The Ranch Girls and Their Great Adventure

CHAPTER XII

NO QUARTER

DURING the time of Jack's absence, Frank Kent passed through a strange state of mind, one which he did not himself understand. He was both angry and miserable. Resentment against another human being is always folly, since one suffers as much, if not more than the other person.

However, Frank did not answer a single one of Jack's letters, although she managed to write him several times, telling of her safe arrival, of the kindness which had been shown her along the way, and of Captain MacDonnell's recognition of her and his pleasure in finding an old friend near him. Jack also wrote that there was hope of his partial recovery, but that he would probably be unable to fight again. She would be able to tell more on her return home.

Two weeks after the day of her departure, Jack came back to Kent House. She had telegraphed when she reached British soil so that her family knew when to expect her. Frank was not at home when she arrived, so she saw her children and Olive and Frieda first. Then, after dressing for dinner, she went down into the library alone to wait for her husband.

Jack was very tired from the strain of her trip and from the sights she had witnessed in the past fourteen days. She felt as if she were entering a new world in coming back tonight to her home in the peaceful Kentish country. Whatever human beings might be suffering inwardly, there were at least no changes in the tranquillity of the blue hills and the gentle, mist-veiled English landscape.

It had required an effort for Jack to dress, but she did not know in what spirit Frank would meet her and did not wish to have him think she was too much exhausted by the experience which she had wilfully chosen for herself. She feared that Frank was still aggrieved, because of his not having written or sent her a message of any kind, and yet she rather hoped the reunion with her and the news she brought back would soften him.

Partly because of her fatigue, partly because it seemed impossible to wear gay clothes after those days and nights in the hospital, Jack had put on a black satin gown which she had had some time. It was made simply as her evening clothes always were, but the black tulle which covered it was caught with jet ornaments on each shoulder and loosely belted in at the waist, falling in beautiful lines to her feet. At her belt Jack wore a golden rose which the old gardener had brought up to the house as a special offering. The rose had bloomed that morning in one of the greenhouses. Jack's hair was coiled closely about her small head, and she had less color than usual.

She was resting in one of the big library chairs with her eyes closed, when she heard her husband enter the hall, and after making some inquiry, move toward the library door.

At this she rose up at once and ran forward with her arms outstretched to meet him, her face glowing with happiness.

"Oh, Frank, I am so glad to be at home again. It has all been so distressing. Poor Bryan is going to get well, but I fear he will hate it when he does, for he may never walk again. He does not know this yet."

Frank turned his eyes so that he could not see Jack's beauty nor appreciate her warm sweetness so close beside him.

"I am horribly sorry for Bryan," he replied. But he made no effort to kiss Jack or to express the least pleasure in her return. Instead, he walked away a few steps and began taking off his overcoat, which he had not removed before.

"You are still angry with me, Frank?" Jack queried, though the question was scarcely a necessary one. "You have not yet seen that I had the right to judge for myself in this thing about Bryan? After all, what possible wrong have I done? And I did give Bryan pleasure; he does not dream, of course, that I went to him without your consent."

Although Frank still remained silent, Jack's sweetness did not desert her. She followed after him, in spite of the fact that he had turned his back upon her.

"After all, Frank, even if you do continue to disapprove of me and to think I did wrong to disobey you, won't you make friends with me? Please say I'm forgiven?"

At this Jack smiled and stood with her hands clasped together against the soft, black folds of her dress.

In fact, she had not yet appreciated the extent of Frank's anger against her, nor the unbending quality of his nature. Though they had been married a number of years, this was the first serious difficulty between them. Jack had too great an admiration for her husband, too deep a belief in him, to think that he could continue to sulk and to hurt her through a kind of stupid obstinacy.

And for a single instant Frank did hesitate, but the next he made up his mind that unless Jack was made to realize the extent of his displeasure she would probably never yield to him again. He honestly believed that he had the right to be the master in his own family.

