The Pastures of Heaven

  "Good morning," said Maria politely.

  Allen edged shyly over toward the side of the road. "Morning," he said, and turned to look with affected interest up a side hill.

  "I go to Monterey," Maria continued. "Do you wish to ride?"

  Allen squirmed and searched the sky for clouds or hawks. "I ain't going only to the bus stop," he said sullenly.

  "And what then? It is a little ride, no?"

  The man scratched among his whiskers, trying to make up his mind. And then, more to end the situation than for the sake of a ride, he climbed into the buggy beside the fat Maria. She rolled aside to make room for him, and then oozed back. "Lindo, go!" she called. "Lindo, do you hear me? Go before I grow angry again." The lines clattered about Lindo's neck. His nose dropped toward the ground, and he sauntered on.

  For a little while they rode in silence, but soon Maria remembered how polite it was to encourage conversation. "You go on a trip, yes?" she asked.

  Allen glared at an oak tree and said nothing.

  "I have not been on a train," Maria confided after a moment, "but my sister, Rosa, has ridden on trains. Once she rode to San Francisco, and once she rode back. I have heard very rich men say it is good to travel. My own sister, Rosa, says so too."

  "I ain't going only to Salinas," said Allen.

  "Ah, of course I have been there many times. Rosa and I have such friends in Salinas. Our mother came from there. And our father often went there with wood."

  Allen struggled against his embarrassment. "Couldn't get the old Ford going, or I'd've gone in it."

  "You have, then, a Ford?" Maria was impressed.

  "Just an old Ford."

  "We have said, Rosa and I, that some day we, too, may have a Ford. Then we will travel to many places. I have heard very rich men say it is good to travel."

  As though to punctuate the conversation, an old Ford appeared over the hill and came roaring down on them. Maria gripped the lines. "Lindo, be calm!" she called. Lindo paid not the slightest attention either to Maria or to the Ford.

  Mr. and Mrs. Munroe were in the Ford. Bert craned his neck back as they passed. "God! Did you see that?" he demanded, laughing. "Did you see that old woman-killer with Maria Lopez?"

  Mrs. Munroe smiled.

  "Say," Bert cried. "It'd be a good joke to tell old lady Hueneker we saw her old man running off with Maria Lopez."

  "Don't you do anything of the kind," his wife insisted.

  "But it'd be a good joke. You know how she talks about him."

  "No, don't you do it, Bert!"

  Meanwhile Maria drove on, conversing guilelessly with her reluctant guest. "You do not come to our house for enchiladas. There are no enchiladas like ours. For look! we learned from our mother. When our mother was living, it was said as far as San Juan, even as far as Gilroy, that no one else could make tortillas so flat, so thin. You must know it is the beating, always the beating that makes goodness and thinness to a tortilla. No one ever beat so long as our mother, not even Rosa. I go now to Monterey for flour because it is cheaper there."

  Allen Hueneker sank into his side of the seat and wished for the bus station.

  It was late in the afternoon before Maria neared home again. "Soon we are there," she called happily to Lindo. "Have courage, my friend, the way is short now." Maria was bubbling with anticipation. In a riot of extravagance she had bought four candy bars, but that was not all. For Rosa she had a present, a pair of broad silken garters with huge red poppies appliqued on their sides. In her imagination she could see Rosa putting them on and then lifting her skirt, but very modestly, of course. The two of them would look at the garters in a mirror standing on the floor. Rosa would point her toe a trifle, and then the sisters would cry with happiness.

  In the yard Maria slowly unharnessed Lindo. It was good, she knew, to put offjoy, for by doing so, one increased joy. The house was very quiet. There were no vehicles in front to indicate the presence of customers. Maria hung up the old harness, and turned Lindo into the pasture. Then she took out the candy bars and the garters and walked slowly into the house. Rosa sat at one of the little tables, a silent, restrained Rosa, a grim and suffering Rosa. Her eyes seemed glazed and sightless. Her fat, firm hands were clenched on the table in front of her. She did not turn nor give any sign of recognition when Maria entered. Maria stopped and stared at her.

  "Rosa," she said timidly. "I'm back home, Rosa."

  Her sister turned slowly. "Yes," she said.

  "Are you sick, Rosa?"

