The White Hunter Page 5

  “I guess I do things pretty meticulously,” he shrugged.

  “That’s the scholar in you. Of course, Phil’s careful with his painting if with nothing else. John, now, he flies right at things. Funny how two boys can be so different. Phil so artistic and John so physical.”

  “I wish I could ride as well as they can.”

  “Well, if you want it bad enough, you’ll find it. I’m not sure it’s worth your while, though.”

  Looking up, Jeb studied Bronwen’s face. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She had a youthful expression, and her reddish hair and green eyes always struck him as being most attractive. “I guess most people would say I’m a sissy staying in here with you peeling potatoes. Annie’s the one that rides and gets outside.”

  “A difference in people, that’s all, and it’s not bad. Now, tell me some more about the books you read and what you want to do.” Bronwen sat there peeling potatoes, her mind fixed on the spirit of this young man. There was a fragile quality about him that drew her to him. Not that he sought sympathy, but he was vulnerable in a way she was not accustomed to. Her husband, Zach, was a strong, aggressive man, and his sons took after him. Jeb was somehow more—breakable, was the only way she could put it. Physically, of course, he was not as strong as if he had grown up on a ranch. He was growing so fast that he was lean as a rail. One day, she thought, he’ll fill out and be stronger. But there’s a gentleness in him that most young men lack, and he’s afraid of it. He’s afraid he won’t be manly. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “I don’t know. Some kind of a teacher, I guess. That doesn’t sound very exciting, does it?”

  “It’s a fine thing to be a teacher,” Bronwen nodded vigorously. “You stay right at it. Just be the best at whatever it is that comes your way.”

  The two sat there talking for some time, and finally Jeb said, “Annie likes John.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  Surprised at Bronwen’s quick answer, Jeb looked up, a startled look in his eyes. “But that’s not right, is it?”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s any harm in it,” Bronwen shrugged. “She’s fifteen years old, and John’s a kind and fine-looking man.”

  “But it’s not right for a girl to look at a man that much older.”

  “She’s just waking up, Jeb. I remember when I was younger than Annie. I think I was only fourteen when I saw a young man at a fair. He was throwing the bar—that’s a weight that the young men threw in a contest of strength. I’d never seen anyone like him. His name was Kevin,” she added dreamily. “I’ll never forget him.”

  “Were you in love with him?”

  “Oh, I thought I was, and he was twenty-four years old.” She laughed softly at the memory, then reached over and patted Jeb’s hand. “Young girls do that. Young boys, too, I suspect, when they see an older woman they admire.”

  Jeb looked up and flushed, for she had touched a secret spring in him. He had had a similar infatuation just a few years ago.

  “You like Annie very much, don’t you, Jeb?”

  The flush on Jeb’s face deepened. “I guess so,” he said lamely, “but she would never care for me.”

  “Of course she likes you. Anybody can see that.”

  “Well, I’m her cousin, of sorts, but not really. Yet I’m not the kind of fellow a girl would really like. You know what I mean.”

  Instantly Bronwen’s quick mind lay hold on Jeb’s problem. He’s smitten with Annie and she’s looking at another fellow. He can’t see how it will ever work out. He’ll probably get over it and Annie will, too, but right now it’s tragic and there’s no way to help anyone.

  “Well, you’ll have to play some more for us tonight,” she said, changing the subject.

  Jeb did play that night, and it was his one time of triumph. When he finished and he took his seat, Zach began talking about how their visit was drawing to a close.

  “Oh, the days have just flown by! I’ve never seen time fly so fast,” Annie said. “Isn’t that right, Jeb?”

  “No. They’ve been slow for me, but I like that.”

  “Funny how time can be slow for one person and fast for another,” John said. He was sitting back in a chair, the front legs tilted. He was wearing a light blue shirt that picked up the color in his eyes, and his hair, shaggy and needing a cut, fell over his forehead. He brushed it back and said mildly, “It seems like time should be the same for everyone.”

