Beckoning Roads

By Dorothy Clapp Robinson

(Previous Chapter

Chapter 10

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, citybred 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. But with the passing days she found herself liking her job and drawing near to her kindly employer, father Ben Wood — and found her thoughts often drifting to his restless son, Reid, with whom she rode and talked much. 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 dance, where she went as Reid Wood’s partner, Nancy observed her former sweetheart, Pete, in company with another girl, which added further confusion to her confused heart. . . . Then there followed one thrilling day — out of which came Nancy’s engagement to Reid Wood — and the start of a new journey on a new road. But the death of Nancy’s father interfered with wedding plans and started a new course of events.

Two miles from town the old car gave an apologetic cough and stopped — out of gas! Nancy told herself she shouldn’t have gone so far. Now she would have to walk in town or wait. She did not want to wait. It gave her too much time to think. She opened the door to get out just as a truck loaded with gravel came up.

“Hey, you,” the driver called, “what do you mean by parking in the middle of the road?”

It was Lynn and he swung from one door while Mark opened the other. “What’s wrong?”

“Misjudged my gas.”

They began looking for a can into which they could siphon some from their own tank. Mark found one and went to the truck. “I can handle it,” he said, so Lynn stopped by Nancy to have her tell him where she had been.

“Dale will go all the way. He has what it takes.”

Nancy was struck by the difference in his expression. The lassitude and indifference he had shown at the dance were all gone. He spoke of Dale and of himself, wishing he had been more determined in seeking training; but even as he spoke Nancy knew he was scarcely thinking of what he was saying. Work, good work, was what he wanted. To be able to be his own boss was a prerequisite.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Hauling gravel for the highway just now. I guess you knew I got me a truck.”

.

.

“And are you satisfied, and reconciled about leaving the farm?”

“I’m making a living; guess it amounts to the same. Some day I am going to have a real truck.”

“So am I,” Mark called over his shoulder, “making a living I mean. Some day I will buy in with Lynn. There you are now. That will take you home.”

Going back, Nancy thought over their remarks. Getting married when they had had been a good thing. Without that as a spur Lynn would still be drifting from one job to another, and with his father between times. He could be reconciled away from the land because it made Vera happier. Seeing them had made her lonesome. She would go by Phyl’s on the way home.

Phyllis looked up from her mending to see Nancy standing in her doorway.

“Mark told me this was your day off. I have just seen Dale leave for school and I need to talk. No, keep on with your mending. I can talk better if you are sewing.” She dropped to the floor by the other’s chair.

When she did talk it was not of herself. “I saw Lynn and Mark out on the highway. Lynn is so changed!”

“Isn’t he? I was afraid for them for a while. They live across the block. Since he got his truck so they have an income, their troubles have adjusted themselves. I hope we soon do the same.”

“What do you mean?”

The young wife held up the sock she was mending. She looked carefully at it as if to satisfy herself that it was finished. Then laying it aside she picked up a fluffy white garment from her work basket. At sight of it Nancy caught her breath. Phyllis let her gaze wander through the open door across the way to a tree, the leaves of which were turning yellow. When she faced Nancy again, she smiled.

“I am working two more months and then I am quitting. I am using this for an excuse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am going to tell you. I hope I can make you understand. I have decided the only way to save my home is to quit work.”

“Still I do not understand.”

“Did you know why Mark left the work at the Wood’s ranch?”

“No. Reid liked him.”

“He gave several excuses, but the real reason was there was no necessity for his staying. We are living in an age when we dare to face facts, Nancy. You see we are not alike. We each have our virtues and our faults. I had always known Mark hadn’t the force that Pete has, or even Lynn. But I have learned more about it since we have been married. He doesn’t realize it but he is depending more and more on me.

“And to save him you are quitting?”

“Yes. Don’t misunderstand me. If there was any good reason why Mark couldn’t work I would gladly go on, but he must have his chance. He will not take it until he is forced to.”

“Does it make any difference knowing that?”

“Yes,” truthfully, “but not in the way you are thinking. Mark is Mark. To have him different would be to have someone else for a husband. I am forceful, and he is a follower, but he will never learn independence by leaning.”

“Won’t you be afraid to give up your work? About finances I mean?”

“I admit I am a little. Mother says we will have just as much if I stay home and take care of what he brings in. And no one can have a home with a mother working all day.”

“But what of the years ahead? Have you no worry or fear about them?”

