Willa Cather - A Lost Lady (Chap. 2.7) lyrics

One morning in April Niel was alone in the law office. His uncle had been ill with rheumatic fever for a long while, and he had been attending to the routine of business. The door opened, and a figure stood there, strange and yet familiar, — he had to think a moment before he realized that it was Orville Ogden, who used to come to Sweet Water so often, but who had not been seen there now for several years. He didn't look a day older; one eye was still direct and clear, the other clouded and oblique. He still wore a stiff imperial and twisted moustache, the grey colour of old beeswax, and his thin hair was brushed heroically up over the bald spot. “This is Judge Pommeroy's nephew, isn't it? I can't think of your name, my boy, but I remember you. Is the Judge out?” “Please be seated, Mr. Ogden. My uncle is ill. He hasn't been at the office for several months. He's had really a very bad time of it. Is there anything I can do for you?” “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that! I'm sorry.” He spoke as if he were. “I guess all we fellows are getting older, whether we like it or not. It made a great difference when Daniel Forrester went.” Mr. Ogden took off his overcoat, put his hat and gloves neatly on the desk, and then seemed somewhat at a loss. “What is your uncle's trouble?” he asked suddenly. Niel told him. “I was to have gone back to school this winter, but uncle begged me to stay and look after things for him. There was no one here he wanted to entrust his business to.” “I see, I see,” said Mr. Ogden thoughtfully. “Then you do attend to his business for the present?” He paused and reflected. “Yes, there was something that I wanted to take up with him. I am stopping off for a few hours only, between trains. I might speak to you about it, and you could consult your uncle and write me in Chicago. It's a confidential matter, and concerns another person.” Niel a**ured him of his discretion, but Mr. Ogden seemed to find the subject difficult to approach. He looked very grave and slowly lit a cigar. “It is simply,” he said at last, “a rather delicate suggestion I wish to make to your uncle about one of his clients. I have several friends in the Government at Washington just at present, friends who would go out of their way to serve me. I have been thinking that we might manage it to get a special increase of pension for Mrs. Forrester. I am due in Chicago this week, and after my business there is finished, I would be quite willing to go on to Washington to see what can be done; provided, of course, that no one, least of all your uncle's client, knows of my activity in the matter.” Niel flushed. “I'm sorry, Mr. Ogden,” he brought out, “but Mrs. Forrester is no longer a client of my uncle's. After the Captain's d**h, she saw fit to take her business away from him.” Mr. Ogden's normal eye became as blank as the other. “What's that? He isn't her lawyer? Why, for twenty years — ” “I know that, sir. She didn't treat him with much consideration. She transferred her business very abruptly.” “To whom, may I ask?” “To a lawyer here in town; Ivy Peters.” “Peters? I never heard of him.” “No, you wouldn't have. He wasn't one of the people who went to the Forrester house in the old days. He's one of the younger generation, a few years older than I. He rented part of the Forresters' land for several years before the Captain's d**h, — was their tenant. That was how Mrs. Forrester came to know him. She thinks him a good business man.” Mr. Ogden frowned. “And is he?” “Some people think so.” “Is he trustworthy?” “Far from it. He takes the cases nobody else will take. He may treat Mrs. Forrester honestly. But if he does, it will not be from principle.” “This is very distressing news. Go on with your work, my boy. I must think this over.” Mr. Ogden rose and walked about the room, his hands behind him. Niel turned to an unfinished letter on his desk, in order to leave his visitor the more free. Mr. Ogden's position, he understood, was a difficult one. He had been devoted to Mrs. Forrester, and before Constance had made up her mind to marry Frank Ellinger, before the mother and daughter began to angle for him, Mr. Ogden had come to the Forresters' more frequently than any of their Denver friends. He hadn't been back, Niel believed, since that Christmas party when he and his family were there with Ellinger. Very soon afterward he must have seen what his women-folk were up to; and whether he approved or disapproved, he must have decided that there was nothing for him to do but to keep out. It hadn't been the Forresters' reversal of fortune that had kept him away. One could see that he was deeply troubled, that he had her heavily on his mind. Niel had finished his letter and was beginning another, when Mr. Ogden stopped beside his desk, where he stood twisting his imperial tighter and tighter. “You say this young lawyer is unprincipled? Sometimes rascals have a soft spot, a sentiment, where women are concerned.” Niel stared. He immediately thought of Ivy's dimples. “A soft spot? A sentiment? Mr. Ogden, why not go to his office? A glance would convince you.” “Oh, that's not necessary! I understand.” He looked out of the window, from which he could just see the tree-tops of the Forrester grove, and murmured, “Poor lady! So misguided. She ought to have advice from some of Daniel's friends.” He took out his watch and consulted it, turning something over in his mind. His train was due in an hour, he said. Nothing could be done at present. In a few moments he left the office. Afterward, Niel felt sure that when Mr. Ogden stood there uncertainly, watch in hand, he was considering an interview with Mrs. Forrester. He had wanted to go to her, and had given it up. Was he afraid of his womenfolk? Or was it another kind of cowardice, the