The wave of passion that swept her now, made up of bitter regret, of longing and of jealousy, overwhelmed her as never before.
She had been pacing the room up and down, up and down, stopping now and then to touch some little familiar object with a touch that was a caress.
But at this last thought, she sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands.
The storm of weeping which shook her had nearly spent itself, when she heard steps coming toward the house, a step that her heart had known for many a day. Drying her eyes quickly, she went to the window and made a pretense of looking out that he might not see her tear-stained face. She made a last call on her pride and strength to carry her through the coming interview. He should never know what leaving cost her; that she promised herself.
CHAPTER XVIII
"Ed drove over with Reg and Emma; I guess he won't be very long. There was something he wanted to say to old man Sharp that he'd forgot about."
"Then you didn't get your talk with him?"
She was glad of that. It was better to have their own talk first. But as it had been he who had broached the subject of her leaving, it was he who must reopen it.
"No, but I guess anything I've got to say to him will keep till he gets back. Ed's thinking of buying a clearing-machine that's for sale over Prentice way."
"Yes, he told me."
Without turning her head, she could tell that he was looking around for the matches. He never could remember that they were kept in a jar over on the shelf back of the stove. He was going to smoke his pipe, of course. When men were nervous about anything they always flew to tobacco. Women were denied that poor consolation. But she, too, felt the necessity of having something to occupy her hands. She went back to the table, and taking some of Frank's thick woolen socks from her basket, sat down and began mechanically to darn them. She purposely placed herself so that he could only see her profile. Even then, he would see that her eyes were still red; she hadn't had time to bathe them.
"I suppose I look a sight, but poor Mrs. Sharp was so upset! She broke down and cried and of course I've been crying, too. I'm so thankful it's turned out all right for her. Poor thing, I never saw her in such a state!"
"They've got five children to feed. I guess it would make a powerful lot of difference to them," he said quietly.
"I wish you'd told me all about it before. I felt that something was worrying you, and I didn't know what." There was a pause. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"If I saved the crop, there didn't seem any use fussing, and if I didn't, you'd know soon enough."
"How could you bear to let me put those dreadful flowers here in the house?" she said, pointing to the bowl on the table.
"Oh, I guess I didn't mind, if it gave you any pleasure. You didn't know they was only a weed and a poisonous one for us farmers. You thought them darned pretty."
"That was very kind of you, Frank," said Nora. Her voice shook a little in spite of her effort to control it.
"I guess it's queer that a darned little flower like that should be able to do so much damage."
That subject exhausted, there came another pause. He was very evidently waiting her lead. Could Eddie have told him anything about the news from England? No, he hadn't had any opportunity. Besides it would have been very unlike Eddie, who, as a general rule, had a supreme talent for minding his own affairs.
"How did it happen that you didn't tell me that you had written to Eddie?"
"I guess I forgot."
She waited a few moments to make sure that her voice was quite steady:
"Frank, Eddie brought me some letters from home--from England, I mean--to-day. I've had an offer of a job back in England."
He got up slowly and went over to the corner where the broom hung to get some straws to run through the mouthpiece of his pipe. His face was turned from her, so that she could not see that he had closed his eyes for a moment and that his mouth was drawn with pain.
When he turned he had resumed his ordinary expression. His voice was perfectly steady when he spoke:
"An offer of a job? Gee! I guess you'll jump at that."
"It's funny it should have come just when you had been talking of my going away."
"Very."
Not even a comment. Oh, why didn't he say that he would be glad to have her gone, and be done with it! Anything, almost, would be easier to bear than this total lack of interest. She tried another tack.
"Have you any--any objection?"
"I guess it wouldn't make a powerful lot of difference to you if I had." He could actually smile, his good-natured, indulgent smile, which she knew so well.
"What makes you think that?"
"Oh, I guess you only stayed on here because you had to."
Nora's work dropped in her lap.
"Is life always like that?" she said with bitter sadness. "The things you've wanted so dreadfully seem only to bring you pain when they come."
He gave her a swift glance, but went on smoking quietly. She went over to the window again and stood looking out at the stretch of prairie. Presently she spoke in a low voice, but her words were addressed as much to herself as to him:
"Month after month, this winter, I used to sit here looking out at the prairie. Sometimes I wanted to scream at the top of my voice. I felt that I must break that awful silence or go mad. There were times when the shack was like a prison. I thought I should never escape. I was hemmed in by the snow and the cold and the stillness; cut off from everything and everybody, from all that had been the world I knew."
"Are you going to quit right now with Ed?" he asked gently.
Nora went slowly back to her chair. "You seem in a great hurry to be rid of me," she said, with the flicker of a smile.
"Well, I guess we ain't made a great success of our married life, my girl." He went over to the stove to knock the ashes from his pipe. "It's rum, when you come to figure it out," he said, when it was once more lighted; "I thought I could make you do everything I wanted, just because I was bigger and stronger. It sure did look like I held a straight flush. And you beat me."
"I?" said Nora in astonishment.
"Why, sure. You don't mean to say you didn't know that?"
"I don't know at all what you mean."
"I guess I was pretty ignorant about women," his began pacing up and down the floor as he talked. "I guess I didn't know how strong a woman could be. You was always givin' way; you done everything I told you. And, all the time, you was keeping something back from me that I couldn't get at. Whenever I thought I was goin' to put my hand on you--zip! You was away again. I guess I found I'd only caught hold of a shadow."
"I don't know what more you expected. I didn't know you wanted anything more!"
"I guess I wanted love," he said in a tone so low that she barely caught it.
He stood over by the table, looking down on her from his great height. His face was flushed, but his eyes were steady and unashamed.
"You!"
She looked at him in absolute consternation. Her breath came in hurried gasps. But her heart sang in her breast and the little pathetic droop of her mouth disappeared. Her telltale eyes dropped on her work. Not yet, not yet; she was greedy to hear more.
"I know you now less well than when you'd been only a week up to Ed's." He resumed his pacing up and down. "I guess I've lost the trail. I'm just beating round, floundering in the bush."
"I never knew you wanted love," she said softly.
"I guess I didn't know it until just lately, either."
"I suppose parting's always rather painful," she said with just the beginning of a little smile creeping round the corners of her lips.
"If you go back-- when you go back," he corrected himself, "to the old country, I guess--I guess you'll never want to come back."
"Perhaps you'll come over to England yourself, one of these days. If you only have a couple of good years, you could easily shut up the place and run over for the winter," she said shyly.