Читать книгу Bed Rock - Jack Bethea - Страница 4
ОглавлениеA WORKING BASIS
Blackford did not reply at once. He seemed to be debating whether it were worth while trying to explain further.
"I'd like a chance to handle a mine," he said at last. "I never have, but I know I can do it. I'm tired of the city."
Reubens considered thoughtfully, and Blackford was surprised at his ready acquiescence when he said:
"Very well. We've a working down in Alabama without a superintendent. You'd like to go there?"
Blackford nodded. "I'd rather go to Alabama than anywhere else. It's where I came from."
"You can go down there. It's a good way off and that will be an excuse to send Alice to Europe. At the end of a year a divorce can be arranged."
Blackford again nodded assent, but Alice interposed for the first time.
"We can discuss that later, Daddy," she said quietly. "Now I would like to talk to my husband—alone."
"What can you have to say to him?" demanded her father. "I should think you'd never want to see him again."
Alice's voice was a little weary. "But I do want to speak to him."
"All right," assented Reubens reluctantly, rising, "but be careful." He walked to the door and paused, glancing back uneasily. "Don't be too long," he admonished and was gone.
Alice settled herself in her chair, smoothing her skirt over slim knees. She looked at her husband with a twisted smile. "Well, are you satisfied?"
Blackford winced. There was pathos in her courage. "Don't say that, Alice," he begged. "You didn't hear it all."
"I heard enough," she answered. "Your words were very definite."
"But I wasn't myself. You know what I have been through. Surely, after the days we have spent together, you can't think I——"
"That's the terrible part of it. That is just what I do think."
There was no bitterness in her voice, only great sadness. It seemed to Blackford she would have spoken so of some one dead. And he recognized that to her he was worse than dead. It galled him to appear contemptible in her eyes.
"You kept me here to say that?" he asked finally.
"No, not for that," Alice said with a half-shake of her head, and fell to smoothing her skirt again. Her lips curved into lines of pain. "You say you are disillusioned. So am I, and I think my illusions are the hardest to lose. To think that you were laughing at me all the time!"
"Oh, but I never laughed at you. I could not have——" he began, but she stopped him.
"How could you have helped it? All the time you were thinking, 'Isn't she easy?' You were right. I was easy. I told my father you only needed a chance. That is what I thought of you. I believed in you. I gave myself to you. I held nothing back. And you were only using me!"
Blackford saw her eyes fill as she fought to choke back the sobs. He leaned forward, but she drew away from his touch. "Alice, if you will listen," he said beseechingly; "when you will listen, I have something to say. I can explain ... all this. Things aren't ... aren't ... I'm not as bad ... I was angry ..."
"But remember what you said," she interposed. "I can't forget that. You might have been angry, but you were speaking the truth. You spoke the truth because you thought it would hurt my father."
Blackford's words stumbled on his tongue. She was right. He had meant what he had said, but he had not meant to say it.
"Do you remember the day on the river, the second day after we were married, when I dreamed aloud for you?" Alice asked. "I thought it was so wonderful to have somebody interested in me, just because I was myself and not because I was Forest Reubens's daughter. You remember I told you it was the first time such a thing had happened to me. It was true. And you said you were interested in me, not because of who I was, but because of what I was behind my eyes. I believed you, but you were lying. And there are so many times when you have lied. I know it now. You owe me something, Warren."
"What?" asked Blackford eagerly. "What can I do? I'll do anything."
"You said that before. I wonder if you mean it more now than you did."
"Don't be so sweeping," Blackford pleaded, and then stopped in disgust at himself. He would play the hypocrite no longer. He owed it to her not to pretend. He was not in love with her, but he longed to shield her from himself.
He loathed himself for the thought of his whole plan. It had seemed different when he had made it. Then he had not thought Alice would know. He had not meant to hurt her. Blackford clung to that thought as she spoke again.
"You are wondering why I kept you here. I know you want to get away. I would not have asked you to stay if it had not been for something my father said. He is planning to send me abroad and speaks about a divorce. There isn't going to be any divorce. And I'm not going to Europe."
"Then what are you going to do?"
Alice looked at him steadily. She drew a long breath. "I am going to Alabama with you."
"But—but—you can't do that!" Blackford cried.
"Why not?"
"Why, because you can't! With things as they are? You've just said you hated me. You——"
"I didn't say I hated you—yet."
"But you do. You can't go with me."
"I know you don't want me, that I will be in the way, but I am going just the same."
"But—but—I don't even know where I am to live."
"That doesn't matter. I would as soon go one place as another. I can't stay here."
"Why not? Your father doesn't—blame you."
Alice's emotion slipped the leash for a moment and she spoke rapidly, the words tumbling out.
"Of course he doesn't! That isn't it at all. I am not going to stay here and have them begin to whisper and then to talk.... The newspapers ... stories ... I just couldn't! No one but Daddy is going to know what a mistake I have made. There isn't going to be any divorce and I won't stay here. That leaves only Alabama—and you."
"You don't know what you are saying," Blackford rejoined crisply. "You have never lived in a mining camp. You have had luxury all your life. You have never suffered isolation or loneliness——"
"But I have, both of them. Many times. I will not be lonely. You need not be afraid," she warned, a hint of contempt in her voice. "I am not going because I love you."
"Now at least do me justice," said Blackford. "I suppose that is the last thing I should expect, but don't make me any worse than I am. I wasn't thinking of that at all."
"I saw it in your eyes!" exclaimed Alice. "You need not worry. I shan't annoy you. I may not have any pride so far as you are concerned, but I have about other people. That's why I am going."
"What will your father say?"
"He will object, of course," Alice answered wearily. Her strength was going fast. "He will not approve, but I can manage him. He'll know how I feel"—with a sudden rush of sobs to her throat—"he always knows how I feel."
"I've no objection to your going if you really want to," Blackford said, "but let's not have any misunderstanding. I don't know what conditions I shall find. Your father isn't going to pick anything easy for me. I don't want you blaming me afterward for taking you down there."
"I shall not blame you, no matter what happens."
"Then," Blackford assured her, "as soon as your father tells me where to go, you will know." He hesitated and stammered. "I will do my best to make up to you for ... things ... Alice," he said. "Shall I still call you ... Alice?"
She moved her head indifferently. "Call me what you choose. There is one thing more. We'll have to live in the same house. Because you do not love me and ... and ... well, because we are as we are, there is no need of our living a cat-and-dog life. We need not be petty." She paused, considering. "I shall try to make a home for you. At least, I shall keep a house for you to live in. I am not doing this for you. If I still loved you, I think going with you would be the last thing I would do."
Blackford moved uneasily. "There isn't much I can say," he began. "I can only show by my actions how I feel." Alice was not looking at him, but was gazing out of the window again. Blackford paused. "Do you know anything of your father's plans?" he asked finally, when it seemed she would not break the silence.
"No," answered his wife, with a pathetic little smile. "You see, this was only told me to-day."
"What will you do in the mean time?"
"I shall stay at home—at my father's house, I mean. I—I could not go back to the apartment."
"Then I am dismissed?"
"You may go if you like," she assented, and he passed out of the door, carrying with him the picture of her figure huddled in the big chair, her head thrown back as if her strength was exhausted.
