The Song of the Lark Willa Cather (free ebooks romance novels .TXT) 📖

However little there was left of him, that little was certainly Ray Kennedy. His personality was as positive as ever, and the blood and dirt on his face seemed merely accidental, to have nothing to do with the man himself. Dr. Archie told Mr. Kronborg to bring a pail of water, and he began to sponge Ray’s face and neck. Mr. Kronborg stood by, nervously rubbing his hands together and trying to think of something to say. Serious situations always embarrassed him and made him formal, even when he felt real sympathy.

“In times like this, Ray,” he brought out at last, crumpling up his handkerchief in his long fingers⁠—“in times like this, we don’t want to forget the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”

Ray looked up at him; a lonely, disconsolate smile played over his mouth and his square cheeks. “Never mind about all that, padre,” he said quietly. “Christ and me fell out long ago.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Ray took pity on Mr. Kronborg’s embarrassment. “You go back for the little girl, padre. I want a word with the doc in private.”

Ray talked to Dr. Archie for a few moments, then stopped suddenly, with a broad smile. Over the doctor’s shoulder he saw Thea coming up the gulch, in her pink chambray dress, carrying her sunhat by the strings. Such a yellow head! He often told himself that he “was perfectly foolish about her hair.” The sight of her, coming, went through him softly, like the morphia. “There she is,” he whispered. “Get the old preacher out of the way, doc. I want to have a little talk with her.”

Dr. Archie looked up. Thea was hurrying and yet hanging back. She was more frightened than he had thought she would be. She had gone with him to see very sick people and had always been steady and calm. As she came up, she looked at the ground, and he could see that she had been crying.

Ray Kennedy made an unsuccessful effort to put out his hand. “Hello, little kid, nothing to be afraid of. Darned if I don’t believe they’ve gone and scared you! Nothing to cry about. I’m the same old goods, only a little dented. Sit down on my coat there, and keep me company. I’ve got to lay still a bit.”

Dr. Archie and Mr. Kronborg disappeared. Thea cast a timid glance after them, but she sat down resolutely and took Ray’s hand.

“You ain’t scared now, are you?” he asked affectionately. “You were a regular brick to come, Thee. Did you get any breakfast?”

“No, Ray, I’m not scared. Only I’m dreadful sorry you’re hurt, and I can’t help crying.”

His broad, earnest face, languid from the opium and smiling with such simple happiness, reassured her. She drew nearer to him and lifted his hand to her knee. He looked at her with his clear, shallow blue eyes. How he loved everything about that face and head! How many nights in his cupola, looking up the track, he had seen that face in the darkness; through the sleet and snow, or in the soft blue air when the moonlight slept on the desert.

“You needn’t bother to talk, Thee. The doctor’s medicine makes me sort of dopey. But it’s nice to have company. Kind of cozy, don’t you think? Pull my coat under you more. It’s a darned shame I can’t wait on you.”

“No, no, Ray. I’m all right. Yes, I like it here. And I guess you ought not to talk much, ought you? If you can sleep, I’ll stay right here, and be awful quiet. I feel just as much at home with you as ever, now.”

That simple, humble, faithful something in Ray’s eyes went straight to Thea’s heart. She did feel comfortable with him, and happy to give him so much happiness. It was the first time she had ever been conscious of that power to bestow intense happiness by simply being near anyone. She always remembered this day as the beginning of that knowledge. She bent over him and put her lips softly to his cheek.

Ray’s eyes filled with light. “Oh, do that again, kid!” he said impulsively. Thea kissed him on the forehead, blushing faintly. Ray held her hand fast and closed his eyes with a deep sigh of happiness. The morphia and the sense of her nearness filled him with content. The gold mine, the oil well, the copper ledge⁠—all pipe dreams, he mused, and this was a dream, too. He might have known it before. It had always been like that; the things he admired had always been away out of his reach: a college education, a gentleman’s manner, an Englishman’s accent⁠—things over his head. And Thea was farther out of his reach than all the rest put together. He had been a fool to imagine it, but he was glad he had been a fool. She had given him one grand dream. Every mile of his run, from Moonstone to Denver, was painted with the colors of that hope. Every cactus knew about it. But now that it was not to be, he knew the truth. Thea was never meant for any rough fellow like him⁠—hadn’t he really known that all along, he asked himself? She wasn’t meant for common men. She was like wedding cake, a thing to dream on. He raised his eyelids a little. She was stroking his hand and looking off into the distance. He felt in her face that look of unconscious power that Wunsch had seen there. Yes, she was bound for the big terminals of the world; no way stations for her. His lids drooped. In the dark he could see her as she would be after a while; in a box at the Tabor Grand in Denver, with diamonds on her neck and a tiara in her yellow hair, with all the people looking at her through their opera-glasses, and a United States Senator, maybe, talking to her. “Then you’ll remember me!” He opened his