One of Ours
Book II: Enid
Chapter XI
Enid decided that she would be married in the first week of June. Early in
May the plasterers and painters began to be busy in the new house. The walls
began to shine, and Claude went about all day, oiling and polishing the
hard-pine floors and wainscoting. He hated to have anybody step on his floors.
He planted gourd vines about the back porch, set out clematis and lilac bushes,
and put in a kitchen garden. He and Enid were going to Denver and Colorado
Springs for their wedding trip, but Ralph would be at home then, and he had
promised to come over and water the flowers and shrubs if the weather was dry.
Enid often brought her work and sat sewing on the front porch while Claude
was rubbing the woodwork inside the house, or digging and planting outside. This
was the best part of his courtship. It seemed to him that he had never spent
such happy days before. If Enid did not come, he kept looking down the road and
listening, went from one thing to another and made no progress. He felt full of
energy, so long as she sat there on the porch, with lace and ribbons and muslin
in her lap. When he passed by, going in or out, and stopped to be near her for a
moment, she seemed glad to have him tarry. She liked him to admire her
needlework, and did not hesitate to show him the featherstitching and embroidery
she was putting on her new underclothes. He could see, from the glances they
exchanged, that the painters thought this very bold behaviour in one so soon to
be a bride. He thought it very charming behaviour himself, though he would never
have expected it of Enid. His heart beat hard when he realized how far she
confided in him, how little she was afraid of him! She would let him linger
there, standing over her and looking down at her quick fingers, or sitting on
the ground at her feet, gazing at the muslin pinned to her knee, until his own
sense of propriety told him to get about his work and spare the feelings of the
painters.
"When are you going over to the timber claim with me?" he asked, dropping on
the ground beside her one warm, windy afternoon. Enid was sitting on the porch
floor, her back against a pillar, and her feet on one of those round mats of
pursley that grow over hard-beaten earth. "I've found my flock of quail again.
They live in the deep grass, over by a ditch that holds water most of the year.
I'm going to plant a few rows of peas in there, so they'll have a feeding ground
at home. I consider Leonard's cornfield a great danger. I don't know whether to
take him into my confidence or not."
"You've told Ernest Havel, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes!" Claude replied, trying not to be aware of the little note of
acrimony in her voice. "He's perfectly safe. That place is a paradise for birds.
The trees are full of nests. You can stand over there in the morning and hear
the young robins squawking for their breakfast. Come up early tomorrow morning
and go over with me, won't you? But wear heavy shoes; it's wet in the long
grass."
While they were talking a sudden whirlwind swept round the corner of the
house, caught up the little mound of folded lace corset-covers and strewed them
over the dusty yard. Claude ran after them with Enid's flowered workbag and
thrust them into it as he came upon one after another, fluttering in the weeds.
When he returned, Enid had folded her needle-case and was putting on her hat.
"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Did you find everything?"
"I think so." He hurried toward the car to hide his guilty face. One little
lace thing he had not put into the bag, but had thrust into his pocket.
The next morning Enid came up early to hear the birds in the timber.