Part Two - THREE

by Willa Cather

　　Niel had planned to do a great deal of reading in the Forresters'grove that summer, but he did not go over so often as he hadintended. The frequent appearance of Ivy Peters about the placeirritated him. Ivy visited his new wheat fields on the bottom landvery often; and he always took the old path, that led from what wasonce the marsh, up the steep bank and through the grove. He waslikely to appear at any hour, his trousers stuffed into his top-boots, tramping along between the rows of trees with an air ofproprietorship. He shut the gate behind the house with a slam andwent whistling through the yard. Often he stopped at the kitchendoor to call out some pleasantry to Mrs. Forrester. This annoyedNiel, for at that hour of the morning, when she was doing herhousework, Mrs. Forrester was not dressed to receive her inferiors.It was one thing to greet the president of the Colorado & Utah endeshabille, but it was another to chatter with a coarse-grainedfellow like Ivy Peters in her wrapper and slippers, her sleevesrolled up and her throat bare to his cool, impudent eyes.

　　Sometimes Ivy strode through the rose plot where Captain Forresterwas sitting in the sun,--went by without looking at him, as ifthere were no one there. If he spoke to the Captain at all, he didso as if he were addressing someone incapable of understandinganything. "Hullo, Captain, ain't afraid this sun will spoil yourcomplexion?" or "Well, Captain, you'll have to get the prayer-meetings to take up this rain question. The drought's damned badfor my wheat."

　　One morning, as Niel was coming up through the grove, he heardlaughter by the gate, and there he saw Ivy, with his gun, talkingto Mrs. Forrester. She was bareheaded, her skirts blowing in thewind, her arm through the handle of a big tin bucket that rested onthe fence beside her. Ivy stood with his hat on his head, butthere was in his attitude that unmistakable something which showsthat a man is trying to make himself agreeable to a woman. He wastelling her a funny story, probably an improper one, for it broughtout her naughtiest laugh, with something nervous and excited in it,as if he were going too far. At the end of his story Ivy himselfbroke into his farm-hand guffaw. Mrs. Forrester shook her ringerat him and, catching up her pail, ran back into the house. Shebent a little with its weight, but Ivy made no offer to carry itfor her. He let her trip away with it as if she were a kitchenmaid, and that were her business.

　　Niel emerged from the grove, and stopped where the Captain sat inthe garden. "Good-morning, Captain Forrester. Was that Ivy Peterswho just went through here? That fellow hasn't the manners of apig!" he blurted out.

　　The Captain pointed to Mrs. Forrester's empty chair. "Sit down,Niel, sit down." He drew his handkerchief from his pocket andbegan polishing his glasses. "No," he said quietly, "he ain'toverly polite."

　　More than if he had complained bitterly, that guarded admissionmade one feel how much he had been hurt and offended by Ivy'srudeness. There was something very sad in his voice, and helpless.From his equals, respect had always come to him as his due; fromfellows like Ivy he had been able to command it,--to order them offhis place, or dismiss them from his employ.

　　Niel sat down and smoked a cigar with him. They had a long talkabout the building of the Black Hills branch of the Burlington. InBoston last winter Niel had met an old mine-owner, who was livingin Deadwood when the railroad first came in. When Niel asked himif he had known Daniel Forrester, the old gentleman said,"Forrester? Was he the one with the beautiful wife?"

　　"You must tell her," said the Captain, stroking the warm surface ofhis sun-dial. "Yes, indeed. You must tell Mrs. Forrester."

　　One night in the first week of July, a night of glorious moonlight,Niel found himself unable to read, or to stay indoors at all. Hewalked aimlessly down the wide, empty street, and crossed the firstcreek by the footbridge. The wide ripe fields, the whole country,seemed like a sleeping garden. One trod the dusty roads softly,not to disturb the deep slumber of the world.

　　In the Forrester lane the scent of sweet clover hung heavy. It hadalways grown tall and green here ever since Niel could remember;the Captain would never let it be cut until the weeds were mowed inthe fall. The black, plume-like shadows of the poplars fell acrossthe lane and over Ivy Peters' wheat fields. As he walked on, Nielsaw a white figure standing on the bridge over the second creek,motionless in the clear moonlight. He hurried forward. Mrs.Forrester was looking down at the water where it flowed bright overthe pebbles. He came up beside her. "The Captain is asleep?"

　　"Oh, yes, long ago! He sleeps well, thank heaven! After I tuckhim in, I have nothing more to worry about."

　　While they were standing there, talking in low voices, they heard aheavy door slam on the hill. Mrs. Forrester started and lookedback over her shoulder. A man emerged from the shadow of the houseand came striding down the drive-way. Ivy Peters stepped upon thebridge.

　　"Good evening," he said to Mrs. Forrester, neither calling her byname nor removing his hat. "I see you have company. I've justbeen up looking at the old barn, to see if the stalls are fit toput horses in there tomorrow. I'm going to start cutting wheat inthe morning, and we'll have to put the horses in your stable atnoon. We'd lose time taking them back to town."

