as to the outcome of the event that had robbed her of him.
"Oh, pretty good," returned Clyde, anxious to put as deceptive a
face as possible on the night that had meant so much to him and
spelled so much danger to her. "I thought I was just going over to
my uncle's for dinner like I told you. But after I got there I
found that what they really wanted me for was to escort Bella and
Myra over to some doings in Gloversvile. There's a rich family
over there, the Steeles--big glove people, you know. Well, anyhow,
they were giving a dance and they wanted me to take them over
because Gil couldn't go. But it wasn't so very interesting. I was
glad when it was all over." He used the names Bella, Myra and
Gilbert as though they were long and assured intimates of his--an
intimacy which invariably impressed Roberta greatly.
"You didn't get through in time then to come around here, did you?"
"No, I didn't, 'cause I had to wait for the bunch to come back.
I just couldn't get away. But aren't you going to open your
present?" he added, anxious to divert her thoughts from this
desertion which he knew was preying on her mind.
She began to untie the ribbon that bound his gift, at the same time
that her mind was riveted by the possibilities of the party which
he had felt called upon to mention. What girls beside Bella and
Myra had been there? Was there by any chance any girl outside of
herself in whom he might have become recently interested? He was
always talking about Sondra Finchley, Bertine Cranston and Jill
Trumbull. Were they, by any chance, at this party?
"Who all were over there beside your cousins?" she suddenly asked.
"Oh, a lot of people that you don't know. Twenty or thirty from
different places around here."
"Any others from Lycurgus beside your cousins?" she persisted.
"Oh, a few. We picked up Jill Trumbull and her sister, because
Bella wanted to. Arabella Stark and Perley Haynes were already
over there when we got there." He made no mention of Sondra or any
of the others who so interested him.
But because of the manner in saying it--something in the tone of
his voice and flick of his eyes, the answer did not satisfy
Roberta. She was really intensely troubled by this new development,
but did not feel that under the circumstances it was wise to
importune Clyde too much. He might resent it. After all he had
always been identified with this world since ever she had known him.
And she did not want him to feel that she was attempting to assert
any claims over him, though such was her true desire.
"I wanted so much to be with you last night to give you your
present," she returned instead, as much to divert her own thoughts
as to appeal to his regard for her. Clyde sensed the sorrow in her
voice and as of old it appealed to him, only now he could not and
would not let it take hold of him as much as otherwise it might
have.
"But you know how that was, Bert," he replied, with almost an air
of bravado. "I just told you."
"I know," she replied sadly and attempting to conceal the true mood
that was dominating her. At the same time she was removing the
paper and opening the lid to the case that contained her toilet
set. And once opened, her mood changed slightly because never
before had she possessed anything so valuable or original. "Oh,
this is beautiful, isn't it?" she exclaimed, interested for the
moment in spite of herself. "I didn't expect anything like this.
My two little presents won't seem like very much now."
She crossed over at once to get her gifts. Yet Clyde could see
that although his gift was exceptional, still it was not sufficient
to overcome the depression which his indifference had brought upon
her. His continued love was far more vital than any present.
"You like it, do you?" he asked, eagerly hoping against hope that
it would serve to divert her.
"Of course, dear," she replied, looking at it interestedly. "But
mine won't seem so much," she added gloomily, and not a little
depressed by the general outcome of all her plans. "But they'll be
useful to you and you'll always have them near you, next your
heart, where I want them to be."
She handed over the small box which contained the metal Eversharp
pencil and the silver ornamental fountain pen she had chosen for
him because she fancied they would be useful to him in his work at
the factory. Two weeks before he would have taken her in his arms
and sought to console her for the misery he was now causing her.
But now he merely stood there wondering how, without seeming too
distant, he could assuage her and yet not enter upon the customary
demonstrations. And in order so to do he burst into enthusiastic
and yet somehow hollow words in regard to her present to him.
