The Land of Promise: A Comedy in Four Acts (1922) Page 12

  "This trunk of yours ain't what you might call light, Mrs. Taylor," said Sharp good-naturedly as he stepped over the threshold.

  "You see it holds everything I own in the world," said Nora lightly.

  "I guess it don't do that," laughed her husband. "Since this morning, you own a half share in a hundred and sixty acres of as good land as there is in the Province of Manitoba, and a mighty good shack, if I did build it all myself."

  "To say nothing of a husband," retorted Nora.

  "Where do you want it put?" asked Sharp.

  "It 'ud better go in the next room right away. We don't want to be falling over it."

  As they were carrying it in, Nora, with a rather helpless air, carried a couple of logs and a handful of newspapers over from the pile in the corner.

  "Here, you'll never be able to light a fire with logs like that. Where's that darned ax? I'll chop 'em for you. I guess you'll have plenty to do getting the shack tidy."

  After a little searching, he found the ax back of the wood-pile and set himself to splitting the logs. In the meantime, Sharp, who had made another pilgrimage to the rig, returned carrying his friend's grip and gun.

  "Now, that's real good of you, Sid."

  "Get any shooting down at Dyer, Frank?"

  "There was a rare lot of prairie chickens round, but I didn't get out more than a couple of days."

  "Well," said Sharp, taking off his fur cap and scratching his head, "I guess I'll be gettin' back home now."

  "Oh, stay and have a cup of tea, won't you?"

  "Do," said Nora, seconding the invitation.

  She had taken quite a fancy to this rough, good-natured man. In spite of his straggly beard and unkempt appearance, there was a vague suggestion of the soldier about him. Besides, she had a vague feeling that she would like to postpone his departure as long as she could.

  "I hope you won't be offended if I say that I would take you for English," she said, smiling brightly on him.

  "You're right, ma'am, I am English."

  "And a soldier?"

  "I was a non-commissioned officer in a regiment back home, ma'am," he said, greatly pleased. "But why should I be offended?"

  Nora and her husband exchanged glances.

  "It's this way," Frank laughed. "Gertie, that's Nora's brother's wife--down where I've been working--ain't very partial to the English. I guess my wife's been rather fed up with her talk."

  "Oh, I see. But, thank you all the same, and you, too, Mrs. Taylor, I don't think I'll stay. It's getting late and the mare'll get cold."

  "Put her in the shed."

  "No, I think I'll be toddling. My missus says I was to give you her compliments, Mrs. Taylor, and she'll be round to-morrow to see if there's anything you want."

  "That's very kind of her. Thank you very much."

  "Sid lives where you can see that light just about a mile from here, Nora," explained Frank. "Mrs. Sharp'll be able to help you a lot at first."

  "Oh, well, we've been here for thirteen years and we know the ways of the country by now," deprecated Mr. Sharp.

  "Nora's about as green as a new dollar bill, I guess."

  "I fear that's too true," Nora admitted smilingly.

  "There's a lot you can't be expected to know at first," protested their neighbor. "I'll say good night, then, and good luck."

  "Well, good night then, Sid, if you won't stay. And say, it was real good of you to come and fetch us in the rig."

  "Oh, that's all right. Good night to you, Mrs. Taylor."

  "Goodnight."

  Pulling his cap well down over his ears, Mr. Sharp took his departure. In the silence they could hear him drive away.

  Nora went over to the stove again and made a pretense of examining the fire, conscious all the time that her husband was looking at her intently.

  "I guess it must seem funny to you to hear him call you Mrs. Taylor, eh?"

  "No. He isn't the first person to do so. The clergyman's wife did, you remember."

  "That's so. How are you getting on with that fire?"

  "All right."

  "I guess I'll get some water; I'll only be a few minutes."

  He took a pail and went out. Nora could hear him pumping down in the yard. Getting up hurriedly from her knees before the stove, she took up the lamp and held it high above her head.

