The Happy End | Page 9

and dog poor when she died, that's certain. Like
everything else I can lay mind on she came to a bad end--Lord reckons
where Phebe is. I always thought you were weak fingered to let Hannah
go--with that house built and all. I suppose maybe you weren't, though;
well out of a slack bargain."
Calvin Stammark scarcely heard her; his being was possessed by the
pitiable image of Hannah dying alone and dog poor. He had always
pictured her--except in the fleet vision of debasement--as young and
graceful and disturbing. Without further speech he left the kitchen and
crossed the house to the shut parlor. It was screened against the day,
dim and musty and damp. The orange plush of the chairs and the
narrow uncomfortable sofa, carefully dusted, was as bright as it had
been when he had last seen it--was it ten years ago?
Here she had stood, her fingers tapping on the table, when he had made
the unfortunate remark about Phebe; the lamplight had illuminated her
right cheek. Here she had proclaimed her impatience with Greenstream,
with its loneliness, her hunger for life. Here he had lost her. A sudden
need to see Hannah's daughter invaded him and he returned to the
kitchen.
The child was present, silent; she had Hannah's eyes, Hannah's hair.
Seated by Richmond Braley's bed he realized instantly that the old man
was dying; and mentally he composed the urgent message to be sent to
Hosmer. But that failed to settle the problem of Lucy's safety--
Hannah's Lucy, who might have been his too. The solution of that
difficulty slowly took form in his thoughts. There was no need to
discuss it with Ettie--his duty, yes, and his desire was clear.
He took her home directly after Richmond's funeral, an erratic wind
blowing her soft loose hair against his face as he drove.

VII
There had been additions to Calvin Stammark's house--the half story
raised, and the length increased by a room. This was now furnished as
the parlor and had an entrance from the porch extended across the face
of the dwelling; the middle lower room was his; the chamber designed
for his married life was a seldom used dining room; while Ettie and
Lucy were above. A number of sheds for stabling and implements,
chicken coops and pig pen had accumulated at the back; the corn and
buckwheat climbed the mountain; and the truck patch was wide and
luxuriant.
A narrow strip, bright, in season, with the petunias and cinnamon pinks
which Ettie tended, separated the dwelling from the public road; and
the flowers more than anything else attracted Hannah's daughter.
Calvin talked with her infrequently, but a great deal of his silent
attention was directed at the child.
Already Lucy had a quality of appeal to which he watched Ettie
respond. The latter took a special pride in making Lucy as pretty as
possible; in the afternoon she would dress her in sheer white with a
ribbon in her hair. She spared Lucy many of the details of housework in
which the latter could have easily assisted her; and when Calvin
protested she replied that she was so accustomed to doing that it was
easier for her to go ahead.
Calvin's feelings were mixed. At first he had told himself that Lucy
would be, in a way, his daughter; he would bring her up as his own;
and in the end what he had would be hers, just as it should have been
Hannah's. However, his attitude was never any that might be
recognized as that of parenthood. He never grew completely
accustomed to her presence, she was always a subject of interest and
speculation. He continued to get pleasure from her slender graceful
being and the little airs of delicacy she assumed.
He was conscious, certainly, that Lucy was growing older--yet not so
fast as he--but he had a shock of surprise when she informed him that
she was fifteen. Calvin pinched her cheek, and, sitting on the porch,

heard her within issuing a peremptory direction to Ettie. The elder
made no reply and, he knew, did as Lucy wished. This disturbed him.
There wasn't a finer woman living than Ettie Stammark, and he didn't
purpose to have Lucy impudent to her. Lucy, he decided, was getting a
little beyond them. She was quick at her lessons, the Greenstream
teacher said. Lucy would have considerable property when he died;
he'd like her to have all the advantages possible; and--very suddenly--
Calvin decided to send her away to school, to Stanwick, the small city
to and from which the Greenstream stage drove.
She returned from her first term at Christmas, full of her experiences
with teachers and friends, to which Ettie and he listened with absorbed
attention. Now she seemed farther