CHAPTER XXVIII
MRS. FOLEY ON MARRIAGE
Faith and Angus were to be married at Faith's ranch. There was smallpreparation, to the scandal of Mrs. Foley.
"Sure I niver thought to see ye go off this way, wid no style about ye!"she mourned. "Foour min have I tuk, hopin' th' bether an' gettin' th'worse, but annyways ivery time they was lashin's to ate an' dhrink, an'all the folks there we knowed an' plenty we didn't. But here ye'refixin' for nobody at all."
"Well, there won't be anybody," Faith replied. "It's to be a very quietwedding."
"Ye may say that," Mrs. Foley agreed. "All th' differ' bechune it an' adeath-bed will be a docther an' a nurse."
"Oh it's not as bad as that, Mary," Faith laughed. "I really prefer itthat way."
"Bein' a woman mesilf, I know ye're lyin'," Mrs. Foley returneduncompromisingly. "'Tis not the nacher iv us to dispinse wid frills inannything."
Faith laughed, stifling a sigh. She had had her dreams. But she wasquite content. Mrs. Foley ran on:
"Sure, thin, iver since ye was a little tot I've been thinkin' that someday I'd see ye comin' up th' aisle in a big church on yer blessedfather's arrum, all in white wid a big bookay an' veil an' orangeblossoms an' all; an' th' organist tearin' th' bowils out iv th' organwhiles, an' th' choir rippin' loose; an' a foine fat bishop or th'loikes, wid a grand voice rowlin' th' solemn words out in his chist.An' aftherwards atin' an' dhrinkin' an speechifyin', an' showers iv ricean' shoes an' white ribbon be th' yarrd. Thim's th' things I t'ought f'rto see. An' instid iv that, ye will stand up in privut in a shack in aneck iv woods, an' have th' words said over ye by a dom', wryneck,Gospel George iv a heretic pulpit-poundher, that's dhruv out in abuckboord dhrawed be a foundhered harrse, to do th' job loike a plumbercomes. Well, God's will be done. An' mebbe yer second weddin' will bediff'rent. Though they's never th' peachbloom on th' second they is onth' first, worse luck."
"Mary! what a thing to say!" Faith cried. "There will never be a secondwedding for me."
"Ye say so--knowin' nawthin'," Mrs. Foley responded. "All wimmin say sobefore they're first married, knowin' nawthin' iv marriage; an' half ivthim swear it to thimselves before they've been married a year, knowin'too much. But sure 'tis th' nacher iv us to take chances, or we'd nivermarry at all. An' f'r why should a young widdy woman like yerself golonely all yer days?"
"Heavens, Mary, stop it!" Faith shuddered. "Talking like that before I'mmarried at all. I'm not a widow; I won't be a widow."
"I'm wan foour times," Mrs. Foley observed. "An' I've knowed thim thatwud have give their sowls to be wan just wanst. Ye niver can tell."
"To judge by Angus' looks I won't be a widow for a long time," Faithlaughed.
Mrs. Foley shook her head sagely. "Nor ye can't tell about that. Sthrongth' lad is, but he's voylent, an' voylent min come to quick ends."
"Violent? Nonsense! He never loses his temper."
"All min lose their timpers," Mrs. Foley asserted; "an' th' quoiter th'man th' bigger divil he is whin he starts. Thim kind is th' worst. It'snot f'r nawthin' he carries that harrd face."
"His face isn't hard," Faith contradicted indignantly.
Mrs. Foley waved her hand. "I was speakin' in parables, loike. I'm notmeanin' it's bad-lookin' he is, but he's harrd. He's th' kind that niverforgives wrong or slight, an' it wud shtrain him awful to forgive th'same. They's a divil lives deep down in him, I'm tellin' ye, that's bestleft asleep."
"Bosh!" said Faith.
"Ye say that, bein' ign'rant iv min," Mrs. Foley told her gravely. "Ibelieve he loves ye thrue, an' ut's little th' life iv a man wud beworth who should speak a light word iv ye, or lay a hand on ye in otherthan respect, if he knew it. But take ye heed, my gyurl, niver to rousethat sleepin' divil an' have him peep at ye through the eyes of yer man.Niver, as ye value yer station as a wife, give him annything to forgivein ye as a wife. Forgive it he might, but forget it he niver would."
Faith, her smooth cheeks aflame, drew herself up haughtily. "You have noright to speak to me like that."
