Elizabeth Hunter had come to the judgment-bar; she could not escape these cross-questions, neither could she answer. Her face grew white as Luther Hansen looked searchingly into it, and her breath came hard and harder as he looked and waited. This chance to talk to Luther was like wine to her hungry soul, but John Hunter was her husband and she refused to accuse him even after the long months of despair she had suffered at his hands. Luther let her gather herself for her reply, not adding a word to the demand for truth and friendship. How he trusted her in spite of it all! He watched her indecision change to indignation at his insistence, and he saw her head grow clear as she decided upon her course.
“I will not discuss the past with you, Luther,” she said slowly, as one who comes to a conclusion as he proceeds. “I cannot tell you all the things which have led up to it. I am going to ask you not to mention it to me again, but I will try to do it better next time. I had no idea that Sadie cared whether I came to see her or not; she had always seemed to dislike me.” Elizabeth added the last hesitatingly lest she hurt Luther’s feelings.
“Lizzie, I won’t be put off. If you don’t want t’ tell me why you’ve done as you have, I won’t ask you t’, but you’ve got t’ let me talk t’ you about it all th’ same. I ain’t a man t’ let myself mix up in my neighbours’ affairs, but, Lizzie, you ought t’ live up t’ th’ things God’s put int’ your power t’ do. Now, then, you let folks get a wrong idea of you. You’ve got more education ’n anybody else’s got in this country, an’ you’ve got more money, an’ you’ve got more everything ’n th’ rest of us, an’ what’s it been give t’ you for if it ain’t goin’ t’ come t’ nothin’? Here you’ve had th’ best chance t’ do somethin’ for a neighbour woman a woman ever had: Sadie’s been that took with th’ things you said about children that she was ready t’ listen t’ you on anything, an’ you won’t let ’er have a chance t’ get at you at all—an’ ain’t she come out? You’d have t’ live with ’er, Lizzie, t’ know what that little woman’s done fur herself this last year—an’ it was you that helped t’ do it. Honest, now, don’t you see yourself that if you’ve had things give t’ you that th’ rest ain’t had that you owe somethin’ t’ th’ rest of us?”
In all the weary discordant time when she had struggled for better conditions Elizabeth Hunter had never thought of anything in the situation but the bettering of her own surroundings. It had been the suffering of blind stupidity, of youth, of the human being too deeply submerged to think of aught but personal affairs. Luther drew her attention to the main facts of her life, drawing her away from self. It was a simple occurrence, a simple subject, a simple question: it was in itself the reason for the perpetuation of their friendship. The winds blew, the snow found its way under door and sash and heaped itself in ridges across the floor, and in spite of the roaring fire they were not always warm, but throughout the night Elizabeth sat beside her lifelong friend and drew in a revivifying fire which was to remould and make over a life which had almost flickered to a smouldering resentment and inactivity.
CHAPTER XVII
ADJUSTING DOMESTIC TO SOCIAL IDEALS
The next morning the wind blew the fine snow in one vast driving cloud; it was impossible to see a hundred feet. Elizabeth knew that the stock was suffering, but was almost certain that she could not reach them. It would not be hard to reach the barn, since the wind would be with her, but to return would be a different matter. To feel that she had done all that she could, she went as far as the gate, and when she could not see the house from that point was sufficiently warned and struggled back to safety. No sound but that of the storm came to her even at the gate, but she was certain that the famishing cattle were calling for food. Her day was consumed in the care of Luther’s inflamed hands and feet. The only remedy she knew was wet cloths and she worked anxiously to reduce the swelling and congestion.
About four o’clock the wind dropped. Though the air was still full of fine snow, Elizabeth wrapped herself in John’s old overcoat and muffler, and putting a pair of Jake’s heavy mittens on her hands, and taking the milkpails on her arm to save a trip back for them, she went to the barn.