The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather (best reads .TXT) 📕

Fred reflected. “I think it’s easier for me to glide out like this. I feel now as if everything were rather casual, anyhow. A thing like that dulls one’s feelings.”

Thea, standing by her trunk, made no reply. Presently he shook himself and rose. “Want me to put those trays in for you?”

“No, thank you. I’m not ready for them yet.”

Fred strolled over to the sofa, lifted a scarf from one of the trays and stood abstractedly drawing it through his fingers. “You’ve been so kind these last few days, Thea, that I began to hope you might soften a little; that you might ask me to come over and see you this summer.”

“If you thought that, you were mistaken,” she said slowly. “I’ve hardened, if anything. But I shan’t carry any grudge away with me, if you mean that.”

He dropped the scarf. “And there’s nothing⁠—nothing at all you’ll let me do?”

“Yes, there is one thing, and it’s a good deal to ask. If I get knocked out, or never get on, I’d like you to see that Dr. Archie gets his money back. I’m taking three thousand dollars of his.”

“Why, of course I shall. You may dismiss that from your mind. How fussy you are about money, Thea. You make such a point of it.” He turned sharply and walked to the windows.

Thea sat down in the chair he had quitted. “It’s only poor people who feel that way about money, and who are really honest,” she said gravely. “Sometimes I think that to be really honest, you must have been so poor that you’ve been tempted to steal.”

“To what?”

“To steal. I used to be, when I first went to Chicago and saw all the things in the big stores there. Never anything big, but little things, the kind I’d never seen before and could never afford. I did take something once, before I knew it.”

Fred came toward her. For the first time she had his whole attention, in the degree to which she was accustomed to having it. “Did you? What was it?” he asked with interest.

“A sachet. A little blue silk bag of orris-root powder. There was a whole counterful of them, marked down to fifty cents. I’d never seen any before, and they seemed irresistible. I took one up and wandered about the store with it. Nobody seemed to notice, so I carried it off.”

Fred laughed. “Crazy child! Why, your things always smell of orris; is it a penance?”

“No, I love it. But I saw that the firm didn’t lose anything by me. I went back and bought it there whenever I had a quarter to spend. I got a lot to take to Arizona. I made it up to them.”

“I’ll bet you did!” Fred took her hand. “Why didn’t I find you that first winter? I’d have loved you just as you came!”

Thea shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t, but you might have found me amusing. The Harsanyis said yesterday afternoon that I wore such a funny cape and that my shoes always squeaked. They think I’ve improved. I told them it was your doing if I had, and then they looked scared.”

“Did you sing for Harsanyi?”

“Yes. He thinks I’ve improved there, too. He said nice things to me. Oh, he was very nice! He agrees with you about my going to Lehmann, if she’ll take me. He came out to the elevator with me, after we had said goodbye. He said something nice out there, too, but he seemed sad.”

“What was it that he said?”

“He said, ‘When people, serious people, believe in you, they give you some of their best, so⁠—take care of it, Miss Kronborg.’ Then he waved his hands and went back.”

“If you sang, I wish you had taken me along. Did you sing well?” Fred turned from her and went back to the window. “I wonder when I shall hear you sing again.” He picked up a bunch of violets and smelled them. “You know, your leaving me like this⁠—well, it’s almost inhuman to be able to do it so kindly and unconditionally.”

“I suppose it is. It was almost inhuman to be able to leave home, too⁠—the last time, when I knew it was for good. But all the same, I cared a great deal more than anybody else did. I lived through it. I have no choice now. No matter how much it breaks me up, I have to go. Do I seem to enjoy it?”

Fred bent over her trunk and picked up something which proved to be a score, clumsily bound. “What’s this? Did you ever try to sing this?” He opened it and on the engraved title-page read Wunsch’s inscription, “Einst, O Wunder!” He looked up sharply at Thea.

“Wunsch gave me that when he went away. I’ve told you about him, my old teacher in Moonstone. He loved that opera.”

Fred went toward the fireplace, the book under his arm, singing softly:⁠—

Einst, O Wunder, entblüht auf meinem Grabe,
Eine Blume der Asche meines Herzens;

“You have no idea at all where he is, Thea?” He leaned against the mantel and looked down at her.

“No, I wish I had. He may be dead by this time. That was five years ago, and he used himself hard. Mrs. Kohler was always afraid he would die off alone somewhere and be stuck under the prairie. When we last heard of him, he was in Kansas.”

“If he were to be found, I’d like to do something for him. I seem to get a good deal of him from this.” He opened the book again, where he kept the place with his finger, and scrutinized the purple ink. “How like a German! Had he ever sung the song for you?”

“No. I didn’t know where the words were from until once, when Harsanyi sang it for me, I recognized them.”

Fred closed the book. “Let me see, what was your noble brakeman’s name?”

Thea looked up with surprise. “Ray, Ray Kennedy.”

“Ray Kennedy!” he laughed. “It couldn’t well