Part One - SIX

by Willa Cather

　　It was during that winter, the first one Mrs. Forrester had everspent in the house on the hill, that Niel came to know her verywell. For the Forresters that winter was a sort of isthmus betweentwo estates; soon afterward came a change in their fortunes. Andfor Niel it was a natural turning-point, since in the autumn he wasnineteen, and in the spring he was twenty,--a very great difference.

　　After the Christmas festivities were over, the whist partiessettled into a regular routine. Three evenings a week JudgePommeroy and his nephew sat down to cards with the Forresters.Sometimes they went over early and dined there. Sometimes theystayed for a late supper after the last rubber. Niel, who had beenso content with a bachelor's life, and who had made up his mindthat he would never live in a place that was under the control ofwomen, found himself becoming attached to the comforts of a well-conducted house; to the pleasures of the table, to the soft chairsand soft lights and agreeable human voices at the Forresters'. Onbitter, windy nights, sitting in his favourite blue chair beforethe grate, he used to wonder how he could manage to tear himselfaway, to plunge into the outer darkness, and run down the longfrozen road and up the dead street of the town. Captain Forresterwas experimenting with bulbs that winter, and had built a littleglass conservatory on the south side of the house, off the backparlour. Through January and February the house was full ofnarcissus and Roman hyacinths, and their heavy, spring-like odourmade a part of the enticing comfort of the fireside there.

　　Where Mrs. Forrester was, dulness was impossible, Niel believed.The charm of her conversation was not so much in what she said,though she was often witty, but in the quick recognition of hereyes, in the living quality of her voice itself. One could talkwith her about the most trivial things, and go away with a highsense of elation. The secret of it, he supposed, was that shecouldn't help being interested in people, even very commonplacepeople. If Mr. Ogden or Mr. Dalzell were not there to tell theirbest stories for her, then she could be amused by Ivy Peters'ruffianly manners, or the soft compliments of old man Elliott whenhe sold her a pair of winter shoes. She had a fascinating gift ofmimicry. When she mentioned the fat iceman, or Thad Grimes at hismeat block, or the Blum boys with their dead rabbits, by a subtlesuggestion of their manner she made them seem more individual andvivid than they were in their own person. She often caricaturedpeople to their faces, and they were not offended, but greatlyflattered. Nothing pleased one more than to provoke her laughter.Then you felt you were getting on with her. It was her form ofcommenting, of agreeing with you and appreciating you when you saidsomething interesting,--and it often told you a great deal that wasboth too direct and too elusive for words.

　　Long, long afterward, when Niel did not know whether Mrs. Forresterwere living or dead, if her image flashed into his mind, it camewith a brightness of dark eyes, her pale triangular cheeks withlong earrings, and her many-coloured laugh. When he was dull, dulland tired of everything, he used to think that if he could hearthat long-lost lady laugh again, he could be gay.

　　The big storm of the winter came late that year; swept down overSweet Water the first day of March and beat upon the town for threedays and nights. Thirty inches of snow fell, and the cutting windblew it into whirling drifts. The Forresters were snowed in. BenKeezer, their man of all work, did not attempt to break a road oreven to come over to the town himself. On the third day Niel wentto the post-office, got the Captain's leather mail sack with itsaccumulation of letters, and set off across the creek, plunginginto drifts up to his middle, sometimes up to his arm-pits. Thefences along the lane were covered, but he broke his trail bykeeping between the two lines of poplars. When at last he reachedthe front porch, Captain Forrester came to the door and let him in.

　　"Glad to see you, my boy, very glad. It's been a little lonesomefor us. You must have had hard work getting over. I certainlyappreciate it. Come to the sitting-room fire and dry yourself. Wewill talk quietly. Mrs. Forrester has gone upstairs to lie down;she's been complaining of a headache."

　　Niel stood before the fire in his rubber boots, drying histrousers. The Captain did not sit down but opened the glass doorinto his little conservatory.

　　"I've something pretty to show you, Niel. All my hyacinths arecoming along at once, every colour of the rainbow. The Romanhyacinths, I say, are Mrs. Forrester's. They seem to suit her."

　　Niel went to the door and looked with keen pleasure at the fresh,watery blossoms. "I was afraid you might lose them in this bitterweather, Captain."

　　"No, these things can stand a good deal of cold. They've beencompany for us." He stood looking out through the glass at thedrifted shrubbery. Niel liked to see him look out over his place.A man's house is his castle, his look seemed to say. "Ben tells methe rabbits have come up to the barn to eat the hay, everythinggreen is covered up. I had him throw a few cabbages out for them,so they won't suffer. Mrs. Forrester has been on the porch everyday, feeding the snow birds," he went on, as if talking to himself.

　　The stair door opened, and Mrs. Forrester came down in her Japanesedressing-gown, looking very pale.

　　The dark shadows under her eyes seemed to mean that she had beenlosing sleep.

　　"Oh, it's Niel! How nice of you. And you've brought the mail.Are there any letters for me?"

　　"Three. Two from Denver and one from California." Her husbandgave them to her. "Did you sleep, Maidy?"

　　"No, but I rested. It's delightful up in the west room, the windsings and whistles about the eaves. If you'll excuse me, I'lldress and glance at my letters. Stand closer to the fire, Niel.Are you very wet?" When she stopped beside him to feel hisclothes, he smelled a sharp odour of spirits. Was she ill, hewondered, or merely so bored that she had been trying to dullherself?

　　When she came back she had dressed and rearranged her hair.