"I presume, Jack, that you consider it a very simple matter for me to say I forgive you and to overlook your utter disregard of my wishes, and your deception in the matter. But I cannot see the thing in that light. You have not only wounded me, but you have made me ridiculous. To say I forgive you, or feel as I did before would not be the truth."

"Very well, Frank," Jack answered quietly and went out of the room.

A little later she came down to dinner, revealing no sign of what had taken place between herself and her husband and hoping that Frieda and Olive would not guess that she was still unforgiven. Frank's manner was perfectly polite and they talked freely of Captain MacDonnell and of the tragedy of his recovering only to find his work as a soldier ended.

Afterwards, Jack excused herself early in the evening, because, of course, she had every reason to feel weary.

But even if Frieda and Olive did not grasp the situation at once, they could not continue to remain long in ignorance, for Jack and Frank did not return to their old intimacy and devotion.

But, as the days went on, this was, perhaps, as much Jack's fault as her husband's.

Never before had she ever made an overture to any human being who had not responded. Moreover, she could not tell Frank that she was sorry for what she had done, for she was not sorry, nor did she regret her own action. She was merely disillusioned concerning her husband.

Always Jack had said that she had more of the Indian in her than Olive ever had, in spite of Olive's upbringing. By this she meant that for one thing she could hide better the things that hurt her. Yet in a way she was difficult for anyone to approach on an intimate subject at this time, certainly neither Olive nor Frieda made any mention that they saw her continuing trouble with Frank.

Unconsciously Jack held her head up before people unfailingly. No outsider would have guessed at any change. Only those who cared for her deeply realized how she was hurt by Frank's attitude.

Several times it occurred to Frank that perhaps he and Jack were making a mistake to allow their estrangement to go on too long. The next time his wife asked his pardon Lord Kent had concluded to forgive her.

Moreover, he and Frieda had an interview which annoyed and amused him, but which he did not forget then, or ever afterwards.

It was one Sunday afternoon in early March, an unexpected spring-like day, and he and Frieda were taking a motor ride together. They had only one small car on the estate, having sent the large one to be turned into an ambulance.

After their midday dinner Frank had found himself in need of diversion, Olive and Jack having explained that they were going to see a friend who was ill. And as a matter of fact Frieda diverted Frank from serious affairs more than any other grown up person he knew and consequently he fell in readily with her suggestion for the ride. He had not the faintest idea that she was not in a friendly mood toward him, for Frieda had wisely concealed the fact, although in reality she was thoroughly enraged.

It seemed to her that Frank's treatment of Jack was almost unpardonable. It is true that she, perhaps, had rather an exaggerated opinion of her sister's virtues, but then Jack had been a kind of mother to her always. Although they quarreled a little now and then, as most sisters do, it was beyond Frieda's comprehension that anyone could believe Jack would wilfully do wrong, or be forced to suffer the consequences. Moreover, what Frieda still thought of as her own "misfortune" made her particularly "touchy" at present.

However, she and Frank started off cheerfully, Frank admiring an especially pretty bright blue motor coat and small close fitting blue silk hat, which Frieda had purchased in New York a few days before sailing. Nevertheless Frieda had already planned to have a talk with Frank before their return and only awaited the proper opportunity.

She was quiet at first, allowing her brother-in-law to tell her stories about the country and his neighbors, stories in which she was really not much interested. But Frieda smiled and answered, "yes and no," at the proper times, and this was what Frank really wished. Most men would rather talk intimately to women than to other men and Frank had missed his long hours of conversation with Jack more than he appreciated.

Yet Frieda's inattention finally forced itself upon his notice, so that her brother-in-law turned and smiled at her.

"What are you thinking about, Frieda? Certainly not of what I just said to you."

Frieda turned her large blue eyes with their heavy golden lashes half veiling them toward her companion.

"Still I was thinking of you, Frank," she answered, smiling, "and that is the attention men like best, isn't it?"