  The glazed eyes had turned back to the table again. "No."

  "I have a present, Rosa. Look, Rosa." She held up the magnificent garters.

  Slowly, very slowly, Rosa's eyes crept up to the brilliant red poppies and then to Maria's face. Maria was poised to break into squealing enthusiasm. Rosa's eyes dropped, and two fat tears ran down the furrows beside her nose.

  "Rosa, do you see the present? Don't you like them, Rosa? Won't you put them on, Rosa?"

  "You are my good little sister."

  "Rosa, tell me, what is the matter? You are sick. You must tell your Maria. Did someone come?"

  "Yes," said Rosa hollowly, "the sheriff came."

  Now Maria fairly chattered with excitement. "The sheriff, he came? Now we are on the road. Now we will be rich. How many enchiladas, Rosa? Tell me how many for the sheriff."

  Rosa shook off her apathy. She went to Maria and put motherly arms about her. "My poor little sister," she said. "Now we cannot ever sell any more enchiladas. Now we must live again in the old way with no new dresses."

  "Rosa, you are crazy. Why you talk this way to me?"

  "It is true. It was the sheriff. 'I have a complaint,' he said to me. 'I have a complaint that you are running a bad house.' 'But that is a lie,' I said. 'A lie and an insult to our mother and to General Vallejo.' 'I have a complaint,' he told me. 'You must close your doors or else I must arrest you for running a bad house.' 'But it is a lie,' I tried to make him understand. 'I got a complaint this afternoon,' he said. 'When I have a complaint, there is nothing I can do, for see, Rosa,' he said to me as a friend, 'I am only the servant of the people who make complaints.' And now you see, Maria, my sister, we must go back to the old living." She left the stricken Maria and turned back to her table. For a moment Maria tried to understand it, and then she sobbed hysterically. "Be still, Maria! I have been thinking. You know it is true that we will starve if we cannot sell enchiladas. Do not blame me too much when I tell you this. I have made up my mind. See, Maria! I will go to San Francisco and be a bad woman." Her head dropped low over her fat hands. Maria's sobbing had stopped. She crept close to her sister.

  "For money?" she whispered in horror.

  "Yes," cried Rosa bitterly. "For money. For a great deal of money. And may the good Mother forgive me."

  Maria left her then, and scuttled into the hallway where she stood in front of the porcelain Mary. "I have placed candles," she cried. "I have put flowers every day. Holy Mother, what is the matter with us? Why do you let this happen?" Then she dropped on her knees and prayed, fifty Hail Marys! She crossed herself and rose to her feet. Her face was strained but determined.

  In the other room Rosa still sat bent over her table.

  "Rosa," Maria cried shrilly. "I am your sister. I am what you are." She gulped a great breath. "Rosa, I will go to San Francisco with you. I, too, will be a bad woman--"

  Then the reserve of Rosa broke. She stood up and opened her huge embrace. And for a long time the Lopez sisters cried hysterically in each other's arms.

  VIII

  Molly Morgan got off the train in Salinas and waited three quarters of an hour for the bus. The big automobile was empty except for the driver and Molly.

  "I've never been to the Pastures of Heaven, you know," she said. "Is it far from the main road?"

  "About three miles," said the driver.

  "Will there be a car to take me into the valley?"

  "No, not unless you're met."

  "But ho
w do people get in there?"

  The driver ran over the flattened body of a jack rabbit with apparent satisfaction. "I only hit 'em when they're dead," he apologized. "In the dark, when they get caught in the lights, I try to miss 'em."

  "Yes, but how am I going to get into the Pastures of Heaven?"

  "I dunno. Walk, I guess. Most people walk if they ain't met."

  When he set her down at the entrance to the dirt side-road, Molly Morgan grimly picked up her suitcase and marched toward the draw in the hills. An old Ford truck squeaked up beside her.

  "Goin' into the valley, ma'am?"

  "Oh--yes, yes I am."

  "Well, get in, then. Needn't be scared. I'm Pat Humbert. I got a place in the Pastures."

  Molly surveyed the grimy man and acknowledged his introduction. "I'm the new schoolteacher. I mean, I think I am. Do you know where Mr. Whiteside lives?"

