Mary Ware in Texas Read online

  CHAPTER XII

  IN "BLUE-BONNET" TIME

  THE time of "blue-bonnets" had come. No matter where else in Texas thelupin may grow, one thing is certain; there is enough of it in themeadows around Bauer nearly every spring to justify its choice as theState flower. This particular March, acres and acres of it, blue as theMediterranean, stretched away on either side of the high-roads. Viewedfrom a distance when the wind, blowing across it, made waves of bloom,it almost seemed as if a wide blue sea were rolling in across the land.

  From his bed near the window Jack Ware could catch a glimpse of one ofthese meadows, where the cattle stood buried up to their bodies in thefragrant blossoms. Now and then the breeze, fluttering his curtains,brought the odor to him almost as heavy and sweet as the smell oflocusts. He watched the picture with languid eyes which closed weakly atintervals. They were shut when Mary tiptoed into the room, to see ifthere was anything she could do for his comfort before starting out onher usual afternoon excursion with her pupils, but they opened with anexpression of greater interest than they had held for some days as hesaw her standing there in a freshly laundered gingham. It was so blueand white that she suggested a blooming blue-bonnet herself.

  "Hullo, Finnigan," he said, with an attempt at his old-time pleasantry."'Off agin, gone agin,' are you? Which way this time?"

  Touched almost to tears by this evidence of returning interest, Maryexplained eagerly that they were still studying about bees. She hadfound a bee-tree in the Herdt pasture, and the lupin was all a-buzz withspecimens to illustrate the lesson. That was for the Wisdom part of it.For the Strength there were some new exercises in climbing and hangingfrom a low limb. The practical application of their Courtesy lessonwould be the gathering of a great basketful of blue-bonnets for theladies of the Guild, who wanted to decorate the parish house with themfor an entertainment to be given there.

  "Oh, they're making long strides," she assured him. "Mrs. Mallory toldme that the time it rained so hard last week, and I couldn't get acrossthe foot-bridge at the ford to give them their usual lesson, Brud satdown at bedtime and howled, because he said he'd have to 'count that daylost.' The sun was down and he hadn't 'any worvey action done.' It tookthe combined wits of the family to think of some worthy action he coulddo at that late hour, and he finally went to bed happy. So you see mylabor hasn't been all in vain."

  There was a faint gleam of amusement in Jack's eyes, but seeing that shewas about to leave him, he turned the subject by motioning toward thetable beside his bed, where Elsie Tremont's wedding invitations lay.

  "Mary," he said, slowly, "would you be surprised if Phil were to come byBauer on his way to California?"

  To her vehement avowal that such a happening would certainly surpriseher out of a year's growth, at least, he answered:

  "Well, I am a good deal more than half-way looking for him. 'I feel itin my bones' that he is coming, and coming very soon."

  "Oh, Jack!" she cried in distress. "Don't look for him. Don't set yourheart on seeing him! I couldn't bear for you to be disappointed."

  "Don't you worry about that," he answered, soothingly. "You run alongand pick your blue-bonnets, and if Phil _should_ happen to come walkingdown the road towards you one of these days, remember the feeling in mybones warned you. The poor old things have been so full of aches andpains that you might allow them one pleasant sensation at least."

  "But, Jack," she began again, a wrinkle of distress deepening betweenher eyes. "If he shouldn't come you'd be so awfully disappointed!"

  Jack's thin hand waved both her and her objections aside.

  "Hike along," he insisted, cheerfully, "I merely said _if_!"

  Considerably worried by what she thought was a groundless hope ofJack's, Mary started out of the gate. His suggestion seemed to changethe entire landscape, and instead of seeing it as it had grown to lookto her accustomed eyes, she saw it as she imagined it would appear toPhil; the cottage she was leaving behind her, the wide blue lupinmeadows ahead, the white of the wild plum blossoms mingled with theglowing branches of the red-bud trees, in every lane and stretch ofwoodland.

