Beckoning Roads

By Dorothy Clapp Robinson

(Previous Chapter

Chapter 3

THE STORY THUS FAR: Nancy Porter and Peter Holverson, two marriageable and very-much-in-love young people of a rural Mormon community, found themselves anticipating “their spring” — the spring in which they, with others of their friends, had decided to go to the Temple to be married at June Conference time. But seemingly poor agricultural prospects and accumulated debt caused Peter, a high-principled and cautious young man, to postpone the marriage until better times.” Questioning his motives and his wisdom, and in the anger of her disappointment, Nancy impulsively served notice on her betrothed that the “postponement” would be permanent and the “engagement was off.” The embarrassment was intensified by the fact that two couples of “their crowd,” Mark and Phyllis, and Lynn and Vera, who were apparently less economically prepared for marriage, decided to go through with their plans notwithstanding. And so these two parted, with hopes postponed — or abandoned. Living in a discouraged home with a chronically and seriously ill father, discouraged younger brothers, and a work-worn mother, who held tenaciously to principles and ideals, Nancy became rebellious and determined to better her situation. Through a chain of favorable circumstances, she finally secured a temporary job as commissary — keeper of a huge ranching operation in a nearby section of the country. Reid Wood, young, impatient, city-bred son of the ranch owner-operator, was calling to take her to her new job in the morning —

It was a little past four o’clock the next morning when the big car rolled up and stopped at the Porter gate. The driver slid from his seat and came whistling toward the house. Dale, on his way to the corral, stopped. Young Wood saluted him with a gay wave of his hand. A torpid morning was inching away the cool shadows. Mrs. Porter opened the door to him.

“I will wait here,” he said. “Can I take her things?”

A rather shabby suitcase was handed to him. Nancy, coming from the boys’ bedroom where she had been telling them goodbye, stopped by her father. He was standing just inside the door.

“Be a good girl,” he said as he kissed her. “And while you are there be a girl. I don’t like you in overalls.”

“You will let me know about father?” she whispered to her mother when they were outside.

“Of course.”

“And don’t work outside, mother. Let the boys do it.”

“I’ll see that she doesn’t.”

Nancy whirled. Behind them stood Pete. “You here?”

“Certainly. Think I’d let you go without saying goodbye?”

His face looked drawn as if he hadn’t slept well. More likely the light, Nancy decided. He walked with her to the car. Mr. Wood was holding the door open for her. Pete stepped up to it. The men’s glances met. With a gesture of retraction, Wood withdrew to his own side. A sudden violent irritation rushed over Nancy. Why had Pete come? Didn’t he believe what she had told him? If he had believed her he showed no signs of it, for his every move suggested a challenge to the other man. He closed the door.

“Be seeing you,” he began, but with a swift start the car was already on its way. Dust rolled in clouds behind it, shutting from sight the shabby little house with its group of shabby, watching people. Nancy’s throat ached with the wild unbelievable ecstasy of hopes come true. She had work. She was on her way — racing over a road that for so long had beckoned and called. She was not going far along it just now, but the journey was begun. Never, never would she again go back to life as she had known it. Never would she go back to drought and poverty and — and Pete.

THE clouds of the night before had disappeared and already they could feel the promise of another hot day. Hot, and the first of May! The earth cried out for rain and the need of it flared in their nostrils and smothered the morning freshness.

“Some dust.”

Nancy turned to look at her companion. Some dust. What species of male could say it as casually as that? The men she knew watched the dust, some hoping secretly, some praying, some cursing. This man merely said: “Some dust.”

“Will there ever be anything else?”

He was driving unreasonably fast but with a sure touch. He slowed perceptibly and looked at her.

“Is that important?”

What was it leaped suddenly before her? Hopes, undreamed? Perhaps, and the unfamiliar outlines of them dazzled the eyes of her mind and set her blood coursing riotously through her veins.

“Yes,” she said, laughing in pure re-lease, “but not so important as it once was. I have work.”

Again he looked at her. “You are a queer little kid. One would think your life depended on work.”

“More than life.”

“For instance?”

“Freedom.”

The boy doubled over the wheel in a gale of infectious laughter. “Can you tie that? You run to the ranch for freedom and I rush from it for the same reason.”

“From it? Don’t you live there?”

“Occasionally. Got restless and skipped the last quarter of school this year. Quite surprised myself that I came back here so willingly.”

“Why should you be restless?”

