Beckoning Roads

By Dorothy Clapp Robinson

(Previous Chapter

Chapter 8

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 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,” 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, Nancy became rebellious and determined to better her situation. She finally secured a temporary clerical job with a large ranching operation in a nearby section of the country. There was something about Reid Wood, young, impatient, city-bred son of the ranch operator, that she wanted to remember. There was something about Peter Holverson that she couldn’t forget. There was some resentment between Reid Wood and his father that she couldn’t understand. And so she found herself among cross-currents. With the passing days she found herself liking her job and her surroundings, and found herself drawing near to the kindly inner nature of her employer, father Ben Wood — and found her thoughts often drifting to his restless son, Reid, with whom she rode and talked, learning something of the cause of his restless discontent. A serious accident to Mr. Ben Wood put his son Reid in charge of the ranch, under which responsibility he showed some signs of commendable leadership and some signs of possessive arrogance. Nancy soon learned that her former sweetheart, Peter Holverson, was under serious financial obligation to the Woods — and that young Wood intended to force payment. The intrusion of a presumptuous nurse, Miss Meade, employed to care for Mr. Wood, further complicated an already difficult situation. A brief trip back to Nancy’s home relieved the tension somewhat, after which she returned to her job at the Wood ranch to find that she had been missed by the household in general and by Reid Wood in particular. At a widely attended Twenty-fourth of July dance, where she went as Reid Wood’s partner, Nancy observed her former sweetheart, Pete, in company with another very prepossessing girl, which added further confusion to her confused heart.

One day, entirely out of time and season, it rained. The few scudding clouds that had tantalized the farmers and stockmen for so long, now when hope was gone, suddenly massed themselves in the southwest and swept defiantly across the hot sky. Lightning snapped vivid threads from the dark fabric. Thunder tore at its edges and growled and worried like a disgruntled, short-tempered dog. Then came a swift pelting shower that gradually steadied into a gray curtain of rain.

“We’re saved,” Mr. Wood told Nancy.

Saved? Yes, the pastures, the range were safe for another month. It would help the last cutting of hay. All of which would help some people. The garden and the grain at home were already burned beyond recall. Why, why couldn’t this storm have come a few weeks earlier? But what of it? That was in the past. That was what one always expected on a farm like theirs. Nothing mattered now that the drought was broken. Nancy went to the front porch and let the cooling spray whip about her face. She wanted to shout and dance and weep at once. Shout and dance at its coming, weep at its delay. Their pasture, that which grew between and under sagebrush, would be helped. The cows would raise a little on their milk. That would give home a more livable atmosphere. She could almost hear her father’s sigh of relief.

Some one came up behind her. Arms went about her.

“Don’t know enough to come in out of the rain?”

She turned to face Reid. Her eyes were shining with that new hope and promise rain always brings to those who live by its bounty. Her hair, coaxed by the moisture, rioted in shining curls about her face and neck. His eyes brought a queer expectant aching to her throat.

“Shall we go for a ride?”

“Ride? In that storm?”

“No, Sweet Dumbbell, in the car. We can keep perfectly dry while enjoying the weather.”

“I should love it, but where would we go?”

“Anywhere — up the valley, probably. The road is graveled and not bad even in the rain. We might eventually reach the divide. I crossed it once in a storm.”

“That is a long way.”

.

.

“Which gives it appeal. If the road gets slippery we can always turn back.”

As the girl turned to go for her sweater, Miss Meade appeared in the doorway.

“Going somewhere?” she asked.

Nancy held her breath. The boy looked from one to the other.

“I think,” he said slowly, “we are going to hunt the Glory Road. Ever travel it?

The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “Never. I thought once I was headed toward it but it seems I was mistaken in the signs.”

“Good girl, to recognize signs.”

“And that is that.” Nurse Meade told herself as she went back to her patient.

For a few miles the road was sticky but once on the highway the gravel made driving easy. There was no traffic as Reid had foreseen. The car slipped along smoothly through the gray mist that beat at its windows. Through the radio a voice crooned softly. As they climbed the air turned cold, and he insisted she put on her wrap.

“Do you know,” he spoke out of a silence that had lasted several miles. “There is nothing satisfies me like a storm. I seem to fuse with the elements.”

“It is the poet in us — or the primitive.

“Us? You feel it. too?”

“I love a storm. It leaves this dusty old earth so clean and fresh smelling.” Even as she said the words she was thinking, “This is a different Reid from the one I have known. He is deep and sincere. Some day he will be much like his father.”