  This untidy, comfortless, bedraggled room was now hers, her home! She would not have believed that any human habitation could be so hopelessly dreary.

  The walls were not even sealed, as at the brother's. Tacked, here and there, against the logs were pictures cut from illustrated papers, unframed, just as they were. The furniture, with the exception of the inevitable rocking-chair, worn and shabby from hard use, had apparently been made by Frank, himself, out of old packing boxes. The table had been fashioned by the same hand out of similar materials. On a shelf over the rusty stove stood a few battered pots and pans; evidently the entire kitchen equipment. There were two doors, one by which she had entered; the other, leading supposedly into another room. The one window was small and low. Even in this light she could see that a spider had spun a huge web across it. In the dark corners of the room all sorts of objects seemed to be piled without any pretense of order.

  She lowered the lamp and listened. Yes, she could still hear the pump. With a furtive, guilty air she hurried to complete her examination before he should surprise her.

  One of the corners contained a battered suitcase and a nondescript pile of old clothes, the other was piled high with yellowing copies of what she saw was the Winnipeg Free Press and a few old magazines.

  "The library!" she said bitterly, and was surprised to find that she had spoken aloud. Insane people did that, she had heard. Was she----?

  She ran over to a shelf that had escaped her notice, and the ill-fitting lamp chimney rattled as she moved. It was stacked high with the same empty syrup cans that at Gertie's did the duty of flower-pots. But these held flour, now quite mouldy, and various other staple supplies all spoiled and useless. She started to say "the larder," but, remembering in time, put her hand over her lips that she might only think it.

  And now she had come to that other door. She must see what was there.

  "Having a look at the shack?"

  She gave a stifled scream and for a moment turned so pale that he hastily set down his pail and went over to her.

  "I guess you're all tuckered out," he said kindly. "No wonder. You've had quite a little excitement the last day or two."

  With a tremendous effort, Nora recovered her self-control. She walked steadily over to one of the packing-box stools and sat down.

  "It was silly of me, but you don't know how you startled me. Don't think I usually have nerves, but--but the place was strange last night and I didn't sleep very well."

  "Do you mind if I open the door a moment?" she asked after a short pause. "It isn't really cold and it looks so beautiful outside. One can't see anything out of the window, you know, it's so cobwebby. I must clean it--to-morrow."

  Try as she would, her voice faltered on the last word.

  She threw open the door and stood a moment looking out into the bright Canadian night brilliant with stars. It was all so big, so open, so free--and so lonely! You could fairly hear the stillness. But she must not think of that. Ah, there was the light that she had been told was the Sharp's farm. Somehow, it brought her comfort. But even as she watched, the light went out. She came in and closed the door.

  CHAPTER XII

  He was sitting on one of the stools, pipe in mouth, reading a newspaper he had already read in the train.

  "Well, what do you think of the shack?"

  "I don't know."

  "I built it with my own hands. Every one of them logs was a tree I cut down myself. You wait till morning and I'll show you how they're joined together, at the corners. There's some neat work there, my girl, I guess."

  "Yes? Oh, I was forgetting; here's the kettle." She brought it over to him from the shelf. He
filled the kettle carefully from the pail while she stood and watched him. She took it from his hand and set it on the stove to boil.

  "You'll find some tea in one of them cans on the shelf; leastways, there was some there when I come away. I reckon you're hungry."

  "I don't think I am, very. I ate a very good supper on the train, you know."

  "I'm glad you call that a good supper. I guess I could wrap up the amount you ate in a postage stamp."

  "Well," she said with a smile, "you may be glad to learn that I haven't a very large appetite."

  "I have, then. Where's the loaf we got in Winnipeg this afternoon?"

  "I'll get it."

  "And the butter. You'll bake to-morrow, I reckon."

  "You're a brave man--unless you've forgotten my first attempt at Eddie's," she said with a laugh as she took the loaf and butter from the bag.

