From the Improvement Era, March 1930 —

Stampeded

By Silas L. Cheney

Hazel March gazed belligerently at her mother.

“No use of you and Dad beating around the bush. I know exactly why you’re carrying me off to the canyon,” she declared petulantly. “You’re afraid I’m in love with Maurice Blanchard and so you propose snatching the burning brand from the fire.”

“Hazel, dear, you’re mistaken. We are afraid you are becoming infatuated, and that might easily lead to something more serious; but love is out of the question since you have known him so short a time. To love is to understand and really appreciate — feelings which are not acquired upon an impulse.”

“That’s the way they used to think, but times have changed. Today we live ‘by heart throbs, not by figures on a dial,’ but answer me one question. What’s the big objection to Maurice?”

“He’s of one faith, and you are of another. Where there is a difference in belief and training pertaining to anything so fundamental as religion, trouble and difficulties are bound to arise — if not before then certainly after one commences rearing a family. You are old enough to think seriously about such matters. You must understand and believe what the Gospel teaches concerning the importance of marriage?”

“Please don’t, Mother. This solemnity is depressing. Why not have the next on the program?” With that she pounced on the piano bench and rattled off several jazzy selections in rapid succession, exercising almost every muscle of her lithe body in defiant abandonment as she did so.

“Now, what say? Shall we pack and hie ourselves to the beastly canyon?”

“Beastly? Why, my dear girl, it’s beautiful at this time of the year.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t, but where’s the kick in sitting down day after day gazing at beauty? I’d rather get out and have a good time.”

Nothing win prevent your having a good time. There will be plenty of people not far from Upper Falls and you can hike, motor, dance, ride horseback or almost anything you choose. Besides if it’s romance you’re after, as I suspect, you will no doubt have the opportunity of trying your wiles on Dr. Ludlow. We expect him to arrive any day and when he does we shall invite him to visit us at the cabin.”

“If you do I’ll run away sure. I’m not going to be stampeded into loving someone I’ve never seen, especially when you are forcing me to break with Maurice in order to do so.”

“But he is handsome, attractive, and successful, and is dying to meet you after seeing your photo.”

“Well, let him die. I tell you if I can’t choose for myself there will be no choosing done.”

Mrs. March made no reply. She felt troubled but not discouraged. From what she knew concerning young Dr. Ludlow he was just the sort of man she was anxious that her daughter should marry. But it was a mat- ter which demanded tact and diplomacy. Certainly Hazel was not to be stampeded. She would have to be given a chance to choose for herself. Yet it was imperative that she receive proper guidance from some source which, to be effective, must be of an invisible, undiscernible nature.

Donald March’s summer cabin, delightfully rustic as it was, formed the only artificial object within a radius of two miles. Yet it blended and harmonized so well with the out-door designing and decorating which nature had lavished about, that it added distinctly to the general colorfulness at Upper Falls where everything seemed cool, fresh, fragrant and beautiful. But Hazel, reclining in a wicker chair on the front porch, was in no mood to appreciate her surroundings. She sat gazing restlessly at the moss and willow covered banks of the trout-brook which splashed and gurgled at her feet; at the pale aspens and dark, stately pines; at the granite and sandstone cliffs towering gigantically above her, basking brilliantly in the smiles of the morning sun; and though she looked she scarcely saw, for her thoughts were wandering truantly in search of adventure. She had been there for nearly a week — a long, dull week — for as yet she had failed to see anyone in whom she could take the slightest interest. To make things worse her parents were working against her. They were up to their old tricks of keeping all eligibles away until Dr. Ludlow could be trotted along. At dinner the day before, her father had casually mentioned having met a young man, driving a sport roadster, who had just rented one of the cabins at The Meadows, a resort two miles below.

“He asked me where he could find the best fishing,” he had said. “I might have told him it was excellent up here, but I didn’t much like his appearance — looked rather too high-lifed, so I intimated that the fishing was good down the creek a mile or so.”

The more she thought about the incident the more incensed she became until, as she now sat brooding, she fairly boiled with indignation.

“Shooing him away,” she muttered to herself. “We’ll see about it. Dad didn’t like him because he knew I’d be interested in him. Well, I am.” Springing defiantly to her feet she called: “I’m going for a hike. Don’t worry if I’m late for lunch.”