"Oh, gee, these are swell, honey, and just what I need. You
certainly couldn't have given me anything that would come in
handier. I can use them all the time." He appeared to examine
them with the utmost pleasure and afterwards fastened them in his
pocket ready for use. Also, because for the moment she was before
him so downcast and wistful, epitomizing really all the lure of the
old relationship, he put his arms around her and kissed her. She
was winsome, no doubt of it. And then when she threw her arms
around his neck and burst into tears, he held her close, saying
that there was no cause for all this and that she would be back
Wednesday and all would be as before. At the same time he was
thinking that this was not true, and how strange that was--seeing
that only so recently he had cared for her so much. It was amazing
how another girl could divert him in this way. And yet so it was.
And although she might be thinking that he was still caring for her
as he did before, he was not and never would again. And because of
this he felt really sorry for her.
Something of this latest mood in him reached Roberta now, even as
she listened to his words and felt his caresses. They failed to
convey sincerity. His manner was too restless, his embraces too
apathetic, his tone without real tenderness. Further proof as to
this was added when, after a moment or two, he sought to disengage
himself and look at his watch, saying, "I guess I'll have to be
going now, honey. It's twenty of three now and that meeting is for
three. I wish I could ride over with you, but I'll see you when
you get back."
He bent down to kiss her but with Roberta sensing once and for all,
this time, that his mood in regard to her was different, colder.
He was interested and kind, but his thoughts were elsewhere--and at
this particular season of the year, too--of all times. She tried
to gather her strength and her self-respect together and did, in
part--saying rather coolly, and determinedly toward the last:
"Well, I don't want you to be late, Clyde. You better hurry. But
I don't want to stay over there either later than Christmas night.
Do you suppose if I come back early Christmas afternoon, you will
come over here at all? I don't want to be late Wednesday for
work."
"Why, sure, of course, honey, I'll be around," replied Clyde
genially and even wholeheartedly, seeing that he had nothing else
scheduled, that he knew of, for then, and would not so soon and
boldly seek to evade her in this fashion. "What time do you expect
to get in?"
The hour was to be eight and he decided that for that occasion,
anyhow, a reunion would be acceptable. He drew out his watch again
and saying, "I'll have to be going now, though," moved toward the
door.
Nervous as to the significance of all this and concerned about the
future, she now went over to him and seizing his coat lapels and
looking into his eyes, half-pleaded and half-demanded: "Now, this
is sure for Christmas night, is it, Clyde? You won't make any
other engagement this time, will you?"
"Oh, don't worry. You know me. You know I couldn't help that
other, honey, but I'll be on hand Tuesday, sure," he returned. And
kissing her, he hurried out, feeling, perhaps, that he was not
acting as wisely as he should, but not seeing clearly how otherwise
he was to do. A man couldn't break off with a girl as he was
trying to do, or at least might want to, without exercising some
little tact or diplomacy, could he? There was no sense in that nor
any real skill, was there? There must be some other and better way
than that, surely. At the same time his thoughts were already
running forward to Sondra and New Year's Eve. He was going with
her to Schenectady to a party and then he would have a chance to
judge whether she was caring for him as much as she had seemed to
the night before.
After he had gone, Roberta turned in a rather lorn and weary way
and looked out the window after him, wondering as to what her
future with him was to be, if at all? Supposing now, for any
reason, he should cease caring for her. She had given him so much.
And her future was now dependent upon him, his continued regard.
Was he going to get tired of her now--not want to see her any more?
Oh, how terrible that would be. What would she--what could she do
then? If only she had not given herself to him, yielded so easily
and so soon upon his demand.
She gazed out of her window at the bare snow-powdered branches of
the trees outside and sighed. The holidays! And going away like
this. Oh! Besides he was so high placed in this local society.
And there were so many things brighter and better than she could
offer calling him.
She shook her head dubiously, surveyed her face in the mirror, put
together the few presents and belongings which she was taking with
her to her home, and departed.
Chapter 29
Biltz and the fungoid farm land after Clyde and Lycurgus was
depressing enough to Roberta, for all there was too closely
identified with deprivations and repressions which discolor the
normal emotions centering about old scenes.
