getting ready to go down valley this morning. He said muster day was Wednesday.”
Mrs. Reall looked surprised.
“Why didn’t you step over to our place? It’s shorter, and Kitty would have told you. He keeps all such things wrote down in a book. He’s such a methody man.”
Gil was nettled.
“I knew when it was. I wanted to see him about something else.”
“Well, that wasn’t what you said first,” said Mrs. Reall with perfect good humor. “Of course you needn’t tell me what you did go down for. I don’t mind.” But she made no move to get up.
Gil knew that she was likely to stay till noon if the humor seized her. With strained facetiousness, he said, “I went down to see if he didn’t think we had ought to leave a bodyguard for all you women.”
Mrs. Reall laughed heartily.
“My, my,” she said, dabbing the baby’s nose with the front of her blouse. “Bodyguard! Why, I’m always that relieved when Kitty goes to muster! I figure he’s safe enough for one day. If he don’t break his legs coming home drunk the way he does. It’s one strange thing about a God-fearing man like Kitty, the way he gets drunk muster days. But then, as he says, war is war, and religion is religion, and both is pretty well concerned with hell.”
“What did Mr. Demooth say, Gil?” asked Lana.
“He said we ought to go down. He didn’t think there was any trouble coming for a while.”
Gil wheeled and went out through the door. Mrs. Reall rose and said, “Thank you for the soap, Lana dearie. I’ll return you some the next time I get around to making it.”
Lana watched her go, then started after Gil. Gil had begun work on clearing a three-acre strip along the creek behind the place. He was felling the trees in windrows widthwise of the land,preparatory to the autumn burning. The sound of his axe in the heavy August air had no ring, but when she found him he was laying savagely into a tree, sinking half the blade at every stroke.
She watched him awhile, her dark eyes anxious.
“Gil,” she said.
He stopped, leaving the axe driven, and turned round. His head and neck were covered with sweat and sweat drops ran slowly down his arms. The sun beating down on the newly uncovered ground brought forth a suffocating, tindery smell, as if it might start the firing of itself at any minute.
He stood for a moment looking out on his work. With what he already had cleared, he could see in his mind’s eye the first beginnings of a farm taking shape. Next year his present patch of corn would go to wheat. Two years from now, he ought to have eight acres sown to wheat. Once a farm could produce a hundred bushel of wheat the farmer had got past the dangerous years. He could begin to count on a yearly income of around two hundred dollars. He could then consider building him a barn. From where he stood, Gil saw where he would build his barn against the slope. A sidehill barn. It was going to be a great place to pasture stock in. Later they would plan on building a framed house.
But women, he knew, put stock in board walls and a board floor. And Lana deserved a house. When he had married her, he hadn’t considered such things, or the fact that she would have to be left here on muster day. There were a lot of things to being married he hadn’t considered at all.
She said again, “Gil!” quite sharply.
In her work clothes, with her slim legs bare and her dark hair in a braid down her back, she looked light enough for him to raise her with one hand around her waist, like a daisy stem.
She stamped her foot and the dust powdered her ankle.
“Speak to me! Don’t stand there staring like a crazy man gone deaf! What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking how the place would look, in five years from now.”
He looked so sheepish that she laughed. “I’ll bet you were thinking about a barn and the cows in it.”
“Horses. And I was thinking how long it would seem to you before it would be right for me to build you a
Mrs. Reall looked surprised.
“Why didn’t you step over to our place? It’s shorter, and Kitty would have told you. He keeps all such things wrote down in a book. He’s such a methody man.”
Gil was nettled.
“I knew when it was. I wanted to see him about something else.”
“Well, that wasn’t what you said first,” said Mrs. Reall with perfect good humor. “Of course you needn’t tell me what you did go down for. I don’t mind.” But she made no move to get up.
Gil knew that she was likely to stay till noon if the humor seized her. With strained facetiousness, he said, “I went down to see if he didn’t think we had ought to leave a bodyguard for all you women.”
Mrs. Reall laughed heartily.
“My, my,” she said, dabbing the baby’s nose with the front of her blouse. “Bodyguard! Why, I’m always that relieved when Kitty goes to muster! I figure he’s safe enough for one day. If he don’t break his legs coming home drunk the way he does. It’s one strange thing about a God-fearing man like Kitty, the way he gets drunk muster days. But then, as he says, war is war, and religion is religion, and both is pretty well concerned with hell.”
“What did Mr. Demooth say, Gil?” asked Lana.
“He said we ought to go down. He didn’t think there was any trouble coming for a while.”
Gil wheeled and went out through the door. Mrs. Reall rose and said, “Thank you for the soap, Lana dearie. I’ll return you some the next time I get around to making it.”
Lana watched her go, then started after Gil. Gil had begun work on clearing a three-acre strip along the creek behind the place. He was felling the trees in windrows widthwise of the land,preparatory to the autumn burning. The sound of his axe in the heavy August air had no ring, but when she found him he was laying savagely into a tree, sinking half the blade at every stroke.
She watched him awhile, her dark eyes anxious.
“Gil,” she said.
He stopped, leaving the axe driven, and turned round. His head and neck were covered with sweat and sweat drops ran slowly down his arms. The sun beating down on the newly uncovered ground brought forth a suffocating, tindery smell, as if it might start the firing of itself at any minute.
He stood for a moment looking out on his work. With what he already had cleared, he could see in his mind’s eye the first beginnings of a farm taking shape. Next year his present patch of corn would go to wheat. Two years from now, he ought to have eight acres sown to wheat. Once a farm could produce a hundred bushel of wheat the farmer had got past the dangerous years. He could begin to count on a yearly income of around two hundred dollars. He could then consider building him a barn. From where he stood, Gil saw where he would build his barn against the slope. A sidehill barn. It was going to be a great place to pasture stock in. Later they would plan on building a framed house.
But women, he knew, put stock in board walls and a board floor. And Lana deserved a house. When he had married her, he hadn’t considered such things, or the fact that she would have to be left here on muster day. There were a lot of things to being married he hadn’t considered at all.
She said again, “Gil!” quite sharply.
In her work clothes, with her slim legs bare and her dark hair in a braid down her back, she looked light enough for him to raise her with one hand around her waist, like a daisy stem.
She stamped her foot and the dust powdered her ankle.
“Speak to me! Don’t stand there staring like a crazy man gone deaf! What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking how the place would look, in five years from now.”
He looked so sheepish that she laughed. “I’ll bet you were thinking about a barn and the cows in it.”
“Horses. And I was thinking how long it would seem to you before it would be right for me to build you a
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