The Call Of The Canyon by Zane Grey (top 20 books to read .txt) 📖

Chapter 10 Pg 167

Medals Or Bonuses,  I'd Like To Draw A Nice Girl."

 

"You Will," Replied Carley,  And Made Haste To Change The Subject. "By The

Way,  Did You Meet Glenn Kilbourne In France?"

 

"Not That I Remember," Rejoined Burton,  As He Got Up,  Rising Rather Stiffly

By Aid Of His Cane. "I Must Go,  Miss Burch. Really I Can't Thank You

Enough. And I'll Never Forget It."

 

"Will You Write Me How You Are Getting Along?" Asked Carley,  Offering Her

Hand.

 

"Yes."

 

Carley Moved With Him Out Into The Hall And To The Door. There Was A

Question She Wanted To Ask,  But Found It Strangely Difficult Of Utterance.

At The Door Burton Fixed A Rather Penetrating Gaze Upon Her.

 

"You Didn't Ask Me About Rust," He Said.

 

"No,  I--I Didn't Think Of Him--Until Now,  In Fact," Carley Lied.

 

"Of Course Then You Couldn't Have Heard About Him. I Was Wondering."

 

"I Have Heard Nothing."

 

"It Was Rust Who Told Me To Come To You," Said Burton. "We Were Talking One

Day,  And He--Well,  He Thought You Were True Blue. He Said He Knew You'd

Trust Me And Lend Me Money. I Couldn't Have Asked You But For Him."

 

"True Blue! He Believed That. I'm Glad. . . . Has He Spoken Of Me To You

Since I Was Last At The Hospital?"

 

"Hardly," Replied Burton,  With The Straight,  Strange Glance On Her Again.

 

Carley Met This Glance And Suddenly A Coldness Seemed To Envelop Her. It

Did Not Seem To Come From Within Though Her Heart Stopped Beating. Burton

Had Not Changed--The Warmth,  The Gratitude Still Lingered About Him. But

The Light Of His Eyes! Carley Had Seen It In Glenn's,  In Rust's--A Strange,

Questioning,  Far-Off Light,  Infinitely Aloof And Unutterably Sad. Then

There Came A Lift Of Her Heart That Released A Pang. She Whispered With

Dread,  With A Tremor,  With An Instinct Of Calamity.

 

"How About--Rust?"

 

"He's Dead."

 

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The Winter Came,  With Its Bleak Sea Winds And Cold Rains And Blizzards Of

Snow. Carley Did Not Go South. She Read And Brooded,  And Gradually Avoided

All Save Those True Friends Who Tolerated Her.

 

She Went To The Theater A Good Deal,  Showing Preference For The Drama Of

Strife,  And She Did Not Go Anywhere For Amusement. Distraction And

Amusement Seemed To Be Dead Issues For Her. But She Could Become Absorbed

In Any Argument On The Good Or Evil Of The Present Day. Socialism Reached

Into Her Mind,  To Be Rejected. She Had Never Understood It Clearly,  But It

Seemed To Her A State Of Mind Where Dissatisfied Men And Women Wanted To

Share What Harder Working Or More Gifted People Possessed. There Were A Few

Who Had Too Much Of The World's Goods And Many Who Had Too Little. A

Readjustment Of Such Inequality And Injustice Must Come,  But Carley Did Not

See The Remedy In Socialism.

 

She Devoured Books On The War With A Morbid Curiosity And Hope That She

Would Find Some Illuminating Truth As To The Uselessness Of Sacrificing

Young Men In The Glory And Prime Of Their Lives. To Her War Appeared A

Matter Of Human Nature Rather Than Politics. Hate Really Was An Effect Of

War. In Her Judgment Future Wars Could Be Avoided Only In Two Ways--By Men

Becoming Honest And Just Or By Women Refusing To Have Children To Be

Sacrificed. As There Seemed No Indication Whatever Of The Former,  She

Wondered How Soon All Women Of All Races Would Meet On A Common Height,

With The Mounting Spirit That Consumed Her Own Heart. Such Time Must Come.

She Granted Every Argument For War And Flung Against It One Ringing

Passionate Truth--Agony Of Mangled Soldiers And Agony Of Women And Children.

There Was No Justification For Offensive War. It Was Monstrous And Hideous.

If Nature And Evolution Proved The Absolute Need Of Strife,  War,  Blood,  And

Death In The Progress Of Animal And Man Toward Perfection,  Then It Would Be

Better To Abandon This Christless Code And Let The Race Of Man Die Out.

