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March 28, 1940     Indian Valley Record
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Thursday, March 28, 1940 INDIAN VAI,LEY RECORD Y L I D L A R R I M O R E listed. MACRAE SMITH CO, WNU SERVICE . . CHAPTER ! "What, no breakfast-nook?" Katesudden quick beating of her heart regard for the truth was not ---1- -- asked in mock-dismay, had quieted a little. The clearing Still-- The bright disc of flashlight moved "We'll have our meals on the mist of abstraction vanished. Though "What are you going to do about [ over the rough pine paneling of the porch if it isn't too cold. Do you her attention was fxed upon the dif- it?" she asked more casually than door, found and illuminated the key- hole under the latch. Gabriella Gra- ham, ftting the key into the lock, knew that her fingers were trem- bling. "It works," she said with forced composure, then, expectancy in her voice and oddly, too, a muted note of reluctance, she added a little breathlessly, "Kate, we're here!" "So I presumed." There was no expectancy in Kate Oliver's pleas- antly drawling voice, only weari- ness, characteristic humor, a casual acceptance of life's little surprises. "I agree with you, though," she continued. "It does, at the moment, appear to be a notable achieve- ment. Like scaling the Alps, for instance. I feel as though I had scaled an Alp. I'm practically par- alyzed all over." "Poor Kate!" Gay said, but the words, absently spoken, held more of personal preoccupation than sym- pathy for her companion. "Never mind," she added, still absently, but in a tone of warm affection. "We'll have a fire and food pretty soon." "I can use both," Kate said feel- ingly. "How are the beds?" Kate was aware of her hesitancy. "Give me the flashlight," she said. "I'll go ahead." Gay's glance turned quickly, re- sentfully. "Why should you?" she asked a trifle sharply. "No reason," Kate replied with unshaken good humor. "Just trying to be helpful. It's an irritating hab- it. I didn't mean to imply that you might be frightened." "Of course you did." Gay's low, clear laugh was a plea for forgive- ness. 'Tin not, though," she added. She would not admit misgivings, not even to Kate, who, during this tir- ing trip to the cabin in Maine had been disarmingly incurious, re- sourceful, amusing. People got at you if you let your defenses down. She pushed the door wide open and stepped inside. The temperature of the room was warmer than the air outside, as though there'd been a fire, she thought fleetingly and dis- missed the idea as absurd. The cab. in had been closed for three years, since Uncle John died. Not very securely closed, though. The pale rectangles in the wall were win- dows. Shouldn't there have been something--shutters, boarding, per- haps? A question, startling in im-~ plication, just touched the edge of her mind-- "Is that a wood-range?" Kate asked. "Yes," Gay replied. "Do you think we can manage it?" "Certainly," Kate said with confi- dence. "On second thought, though, who cuts the wood?" "We'll buy it cut or have a boy out from the village." "That relieves my mind. I'm not so good with an ax." Kate pressed against Gay's shoul- der to look into the room. "What's the apparatus for?" she asked in an interested voice. The flashlight disclosed a table with a porcelain top on which were jars, test-tubes, an object which might be an alcohol stove, an as- sortment of bottles. The built-in bed was neatly spread with blan- kets. There were no other furnish- ings except a straight wooden chair. "Strange odor," Kate said, sniff. ing. "Smells like a hospital or a chemist shop." "Something Uncle John left, I sup- pose," Gay said entirely at ran. dora. "Fluids for developing films, perhaps," she added slowly. "He was interested in photography. He had a great many hobbies." The explanation appeared to sat- isfy Kate. She made no further comment. It did not satisfy Gay though on the surface it was plaus- ible. Uncle John had been interest- ed in photography. But would the odor have remained in the room for three years? Wouldn't the fluids in the bottles insecurely covered with circles of gauze have evaporated during the time that the cabin had been closed? And what had test- tubes to do with kodak films? Again, and with greater insistence, the question startling in intimation forced its way into her mind. "These are the living quarters." Gay turned the light through a sec- ond door opening from the kitchen at right angles to the first. The no- tion was absurd, she told herself steadyingly. The cabin was her per- sonal, property free from restric. tions or reservations. "Compact and convenient. No elevators, no stairs to climb. Living-room, drawing- room, dining-room all in one," she concluded. suppose it will be?" Gay's voice rip- pled on, not waiting for .Kate to re- ply. "The weather was beautiful in September. I wasn't here this late in the month, though. That was the fall Mother put me in school in Switzerland while she was in Paris. It was lovely here when I left, The leaves were just beginning to turn and the air was like