Kankakee Valley Post, Volume 9, Number 50, DeMotte, Jasper County, 2 November 1939 — Prologue to Love [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Prologue to Love

By MARTHA OSTENSO

O MARTHA OSTENSO—WNU SERVICE

CHAPTER Vlll—Continued —ll— conviction had grown gradually upon Bruce that Autumn was leading this free life of hers with some ulterior purpose. He could not think of her running wild from choice. Mor had he ever been able to understand her violent change of manner toward him, unless the Laird himself had brought it about by something he had told her, by some peremptory ban he had placed upon their relationship. Even then he could not credit the change. Autumn was too willful, too independent. to permit even her father to make up her mind for her. Something else, something of which he was in total ignorance, was behind it all. But whatever it was, there was no other course for him except a harsh discipline in forgetting. An utter loneliness enveloped him now as he ascended the scantily timbered, wild mountain reaches. Over only a short distance Inward the north, in the completely still, mysterious folds of the hills, lay the Dean summer range, skirting his own. Across a deep valley, spread over the palely green mountain-side opposite, one of the units of the Laird’s flock was dimly discernible. Trained though his eyes were to the ambiguity of vast distances, it was all Bruce could do to distinguish the flock in that brilliant, thin atmosphere. But across the vacancy there came to him, piercingly the sound of a bell. He knew that bell-there was only one like it anywhere in the Upper Country. It was Autumn Dean’s Basque bell. The sound of it had drawn him across the valley pn his last trip, nearly a month ago now, and he had spent an hour of the afternoon with the young Irish lad who was one of the Laird’s herders; He would never forget the wistful blue eyes of the boy and the eagerness with which he strove to prolong the visit. As the sound of the bell struck across his senses now, Bruce strove grimly to repudiate the significance, to himself, of that sound. It was sheer sentimentality on his own part that the ball seemed to chime Autumn’s name. He resolved that on his next trip into the hills he would leave home early enough to turn aside and spend an hour with the young herder. He would do so to-* day but that he had to get back in time for an appointment he had made that night with a buyer in Kamloops. It was late that evening when Bruce drew up to the curb and got from his car before a gray, weathered building that had served as a trading post in the old days. The structure housed a billiard parlor now -and was known locally as “Sandy’s Place.” It had become a rendezvous for cattle and sheep men; ranch hands seeking employment, and nondescript transients. But despite the determination of the years to mold it to a less romantic form, there clung about it still some of the pungent, zestful air of times gone by when sourdoughs and chechahcos drifted in for a night’s lodging and a game of poker. The proprietor was a rugged old Scotchman who had himself been a prospector on Williams Creek. There were not more than a half dozen idlers in the front room of the place when Bruce entered. He looked them over and sauntered into the back room, pausing in the, doorway to glance about for the buyer he had come to see. He discovered his man in a far corner of the smoke-filled room, seated at a poker table with four others. Bruce moved across the room and spoke to him. The buyer looked up. “Helio, Landor!” he greeted. Bruce spoke to the other men at the table. “Buy a stack and sit in, Landor,” one of them invited. “Not tonight,” Bruce replied. “I’m going home to bed as soon as I've had a word with Myers, here.” “I’ll be with you in a minute,” .said Myers. Bruce lighted a cigarette and watched the progress of the play. He was not sure just what had drawn his attention to a conversation at the table behind him, but presently the mention of Jarvis Dean’s name caused him to glance around. Curly Belfort, a rancher from the Ashcroft district, was doing the talking while the others listened. Belfort had evidently been drinking. Bruce gave his attention to the game at Myers’ table. The click of the chips and the monotonous sound of voices lay drowsily upon his senses after a day in the mountains. Belfort’s voice thrust itself boisterously upon his consciousness. Bruce could not help hearing the words. “ —and, by God, if there wasn’t old Dean's daughter standin’ up out o’ the haystack, an’ stretchin’ herself at seven o'clock in the mornin’. An’ I says to young Parr, ‘Do you think I’m runnin’ a country hotel, or somethin’? Or is this the way they do it in Europe?’ I says. But he kept on tinkerin’ with his car.” Belfort laughed heartily at his own joke. “Some gal the Laird’s brat has turned out to be, spendin’ the night in a haystack with—” Bruce had got up abruptly and stepped over beside Belfort, his face

gone suddenly w’hite, his mouth fixed in a slight, contemplative smile as he stood looking down at the rancher. “You’ve had too much to drink, Curly.” Bruce interrupted him. Belfort’s eyes moved in slow insolence up and down Bruce s body. Then his mouth twisted to one side in a drunken leer as he laid his cards down on the table in front of him. “Who’s tellin’ me?” he asked. “I’m telling you,” Bruce replied. “Only a drunken swine .would talk the way you’re talking.” Belfort got to his feet with an oath, but Bruce pushed him back into his chair. Muttering to himself, Belfort sprang up and lifted the chair. Before he could swing it, Bruce’s hand had shot out and the man staggered backwards and stumbled to the floor. The other men in the room rushed forward to intervene, old Sandy among them. Before they could prevent it, how-

