Willa Cather - A Lost Lady (Chap. 1.5) lyrics

Niel went up the hill the next afternoon, just as the cutter with the two black ponies jingled round the driveway and stopped at the front door. Mrs. Forrester came out on the porch, dressed for a sleigh ride. Ellinger followed her, bu*toned up in a long fur-lined coat, showily befrogged down the front, with a glossy astrachan collar. He looked even more powerful and bursting with vigour than last night. His highly-coloured, well-visored countenance shone with a good opinion of himself and of the world. Mrs. Forrester called to Niel gaily. “We are going down to the Sweet Water to cut cedar boughs for Christmas. Will you keep Constance company? She seems a trifle disappointed at being left behind, but we can't take the big sleigh, — the pole is broken. Be nice to her, there's a good boy!” She pressed his hand, gave him a meaning, confidential smile, and stepped into the sleigh. Ellinger sprang in beside her, and they glided down the hill with a merry tinkle of sleighbells. Niel found Miss Ogden in the back parlour, playing solitaire by the fire. She was clearly out of humour. “Come in, Mr. Herbert. I think they might have taken us along, don't you? I want to see the river my own self. I hate bein' shut up in the house!” “Let's go out, then. Wouldn't you like to see the town?” Constance seemed not to hear him. She was wrinkling and unwrinkling her short nose, and the restless lines about her mouth were fluttering. “What's to hinder us from getting a sleigh at the livery barn and going down to the Sweet Water? I don't suppose the river's private property?” She gave a nervous, angry laugh and looked hopefully at Niel. “We couldn't get anything at this hour. The livery teams are all out,” he said with firmness. Constance glanced at him suspiciously, then sat down at the card table and leaned over it, drawing her plump shoulders together. Her fluffy yellow hair was wound round her head like a scarf and held in place by narrow bands of black velvet. The ponies had crossed the second creek and were trotting down the high road toward the river. Mrs. Forrester expressed her feelings in a laugh full of mischief. “Is she running after us? Where did she get the idea that she was to come? What a relief to get away!” She lifted her chin and sniffed the air. The day was grey, without sun, and the air was still and dry, a warm cold. “Poor Mr. Ogden,” she went on, “how much livelier he is without his ladies! They almost extinguish him. Now aren't you glad you never married?” “I'm certainly glad I never married a homely woman. What does a man do it for, anyway? She had no money, — and he's always had it, or been on the way to it.” “Well, they're off tomorrow. And Connie! You've reduced her to a state of imbecility, really! What an afternoon Niel must be having!” She laughed as if the idea of his predicament delighted her. “Who's this kid, anyway?” Ellinger asked her to take the reins for a moment while he drew a cigar from his pocket. “He's a trifle stiff. Does he make himself useful?” “Oh, he's a nice boy, stranded here like the rest of us. I'm going to train him to be very useful. He's devoted to Mr. Forrester. Handsome, don't you think?” “So-so.” They turned into a by-road that wound along the Sweet Water. Ellinger held the ponies in a little and turned down his high astrachan collar. “Let's have a look at you, Marian.” Mrs. Forrester was holding her muff before her face, to catch the flying particles of snow the ponies kicked up. From behind it she glanced at him sidewise. “Well?” she said teasingly. He put his arm through hers and settled himself low in the sleigh. “You ought to look at me better than that. It's been a devil of a long while since I've seen you.” “Perhaps it's been too long,” she murmured. The mocking spark in her eyes softened perceptibly under the long pressure of his arm. “Yes, it's been long,” she admitted lightly. “You didn't answer the letter I wrote you on the eleventh.” “Didn't I? Well, at any rate I answered your telegram.” She drew her head away as his face came nearer. “You'll really have to watch the ponies, my dear, or they'll tumble us out in the snow.” “I don't care. I wish they would!” he said between his teeth. “Why didn't you answer my letter?” “Oh, I don't remember! You don't write so many.” “It's no satisfaction. You won't let me write you love letters. You say it's risky.” “So it is, and foolish. But now you needn't be so careful. Not too careful!” she laughed softly. “When I'm off in the country for a whole winter, alone, and growing older, I like to. . .” she put her hand on his, “to be reminded of pleasanter things.” Ellinger took off his glove with his teeth. His eyes, sweeping the winding road and the low, snow-covered bluffs, had something wolfish in them. “Be careful, Frank. My rings! You hurt me!” “Then why didn't you take them off? You used to. Are these your cedars, shall we stop here?” “No, not here.” She spoke very low. “The best ones are farther on, in a deep ravine that winds back into the hills.” Ellinger glanced at her averted head, and his heavy lips twitched in a smile at one corner. The quality of her voice had changed, and he knew the change. They went spinning along the curves of the winding road, saying not a word. Mrs. Forrester sat with her head bent forward, her face half hidden in her muff. At last she told him to stop. To the right of the road he saw a thicket. Behind it a dry watercourse wound into the bluffs. The tops of the dark, still cedars, just visible from the road, indicated its windings. “Sit still,” he said, “while I take out the horses.” When the blue shadows of approaching dusk were beginning to fall over the snow, one of the Blum boys, slipping quietly along through the timber in search of rabbits, came upon the empty cutter standing in the brush, and near it the two ponies, stamping impatiently where they were tied. Adolph slid back into the thicket and lay down behind a fallen log to see what would happen. Not much ever happened to him but weather. Presently he heard low voices, coming nearer from the ravine. The big stranger who was visiting at the Forresters' emerged, carrying the buffalo robes on one arm; Mrs. Forrester herself was clinging to the other. They walked slowly, wholly absorbed by what they were saying to each other. When they came up to the sleigh, the man spread the robes on the seat and put his hands under Mrs. Forrester's arms to lift her in. But he did not lift her; he stood for a long while holding her crushed up against his breast, her face hidden in his black overcoat. “What about those damned cedar boughs?” he asked, after he had put her in and covered her up. “Shall I go back and cut some?” “It doesn't matter,” she murmured. He reached under the seat for a hatchet and went back to the ravine. Mrs. Forrester sat with her eyes closed, her cheek pillowed on her muff, a faint, soft smile on her lips. The air was still and blue; the Blum boy could almost hear her breathe. When the strokes of the hatchet rang out from the ravine, he could see her eyelids flutter . . . soft shivers went through her body. The man came back and threw the evergreens into the sleigh. When he got in beside her, she slipped her hand through his arm and settled softly against him. “Drive slowly,” she murmured, as if she were talking in her sleep. “It doesn't matter if we are late for dinner. Nothing matters.” The ponies trotted off. The pale Blum boy rose from behind his log and followed the tracks up the ravine. When the orange moon rose over the bluffs, he was still sitting under the cedars, his gun on his knee. While Mrs. Forrester had been waiting there in the sleigh, with her eyes closed, feeling so safe, he could almost have touched her with his hand. He had never seen her before when her mocking eyes and lively manner were not between her and all the world. If it had been Thad Grimes who lay behind that log, now, or Ivy Peters? But with Adolph Blum her secrets were safe. His mind was feudal; the rich and fortunate were also the privileged. These warm-blooded, quick-breathing people took chances, — followed impulses only dimly understandable to a boy who was wet and weather-chapped all the year; who waded in the mud fishing for cat, or lay in the marsh waiting for wild duck. Mrs. Forrester had never been too haughty to smile at him when he came to the back door with his fish. She never haggled about the price. She treated him like a human being. His little chats with her, her nod and smile when she pa**ed him on the street, were among the pleasantest things he had to remember. She bought game of him in the closed season, and didn't give him away.