The Ranch Girls and Their Great Adventure

CHAPTER XIV

PROFESSOR AND PROFESSORESS

WHEN it was finally decided that Jack was to go home to the Rainbow ranch with her babies and Olive and Frieda for a visit, Frieda strenuously objected. No reason was given her by her sister except the ordinary one, that Jack wished to get away from the sad atmosphere of a country at war and also to see her family.

"Certainly you don't show much consideration for Frank," Frieda protested when she first heard the news. "It seems to me that England is his country and he has a good deal more work to do and goes through a lot more than you do, Jacqueline Ralston. I never could make up my mind to leave my husband under such circumstances."

Then although Jack flinched, she did not make the reply she might so obviously have made.

However, Frieda went on just as if she had.

"I know what you are thinking of, but it was quite different with Henry and me. He did not need me, he thought I was a butterfly and my wishing to go out and dance and do exciting things disturbed his work. He didn't allow me to go with other people because he thought it was his duty to look after me. He said so, said I was too young to be expected to take care of myself. He wasn't a bit jealous like Frank, I shouldn't have minded a jealous husband. If I said he was jealous, I was only pretending because I wanted to seem interesting."

"Frank jealous?" Jack laughed. "You are too silly, Frieda."

Nevertheless Frieda tossed her yellow head, but also flushed a little, having said more than she intended. If Frank did not know he was jealous of Captain MacDonnell and Jack was also unaware how much this had unconsciously influenced his decision concerning his friend's request, it was not her place to tell them.

"Just the same you'll be sorry and ashamed of yourself some day, Jack Ralston. You need not pretend anything to me, I understand the present situation perfectly. Frank was rather horrid to you and he ought not to be allowed to be a bully, but you could really twist him around your finger if you tried. You can now at any rate because he adores you. And Frank is pretty nice you know, most women would be glad to have him. After all he has a title and money, and men are going to be scarce when this war is over."

"Frieda!" Jack exclaimed in such a tone of disgust that Frieda departed hastily, if still gracefully, out of her sister's room.

However she stopped at the door.

"You know it will look perfectly absurd for us both to go back home without husbands," Frieda tossed out. "I didn't mind half so much when Frank was around and there was at least one man in our family. But of course it looks now as if we had something the matter with us, horrid dispositions, so that no man could make up his mind to live with us."

This time Jack betrayed herself a little more by showing anger.

"You have no right to assume I am behaving as you did, Frieda, because I want to go to the old ranch for a time. Frank has given me his consent, I've no idea of running away."

Then, as Frieda burst into tears at the allusion, Jack had to draw her small sister back into her room from the doorway, and do what she could to apologize and console her.

She felt rather a hypocrite, too, because after all Frieda was not so far wrong in some of her suppositions, and she had had no right to pretend to superiority.

There was at this time no danger to passenger vessels through submarines, so that it was arranged for the travelers to leave for the United States early in April that they might spend the spring at the Rainbow Ranch.

Olive was anxious to go. She had not intended remaining in England so long, and wished to take up some course of study at home, to return later when she might make herself more useful.

Jack was torn between her desire to make a visit to her own home, to get away for a breath of freedom and the chance to decide what she ought to do in the future when Frank opposed her right to decide important issues for herself and the thought that, perhaps, Frieda was right and that she was not playing fair in leaving her husband at so trying a time. But Frank had not opposed her going, had really said he thought it might be a good thing, and she did not know whether he meant this from her standpoint or from his own. It might be that Frank also would enjoy a certain relief from the presence of a wife who would not trust his judgment. Certainly Frank's affection had never seemed the same since that time. He had been wonderfully good in agreeing to her new wish, but there were moments when, womanlike, Jack wondered if she would not have liked it better had he shown more opposition.

So there was only Frieda who unqualifiedly stormed against leaving. Of course she put it all on disapproving of her sister's action, but naturally her family wondered if the fact that Frieda wished to be near her husband, whom she believed to be fighting in France could have anything to do with her point of view. However, no one dared to make this suggestion to her. It would have done no good in any case since she would probably have promptly denied it.

However, Frieda would not remain in England without her sister and Jack was unwilling that she should. Nevertheless, insisting on maintaining the attitude of an aggrieved character, Frieda separated herself from her own family whenever she could.

Twice a week for instance she went into Granchester to tea with Mrs. Huggins. Frieda had a private reason for this. One day she had overlooked the fact that her own "Dame Quick" had not been her nurse or foster mother and had confided to the old woman some of the things which were troubling her. She did not want advice, what she wanted was to say those things aloud which she had been saying to herself, and she knew her old friend would simply listen and be kind to her. One might think she would have feared that the old woman, with her passion for spreading news, would have gossiped about her, but Frieda knew better than this.

