CHAPTER XI
On that same evening after dinner Jeanette concluded that she would make her request of her father. Under the circumstances she felt she owed this to herself and to him, not wishing him to learn of her speech of the afternoon from any one else. She never had considered the possibility of his refusal.
Business difficulties he might be undergoing, but none sufficiently serious to interfere with her desire and plan.
Often in the past they had discussed the idea that she and Lina eventually go East to school. Lina intended entering college in another year, but not so clever or bookish as her sister, she only wanted the additional training of boarding school.
In thinking over the matter the only difficulty Jeanette feared was that she might not be permitted to leave home immediately.
Another six weeks or more lay ahead before the formal opening of the Eastern schools. What excuse could she offer for her own determination to leave home at once? This, for reasons she would not confess even to herself, she was passionately anxious to do.
Dinner was ended and the family had assembled in the drawing-room.
As usual, Lina immediately picked up a book and dropped down into a big chair, becoming oblivious of every one and everything else.
Via stood with her hand in her stepmother's listening to extracts from a letter she had received from her son, Jimmie. He had become Via's devoted friend in the year he had spent at the Rainbow Lodge before his mother's marriage to her former guardian and friend.
A small gray kitten occupied Eda's attention. She had the habit of devotedly cherishing an odd pet of some kind. At present the family rejoiced that her latest fancy was so normal and so little trouble. At various times she had adored a sick calf, a colt with a broken leg, a baby fox.
Jeanette was glad to see her father ignore the others and cross over the large room to stand alone by the window. Apparently he was looking out at the sunset closing down on the August day.
As she reached his side and slipped her hand inside his arm in her former affectionate fashion, she saw at once that he was not paying the slightest attention to the landscape but was absorbed in some thought of his own.
He appeared troubled and unlike himself. Jeanette gave his arm a little squeeze, at the same time drawing him away.
"Come out into the yard, father, I want to talk to you. Of late we have been so little together alone."
"Partly your fault, Jeanette. Whenever I have asked you to ride with me over the place in our old fashion you have refused. I realize you were busy making ready for the great contest. Why do you never wear your prize? The Swastika will bring you good luck."
As Mr. Colter talked, he allowed himself to be led out of the drawing-room, across the veranda and down the steps into the yard.
Suddenly the sunset overspread the sky in a blaze of color. Involuntarily he and Jeanette paused, forgetting their own desires and annoyances.
A moment after, they moved on toward a group of chairs that were under one of the tall cottonwood trees.
Mr. Colter seated himself in one. Jeanette dropped down on the ground facing him.
Over her two knees she clasped her hands and began rocking gently back and forth.
She did not speak at once.
Her father regarded her intently.
More than Jeanette was aware he had been conscious of her state of mind since his new marriage and concerned over it.
"Well, Jeanette, what is it?" he inquired gently.
Still she did not reply.
She was wearing a bright blue dress made with simple straight lines and of some light summer material. Jeanette cared little for decorations, so there was no trimming. The neck was cut low and the sleeves to the elbow showed the lines of her firm brown throat and arms. To-day her eyes were bluer than usual and her lips redder.
Suddenly she shook her head and smiled.
"There is one thing certain, father, never shall I be awarded our silver arrow as a badge of moral courage. Mr. Stevens suggested this afternoon that we have pins in the shape of the silver arrow and wear them as the insignia of our club. There is something I want to ask you, a great, big favor and all at once I am afraid to ask. I never have been before in my life."
Mr. Colter leaned over. As Jeanette caught the expression in his eyes she flushed. Had she really been under the impression that he had ceased to care for her in the old fashion since his marriage? Had she not been trying to convince herself of this fact in order to pursue her own course? She had wished her jealousy and discontent to be fed.
"There is nothing to be alarmed over, father. I don't want anything you won't be willing to do for me. It is only that I am anxious to go away to boarding school this winter and want you to let me go immediately, within another week or so, as soon as you can make arrangements."
Jeanette dropped her eyes toward her brown hands clasped together over her knees.
She hoped she was not going to be asked for explanations. Why should one not ask for what one desired and at once receive it without further discussion? How much pleasanter this would be for everybody!
"I thought, Jeanette, we had all made up our minds that you and Lina would not consider going East to school for another year. When Lina is ready for college, you will have plenty of time for boarding school."
