CHAPTER XIX
With a fond hope that he would receive word of the Wainwrights, Donald eagerly awaited the coming of each mail; but after a month of disappointment he became less sanguine, and threw himself desperately into work in a vain attempt to allay his heartache.
During the long winter the mill continued operations in spite of heavy snows, the roads being kept open by the continual traffic.
Janet came twice with gay parties to enjoy the ski-ing and snowshoeing. She found that she loved Donald, and decided that any uncertainty as to his past was as nothing when weighed against her need of him. Bitterly she reproached herself for allowing her pride to estrange him from her, and with all the arts of a beautiful and cultured woman she sought to regain the power she once held over him.
On one occasion, when Janet mentioned his “wood-sprite,” she saw a rapt look in his eyes and caught her breath sharply. The very thought of losing him stabbed her like a knife-thrust.
With the coming of March a change came over the earth. Winter shivered and reluctantly loosed his hold. Gentle showers and warm winds from the south honeycombed the ice on the lake; snowdrifts faded away, and the frost-bound soil gave forth earthy odours to replace the keen smell of the snow.
One morning a song-sparrow under Donald’s window sent out its sweet “chip-chip-che-char-che-wiss-wiss,” and from the top of a swaying alder a wren carolled his joy of living in full-throated tones that said that spring was here. Stirred by the warmth and cleaving buds, the frogs came from the mud, where they had lain dormant all winter, and with swelling throats and bulging cheeks sent out their cheerful “k’tun, k’chunk.”
Mists covered the lake, and in an open spot near the mouth of the creek a flock of ducks disported themselves happily. The sun grew higher with every dawn, gaining strength each day until its warming energy spread the beauty of colour and fragrance over all.
One afternoon, when the air pulsated with the song of birds, and newly-opened buds burdened the atmosphere with perfume, Donald walked up the hill to Wainwright’s cabin.
Scores of birds, returned from their yearly pilgrimage to the south, flitted about the deserted buildings, but there was no golden-haired girl with a welcoming smile to greet them. Rivulets from the melting snows had gouged channels in the once neatly kept plots of wild flowers, and the roof of one of the smaller huts had fallen in.
Donald pushed open the door of the main building and entered. The air felt chill and dank. He experienced a quick depression of spirits, and his heart ached as he surveyed the gloomy interior. He shivered as a pack-rat scuttled across the floor and disappeared under Connie’s bunk. With a heavy heart he returned to the bright sunshine, sat down, and gave himself over to a period of melancholy retrospection.
His mind went back to his first meeting with Connie, then on through the many thrilling episodes of the summer. She belonged to high mountains, to deep forest glades, to companionship with the birds, flowers and trees of God’s wild outdoors. She would never be content with the bad air and the cramped conventions of cities. He suddenly remembered the words she had used that day by the stream near her nest in the cedars. He seemed to hear her sweet, hesitating voice with its pleasant English accent.
“And,” she had said, “six months out of every year I’d come right here and live in these mountains.”
“She’ll come back,” he said aloud. The thought cheered him. “She’ll come back,” he repeated to Andy that night.
“I ’ope so, Donnie.”
A week later, Robert Rennie, accompanied by his daughter, arrived at Summit Lake. The owner was in high spirits. “I am pleased with the excellent work you are doing here,” he said, as he placed a hand in friendly fashion on Donald’s arm. “The mill is a success—a huge success—and I know who deserves the greater share of the credit!” He smiled up at Donald. “Next week,” he went on, “an event of importance to the lumber industry takes place. The Government is to entertain a party of Eastern lumbermen. I will admit that I was proud when the chief forester called at my office to tell me that this mill had been selected as the most modern and efficient in the Province, and requested permission to bring the Government’s guests here.
“They are to stay here a few days, but you will not be inconvenienced, as the train will be equipped with dining and sleeping-cars, loaned for the occasion by the C.P.R. I will come with them, but I am leaving it to you to arrange for their entertainment and to see that everything is in tip-top shape for their arrival.”