Presently they turned toward the divide, crowding the side of the mountain. As they climbed, the valley deepened into a canyon. This was living. This was one road that gave all it promised. There was no yesterday in their world and no tomorrow — only the sweet present. The rain curtain still shut out their vision and as they entered the pines Reid switched on the car’s lights. They picked gaunt swaying trees, branches touching across the tunnel-like road. The road itself grew bad.

Here a trickle of water was making a rut for the wheels. There a swash of rock and loose gravel had been swept by the storm onto the road to catch unwary travelers. The danger of it burned in Nancy’s throat. One miscalculated turn, one slight skid — but the hands on the wheel were firm and sure.

The canyon eased away into a ravine and the ravine into sheer mountain height. There was a last breath-taking climb and the car halted on a flat bald divide. Reid set his brakes and lifted his hands from the wheel. Below, the valley they were facing was carpeted with gray down, but away and beyond over the billowing cloud floor there was a gleaming rift that silhouetted the crags and peaks of the opposite range in bold relief. Reid turned and looked anxiously from the rear window.

“What is the matter?”

“I want to be sure your dear friend isn’t in the rumble. I had to bring you up here to have one minute alone.”

She laughed softly but said nothing. The moment had come and now that it had he had lost his sense of sureness. He made no move to touch her but sat with hands over the steering wheel watching the shining peaks across the valley.

“That bright opening in the clouds should be a good omen. We are getting a glimpse of something.”

“So we are. That means there is always light behind the fog.” She was sitting close to him. Close enough to feel the power of his puissant body. There came to her a sudden thought. Here were all the ability, all the potentialities of the father. There was lacking only the strength that comes from experience. Experience would follow purpose and necessity. “I suppose light is always behind the clouds but sometimes we have poor vision.”

The bright rift continued to absorb his interest. “I have never thought much of light and shadows. Nor of vision. Do you think you could help me keep my eyes on the shining peaks?”

“I might try.”

“Nancy, could you — do you love me;

“Yes,” softly. “I think I do.”

He turned then. Taking her face between his two hands he looked into her eyes.

“You mean it?” There was no need for an answer. His arms drew her close in a hungry gesture. About them the elements played on in a dance of abandon. One window was lowered slightly and to the girl’s sensitive nostrils there came the elusive incense of wet earth, dripping pines, and dank undergrowth — fragrance of dreams. Always afterward it would mean that to her.

“Do you know,” he whispered later with something of his characteristic buoyancy, “I can hardly realize it is true. A few months ago I was as cagy as a range colt. Now I am as settled as a plow horse.”

“You will never be that.”

“Perhaps not. But I have found out I do like the ranch and the work. I am getting Dad’s viewpoint. It is all because you came into my life.”

“No, not all. You needed me only to help crystallize your thoughts.”

“I have needed you all my life. I shall always need you. You’ll never get tired of me, will you? Women aren’t very constant, you know.”

“No?” Then, “You know I shall not.”

The radio sang on, waiting. Then words rose above the melody.

“Then kiss me, my Sweet.
And so let us part;
And when I grow too old to dream
That kiss will live in my heart.”

With quick anger Reid snapped it off. “Darn that baritone. Trying to sour our big moment,”

Nancy laughed and turned it on again.

“Hey, you —” then he grinned. “Okay. But aren’t you a little bit anxious to get home and see what my Dad has to say? He has been all of a jitter for fear I would let you get by.”

“Did he say so?”

“Certainly not. He thinks he has been very nonchalant about the affair, but I know him. You should have seen the way he acted when Helen was here last summer.”

“Why didn’t you marry her?”

“Waiting for you, of course. This drought has made money scarce but we will have to manage some way to get that barn of a house remodeled. I can move the bunk house and commissary back. We can fix up some rooms for Dad.”

“Fix up some rooms? Why, that is his house. Perhaps he will let us live with him.”

For a moment he did not answer, then words came to his lips as if against his will. “I think I was hoping you would say that. … I love you for your appreciation. I seem to have missed the gift and now that I think of it I believe that is what I didn’t like about Helen, She took so much for granted. I may say what I will say about my old man, but I accord the privilege to no one else. I can’t endure raised eyebrows unless I am doing the raising.”

“You try so to be hard-boiled but you are not very successful. I love you for it.”

“Oh, you do love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Somehow in spite of your words I had a feeling —”

“Forget it.” Love him? How could she help it? There was something so irresistible about him. Life with him would be gay and — and easy. She loved him very, very much.

Below the mist parted. The road beckoned to them.

“Well, Curley, shall we go?”

“Don’t call me that,” she told him sharply.

“Very well. From now on I am being led by a ring in the nose. You won’t go back on me, will you? Tell me again.”

“I shall never quit loving you.” She knew she never would. She would love him always. But he must not call her Curley.