  With her old childish propensity for day-dreaming unabated, she madepictures for herself as she walked along towards the foot-bridge.Suppose he really would come, and she, by some intuition of hisapproach, could divine the day and hour. She would like to be all inwhite when he met her, emerging from the edge of the woods with her armsheaped up with snowy masses of wild plum blossoms, and a spray ofred-bud in her hair. Or, maybe, it would be more picturesque for her tobe standing in the boat, poling slowly towards the landing, a cargo ofwild flowers at her feet like a picture of the Spirit of Spring.

  Here she broke off from her musings, saying, half aloud, "But as sure asI posed to look like a Spring goddess I'd be looking like a young goose.It doesn't pay for me to plan impressive entrances and meetings; theyalways turn out with my looking perfectly ridiculous."

  She had reached the first turn in the road by this time, and, stoopingto tie her shoe, suddenly became aware of the fact that her hands wereempty. She had started off without the alarm-clock and the magnifyingglass which she always carried on these trips. In addition she hadintended to bring a large market-basket to-day, in which to put theflowers. The basket, with the clock and glass inside, was in her handbefore she started. She remembered she had set it down for a moment onthe front step while she went back into Jack's room, and it was what hesaid about Phil's coming that made her go off without it. There was notime to lose, so she started back, running all the way.

  Snatching up the basket from the step where she found it stillundisturbed, she was starting off again, when a little bird-like crystopped her. It was like the softest notes of a mocking-bird.

  "That provoking little wildcat is out of her cage again!" she exclaimed,stopping to look all around. "Here, Matilda, kitty, kitty, where areyou?"

  In response to her call, what seemed to be the gentlest of house-kittenscame bounding through the grass. Thinking it would be less trouble totake it along than to carry it back to its cage in the woodshed when shewas in such a great hurry, Mary caught it up in her arms, and once morestarted down the road, one hand slipped through the handle of thebasket. It snuggled down against her shoulder, purring loudly.

  "You ridiculous little atom!" laughed Mary. "I wonder what the girls atWarwick Hall would say if they could see me going along carrying a live_wildcat_. That will be something wild and Texasy for me to put in mynext letters. I needn't say that it weighs only twenty ounces, and thatif it wasn't for its bow legs and funny little bobbed tail and spottedstomach one would think it was just a tame, ordinary, domestic pussy.But you'll be savage enough by and bye, won't you? When the tassels growon your ear-tips and your whiskers spread out wide and your spots getbig and tigery!"

  Two soft paws reached up to tap her face, and she gave the furry ball inher arms an affectionate squeeze. She had never cared especially forkittens, but this little wild one with its coquettish ways hadwonderfully ingratiated itself into her affections in the week she hadowned it. Mrs. Barnaby had brought it in from the ranch. Cousin Sammyhad found eight of them in the woods after Pedro had killed the oldmother cat, caught in the act of carrying off one of the turkeys. Thiswas the only one that lived. Mrs. Barnaby could not keep it, because,tiny as it was, it toddled around after the chickens and put even thebig Plymouth Rock hens to flight. So she brought it in to Mary, andMary, feeling particularly forlorn that day, welcomed the littleorphan, because its lonely state gave them a bond in common.

  The day it came happened to be her eighteenth birthday, with nothing tomark it as a gala occasion except a handkerchief from her mother and astring of trout from Norman. He had gone out before daylight to catchthem for her breakfast. Joyce's present did not arrive until the nextday, and the round-robin letter from Warwick Hall was nearly a weeklate. Not until after the sorority was seated at its annual St.Patrick's Day dinner, did they recall the double celebration they hadhad the year before. The letter was writte
n then and there, passingaround the table with the bonbons, that each one present might add abirthday greeting. Then Dorene, to whom it was entrusted, forgot to postit for several days. It was a joy when it did come, but the anniversaryitself, before the letter reached her, was a disappointing day.