One afternoon, about ten days before their sailing time, Frieda started off alone to walk to Granchester. She was earlier than need be since Olive had asked her a question which had offended her and she had been irritable. She thought she had caught the suggestion of a lecture in her sister's expression and so had hurried off before Jack had a chance to speak.

Frieda recognized the fact that she was a little difficult to live with these days. But then she excused herself by saying that no one knew how worried and nervous she was. There were times when Frieda was afraid she might be losing her prettiness through worry, until her mirror reassured her. For Frieda understood her own appearance, just as she understood a great many things. She knew that Jack had developed into a beauty from a merely handsome girlhood and that she was only pretty. But she also realized that prettiness often makes more appeal, especially to men, than a higher type of loveliness. Therefore, Frieda had no idea of not preserving her own charms as long as she possibly could.

She walked slowly so as not to arrive too early and because she was enjoying the country more than she usually did. The quietness of the English landscape, its look of a carefully kept garden, appealed to Frieda more than the vastness of her own windswept western prairies. It was one of the many odd ironies of fate that Jack, who loved the prairies must live in England, while until lately Frieda's life had been cast at least on the edge of the western country.

The old English laborers passing back and forth from their ploughing of the spring fields were almost the only persons she met.

When Frieda reached the little house at the edge of the village, of which Mrs. Huggins had once told her some story, she stopped for a moment without any particular motive.

She did not remember exactly what the story was, if she had ever known. But the little house rather interested her. For one thing she had noticed every time she passed, at no matter what hour, the blinds were always drawn halfway down.

The house was set in the middle of a small yard and had a little, low ivy covered stone fence surrounding it and a wooden gate. However, the front of the house was only a few yards from the street so that one could see it distinctly.

Frieda was not standing still, but was loitering a few feet from the gate, gazing absently toward the lower windows.

Then suddenly and certainly unexpectedly she heard a strange noise, a kind of muffled roar. Then an explosion burst forth so that several panes of window glass broke and puffs of smoke blew out.

For an instant there appeared back of the window, and surrounded by the smoke like a cherubim among clouds, a face which Frieda did not really believe she saw. Yet of course she knew she did see it, or else was suddenly mad or dreaming.

As a matter of fact she had the sensation that she was taking part in a ridiculous and improbable detective story, of the kind one reads in the weekly magazines.

Yet without hesitating, or feeling the proper amount of uncertainty, or fear, Frieda jerked open the little wooden gate and rushed up the path to the front door of the house.

There at least she did stop to give the bell a fierce pull, but she might have rushed in had she supposed the door unlocked.

However, the next second a little white faced maid appeared at the door, and Frieda simply swept by her. The door of the room, where she had seen the apparition, was on the left side of the hall and without knocking she opened this. Just how Frieda would have explained her own behavior had she made a mistake did not trouble her.

But she had not made a mistake. There standing in the centre of the room and still somewhat surrounded by smoke and with the blood coming from an injury to his hand, stood the person whose face Frieda believed she had seen through the broken window. No, she did not really believe she had seen it, though of course she knew she had.

"Are you a deserter, Henry, hiding from justice?" Frieda demanded scathingly, and still following the example of the method employed in detective stories, since her experience was so exactly of the same kind.

"I most certainly am not, my dear," Professor Russell answered firmly, but still somewhat apologetically.

"I was slightly wounded soon after my arrival at the front. But I also found that my scientific knowledge could be of more service than my abilities as a soldier. So I came back to England and have been experimenting with gas bombs with that in mind. I assure you I have official permission."

"Then why have you been hiding and why did you come down here?"

Professor Russell looked at Frieda and smiled slowly.

"You are the answer to both those questions, Frieda."

Unexpectedly Frieda's blue eyes filled with tears.

"I don't see how you can say that, Henry, when you have never even tried to see me, or to let me know what had become of you. You knew I was suffering horribly for fear you might be hurt or dead or something and you wouldn't write me."

Professor Russell's lips twitched at the thought of his being blamed for not writing after the worst had happened to him. But he made no other sign.

"You are mistaken, I have seen you, my dear, many a time when you have passed this window and at least I have had the satisfaction of realizing you were well and happy."

"But I am neither," Frieda protested. "Besides I don't understand how you knew, unless, unless – do you mean Frank and Jack were both aware that you were here and never told me? They preferred I should suffer. I shall never forgive either of them, never." And Frieda drew herself up, very stately and very injured. But in truth her lips were trembling.

"You are not to blame your sister or brother, Frieda," Professor Russell interrupted. "They have simply done what I asked, what I required of them. You came over to England to be rid of my presence. I had neither the desire nor the right to thrust myself upon you."