  For some reason her mood had completely changed. All her confidence in being perfectly able to take care of herself had returned. She had been frightened, badly frightened a moment ago at nothing. Nerves, nothing more. Nerves were queer things. It was because she hadn't slept last night. She was such a good sleeper naturally that a wakeful night affected her more than it did most people. The cool night air had completely restored her.

  She hunted about until she found a knife, and with the loaf in one hand and the knife poised in the air asked:

  "Shall I cut you some?"

  "Yep."

  "Please."

  "Please what?"

  "Yep, please," she said with a gay smile.

  "Oh!" he growled.

  Still smiling, she cut several slices of bread and buttered them. Going to the shelf, she found the teapot and shook some tea into it from one of the cans, measuring it carefully with her eye. His momentary ill humor, caused by her correcting him, vanished as he watched her.

  "I guess it's about time you took your hat and coat off," he said with a chuckle.

  As a matter of fact, she was not conscious that they were still on. Without a word, she took them off and, having given her coat a little shake and a pat, looked about her for a place to put them. She ended finally by putting them both on the kitchen chair.

  "You ain't terribly talkative for a woman, are you, my girl?"

  "I haven't anything to say for the moment," said Nora.

  "Well, I guess it's better to have a wife as talks too little than a wife as talks too much."

  "I suppose absolute perfection is rare--in women, poor wretches," she said in the old ironic tone she had always used toward him while he was her brother's hired man.

  "What's that?" he said sharply.

  "I was only amusing myself with a reflection."

  He checked an angry retort, and striding over to a nail in the wall, took off his coat and hung it up. Somehow, he looked larger than ever in his gray sweater. A sense of comfort and unaccustomed well-being restored him to good humor. Throwing himself into the rocker, he stretched out his long legs luxuriantly.

  "I guess there's no place like home. You get a bit fed up with hiring out. Ed was O. K., I reckon, but it ain't like being your own boss."

  "I should think it wouldn't be," said Nora quietly.

  "Where does that door go?" she asked presently.

  "That? Oh, into the bedroom. Like to have a look?"

  "No."

  "No what?" he said quickly.

  Nora turned from the shelf where she had been contriving a place to put the things they had brought from the town, and looked at him inquiringly. His face was grave, but a twinkle in his eye betrayed him. She blushed charmingly to the roots of her hair, but her laugh was perfectly frank and good-humored. "I beg your pardon. I was so occupied with arranging my pantry that I forgot my manners. No, thank you."

  "One can't be too careful about these important things," he said with rather heavy humor. "When I built this shack," he went on proudly--but the pride was the pride of possession, not of achievement--"I fixed it up so as it would do when I got married. Sid Sharp asked me what in hell I wanted to divide it up in half for, but I guess women like little luxuries like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like having a room to sleep in and a room to live in."

  "Here's the bread and butter," said Nora abruptly. "Will you have some syrup?"

  "S-u-r-e." He got up out of the rocking chair and pulling one of the stools up to the table, sat down.

  "The water ought to be boiling by now; what about milk?"

  "That's one of the things you'll have to learn to do without till I can afford to buy a cow."

  "I can't drink tea without milk."

  "You try. Say, can you milk a cow?"

  "I? No."

  "Then it's just as well I ain't got one."

  Nora laughed. "You are a philosopher."

  Having filled the teapot with boiling water and set it on the table, she returned to the shelf and began moving the things about in search of something.

  "What you looking for?"

  "Is there a candle? I'll just get one or two things out of my box and bring in here."

  "Ain't you going to sit down and have a cup of tea?"

  "I don't want any, thanks."

  "Sit down, my girl."

  "Why?"

  "Because I tell you to." The command was smilingly given.

  "I don't think you'd better tell me to do things." Nora could smile, too.

  "Then I ask you. You ain't going to refuse the first favor I've asked you?"

  "Certainly not," she said in her most charming manner. Pulling another of the stools up to the table, she sat facing him.

  "There."

  "Now, pour out my tea for me, will you? I tell you," he said, watching her slim hands moving among the tea things, "it's rum seeing my wife sitting down at my table and pouring out tea for me."