Down the steps and across the corduroy foot-bridge she tripped, following a path which led directly to the main highway. Here she looked back to ascertain if anyone were watching. Having satisfied herself upon this point she turned deliberately and followed the meandering course of the road downward. If her present conduct was not quite proper her parents were to blame, Hazel reasoned. She had always been able to pick and cull her own company until they had decided that she was old enough for them to do it for her. Her thoughts occupied her so wholly that she failed to hear the honking of a horn around the bend. A moment later she was horrified at seeing a car practically upon her. Things happened quickly; she screamed, brakes shrieked, something bunted against her, and then consciousness was snuffed out. She came to as cold water was being dashed into her face. Everything seemed blurry for a minute, then gradually her eyes focused on a young man kneeling beside her dipping water out of the creek with his hat.

“That’s enough!” she gasped as he was about to repeat the chilly remedy.

“Thank heaven you are alive!” he said greatly relieved. “I think you have given me about as bad a scare as I did you. How are you feeling now?”

“I’m feeling all right but since your car ran over me, I must be half dead. I — I think I had better be taken home at once.”

“I’m satisfied you’re not badly hurt, perhaps not hurt at all as my car scarcely touched you. But I don’t blame you for fainting. I came near doing the same thing. It was the closest call I have ever had. Mighty fortunate I was going slowly and traveling up-hill instead of down.”

“Surely was, but, how did I get away down here? The road is quite a distance up there on the mountain side.”

“Suppose you guess. You see I was obliged to get you to water or the water to you. The one was an up-hill the other a down-hill proposition. Naturally I chose the easier. Other important factors influenced my decision also. It was difficult to determine in advance how much it would take to revive you and besides I was afraid my hat would rebel at transporting water that far.”

He must have carried her then, and the hot blood mounted her cheeks as she reached this unavoidable conclusion. Well here was adventure certainly. Smiling demurely and in an effort to change the subject she said, “I’m afraid Mr. — Mr. Gallant, that your hat is spoiled for future service.”

“My dear Miss — Opportunity, you are quite mistaken. It has merely received a christening for a more important mission. Henceforth it shall be laid away in lavender, destined to become an heirloom.”

He was not only strong and agile but also possessed a ready tongue. Studying him covertly through lowered lashes she discovered that he was decidedly handsome with dark, wavy hair, brown eyes, and strong, pleasing features.

“You must be the one who inquired of Dad about fishing yesterday,” she said. “You’re staying at The Meadows, aren’t you?”

“Temporarily,” he replied. “And I did inquire about fishing of a certain distinguished-looking, middle-aged gentleman yesterday. Let me see — as I recall it his name was March.”

“I thought so. It was Dad. He was speaking of you last night.”

“How delightful. I feel I almost know you already, but since I’m a stickler for social conventions I insist upon the formality of an introduction. And so: Miss March allow me to present to you Mr. Davis, Mr. Davis — Miss March.”

“How do you do, Mr. Davis, she laughed. “Apparently I have met you just in time to say goodbye for really I must be going.” As she made an effort to rise he sprang to her assistance, but she waved him aside and staggered to her feet unaided. “If I am able to stand alone I’m all right,” she said. “If. I can’t I’ll know that something is the matter with me. Perhaps some bones are broken, my spine dislocated, or I may be suffering from concussion of the brain.”

“I surely hope you have suffered no injury.” The genuine earnestness and concern in his voice sent a rush of blood to her neck and face. She moved about gingerly for a moment then more freely, concluding with a flourish of the Charleston. “Whole as a doughnut and sound as a drum,” she declared.

“How fortunate,” he rejoined. “Do you know, Miss March, there is only one calamity I could wish you?”

“I think I know,” she spoke in a mock serious tone resembling his. “You tried it today but your car stalled. Well, I warn you that it was your last opportunity.”

“Wrong, wrong, Miss March. You are deliberately side-stepping the issue. As for this being my last chance I plead with you to reconsider your ultimatum.”

“But when the King doesn’t like the looks of the strange Prince, what is the poor little Princess to do?”

“Try some of her charms on the lonesome Prince. No doubt she could change him into something which would meet the approval of the haughty King.”

“Maybe,” she temporized. “But if I don’t bestir myself soon there’ll be a searching party on my trail. Really, Mr. Davis, I must be going.”

“Then permit me to assist you to my car and I’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you, but I really prefer walking. There is such a picturesque little woodland trail leading up along the creek, and it’s only about ten minutes walk from here to our cabin at Upper Falls.”

“Then lead on, and I’ll follow to make sure of your safe arrival.”