  She had always looked forward to her eighteenth birthday as being one ofthe most important milestones of her life; not so important, of course,as one's graduation or debut or wedding, but still a day that should bemade memorable by something unusually nice. Years ago Jack had promisedher a watch on her eighteenth birthday, a little chatelaine watch witha mother-of-pearl case, like the one the old Colonel had given to Lloyd.But when the time came Jack did not even know that it was her birthday.He never looked at the calendar since their weary, monotonous days hadgrown to be all alike. She did not show him the handkerchief or tell himthat the delicious fish which they had for breakfast was in honor of anyespecial occasion. In no way did she refer to its being the seventeenthof March.

  She ironed all morning and took the children out in the afternoon, asusual, and nothing made the day different from an ordinary one, onlythat she felt very old and grown up, and thought now and then a littlepityingly of her early expectations and the way they had turned out. Ina vague sort of way she was sorry for herself, till Mrs. Barnaby came inwith the baby wildcat, which she jokingly offered as a St. Patrick's daygreeting.

  Mary immediately named it Matilda, for Mrs. Barnaby, and for thecivilizing effect such a tame, gentle sort of name ought to have on awild creature. In watching it and laughing over its playful antics sheforgot to feel middle-aged and sorry for herself.

  As long as someone could keep an eye on it to prevent its straying awayafter any animal that passed the house, it could be allowed the libertyof the place, but whenever Mary went off for a long time it had to befastened in its cage. This was the first time she had taken it with herfor an afternoon's outing, and as she hurried down the road with it inher arms, the knowledge of what she was carrying gave her the firstfeeling of adventure that she had had since coming to Texas. "It's allbeen as tame as an old Tabby and a teapot," she thought. She hadpictured Texas as a land of cowboys and round-ups and thrilling frontierexperiences. She had found only the commonplace and conventional, sothat there was a source of satisfaction in the fact that, at last, shehad captured something untamed and savage.

  As she reached the foot-bridge a party on horseback came down theopposite bank to cross the ford. She recognized the young fellow in thelead as a boy from the East who had been staying at the Williams Houseseveral months. Evidently he also had expected to find Texas a land ofadventure. Soon after his arrival he appeared in the quiet streets ofBauer attired like the cowboy of a Wild West show. That he was atenderfoot was amusingly apparent to the natives. Everything proclaimedit, from his awkward seat in his creaking new saddle to the new ropecoiled around the horn of it. He could have no more use for a lariatthan for a tomahawk, but he never rode without it. He had his picturetaken in full paraphernalia, from his spurs to the rattlesnake skin bandon his rakish sombrero, to send back home to show what a sport he hadbecome; and his cup of satisfaction brimmed over when a still morerecent tenderfoot took a snapshot of him, evidently considering him the"real thing."

  He had three Eastern girls with him this morning, whom he was trying toimpress with stories of his recklessness and prowess, and of the dangersone daily encountered in a new country. He had met Norman and he knewMary by sight, and had heard of her odd pet. As they approached her hesaid, in a tone which she could not fail to hear, although he loweredhis voice:

  "There's mighty little out here that is tame. Lots of people keep foxesrunning around their premises instead of rat-terriers, and when they canget a wildcat they always prefer them to tame mousers."

  "Now, Dexter, stop stuffing us," one of the girls exclaimed. "I don'tbelieve a word of it!"

  "It's the truth," he insisted. "That very young lady over yonder on thefoot-bridge could tell you so. That isn't a kitten she is carrying. Itis a young wildcat."

  The next instant the girl was splashing through the water across toMary, calling, "Excuse me, but _is_ that a wildcat? I can't believe it!"

  Mary had heard the conversation, and her face dimpled with amusement asshe held Matilda up to view, saying, "Certainly. See how beautifully sheis marked." She pointed out the various signs which proved her claim.

  The girl gave a little shriek. "For mercy sakes!" she exclaimed."Suppose it should get loose! What a dreadful country! Aren't youafraid?"