"Then I don't see why you didn't go and live somewhere else," Frieda remarked petulantly. But at the same instant she sank down into a chair.

"I do wish, Henry, you would give me some tea. You seem to have an extraordinary looking little girl to look after you. And I feel very much overcome from the shock of hearing an explosion outside a strange house and then seeing your face floating in space on the inside. Moreover, if you are so extraordinarily scientific I should think you would know enough to go and wash that gas bomb out of your hand."

This time Professor Russell openly laughed.

"It is scarcely a gas bomb inside my hand, Frieda. One of the chemicals simply went slightly wrong."

But Frieda had closed her eyes and dropped her head back and really looked so pale that her husband hurried out after his small maid and the tea things.

The moment he had disappeared however she opened her eyes again.

"I am going to take Henry Russell back to the United States with me in ten days," she remarked aloud, but in a very small whisper. "I don't know how I am going to manage him or the British Government, but I am going to, somehow. I thought I was bored with Henry and I was and I'll probably be again. But I suppose all women are bored with the men they live with sometimes. Anyhow, I had to think I had lost Henry to know I wanted to keep him. He does get a little upset now and then when I want my own way all the time, but really under the same circumstances I don't suppose any other man would be half so nice to me as Henry is. Besides, oh well, I believe I'm pretty fond of him."

When Professor Russell returned, Frieda again managed to have her eyes closed and she really was upset by the events of the past few moments, as was to be expected.

Therefore she seemed very languid while Professor Russell and his little maid set out the tea things. She did offer faintly to help, observing that her husband had full use of only one hand. But as it was his left hand and he insisted on getting along alone, she permitted it, even to the actually pouring and handing her of the first cup of tea.

Later he took a seat in a chair opposite her.

The unfortunate thing with Frieda was that she seldom could control her appetite, had never been able to since her chocolate drop days. So she concluded she had best begin her plan of procedure early.

"I don't see how Jack and Frank could have told you I was well, Henry," she said plaintively. "I don't suppose you have noticed but I have lost a good many pounds."

As a matter of fact Frieda had lost several pounds, although she was still reasonably rounded.

"No, I had not noticed before, but I observe you have," the Professor returned. "I trust there is nothing serious the matter. What is the doctor's opinion?"

Frieda shook her head. "I have not seen a doctor. Really, I have not spoken of this to any one before, Henry. But do you know I think, perhaps, I have not been well for a good many months, even before I left Chicago. Maybe that is what made me cross sometimes, Henry. Maybe that's why I ran away without telling you I was going. I really think I ought to have talked the matter over with you, Henry. You would have been quite willing for me to make Jack a visit wouldn't you, Henry, just as Frank is allowing Jack to go home to the ranch?"

Frieda's hand holding the tea cup shook a little.

"But I didn't know this was a visit, Frieda. I thought you had gone away for good. Indeed, I am under the impression that you said you never wished to see me again."

Frieda shook her head.

"I never could have really said that, Henry, or if I did, you were silly to think I meant it. I often say lots of things I don't mean. And I have wanted to see you lots lately."

Professor Russell took Frieda's cup away and laid firm hold on both her hands.

"Look at me, Frieda," he ordered quietly, "and don't answer me until you have thought carefully about what you wish to reply. You have been a child a long time, Frieda, but my dear, you have to grow up. All of us must sooner or later. I am a good deal older than you and not only that but I care for a lot of things which seem dull and uninteresting to you. So do you care for things which do not seem vital to me. But I'm willing to confess I'm an old fogy and sometimes I believe, Frieda dear, I did you a great wrong when I married you at such a youthful age. I want you to know, my dear, that I want to do whatever is best for your happiness. I am willing to go out of your life, to relieve you of me altogether if in any way it can be managed without reflection upon you."

"Then you mean you don't love me any more, Henry, you can't forgive me for what I did," Frieda gasped, turning really honestly pale this time. Professor Russell shook his head.

"I don't mean any such thing, Frieda child. Moreover, you know perfectly well that I don't and that it is exceedingly reprehensible for you to go on flirting in this way with your own husband unless you also care for him."

Frieda sighed with satisfaction and lifted up her face to her husband, plainly suggesting by her expression what she expected him to do.

The moment after, she said, with that funny look of gravity which no one ever paid any special attention to from her.

"Do you know, Henry, if you say things like that to me oftener, I feel sure I will care for you more. But please get your hat and come with me now, I want to introduce you to a very dear, old friend of mine in Granchester. Afterwards, if your hand does not hurt, you must go up to Kent House with me to dinner. I intend to let Jack and Frank know that I can manage my own affairs and do not in the future intend to be kept in the dark as if I were a silly child."

The Professor obeyed orders.

