The Bismarck tribune. [volume] (Bismarck, N.D.) 1916-current, 1926-06-02
GO ON WITH THE STORY


an who looked like beetle and wore
glasses on the end of her nose, came
from behind the counter. She sur.
veyed Sandy.
A wave Of color flew into Sandy's
pale cheeks. Why was that woman
staring at her?
my. you're looking lovely, Mrs.
Murillo. You do wear lavender
something beautiful!"
Sandy laughed. caught . glimpse
of herself in the mirror with the big.
droOpy hat, the sport frock of orchid.
She pushed the hair at her ears. Her
hands were freezing; her neck on
fire.
OF course she looked lovely! Did
any one need to stare at her and
comment about it!
She walked rapidly up the block.
But she stopped whenever she caught
her reflection in the store windows
She glanced with steathy, agonized
intensity at these images. !
An odd, hot dialogue went on in
her mind. TITS not so! OF course
it's not!"
ooh. don't be such fool! You
know it's sol"
But what will do? God, what
CAN 1 dor
"Face it! You'll face it,"
"I'M not face it! ] won't! WON'T"
would fly out of her own body. This
incredible thing happening to her!
Mother people were cowed by
Life. But she was so slim. so tall.
SO very breezy and do as you please!
She was THAT gay, Eight hearted
Sandy Mcneil who snapped her fin
gers with an impudent laugh and
dared anyone to high-hat her. Let
Life shake its old gray fingers
she'd get by!
And even now she tried to fling
hack her head. She said hundred
times day as though her scared.
piteous denial was going to alter the
fact: "No--it's not so. God---don't
let it bets not!"
It was evening, early in .Septem-
ber Clouds drifted like silver
flowers across the mountain tops.
They kept drifting and. drifting, new
ones blooming as the first ones were
lost. All along they drifted. . music
in the blue lanes of the sky. The
sky was blue and clear like that
last April--that Sunday Of the picnic.
and she had come running out this
gate giggling to have made the sneak
so cleverly.
She pushed the rusty hinge, went
in quietly and sat hidden in the
shaking back the red. shiny hair.
standing here with Jimmy, tilting
her face backward for him to kiss.
She belonged to herself then.
Then she thought of that walled-in
garden and Murillo coming upon her.
leading her back. the moon floating
in q golden mist. Why hadn't she
run away then before it was too late
why hadn't she flown--n0 matter
But no. she had gone back like q
weak. puny hearted thing! She de-
served this. She thought in a fury
of resentful stiffness. "Don't stamp
your feet now; it won't do any good!
No good to scream; it's true!"
Every time she said "It's true"
things went clashing wild in her
thoughts. Strike out her hands, beat
off these closing walls. Strike out
and get free--somehow-
She could have hurled herself on
the ground and given up to uncon-
trollable sobbing. Nothing could
equal the poisonous bitterness of her
aalf.reproadAes. II she had only
known--if she had only thought
If she had only brazened them to the
end-if she'd only run away before.
hand.
She came back always to the dead.
~ conclusion. "It's too late now!
| You're beat!"
All last night she lay awake DEFY
ing this. She wasn't beat. She would
leave anyway She would fight the
thing out al0ne-meet it by herself
l. What good would that do! Run to
the farthest end OF the earth, bury
herself in the remotest island, It
would still be his child-he would
always be the father.
She felt Murillo's limp, moist hands
on her shoulders, his lips pressed to
her throat. Shame burned her scar.
let-scarlet to the heart. Then she
said. half Weeping: II won't have it!
! WON'T"
She hated herself. She put her
hands behind her, the touch Of her
own flesh abhorrent. No longer her
own-she didn't belong to herself.
But she would! Shed kill herself
"Oh, can't 60 on like this" Her
pulses thumped in still alarm.
Suppose she ran away now? Could
she get job? How long would she
/ be able to work? Then could they
come and bring her back?
Days and days Of this. One night
she crept from bed, gliding softly
that Alice mightn't hear. She sat
by the open window looking down at
the grapevines. She felt desolate.
The thing that had happened was
vicious. The child was her enemy.
It was his. She could never love it.
Burning tears. Never love 1t! Not
hers. His. She had to check the
convulsive sob. It would never be
his. Hers.
Then she felt stirring Of pity.
Pity that she was to bring It here--a
little helpless thing that would mean
nothing to her. and she would never
| love it.
Why should she care for It, It
was forcing her back to him. She
had to go back. She knew this now.
| Lying awake hour after hour, she
t{1ced her own angry, defiance. She
| asked: What else can do? And
.he saw herself rushing 70 the city,
No-Sut what ss ei.e sSa'' VAN = H"a aSs
streets? Borrow--steal-die. yes
she could die. But she didn't want
Yet now she looked from the win.
dow and wondered n Il wonId nn,t
livery much to 70 crashing down
there on the cement walk. 6
/ .Mnp;llX,. ~, - ...,.< Sf.vs..a 90, :, 4