"I am takin' th' right," Mrs. Foley replied steadily. "Do I not know yefor what ye are--a little lady born an' bred, pure-minded an'high-minded? Ye blush whin an old woman that's seen th' rough iv utcalls a spade a spade. I wud tear th' eyes out iv man or woman thatspoke ill of ye. But ye are a woman, an' women will be women, and minmin, foriver an' a day."
"You have never spoken to me so before. Why do you do it now?"
"Bekase ye are about to take a man," Mrs. Foley replied. "A colleen isher own woman, wid none but herself to gyard an' care for; but a wife isher man's woman, an' besides herself she must gyard an' care for her manan' his love for her. The wise wife will gyard herself closer nor whinshe was a maid, an' she will gyard her man closer nor his mother."
"Angus may trust me," Faith said proudly, "as I trust him."
"An' well f'r both iv ye," said Mrs. Foley, "if as ye say now in yeryouth ye do till ye have grandchilder." She wound a great arm aroundFaith and drew her to her ample bosom. "There, there, gyurl iv me heart!Forgive th' rough tongue iv an owld woman wid a long, harrd road behindher. Th' lad is a rale man, if iver I saw wan. An' as f'r th' divil inhim, I wouldn' give a snap iv me thumb for a man widout wan."
Whereat Faith, being motherless and in spite of her independence lonelyas well, cried a little and so did Mrs. Foley, and both enjoyed it verymuch.
The wedding took place a few days later. Kathleen French was the onlyone of her family present. Turkey would not come, sending Jean anexcuse. Faith had never even seen him.
There was no wedding trip. But after a few days at the Mackay ranchAngus began to arrange excursions. So far as he could see, it was nowmerely a matter of weeks till the place had another owner, probablyBraden. He had done his best, and he was more or less resigned to theinevitable. With the resignation a load of worry dropped from hisshoulders. Later he must make a fresh start, but now he would enjoy thepresent.
With Faith he took long rides into the foothills, along faint, oldtrails first beaten by the feet of the long-vanished elk, through deeptimber where towering, seal-brown trunks shot fifty feet in the airwithout a limb and met in dense, needle-foliage above, and the horses'feet fell without sound; beside creeks fed by the hoary, old glacierswhich far away glinted gray, and ridged, and fissured, relics of theancient ice-cap which once overlay and over-rode the land. To Faiththese trips were a novelty, opening a fresh world new and wonderful.Incidentally they showed her husband to advantage, in a new light andher trust in him strengthened.
_To Faith these trips were a novelty, opening a world newand wonderful._]
In such surroundings Angus was at home, adequate, competent. Hisknowledge of them amazed Faith, though there was nothing at allwonderful about it, since he had lived in the open all his life andconsorted with men who had done likewise. His camps were alwayscomfortable and sheltered. He constructed deep beds in which one sankluxuriously. Rain or shine he was a wizard with a fire and a frying pan,building browned and feathery bannocks in a minimum of time, thedoughgods he mixed were marvels, his mulligan a thing to dream of. Allwas accomplished without hurry and without fuss. She saw the resultswithout quite appreciating the method.
Another thing which impressed her was his apparent ability to make thehorses comprehend his wishes. When he spoke to them he seldom raised hisvoice. When trouble developed he was infinitely patient; when punishmentwas necessary he inflicted it without temper. Faith saw no signs of the"divil" of which Mrs. Foley had spoken. If he existed at all he dweltdeep, in the dungeons of the man's being, securely chained.
It was natural that she should take pride in her husband's physique. Hisbody was hard, lean, in the condition of an athlete's in training. Herfingers pressing his forearm made scarcely an impression. Once, as hebent to heave out of the way fallen timber which blocked the trail, sheplaced her hands upon his back. He turned his head.
"Lift!" she said, and beneath her hands she felt the long, pliantmuscles spring and tauten and harden
. On another occasion a bowlder hadfallen upon the trail, partially embedding itself. It was possible to goaround, but he would not. Finally he worried out the rock and rolled itdown the hillside.
"Heavy?" she queried.
"Pretty heavy. The trouble was I couldn't get hold of it."
"Do you know how strong you are?" she questioned.
