Free Leave Her to Heaven by Ben Ames Williams Page B

inspecting them. Robie and Charlie decided it was time to brand and earmark the young stock, and settled on Tuesday for this task. When they returned to the lodge they found Ellen and Lin together on the veranda, and Robie asked: ‘What have you two been up to?’
    â€˜Not a thing,’ Ellen smilingly assured him. ‘We didn’t feel like doing anything strenuous, so we’ve just been sitting here talking all day.’
    Harland wondered whether he could spend a long day alone with any fourteen-year-old boy — unless of course it were Danny. Clearly Ellen liked boys, and understood them too. The youngster’s eyes were shining as he watched her now.
    That evening the moon was brighter, and the sky a cloudless bowl of paling stars. Lin went early to bed, and Ellen after a little rose and stood by the veranda rail. ‘I’ve sat still too long,’ she said. ‘Mr. Harland, will you walk with me?’
    Mrs. Berent — this was her first appearance at dinner for days — made a derisive sound. ‘Quoth the spider to the fly!’ she said sharply; and everyone laughed in dutiful fashion, and Harland as he joined Ellen felt hot and angry; but when he was alone with her his anger passed. They followed the brook trail half a mile down the canyon to the lower bridge — the moon was bright enough to show them every pebble in the way — and they went at first in silence, till Harland said at last, remembering Danny:
    â€˜You and Lin get along.’
    â€˜I enjoy being with him,’ she agreed.

    â€˜I like him, too, but I can’t imagine sitting and talking to him all day.’
    Her tone was lightly quizzical. ‘ You’re ever so dignified, aren’t you? I think you’re one of those men who wear a sort of mental beard. You try to seem more reserved and mature than you really are. Except the day you shot the turkey, I’ve never seen you really let go and throw back your head and laugh!’
    â€œâ€˜I’ see ourselves as ithers see us,’” he quoted, amused. ‘I suppose I don’t laugh much. Laughter is the luxury of the indolent, isn’t it? Busy people don’t have time to laugh.’
    â€˜You’re on vacation here, not busy at all!’
    â€˜An author never has a vacation. He’s a walking sponge, sopping up impressions till he’s saturated, then going to his desk and squeezing them out on paper.’
    â€˜I’d forgotten you’re an author,’ she confessed. ‘Probably that’s why you like to make phrases. Of course I know you must have worked hard, to be so successful so young.’ She laughed at him in a teasing way. ‘I suppose you think you must live up to your position, pretend a — gravity you do not always feel. And then of course you’re terribly shy!’
    Harland chuckled. ‘I wonder why men always feel a little flattered at being told they’re shy.’
    â€˜They like to feel they’re — heroes,’ she suggested smilingly. ‘Keeping a stiff upper lip against heavy odds.’ They came to the bridge and stopped, leaning on the handrail, looking down into the clear water; and she cried: ‘Look! You can see the trout, even in the moonlight.’
    The night air was damp and cool and fragrant. ‘And you can smell flowers,’ he agreed. ‘All your senses seem so much keener here.’
    â€˜I know,’ she murmured. Her shoulder almost touched his, and he caught a dizzying hint of some faint scent she wore. She looked up at him and an overhanging bough between her and the moon laid a dark shadow across her nose and mouth and chin; and he thought again, as on that first day he saw her, of those mysterious beauties of the harem, who wear a veil which hides
all but their eyes as the shadow hid all but her eyes now; and he smiled and spoke of this, said the shadow on her face was like one of those veils.
    â€˜Yashmaks?