in their efforts to please her. One young millionaire, finding that she was fond of equestrian sports, offered her the pick of his stables, whereupon the young Virginian lifted her eyes in surprise as she said: "But where would I ride? Your little old park isn't big enough to ride in, and the people all look as though they dropped out of a Fifth Avenue shop window. If you would come with me for a cross country gallop in Virginia, you would understand that I could not possibly be interested in doing living pictures in Central Park!"

Among the hosts of Miss Wilbur's admirers there were two who interested the young lady; one a splendid young English lawyer, rich and handsome: the other, a young New York artist, poor but interesting, very sincere, very intellectual and with strong personality.

Both men had many faults, though they had their full share of fine qualities as well. The faults that were most annoying to Miss Wilbur in the young lawyer (whose name by the way was Glen Royce) were his profound conceit and his sensual nature. There was some excuse for him because the G.o.ds had endowed him with all their charms; he was an Adonis, Apollo and all the other Greek G.o.ds in one. I don't think I have ever seen two people so near physical perfection as Nell Wilbur and Glen Royce. They seemed to be made for each other; every one had decided that they would surely be married. Young Royce was madly in love, and though Miss Wilbur lavished her smiles on the young artist, Will Beuland, no one thought that he had the slightest chance.

Miss Wilbur's aunt invited a party of the young people to Atlantic City for the Easter holidays, and I was lucky enough to be asked, my princ.i.p.al pleasure being in watching the ideal young lovers. They were always perfectly groomed; always stunning; in morning dress, bathing suits and evening clothes, alike charming. The last evening before our return I was in the reception room when Nell appeared dressed for dinner. I watched young Royce when, with all the grace of a prince, he rose to receive her. She was in rose satin and chiffon, with a cl.u.s.ter of pink blossoms in her hand, like the herald of spring; so soft and delicately tinted were her beautifully moulded shoulders that one could scarcely perceive where the soft clinging chiffon left off. She was startlingly beautiful, and as I watched the man as he touched her hand, I could have sworn that all the blood in his veins had turned to liquid fire.

I made some excuse and left them alone. The balcony was dark and deserted, and I betook myself to its seclusion. I think the lovers must have forgotten about the balcony; I am quite sure he had forgotten everything but the vision before him. He was living in the world that never was; the sound of flutes was wafted on the breeze from fairyland. Pulsing bosom and sheen of sun-kissed shoulders....

Ah! maddening modesty and virtue, how inconsistent are thy ways! No wonder so many forget about the cursed serpent....

Through the windows I saw the man lead the woman to a cl.u.s.ter of palms in a far corner of the big room, seat her on a divan in the shadow of the palms and drop on his knees before her. The next moment she was in his arms. He had meant to propose the same as we read in books, but his lips were too near the woman's delicately tinted breast... He kissed her lips, her eyes, her bosom and shoulders; he was like the rush of a bursting river whose waters cry out in ecstasy of liberation as they leap in the suns.h.i.+ne.

That evening at dinner the engagement was informally announced. There was, however, something in Miss Wilbur's manner that I could not quite fathom; that something which completes the happiness of two people who love each other was lacking. It was not until ten years later when I met Mrs. Beuland in Reno, that I understood the shadow.

I knew that the young lawyer had failed to induce Miss Wilbur to consent to an early wedding, and after much persuasion Mr. Royce returned to England alone. Later it was rumored that the engagement had been broken off; then we heard that Mr. Royce had committed suicide; again that he had married; another time that he was returning to America to press his suit.

Miss Wilbur was very reticent about the subject and continued to receive the attentions of the young artist, Will Beuland, and some six months after Mr. Royce returned to England she was married to the New York artist. No one seemed surprised, though it caused much gossip.

Fancy my astonishment when ten years later I met the stately Mrs.

Beuland in the lobby of my hotel in Reno. I had not seen her since her marriage; the only difference the years had made, apparently, was that now she was a woman instead of a girl, and yes, there was just a wisp of snowy white hair among the black locks about her forehead, which made her look even more aristocratic, if that was possible.

When one is lonely and alone in a strange place, it is most agreeable to find an unexpected friend; and when one has a heavy heart, it is good to confide in a sympathetic friend; so Mrs. Beuland and I became close companions. I was fortunately able to lend a helping hand and cheer the lonely way of this charming and much loved woman. One day as we were chatting on the banks of the Truckee, she said to me: "Do you know, it does seem such a pity that one of the most beautiful things on earth really causes the most trouble!" "What is that?" I replied.

"Youthful ideals," she replied.

"For a youthful ideal I have paid long years of misery, and have spent that time as an apprentice in the workshop of wisdom. Tardy wisdom, the mother of all real enduring happiness. Because of a youthful ideal I did not marry the man I really loved; instead I married the man I thought I loved. I wanted to be the companion and friend and ideal mate and intellectual partner through life to the man I married; those were my ideals.

"The moment I promised myself to the man I loved I found myself clasped tightly in pa.s.sion's mad embrace; a mad pa.s.sion by youth's fierce fires fed; his kisses hotly pressed on my lips burned into my very soul and made my heart sick. Was that love? It was certainly not my ideal, to be the toy of mad pa.s.sion!

"Ah! where was wisdom's tardy voice that it did not whisper: 'G.o.d made men thus: there are no perfect men!'....

"How true it is that ideals are simply mental will-o'-the-wisps!....

