The Ones We Love Viola Rawls Erickson Excerpt
Ethel came out to clean the cabin.
"Brett, is pushing me to get back to the book," she told Mary, "and he wants to do a little fishing and tramping the hills."
"Really?" Mary was delighted. "It'll be wonderful to have you back. But what about the paper? Can you leave it?"
Ethel laughed. "That paper doesn't need us, Mary. Some of Mr. Moore's staff are still there, and Brett's hired some young people who are so enthused that they wear Brett and me out. We must be getting old; we can hardly wait to get back to the cabin and forget schedules, deadlines, headlines, and all the rest. By the way, what progress are you making on the petition?"
Mary hesitated. The drive was going smoothly, the committee had met several times, and Beth had some good suggestions, but Mary was still wallowing in guilt and shame. Jim had not mentioned her underhanded conduct, though she was certain it had caused him humiliation. There had been times when she had felt she would prefer a beating to his polite silence. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears and she rushed into Ethel's startled arm, blubbering out the whole story on her shoulder. "And Beth and Jim saw right through me, I know they did," she sobbed, "and they both stayed so damned polite I could have killed them." She was shaking with emotion. As she stopped speaking and stood with her head on Ethel's shoulder, she was amazed that Ethel too was shaking. It was a moment before she realized that her sister-in-law was not shaking with sobs, but with uncontrolled laughter.
"I'll be damned, Mary," Ethel gasped. "You are human after all. What a sneaky, unscrupulous trick! I didn't think you had the guts!"
Mary drew back. "It isn't funny!" she said stiffly, snatching at the tattered edges of her moth-eaten dignity.
Ethel adjusted her expression though her amused eyes belied the action. "Mary, I know you can't see the funny side of it now," she said, "and you're right. It was a stupid thing to do and not worthy of you. But, honey, at one time or another in our lives we've all had to eat crow. If this is a first for you, you're lucky. Believe me, it isn't fatal."
"Well, it seems fatal to me!" Mary insisted. She dropped into a chair and looked at Ethel. "Do you think Jim will ever forgive me?"
Ethel's smile was gentle. "How do you know he hasn't already?"
"I don't," Mary said miserably. "We haven't talked about it."
"Well, there's only one way to find out, honey."
Later, when Ethel had gone to the cabin and the friendly smoke from her wood stove drifted above the trees, Mary and Matthew walked up to the pasture where Jim was repairing fence.
The awakening earth felt spongy and alive underfoot as they slowly climbed the hill. Mary looked back at the corral where Tim and Danny were herding milk-cows into the barn and the two boys returned her wave. Travis, oiling machinery in preparation for the next day's work, glanced up as she passed him. He did not speak and his light gray eyes were expressionless. When she was past, Mary took a hasty peak over her shoulder to see if he was watching her, but his full attention seemed to be on his work. Why, she wondered, did she always feel that she had no secrets from Travis? That those cold gray eyes penetrated the most private reaches of her soul. His aloof glance gave her the sensation of being stripped of all pretense, and yet she did not believe him to be judgmental so much as all-perceiving. She thought of the long ago day when he had rescued her from Erma Smith's ridiculous tirade. Would he have carried out his threat against Fabe if events had convinced him that the action was warranted? At the thought a cold little shiver traveled up her spine.
Jim saw them coming and stood watching, one hand resting on the top of a fence post. Mary was puffing when she reached him. "This hill gets steeper every year," she said.
"After spring work gets you in shape, it seems to level off a little." Jim smiled, the handsome crease, which had once been a dimple, marking his cheek.
"Are you about finished?" Mary asked, painfully aware of the deterioration in the once easy intimacy of their relationship. She and Jim had been, not only lovers, but best friends.
"About six more posts to check and I'm done. Want to hand me the staples?"
She took the can of staples from him and held them out one at a time as they proceeded along the fence. As he worked, Jim whistled softly under his breath, and she found herself resenting his relaxed attitude while she was fighting to gather courage to speak. When, with a conclusive whack, he drove the last staple home, she laid a tentative hand on his arm. Her speech faltered: "Jim, has the stupid thing I did changed your opinion of me?"
Jim's face sobered. "If you mean am I disappointed, Mary, I am. But if you mean do I love you less, nothing could change my love for you."
Her eyes flooded with tears. "Jim, I don't know what made me do it."