fear of losing a pleasant memory, of finding her changed and marred, a dread of something that would throw a disenchanting light upon the past? Niel had heard his uncle say that Mr. Ogden admired pretty women, though he had married a homely one, and that in his deep, non-committal way he was very gallant. Perhaps, with a little encouragement, he would have gone to see Mrs. Forrester, and he might have helped her. The fact that he had done nothing to bring this about, made Niel realize how much his own feeling toward that lady had changed. It was Mrs. Forrester herself who had changed. Since her husband's d**h she seemed to have become another woman. For years Niel and his uncle, the Dalzells and all her friends, had thought of the Captain as a drag upon his wife; a care that drained her and dimmed her and kept her from being all that she might be. But without him, she was like a ship without ballast, driven hither and thither by every wind. She was flighty and perverse. She seemed to have lost her faculty of discrimination; her power of easily and graciously keeping everyone in his proper place. Ivy Peters had been in Wyoming at the time of Captain Forrester's illness and d**h, — called away by a telegram which announced that oil had been discovered near his land-holdings. He returned soon after the Captain's funeral, however, and was seen about the Forrester place more than ever. As there was nothing to be done on his fields in the winter, he had amused himself by pulling down the old barn after office hours. One was likely to come upon him, smoking his cigar on the front porch as if he owned the place. He often spent the evening there, playing cards with Mrs. Forrester or talking about his business projects. He had not made his fortune yet, but he was on the way to it. Occasionally he took a friend or two, some of the town boys, over to dine at Mrs. Forrester's. The boys' mothers and sweethearts were greatly scandalized. “Now she's after the young ones,” said Ed Elliott's mother. “She's getting childish.” At last Niel had a plain talk with Mrs. Forrester. He told her that people were gossiping about Ivy's being there so much. He had heard comments even on the street. “But I can't bother about their talk. They have always talked about me, always will. Mr. Peters is my lawyer and my tenant; I have to see him, and I'm certainly not going to his office. I can't sit in the house alone every evening and knit. If you came to see me any oftener than you do, that would make talk. You are still younger than Ivy, — and better-looking! Did that never occur to you?” “I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that,” he said coldly. “Mrs. Forrester, why don't you go away? to California, to people of your own kind. You know this town is no place for you.” “I mean to, just as soon as I can sell this place. It's all I have, and if I leave it to tenants it will run down, and I can't sell it to advantage. That's why Ivy is here so much, he's trying to make the place presentable; pulling down the old barn that had become an eyesore, putting new boards in the porch floor where the old ones had rotted. Next summer, I am going to paint the house. Unless I keep the place up, I can never get my price for it.” She talked nervously, with exaggerated earnestness, as if she were trying to persuade herself. “And what are you asking for it now, Mrs. Forrester?” “Twenty thousand dollars.” “You'll never get it. At least, not until times have greatly changed.” “That's what your uncle said. He wouldn't attempt to sell it for more than twelve. That's why I had to put it into other hands. Times have changed, but he doesn't realize it. Mr. Forrester himself told me it would be worth that. Ivy says he can get me twenty thousand, or if not, he will take it off my hands as soon as his investments begin to bring in returns.” “And in the meantime, you are simply wasting your life here.” “Not altogether.” She looked at him with pleading plausibility. “I am getting rested after a long strain. And while I wait, I'm finding new friends among the young men, — those your age, and a little younger. I've wanted for a long while to do something for the boys in this town, but my hands were full. I hate to see them growing up like savages, when all they need is a civilized house to come to, and a woman to give them a few hints. They've never had a chance. You wouldn't be the boy you are if you'd never gone to Boston, — and you've always had older friends who'd seen better days. Suppose you had grown up like Ed Elliott and Joe Simpson?” “I flatter myself I wouldn't be exactly like them, if I had! However, there is no use discussing it, if you've thought it over and made up your mind. I spoke of it because I thought you mightn't realize how it strikes the townspeople.” “I know!” She tossed her head. Her eyes glittered, but there was no mirth in them, — it was more like hysterical defiance. “I know; they call me the Merry Widow. I rather like it!” Niel left the house without further argument, and though that was three weeks ago, he had not been back since. Mrs. Forrester had called to see his uncle in the meantime. The Judge was as courtly as ever in his manner toward her, but he was deeply hurt by her defection, and his cherishing care for her would never be revived. He had attended to all Captain Forrester's business for twenty years, and since the failure of the Denver bank had never deducted a penny for fees from the money entrusted to him. Mrs. Forrester had treated him very badly. She had given him no warning. One day Ivy Peters had come into the office with a written order from her, requesting that an accounting, and all funds and securities, be turned over to him. Since then she had never spoken of the matter to the Judge, — or to Niel, save in that conversation about the sale of the property.