“You guess — and tell me.”

“I couldn’t possibly. But when I am safely out of the valley of the Big Smokey I shall never come back, worlds without end.” A bitterness gave her words emphasis.

“What about the boy friend?”

“Pete? He isn’t, any more.” The instant the words left her lips she felt half-ashamed. Not but what it was true, but spoken aloud it sounded disloyal to something. Again the boy, he was younger than Pete, glanced sharply at her.

“So that is why you crave freedom. I should say he had failed entirely to get your point of view. Perhaps we can insist on Chris’ taking a prolonged vacation so you will not have to return until your desire for freedom has, shall we say, been satisfied.”

“If you mean by that when our quarrel is patched up, and I am ready to forgive and be forgiven — well, you just don’t know me.”

Again he laughed. Later he remarked: “My trouble might have something of yours in it. Less definite, I’d say, and not so easily remedied.”

They were entering town where early risers were just emerging into the streets. Passed town and east and south rounded a shoulder of the mountains. From there they turned north and followed rather high along the slope of the range. In time they entered another valley, the Little Smokey. It lay in the shape of a triangle that narrowed at the north until the two lines of mountains ran into each other. Up there were glimpses of tree skeletons puncturing the sky. Here, all about them, except high on the hills at their left, were dry stretches of sage. After following the hills for twelve or fifteen miles they left the highway and turned due east into the brush. The road was soft and full of ruts. Dust curtained their vision but the speed of the car never slackened. Once Nancy was thrown violently against the driver.

“Hold on,” he cautioned. “The only way to get over these lousy roads is to hit the high places.”

And hitting the high places they sped across the sage-covered flat toward the brown hills in the distance. Nancy had only a vague idea of the miles covered. It seemed much shorter than when she had been here before. Ahead, lined against the bare mountains, was a row of trees running north and south; back of them were stretches of fields beginning to show green. Among the sage at their right they saw the woolly backs of sheep.

“Herds are moving in,” the boy said.

Nearer, and now they were in the shadow of the east mountain. The sun had not yet risen on the big ranch. Through the line of trees Nancy caught sight of buildings, sheds, barns, corrals. Standing apart from the other buildings was a large house, the lower part of which was of lava stone, the upper of logs. It had wide friendly eaves that reached toward the roof of a porch that guarded the front. Between the road and the house was a lawn on which the poorly cut grass of last year was struggling with a new growth. Trees and shrubs, still showing the vision of an artist, flanked the whole. Now that she was to be part of it, the ranch seemed to Nancy as a part of another world.

“And you would run away from here.”

“Like it?” Pride struggled with indifference.

“It is a paradise. How could you be discontented with it?”

“How would I know? I only know that at times it is a prison with the grimmest of walls. Then I go haywire.”

She glanced slowly about, drawing into her lungs the freshly cool morning air. Much cooler here, she thought, than at home.

“That is the way I have felt lately. I thought I would go mad seeing nothing but sage, smelling nothing but dust, hearing nothing but discouragement. I could live here forever.”

They entered a wide driveway to the north of the house, then as the driver would have turned to the front entrance there came a shout from the blacksmith shop at their left. The car stopped. “That’s Dad.”

Nancy turned her eyes reluctantly from the house. From the building came a large, raw-boned man with a curious side-swinging walk. As he approached, the driver opened the door of the car.

“Hi, Dad.” There was an undertone of irritation to his voice that widened the girl’s eyes.

“Well, you’re back.” Nancy noticed a swift darkening of the son’s features. “You’ve done real good this time. Only twenty-four hours late. Maybe you’ll be worth shooting after a while if you keep it up. Is this the young lady that is going to help me?” He reached his hand across the steering wheel and the girl placed hers in it. “Well, glad you are here. Hope you’ll be worth what I have to pay you. Never saw a girl yet that was,” This last without changing the tenor of his voice. Nancy’s face flushed.

“Your price couldn’t bring much,” she retorted quickly, “but I shall see you do not overpay me.”

“Well, you will earn all you get. Things are in a sweet mess around here. The cook will give you some breakfast. I’ll be up pretty soon to talk things over.” He turned to his son. “You, Reid, did you get the things I ordered?” His voice sharpened.

“Don’t think I forgot more than half.” He released the clutch and the car crept forward.

Reid. She had been wondering about his name. He was like his father, though slighter in build and darker in coloring. When he was his father’s age his hair, too, might be bleached and his eyes faded. Following the herds did that to one. But the father’s face was determined and full of purpose and the son’s, just now, was drawn into lines of rebellious irritation.

