One of Ours Willa Cather (accelerated reader books txt) đ
- Author: Willa Cather
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Claude turned away to the window. âA fine lot Iâve been to admire,â he muttered.
âWell, itâs true, anyway. It was like that when we went to high school, and itâs kept up. Everything you do always seems exciting to me.â
Claude felt a cold perspiration on his forehead. He wished now that he had never come. âBut thatâs it, Gladys. What have I ever done, except make one blunder after another?â
She came over to the window and stood beside him. âI donât know; perhaps itâs by their blunders that one gets to know peopleâ âby what they canât do. If youâd been like all the rest, you could have got on in their way. That was the one thing I couldnât have stood.â
Claude was frowning out into the flaming garden. He had not heard a word of her reply. âWhy didnât you keep me from making a fool of myself?â he asked in a low voice.
âI think I triedâ âonce. Anyhow, itâs all turning out better than I thought. You didnât get stuck here. Youâve found your place. Youâre sailing away. Youâve just begun.â
âAnd what about you?â
She laughed softly. âOh, I shall teach in the High School!â
Claude took her hands and they stood looking searchingly at each other in the swimming golden light that made everything transparent. He never knew exactly how he found his hat and made his way out of the house. He was only sure that Gladys did not accompany him to the door. He glanced back once, and saw her head against the bright window.
She stood there, exactly where he left her, and watched the evening come on, not moving, scarcely breathing. She was thinking how often, when she came downstairs, she would see him standing here by the window, or moving about in the dusky room, looking at last as he ought to lookâ âlike his convictions and the choice he had made. She would never let this house be sold for taxes now. She would save her salary and pay them off. She could never like any other room so well as this. It had always been a refuge from Frankfort; and now there would be this vivid, confident figure, an image as distinct to her as the portrait of her grandfather upon the wall.
XIIISunday was Claudeâs last day at home, and he took a long walk with Ernest and Ralph. Ernest would have preferred to lose Ralph, but when the boy was out of the harvest field he stuck to his brother like a burr. There was something about Claudeâs new clothes and new manner that fascinated him, and he went through one of those sudden changes of feeling that often occur in families. Although they had been better friends ever since Claudeâs wedding, until now Ralph had always felt a little ashamed of him. Why, he used to ask himself, wouldnât Claude âspruce up and be somebodyâ? Now, he was struck by the fact that he was somebody.
On Monday morning Mrs. Wheeler wakened early, with a faintness in her chest. This was the day on which she must acquit herself well. Breakfast would be Claudeâs last meal at home. At eleven oâclock his father and Ralph would take him to Frankfort to catch the train. She was longer than usual in dressing. When she got downstairs Claude and Mahailey were already talking. He was shaving in the washroom, and Mahailey stood watching him, a side of bacon in her hand.
âYou tell âem over there Iâm awful sorry about them old women, with their dishes anâ their stove all broke up.â
âAll right. I will.â Claude scraped away at his chin.
She lingered. âMaybe you can help âem mend their things, like you do mine fur me,â she suggested hopefully.
âMaybe,â he murmured absently. Mrs. Wheeler opened the stair door, and Mahailey dodged back to the stove.
After breakfast Dan went out to the fields with the harvesters. Ralph and Claude and Mr. Wheeler were busy with the car all morning.
Mrs. Wheeler kept throwing her apron over her head and going down the hill to see what they were doing. Whether there was really something the matter with the engine, or whether the men merely made it a pretext for being together and keeping away from the house, she did not know. She felt that her presence was not much desired, and at last she went upstairs and resignedly watched them from the sitting-room window. Presently she heard Ralph run up to the third storey. When he came down with Claudeâs bags in his hands, he stuck his head in at the door and shouted cheerfully to his mother:
âNo hurry. Iâm just taking them down so theyâll be ready.â
Mrs. Wheeler ran after him, calling faintly, âWait, Ralph! Are you sure heâs got everything in? I didnât hear him packing.â
âEverything ready. He says he wonât have to go upstairs again. Heâll be along pretty soon. Thereâs lots of time.â Ralph shot down through the basement.
Mrs. Wheeler sat down in her reading chair. They wanted to keep her away, and it was a little selfish of them. Why couldnât they spend these last hours quietly in the house, instead of dashing in and out to frighten her? Now she could hear the hot water running in the kitchen; probably Mr. Wheeler had come in to wash his hands. She felt really too weak to get up and go to the west window to see if he were still down at the garage. Waiting was now a matter of seconds, and her breath came short enough as it was.
She recognized a heavy, hobnailed boot on the stairs, mounting quickly. When Claude
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