As she stepped down from the train at the drab and aged chalet
which did service for a station, she observed her father in the
same old winter overcoat he had worn for a dozen years, waiting for
her with the old family conveyance, a decrepit but still whole
buggy and a horse as bony and weary as himself. He had, as she had
always thought, the look of a tired and defeated man. His face
brightened when he saw Roberta, for she had always been his
favorite child, and he chatted quite cheerfully as she climbed in
alongside of him and they turned around and started toward the road
that led to the farmhouse, a rough and winding affair of dirt at a
time when excellent automobile roads were a commonplace elsewhere.
As they rode along Roberta found herself checking off mentally
every tree, curve, landmark with which she had been familiar. But
with no happy thoughts. It was all too drab. The farm itself,
coupled with the chronic illness and inefficiency of Titus and the
inability of the youngest boy Tom or her mother to help much, was
as big a burden as ever. A mortgage of $2000 that had been placed
on it years before had never been paid off, the north chimney was
still impaired, the steps were sagging even more than ever and the
walls and fences and outlying buildings were no different--save to
be made picturesque now by the snows of winter covering them. Even
the furniture remained the same jumble that it had always been.
And there were her mother and younger sister and brother, who knew
nothing of her true relationship to Clyde--a mere name his here--
and assuming that she was wholeheartedly delighted to be back with
them once more. Yet because of what she knew of her own life and
Clyde's uncertain attitude toward her, she was now, if anything,
more depressed than before.
Indeed, the fact that despite her seeming recent success she had
really compromised herself in such a way that unless through
marriage with Clyde she was able to readjust herself to the moral
level which her parents understood and approved, she, instead of
being the emissary of a slowly and modestly improving social
condition for all, might be looked upon as one who had reduced it
to a lower level still--its destroyer--was sufficient to depress
and reduce her even more. A very depressing and searing thought.
Worse and more painful still was the thought in connection with all
this that, by reason of the illusions which from the first had
dominated her in connection with Clyde, she had not been able to
make a confidant of her mother or any one else in regard to him.
For she was dubious as to whether her mother would not consider
that her aspirations were a bit high. And she might ask questions
in regard to him and herself which might prove embarrassing. At
the same time, unless she had some confidant in whom she could
truly trust, all her troublesome doubts in regard to herself and
Clyde must remain a secret.
After talking for a few moments with Tom and Emily, she went into
the kitchen where her mother was busy with various Christmas
preparations. Her thought was to pave the way with some
observations of her own in regard to the farm here and her life at
Lycurgus, but as she entered, her mother looked up to say: "How
does it feel, Bob, to come back to the country? I suppose it all
looks rather poor compared to Lycurgus," she added a little
wistfully.
Roberta could tell from the tone of her mother's voice and the
rather admiring look she cast upon her that she was thinking of her
as one who had vastly improved her state. At once she went over to
her and, putting her arms about her affectionately, exclaimed:
"Oh, Mamma, wherever you are is just the nicest place. Don't you
know that?"
For answer her mother merely looked at her with affectionate and
well-wishing eyes and patted her on the back. "Well, Bobbie," she
added, quietly, "you know how you are about me."
Something in her mother's voice which epitomized the long years of
affectionate understanding between them--an understanding based,
not only on a mutual desire for each other's happiness, but a
complete frankness in regard to all emotions and moods which had
hitherto dominated both--touched her almost to the point of tears.
Her throat tightened and her eyes moistened, although she sought to
overcome any show of emotion whatsoever. She longed to tell her
everything. At the same time the compelling passion she retained
for Clyde, as well as the fact that she had compromised herself as
she had, now showed her that she had erected a barrier which could
not easily be torn down. The conventions of this local world were
much too strong--even where her mother was concerned.
She hesitated a moment, wishing that she could quickly and clearly
present to her mother the problem that was weighing upon her and
receive her sympathy, if not help. But instead she merely said:
"Oh, I wish you could have been with me all the time in Lycurgus,
Mamma. Maybe--" She paused, realizing that she had been on the
verge of speaking without due caution. Her thought was that with
her mother near at hand she might have been able to have resisted
Clyde's insistent desires.
"Yes, I suppose you do miss me," her mother went on, "but it's
better for you, don't you think? You know how it is over here, and
you like your work. You do like your work, don't you?"
"Oh, the work is nice enough. I like that part of it. It's been
so nice to be able to help here a little, but it's not so nice
living all alone."