CHAPTER XV

THE OLD RANCH

IT was a wonderful May day when Frieda and her Professor, Jack and her two babies and nurse, and Olive arrived at the Rainbow Ranch.

Jim and Ruth Colter and Jean Merritt, who was their own Jean Bruce, of the old Ranch Girl days, drove down to the same funny little frame station to meet them. But beside the automobile they brought a great wagon, which Jim drove himself, in order that they might take up to the house as many trunks and as many people as could not be stored away in the car.

Jack insisted on returning home alongside Jim, seated on the driver's seat, her feet still not quite touching the floor.

She had put her babies in the automobile, with Ruth and Jean, so that they might make each others' acquaintance. Moreover, she had a sentiment in wishing to reach the old ranch with Jim as her companion. No matter what had happened to her, no matter what should happen in the future, Jim, who was her first friend, the manager of the old ranch, and her own and Frieda's guardian, would remain her best friend to the end of the chapter.

She knew, too, that Olive cherished many happy memories, while Frieda was beatific these days in the company of her Professor.

Jack felt a singing in her heart and in her ears as she saw the wide meadows now blossoming with purple clover and heard the western larks rising high over the land, dipping toward it again, then soaring higher up, as if they threw aside the call of the earth for the loftier one of the air.

Jim and Ruth with their children, and Jean and Ralph Merritt and their little girl, when they were at the ranch, lived in the great house which the Ranch girls had built after coming into their fortune through the discovery of the mine on their place. But the old Rainbow Lodge, where they had all lived as little girls when it was rather hard to make expenses in the dry seasons in Wyoming, had never been torn down. Indeed, as a special request from Jack it had been kept in perfect repair and still remained simply and comfortably furnished.

Whenever there were too many guests at the big house, some of them were sent down here, and more often, when he could bear the ways of high society no longer, Jim escaped to the old lodge for a quiet smoke and perhaps an hour to himself. Now and then Ruth, his wife, would come to join him, and they would talk of the early days at the ranch and their first meeting, when Ruth was a prim New England schoolmarm.

So, as a favor, Jack had asked that the old Lodge be given over to her use while she was at home. She and the babies would come up to the big house for their meals, except at night when the babies could be better taken care of at the Lodge. This would give all the more room for the others.

So, as Ruth, Jim and Jean, realized that Jack sincerely wished this arrangement, they had agreed with her desire. Jack had married so soon after the building of the house, which Frieda had named "The Rainbow Castle," that she had never learned to feel any particular affection for it. So in coming home she wished to return to the house she had loved and remembered.

On either side of the old Lodge, Frieda's violet beds were still carefully tended and today were a mass of bloom.

Olive and Frieda and the Professor insisted on getting out first at the Lodge with Jack and Jim. When they entered the old living room it was so like the one they recalled that the three women, who were girls no longer, felt a sudden catching of their breath.

But of course Jim and Jean had arranged the old room to look as much like it formerly did as possible. They had the Indian rugs on the floor, the old shelves of books, with just the books the Ranch girls had owned long before, the great open fireplace and the tall brass candlesticks on the mantel.

Then before leaving for the station Jean had filled the room with bunches of violets, as Frieda had once been accustomed to do.

"It is still just the loveliest, homiest place in the world!" Frieda exclaimed.

Jack did not feel that she could speak for the first minute, and the next Jean had come running in carrying Vive in her arms and with Jimmie beside her. They were followed by Jean's own little daughter, Jacqueline, and by two other little girls, who belonged to Jim and Ruth and another Jimmie, who was somewhere between the biggest and the littlest Jim.

Then there was, of course, the immense confusion of the arrival and the settling of so large a number of guests. Besides there were so many children to be looked after who always must be considered first.

That evening there was a dinner at the big house, at which everybody talked a great deal, asked a great many questions and answered them. But in reality they were all too tired and excited to get much satisfaction from one another.

Afterwards, although Jim and Jack walked home alone to the Lodge, they did not try to say a great deal to each other. Only at parting Jim said, "Have a cup of coffee in the morning early, Jack. I have promised Ruth not to take you too far, but I've a new horse for you to try and I want you to have the first ride over the ranch with me, while the others are still asleep. You and I are the only ones who have ever really loved the dawn out here in God's country. Ruth has left some riding togs for you somewhere in your room."

Waking before six o'clock next morning, Jack was lying in bed breathing deeply of the sweet clover-scented air, when she heard a never to be forgotten whistle outside her window.

She stuck her head out.

"I'll be down in ten minutes, Jim. Is that the horse for me? Isn't he a beauty? But hitch yours and mine somewhere outside and open the Lodge door, I didn't lock it last night, and come in and start my coffee. I just opened my eyes this minute."