wine." She had thought--Her expectancy, the strength of her desire to return, seemed absurd, now, romantic, in- credibly naive. Gay stood, con- scious of fatigue, acknowledging dis- appointment, in the frame of the open door. Uncle John was dead. She was no longer fifteen, a tall, ardent child with dreams and half- Gay's glance scorned so craven a suggestion. glimpsed realities mingling to veil her perceptions in a roseate mist. Six years separated her from the summer she had spent at the cabin, six crowded years filled with com- plexities of which she had, then, been unaware, the six important years which had produced the Ga- briella she was at twenty-one. She should have known. It was futile to attempt to recapture a lost emotion, sad to go back . . . "Are there lights?" Kate asked. "Of course." The mist of intro- spection cleared. Gay felt Kate watching her, knew that Kate was aware of some preoccupation with- held and unshared. Her fingers'~ groped against the wall beside the door. Then she laughed, a clear amused laugh of candid surprise. "There's no electricity," she said. "Kerosene lamps, my friend." "Will there be kerosene? We should have gotten a supply at the store." "I forgot the light situation." Gay moved away from the door. "Keep your fingers crossed and I'll see." There was oil in the lamp on the table. A box of matches lay con- veniently at hand. Gay placed the flashlight on the table so that its beam cut in a horizontal shaft across the room. As she removed the shade from the lamp her eyes traveled along the bar of light, saw in the clear circle against the hearth a pair of muddy boots. "There's oil," she said when the flcult business of striking a match, she still saw very clearly the boots upon the hearth. "Good!" Kate said from the dark- ness near the door. "Better luck than we deserve." Gay tipped the chimney, applied the flame of the match to the wick. They were high boots with lacings, the sort that woodsmen wore, and the mud that caked them was fresh. It had been raining all day. The lane had been soft with mud. i "The wick is trimmed, too," she i said, playing for time in which to] adjust her mind to this unexpected situation, searching for an explana- tion, not wanting, just yet, to share her discovery with Kate. "Hmmm!" Kate said with curious emphasis. "The bridegroom com- eth[" "What?" The china shade, strik- ing the chimney, made a clattering sound very loud in the quiet room. Gay set it securely in the thin branching prongs. "Bridegroom?" she repeated. "There's something in the Bible about bridegrooms and wicks and oil," Kate said in casual explana- tion. "Never mind. My rector: past will pop up now and the~ Tactless of me to have mentione, bridegrooms. I'm sorry." Th~ circle of flame in the lamp steadied and brightened. Gay raised her head. Through the mellow light she saw Kate walking toward her, an amused expression in her eyes under the brim of a dark felt hat which, on Kate, looked both dis- reputable and debonaire. She turned away, puzzling over Kate's com- ment, not quite understanding the skeptical expression deepening the lines around Kate's twinkling eyes. Did Kate think--? "There's a fire laid ready for lighting." She knelt on the hearth, deliberately ignoring both the com- ment and the ready explanation. "We won't need more wood tonight. Will you hand me the matches, please?" "Sheer magic," Kate said dryly. "Alice-in-Wonderland and the Arabi- an Nights. Oil in the lamps, a fire laid--or maybe wish-fulfillment did it. Anyway. I'm not kicking." Gay took the box of matches with- out meeting Kate's glance. The im- plication, now, was perfectly clear. Kate thought--Astonishment sharp. ened into indignation. She resented having her motives questioned. A denial sprang to her lips. She forced back the words. Never deny or ex- plain. People got at*you if you let your defenses down, she reminded herself again. In affronted silence she ignited the shavings beneath the pyramid of wood. "Our guardian angel has slipped up, though," Kate said still in a tone of skeptical amusement. "These boots certainly won't fit ei- ther you or me." Her voice altered. "Who is it, Gay?" she asked with a directness which could no longer be evaded. "I don't know." "Someone is living here." "Obviously." "Who is it?" Kate repeated. "I told you I didn't know." Gay watched small active flames licking up against the logs. Was she telling the truth? Kate watched Gay rise, swiftly, grace- fully, from her kneeling position on the hearth. She had no reason to doubt her, she thought, backing up to the warmth of the fire. In the roster of Gay's short-comings, a dis- she felt. Gay paused in her progress across the room. "Do about it?" she asked. "I just wondered." Kate rocked back and forth from her heels to her toes on the field-stone hearth. She was observing, irrelevantly, the un- conscious air of assurance with which Gay carried herself, thinking how trim she looked, in spite of two days and a night on the road, in the dark tailored suit which empha- sized the grace of her long slender legs, the breadth of her shoulders, the