"I married for ideals, not for love. I was in love with the ideal, and the man I married led me to believe he was that ideal; picture my heart-aching disappointment when I found that his art was his real bride, and that I was a sort of understudy; hardly that, after the first few months. I awoke to the fact that I had exchanged my youth and freedom for a domestic mill that sank all my ideals into commonplace. I said I would make my own mistakes and I did. Then came the long battle with my pride, and I suffered in silence. For seven long years I faced neglect and humiliation; and then one day after a visit to my old home, I returned to find my husband and one of his models occupying my very home.... my very bed. I turned and left the place without a word.

"For the first time in my life I grew bitter; I wondered if it were true, that realization kills all the joys we antic.i.p.ate; if all our rosy dreams turn gray in the face of cold reality.

"I was sick at heart and alone, too proud to go to anyone with my troubles; it seemed to me that day by day the color was fading out of my life. I had for years given all my love gifts only to answer duty's call and one by one the leaves of my romance began to fall, until jealousy, like a cancer, had eaten into my aching heart, and left me stripped of everything, even hope....

"My thoughts were muddled; I could not think clearly: it was a day in early June: I did not know where to go, and I did not want to meet anyone I knew. I never knew quite how or why, but a few hours later I found myself in Atlantic City. I arrived there in the evening and after refres.h.i.+ng myself, I walked out on the board walk and almost to the end of it, until there was no one in sight: and then I went down on the sand and there I seated myself. I thought, with the big silver moon overhead and the waves breaking on the sh.o.r.e, I should be able to think out some plan for the future. I don't know how long I sat there, but I know the only thoughts that came to me were that in my case I was forever through with romance, sentiments and ideals. There was a storm raging in my soul, and bitter resentment in my heart; I had meant so well and it had all come to this. I looked at my watch: it was nearly eleven; I suddenly realized that I had forgotten to dine, that my head ached and that I was tired. I got up and started back to the hotel. Then a miracle happened; it sounds like fiction but I swear it is the truth.....

"I heard my name called; it sounded as though it were an echo out of the past. I looked up.... a tall gentleman was standing by me looking down into my face; 'Good evening, Mrs. Beuland, this is indeed a pleasant surprise." Glen Royce....You know our story, and as I had not heard from him in years you can imagine my surprise.

"Mr. Royce had been in America just one week; he had come over on business and just thought it would be interesting to run down and have a peep at the sea. I think both our thoughts traveled back over the years to the Easter time we spent together there....

"'How long are you remaining?' he asked after a little pause. 'About a week,' I replied. 'May I call tomorrow then?' 'Yes,' I said, 'but I have just arrived and am rather tired; if you will excuse me I will leave you now.' He saw me to my hotel and said good night. I never knew quite what was said or what really happened, however. I slept soundly from sheer exhaustion, and awakened the next morning refreshed, but unable to realize that everything was not a dream.

"Then the 'phone rang. 'Good morning, Mrs. Beuland; this is Glen Royce speaking; hope I haven't called you too early? Will you come for a walk? It is a beautiful day.' I did and before the day was over, I had made a confidant of this old sweetheart of mine, and extracted a promise from him, a very foolish, silly promise.

"'I want so much to be your friend,' he said, 'there must be something I can do to make your burden lighter.' I told him that I would accept his friends.h.i.+p under one condition, that he would promise not to make love to me, and so the courts.h.i.+p was started all over again on a friends.h.i.+p basis, though I did not realize it at the time. Later he made me tell him why I broke our engagement, and when I explained he understood, and blamed it on a misunderstanding.

"I thought him a much finer man than he was ten years ago, but of course that is only the wisdom that comes with the years. It has been three years since I met him that evening, when I was blind with utter despair. That's the story so far! My case will be called tomorrow; if I am lucky I will be free, and then he is coming out and we will be married here and spend our honeymoon in California. I want you to be my only attendant. Things have turned out so that he is to remain in America; we have a beautiful little home near New York, down by the sea. When you go back East you must come and see us."

And so the happy day arrived, just as the sun was sinking down behind Mount Rose; we stood in the silent church; I held the flowers, a huge bouquet of simple spring blossoms, while the groom slipped the little gold band on the bride's finger and the organ pealed out the benediction....

A few months later I arrived in New York and telephoned, "h.e.l.lo, Nell, is that you? Here I am, may I come out, or are you two still honeymooning?" The answer came back: "We are still honeymooning, but you may come out; in fact, I am just crazy to see you. You will never find the way alone; meet Glen at his office and come out with him tonight!" And I did. The bride was at the station to meet us, radiantly happy. We motored over a beautiful bit of country and in about ten minutes came to a beautiful villa, with beautiful gardens and a glimpse of the sea in the distance; it did my soul good to watch this picture of domestic bliss. They were like a boy and girl again, up to their eyes in love and gloriously happy.

"A love and happiness with wisdom as its basis and made up of understanding and friends.h.i.+p, with a dash of romance, and enough pa.s.sion to lend warmth and charm, and a good portion of common sense that doesn't expect perfection": this is Nell's recipe for domestic happiness.

Three years later. My husband and I have just returned from a week-end visit to Mr. and Mrs. Royce: the recipe seems to be working fine; I am trying it myself. We sat on the porch and watched them stroll out to the beach, in the fading light of the setting sun, and then the shadows of twilight hid them from sight. They disappeared, hand in hand; lovers, living in perfect companions.h.i.+p, planning and building as they go. May their matrimonial s.h.i.+p continue to sail on sunny seas, where soft winds blow, and rest in the harbor of happiness at last.