They drove down the long winding road of the divide. At Custer they stopped and went to a show. Sitting beside him in the intimate darkness, her sense of security, that had been shattered by the word “Curley,” returned. Nothing, nothing could change her. Later neither could remember what the show had been about. Life was much more interesting. When it was finished, they ate in a small restaurant that boasted a big sign.

“Now where?” he asked, when they were once more in the car.

“Could you — would you mind going past home? It is a long way.”

“I want to.”

The rain had stopped to await reinforcements. His big car quickly covered the miles of road. It was still early when they drew close to the gate of the bare little yard. Everything was washed clean by the rain. Even the weeds raised their heads a bit more proudly and a green sheen lay over the fields. Nancy sprang from the car and raced through the dampness to the house. Reid reached the door in time to open it for her.

“Look who’s here!” Carl left his eternal airplane and greeted them hilariously. “Hi, Bob, Joe. Sister is home.”

Mrs. Porter came from the kitchen and stopped in the doorway to look suspiciously at them. The flush of their cheeks, the sparkle of their eyes, the attitude of this good looking, self-assured young man, told their own story. For a moment she was speechless with joy that this, her daughter, would miss so many of the hard things of the years to come. Then her heart contracted with a queer sickening ache; but none of it showed in her face.

“How are you?” he took her hand in such an intimate manner. Nancy who had been rather dreading this moment, fell in love all over again.

“Here is some fruit we brought for father.” Nancy went into the bedroom where her father lay. She sat on the bed beside him. As on the last visit she asked: “Are you getting better, Daddy?”

His answer was the same. “No, I am not getting better.”

It took all her will-power to hide the terror that unbidden leaped into her heart and eyes. This road, this savagely insistent road. The father’s gaze went past his daughter to the young man who had followed her.

“You are Reid Wood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you sit down?” He indicated a chair but Reid stood. This tiny hot room —

“Is there anything you would like, Daddy?”

“Yes,” Reid added eagerly, here was something he could grapple with. “If we can get you something — ”

“I have plenty.” The sick man was positive.

When they were ready to leave, as they were presently, Nancy came back and stooping kissed him. He said, “Are you sure of yourself, daughter?”

“Yes, Father. Very sure.”

It was raining again when they stepped on the porch to leave. Reid caught Nancy in his arms and dashed with her to the car.

Behind them they heard Carl mutter, “What’s wrong with him? Carrying a grown girl!”

Up the road they passed a lone figure trudging heavily along in the mud. Reid put his hand to the horn and blew a loud, impudent blast. Nancy turned her head quickly.

“That was Pete, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Poor fellow.”

“Why call him that?”

“Didn’t I take his best girl friend?”

“No,” she answered, “he did not want me.”

“That’s what you think. Why didn’t you tell your mother?”

“How could I before the boys? Pete must be going to see father.”

The car came to a precipitous stop. She was thrown violently forward.

“Tell me next time you intend doing that. It might save me a broken bone.”

“You tell me,” he demanded suddenly, intensely antagonistic, “if that is the reason you love me?”

“If what is the reason?” She was bewildered.

“Did you or did you not promise to marry me because you thought that big palooka didn’t want you?”

A slow red spread over her face. “How can you be so rude? Do you think he is the only man that ever came into my life?”

“I am not concerned with the others. That Swede has a way with him.”

“You know you are the one I love. How could I love him when 1 have you?” She drew his head close to hers.

“All right. All right,” he admitted grudgingly, but his self-esteem was restored. Under his touch the car leaped into action. “But we shall tell your folks next time. And next time won’t be long coming.”

After they passed town he drove slowly. The rain had paused again and between clouds an insistent moon was struggling for attention. They laughed and talked spasmodically, saying precious nothings over and over, making plans and rejecting them, exclaiming untiringly over the fate that had brought them together.

“When are we getting married? Tomorrow?”

“Certainly not. Not for two or three months at least.”

“You just think so. A week is the limit.”

She could not tell him so, but she wanted wages for a while longer. There would be so many things to buy and she did not want to go to him shabby — and there was Dale.

It was past midnight when they had put the car away and stood whispering goodnights in the hall.

“What do you mean coming in this time of the night and waking people up?”

They went immediately to the father’s room. Reid snapped on the light. Hand in hand they stood at the foot of his bed. He looked from one to the other. His eyes had not been closed in sleep that night.

“Well?”

“Do you — do you mind?”

“Mind? Mind? I was wondering if that kid would have brains enough to get busy. Mind?” He drew a long trembling breath. Then he half whispered, “You shore air being good to me at last!”

(To be continued)