Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1922-04-20


On the Floor Beside the Trunk and
With Great Squirt of Energy She
Fell to Packing Her Little Handbag.
with great squirt Of energy she fell
to packing her little handbag.
A neighbours dog bayed to the moon
as it rose. The spring air took on
the nip OF late evening and came In
boldly through the window. After q
while a velvet and thick mapped 81
lence completely closed her in, and
when she rose from her stiff knees
the moon had got high. She could see
1t from the window.
At ten o'clock she made careful
tour of the house. Memories like wild
flowers sprang out from every corner.
A steamer chair, barred of it's pillows
and folded against the kitchen wall,
set her to trembling. Tears would
come. She dried them on her sleeve.
Her own room stripped of It's little
trappings took on suddenly the dol
lara-day formality of hotel room !;
the cold, cavernous formality which
betrays it's shifting world by no more
than an occasional hairpin left rusting
in an empty drawer; serew-top flask
gathering dust in the webby recesses
Of closet shelf.
She barred the front latch and,
hated and gloved, tip-toed through
t-;+ 81 faI
over the green shutters springing the
bolt in the woodshed, rafting the Gel
lar windows. On the front lawn,
whitened with moonlight, the lilac
bush lifted its blooming heads bravely
against the nip of the air, and it's
fragrance, druggish and full Of sweet
ness was delicate as the perfume Of a
love story She held its blossoms to
her cheek and tears fell on the cool
leaves.
After time she made quick f0ray
into the house and out again with a
folded sheet, which she slapped open
and with a great straining of all her
strength flung it upward over the
Towering bush. In the center of the
lawn it stood like bulgy phantom
For a while she hung on the white
picket fence, straining her eyes to-
ward the lights of the town. She
fell to crying silently. The moon-faced,
moon-colored tower clock doomed
eleven, each stroke waiting for it's
echo to die Great hot waves were rae
ing over her body and she walked q
space into the shadows of the board
sidewalk and back, always her head
cooked in the attitude of listening.
A train whistle hallooed straight up
ward and like rocket piercing the
night. Refiexly she stopped to her
bag, which stood beside the gate, her
eyes still probing the Swallowed walk
that led to town. Another halloo and
through the bracken and sparse tim
berlsnd behind the cottage she could
see the checkered flash of the lighted
train windows and great plume of
smoke that rose and died on the noe
turnal landscape.
1t was as IL she could feel the hot
tanning breath Of the coaches as they
slowed, shrieking on their rails into
the station. The heavy engine throbs
were like heart-beats and it's bell
changed against her temples. A cough
ing Of steam gouged out the silence.
She stood listening. The minutes
passed as she would push the beads
down the thread of a rosary. Perdita
In her garden of mint and marigold
shed no more scalding tears.
From the depth OF the bordered
walk came the faint march Of foot
steps, reverberating through the blue
hollow OF the night. The engine bell
changed again and furiously and
presently, without turning her head,
through the bracken and timberland
behind the cottage she could see the
fluent motion Of lighted train windows
flashing past.
Came the footsteps now almost upon
her, light-heeled and ringing, as II
soldier with new spurs on his boots
were marching toward her.
H.