As Robert Rennie was leaving the next morning he turned to Donald. “By the way,” he said casually, “I have decided to add a yearly bonus to your salary, based on the profits of this mill. I have made it retroactive from the time you took charge.” Before Donald had time to express his thanks his employer swung aboard the train.
Expressing a desire to be at the lake on the arrival of the excursion, Janet remained.
On the day set for the visit of the Eastern capitalists the sun rose in radiant promise of a typical June day. The leaves were now fully matured, and the willows and maples rustled under the soft, warm winds. All the valley was clothed in a verdant, quivering, gently pulsating life.
The long train drew slowly into the depot. Its occupants poured out until the small platform was filled to overcrowding. Robert Rennie, accompanied by a slender man dressed in a tweed suit and cap, pushed his way through the crowd to Donald’s side.
Donald greeted his employer, then glanced casually at Mr. Rennie’s companion. His eyes widened. “Mr. Wainwright!” he gasped.
Wainwright laughed happily as he wrung Donald’s hand.
“Is—is Con—Miss Wainwright with you?” stuttered Donald.
Then he saw her.
Connie had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. She stood quietly on the steps for a moment, then slipped gracefully to the platform, Connie herself could not have imagined how changed she was. From coiffure to dainty French heels she was dressed as if fresh from the hands of an expert Parisian costumer. So dazzling was she that she positively took Donald’s breath away. It seemed to him that she had grown like a magic rose, all at once from a tiny bud to a full blossom. No fault could be found with the perfect oval of her face, or with the delicate white rose skin, from which every trace of tan had gone. The long lashes that fringed her big blue eyes had turned a shade darker than the curling waves of her abundant golden hair.
Andy, whose small form had been hidden in the rear, moved bashfully forward, fumbling the wide hat held in his hand. “ ’Ello, Connie,” he blurted, his lips parted in a wide smile of welcome.
Instantly Connie forgot her assumed dignity and became her warm, impulsive little self. With a glad cry she flung her arms about Andy’s neck and kissed him.
“Strike me pink!” breathed Andy, as his hand stole up to touch the spot where Connie’s lips had brushed his cheek.
Connie turned to face the lake. “Oh, Dad!” she cried in ecstasy, “isn’t it good to be back here again?” She stretched her arms toward the ice-clad peaks. A gentle breeze swept down the wooded slope to fan her face as though in welcome. The blood surged beneath her smooth white skin and went singing through every vein. “Ah!” she sighed happily, as she inhaled a deep breath of air laden with the odour of pine from the hills she loved. Donald, gazing at her hungrily, saw tears brimming under her long lashes.
From the far end of the train a tall, grey-haired man assisted a slender sweet-faced woman to the ground, and then walked towards the station. As they stepped to the platform the woman’s eyes rested on Donald, who stood with his back to her. Instantly she became rooted to the spot, eyes wide, one hand fluttering toward her heart. With the supreme, wondrous mother-love shining in her eyes, she held out her arms.
“Donald!” she cried passionately, “Donald!”
Donald whirled at the sound of the loved voice calling his name. His heart throbbed wildly, his throat felt constricted and his face paled under stress of strong emotion.
“Mother!”
His arms were around his mother, yearning, tender, hungry, after these long months of separation. Her face upturned to his was white and drawn, but her eyes shone with hallowed joy. He felt his hand gripped in his father’s strong fingers, and saw his eyes shining with tears. John McLean patted his boy’s dark head with a shaking hand.
“Donnie! My boy, Donnie!”
For some time Donald was oblivious to all save the great happiness of meeting his parents. His mother’s embrace almost unmanned him, and it was with difficulty that he kept back the sobs that tightened his throat.
He led his parents to the other end of the platform and introduced them to his friends.
Robert Rennie’s comments were simply gasps and a reiterated, “Well! Well!”
Andy offered his usual contribution. “Strike me pink!” he said.
Connie’s eyes were filled with soft eagerness as she greeted Donald’s mother. The glow in Donald’s face as he spoke to Connie was poignantly significant of his deep love for her. But Connie, to his consternation and dismay, met his ardent glances with a look of cold indifference.