Autumn was too willful, too independent, to permit even her father to make up her mind for her.

ever,Belfort was 'on his feet and was rushing at Bruce. “Stop this, now!” old Sandy ordered. , But' /even as he spoke, Bruce struck again and Belfort crumpled to the floor. Sandy flung his arms desperately about Bruce. “Stop it, lad!” he cried excitedly. “Stop it, or we'll have the law on usf” Bruce shook him coplly off. “Better not step into this, Sandy/’ he advised. “Belfort has something to say to me or one of us has to take a licking, law or no law/” Belfort had pulled himself together with painful difficulty. Bruce strode over to, him. but old Sandy stepped between th ? em and faced Belfort. “Here, now,” he demanded, “what’s all this about? What’s it about. Curly?” “Ask-him,” Belfort snarled. “What’s it all about?” Sandy begged of Bruce, maintaining his position stoutly between them. “Belfort knows,” Bruce replied. “He has been talking about a-cer-tain young lady whose name—” “There was another woman with her, damn you!” Belfort screamed, his livid. “And another man! The caij was broke down.” “What you said was a lie, then, wasn’t it?” Bruce prompted. “I told nothing but what I saw with my own eyes/’ Belfort retorted. “What you implied was a damn lie!” Bruce challenged, stepping toward him. • Belfort’s head began wagging to and fro as he watched Bruce in a sort of stupid fascination. Presently he nodded. “If you want to look at it that way,” he admitted. “I was only talkin’.” “Think twice before you talk like that again,” Bruce advised him casually, taking a cigarette from his shirt pocket as he spoke. A half dozen of Belfort’s friends had got around him and were urging him toward the door. “I’ll talk to you again,” said Belfort, over his shoulder. ■“‘Any time, Curly,” Bruce replied, and lit his cigarette. Sandy scratched his head in relief as Belfort disappeared through the doorway. Then he shook his head at Bruces “Yon’s a bad actor, lad,” he said quietly. “I’d be lookin’ out for him if I was you.” “I intend to,” said Bruce and turned again to take the seat beside Myers. CHAPTER IX The Laird had asked old Hector Cardigan to dinner. It was rarely these days that Hector was invited to dine alone with Jarvis Dean. In the old days he had frequently been a guest at the Castle, but that, as Hector knefo, had been Millicent’s doing. There had never been anything but the most cordial relationship between the two men, however, but Jarvis had lived too much to

himself during the yeais since his wife’s death. It was not until they had left the table, however, and had retired to the drawing room that his host gave any inkling of what was on his mind. The Laird had paused in the hallway and asked whether they would go to the library or sit in the drawing room. Hector had not hesitated in making the choice. The library was the one spot in the house that belonged peculiarly to Jarvis Dean. The drawing roorp, on the other hand. Had been Millicent's and held still some lingering aroma of her presence there. Besides, Hector's hand had done its best in making the room what it was. “Of course,’’ Jarvis said, when Hector had expressed his preference. “I might have known. Go in and sit down. I’ll fetch the brandy.’’ And now the two men sat on opposite sides of the empty fireplace, their old-fashioned brandy glasses in their hands, pledgihg each other’s health in stately and ancient fashion. The Laird trimmed and lighted a cigar, turning it round and round in his fingers as he contemplated it pensively. Hector drew a cigarette from his own case and lighting it, extinguished the match and placed it carefully -on the tray beside him. “It isn't often,” the Laird began, “that I ask a man to help me consider my private affairs.” “It isn’t often you) have required the advice of another,” Hector encouraged. Jarvis blew a.thick h u-i of smoke from his lips and sighed heavily. “That’s a polite rerhark, sir,” he said as if he were talking to himself, “but it’s a prodigious lie, just the same.” Hector knew his host. To be called a liar by Jarvis Dean was no offense, unless the I mood itself were an offensive onel “I know of no law a man being polite to his host,” Hector countered. “There ought to bp, then,” said the Laird. “A man would be. better off if he heard the truth now and then, even across his own dinner table.” u Hector coughed lightly. “The average man is no better off, sir, no matter where he hears the truth.’’ Jarvis seemed to consider that matter for a moment, then dusted the gray ash lightly from the end of his cigar. “Have you heard about this fracas in old Sandy’s back room a night or two ago?!” he asked abruptly. “I was told about it,” Hector admitted cautiously. ! “Aye and the whole country knows about it. It’s a dirty business.” ; “But one over which we have little control, I’m afraid.” Jarvis’ look sharpened. “We have something to say on what brought it about,” he said. “In my day a young woman’s name—if she was a lady—wasn’t mentioned in such a place.” “I have, no doubt yoting Landor feels much the same-about it—even in these days.” “That’s not the point, sir. In my day a young woman gave no reason for having her name bandied about over a poker table.” “The times have changed, it seems,” Hector murmured. . “It’s our own fault, then. We’ve let these youngsters get out of hand with their racing about the country in autortaobiles and their abominable cocktails\ and the like. Where is it going to stop?” Hector sighed, half-amused, and yet thoroughly aware of what was troubling the Laird's mind. “They’ll probably all marry and settle down and have children of their own to plague them in their turn,” he said lightly. Jarvis leaned forward in his chair and looked fixedly at his guest. “I want your opinion about that girl of mine,” he said frankly. “What’s she like?” Hector smiled. “She's your own daughter, sir,” he replied. “You ought to know her better than I.” “I don't. She was never anything but a child to me—until now. Since she came back, she’s been a stranger in the house. More than half the time she’s not here at all. She’ll be back here tonight from the Parr Lodge— not alone, either, I’ll warrant—and the place will be like bedlam until she goes again.” Hector got up and tossed his cigarette into the empty maw of the fireplace. He walked to the French windows and looked out upon the garden that glowed palely under summer starlight. “I have been wondering about the girl,” he said at last. “I have talked with her, too. She is not happy.” “Happy?” Jarvis grunted. “What does she want that she cannot have?” But his eyes were half closed in self-concealment. s “She hasn’t told me that,” Hector replied. “I can only guess, at best.” “What’s your guess, then?” Hector returned to his seat and selected another cigarette. “It is my opinion, Jarvis, that the girl has been in love—-ever since she came back here.” The Laird frowned. There was no escaping the meaning of Hector’s words. “You mean—this young Landor.” “Certainly,” said Hector.