  Assured that Mary was not in the least afraid, she dashed up the bankafter her laughing escort, who thereafter had no trouble in convincingher that his most daring tales were true, since Matilda had proved thetruth of his first one.

  Mary looked after them almost enviously. When she first came to Bauershe had had faint hopes of sometime being able to join a riding partylike that. She had seen girls going by often from the hotel, and hadtold herself that, before the winter was over, she intended to find someway to earn enough to hire a horse one afternoon of every week. And thattime when she visited Gay, and Roberta talked of saddles while shecombed Mary's hair, Roberta had said that she would ride up to Bauersometime after Christmas; all her "crowd" would go, and they would stayseveral days at the Williams House, and Mary was to show them thecountry.

  Gay had promised several visits, and Mary had looked forward to themmore eagerly than she knew, till word came soon after New Year that theBauer trips would have to be postponed indefinitely. Roberta had gone tothe coast for the rest of the winter, and Gay expected to spend severalmonths with her sister Lucy, Mrs. Jameson Harcourt, in Florida.

  It seemed to Mary that there had been disappointment for her in herTexas winter every way she turned. True, Gay was home now, and they hadhad two pleasant days with her, once when she and Alex Shelby came up toannounce their engagement, and cheered Jack up so wonderfully. But Gaywasn't interested in horseback riding with "the crowd" any longer.Besides, the Ware fortunes had taken such a turn that the money she hadsucceeded in earning had to go for more necessary things than saddlesand horse-hire and a pretty habit.

  As Mary glanced after the departing cavalcade once more the sight ofthem suggested a new picture that appealed to her as an interesting wayto meet Phil in case he should come. It would be so picturesque to begalloping down the road on a mettlesome black horse in a pretty whiteriding habit like those girls were wearing. White, with a scarletfour-in-hand and a soft fold of scarlet silk around the crown of herwide-brimmed white hat. Phil had been such a dashing horseman himself,and had owned such a beautiful animal when they were out on the desert,that maybe he would be more interested in an approach made that way,than one in a boat with a cargo of wild flowers. She walked alongslowly, considering the question, till Brud and Sister hailed her.

  Meanwhile Jack was saying to his mother that it wouldn't have been fairto the kid to let her get away without some inkling of the truth.

  "She'd have been terribly upset if I'd have told her that they are duehere this afternoon, and she'd have been equally upset if they hadwalked in on her without any warning. But the hint I gave her will starther to thinking about them, so she will not be altogether surprised whenshe sees them."

  He had waited until Mary left the house before breaking the news to hismother that he expected Alex Shelby to come sometime during theafternoon, bringing Doctor Tremont and Phil. But even then he did notmention the faint hope which had buoyed him up night and day sinceAlex's first visit. He had faith in the young physician's ability, butnot until the older one confirmed his opinion would he allow himself toshare that hope with any one else, lest it prove without foundation.

  With his eyes on the clock he lay counting the minutes until theirarrival. He was deliberately forcing himself to be calm; to take slow,even breaths, to think of everything under the sun save the one thingwhich set his pulses to beating wildly and sent a thrill like firetingling through him. He lay there like a prisoner in his dungeon whohe
ars footsteps and new voices approaching. They might mean thatdeliverance is at hand, or they might pass on, leaving him to theblackness and despair of his dungeon for the rest of his life. In alike agony of apprehension he watched the pendulum swing back and forth,and listened to the slow tick! tock! till his suspense grew almostunendurable.

  One hand clasped and unclasped a corner of the counterpane in a paroxysmof nervousness. He lay with his face turned away from his mother, andshe, busy with her endless sewing over by the side window, did not guesswhat great effort he was making to retain his outward composure. She sawhis eyes fixed on the clock, however, when she rose to get a spool thathad rolled away, and feeling his restrained restlessness she tried tothink of something to talk about which would make him forget how slowlytime was passing. Subjects of that kind are rare, when two people havebeen constantly shut in together for a year, and while she considered, along silence fell between them. It was broken by a demand, almostquerulous, from Jack; the same cry that had aroused her in the night,when he was a little boy, suddenly awakening from a scary dream.