She became more serious than she had been thus far. He must not accompany her home. That would spoil everything.

“Thanks, Mr. Davis, I couldn’t think of putting you to so much trouble. Good-bye.”

“But wait, Miss March, you haven’t told me where or when I may see you again.”

“Does it matter?” You will surely be too busy fishing for future interruption.”

“Perhaps you fish sometimes also,” he suggested.

“Sometimes, when it isn’t raining.”

“And where in your opinion is the best fishing?”

“Oh, anywhere along here just so it isn’t too close to the cabin,” she said daringly, a twinkle appearing in her eyes. “It’s too noisy there. Fish like it best where everything is quiet.”

“So says Isaac Walton,” he rejoined. Then scanning the sky; “It doesn’t look like rain about one o’clock tomorrow does it, Miss March?”

“No. And no doubt Isaac Walton also says that the fish bite especially well shortly afternoon,” she mocked and with a wave of her hand darted out of sight among the willows and luxuriant undergrowth.

She stood gazing at the spot where she had vanished. “What a girl! She’s the one for me all right,” he murmured smiling to himself. Gradually the smile faded into an expression of determination as slowly he turned and made his way towards the sport roadster, which might have been blocking traffic on the road for the past hour, only there had been no traffic to block.

Summer wore on, autumn approached. Already many had closed their cabins and returned to the city to renew their vocations. But the Marches lingered, although Mr. March was away much of the time now.

Hazel had experienced sufficient excitement during the summer to satisfy even her volatile temperament. She had been in Mr. Davis’ company a good deal, first on the sly — later openly. Her parents had never failed to manifest their disapproval of him; but since she treated the association so lightly, apparently they felt no very grave concern. Then too, he was spending most of his time in the city. But Hazel had become greatly concerned. She knew “Mr. Davis loved her, and when the time should come for him to tell her of it, what would she do? There was her parent’s disapproval and more important still, there was Dr. Ludlow. He had been in the city for some time, yet her parents had never invited him out, and rarely spoke of him in her presence, although she felt sure he was an important subject in their thoughts and private conversation. She bit her lip in vexation as she considered how stupid they must be to have taken literally what she had said about “stampeding her into loving him.” Still she could not let them know differently now. They would laugh at her if she did. At times the newspapers referred to him and always in a complimentary manner. Apparently he was winning distinction in society as well as in his profession.

One night after her father had returned from a long stay in the city, she asked him whom Dorothy Spencer was step- ping out with now. Hazel secretly disliked Dorothy, principally because she was envious of her. Mr. March considered before answering slowly: “I am not sure, but I believe Dr. Ludlow is taking quite a fancy to her.” Then like a bungling school boy he hastily changed the subject. All this greatly intrigued her. It might not have amounted to anything had she been privileged to see and speak with him or even to speak about him; but as it was her curiosity simmered under cover until it eventually reached the boiling point, forcing her at times to wonder if she were not really in love with him unsight and unseen. With such a disturbing factor it was impossible for her rightly to analyze her feelings toward Lawrence Davis.

Things were in this state when her mother approached her one Saturday afternoon. She appeared quite agitated. “Hazel,” she said seriously, “out of regard for your feelings we have said little of Dr. Ludlow and have been discourteous enough never to invite him to pay us a visit even after he expressed such an interest in you. But now he is leaving the city, perhaps permanently. Under the circumstances we have been obliged to invite him to have dinner with us tonight. Of course if you desire you may find some excuse to be away, but I am sure he would like to see you. Certainly we’d be happy if you remained.”

Hazel tried desperately to appear cool and perhaps overdid it. “I suppose I will be able to stand it since apparently it will be the first and last time,” she said.

Toward evening she dressed carefully and went for a stroll to calm herself. She followed the path down the creek and quite unconsciously took a seat on a fallen log at the place where first she had met Lawrence, and which since then had become their favorite rendezvous. She sat quietly waiting, and the longer she waited the harder it seemed for her to go back. Cars passed. Some stopped at the cabin for a time and then continued on. How many remained she could not say. Dinner time came and went. She must return in time to see him but not yet awhile. The sun slowly sank leaving disconsolate shadows to creep up the valley, ascending higher and higher until they embraced the peaks above her. Twilight deepened and the night came on stealthily. She simply must go back. There was someone coming down the trail. It was Lawrence Davis. She heaved a sigh of relief. How glad she was to see him. His very presence gave her strength and courage.