 

All Through These Weeks She Longed For A Letter From Glenn. But It Did Not

Come. Had He Finally Roused To The Sweetness And Worth And Love Of The

Western Girl,  Flo Hutter? Carley Knew Absolutely,  Through Both Intelligence

And Intuition,  That Glenn Kilbourne Would Never Love Flo. Yet Such Was Her

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Intensity And Stress At Times,  Especially In The Darkness Of Waking Hours,

That Jealousy Overcame Her And Insidiously Worked Its Havoc. Peace And A

Strange Kind Of Joy Came To Her In Dreams Of Her Walks And Rides And Climbs

In Arizona,  Of The Lonely Canyon Where It Always Seemed Afternoon,  Of The

Tremendous Colored Vastness Of That Painted Desert. But She Resisted These

Dreams Now Because When She Awoke From Them She Suffered Such A Yearning

That It Became Unbearable. Then She Knew The Feeling Of The Loneliness And

Solitude Of The Hills. Then She Knew The Sweetness Of The Murmur Of Falling

Water,  The Wind In The Pines,  The Song Of Birds,  The White Radiance Of The

Stars,  The Break Of Day And Its Gold-Flushed Close. But She Had Not Yet

Divined Their Meaning. It Was Not All Love For Glenn Kilbourne. Had City

Life Palled Upon Her Solely Because Of The Absence Of Her Lover? So Carley

Plodded On,  Like One Groping In The Night,  Fighting Shadows.

 

One Day She Received A Card From An Old Schoolmate,  A Girl Who Had Married

Out Of Carley's Set,  And Had Been Ostracized. She Was Living Down On Long

Island,  At A Little Country Place Named Wading River. Her Husband Was An

Electrician--Something Of An Inventor. He Worked Hard. A Baby Boy Had Just

Come To Them. Would Not Carley Run Down On The Train To See The Youngster?

 

That Was A Strong And Trenchant Call. Carley Went. She Found Indeed A

Country Village,  And On The Outskirts Of It A Little Cottage That Must Have

Been Pretty In Summer,  When The Green Was On Vines And Trees. Her Old

Schoolmate Was Rosy,  Plump,  Bright-Eyed,  And Happy. She Saw In Carley No

Change--A Fact That Somehow Rebounded Sweetly On Carley's Consciousness.

Elsie Prattled Of Herself And Her Husband And How They Had Worked To Earn

This Little Home,  And Then The Baby.

 

When Carley Saw The Adorable Dark-Eyed,  Pink-Toed,  Curly-Fisted Baby She

Understood Elsie's Happiness And Reveled In It. When She Felt The Soft,

Warm,  Living Little Body In Her Arms,  Against Her Breast,  Then She Absorbed

Some Incalculable And Mysterious Strength. What Were The Trivial,  Sordid,

And Selfish Feelings That Kept Her In Tumult Compared To This Welling

Emotion? Had She The Secret In Her Arms? Babies And Carley Had Never Become

Closely Acquainted In Those Infrequent Meetings That Were Usually The

Result Of Chance. But Elsie's Baby Nestled To Her Breast And Cooed To Her

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And Clung To Her Finger. When At Length The Youngster Was Laid In His Crib

It Seemed To Carley That The Fragrance And The Soul Of Him Remained With

Her.

 

"A Real American Boy!" She Murmured.

 

"You Can Just Bet He Is," Replied Elsie. "Carley,  You Ought To See His Dad."

 

"I'd Like To Meet Him," Said Carley,  Thoughtfully. "Elsie,  Was He In The

Service?"

 

"Yes. He Was On One Of The Navy Transports That Took Munitions To France.

Think Of Me,  Carrying This Baby,  With My Husband On A Boat Full Of

Explosives And With German Submarines Roaming The Ocean! Oh,  It Was

Horrible!"

 

"But He Came Back,  And Now All's Well With You," Said Carley,  With A Smile

Of Earnestness. "I'm Very Glad,  Elsie."

 

"Yes--But I Shudder When I Think Of A Possible War In The Future. I'm Going

To Raise Boys,  And Girls,  Too,  I Hope--And The Thought Of War Is

Torturing."

 

Carley Found Her Return Train Somewhat Late,  And She Took Advantage Of The

Delay To Walk Out To The Wooded Headlands Above The Sound.

 

It Was A Raw March Day,  With A Steely Sun Going Down In A Pale-Gray Sky.

Patches Of Snow Lingered In Sheltered Brushy Places. This Bit Of Woodland

Had A Floor Of Soft Sand That Dragged At Carley's Feet. There Were Sere And

Brown Leaves Still Fluttering On The Scrub-Oaks. At Length Carley Came Out

On The Edge Of The Bluff With The Gray Expanse Of Sea Beneath Her,  And A

Long Wandering Shore Line,  Ragged With Wreckage Or Driftwood. The Surge Of

Water Rolled In--A Long,  Low,  White,  Creeping Line That Softly Roared On

The Beach And Dragged The Pebbles Gratingly Back. There Was Neither Boat

Nor Living Creature In Sight.

 

Carley Felt The Scene Ease A Clutching Hand Within Her Breast. Here Was

Loneliness And Solitude Vastly Different From That Of Oak Creek Canyon,  Yet

It Held The Same Intangible Power To Soothe. The Swish Of The Surf,  The

Moan Of The Wind In The Evergreens,  Were Voices That Called To Her. How

Many More Miles Of Lonely Land Than Peopled Cities! Then The Sea--How Vast!

And Over That The Illimitable And Infinite Sky,  And Beyond,  The Endless

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