Since Connie’s arrival Janet’s features held a look of disquietude, but she acknowledged the introduction to Donald’s parents with a radiant smile.
A moment later, Connie, with skirts held high, was running down the railroad track.
“Going after her horse,” smiled Wainwright in answer to Donald’s question.
“Will you have dinner with us?” invited Donald.
“Yes, thank you,” responded Wainwright. “We will sleep in the car to-night,” he continued, “but Constance insists that we must return to the old home as soon as possible. She has been busy drawing plans for a chalet she intends building on the bluff.”
Connie returned with the old trapper, the latter leading Pegasus.
At dinner Connie showed no signs of her former shyness. She was as self-possessed, calm and perfectly poised as a goddess. A glad light filled her eyes as Gillis and his crew of “redshirts” filed into the big dining-room. She sprang to her feet and greeted them joyfully, shaking hands with each and everyone.
“I’m so glad to see you, Jack,” she smiled.
The big logger took her tiny hand in his. “We’re sure glad to have you with us agin, Connie.”
“May I bring Andy in to dine with us, Mr. McLean?” she asked as she came back to the table.
Donald nodded assent. She ran gleefully to the kitchen, and a moment later the loggers grinned broadly as she came through the door leading the protesting cook by the arm.
“Now,” she said as Andy sat down, “we’re all here.” She looked about her and clasped her hands rapturously. “It seems as though I had been gone for years. And oh, it is so nice to be home again!” She sank to a chair between Andy and the trapper. “Do you remember, Andy, when you were dressed as a butler and danced with John at your party?” She threw back her golden head and her silvery laughter filled the room.
Janet was unhappy from the moment of Connie’s arrival. She had caught the look of adoration in Donald’s eyes as Connie stepped to the station platform. Standing there then she had quite definitely abandoned any hope of winning him. And Janet had been so sure that once she had held a place in his heart. A great depression, a great weariness of spirit, settled upon her.
That evening, as Donald walked with his parents by the lake-shore, he turned to his father. “Dad,” he said anxiously, “do you think I have made good? Will you forgive me for—for——”
John McLean’s eyes grew suddenly misty. “Donnie,” he began gently, “Mr. Rennie has told us all about you. And no man could speak more highly of another.” He drew a newspaper from his pocket. “Haven’t you seen this?”
It was Vancouver’s morning paper, with a full-page devoted to the visit of the Eastern lumbermen. There were several photographs of the Summit Mill and one of Donald. The paper spoke of him as “the able young engineer whose modern ideas and energy had given to British Columbia a logging plant and mill that were a credit to the Province.”
Donald saw the proud light in his father’s eyes, and his heart was filled with a great peace.
The next day carpenters and material arrived for the construction of Wainwright’s new home. That afternoon Connie, clad in fashionable riding habit, came to the mill office with her foreman to place an order for lumber. Pegasus in silver-mounted bridle and English saddle was proudly restive. With neck arched he curvetted and rocked while Connie sat on his back with that complete lack of self-consciousness that is the heritage of a born horsewoman. Before leaving she rode up the hill among the toiling workers, her irresistible smile bringing an answering grin from the “redshirts,” who doffed their big hats and shouted a joyous greeting.
All day pack-horses and men struggled up the hill, staggering under the weight of building material. But although Donald strained his eyes for a glimpse of the golden-haired rider, he saw her no more that day.
As dusk fell over lake and mountain, Donald returned from Wainwright’s cabin. Andy glanced up expectantly as his friend appeared, but quickly averted his face as he saw the look of settled melancholy shrouding Donald’s features. Donald sank disconsolately to a seat outside the kitchen door. He had found Wainwright alone and wondered if Connie had purposely absented herself. Her treatment of him since her return puzzled him sorely and had filled him with a great despondency. As he rose and walked toward his cabin, Andy gazed after the retreating figure, eyes filled with compassion, then turned to speak to one of his helpers in such an irritable tone that the flunkey’s mouth opened in astonishment.
