War; or, What happens when one loves one's enemy/Chapter 9
IX
WHEN EVELYN CAME
WELL, just then, Evelyn, hearing the racket, I expect, came in. Dave thought it was Jon and hid behind the door and jumped out and yelled and flung his arms about her all at once. Gosh-a-mighty! He looked like he'd been shot—he was so surprised—and close! And Evelyn—she was as scared and trembly and fighty as a little heifer—and afterward tried to cry and get mad and look ugly—all at once. But it was no use. Dave held her by the hands and apologized like a gentleman of the highest kind. He bowed and scraped like she was a queen, and he a prince, and called her "madame"! But he didn't let her go. And Evelyn—at last she just stood still and listened, like his voice was music to her. Then she managed to look— sidewise—like birds—and Dave caught her eyes fairly in his. So, for a minute. Dave looked the sorrow he had for being so fresh. She looked something I had never seen her look before. Then she hung her head and blushed and trembled. The business—the great and wonderful business of love—was done that quick! Dave had just mastered her by his gay, open, careless, manly ways. Broke her that quick—like he use' to break colts. Jon, he could manage animals by just persuading them. But Dave had no time for that. And he made them do what he wanted without any persuading—which is much better, for a horse, anyway. And women are a good deal like horses, not?
Soon Dave's big white teeth begun to show, till he laughed right out.
"I'll bet seventeen cows, and a calf, for good measure, that this is my cousin Evelyn that's crowded me out of house and home and left me nothing but the haymow!"
"Yes," says I, "whopper jaw, store teeth and all, ready for the hospital—"
Dave put his hand on my mouth so that it hurt.
"Yes, I'm that poor beggar," says Evelyn. "If they hadn't given me your room and things, you'd have found me at the poor-house, cousin Did-Dave. Would you have liked that, cousin Did-Dave?"
She stumbled twice on the "Dave". But Dave had no trouble with "Evelyn"! It seemed sweet in his mouth.
"No," says Dave, "I wouldn't have liked that. But, now, if you don't take me in partnership, I'll have to go—to the haymow—a—and you won't like that!"
"Hi—how can I, Did-Dave?" asks Evelyn. "Partnership?"
Dave just breathes his answer:
"I don't know. It is all so sudden—and wonderful. Some day I will tell you. May I?"
"Yes," says Evelyn.
"We'll be comrades, Evelyn! We'll ride and swim and hunt and fish—always together! Will you like that?"
"Oh, yes!" says Evelyn.
"And then we'll see the roses bloom in these cheeks—lovely enough now—but think of them with roses in!"
And he kissed them both—just a touch on each.
Evelyn started back, angry, but when she looked and saw his glorious young face she returned—maybe for more!
The sweet way he talked to her—of the things they were to do—the happiness they were to have! Presently, like she didn't know she was doing it, Evelyn inched up and hung her arm in Dave's, as happy as he. You have no idea and I am too poor a scholar to tell it. He had won her like with magic. I felt that she would follow Dave, like a dog, to the ends of the world. Her master had come.
"And what am I to teach you in return for all these beautiful things?" asks Evelyn, at last.
"Many, many more things than I can teach you, cousin, dear," says Dave, taking her face in his hands and questioning her eyes. "Some I can not tell you now, because they have taken no form save great joy. Some are too dear to speak of yet. But, I know, already, that I shall be graver, kinder, more considerate of others. Perhaps you may even teach me, out of your own sad lot, what sorrow is. Now I do not know it. You hardly believe that, and I'm ashamed to confess it. But daddy and Jon have kept all sorrow from me, while you have probably had my share. Perhaps I can help to lighten yours. Or bear them with you. I wonder why I'm so serious? I never was before, was I, daddy?"
"Take care, Davy," says I. "You're going mighty fast. And there's rapids in the river below you! Mebby falls!"
I wonder if he heard me? I think not. But that was funny—wasn't it? To think of that!
"Come, help me to find Jonthy!" he says to Evelyn.
She'd inched up so close to him that, I suppose, it would have been hard to get closer. But the moment he asks her to help hunt Jon she smiles and gives him her hand and they start away.
Now, ain't a woman funny? I thought when Dave said that about taking her to Jon she would be scared and guilty and not go. Not at all. She never thought about that. In fact, this Evelyn that Dave had discovered was entirely new—even to herself, I think. Who'd have thought of the same Evelyn who thundered to Jon, that night, about the great cause, forgetting all about it—and Jon, too!—the minute Dave takes hold of her hands!
Before they got out of sight I heard Dave say:
"—And, then, we'll get married!"
"Yes!" says Evelyn, as happy as he.
"And live happy ever after!"
"For ever and ever!" laughs Evelyn.
Well, as you can see, they weren't wasting a minute.
Presently I hears 'em all three coming up from the barn together, where, I suppose, they had found Jon. Evelyn was between the two. Dave was swinging her one hand and singing:
"Dear Evelina,
Sweet Evelina,
My love for you shall never, never die!"
Jon looked as joyous as any of them—holding Evelyn's other hand—stiff and solemn. But, somehow, I pitied him. And it was strange, afterward, that I always thought of my two boys as poor old Jon and happy little Dave. Sorry for the one and glad for the other.
And that was my trouble—seeing my two boys in love with one girl, and that one girl in love with only one of them! What was I to do? What I might do for Dave would be against Jon—and vice versa. So I did nothing; I couldn't. My hands were tied.