　　"Why, certainly. The horses can go in our barn. I'm sure Mr.Forrester would have no objection." She spoke as if he had askedher permission.

　　"Oh!" Ivy shrugged. "The men will begin down here at six o'clock.I won't get over till about ten, and I have to meet a client at myoffice at three. Maybe you could give me some lunch, to savetime."

　　His impudence made her smile. "Very well, then; I invite you tolunch. We lunch at one."

　　"Thanks. It will help me out." As if he had forgotten himself, helifted his hat, and went down the lane swinging it in his hand.

　　Niel stood looking after him. "Why do you allow him to speak toyou like that, Mrs. Forrester? If you'll let me, I'll give him abeating and teach him how to speak to you."

　　"No, no, Niel! Remember, we have to get along with Ivy Peters, wesimply have to!" There was a note of anxiety in her voice, and shecaught his arm.

　　"You don't have to take anything from him, or to stand his badmanners. Anybody else would pay you as much for the land as hedoes."

　　"But he has a lease for five years, and he could make it verydisagreeable for us, don't you see? Besides," she spoke hurriedly,"there's more than that. He's invested a little money for me inWyoming, in land. He gets splendid land from the Indians some way,for next to nothing. Don't tell your uncle; I've no doubt it'scrooked. But the Judge is like Mr. Forrester; his methods don'twork nowadays. He will never get us out of debt, dear man! Hecan't get himself out. Ivy Peters is terribly smart, you know.He owns half the town already."

　　"Not quite," said Niel grimly. "He's got hold of a good deal ofproperty. He'll take advantage of anybody's necessity. You knowhe's utterly unscrupulous, don't you? Why didn't you let Mr.Dalzell, or some of your other old friends, invest your money foryou?"

　　"Oh, it was too little! Only a few hundred dollars I'd saved onthe housekeeping. They would put it into something safe, at sixper cent. I know you don't like Ivy,--and he knows it! He'salways at his worst before you. He's not so bad as--as his face,for instance!" She laughed nervously. "He honestly wants to helpus out of the hole we're in. Coming and going all the time, as hedoes, he sees everything, and I really think he hates to have mework so hard."

　　"Next time you have anything to invest, you let me take it to Mr.Dalzell and explain. I'll promise to do as well by you as IvyPeters can."

　　Mrs. Forrester took his arm and drew him into the lane. "But, mydear boy, you know nothing about these business schemes. You'renot clever that way,--it's one of the things I love you for. Idon't admire people who cheat Indians. Indeed I don't!" She shookher head vehemently.

　　"Mrs. Forrester, rascality isn't the only thing that succeeds inbusiness."

　　"It succeeds faster than anything else, though," she murmuredabsently. They walked as far as the end of the lane and turnedback again. Mrs. Forrester's hand tightened on his arm. She beganspeaking abruptly. "You see, two years, three years, more of this,and I could still go back to California--and live again. But afterthat . . . Perhaps people think I've settled down to grow oldgracefully, but I've not. I feel such a power to live in me,Niel." Her slender fingers gripped his wrist. "It's grown bybeing held back. Last winter I was with the Dalzells at GlenwoodSprings for three weeks (I owe THAT to Ivy Peters; he looked afterthings here, and his sister kept house for Mr. Forrester), and Iwas surprised at myself. I could dance all night and not feeltired. I could ride horseback all day and be ready for a dinnerparty in the evening. I had no clothes, of course; old eveningdresses with yards and yards of satin and velvet in them, that Mrs.Dalzell's sewing woman made over. But I looked well enough! Yes,I did. I always know how I'm looking, and I looked well enough.The men thought so. I looked happier than any woman there. Theywere nearly all younger, much. But they seemed dull, bored todeath. After a glass or two of champagne they went to sleep andhad nothing to say! I always look better after the first glass,--it gives me a little colour, it's the only thing that does. Iaccepted the Dalzell's invitation with a purpose; I wanted to seewhether I had anything left worth saving. And I have, I tell you!You would hardly believe it, I could hardly believe it, but I stillhave!"

　　By this time they had reached the bridge, a bare white floor in themoonlight. Mrs. Forrester had been quickening her pace all thewhile. "So that's what I'm struggling for, to get out of thishole,"--she looked about as if she had fallen into a deep well,--"out of it! When I'm alone here for months together, I plan andplot. If it weren't for that--"

　　As Niel walked back to his room behind the law offices, he feltfrightened for her. When women began to talk about still feelingyoung, didn't it mean that something had broken? Two or threeyears, she said. He shivered. Only yesterday old Dr. Dennison hadproudly told him that Captain Forrester might live a dozen. "Weare keeping his general health up remarkably, and he was originallya man of iron."

　　What hope was there for her? He could still feel her hand upon hisarm, as she urged him faster and faster up the lane.