  Suddenly Jeb spoke up. “You know, there’s a fellow from Germany who’s come up with a new theory.”

  “A new theory?” Zach said. “What sort of theory? These scientist fellows bother me.”

  “Well, his name’s Einstein, and it’s called the ‘Theory of Relativity.’ ” Jeb had read a story about the famous professor, Albert Einstein, and it had intrigued him. “He says in his theory that nothing can go faster than light.”

  “How fast does light go?” Bronwen asked.

  “A hundred and eighty thousand miles a second.”

  Zach grinned. “You know the blamedest things, Jeb. But that’s pretty fast. If you had a horse that’d go that fast, he could win any race in the world.” Laughter went around the room and Zach ducked his head. “Well, what’s the theory, boy?”

  “I don’t really understand it all. As a matter of fact, I don’t think more than half a dozen people do. But basically it says that all time-related things are relative. For example, if you’re going to a dentist and you’re sitting in the chair and he’s grinding on your tooth, why, every second seems like an hour. But if you’re having a good time, like catching a fish or something, why, every hour seems like a second.”

  John Winslow let his chair down and slapped his thigh, grinning merrily. “Why, I could have told him that! Maybe I could be a professor.”

  “Professor of what?” Zach snorted. “You did good to learn how to read and write.”

  The bantering went on for some time, and finally Phil said, “Now, I’ve got a surprise.” He looked over and smiled gently at Annie. “I finished the painting today. Are you ready for the unveiling?” Cries of assent went up as he rose to his feet. “You wait right here and I’ll get it. No, you wait, too, Annie.”

  Annie sat there waiting, her back stiffened. Phil had not allowed her to see the painting while it was in progress, and she had no idea what it would look like. Finally he came back holding the back of the painting, which was about eighteen inches wide and twenty inches long. He held it up tantalizingly, saying, “Here it is! Ta da!” Turning the picture around, he held it so all could see it.

  Annie caught her breath, for she had not dreamed of something so striking. She had had a tintype made once, but there was something about Phil’s painting that was different. He had painted her outside, against the background of the snowcapped mountains. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was looking off in the distance. He had caught the small smile that sometimes came to her with a pleasant thought. She was wearing a green blouse and her hair was drawn back, the red of it catching the brilliant sunset that was beginning to light up the west. Somehow Phil had captured the air of innocence and emerging young womanhood, not just in her attractive figure, but in the eyes and the cheeks and the set of the lips.

  “Why, it’s you to the life!” Zach said with surprise.

  “It’s a lovely thing,” Bronwen whispered.

  “I was never that . . . that pretty,” Annie protested.

  “You’re prettier than that,” Jeb said before he thought. And then when Annie looked at him with astonishment, he flushed and dropped his head.

  “Do you like it, Annie?” Phil asked, smiling at the young woman.

  Annie could not answer. She was studying the painting as if it were someone she had never seen. In all truth, it showed the young womanhood that had come to be hers, but it had caught her off guard. And now seeing herself portrayed, she looked at John and asked, “Do you like it, John?”

  “Do I like it!” John ex
claimed. “Why, I guess I do. It’s the best thing that Phil’s ever done. You should have seen the smear he made of me.” He came over and stood beside Annie, put his arm on her shoulder, and squeezed her in a friendly gesture. “You’d better hang on to that one. It’ll be worth a fortune when my brother gets to be a famous painter.”

  The painting was widely discussed, and as Annie left to go to bed that night, she stopped to whisper to John, “You can have it if you want it, John. I promised it to you.”

  Winslow stopped and turned to face the young woman. He had become very fond of her but had no idea of what was going on in her mind. He was a thoughtless young man in many ways, his mind on a future that was uncertain. To him she was no more than a child, and he said gently, “I’d love to have it, but it wouldn’t be fair, Annie. You take it home with you. Your parents need to see it.”