For three evenings it was the same. Donald failed to find Connie at home; nor did she come to the mill. He regretfully decided that it was no coincidence, but that she was deliberately avoiding him.
On a Sunday afternoon Andy saw Donald gaze yearningly toward the bluff, then turn up the trail leading to the dam.
At Donald’s request Gillis had diverted logging operations to circle the little oasis in the heavy timber, so that Connie’s sylvan glade still held its primeval charm and beauty.
Donald stood for a moment gazing reflectively into the white foam at the foot of the tiny cataract, then threw himself on the soft bed of moss and closed his eyes. But this time the fairy spot did not bring the usual delicious languor to his harassed spirit. Birds sang as sweetly; flowers filled the air with the same odour; the wind sighed as softly through the tree-tops, and the small brook still sang its rippling song. The rapid tattoo of a woodpecker’s bill on a hollow tree jarred his nerves and he tossed restlessly.
A cedar tip floated through the air. Blown by the wind, it fluttered in circles, then landed gently on the hands lying on his chest. His eyes opened, then, with trembling limbs he came to his feet.
Connie, clad in faded overalls and cotton shirt, stood on the edge of the “nest.” Her breast was heaving, her loosened golden hair flying in the wind. The softness in her blue eyes made Donald gasp, and his heart thumped as though it were in his throat.
“Connie!” he cried huskily, “I love you, dear! Don’t you care for me even a little?”
She sprang lightly to the ground and came toward him, her arms outstretched. Tears of joy coursed down her cheeks. “Oh, Donald, Donald, you big stupid!” she sobbed, “I have been waiting here for you every day. I—I have loved you always.”
With a shock of incredible rapture Donald gathered her in his strong arms, where she cuddled like a weeping child. He kissed her red lips, her eyes, hair and throbbing throat. “My little Connie,” he said, in a voice vibrant with feeling, “do you really love me?” He pressed his cheek to hers and felt the flutter of her long lashes as she pressed the softness of her own closer. The quick, exquisite indrawing of her sobbing breath were lovely answering things, and he thrilled to hear her whisper: “Yes, Donald! Yes, Donald!”
Andy came walking meditatively up the path, his hands clasped behind him, his blond head bowed in deep thought. Not finding Donald at the dam, he walked up the hill to enter the meadow just as Donald clasped Connie in his arms. For an instant the little Australian stood rigid, his eyes bulging, then retreated hastily to the shelter of the trees. Anyone seeing Andy at that moment would have thought him suddenly gone mad. He whirled about in a wild dance, hugging himself in an ecstasy of joy. Ceasing his mad gyrations, he dashed his hand across his eyes and bolted like a runaway down the hill.
Gillis and his “redshirts” sat sunning themselves on the steps of the dining-room. They sprang to their feet as Andy came tearing down the hill. Breathlessly Andy told them of the scene he had witnessed. “We’ll give them a blinkin’ good reception when they come down,” he panted. He issued several sharp orders and the men scurried happily to execute his commands.
The train that was to carry the excursionists to the Coast was being made up on the siding. While they were awaiting this, the visitors watched with curious interest the mysterious preparations being made by the loggers.
At this moment, hand in hand, Donald and Connie turned the corner of the building. As they did so they came to a sudden halt and stared at the odd scene before them. The men stood in two orderly rows. The ground between was carpeted with wild flowers, and each logger held a mass of blooms in his hand. At the far end of this lane of men stood Andy, a wide smile on his droll face. Connie lowered her eyes in confusion. Donald shook his fist at Andy. “You little beggar! You are responsible for this.”
Andy chuckled. “Come on, Donnie, be a sport,” he coaxed.
With flushed faces Donald and Connie walked down the aisle, while the men pelted them with flowers. The crowd of visitors clapped their hands in appreciation of this beautiful scene. As they neared the end of the gauntlet, Andy sprang to a stump.
“Three cheers for the ’appy couple!” he yelled. A roar of cheering followed. “A tiger!” shouted Andy. And again the air trembled to the hoarse shout of brawny throats.