  "_Sing to me, mother!_"

  It had been years since she had heard that cry, and the long formstretched out under the white covers bore small resemblance to thelittle one that had summoned her then, but she answered in the samesoothing way:

  "All right, little son, what shall I sing?"

  She smiled as the same tremulous answer came now as it had then.

  "Why, sing _my_ song! Of course!"

  She did not rise as had been her custom, to go to his bedside and holdhis hand while she lulled him back to sleep with her low humming, andthe blessed consciousness of her nearness. He was a grown man now, andit was broad daylight. But instinctively she felt his need was greaterthan it had ever been, and her voice took on its tenderest soothingquality as she began to croon the old hymn that had always been hischosen lullaby, when he was tucked to sleep in a little crib bed."Pilgrims of the Night," she sang:

  "'Hark, hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling, O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore.'"

  Glancing across, she saw his drawn face relax a trifle, and he snuggledhis thin cheek contentedly against the pillow. High and sweet her voicerose tremulously:

  "'Angels of light, Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.'"

  The song had many associations for them both. What he was thinking aboutshe could not guess, but when she began the third verse:

  "'Far, far away like bells at evening pealing,'"

  her own thoughts were back in that time when she rocked in her arms thedearest little son that ever cuddled against a mother's shoulder. Shewas recalling time after time when she had held him so, telling himgood-night stories, listening to his funny little questions and babyconfidences, and kissing the dimpled fingers clasped in her own when heknelt to lisp his evening prayer.

  He had always been a comfort to her, even in the boisterous outbreakingdays that are the most trying in a boy's growing-up time. There hadnever been a noisier boy, or one who threw himself into his play withmore headlong vigor, but, in a flash, scene after scene passed throughher mind, showing him both at work and play as she had prayed he mightbe, strong and manly and clean and absolutely fearless either of fistsor opinions. Then she thought of his touching consideration of her whenhe tried "to take father's place behind the plow." He had been a towerof strength to her from that day on. What a future she had dreamed forhim, and now in the high tide of his young manhood, when he should haveyears of conquest and achievement ahead of him, here he was a helplesscripple!

  "Rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary, The day must dawn, and darksome night be passed."

  Her voice faltered almost to breaking now, as she sang on, rebelling atthe thought that his life which promised so fair, should have been madelong and dreary, changed so hopelessly and so suddenly into darksomenight. It seemed so cruel, she thought, with a tightening of the throatwhich made it almost impossible to finish the song. But supposing fromthe peaceful expression of Jack's face that he was falling asleep, shesang bravely on to the end, although the tears were dropping down on theseam in her now idle hands.

  "Angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping, Sing us sweet fragments of the song above, Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping, And life's long shadows break in cloudless love. Angels of Jesus, Angels of light, Singing to welcome The pilgrims of the night."

  Looking across as the last note died away, she thought he was asleep,and rose to draw down the window-shade. But as she tiptoed past him heopened his eyes and held out his hand to draw her to him.

  "Little mother," he said with a wistful smile that made her bend hastilyover him and kiss his forehead to hide the trembling of her lips. "I'dlike you to know in case anything should happen--sooner than weexpect--that that's the way I think of death. It's a going out into thedark--but it's only going as a 'Pilgrim of the night.' I don't mind it.It'll not be lonesome. They'll be singing to welcome me."

  In answer to her cry, "Oh, Jack! Don't!" he drew her cheek down againsthis, and as he felt it wet with tears he said, lightly:

  "Why, mother mine, that's nothing to cry about. I've always lookedforward in a way to that ever since I can remember. That song alwaysbrings up the most comforting picture to me--a procession of friendlywhite angels coming down the dark road to meet a frightened little boyand lead him home!"

  She held him close a moment, not finding words wherewith to answer him,but feeling that he understood all that was left unspoken in her heart.She wanted to hold him thus, always, so tightly that he could not slipaway on that pilgrimage he faced so confidently, that pilgrimage fromwhich he could never return to her.