Lord Kent laughed. "Perhaps as a matter of vanity, yes, Frieda? But of course a good deal depends upon what one is thinking. What were you thinking of me?"

"Oh, only how unlike you and Henry are," she replied sweetly.

However, Frank understood something of her hidden meaning, for he flushed.

"Well, considering the fact that you didn't find it possible to continue to live with 'Henry,' I suppose I ought to be flattered. Only as a matter of fact, Frieda, I admire Professor Russell very much."

This time Frieda flushed, realizing that Frank had scored.

"Yet even though that is true, Frank, Henry never took the tone with me of insisting that he was always right and I was always in the wrong. Do you know, Frank, I am beginning to think – oh well, Henry was never so horrid to me as you are to Jack. He isn't a bit of a bully."

"So you think I am 'horrid' to Jack and a bully besides, do you, Frieda?" Frank returned grimly. He was angry, but not as angry as he felt he had the right to be. Somehow he could not manage to get into a violent state of mind with his youthful sister-in-law.

Frieda nodded energetically in response, without appearing the least bit frightened.

"Of course you are going to think I am interfering, Frank, and no one ever pays any real attention to what I say, but I just thought I'd tell you anyhow. You are making a big mistake. Of course I realize that you are not so silly as not to appreciate Jack, but I don't believe you have ever thought what it might mean to lose her. You see she isn't like most women, she really does not know how to quarrel for any length of time. But when she was hurt or seriously angry as a girl she used to keep still for a long time not saying a word. Then she used to do something unexpected." Frieda's voice shook a little with stronger feeling than she often showed.

"I've been afraid lately that Jack might do something queer now, something no one of us dreams she would think of doing. She is so very unhappy. You remember, Frank, don't you, what a long time it took you to win Jack? I wonder if it might not take you even longer to win her back again!"

Frank stiffened. "I cannot discuss my relations with Jack, even with you, Frieda. That is a matter between us alone."

Frieda nodded pensively.

"Certainly I appreciate your point of view, Frank, from my own sad experience."

CHAPTER XIII

THE BREAK

BUT Frank did give careful consideration to what Frieda had said to him. Her words came as a kind of revelation. Suddenly he began to appreciate what it would mean to lose Jack, though of course there was no possibility of such a thing. She was one of the most loyal persons in the world and they had only had a difference of opinion.

Yet Frank decided that it would be best to let bygones be bygones and to mention the fact to Jack at the first possible opportunity.

But somehow he seemed to have to wait for the opportunity to arrive; certainly his wife did nothing to help him.

One night, coming home at the usual hour, Frank discovered that Jack was not there. She had gone out a little before lunch on some errand, as Olive and Frieda supposed, but leaving no word except that they were not to wait luncheon for her.

Frieda and Olive, Frank found, were both a little uneasy. He laughed at the idea. Jack had a great many things to attend to in the neighborhood and knew everybody, while everybody knew her.

Afterwards, he went upstairs to the nursery and stayed half an hour watching Vive and Jimmie being put to bed. When he came down to the library to read, twilight was falling. But instead of reading Frank found himself turning over the pages of the magazines, gazing at them, and not knowing a word of their contents.

In a few moments it would be dinner time.

He got up and walked nervously up and down the room.

If Jack did not come in by dinner or send a message what would it be wise to do?

A few moments later he telephoned two or three places where he thought Jack might have remained later than she realized. But she had not been at any one of the houses during the day, and naturally Frank did not wish to ask too many questions, since she might return home at any moment. It would then appear absurd to have started false rumors, or to have created anxiety among their friends.

When the butler came in to announce dinner, Lord Kent explained that Lady Kent was not yet at home and that dinner be kept waiting for another half an hour.

Soon after Frieda joined him.

"I know I am silly, Frank," she confessed, "but I am worried. If Jack had gone out on horseback, one might understand that she could have gotten some distance away. But she did not ride, she walked, and could not have continued walking since before noon."