He took her bag from the car and they went to the front door. It was locked. Reid turned impatiently toward the back.

“Just an old sheepherder’s custom,” he remarked facetiously. “Front doors around here are to be seen, not used. Wait a moment, please.”

“Let me go with you.” She followed him to the back of the house and felt he was irritated with her for coming. In the kitchen the cook was clearing away the remains of a hearty breakfast.

He led her into a diningroom that had the appearance of having never been used, then through a wide hall and up an open stairway. At the head of the stairs he opened a door on the right and placed her bag within.

“Here you are. Be as comfortable as you can. Mrs. Chris will give you something to eat. See you later.”

Nancy, inside the room, felt a sudden inclination to cry. The morning had been so perfect and now everything was all wrong. Then she stiffened mentally. The sharpness between father and son must not affect her. They could disagree all they pleased but she must hold her work. She must. This wasn’t the first time she had had to put up with unpleasant conditions; but she had thought this class — hold on. What was it Pete had said last night? “Old Man Wood is all right — none better.” Pete seldom erred in his judgment of men. If Pete could see under the brusqueness she could too.

Dismissing it from her mind she looked about. “And he thinks this is a prison.” There was a double south window. She went to it and looked out. She could see away across fields that were green under brown. The mountains, protectingly near, were bare with purple shadows. They should still have harbored patches of snow but none were visible. In the other direction she could see the herd they had passed. It was moving slowly nearer.

Back in the kitchen Nancy ate the breakfast set before her.

“I could a set you in the diningroom,” Mrs. Chris began apologetically, but the girl interrupted, “This is much better.”

The woman’s face brightened. Her manner toward the newcomer took a turn in temperature.

“That is just what I think. What’s the difference where you eat as long as you git enough? Setting the table in the diningroom makes a hull lot more work but Reid fusses over it. He calls it an old sheepherder custom. The idea of a —”

“Are they shearing yet?” Nancy asked quickly.

“Laws, no. They ain’t started yet and won’t for another week or ten days. That is why everything is in such a bustle. When they are sheared they will start for the Reserve. Then things will quieten down until haying starts.”

“Do the shearers eat here?”

“No. They used to, but now they have their regular crews that go from one plant to another. They carry their own cook, for which I am thankful.”

There was the sound of steps on the back porch and Mr. Wood appeared in the door. For an instant Nancy was panic-stricken. Suppose she shouldn’t be able to stand it. Suppose she shouldn’t be able to make good. This meant so much. Then she caught his glance and her fear vanished. Was there a twinkle in his eyes? Before she could determine he spoke.

“Are you through eating? I am in a kind of a hurry.”

She was to learn later that his “kind of a hurry” by no means meant inattention to details but was the habitual excuse of a man who drove himself from morning until long after dark. Now she rose.

“I am through.”

She followed him across the kitchen yard to another building. There were two doors opening from it. Mr. Wood threw open the nearest and they went in.

“This is the commissary and office together,” he told her, and his tone defied her to say it was not a good arrangement. “The other end is the bunkhouse and the men’s kitchen. ‘Fore we built the big house it was my home. Seems more like it now than the other. No home to that big barn. We send supplies out from here to the camps. Once in a while a rancher comes here for something if he hasn’t time to go to town. So you keep track of what comes in and goes out and who it goes to. I’ll probably have to check up on you to see you are doing it right. You might have to pay the men, too, if I’m not here, or Reid. It is a mixed-up job. Here’s the keys and there’s the desk and in it are the books. You ought to have gumption enough to figure things out. I’ll be here off and on.”

This had been delivered all in one breath. He handed her the keys and was gone. Nancy looked about. She wondered whether to laugh or cry and decided to do neither. By the east wall was a cumbersome old desk, a relic of days gone by. It was littered and dusty. One side of the room was taken up with packing boxes, their bright labels revealing their contents. Across from them and on the floor beneath them was a sample, the girl thought, of everything under the sun. The room had the appearance of a very disorderly general merchandise store.

“Keep track of everything that comes in and goes out — and keep sweet under anything.” The girl clutched the keys tightly. She must make good. She would have two months’ wages. With good luck — three. She would go to school. The road of the early morning beckoned, but for some reason it did not seem quite so alluring. She brushed the vision hastily away.

(To be continued)