From the Improvement Era, February 1933 –

Dawn

By Dorothy Clapp Robinson

With quickening steps Sarah crossed the road upslope and dropped wearily to a large stone which was her rendezvous. She breathed quickly.

Swathing the sky with new-born glory, dawn trembled behind the darkly shadowed mountains to the east. Faintly and very slowly farm houses and timber etched their outlines in the valley below.

Sarah glanced about but with eyes that saw not; and her body though relaxed was motionless as the rock on which she sat. How soothing the silence; like a sacrament it could wash the soul of rancor and give strength for another of life’s merciless days. She sat and sat.

A belated coyote slunk across the road and into the sage-covered slope behind her. Somewhere a dog barked and was answered by another; then a cow bawled. Her body tensed. Again the silence was broken only by the sleepy mating of birds, but peace was gone. Throwing aside the square of cloth that covered her head she ran her fingers through her hair. The fragrant morning breeze touched her face and her nostrils dilated. After her feverish night the hour was heavenly. Too heavenly, for soon it would be finished and she would go back to the cows, the disorder, the haggling poverty. She stirred restlessly and a dry sob quivered in her throat.

Dawn spread and touched with critical finger her tubfaded dress and rough brown skin. From the pocket of her apron she drew out something she fingered reverently. A collection of fabric samples from a mail order house, pinned together with a price tag. One by one she turned them, examining both sides, holding them up to the light; trying to multiply them into yards and get the proper effect. There were crisp organdies and sheer summery voiles in blues, pinks, orchid, and one green. A soul-satisfying green with yellow flowers and darker green leaves. Someone, especially if she had shining flaxen hair, could be lifted by it out of life into that place where dreams dwell.

Sarah’s body relaxed. Her eyes grew starry, and they saw now. Even in the dim light they saw up the valley to the two-room school house. They saw the principal’s room. They saw it packed with proudly expectant parents and a row of blushing, self-conscious graduates. They saw Grace, her Grace, standing before them all in a crisp green organdie and shining patent leather slippers.

At this point the picture always faded. The samples dropped from Sarah’s nerveless fingers and the aching-present throbbed through her marrow, dulling even her pain. Dreams! Always dreams for her. If Grace gave her part it would not be in that green organdie. Bud had settled that last night.

Timidly, after the children were asleep she had approached him with the samples. Grace was passing with the highest grades in the class. Didn’t he think it would be wonderful to get her a lovely dress like this? Grace hadn’t had a dress bought just for her — ever. Lucile Baum was sending for the pink and Agnes Dalton had already received hers — orchid it was. For one hard moment he had fingered the samples while Sarah’s heart jerked suffocatingly. The suspense ended, tossing the samples aside he had said:

“You know damn well I hain’t got no money fer finery.”

“I — I thought you could sell a calf. You could haul it out and be back in three days.” It was her last defense and she used it as one knowing its effect.

“All a that to buy a dress!”

When the expected was over she felt so old but numbly defiant. Always before she had withdrawn for the sake of peace but this was a matter of life. A hurt to one’s self could be endured but a hurt to one’s child’s soul was — but why try to explain; butting your head against a mountain only gave one’s self a bruise.

“If you have to have one, git somethin’ from Hunter’s,” had been his final shot.

Something from Hunter’s! As if she hadn’t already fingered each shelf-worn bolt until Mrs. Hunter had grown openly insulting to her. Mrs. Hunter might have given her cash for her butter just once — In her desperation she had even asked her to; but her question had had its effect also. A cold, stinging effect that dealt with necessary groceries and an old debt. The debt had been contracted two years ago; when she was sick and they had let the cows go dry.

A tremor ran through her crouched figure. Oh, why hadn’t she managed to save some nickels and quarters? Quarters! Grimly she tried to remember when she’d seen one. But she had known this was coming and how she had dreamed of it. This one glorious night when her Grace would stand equal. More even, for she had vision and Sarah knew a woman who would find a place for a school girl to work for her board. Later she would come back to show them, but now, now there must be a green organdie dress and shining black slippers.

From below came shouts and the barking of dogs. She knew it was milking time but still she sat clutching the samples and staring blankly over the emerging verdure to the still shadowed hills. From somewhere, some place, there must come hope and cash.

The brightening horizon caught her eyes; when one married life was like that; like the dawn, rosy-hued. and pregnant with dreams. Day succeeding dawn was light, glaring, searing sometimes but still sunlight. Then cruelly soon shadows began creeping; shadows of disillusion, of hopes deferred and never-to-be-fulfilled dreams. With the children came courage again and for a time hope. Then tenfold, a million fold the shadows mocked and sneered and strangled. One might even grow calloused to them but for children — flesh of your flesh, heart of your heart, it wasn’t fair, oh it wasn’t fair. Heartache! Indifferent word, how could it tell of closed heart-chambers whose keys were lost? How could it tell of a dawn that would never rise; of blackness stretching on into eternity? Her face dropped into her hands.

Gradually she became aware of a presence. Raising expressionless eyes she met a man’s curious gaze. Freshly-tailored, sitting jauntily astride his horse he stirred strangely among those closed chambers with the forgotten keys.

“Are you in trouble?”

“Trouble? Is there anything else?”

“Can I help you?” Her fingers groped and found the samples. Between thumb and forefinger she caressed the green organdie. Her eyes sought the distant mountains, then turned to him again.

“There is nothing you can do.” Reluctantly the man bade his horse move on, then drew rein suddenly.

“Are you Mrs. Evans?” A gleam of intelligence lighted the dulled eyes.

“Yes, I am Mis’ Evans.”

“I am Luthie,” he explained, “I have the contract for building the new highway.”

Luthie! Highway. Oh, yes, she had heard. Going to make the summit in an hour when it was done.

He went on. “One of my men recommended your butter. I was on my way to see you. I could use four or five pounds a day at first, later I could use more. Do you want to sell it to me?”

The sun leaped white and glorious over the mountain peak. Sarah crushed the samples. Brown knuckles showed gray.

Breathlessly she stepped near the horse.

“Would you — would you pay me cash?”

Her face strangled the smile that might have come. He nodded understandingly.

“Every day if you wish. I’ll get the first today — ” but Sarah was already running down the slope.

“I’ll have it ready by ten;” she called back as she plunged into the cottonwood grove.

Such a glorious morning as it was and in the grove it was still dawn.