  "Is it pleasant?"

  "Sure. Now have some tea yourself, my girl. You'll soon get used to drinking it without milk. And I guess you'll be able to get some to-morrow from Mrs. Sharp."

  Nora noticed that he did not taste his tea until she had poured herself a cup.

  "Just take a bit of the bread and butter."

  He passed her the plate and she, still smiling brightly, broke off a small half of one of the slices.

  "I had a sort of feeling I wanted you and me to have the first meal together in your new home," he said gently.

  Then, with a sudden change of manner, he laughed aloud.

  "We ain't lost much time, I guess. Why, it's only yesterday you told me not to call you Nora. You did flare out at me!"

  "That was very silly of me, but I was in a temper."

  "And now we're man and wife."

  "Yes: married in haste with a vengeance."

  "Ain't you a bit scared?"

  "I? What of? You?"

  Her voice was steady, but the hands in her lap were clenched.

  "With Ed miles away, t'other side of Winnipeg, he might just as well be in the old country for all the good he can be to you. You might naturally be a bit scared to find yourself alone with a man you don't know."

  "I'm not the nervous sort."

  "Good for you!"

  "You did give me a fright, though," said Nora, with a laugh, "when I asked you if you'd take me. I suppose it was only about fifteen seconds before you answered, but it seemed like ten minutes. I thought you were going to refuse. How Gertie would have gloated!"

  "I was thinking."

  "I see. Counting up my good points and balancing them against my bad ones."

  "N-o-o-o: I was thinking you wouldn't have asked me like that if you hadn't of despised me."

  Nora caught her breath sharply, but her manner lost none of its lightness.

  "I don't know what made you think that."

  "Well, I don't know how you could have put it more plainly that my name was mud."

  "Why didn't you refuse, then?"

  "I guess I'm not the nervous sort, either," he remarked dryly over his teacup.

  " A
nd," Nora reminded him, "women are scarce in Manitoba."

  "I've always fancied an English woman," he went on, ignoring her little thrust. "They make the best wives going when they've been licked into shape."

  Nora showed her amusement frankly.

  "Are you purposing to attempt that operation on me?"

  "Well, you're clever. I guess a hint or two is about all you'll want."

  "You embarrass me when you pay me compliments."

  "I'll take you round and show you the land to-morrow," he said, tilting back on his stool, to the imminent peril of his equilibrium. "I ain't done all the clearing yet, so there'll be plenty of work for the winter. I want to have a hundred acres to sow next year. And then, if I get a good crop, I've a mind to take another quarter. You can't make it pay really without you've got half a section. And it's a tough proposition when you ain't got capital."

  "I had no idea I was marrying a millionaire."

  "Never you mind, my girl, you shan't live in a shack long, I promise you. It's the greatest country in the world. We only want three good crops and you shall have a brick house same as you lived in back home."

  "I wonder what they're doing in England now."

  "Well, I guess they're asleep."

  "When I think of England I always think of it at tea time," began Nora, and then stopped short.

  A wave of regret caught her throat. In spite of herself, the tears filled her eyes. She looked miserably at the cheap, ugly tea things on the makeshift table before her. Her husband watched her gravely. Presently she went on, more to herself than to him:

  "Miss Wickham had a beautiful old silver teapot, a George Second. She was awfully proud of it. And she was proud of her tea-set; it was old Worcester. And she wouldn't let anyone wash the tea things but----" Again, her voice failed her. "And two or three times a week an old Indian judge came in to tea. And he used to talk to me about the East, the wonderful, beautiful East. He made me long to see it all--I who had never been anywhere. I've always loved history and books of travel more than anything else. There are a lot of them there in my box--that's what makes it so heavy--all about the beautiful places I was going to see later on with the money Miss Wickham promised me----" her glance took in the mean little room in all its unrelieved ugliness. "Oh, why did you make me think of it all?"

  She bowed her head on the table for a moment. Taylor laid his hand gently on her arm.