Donald led Connie straight to his mother. “Mother,” he said bashfully, “meet your future daughter.”
Quick tears came to his mother’s eyes as Donald made this announcement. “My dear,” she said tenderly, as her arms folded about Connie, “you are all love and tenderness.”
The train’s whistle screeched its warning and the crowd moved down to the station.
“Will you be coming home to us soon, Donnie?” asked his father as he was leaving. Donald looked down at Connie.
“We’ll visit you on our honeymoon, Dad,” responded Donald happily. He swept his arm toward the mountains. “I could never leave this. The spell of the Great West has entered my blood.”
Janet had spent the afternoon paddling idly on the lake. When she received the news of Donald’s engagement she concealed the ache in her heart by an outward air of indifference. The pretence of a headache enabled her to keep in her cabin and she did not appear for dinner. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
When the shadows lengthened, Donald and Connie moved slowly along the path toward the bluff. As they turned a curve in the trail Janet came to the window of her cabin and stood watching them until they disappeared from sight.
Andy, sitting a few feet distant with his back against a tree, noted the look of despondency on Janet’s face. He came to his feet and walked slowly toward the kitchen. “As Methusalem said through ’is whiskers, ‘ ’e who ’olds ’is ’ead too ’igh will ’t ’is blinkin’ toe.’ ”
As the lovers were about to turn up the mountain trail, the trapper emerged from the woods with his old pack-horse. The cayuse was piled high with luggage.
“Where are you going, John?” queried Donald.
“I’m hittin’ the trail, ol’ timer.”
“I hope you are not leaving us,” said Connie.
“Yes, I’m quittin’ the country.”
“Why?” questioned Donald.
“Gittin’ too thickly settled. I feel that I ain’t got room to breathe. I’m goin’ way back into the Cariboo somewhere so’s I kin be by myself.”
The race of mediæval hermits is not dead. The spirit that led the first pioneers into the forest guides others there to-day. There are men whose souls long for a place untamed, who yearn to breathe the wild free air. They want a home straight from the hands of the Creator, unspoiled by man. They may be trappers, who brave cold and hardships to clothe milady in warm furs; they may be prospectors, who search out the hidden gold for others to use. Whatever they may be, these hardy men blaze the trail for others to follow.
When Donald told the trapper of the coming wedding the old man’s eyes softened. “I’m glad. It’s jest right. I hoped you two would git married.” He shook hands gravely, then clucked to his horse.
“Good-bye, Connie! Good-bye, ol’ timer! God bless ye!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Donald and Connie stood watching the patient old figure as he trudged behind his cayuse. At a turn of the trail he stopped and for a long interval gazed back at the log cabin by the stream, which had been his home for so many years. He waved his hand in farewell, then horse and man disappeared from view.
When Donald and Connie reached the bluff the sun had sunk in the crimson west, leaving a rich afterglow that spread across the horizon from west to east, the rich colours merging by slow degrees into that pure pearl-grey which makes the long and lovely twilight of the British Columbia mountains. Down on the lake mists were gathering, but in the upper sky and on the glaciers a vivid orange glow still lingered. The trees stood stiff and motionless in the quiet air. From afar, subdued but clear, came the hoot of a blue-grouse, and from mountain gorges came the faint sighing sound of distant waterfalls. Sweet and pungent odours of wild flowers came from the woods about them. A star of silver brilliancy sparkled suddenly out in the sky over the massive snow-clad peaks.
“Venus,” whispered Connie.
Donald’s gaze swept from the camp, nestled at their feet, to the darkening heavens, to the star of love, then down to the girl by his side.
There are moments in the lives of all men—regardless of creed or religion—when they feel the nearness of God. Such a moment came to Donald. He uttered no sound, yet his soul was crying out its great thankfulness.
Connie sensed his feeling. She bowed her head, her eyes misty with joy and gratitude. “Oh, God,” she murmured softly, “we thank Thee for Thy many blessings.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER NOTES
Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.
Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.
A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain.