Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1946-03-01
CHAPTER vi


meant it, though she could not just
then have told what prompted her.
mo. I don't want the government
to pay me for Arthur. I can earn
my own living. I'd rather
Before they could reply she ran
out of the bank. leaving Uncle Clar-
ence to apologize for her strange be-
havior, and the banker to answer
Uncle Clarence that it was quite all
right, he understood, the poor girl
was young and had no idea of money,
and she had undoubtedly received
great blow, just come back when
she's more reasonable, glad to see
you both any time.
Elizabeth was walking quickly
along the street. She felt somehow
strong and free, stronger and freer
than she had felt since the day she
had received that terrible telegram.
AL her senses were abruptly alert.
She noticed that there was a tingle
of spring in the air. People were
walking fast, as if they had some
where of importance to 60. All of
a sudden she stopped in front Of a
store window and said "Ah!"-not
an audible exclamation, just the
swift little catch of her breath that
she would have given this time last
year at the sight Of a smart black
hat with red feather.
Her thrill was gone in an instant.
She had time only to think, "Why,
this is the first time I've noticed any,
thing" before the tiredness was
back on her and she was saying to
herself, What difference does it
make what I wear now?" Looking
up at the store front, she remem-
bered that she had bought many hats
here in the past. One afternoon
she had called Arthur and told him
to pick her up here on his way home.
He had come in while she was still
hesitating, and had made the choice
for her-"Here's the one for you,
Elizabeth, black with red feather"
She caught her breath again, but
this time it was to stifle a sob, and
she hurried home as fast as she
could.
Once at home she sat down tense
ly, asking herself with a sense of
desperation, "Can't I ever get away
from this?" Then, suddenly, she be-
came aware that in asking the
question she had unconsciously, by
the words she was using, provided
the answer. She had to get away.
But though the answer had come,
It was not clear. For few mo-
ments this morning she had been
exhilarated, until the hat with the
feather had brought him back. What
was it, she asked herself now, that
had given her that brief bright
sense of being alive again?
1t was something that had hap
pened at the bank. She had said she
did not want to be paid for losing
Arthur. No wonder they had heard
her with such surprise, for on the
face of it that was foolish thing to
say. Nobody could believe a war
widow lost her self-respect by re-
ceiving a government pension. But
her words had given her the impress
sion of shaking off a burden. As
she thought of it she remembered
"1ldk S1S6 Sic Ildu SdlU. can
earn my own living. I'd rather"
Naturally they had been startled.
She knew no more about earning
her own living than a child. The
idea of such possibility had never
occurred to her before. She had
spoken without thinking, and yet she
had somehow been thinking of some
thing much more vital than the
source of her income. She sought
to recall it, more than once drawing
back, for the operation was too pain
full to be continued without pause.
but at last she found what she was
looking for. 81 was thinking of
something, not about a pension or
about my going to work. Just for
q minute got flash of it and it
was like being walked up with dash
Of cold water-I know-I was realiz-
ing that I didn't have to keep on
being dependent on Arthur"
That hurt. She stood I'D and
walked around, her whole spirit pro-
testing against the hurt of it. II want
to be dependent on him! I was so
happy when all day was thinking
OF him. I'll tell Arthur about this.
he'll laugh and laugh 4 must ask
how she makes that sponge-cake,
Arthur would love it, DO you real
~ like my bracelet? Arthur gave
Il to me- Arthur, Arthur, all the
time, never anything but Arthur.
Stop it, Elizabeth! I don't care how
It hurts, stop it! Arthur is dead.
Yes, say it and get used to it. He's
dead, and you're burning yourself
up like those Oriental women who
lie down on their husbands funeral
pyres. Arthur wouldn't want this.
he loved living and he wasn't afraid
Of dying, but he'd hate this imitation
death you've been Shining into II