Jeanette bit her lips.
"The most disagreeable thing about having sisters is that one always is being included with them. No one speaks of what I like or wish, or what Lina likes or Via or Eda. One always talks about 'the girls' in a group, as if we possessed the same tastes and ideas! I detest it and want myownindividuality. I cannot possibly see what Lina and her college have to do with boarding school and me."
Mr. Colter frowned and smiled.
Better than she could appreciate he understood Jeanette's intense individualism. Had he not broken away from many traditions when he had come West to live years before?
"You are right, Jeanette. Perhaps what Lina desires, or what she does, is not the important point with you. Yet there may be this side to it. I would be happier and more satisfied concerning you, were you and Lina reasonably near each other during the first years you are away from home. Lina has a quieter judgment and is less wilful and self-centered. I am not criticizing you; you possess other fine traits of character that Lina has not. You are one of the most straight-forward persons in the world, Jeanette, and one of the most honest. You have great physical courage too, dear, and I hope moral courage. A man, you see, can sometimes understand physical courage better than moral. Why are you in such a hurry to leave home? Please tell me. I can guess a few of your reasons, but I believe in a little while they will become less important.
"You have not liked my marrying again and it has prejudiced you. You are sure you never can be congenial with your stepmother and that she has separated us. So you want to go away from the old ranch and the people and things you formerly loved. Well, I can understand, only not the great haste. When you were training for the riding match I thought you and Jack were learning to like each other better. Since your success I have noticed you have avoided each other. This is Jack's fault more than yours. You see, I have been watching you both pretty carefully.
"Jeanette dear, because I care so deeply for your stepmother, don't think I am more blind to her faults than to my daughters', I have known her since she was a little girl. You are not unlike her, wilful and difficult oftentimes, but always with a high sense of honor. At first I thought she seemed almost too anxious to make friends with you girls, but of late she has not appeared sufficiently sympathetic with you. I'll talk the matter over with her, Jeanette dear. You need not mind, I shall——"
Jeanette unclasped her hands from about her own knees to clutch at her father.
"Please don't, not for anything in the world! I mean don't speak to Jack, to Mrs. Colter, or to 'mother'—anything you want me to call her. I'll call her by any name you desire, as it won't be for long. The fault is not with her. She has tried to be kind, only we don't like each other and people who don't, can't. There, that's all there is to it! Besides, I am not like her in the least. I am not honest or candid."
Jean hesitated: "I want to go away at once because I need extra preparation in order to enter one of the advanced classes. I promise to study as I never have in my life before."
Catching her hand in his, Mr. Colter drew Jeanette to her feet and toward him. He then arose.
"Suppose we walk up and down for a time, Jeanette. There is something I wish to tell you. I have been wanting to break the news and I am glad to have you as my first confidant. Maybe you will help me."
Jeanette knew her father made this speech to re-establish their former intimate relation. She felt a little glow of pleasure, a momentary forgetting of the intensity of her own self-absorption.
A few moments they walked silently up and down the long avenue between the cottonwood trees.
Not far away the lights from the big house, Rainbow Castle, were beginning to show in the windows. In the sky the colors of the after-math were less bright than the earlier sunset.
At a greater distance Jeanette could spy the softer, darker outline of the old house known as Rainbow Lodge, once the home of the original group of Ranch Girls. At present it stood empty and forlorn.
In her revery Jeanette was making no effort to deceive herself.
She appreciated that she was not wishing to leave home immediately merely because she disliked her stepmother and the change her father's marriage had wrought in her own life. For the first time in her life she understood the meaning of fear. Daily, hourly, she was afraid that her stepmother might betray what she had done. She was afraid that Cecil Perry might have some knowledge of her dishonorable behavior and refer to the fact.
She was even afraid that she might betray herself. Such an impulse had lately swept over her when her father had spoken of her high sense of honor.
At least with herself Jeanette made no effort at pretense. She simply accepted the fact that she had not played fair, but wished no one to discover the truth. Of course one might argue that a riding contest was not of sufficient importance to take so seriously. This was not Jeanette's point of view.
She had not played the game. She had not won honestly. The contest and the desire to win had appeared so important to her that she had broken her own rules of self-respect.
With a slight start Jeanette came to herself. Her father was speaking and would expect an answer.