But Eva’s was an astounding parlor to discover in the wilderness. Embroidery covered everything as cobwebs cover lawns on summer mornings. A multitude of knickknacks sat about on gilded tables. There were silk-bound copies of ladylike verses, portfolios of chaste European views. Not the most hardened puffer of the weed would have lighted a segar within its walls.
Whatever Mowrie’s grievances might be, they could not concern Eva’s housekeeping, Jasper Page was positive of that. He was trying, as he made his way up the hillside through a twilight which purpled the snow, to discover Mowrie’s grievances. Mowrie’s own faults were all too evident, and Jasper, being very just, wished to admit Eva’s also. But it was difficult to know what they might be.
She was a model of piety as she was of industry. She had delayed her trip up the river by a month, waiting alone in a tavern in St. Louis because she would not take a steamboat on the Sabbath. At Fort Snelling one would hardly have known when Sabbath came, except that Major Taliaferro hoisted a flag on that day to teach his Indians respect for it. But Eva observed it as though she were still back east. Only cold foods were served in her household. Only the most necessary tasks were done. She had tried to gather the children of the officers together in a Sabbath school, but the enterprise had languished.
And although all of the gentlemen so openly admired her, Mowrie could certainly find no fault in her behavior. She would not even dance the new German waltz which the Smythes had brought out with them from West Point. She only moved with tranquil grace through a quadrille. Jasper, in justice to his friend, tried desperately to think of faults in Eva Boles. But he could think only of virtues.
“He ought to kiss her feet,” he said to himself heatedly. Before he could check it, a picture came of Eva’s little feet, white and bare. He flushed hotly and slid faster through the gathering dusk.
“She’s worthy any man’s worship,” he said. It was his first acknowledgment of his own worship. Of a sudden his mind’s eye danced with pictures of her. He saw her feeding her canary, that dainty bird which always reminded him of Eva herself. He saw her lighting the candles, touching them into a flame less yellow than her hair.
He stopped short. For a moment his usual assurance fell away. He was youthfully disturbed from a recollection of a certain biblical injunction. It was a day when men far more worldly than he took their Bible with a literal seriousness.
“By God!” he whispered, “I don’t covet my friend’s wife!” But his heart gave his voice no reassurance. When he reached the Boles’ door he did not turn in. He continued on to the lookout beyond the commandant’s quarters.
The still rivers meeting below were lost in the dusk. Trees were only a black mist rising from the pale hillsides. But on Pilot Knob, that height of land where the Indians placed their dead, the scaffolds stood out against the darkening sky, their grim burdens upon them. Behind him a cloak of rose and vermilion hung from the west, but before him the scene was one of cold desolation. It matched the desolation which suddenly lay in his breast.
In twenty-five years of busy, agreeable life, Jasper Page had never known anything like this. Only one thing in the world would comfort him. That was to hold Eva Boles in his embrace.
“If I’m in love I can master it.” That helped more than a little, since it reminded him of his years-old determination to be master of himself at all times. Presently he could turn about and retrace his steps.
It was well that he was himself when he entered the Boles’ parlor, for the atmosphere there was troubled. Mowrie’s tongue was thick, and his usually jolly temper surly. To make matters worse, Hetty Frenshaw was there. She had run in to borrow something, and Eva, thinking perhaps that such a guest might restrain her husband, had asked her to tea.
Eva was laying the tea cloth and welcomed Jasper serenely, but he felt a surge of anger against Mowrie.
Mowrie did not greet his friend with his usual heartiness. After a sullen silence he burst out, “Tell me this—why don’t you drink like a man, damn it?” The oath was proof of his condition. Sober, he was far more careful of his speech before the ladies than most men at the fort. Eva looked up quickly.
“What’s the matter?” Jasper laughed. “Didn’t you like the toddy I gave you with our euchre last night?”
“I’m not talking of toddies,” cried Mowrie. “Why don’t you get drunk? I’m tired of hearing Eva say that you never get drunk.”
Eva, who never flushed, flushed. A pink tide enveloped her from the line of her fair hair to the edge of her broad muslin collar. Jasper’s pity and his love rammed up into his throat. Hetty Frenshaw’s suddenly lifted lids made half moons of her eyes.
“You ought to be in a chapel window,” Mowrie blustered on. “You ought to have a ring around your head, and all the ladies saying their prayers to you.”
Jasper laughed again. Hetty Frenshaw, with her eyes looking like half moons, helped him to do it.
“See here,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’m sorry you’re out of temper with me. The spaniel has hurt her paw. Caught it in a wolf trap. And I walked over to see if you’d take a look at her.”
Mowrie’s displeasure shifted to Eva. “D’you hear that, Mrs. Boles? When any thing’s wrong, they have to come to your husband. He has a hand with dogs. With horses, too. The old man has his points, eh, Jasper? But she’d never admit it.”
“You won’t mind if we don’t stay to tea, Mrs. Boles?” asked Jasper, rising.
Hetty Frenshaw jumped up, too. “I shan’t stay, either. I clean forgot I’d left baby alone.”
Eva moved quietly to straighten the wick of a candle. “I’ll wait tea for you then, Major Boles.”
But Mrs. Frenshaw did not return at once to her baby. Jasper, fastening his snowshoes outside, saw her eager dart into the Smythe quarters. It made him uneasy. Uneasiness for Eva weighted the unhappiness which crowded down upon him as he and Mowrie wound their shawls closer and faced the stinging cold which had come with the dark.
After that evening Jasper went less often to the Boles’. He played euchre with Mowrie, and treated Eva pleasantly when they met.
Every night the watchman called to the star-filled sky and the snowy immensities of prairie, “All’s well around.” But things were far from well with Jasper Page.
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