  "Sure, I go right by there. He's clerk of the board. I'm on the school board myself, you know. We wondered what you'd look like." Then he grew embarrassed at what he had said, and flushed under his coating of dirt. " 'Course I mean what you'd be like. Last teacher we had gave a good deal of trouble. She was all right, but she was sick--I mean, sick and nervous. Finally quit because she was sick."

  Molly picked at the fingertips of her gloves. "My letter says I'm to call on Mr. Whiteside. Is he all right? I don't mean that. I mean--is he--what kind of a man is he?"

  "Oh, you'll get along with him all right. He's a fine old man. Born in that house he lives in. Been to college, too. He's a good man. Been clerk of the board for over twenty years."

  When he put her down in front of the big old house of John Whiteside, she was really frightened. "Now it's coming," she said to herself. "But there's nothing to be afraid of He can't do anything to me." Molly was only nineteen. She felt that this moment of interview for her first job was a tremendous inch in her whole existence.

  The walk up to the door did not reassure her, for the path lay between tight little flower beds hedged in with clipped box, seemingly planted with the admonition, "Now grow and multiply, but don't grow too high, nor multiply too greatly, and above all things, keep out of this path!" There was a hand on those flowers, a guiding and a correcting hand. The large white house was very dignified. Venetian blinds of yellow wood were tilted down to keep out the noon sun. Halfway up the path she came in sight of the entrance. There was a veranda as broad and warm and welcoming as an embrace. Through her mind flew the thought, "Surely you can tell the hospitality of a house by its entrance. Suppose it had a little door and no porch." But in spite of the welcoming of the wide steps and the big doorway, her timidities clung to her when she rang the bell. The big door opened, and a large, comfortable woman stood smiling at Molly.

  "I hope you're not selling something," said Mrs. Whiteside. "I never want to buy anything, and I always do, and then I'm mad."

  Molly laughed. She felt suddenly very happy. Until that moment she hadn't known how frightened she really was. "Oh, no," she cried. "I'm the new schoolteacher. My letter says I'm to interview Mr. Whiteside. Can I see him?"

  "Well, it's noon, and he's just finishing his dinner. Did you have dinner?"

  "Oh, of course. I mean, no."

  Mrs. Whiteside chuckled and stood aside for her to enter. "Well, I'm glad you're sure." She led Molly into a large dining room, lined with mahogany, glass-fronted dish closets. The square table was littered with the dishes of a meal. "Why, John must have finished and gone. Sit down, young woman. I'll bring back the roast."

  "Oh, no. Really, thank you, no, I'll just talk to Mr. Whiteside and then go along."

  "Sit down. You'll need nourishment to face John."

  "Is--is he very stem, with new teachers, I mean?"

  "Well," said Mrs. Whiteside. "That depends. If they haven't had their dinner, he's a regular bear. He shouts at them. But when they've just got up from the table, he's only just fierce."

  Molly laughed happily. "You have children," she said. "Oh, you've raised lots of children--and you like them."

  Mrs. Whiteside scowled. "One child raised me. Raised me right through the roof. It was too hard on me. He's out raising cows now, poor devils. I don't think I raised him very high."

  When Molly had finished eating, Mrs. Whiteside threw open a side door and called, "John, here's someone to see you." She pushed Molly through the doorway into a room that was a kind of library, for big bookcases were loaded with thick, old comfortable books, all filigreed in gold. And it was a kind of a sitting room. There was a fireplace of brick with a mantel of little red tile bricks and the most extraordinary vases on the mantel. Hung on a nail over the mantel, slung really, like a rifle on a shoulder strap, was a huge meerschaum pipe in the Jaegar fashion. Big leather chairs with leather tassels hanging to them, stood about the fireplace, all of them patent rocking chairs with the kind of springs that chant when you rock them. And lastly, the room was a kind of an office, for there was an old-fashioned roll-top desk, and behind it sat John Whiteside. When he looked up, Molly saw that he had at once the kindest and the sternest eyes she had ever seen, and the whitest hair, too. Real blue-white, silky hair, a great duster of it.

  "I am Mary Morgan," she began formally.

  "Oh, yes, Miss Morgan, I've been expecting you. Won't you sit down?"

