VIII
On the evening of the day of Alexandra's call at the Shabatas',a heavy rain set in. Frank sat up until a late hour reading theSunday newspapers. One of the Goulds was getting a divorce, andFrank took it as a personal affront. In printing the story of theyoung man's marital troubles, the knowing editor gave a sufficientlycolored account of his career, stating the amount of his incomeand the manner in which he was supposed to spend it. Frank readEnglish slowly, and the more he read about this divorce case, theangrier he grew. At last he threw down the page with a snort. Heturned to his farm-hand who was reading the other half of the paper.
"By God! if I have that young feller in de hayfield once, I showhim someting. Listen here what he do wit his money." And Frankbegan the catalogue of the young man's reputed extravagances.
Marie sighed. She thought it hard that the Goulds, for whom shehad nothing but good will, should make her so much trouble. Shehated to see the Sunday newspapers come into the house. Frank wasalways reading about the doings of rich people and feeling outraged.He had an inexhaustible stock of stories about their crimes andfollies, how they bribed the courts and shot down their butlerswith impunity whenever they chose. Frank and Lou Bergson had verysimilar ideas, and they were two of the political agitators of thecounty.
The next morning broke clear and brilliant, but Frank said theground was too wet to plough, so he took the cart and drove over toSainte-Agnes to spend the day at Moses Marcel's saloon. After hewas gone, Marie went out to the back porch to begin her butter-making.A brisk wind had come up and was driving puffy white clouds acrossthe sky. The orchard was sparkling and rippling in the sun. Mariestood looking toward it wistfully, her hand on the lid of thechurn, when she heard a sharp ring in the air, the merry sound ofthe whetstone on the scythe. That invitation decided her. She raninto the house, put on a short skirt and a pair of her husband'sboots, caught up a tin pail and started for the orchard. Emilhad already begun work and was mowing vigorously. When he saw hercoming, he stopped and wiped his brow. His yellow canvas leggingsand khaki trousers were splashed to the knees.
"Don't let me disturb you, Emil. I'm going to pick cherries.Isn't everything beautiful after the rain? Oh, but I'm glad to getthis place mowed! When I heard it raining in the night, I thoughtmaybe you would come and do it for me to-day. The wind wakenedme. Didn't it blow dreadfully? Just smell the wild roses! Theyare always so spicy after a rain. We never had so many of themin here before. I suppose it's the wet season. Will you have tocut them, too?"
"If I cut the grass, I will," Emil said teasingly. "What's thematter with you? What makes you so flighty?"
"Am I flighty? I suppose that's the wet season, too, then. It'sexciting to see everything growing so fast,--and to get the grasscut! Please leave the roses till last, if you must cut them. Oh,I don't mean all of them, I mean that low place down by my tree, wherethere are so many. Aren't you splashed! Look at the spider-websall over the grass. Good-bye. I'll call you if I see a snake."
She tripped away and Emil stood looking after her. In a few momentshe heard the cherries dropping smartly into the pail, and he beganto swing his scythe with that long, even stroke that few Americanboys ever learn. Marie picked cherries and sang softly to herself,stripping one glittering branch after another, shivering when shecaught a shower of raindrops on her neck and hair. And Emil mowedhis way slowly down toward the cherry trees.
That summer the rains had been so many and opportune that it wasalmost more than Shabata and his man could do to keep up with thecorn; the orchard was a neglected wilderness. All sorts of weeds andherbs and flowers had grown up there; splotches of wild larkspur,pale green-and-white spikes of hoarhound, plantations of wildcotton, tangles of foxtail and wild wheat. South of the apricottrees, cornering on the wheatfield, was Frank's alfalfa, wheremyriads of white and yellow butterflies were always flutteringabove the purple blossoms. When Emil reached the lower corner bythe hedge, Marie was sitting under her white mulberry tree, thepailful of cherries beside her, looking off at the gentle, tirelessswelling of the wheat.
"Emil," she said suddenly--he was mowing quietly about under thetree so as not to disturb her--"what religion did the Swedes haveaway back, before they were Christians?"
Emil paused and straightened his back. "I don't know. About likethe Germans', wasn't it?"
Marie went on as if she had not heard him. "The Bohemians, youknow, were tree worshipers before the missionaries came. Father saysthe people in the mountains still do queer things, sometimes,--theybelieve that trees bring good or bad luck."
Emil looked superior. "Do they? Well, which are the lucky trees?I'd like to know."
"I don't know all of them, but I know lindens are. The old peoplein the mountains plant lindens to purify the forest, and to do awaywith the spells that come from the old trees they say have lastedfrom heathen times. I'm a good Catholic, but I think I could getalong with caring for trees, if I hadn't anything else."