"Why did you leave the Newtons, Bob? Was Grace so disagreeable? I
should have thought she would have been company for you."
"Oh, she was at first," replied Roberta. "Only she didn't have any
men friends of her own, and she was awfully jealous of anybody that
paid the least attention to me. I couldn't go anywhere but she had
to go along, or if it wasn't that then she always wanted me to be
with her, so I couldn't go anywhere by myself. You know how it is,
Mamma. Two girls can't go with one young man."
"Yes, I know how it is, Bob." Her mother laughed a little, then
added: "Who is he?"
"It's Mr. Griffiths, Mother," she added, after a moment's
hesitation, a sense of the exceptional nature of her contact as
contrasted with this very plain world here passing like a light
across her eyes. For all her fears, even the bare possibility of
joining her life with Clyde's was marvelous. "But I don't want you
to mention his name to anybody yet," she added. "He doesn't want
me to. His relatives are so very rich, you know. They own the
company--that is, his uncle does. But there's a rule there about
any one who works for the company--any one in charge of a
department. I mean not having anything to do with any of the
girls. And he wouldn't with any of the others. But he likes me--
and I like him, and it's different with us. Besides I'm going to
resign pretty soon and get a place somewhere else, I think, and
then it won't make any difference. I can tell anybody, and so can
he."
Roberta was thinking now that, in the face of her recent treatment
at the hands of Clyde, as well as because of the way in which she
had given herself to him without due precaution as to her ultimate
rehabilitation via marriage, that perhaps this was not exactly
true. He might not--a vague, almost formless, fear this, as yet--
want her to tell anybody now--ever. And unless he were going to
continue to love her and marry her, she might not want any one to
know of it, either. The wretched, shameful, difficult position in
which she had placed herself by all this.
On the other hand, Mrs. Alden, learning thus casually of the odd
and seemingly clandestine nature of this relationship, was not only
troubled but puzzled, so concerned was she for Roberta's happiness.
For, although, as she now said to herself, Roberta was such a good,
pure and careful girl--the best and most unselfish and wisest of
all her children--still might it not be possible--? But, no, no
one was likely to either easily or safely compromise or betray
Roberta. She was too conservative and good, and so now she added:
"A relative of the owner, you say--the Mr. Samuel Griffiths you
wrote about?"
"Yes, Mamma. He's his nephew."
"The young man at the factory?" her mother asked, at the same time
wondering just how Roberta had come to attract a man of Clyde's
position, for, from the very first she had made it plain that he
was a member of the family who owned the factory. This in itself
was a troublesome fact. The traditional result of such
relationships, common the world over, naturally caused her to be
intensely fearful of just such an association as Roberta seemed to
be making. Nevertheless she was not at all convinced that a girl
of Roberta's looks and practicality would not be able to negotiate
an association of the sort without harm to herself.
"Yes," Roberta replied simply.
"What's he like, Bob?"
"Oh, awfully nice. So good-looking, and he's been so nice to me.
I don't think the place would be as nice as it is except that he is
so refined, he keeps those factory girls in their place. He's a
nephew of the president of the company, you see, and the girls just
naturally have to respect him."
"Well, that IS nice, isn't it? I think it's so much better to work
for refined people than just anybody. I know you didn't think so
much of the work over at Trippetts Mills. Does he come to see you
often, Bob?"
"Well, yes, pretty often," Roberta replied, flushing slightly, for
she realized that she could not be entirely frank with her mother.
Mrs. Alden, looking up at the moment, noticed this, and, mistaking
it for embarrassment, asked teasingly: "You like him, don't you?"
"Yes, I do, Mother," Roberta replied, simply and honestly.
"What about him? Does he like you?"
Roberta crossed to the kitchen window. Below it at the base of the
slope which led to the springhouse, and the one most productive
field of the farm, were ranged all the dilapidated buildings which
more than anything else about the place bespoke the meager material
condition to which the family had fallen. In fact, during the last
ten years these things had become symbols of inefficiency and lack.