“Just now, no. But certainly I shall have. Mark will always be a laborer. My problem will be to keep sweet under it. I hope I can; for as I said before, Mark will always be Mark.”

‘Yes,” the girl on the floor whispered, “that is true. I know it is true. We shall always be ourselves. Reid can never be Pete.” A tear ran down her cheek, then another and another. She brushed them savagely away.

“Cry if you want,” Phyllis told her.

“No, I haven’t anything to cry about. I – I guess I am thinking of Dale.”

Phyllis did net answer. Stubbornly the girl on the floor brushed the insistent tears from her eyes. Then abruptly she crumpled in a heap, crying softly. When at last she raised her head, it was with sudden purpose. “What shall I tell him?” she asked.

“The truth.” Phyllis did not seem in the least surprised. She thrust paper and pen at the other.

“No. I will telegraph. I want him to know before he leaves Chicago.”

At the Western Union office, Nancy wrote:

“Reid, I find our paths refuse to merge. They only paralleled for a little way. Letter follows.” She frowned, pencil poised, then added, “I shall look forward to meeting Ruth.”

Leaving there she started for the postoffice. There was something else she must do. On the sidewalk she met Mr. Wood.

“I’ll declare,” he cried heartily. “If here ain’t my girl. What air you doing gallivanting around?”

It was so comforting to see him. For a moment Nancy’s purpose wavered. He was going to be hurt; but one didn’t rationalize with men like him.

“I — I just sent Reid a telegram. I’m afraid, you see, I shan’t be your girl after all.”

His smile faded. “What happened? Has my boy —”

“He has been wonderful. Truly he has. The fault is all mine. I have just found out I was not being quite honest with him and myself.”

The man turned his eyes toward the hills. When he faced her again his glance was as unclouded as ever. Only about his mouth there were faint lines of weariness.

“It’s kinda hard. I had counted on it.”

“I am sorry. I do love you.”

His eyes searched her face. Gradually he smiled. “You are right. I think we have all been fooling ourselves. Better to face it now than later.”

From her finger Nancy drew her beautiful ring. She gave it one lingering look then handed it to him along with the brown envelope. “Give it to him, please. And here is your money. I didn’t use any of it.”

Mr. Wood took the ring. Deliberately he placed it in his pocket book. She still proffered the envelope. He took it reluctantly, his eyes on the sidewalk. Then suddenly he raised his head and grinned. A smile so like his son’s.

“I might a knowed you’d hand it back. Wouldn’t let a body give a thing, would you. What you figgering on doing now?”

In spite of herself the girl’s chin threatened to quiver.

“I — I don’t know,” she faltered, “I must work at something.”

“Can you make them little thing-a-ma-bobs as well as type?”

“You mean shorthand? Yes, I know it.”

“Come with me.” He started hobbling rapidly down the street. “Brig Williams just told me he needed help with this new government work he’s got. He’ll give you the job or I’ll know why.”

Afterward, when the position was a certainty, Nancy with face aglow was telling Mr. Wood goodbye.

“I have a feeling Ruth will be coming West.”

“I kinda hope so,” he answered. “I think it was her all along. But you’ll still come over? The four of you could — could find something to do.”

As Nancy sped along, her old car bumping over the soft rutted road toward home, she felt a song rising from her heart to her lips. What a beautiful place this dusty old world was — and the valley! She knew there wasn’t another like it in the world. As she passed the road that lead to Pete’s place she brought her car to a jarring stop. Why not go now and tell him? Tell him at last she knew her way. Tell him she would wait a year, two years, any time. It had been so long since she had seen him.

A sudden overwhelming fear clutched her. Suppose Pete didn’t care any longer? Suppose he had found someone else? But that was nonsense. He had said they belonged to each other. Pete did not change. She would beg his forgiveness for doubting him. She would tell him once again she loved him more than ease, more than luxuries, more than life itself. She loved him with a love that demanded giving, not receiving.

At his mailbox she stopped. Some day soon she would be getting her mail here. Some day she would be trudging that half a mile to see what the day had brought. Already she felt a part of it as if she had always belonged with this farm. She would get his mail and take it to him. She opened the box and thrust in her hand. There was a farm journal, a report of some kind from the Extension Department of the state university; a letter to Jon from his home town and last an ivory-tinted envelope addressed to Pete. Curiously she turned it over. On the back was the return “A. Bolton.” A. Antonia. Tony. Tony Bolton. The one Jon said never gave up.