"Yes you do, Mary. I know Beth has given you plenty of cause to resent her, but Bill deserved better."
She gave one wild look at his strained unhappy face, and grabbing Matthew's hand stumbled blindly down the hill.
The following day, when Brett phoned to say he would not arrive until late in the evening, Ethel decided to take a ride through the hills. She walked down to the lower pasture with an apple and a short piece of rope. Ordering Cookie to wait by the fence, she coaxed Danny's bay gelding, Toby, to her and slipping the rope around his neck, led him to the barn. She curried him and then tossed the blanket and the heavy roping-saddle onto his back. As she started to tighten the cinch, the horse puffed out his sides in protest and Ethel kneed him sharply in the belly. "Come on, pal, you're not the only old hand at this." She grunted as she pulled the strap tight. She whistled to Cookie as she mounted and he trotted to his position a few feet to the rear of the horse. Cookie had grown into a magnificent animal, tall and powerful, with beautiful mottled gray hair tipped with silver. His golden eyes were watchful and intelligent.
Ethel rode slowly, drawing in great gulps of brisk spring air. Sunshine filtered through the trees' new-born leaves which were at their most pleasing stage of fragrance. The woods were alive with song-birds returned from their winter quarters to nest. Along the fence-row she saw johnny-jump-ups and butter-cups sparkling in last year's brown grass. A pheasant flew up in front of her, the loud roar of his wings causing the horse to shy sharply. "Easy boy." Ethel spoke softly, patting his neck. Cookie ignored the bird as below his notice.
Three miles East, at the pasture fence, Ethel dismounted and opened the gate. She led the horse through, and after closing the gate, followed the fence South to where the panhandle of the Lanning property joined the Wickett's pasture land. After searching for a while, she located the spring which she remembered from other trips to this area. She dismounted and tied the bridle reins to a bush. She expected to have to rid the spring of the accumulated leaves of the past autumn, but to her surprise it had been freshly cleaned and the water flowed clear and sparkling. She bent forward and dipped her cupped hands into the fresh coolness and drank thirstily. Cookie lapped unhurriedly in the stream below her.
As she was walking back to the horse with the intention of leading him to the stream, she discovered that Cookie's head was lifted attentively and his hackles raised. She heard voices then, a man's low murmur, and the soft laugh of a woman. A quick look in the direction from which the voices came stopped her in her tracks. Carefully she made a detour to reach her horse, and led him quietly down to the meadow before mounting. She was surprised to see that her hands were shaking as she gathered the reins. Even though the encounter had been accidental, she felt guilty. That one quick look through the shrubbery had been as instinctive as breathing, and she would have welcomed the opportunity to erase from her mind the discovery it had brought her. The nude couple had been wrapped in a fierce embrace, their conduct unmistakable. Worst of all, she had recognized them both before she turned away shocked and astonished. And she was sure the man had seen her.
"Damn it Cookie, why didn't you warn me sooner?" she accused the dog, who looked at her with puzzled eyes. As she opened the gate to go back into the Lanning pasture, Ethel vowed that she would not divulge her dangerous secret to another soul, not even Brett. A brief ripple of fear swept over her at the thought that the man had seen her, and she was glad for Cookie's presence.
Brett had arrived when she reached the cabin. He met her in the yard, taking her into his arms and kissing her soundly. After holding her close for a minute, he stepped back and scrutinized her face. "What's wrong honey, you look upset."
She gave a shaky laugh. "Just tired. I suppose my cowboy days are farther behind me than I thought." She sniffed. "What's for dinner?"
"Now that is a surprise. Come in and see."
As they entered the cabin she leaned against his shoulder, silently blessing the day that Brett Rydalch had so self confidently sauntered into her life to be bowled over by Pat. She knew that not for one minute had Brett been fooled by her pretense of being tired, but he would not pry. He respected her right to privacy, just as he expected her to respect his, and he would never press her to discuss something she preferred to keep to herself.
Once they were inside, he turned her to face him and looked at her steadily, his green eyes tender. He touched her dark hair in which a few silver threads now sparkled. "It's good to be back," he murmured. "When I walked up the trail, the smell of pines was like coming home."
"Yes, I know." She traced the outline of his jaw with a finger. "Oh Brett, I do love you so much!" But that night, when he drew her close, she felt a strange disinclination to respond to his love.
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