Somehow at this moment, bleak and covered with snow, they
identified themselves in her mind as the antithesis of all to which
her imagination aspired. And, not strangely either, the last was
identified with Clyde. Somberness as opposed to happiness--success
in love or failure in love. Assuming that he truly loved her now
and would take her away from all this, then possibly the bleakness
of it all for her and her mother would be broken. But assuming
that he did not, then all the results of her yearning, but possibly
mistaken, dreams would be not only upon her own head, but upon
those of these others, her mother's first. She troubled what to
say, but finally observed: "Well, he says he does."
"Do you think he intends to marry you?" Mrs. Alden asked, timidly
and hopefully, because of all her children her heart and hopes
rested most with Roberta.
"Well, I'll tell you, Mamma..." The sentence was not finished,
for just then Emily, hurrying in from the front door, called: "Oh,
Gifs here. He came in an automobile. Somebody drove him over, I
guess, and he's got four or five big bundles."
And immediately after came Tom with the elder brother, who, in a
new overcoat, the first result of his career with the General
Electric Company in Schenectady, greeted his mother affectionately,
and after her, Roberta.
"Why, Gifford," his mother exclaimed. "We didn't expect you until
the nine o'clock. How did you get here so soon?"
"Well, I didn't think I would be. I ran into Mr. Rearick down in
Schenectady and he wanted to know if I didn't want to drive back
with him. I see old Pop Myers over at Trippetts Mills has got the
second story to his house at last, Bob," he turned and added to
Roberta: "I suppose it'll be another year before he gets the roof
on."
"I suppose so," replied Roberta, who knew the old Trippetts Mills
character well. In the meantime she had relieved him of his coat
and packages which, piled on the dining-room table, were being
curiously eyed by Emily.
"Hands off, Em!" called Gifford to his little sister. "Nothing
doing with those until Christmas morning. Has anybody cut a
Christmas tree yet? That was my job last year."
"It still is, Gifford," his mother replied. "I told Tom to wait
until you came, 'cause you always get such a good one."
And just then through the kitchen door Titus entered, bearing an
armload of wood, his gaunt face and angular elbows and knees
contributing a sharp contrast to the comparative hopefulness of the
younger generation. Roberta noticed it as he stood smiling upon
his son, and, because she was so eager for something better than
ever had been to come to all, now went over to her father and put
her arms around him. "I know something Santy has brought my Dad
that he'll like." It was a dark red plaid mackinaw that she was
sure would keep him warm while executing his chores about the
house, and she was anxious for Christmas morning to come so that he
could see it.
She then went to get an apron in order to help her mother with the
evening meal. No additional moment for complete privacy occurring,
the opportunity to say more concerning that which both were so
interested in--the subject of Clyde--did not come up again for
several hours, after which length of time she found occasion to
say: "Yes, but you mustn't ever say anything to anybody yet. I
told him I wouldn't tell, and you mustn't."
"No, I won't, dear. But I was just wondering. But I suppose you
know what you're doing. You're old enough now to take care of
yourself, Bob, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am, Ma. And you mustn't worry about me, dear," she added,
seeing a shadow, not of distrust but worry, passing over her
beloved mother's face. How careful she must be not to cause her to
worry when she had so much else to think about here on the farm.
Sunday morning brought the Gabels with full news of their social
and material progress in Homer. Although her sister was not as
attractive as she, and Fred Gabel was not such a man as at any
stage in her life Roberta could have imagined herself interested
in, still, after her troublesome thoughts in regard to Clyde, the
sight of Agnes emotionally and materially content and at ease in
the small security which matrimony and her none-too-efficient
husband provided, was sufficient to rouse in her that flapping,
doubtful mood that had been assailing her since the previous
morning. Was it not better, she thought, to be married to a man
even as inefficient and unattractive but steadfast as Fred Gabel,
than to occupy the anomalous position in which she now found
herself in her relations with Clyde? For here was Gabel now
talking briskly of the improvements that had come to himself and
Agnes during the year in which they had been married. In that time
he had been able to resign his position as teacher in Homer and
take over on shares the management of a small book and stationery
store whose principal contributory features were a toy department
and soda fountain. They had been doing a good business. Agnes, if
all went well, would be able to buy a mission parlor suite by next
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