FOR a moment she stared at it while her world came tumbling in ruins about her No wonder she hadn’t seen Pete lately. Very slowly she closed the mailbox. She had dallied too long. She had given up Reid and there was no Pete to go to. And that it seemed was that. With a savage jerk of the wheel she started the car. She laughed harshly. This was not her road after all. There was no road for her. She stepped hard on the gas. If she had Reid’s car she could travel faster. But that too was gone. Why did they make cars that had no speed? Faster! The wind was blowing strong in her face. Dust rose in clouds behind her. Some of it blew in her hair and nostrils. It tried to shame the lump in her chest.

Ahead was the canal and a turn in the road. She should slow up. No use! Up the bank, careening wildly over the bridge and around the curve on two wheels. There was the smell of rubber, an explosion; the car gave a sickening lurch. For a breath it balanced, then with a splintering crash came to rest on its top in the barrow pit.

Nancy was in a room with no windows and but one door. There was no air. She rushed through the door to find herself in a similar room but smaller and more stifling. Panic-stricken, she rushed out into another and another, each one smaller and more stifling than the last. She threw up her arms for protection but the walls closed upon her. One hit her shoulder. Another was crushing her chest. Then from the suffocating intensity she heard voices. From far away someone said, “Hold it while we pull her out.” Her chest was free but the dark room was closing in again.

Fiery pokers were jabbing at her shoulder. Something hard was pressing against it. Why could she not move? She tried and a searing pain shot through her. Slowly, heavily, her eyelids fluttered open. They stared about vacantly then focused on a white face that was whirling about her.

“Don’t move.”

Nancy blinked hard. There were two faces now.

“She will be all right.” That voice came crisply, distinctly. She heard footsteps retreating. A panic seized her.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I am here.”

“Am I hurt? I cannot move. Where am I?”

“You are in the hospital but you are all right. You have a broken shoulder.”

“What is the matter with your voice?”

There was no answer. She jerked her eyes open. They weren’t leaving her alone? No. He was there and his face was no longer blurred and whirling. She reached her good hand.

“Don’t leave me, will you?”

“Never again.”

She dozed and when she awoke her head was clear. The face was still there.

“Pete. I have something to tell you.”

“It can wait. I shall still be here.”

“No. I must tell you now. I sent Reid a telegram. I —”

“I know. You told me all about it while you were unconscious. About the letter, too.”

“And you — you are not going to marry Tony?”

“Never.”

She sighed contentedly. “And you still love me, Pete?”

“Oh, my dearest. When I saw that car go over I — ”

IT was spring again. The brown chrysalis that had been winter had been opened and Spring was there — Spring, soft and new and warmscented. On the north slope of the hills and about the roots of the sage, snow still lingered. The peace of returning life had come to the valley of the Big Smokey. They were nearly across the desert.

“We are nearing home.” Pete took one hand from the wheel. “Home. With you.”

“Be careful,” she warned.

“I am being careful. Do you expect me to give all my attention to the road with you beside me?”

“Did I look nice, Pete?”

“Just a little sweeter and dearer than usual.”

“Are you glad we waited?”

For a mile he did not answer. Then, “Yes and no. It seemed to be the only way at the time. Now we can start even.”

Nancy’s glance went to the hills ahead. Between them was the valley of the Big Smokey. On the fringe of the lavas, to the west, was the place they had gone for their Easter picnic. Vera had said they wanted to climb heights together. Were they doing it? Perhaps. Getting married with little had been the right thing for them. It had taken that responsibility to bring Lynn to a decision. He hadn’t money for land, but he could adjust himself away from land because Vera wanted it so. Vera disliked farming. Then she wondered if Vera were not a little like herself, not discontented with land exactly, only asking a more secure way of life and a broader living than their mothers had. Father had farmed by trial and error as so many of his generation had done. Pete was a business man who made a business of farming. Like all who started for themselves, they must build slowly. But in their struggle they would still live gloriously. She turned back to her husband.

“Suppose I had married Reid? Didn’t you worry about it?”

“Maybe. It was tough to see you with him.”

“If I had married him?” she insisted.

“But you did not. I love you because you are the kind that wouldn’t.” “Keep your eyes ahead,” she warned.

“You know this road will run a long, long way.”

“I hope so.” He stopped the car. “I want it to go on and on forever and into eternity.”

(The End)