　　"Mrs. Forrester," said the Captain in a solicitous tone, "I believeI would like some tea and toast this afternoon, like your Englishfriends, and it would be good for your head. We won't offer Nielanything else."

　　"Very well. Mary has gone to bed with a toothache, but I will makethe tea. Niel can make the toast here by the fire while you readyour paper."

　　She was cheerful now,--tied one of Mary's aprons about Niel's neckand set him down with the toasting fork. He noticed that theCaptain, as he read his paper, kept his eye on the sideboard with acertain watchfulness, and when his wife brought the tray with tea,and no sherry, he seemed very much pleased. He drank three cups,and took a second piece of toast.

　　"You see, Mr. Forrester," she said lightly, "Niel has brought backmy appetite. I ate no lunch to-day," turning to the boy, "I'vebeen shut up too long. Is there anything in the papers?"

　　This meant was there any news concerning the people they knew. TheCaptain put on his silver-rimmed glasses again and read aloud aboutthe doings of their friends in Denver and Omaha and Kansas City.Mrs. Forrester sat on a stool by the fire, eating toast and makinghumorous comments upon the subjects of those solemn paragraphs; theengagement of Miss Erma Salton-Smith, etc.

　　"At last, thank God! You remember her, Niel. She's been here.I think you danced with her."

　　"I don't think I do. What is she like?"

　　"She's exactly like her name. Don't you remember? Tall, veryanimated, glittering eyes, like the Ancient Mariner's?"

　　Niel laughed. "Don't you like bright eyes, Mrs. Forrester?"

　　"Not any others, I don't!" She joined in his laugh so gaily thatthe Captain looked out over his paper with an expression ofsatisfaction. He let the journal slowly crumple on his knees, andsat watching the two beside the grate. To him they seemed aboutthe same age. It was a habit with him to think of Mrs. Forresteras very, very young.

　　She noticed that he was not reading. "Would you like me to lightthe lamp, Mr. Forrester?"

　　"No, thank you. The twilight is very pleasant."

　　It was twilight by now. They heard Mary come downstairs and beginstirring about the kitchen. The Captain, his slippers in the zoneof firelight and his heavy shoulders in shadow, snored from time totime. As the room grew dusky, the windows were squares of clear,pale violet, and the shutters ceased to rattle. The wind was dyingwith the day. Everything was still, except when Bohemian Maryroughly clattered a pan. Mrs. Forrester whispered that she was outof sorts because her sweetheart, Joe Pucelik, hadn't been over tosee her. Sunday night was his regular night, and Sunday was thefirst day of the blizzard. "When she's neglected, her tooth alwaysbegins to ache!"

　　"Well, now that I've got over, he'll have to come, or she will bein a temper."

　　"Oh, he'll come!" Mrs. Forrester shrugged. "I am blind and deaf,but I'm quite sure she makes it worth his while!" After a fewmoments she rose. "Come," she whispered, "Mr. Forrester is asleep.Let's run down the hill, there's no one to stop us. I'll slip onmy rubber boots. No objections!" She put her fingers on his lips."Not a word! I can't stand this house a moment longer."

　　They slipped quietly out of the front door into the cold air whichtasted of new-fallen snow. A clear arc of blue and rose colourpainted the west, over the buried town. When they reached therounded breast of the hill, blown almost bare, Mrs. Forrester stoodstill and drew in deep breaths, looking down over the driftedmeadows and the stiff, blue poplars.

　　"Oh, but it is bleak!" she murmured. "Suppose we should have tostay here all next winter, too, . . . and the next! What willbecome of me, Niel?" There was fear, unmistakable fright in hervoice. "You see there is nothing for me to do. I get no exercise.I don't skate; we didn't in California, and my ankles are weak.I've always danced in the winter, there's plenty of dancing atColorado Springs. You wouldn't believe how I miss it. I shalldance till I'm eighty. . . . I'll be the waltzing grandmother!It's good for me, I need it."

　　They plunged down into the drifts and did not stop again until theyreached the wooden bridge.

　　"See, even the creek is frozen! I thought running water neverfroze. How long will it be like this?"

　　"Not long now. In a month you'll see the green begin in the marshand run over the meadows. It's lovely over here in the spring.And you'll be able to get out tomorrow, Mrs. Forrester. The cloudsare thinning. Look, there's the new moon!"

　　She turned. "Oh, I saw it over the wrong shoulder!"

　　"No you didn't. You saw it over mine."

　　She sighed and took his arm. "My dear boy, your shoulders aren'tbroad enough."

　　Instantly before his eyes rose the image of a pair of shouldersthat were very broad, objectionably broad, clad in a froggedovercoat with an astrachan collar. The intrusion of this thirdperson annoyed him as they went slowly back up the hill.

　　Curiously enough, it was as Captain Forrester's wife that she mostinterested Niel, and it was in her relation to her husband that hemost admired her. Given her other charming attributes, hercomprehension of a man like the railroad-builder, her loyalty tohim, stamped her more than anything else. That, he felt, wasquality; something that could never become worn or shabby; steel ofDamascus. His admiration of Mrs. Forrester went back to that, justas, he felt, she herself went back to it. He rather liked thestories, even the spiteful ones, about the gay life she led inColorado, and the young men she kept dangling about her everywinter. He sometimes thought of the life she might have beenliving ever since he had known her,--and the one she had chosen tolive. From that disparity, he believed, came the subtlest thrillof her fascination. She mocked outrageously at the proprieties sheobserved, and inherited the magic of contradictions.