“So here you are,” he said. “I thought perhaps I would find you here.”

“I’m so glad to see you, Lawrence,” she exclaimed.

“And I you,” he replied. Then after a pause he said rather huskily, “Hazel, I have come to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” she gasped.

“Does it matter much to you?”

“Why, I— I— I can’t—”

He took her hands in his. “It rests with you whether it shall be a temporary or a permanent farewell.”

Suddenly he seized her in his arms. “Dearest,” he breathed, “I love you, I adore you. You mean so much to me that I cannot live here longer and have our relationship remain as it is. But, if you care for me I should return to you though I were at the end of the earth.”

It had come. What could she do? Slowly she disengaged herself. “I — I — honestly I can’t say, Lawrence. Sometimes I think it’s you I love and sometimes I think it’s Dr. Ludlow.”

“Dr. Ludlow!” he exclaimed. “I wasn’t aware that you even knew him.”

“It’s silly, I know, but please don’t laugh at me. I — I don’t know him. Never saw him in my life but — but I have heard so much of him — thought so much about him, that I have wondered — ”

There was the prolonged honking of a horn upon the dugway.

“I must go. Dearest, can’t you give me an answer before I leave?”

She remained silent holding to his arm with shaking hands.

“Then goodbye. I must go.” Reluctantly he disengaged himself and started away.

“Lawrence!” she sobbed.

He was back at her side in an instant, holding her in his arms. She raised her tear-stained face and looked up at him miserably. “Oh, Lawrence, I can’t say. I can’t say. What shall I do?”

“It’s all right,” he said chokingly. “I can’t blame you. Here is my new address and here is this morning’s paper containing an item which explains the reason for my abrupt departure. When you have had time to know what your feelings are toward me, please write. If you want me I shall come back to you. Oh, how gladly I shall come back.” He bent and kissed her and was gone.

She sank to her knees clutching the paper and address convulsively in her hands. “Father in Heaven, help me to know,” she prayed. After a time she felt calmer and rising made her way back to the cabin. She let herself in at the back door and went noiselessly to her room. After lighting a lamp she looked in the mirror and stared at her reflection in dismay. What a sight she was; dress wrinkled, hair disheveled, eyes red and swollen. Hastily she removed as much of the damage as possible and then stepped into the living room. Her parents were conversing quietly. No one else was in sight.

“Why, where is he — where is Dr. Ludlow?” she asked with concern.

“He had to leave a short time ago in order to catch a train for the East. But where on earth have you been? We were getting quite worried about you.”

She could not answer. A huge lump arose in her throat and she beat a hasty retreat to her room to hide her emotions. It was too much; Lawrence had left without her being able to tell him to come back, and now Dr. Ludlow had gone without her even getting to see him. Well, it had been her own fault. She had acted like a fool from start to finish. All she could do now was to pay the price. Throwing herself on the bed she buried her face in the pillows to drown her sobs.

“Anything the matter, Hazel?” asked her mother at the door.

With an effort she controlled herself sufficiently to say, “No, Mother. Just reading.” She snatched up the paper Lawrence had given her to make good her pretense. On the very front page a picture of Mr. Davis appeared in bold relief while just beneath — she stared incredulously. Suddenly her overstrained nerves snapped and she went off into peal after peal of hysterical laughter. Her mother rushed in, “Why, Hazel, whatever is the matter?” she cried as she seized her by the shoulders and shook her vigorously.

“Why — why just look at that,” screamed Hazel, pointing at the picture. “Isn’t it killing?”

“I don’t see anything the matter with it,” replied Mrs. March.

“You don’t?” and Hazel was off into another paroxysm of laughter. “Just read below. It — it says that it’s Dr. Ludlow.”

Mrs. March took her in her arms. “Hazel, dear, it is Dr. Ludlow. Mr. Davis was merely an assumed name.”

“But — but why should he do that?” Hazel asked, sobering.

“He did it only at our suggestion. Though before I explain I want to ask you a question. Do you love him?”

For a time she was silent, striving for adjustment. Mr. Davis: handsome, chivalrous, clever, affectionate; and Dr. Ludlow: successful, distinguished, sought after; all wrapped into one. It scarcely seemed possible it came so near being her ideal. Finally she said: “I’m afraid I almost worship him. But, Mother dear, whatever made you do it?”

“My dear child, it seemed the only way we could stampede you into a future of happiness.”