Nevada (1995) (50 page)

Dimly she remembered faces and murmuring voices that had no meanin
g
for her.

The door opened--closed. Ben knelt beside her bed--took her hands--
k
issed her face.

"Hettie, I came as quick as I could get away," he said, with dee
p
agitation. "I was knocked off my pins. But happy--oh, girl, neve
r
so happy before, except on the day Ina married me! . . . When I
c
ould think I remembered you. So here I am."

"Oh--Ben!" she whispered, and clung to him, her slow overburdene
d
heart lifting painfully.

"Hettie dear--joy never kills," he replied, tenderly.

"If it were--only joy," mourned Hettie.

"Child, there's nothing BUT joy," he rushed on. "It was a terribl
e
shock. To find out old Nevada--was Jim Lacy. But we always kne
w
he was somebody bad. No, not bad. But somebody wild an' great.

You knew--Hettie. . . . An' now he's turned up. The wonder of i
t
is that he had hidden the old identity. He had given up the ol
d
wild life. He had found honest work an' had lived clean an' fine.

As we knew him in those happy days at Forlorn River. So you se
e
all your love an' faith an' hope were justified. He WAS worth it.

Thank God I never lost--"

"Hush! You're killing--me!" gasped Hettie, writhing from hi
s
embrace.

"Hettie! Why, sister, this isn't like you," he expostulated, i
n
anxiety. "You're overcome. It has been too much for you."

"Not the joy--not the excitement," she returned. "I've been a poo
r
miserable creature! . . . A coward! A selfish, headstrong woman!

Jealous, little! . . . Oh, so poor in love--in faith!"

It came out then, gradually, sometimes incoherently, the story o
f
her meeting with Nevada; and Hettie, in her self-abasement
,
magnified all the shame and ignominy--all the bitter invective an
d
scorn which she had flung into his face.

Ben drew her head back to his shoulder and smoothed her dishevele
d
hair.

"Well! . . . I understand now. Too bad! But there are excuse
s
for you. Didn't you believe in him--love him--keep yourself fo
r
him all these years? Some things are too much for anybody."

"He--will--never--forgive," she sobbed, with the relief that cam
e
through his sympathy, his championship.

"Nevada? Why, that fellow would forgive anythin'."

"I--can never--forgive myself."

"Hettie, it will all come right. Don't you remember how you harpe
d
on that? Beat it into my poor thick head! . . . An', lo! it ha
s
come right. . . . Nevada could not hurt you."

"I have--hurt myself. I've lost something. My ideal has faile
d
me."

"No--no. You're just overwrought by this sudden crash. Please
,
Hettie. I don't mean cheer up. But brace up an' see it through.

Where's your Ide spunk?"

"Gone--gone."

"Well, then, get it back. I swear to you Nevada will be just lik
e
I am now. On my knees to you!"

"Where is he?"

"I left him in the livin'-room, playin' with Blaine. The kid too
k
a shine to him pronto. An' Nevada. Lord! no one would ever drea
m
of him bein' what we've learned to understand by the name Ji
m
Lacy. . . . Hettie, there's somethin' so simple an' great abou
t
Nevada. He's just himself now as we remembered him. He's Nevada
,
that's all."

Hettie lay awake many hours, with anguish slowly wearing away to
a
regurgitation of something quite as full of pangs. The night win
d
moved through the pines, sweeping, swelling, lulling. Coyote
s
added their lonesome chorus. White stars shone from the dark blu
e
sky. When she fell asleep she dreamed vague, unreal, distorte
d
dreams, in which she seemed the central shadow among shadows o
f
Nevada, Marvie, Rose, Ben, and that mocking handsome Dillon. Bu
t
she awoke to a new day--new as the bright morning, and with
a
dawning hope, like the gold and blue of the Arizona sky.

She had no time for her own thoughts. Marvie rushed in upon her
,
in the kitchen, to be followed by Rose, shy, sweet, modest as th
e
wildflower for which she was named. Already they had been out i
n
the woods and now they were as hungry as bears. Mrs. Ide looke
d
upon them with wonder and favor. They wanted to go to Winthrop.

Would Hettie go? Rose must have clothes and books and things. Ho
w
Marvie's face glowed under his freckles! And Rose was in
a
transport. Had she forgotten that sordid home down in the brakes?

"Not to-day," replied Hettie, to their importunities. "To-morrow
,
maybe, if Ben consents."

"What has that Ben Ide to do with my affairs?" demanded Marvie
,
loftily. "I'd like to have you know _I_ can ride for Franklidge o
r
Tom Day or any other big rancher in Arizona."

Hettie sensed trouble for Ben when he came to attempt reconciliatio
n
with Marvie. Ben would surely need her aid.

"Marv, boy, of course I know," she said. "But you must use som
e
sense. Rose is to have a home with me. And I shall take her t
o
San Diego for the winter. I should think you would want to be nea
r
her this fall, and also go to San Diego, at least for a while."

Marvie wilted under that. What a master-stroke, thought Hettie.

"Well, if Ben crawls to me I'll consider comin' back," replie
d
Marvie, condescendingly.