"You are an infant, Frieda," Frank remarked. "Of course Jack has been paying visits and has stayed too long. But perhaps I had best go and look for her, unless she has found a friend to act as an escort it is too late for her to be out alone."

"But where are you going to look?" Frieda questioned. And either her brother-in-law did not hear her, or preferred to pretend he did not, since he made no reply.

The fact of the matter was he had no plan. He thought it was rather absurd for him to look at all, but had suddenly been overtaken with a sense of uneasiness, a strange foreboding of disaster. We all yield to these sensations now and then, but as they were not usual with Lord Kent he was the more uncomfortable.

He could not even decide whether it would be wiser for him to ride or to walk, but concluded he had best ride, in order to cover a greater distance in a shorter time.

He searched very carefully for Jack down the long road which divided the estate. And naturally he remembered the other evening, not so very many months ago, when he had ridden down this same avenue peering through the rain for her and Captain MacDonnell. Then he had discovered both of them with but little difficulty.

Tonight Frank wished that he felt sure Jack had someone with her to take care of her, as she had on that other evening. He would not then have felt so ridiculously worried.

"Poor Bryan, one did not like to allow oneself to think of him too often these days, yet he must be brought back home as soon as possible," Frank thought. Some time ago he had decided that when the time came he would himself go for Bryan. Perhaps this would be partly an act of expiation, although Lord Kent had not said this to himself, or to his wife.

This evening he rode directly into the village, but although it was only a little after eight o'clock, Granchester had long practiced the daylight saving habit, not because of the war, but because of a fixed habit of early sleep and early rising. There were only two or three scattered lights in the little stone houses and only a few old men outdoors talking together in front of a closed public house.

Nevertheless Frank rode up to the home of Frieda's old friend and dismounted, for he had known Mrs. Huggins many long years. She was accepted by everybody as a kind of unprinted village newspaper. If Jack had been in Granchester during the afternoon, Mrs. Huggins would know just where she had been and what she had done.

The old woman's light was out, but a moment after his knocking she opened her door. In her hand she held a lamp and her old eyes shone through the half darkness.

She was probably excited by the idea that someone had come to confide a piece of news to her.

However, she had heard nothing of Lady Kent's having been in the village during the day, and was in fact sure she had not been there.

When Lord Kent went away, however, she still seemed to think he had brought her news.

"There is trouble in the big house, also," she said to herself, wagging her old head. "Funny how when trouble of one kind gets loosed in the world, so many other kinds follow it." Even after she had gone back to bed she still kept thinking of Kent House.

Later, just before he was leaving Granchester, Frank telephoned to his home.

Frieda came to the telephone to say that no word had yet come from her sister.

Nevertheless Lord Kent could not make up his mind to ask for aid in his search. He had a curious antipathy toward it, as if Jack herself would not like this, as if in some way it might lead to a revelation they would not wish others to share.

This was what made all his efforts so difficult. For each added moment he was becoming more and more worried, and yet having to pretend that Jack's failure to return home, her failure to send any word of her whereabouts, was the most casual thing in the world.

There were several places belonging to friends and not far from the village. Lord Kent stopped by at each place for a few moments, as if he were making an ordinary visit, but of course to find out if Jack had called during the day. Apparently no one of her friends had seen her.

At Captain MacDonnell's home, Frank inquired for the housekeeper. Mrs. Naxie was still in charge and she and Frank were old friends. She had been with Captain MacDonnell's uncle years before when he and Bryan were both little boys.

Lord Kent was not ashamed to reveal his anxiety to Mrs. Naxie, and she at least had a little information for him, the first he had secured.

"Yes, Lady Kent had stopped by a little before tea time and had seemed tired. She explained that she had eaten no lunch, but enjoyed her tea, and then started away again. Mrs. Naxie was under the impression she intended going directly home.

"There was nothing more for him to do but to go home also," Frank then concluded. If Jack had not returned and nothing was known of her, he must throw away his scruples and ask for help.