  Disappointed, Annie nodded. “All right, John, but it’s yours if you ever want it.”

  “I’ll remember that, but you’ll find a fellow that deserves it more than I do.”

  ****

  The painting was placed in the drawing room, and every day Annie stopped to look at it, marveling at the skill that had gone into it. “You’re a great painter, Phil,” she said more than once.

  “Not me. I’m just a dabbler. One of these days I’m going to learn how to paint. You’ll see.”

  The days seemed to go by even more quickly, and finally it was time to return east. Annie cried in her pillow for hours the night before her departure. She said little at breakfast and afterward went outside to the porch. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to see that John had come after her. He talked to her pleasantly for a time, then noticed she was silent. “What’s the matter, Annie?” he asked gently.

  “I hate to go home.”

  “Well, that sounds good to me.” When he saw her look of surprise, he smiled and added, “It means you like us. Maybe you could come back quickly.”

  “Would you want me to come again, John?”

  “Would I want you to? Why, you can believe it! We’ve had some good times. I never knew a better rider, Annie, for a woman, that is.” He laughed at her then, and his eyes reflected the blueness of the sky. “It’s been good. You and Jeb have been good company for all of us.”

  “I hate to leave you, John.”

  For a moment John Winslow had a perception that had not come to him before. Quizzically he studied the young woman, and as his thoughts solidified, he cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be moving on, you know.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Off to college—Yale University. It’s Dad’s idea. He wants to make a lawyer or something out of me. I don’t think he will, though. But anyway, I’ll be going in a month or two.”

  Annie felt she had lost something. “Will you be coming back?”

  “I don’t know,” John said laconically. “But I’ll write you and you can write me back.”

  “Will you really?”

  “Surest thing you know. After all, we’re cousins, aren’t we?” A thought came to him and he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “A kiss for my beautiful kissing cousin.”

  Annie turned pale and could not say a single word. John didn’t notice how silent she was, and finally he left, saying, “Reckon you and Jeb have got packing to do. I’ll hitch up the team.”

  Annie swallowed hard, nodded, then went to her room. After she had gathered her things, she went down and got into the surrey, taking her seat beside John, while Jeb got in the back with Bronwen and Zach. She could not find a word to say, and soon John noted her silence.

  “You’re not sick are you, Annie?”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t said ten words.” Studying her face, John said gently, “You sorry to be leaving us?”

  “Yes!”

  “We’ll all miss you. Maybe I’ll drop by and see you in Wyoming. Repay your visit.”

  Annie shot a quick glance at John Winslow, but her throat was tight and she could not answer him.

  The train was on time, the baggage was soon loaded, and finally she and Jeb got aboard. Annie’s last sight of the Winslows brought a sadness to her. She kept her gaze fixed on John Winslow and cried out, “Don’t forget, John! You promised to write!”

  “I will, and you answer me!”

  The train moved out of the station and the two took their seats. As the train picked up speed, Jeb quietly murmured, “You’re going to write to John?”

  “Yes. And he promised to write back.”

  Jeb did not say anything for some time. After a prolonged silence, Annie shrugged her shoulders. She looked over at Jeb, and suddenly a pang of conscience hit her. “Why, we haven’t done anything together. I’ve been out riding all the time. I’m sorry, Jeb.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not,” Annie said. She reached over suddenly and took his hand, something she had never done before. “When you go home, will you write to me?”

  “If you want me to.”

  Annie Rogers squeezed his hand. She studied his lean face and noted again that there was something plaintive and almost unfinished about him. She remembered what Bronwen had said to her on one occasion. Be very gentle with Jeb. Now she knew what Bronwen meant, and she said suddenly, “I don’t care whether you can ride a horse or not.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  Jeb took a deep breath. “I felt like such a failure. I don’t know what to write to you about.”