Jarvis shrugged impatiently. “Puppy-love!” he exclaimed. “She’ll get over that—if she isn’t already over it.” . Hector looked steadily at the Laird for | a moment without speaking. “What you see,” he said at last, his voice very low, “is probably the process by which she hopes to get over it. And it would not surprise me to learn that she finds it as painful as you do.” “Tommyrot!” the Laird exploded. “You have asked my opinion,” Hector said with dignity, “and I am giving it.” “If I thought there was anything to that,” the Laird replied, “I’d sell up and get out—and take her with me.” “I know you would," Hector observed, “ —and accomplish nothing.’] ■ “What do you mean by that, sir. Hector smiled patiently at the Laird. “You ought to know the breed Better than to ask that,”,he said. ‘‘lf Millicent’s daughter is in love, there’s very little that either you dr I can do about it, I think.” .There followed a long silence at the end of which Jarvis helped himself to another drink and poured one for his guest. They toasted each other as cordially as if there had been no disagreement between them, and then the Laird turned abruptly to talking of things that left no room for difference of opinion. It was almost midnight when Autumn finally came home, bringing Linda 'Parr with her to stay sor 5 a few days at the Castle. The girls came ffpfin the two old men seated before the fireplace, their brandy glasses! in their hands, their eyes grown ’ heavy from, sitting up long past thjeit time for bed. “Why. (Da —we had no idea you’d be waiting for us at this hour!”' Autumn exclaimed, after greetings had goitre around. “You should have been in, bed hours ago.” She aside her hat and gloves as she spoke and seated herself in one of the Queen Anne chairs, her feet cuhe ! d up under her. her elbow resting on the arm of the chair, her chip pressed against her palm. Linda .sat 0 near her, comically prim, hier hands folded in her lap,

her feet placed very precisely on the floor—the image of discreet propriety. ‘‘The hour is no later for me than it is for you my girl,” Jarvis replied, his voice betraying a little impatience as'he spoke. fs> - ‘‘But we’re used to it, Mr. Dean,” Linda offered with a smile. ‘‘So I have been informed,” said the Laird. ‘‘Are you young ladies aware that ybur conduct is creating a deal of talik in the district?” Autumn smiled. ‘‘You're not bothering your head, Da, over what the gossips have to-say about—” ‘‘l’m bothering my head about you, my girl,” he interrupted her. ‘‘Do you know that your name was the center of a scandalous brawl in the back room of a dive in Kamloops the other night?” c ‘‘We've heard all about it, Da,” Autumn replied. “It was simply absurd.” ‘‘But piquant,” Linda put in. ‘‘Belfort is a beast,” Autumn went on. ‘‘A girl with any respect for herself doesn’t give a beast any excuse for talking,” her father observed. Autumn checked her rising anger. ‘‘There were four of us in the party—Lin and I, and Florian and a friend of his,” she explained. ‘‘We were coming hbme along the highway from Ashcroft. We got started later than we had intended and when we got as far as Belfort's ranch the car broke down. While the boys worked on the car, Lin and I w'ent to sleep in a haystack close to the road. Belfort tow*ed us to a garage about seven d*clock in the morning.” ‘‘Or we should have been there still,” Linda added. ‘‘And that’s all there is to the story,” Autumn -concluded. ‘‘l accept your account on its merits,” Jarvis Dean said, ‘‘but it explains nothing. The whole escapade was a Scandal and an outrage, whether Belfort had anything to do with it or not. There’ll be no repetition of the like, my girl, if you are to remain in my house!” Hector Cardigan remained silent, but every now and then a profound sigh escaped him which was to Autumn singularly audible above the deep and vehement tones of her father's voice. I (TO BE CONTINUED)

“But we’re used to it, Mr. Dean.”