"Why, no," he admitted. "That is, I don't know just what I can lift, ifthat is what you mean, nor what I could pack for say a mile if I had to.There's a good deal of knack in that sort of thing--balance anddistribution of weight, and the development of a certain set of musclesby keeping at it. There are men who can pack five hundred on a shortportage. I've heard of eight hundred--but I don't know."
Faith thought she had known Angus before marriage. But in thecompanionship of the trail and beside the evening fires beneath thestars she learned that her knowledge of him had been superficial. Shefound that the country rock of his reserve hid unsuspected veins oftenderness, of poesy and of melancholy. But though he possessed thesesofter veins--and she reflected that it should be her task to developthem--the man himself was essentially hard and grim. His outlook, whenshe came to know it, proved primitive, the code which governed himsimple and ancient--the old, old code of loyalty to friends, and in thematter of reprisals eye for eye and tooth for tooth.
"But that is not right," she urged when he had set forth this latterbelief. "We are told to return good for evil."
Angus smiled grimly. "We may be told to do so," he said, "and we aretold to turn the other cheek to the smiter. That is all very well whenthe evil or the blow is unintentional, sort of by accident. But when aman does you harm on purpose, out of meanness, the best way to show himhe has made a mistake is to get back at him hard."
"Which makes him hate you all the more."
"Maybe. But it makes him mighty careful what he does."
"But don't you see," she argued, "that if there were no such thing asforgiveness--if everybody paid back everybody for injuries in the samecoin--the whole world would be at feud and at war. We should go back tosavagery."
"And don't you see," he responded, "that if men knew they could get awaywith anything without a comeback the world wouldn't be much better.There are men and nations who are decent, and there are both who arenot. These have to be kept down. If they ruled, it would be terrorism."
"There would be the law; there must be the law, of course. That wouldprotect people."
"The law has too much red tape about it. In the old days things werebetter. Then a man packed his own law."
"The gun? A horrible state of affairs! Barbarism!"
"Well, it made men careful. Now you take Braden. With the help of thelaw he is going to get our ranch for a fraction of its value. I am notkicking about that. But he blew up my ditch. I don't mean he did ithimself, but he framed it, though I can't prove it. If it wasn't for thelaw I would go and twist the truth out of him, and then I would settlewith the men who did it. And then there's your ranch. I know it must beBraden who wants to buy that. I'd find out about that, too. There'ssomething wrong. He's trying to put something over." His fist clenchedsuddenly. "The rotten crooks!" he growled. "They've got me. But let themtry any dirty work on _you_!"
Secretly, Faith worried a little about the future, the more becauseAngus seemed utterly careless of it. He had utterly refused to allow herto sell her ranch and apply the proceeds to satisfy Braden's claim. Ifhe had any definite plans for the future he would not talk of them. Withwhat money he would have from the sale of stock and various chattelsthere would be enough for a start elsewhere. But when and where and howthat start should be made was up to Angus.
"Shouldn't we be making some definite plans?" she asked.
"I suppose we should," he admitted. "But I've always planned andworried, and the best I've made out of it all is to land in this mess.Now and then I've asked myself what was the use of it."
"But that's no state of mind for a man," she protested. "That's lie downand quit. You're not that sort, surely?"
"I didn't think I was," he said slowly. "I thought I had sand andstaying power. But I'm tired. Lord, you don't know how tired I am--andsore! Every thought I've had for years has been for the old place. Andnow to lose it! It sort of upsets me--temporarily. I'm deliberately notthinking, nor planning. When the place is sold it will be different.Till then I'm going to loaf, body and mind, for all I'm worth."
Though she thoroughly disapproved of this state of mind, Faith said nomore. Time drew on. And one night Angus announced that loafing was done.
"Now I'll get into the collar for another stretch of years," he said."To-morrow we'll start back. I want to be at the sale, to see who willbid the place in."
"It will be like turning the knife, won't it?"
"Yes, but I can take my medicine. Then I'll sell off the stock, turneverything I can into cash, fix up you and Jean somewhere and gocruising."
"Cruising?"
"Prospecting for new ground somewhere. The farther away the better. Iwant a lot of land--cheap. I'm out to make a stake--to found a fortunefor the Mackay family."
"You'll take me with you."
"No."
"Please!"
"Better not, old girl. I may have to cover a lot of ground before I findwhat I'm looking for, and the traveling will be rough. It's better forme to go alone."
Faith did not press. She recognized the truth of what he said. But sherealized as they rode down out of the hills what a difference alreadyhis absence would make in her life.