  She sat in one of the big rockers, and the springs cried with sweet pain. "I love these chairs," she said. "We used to have one when I was a little girl." Then she felt silly. "I've come to interview you about this position. My letter said to do that."

  "Don't be so tense, Miss Morgan. I've interviewed every teacher we've had for years. And," he said, smiling, "I still don't know how to go about it."

  "Oh--I'm glad, Mr. Whiteside. I never asked for a job before. I was really afraid of it."

  "Well, Miss Mary Morgan, as near as I can figure, the purpose of this interview is to give me a little knowledge of your past and of the kind of person you are. I'm supposed to know something about you when you've finished. And now that you know my purpose, I suppose you'll be self-conscious and anxious to give a good impression. Maybe if you just tell me a little about yourself, everything'll be all right. Just a few words about the kind of girl you are, and where you came from."

  Molly nodded quickly. "Yes, I'll try to do that, Mr. Whiteside," and she dropped her mind back into the past.

  There was the old, squalid, unpainted house with its wide back porch and the round washtubs leaning against the rail. High in the great willow tree her two brothers, Joe and Tom, crashed about crying, "Now I'm an eagle. " "I'm a parrot. " "Now I'm an old chicken. " "Watch me!"

  The screen door on the back porch opened, and their mother leaned tiredly out. Her hair would not lie smoothly no matter how much she combed it. Thick strings of it hung down beside her face. Her eyes were always a little red, and her hands and wrists painfully cracked. "Tom, Joe," she called. "You'll get hurt up there. Don't worry me so, boys! Don't you love your mother at all?" The voices in the tree were hushed. The shrieking spirits of the eagle and the old chicken were drenched in self-reproach. Molly sat in the dust, wrapping a rag around a stick and doing her best to imagine it a tall lady in a dress. "Molly, come in and stay with your mother. I'm so tired today."

  Molly stood up the stick in the deep dust. "You, miss," she whispered fiercely. "You'll get whipped on your bare bottom when I come back." Then she obediently went into the house.

  Her mother sat in a straight chair in the kitchen. "Draw up, Molly. Just sit with me for a little while. Love me, Molly! Love your mother a little bit. You are mother's good little girl, aren't you?" Molly squirmed on her chair. "Don't you love your mother, Molly?"

  The little girl was very miserable. She knew her mother would cry in a moment, and then she would be compelled to stroke the stringy hair. Both she and her brothers knew they should love their mother. She did everything for them, everything. They were ashamed that they hated to be near her, but they couldn't help it. When she called to them and the
y were not in sight, they pretended not to hear, and crept away, talking in whispers.

  "Well, to begin with, we were very poor," Molly said to John Whiteside. "I guess we were really poverty-stricken. I had two brothers a little older than I. My father was a traveling salesman, but even so, my mother had to work. She worked terribly hard for us."

  About once in every six months a great event occurred. In the morning the mother crept silently out of the bedroom. Her hair was brushed as smoothly as it could be; her eyes sparkled, and she looked happy and almost pretty. She whispered, "Quiet, children! Your father's home."

  Molly and her brothers sneaked out of the house, but even in the yard they talked in excited whispers. The news traveled quickly about the neighborhood. Soon the yard was filled with whispering children. "They say their father's home." "Is your father really home?" "Where's he been this time?" By noon there were a dozen children in the yard, standing in expectant little groups, cautioning one another to be quiet.

  About noon the screen door on the porch sprang open and whacked against the wall. Their father leaped out. "Hi," he yelled. "Hi, kids!" Molly and her brothers flung themselves upon him and hugged his legs, while he plucked them off and hurled them into the air like kittens.

  Mrs. Morgan fluttered about, clucking with excitement. "Children, children. Don't muss your father's clothes."

  The neighbor children threw handsprings and wrestled and shrieked with joy. It was better than any holiday.

  "Wait till you see," their father cried. "Wait till you see what I brought you. It's a secret now. " And when the hysteria had quieted a little he carried his suitcase out on the porch and opened it. There were presents such as no one had ever seen, mechanical toys unknown before--tin bugs that crawled, dancing wooden niggers and astounding steam shovels that worked in sand. There were superb glass marbles with bears and dogs right in their centers. He had something for everyone, several things for everyone. It was all the great holidays packed into one.