Evening star., 1938-01-16

- UENs deep voice went on, saying
something quaint about his WED
ding on wings" up here in the snow.
~ Something about Suzanne sending
invitations. Something about bringing ones
skis. His rich baritone carried we'll over the
snow. Too well.
Martha Tobin dug her ski pole deeper into
the snowdrift and stood there, looking across
the fifty yard eternity at Quen. She was trying
to memorize the lean, easy grace of his pose the
lift of his dark head, before he was shut from
sight by the red woolens, the blue gabardines,
the stocking caps, the peaked Alpine caps and
the fur parkas of the twenty other skiers who
smged forward in a jocular wave around -
Quen and Suzanne.
After a decent interval of stretching her
smile, Martha slipped away. There was ridge
yonder and beyond it, small, lonely valley
laced with blue shadows and shuttered with
trees like crystal decorations in Christmas
window.
Her skis took her lightly down the slope and
for the first time she treasured their eager obedi
ence. She was not good skier; plain poor,
according to Quen. But Quen never suspected
the black fear that rode down every steep slide
partner because Quen was at her other elbow.
But now ..
The valley was deserted; unmarked except
for her own tracks from that morning where she
had worked alone at the head of the valley
patiently perfecting her Telenark turns. For
Quen's sake. The ski tracks were punctuated
by unpfetty muddles of snow like beads along
string. This morning, repeatedly picking herself
up, she had been glad Quen was not there to see
her.
Turning sharply from the tracks at the head
of the valley she could look away down the un-
broken length of the lower canyon. sentineled
by ranks of evergreens with branches weighted
SHIN to their sides by shining armor of snow.
At the rim of the world only cobalt haze
cupped the valley from the distant sawtooth
of peaks that Quen and she had always meant
to climb. Some day.
Martha sat down on the tail of her skis and
buried her head in her woolen-clad knees. After
a moment there was soft whisper over the
uusted surface and the sidewise whoosh of
skid-stop She knew by the sound it had not
been good piece of skiing, 50 of course the
visitor was not Quen. A hand fell on her shoul-
der and young DR.. Randall Presoott's voice,
friendly and everyday, asked, "Is it Quen's
wedding you're upset about?"
She shook her head
Don't lie to me-" said Randy, amiably.
''We've known each other since we were pups?"
''Please, Randy, 60 away"
'Now, look here, Martha Tobin you've got
to brace up. Haven't you realized it was all over
from the minute Suzanne hit town with her
Swiss skiing and her gold eyes? Ever since she
bought herself ski lodge and began inviting
Quen and party up there? Emphasis on Quen."
Too tired to keep up appearances Martha
said, Before Suzanne it was Astrid and before
that, Paula, but Quen always came back"
Suzanne is - Suzanne"
For the first time, Martha head lifted She
looked at loose-jointed Randy, his homely,
wind burned face bent anxiously above her.
"Randy!'
'Well?" His grin was just too late to hide the
pain that had tightened his angular jaw. He
was 50 terribly, deeply different from Quen's
studied dark perfection that she had never
managed really to look at the grown-up Randy
in all the years that they had been in the same
crowd. She had forgotten that he, like Quen,
had become man.
"Randv. what YOU said about Suzanne - is