  While she clung to him thus, a noise outside brought them back to thethings of earth. An automobile, speeding up the road, had stopped at thegate. Mrs. Ware glanced out hastily. As she saw the three men stridingup the path her first thought was one of housewifely dismay. Shewondered how she could stretch the simple supper she had planned forthat evening, into enough for these unexpected guests. If Jack had onlygiven her a little longer notice--

  But that thought was immediately thrust aside in her pleasure at seeingPhil again. It was the first time since the day she bade him good-bye inthe little wigwam sitting-room, and sent him out with her Godspeed tomake a man of himself. His waywardness had given her a motherly interestin him, and now, her quick glance showed that he had not disappointedher, that he had kept every promise. She welcomed him with a welcomethat made him feel that this was a real home-coming, so that he calledout to the distinguished-looking, gray-haired old doctor just behindhim, "Now, Daddy, you see for yourself how it was!"

  Mrs. Ware ushered them at once into Jack's room. She knew he waswaiting impatiently to see them, but did not dream how much was atstake. It was nearly half an hour later when Phil discovered that he wasthirsty, and asked the way to the well. Mrs. Ware led him out throughthe kitchen, picking up a pitcher and tumbler as she went. The windmillwas in motion, and while the water was gushing from the pump spout intothe pitcher Phil said, meaningly, "Well, Aunt Emily, your prodigal hascome back."

  "Yes," she responded. "It makes me glad and proud to see how my faith inhim has been justified. But, oh, boy, why didn't you give me a littlewarning, so that we might have had time to make ready a 'fine, fattedcalf?' Jack never told me until a few minutes before you arrived that heexpected you."

  "I'd rather have the pleasure of surprising you all than to share in afatted calf, any day. Besides, there won't be an occasion for trottingout such a commodity. Alex will be going back to San Antonio in lessthan an hour. You see he has only a few more days to spend with his ladylove, as he is due in Kentucky the last of this week. He can't afford tomiss even one of these gorgeous moonlight nights. Daddy is so tired withhis trip and thinking of the strain ahead of him that he is in no trimfor visiting. On the way here we stopped at the Will
iams House andengaged rooms for to-night. I promised him that he needn't stay up forsupper, could take it in his room and turn in soon after we had made ashort call here. You see he didn't sleep at all coming out here, so heis considerably worse for wear. He's very much interested in Jack'scase, and thinks something may be done to relieve his suffering, somaybe it will be as well for us to stay out here a bit and give them achance to look him over."

  From the quick lighting up of Mrs. Ware's face it was evident that sucha hope was a new one to her. Jack had not mentioned the prospect of anoperation, so Phil left the subject as quickly as possible, beginning totell her of his last visit to Joyce. As he had come directly from herMrs. Ware found so much to question him about, that she was surprised,when Alex Shelby joined them, to find that they had been leaning againstthe windmill tower for more than half an hour, too interested to thinkof finding a seat.

  Alex's face was glowing, and he looked across at Phil with a nod ofelation. "Your father confirms my opinion, Phil, so I'll be startingback at once."

  When Mrs. Ware found out Doctor Tremont's real purpose in coming, shewas thankful that Jack had spared her all those days of anxiety andapprehension that would have been hers had she known of the operationearlier. As it was there would be only one night in which to dread it.Alex was coming back in the morning with a nurse and it would all beover by noon of the next day. Now she understood their consideration ingoing to a hotel. It was not so much that Doctor Tremont was in nocondition for visiting, as that they knew that any guests, no matter howmuch desired, would be a burden on the eve of such an event.

  Jack's room was already nearly as bare and clean as a hospital ward, butthere would still be much to do before the surgeons could begin theirdelicate and vital task. So when Alex Shelby went away, Doctor Tremontwent with him as far as the hotel. Phil was to follow later after he hadseen Mary and had the pleasure of "surprising" her.