After breakfast Tom Day came over to pay his respects to Hettie an
d
her mother. How bluff and genial and substantial he was!

"Wal, lass," he said at parting, "I reckon the Ides an' the Day
s
can go back to ranchin' again, thanks to thet Texas Jack of ours.

Shore, we'll have rustlin' bees again an' mebbe for years to come.

But there'll be a spell now, like these Indian-summer days. Folk
s
can sleep an' be happy. An' you youngsters can make love. Haw!

Haw! . . . Hettie lass, I've been a-wonderin' aboot you. I'
m
shore a keen old fox. Wal, adios, an' God bless you."

Later in the morning Ben came to her so utterly abject that he wa
s
funny.

"Now what?" queried Hettie. "You needn't come to me for sympathy."

"Aw, Hettie, that's what Ina said, an' she stuck to it," said Ben.

"But I've got to tell somebody. An' Nevada is moonstruck o
r
somethin'. He never heard me."

"All right, Bennie," smiled Hettie, relenting.

"You know I fired Raidy--well, of course I had to go to him an' as
k
him to come back. Reckon the old fellow was hurt deep. He didn'
t
rub it in, but he was sure cold. For a long while I apologized
,
made excuses, swore, an' did about everythin' before he would tak
e
back the old job. But at that he was nothin' compared to Marvi
e
Blaine."

"Indeed! Yes, I remember you fired Marvie, too," said Hettie.

"You would have died laughin' to see that kid," went on Ben
,
ruefully. "I sent for him. Did he come? Not much. He sent wor
d
back by my messenger that if I wanted to talk to him I could hun
t
him up. So I had to. An' I'm darned if I don't believe he watche
d
me an' kept dodgin' me. Well, anyway, I found him at last an'
a
sked him to forget our difference. Whew! . . . Say, he'
s
expanded in this Arizona air. He had an argument that floored me.

It WAS logic, though I wouldn't admit it. He made me crawl. B
y
George! You know I love Marvie an' I could never let him leave In
a
an' me till he's grown up. He had more dignity than Judg
e
Franklidge an' more conceit than any cowboy I ever saw. He swelle
d
up like that Sheriff Macklin. Well, after he got his job back at
a
higher salary he put on the screws some more. He actually hit m
e
for the reward I offered for any clue leadin' to the apprehensio
n
of the Pine Tree outfit. That reward was a thousand dollars.

Marvie claimed Rose was his clue. The cheeky little rooster! Bu
t
Nevada backed him up. An' as a matter of fact, 'most everythin'
c
ame through Rose. So I promised it to him. . . . Now what do yo
u
say?"

Hettie leaped up gladly. "Good for Marv! Now, Ben, run over an
d
crawl to Inaa. Then we--YOU all can be happy again!"

"Ahuh! I get the hunch that 'you' aren't included. I'll be
t
before this day ends you'll be as crazy as Marv an' as mum as hi
s
little wood mouse, Rose."

Still Hettie was not to have any of the solitude she craved. N
o
sooner had Ben gone than Judge Franklidge appeared.

"I've come over to bid you and Mrs. Ide good-by," he said, in hi
s
kindly way. "It has been a rather staggering time. But we're o
n
our feet again, and 'ridin' pretty,' as the cowboys say."

Then leaning closer to Hettie he continued in lower tone: "Yo
u
recall one day at my home--when you said somethin' mysterious to m
e
then, but pertinent now. It was about--NEVADA."

"I remember--Judge Franklidge," murmured Hettie, trembling.

"Well, would I be correct if I--sort of put two and two together--
o
r perhaps I should say one and one? . . . Nevada and Hettie, fo
r
instance?"

His persuasive voice, deep with understanding, and his linkin
g
together the two names, quite subdued her poor and rebelliou
s
resistance. She dropped her head, murmuring a faint affirmative.

"I'm glad I hit upon the truth," he said, with eagerness. "I
w
atched you yesterday and I believe I saw then something of you
r
ordeal. And I see now in your face the havoc that tells of you
r
pain. It is my earnest hope to soothe that pain, Hettie Ide, and I
k
now I can do so. Listen. It has been a terrible shock for you t
o
find in your Texas Jack--or Nevada, as you call him--no other tha
n
the infamous or famous Jim Lacy. This is natural, but it is al
l
wrong. There need be no shame, no fear, no shrinking in you
r
acceptance of this fact. I've met and trusted no finer man tha
n
this same Jim Lacy. But I did not come to eulogize him. . . . I
w
ant to make clear in your mind just what such men as Jim Lacy mea
n
to me. I have lived most of my life on the frontier and I kno
w
what its wilderness has been, and still is. There are bad men an
d
bad men. It is a distinction with a vast difference. I have me
t
or seen many of the noted killers. Wild Bill, Wess Hardin
,
Kingfisher, Billy the Kid, Pat Garrett, an' a host of others.

These men are not bloody murderers. They are a product of th
e
times. The West could never have been populated without them.

They strike a balance between the hordes of ruffians, outlaws
,
strong evil characters like Dillon, and the wild life of a wil
d
era. It is the West as any Westerner knows it now. And as such w
e
could not be pioneers, we could not progress without this violence.