It was now fully night and the sky filled with high, sweet stars.

Although he yearned to be at home at once, still Frank searched all the roads, stared behind the tall hedges, and now and then in the darkness called his wife's name. Nevertheless he continued to assure himself that he was behaving like a fool and there was no real reason for him to feel so alarmed. He had always been ridiculously nervous about Jack and always before now she had laughed at him.

It was not until he had almost reached the beginning of his own land that Frank was finally honest with himself. He had fought against confessing the fact that he was to blame every moment since he first began to grow uneasy about Jack. Had they been good friends these past few weeks he knew he would not have been half so miserable. Whether he had been right or wrong, he had realized that Jack had been anxious to make peace and he had repulsed her. He would wait for no comfortable opportunity now, as soon as he found his wife, they must be reconciled.

Near the edge of Kent Park, where the land dipped, there was a small stream, deep in some places, and yet hardly to be dignified by the title of river.

Yielding to an impulse Frank got off his horse here and walked slowly along the bank. The stream was so narrow he could see almost equally well on the farther side.

The trees and underbrush made shadows on the surface where the water was deepest.

Suddenly Frank thought he saw one of the slender, young birches move a step toward him. The next he heard Jack's voice say:

"Frank, is that you?"

Then she came slowly toward him.

The strange fact was that she did not appear surprised, nor did she begin by offering any explanation of her own strange behavior, nor why she should be found at such an hour in such a place.

"Sit down for a little while will you please, Frank? The ground is not particularly damp in some places, I have been sitting here a long time."

Frank made no reply except to do what she liked. He knew that something had happened which was of tremendous seriousness to Jack. If that were true, then whatever it was, was equally so to him.

"You are not ill, are you, dear?" he inquired, after he had let go his bridle and taken a seat beside his wife. His horse would only wander about near by.

Jack shook her head.

"I was dizzy and very tired a little while ago, I don't know just how long. I sat down here to rest and fell asleep for a time. I am quite all right now." And indeed Jack was now speaking in a natural voice. One must remember it was not so unusual for her, as it would be with most other girls and women, to take her problems outdoors when she wished to solve them.

"There is something I want to say to you, Frank. I have been making up my mind to speak of it for some time. This afternoon I knew I had to decide. I went off for a long walk and now I have decided."

Jack was sitting very still a few feet away from her husband. He now moved over and put his arm about her, but though she made no movement to resent it, she showed no sign of pleasure or of yielding.

"I want to go home, Frank?" she continued.

And for an instant believing she meant Kent House, Frank started to rise. The next he understood his mistake.

"I mean I want to go back to the Rainbow ranch to see Jim and Ruth and Jean, but Jim most of all," she added, this time with a little break in her usually steady voice.

"Please don't answer, Frank, until I have explained to you a little better. I know it seems horrid to leave you alone and to take the babies away, when you are so worn out with your work and so sad over all the wretched tragedy of the war. You will miss the babies, even if you will not particularly miss me. Still I'll have to go, Frank. I can't live on with you not forgiving, not caring for me any more. I won't stay long unless you wish it and I'll come back whenever you send for me. But I must go; it has seemed to me lately as if I could not breathe."

Jack turned her face directly to her husband, and although it was too dark to see it distinctly, he could catch the dim outline.

"You see until lately I never dreamed that when things came to a crisis, to a question of right, to a question of my judgment, or my conscience, you would not be willing to let me do as I decided and thought best. I knew you liked me to follow your way in little things and I never minded most times. Often I was glad to do as you wished and when I didn't agree to your way, I never considered the fact seriously one way or the other. But lately I have seen that if we go on living together, I have got to be a coward, a kind of traitor to myself by always appearing to agree with you, or else live with you and have you angry and dissatisfied with me. I cannot bear either. Marriage does not mean that to me, Frank. I have to get away for a little while to see if I can find out what I should do."