  “Write about the books you are reading. Maybe you can educate me a little bit.” Annie laughed, squeezed his hand, and then released it. “After all, we’re cousins, aren’t we?” She had a thought. “Daddy said we’re kissing cousins.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek and laughed as he flushed. “Look, you’re blushing!”

  Jeb shook his head but did not answer. He could not look at her for a while, and then he finally did meet her eyes as he whispered, “I’ll write, and you write me back, Annie. . . .”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “God Will Make a Way”

  A bitterly cold wind that had already frozen most of the western plains during the last months of 1910 swept around the framed building that constituted Doctor Will Johnson’s office as well as his home. A keening wind clawed at the shutters like a fierce animal trying to get inside the house. Annie shivered and longed for the warmth of spring that lay many months away. Thanksgiving was upon them, but years of experience had taught her that with a harsh winter like this, snow and ice and bitter winds could freeze the plains well into the new year.

  She quickly slipped into the kelly green dress that had been restyled from a wool coat that had belonged to her mother. It was not the latest fashion, but it had the advantage of being the warmest garment she owned. Quickly she tightened the drawstring in the skirt, slipped into the tunic, buttoned it, and then fastened the wide belt. The fur around the neck tickled her chin but added warmth, as did the matching muff that lay beside her hat on the table.

  Very few things were more difficult for Annie than to undergo a physical examination, but since her illness two years previously, shortly after her eighteenth birthday, her mother had insisted on frequent trips to Doctor Johnson’s office. Now she quickly moved across the room and opened the door. Stepping into the next room, she found Doctor Johnson sitting behind his desk, basking in the warmth of a potbellied stove that glowed cherry red. A pair of canaries in a bamboo cage chirruped feebly from time to time, seemingly numbed from a cold night in their miniature prison. The doctor sat tilted back in a sturdy oak chair blackened with age, his fingers locked behind his iron gray hair, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. As she entered, he lowered himself, leaned forward, placed his still-folded hands on the desk before him, and nodded. “Sit down, Annie.”

  Dr. Willard Johnson was in his middle sixties, and years of outdoor travels to patients scattered all over the plains of Wyoming had creased his skin and tanned it almost as deeply as a cowpuncher’s. H
e had silky muttonchop whiskers, of which he was inordinately proud, that he fluffed up with the tips of his fingers from time to time. Now, however, he seemed very serious. As Annie sat down, he studied her for a moment, taking in the young woman’s large blue, almond-shaped eyes and thick, dark lashes. His eyes rested momentarily on the small birthmark on her slender neck. Wish she wasn’t so ashamed of that mark, he thought. She’s let it prey on her mind and give her a bad self-image all her life. Even now, Johnson noted, she had turned up the collar of her dress with the intention of covering it.

  Noting that her cheeks had filled out slightly, he was more interested in her physical condition than in any form of attractiveness. He remembered suddenly how beautiful, strong, and healthy she had been before she had been prostrated immediately after her graduation from high school. Back then she had been tanned and strong, able to stay in the saddle as long as any man on the plains. The sickness had been strange—and extremely frustrating for the physican. At first it had seemed to be the influenza that was sweeping the country, but later on it had turned into something else. Doctor Johnson was a man who hated to be defeated, and his inability to put his finger on the exact nature of her illness frustrated and angered him. It had been a debilitating sickness, and for over a year Annie had scarcely left her room, her mother caring for her constantly. During the second year she had improved somewhat, but she had lost her healthy complexion and now seemed pale and weak.

  “Well, what’s the verdict, Doctor?” Annie asked quietly. She had been in this office so many times that it was very familiar to her, but now, as always, there was a catch in her throat as she waited for his word. She knew she was not as fit as she had been before she had been struck down, but still, there was hope in her eyes as she waited for his reply.

  “It could be worse, Annie,” he replied. He fluffed at his muttonchop whiskers and nodded, allowing himself a small smile. “You haven’t had one of those attacks in two months now—and that’s good.”