"That's a poor saying," said Emil, stooping over to wipe his handsin the wet grass.
"Why is it? If I feel that way, I feel that way. I like treesbecause they seem more resigned to the way they have to live thanother things do. I feel as if this tree knows everything I everthink of when I sit here. When I come back to it, I never have toremind it of anything; I begin just where I left off."
Emil had nothing to say to this. He reached up among the branchesand began to pick the sweet, insipid fruit,--long ivory-coloredberries, tipped with faint pink, like white coral, that fall tothe ground unheeded all summer through. He dropped a handful intoher lap.
"Do you like Mr. Linstrum?" Marie asked suddenly.
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Oh, ever so much; only he seems kind of staid and school-teachery.But, of course, he is older than Frank, even. I'm sure I don'twant to live to be more than thirty, do you? Do you think Alexandralikes him very much?"
"I suppose so. They were old friends."
"Oh, Emil, you know what I mean!" Marie tossed her head impatiently."Does she really care about him? When she used to tell me abouthim, I always wondered whether she wasn't a little in love withhim."
"Who, Alexandra?" Emil laughed and thrust his hands into histrousers pockets. "Alexandra's never been in love, you crazy!" Helaughed again. "She wouldn't know how to go about it. The idea!"
Marie shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, you don't know Alexandra as wellas you think you do! If you had any eyes, you would see that sheis very fond of him. It would serve you all right if she walkedoff with Carl. I like him because he appreciates her more thanyou do."
Emil frowned. "What are you talking about, Marie? Alexandra'sall right. She and I have always been good friends. What more doyou want? I like to talk to Carl about New York and what a fellowcan do there."
"Oh, Emil! Surely you are not thinking of going off there?"
"Why not? I must go somewhere, mustn't I?" The young man took uphis scythe and leaned on it. "Would you rather I went off in thesand hills and lived like Ivar?"
Marie's face fell under his brooding gaze. She looked down at hiswet leggings. "I'm sure Alexandra hopes you will stay on here,"she murmured.
"Then Alexandra will be disappointed," the young man said roughly."What do I want to hang around here for? Alexandra can run thefarm all right, without me. I don't want to stand around and lookon. I want to be doing something on my own account."
"That's so," Marie sighed. "There are so many, many things youcan do. Almost anything you choose."
"And there are so many, many things I can't do." Emil echoed hertone sarcastically. "Sometimes I don't want to do anything atall, and sometimes I want to pull the four corners of the Dividetogether,"--he threw out his arm and brought it back with a jerk,--"so,like a table-cloth. I get tired of seeing men and horses going upand down, up and down."
Marie looked up at his defiant figure and her face clouded. "I wishyou weren't so restless, and didn't get so worked up over things,"she said sadly.
"Thank you," he returned shortly.
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She sighed despondently. "Everything I say makes you cross, don'tit? And you never used to be cross to me."
Emil took a step nearer and stood frowning down at her bent head.He stood in an attitude of self-defense, his feet well apart, hishands clenched and drawn up at his sides, so that the cords stoodout on his bare arms. "I can't play with you like a little boyany more," he said slowly. "That's what you miss, Marie. You'llhave to get some other little boy to play with." He stopped and tooka deep breath. Then he went on in a low tone, so intense that itwas almost threatening: "Sometimes you seem to understand perfectly,and then sometimes you pretend you don't. You don't help thingsany by pretending. It's then that I want to pull the corners ofthe Divide together. If you WON'T understand, you know, I couldmake you!"
Marie clasped her hands and started up from her seat. She had grownvery pale and her eyes were shining with excitement and distress."But, Emil, if I understand, then all our good times are over, wecan never do nice things together any more. We shall have to behavelike Mr. Linstrum. And, anyhow, there's nothing to understand!"She struck the ground with her little foot fiercely. "That won'tlast. It will go away, and things will be just as they used to.I wish you were a Catholic. The Church helps people, indeed itdoes. I pray for you, but that's not the same as if you prayedyourself."
She spoke rapidly and pleadingly, looked entreatingly into hisface. Emil stood defiant, gazing down at her.
"I can't pray to have the things I want," he said slowly, "and Iwon't pray not to have them, not if I'm damned for it."
Marie turned away, wringing her hands. "Oh, Emil, you won't try!Then all our good times are over."
"Yes; over. I never expect to have any more."
Emil gripped the hand-holds of his scythe and began to mow. Marietook up her cherries and went slowly toward the house, cryingbitterly.