Essential Novelists - Willa Cather. Уилла Кэсер

his direction. They advanced distrustfully, and as if they wished the distance were longer.

      Alexandra beckoned to them. “They think I am trying to fool them. Come, boys, it's Carl Linstrum, our old Carl!”

      Lou gave the visitor a quick, sidelong glance and thrust out his hand. “Glad to see you.”

      Oscar followed with “How d' do.” Carl could not tell whether their offishness came from unfriendliness or from embarrassment. He and Alexandra led the way to the porch.

      “Carl,” Alexandra explained, “is on his way to Seattle. He is going to Alaska.”

      Oscar studied the visitor's yellow shoes. “Got business there?” he asked.

      Carl laughed. “Yes, very pressing business. I'm going there to get rich. Engraving's a very interesting profession, but a man never makes any money at it. So I'm going to try the goldfields.”

      Alexandra felt that this was a tactful speech, and Lou looked up with some interest. “Ever done anything in that line before?”

      “No, but I'm going to join a friend of mine who went out from New York and has done well. He has offered to break me in.”

      “Turrible cold winters, there, I hear,” remarked Oscar. “I thought people went up there in the spring.”

      “They do. But my friend is going to spend the winter in Seattle and I am to stay with him there and learn something about prospecting before we start north next year.”

      Lou looked skeptical. “Let's see, how long have you been away from here?”

      “Sixteen years. You ought to remember that, Lou, for you were married just after we went away.”

      “Going to stay with us some time?” Oscar asked.

      “A few days, if Alexandra can keep me.”

      “I expect you'll be wanting to see your old place,” Lou observed more cordially. “You won't hardly know it. But there's a few chunks of your old sod house left. Alexandra wouldn't never let Frank Shabata plough over it.”

      Annie Lee, who, ever since the visitor was announced, had been touching up her hair and settling her lace and wishing she had worn another dress, now emerged with her three daughters and introduced them. She was greatly impressed by Carl's urban appearance, and in her excitement talked very loud and threw her head about. “And you ain't married yet? At your age, now! Think of that! You'll have to wait for Milly. Yes, we've got a boy, too. The youngest. He's at home with his grandma. You must come over to see mother and hear Milly play. She's the musician of the family. She does pyrography, too. That's burnt wood, you know. You wouldn't believe what she can do with her poker. Yes, she goes to school in town, and she is the youngest in her class by two years.”

      Milly looked uncomfortable and Carl took her hand again. He liked her creamy skin and happy, innocent eyes, and he could see that her mother's way of talking distressed her. “I'm sure she's a clever little girl,” he murmured, looking at her thoughtfully. “Let me see—Ah, it's your mother that she looks like, Alexandra. Mrs. Bergson must have looked just like this when she was a little girl. Does Milly run about over the country as you and Alexandra used to, Annie?”

      Milly's mother protested. “Oh, my, no! Things has changed since we was girls. Milly has it very different. We are going to rent the place and move into town as soon as the girls are old enough to go out into company. A good many are doing that here now. Lou is going into business.”

      Lou grinned. “That's what she says. You better go get your things on. Ivar's hitching up,” he added, turning to Annie.

      Young farmers seldom address their wives by name. It is always “you,” or “she.”

      Having got his wife out of the way, Lou sat down on the step and began to whittle. “Well, what do folks in New York think of William Jennings Bryan?” Lou began to bluster, as he always did when he talked politics. “We gave Wall Street a scare in ninety-six, all right, and we're fixing another to hand them. Silver wasn't the only issue,” he nodded mysteriously. “There's a good many things got to be changed. The West is going to make itself heard.”

      Carl laughed. “But, surely, it did do that, if nothing else.”

      Lou's thin face reddened up to the roots of his bristly hair. “Oh, we've only begun. We're waking up to a sense of our responsibilities, out here, and we ain't afraid, neither. You fellows back there must be a tame lot. If you had any nerve you'd get together and march down to Wall Street and blow it up. Dynamite it, I mean,” with a threatening nod.

      He was so much in earnest that Carl scarcely knew how to answer him. “That would be a waste of powder. The same business would go on in another street. The street doesn't matter. But what have you fellows out here got to kick about? You have the only safe place there is. Morgan himself couldn't touch you. One only has to drive through this country to see that you're all as rich as barons.”

      “We have a good deal more to say than we had when we were poor,” said Lou threateningly. “We're getting on to a whole lot of things.”

      As Ivar drove a double carriage up to the gate, Annie came out in a hat that looked like the model of a battleship. Carl rose and took her down to the carriage, while Lou lingered for a word with his sister.

      “What do you suppose he's come for?” he asked, jerking his head toward the gate.

      “Why, to pay us a visit. I've been begging him to for years.”

      Oscar looked at Alexandra. “He didn't let you know he was coming?”

      “No. Why should he? I told him to come at any time.”

      Lou shrugged his shoulders. “He doesn't seem to have done much for himself. Wandering around this way!”

      Oscar spoke solemnly, as from the depths of a cavern. “He never was much account.”

      Alexandra left them and hurried down to the gate where Annie was rattling on to Carl about her new dining-room furniture. “You must bring Mr. Linstrum over real soon, only be sure to telephone me first,” she called back, as Carl helped her into the carriage. Old Ivar, his white head bare, stood holding the horses. Lou came down the path and climbed into the front seat, took up the reins, and drove off without saying anything further to any one. Oscar picked up his youngest boy and trudged off down the road, the other three trotting after him. Carl, holding the gate open for Alexandra, began to laugh. “Up and coming on the Divide, eh, Alexandra?” he cried gayly.

      IV

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      CARL HAD CHANGED, ALEXANDRA felt, much less than one might have expected. He had not become a trim, self-satisfied city man. There was still something homely and wayward and definitely personal about him. Even his clothes, his Norfolk coat and his very high collars, were a little unconventional. He seemed to shrink into himself as he used to do; to hold himself away from things, as if he were afraid of being hurt. In short, he was more self-conscious than a man of thirty-five is expected to be. He looked older than his years and not very strong. His black hair, which still hung in a triangle over his pale forehead, was thin at the crown, and there were fine, relentless lines about his eyes. His back, with its high, sharp shoulders, looked like the back of an over-worked German professor off on his holiday. His face was intelligent, sensitive, unhappy.

      That evening after supper, Carl and Alexandra were sitting by the clump of castor beans in the middle of the flower garden. The gravel paths glittered in the moonlight, and below them the fields lay white and still.

      “Do you know, Alexandra,” he was saying, “I've been thinking how strangely things work out. I've been away engraving other men's pictures, and you've stayed at home and made your own.” He pointed with his cigar toward