rounded slenderness of her body. Ah, youth! She, herself, probably looked like a scare-crow, a particu. larly attenuated and angular one. Not that it mattered. The inward sigh which followed the thought was phil- osophical rather than envious. "I don't necessarily insist that we get out of here pretty quick," she con- tinued, still carefully casual "It's I an idea, though. To quote your Aunt Flora, it might be advisable, perhaps." Gay's glance scorned so craven a suggestion. "We will not," she said with spirited emphasis. "This cabin belongs to me." She pulled off her hat, tossed it on the couch, ran her fingers through the flattened red-brown waves of her hair. "I've no intention of being dispossessed, if that's the phrase. You might as well take off your bonnet and shawl. We're going to stay." "There'd be no accommodations in the village, I suppose," she said tentatively. "An inn or a tourist camp--Just for tonight--" "In Northfield?" Gay laughed. "Heavens, sol" "And it's a long way back to Ma- chias." "Twenty miles." Gay was light- ing a second lamp on the table be- hind the couch. "Have you forgot- ten," she asked, "the condition of ~the road?" Kate was a little abashed to feel a not unpleasant thrill of excitement tingling shamelessly up her spine. After a summer at "Dunedtn," the Graham estate on the Hudson, any- thing in the nature of an "escapade" was enlivening. (TO BE CONTINUED) Deaf People Lack Care Given Other Handicapped Dr. Augustus J. Hambrook, mem- ber of the New York state com- mission on the hard of hearing and deaf, says efforts to improve the condition of the deaf "encounter a great obstacle because there is no popular instinctive sympathy for them." "We all help the cripple across the street," the physician said. "The blind man groping his way finds ev- eryone's hand outstretched to pro- tect him; but the person whose hear- ing is impaired--he is just regard- ed as a nuisance." Hambrook said many advances have been made in early discovery of children suffering from hearing defects. He said at least 2 per cent of the school population has some degree of hearing impairment. "If the public knew how much ira. provement can be produced by edu- cation in lip reading, as well as by scientific advances in medical knowledge of the ear, the problem of helping these citizens would not be so difficult," Hambrook said. "Popular apathy prevents many peo- ple from knowing that they can get help from the means which are now at hand. Yet statistics show that the problem of the hard of hearing involves 4 per cent of the population." I An Exciting New Serial by LIDA LARRIMORE young Gabriella Graham, pampered and obstinate, yet lovable and warm.hearted, faces a new problem when she falls in love with a man she meets again after a lapse of many years. Already engaged to marry a childhood friend, she must choose between the two men. Her decision is one that will thrill you, one you'll applaud. "Two Keys to a Cabin" is the dramatic, fascinating story of a courageous girl and the two men she loved. Don't miss a single powerful installment! BEGE N TODAY BERIALLY IN THIN PAPER Kathleen Norris Says Was the Old Idea of Permanent Marriage Better? ! Bell Syndlcate---WNU Se rvice. ) '.4 woman friend o/mine, lit,ins in lonely exile from her own land, had to endure the presence of a beautiful dancer in her own home. By KATHLEEN NORRIS THE great disadvantage of a civilization that permits quick and easy divorces is that no woman can be sure of her husband any more, no man sure of his wife, and no home feel itself safe. That is the fact, from a purely practical point of view. The moral considerations, affecting the vow men and women take, "for better or for worse," I leave to the theolo- gians. I am merely thinking here that divorce does unsettle the mind of husband and wife. If there were no divorce things would go different- ly in the family circle. But as it is today no matter how determined the woman is to make her marriage a success; no matter how anxious the man is to have his home one of the happy homes of the world, there is always this in the back of the thoughts of each: "And if it simply won't work, there's divorce." In the old days there was much abuse of a situation that offered no doorway of escape. No question of that. Some men were bullies at home, bad fathers, bad providers, unfaithful. Wives had no redress. They bore the children and they bore with the children's father in un- complaining martyrdom, year after year. A friend of mine who mar- ried a foreigner, 30 years ago, lived in far and lonely exile from her own land, and, had to endure the presence of a beautiful dancer, a chorus girl, in her own home. as her husband's mistress. Whert he went on a pleasant trip, on his yacht or behind his span of dashing horses, the dancer went, too. When the mistress objected to the noise the children made, the two smallest ones were sent away to a country nurse. Injustices like this made the life of many a faithful wife and devoted mother insufferable. Only two gen- erations ago a father could order grown daughters supperless to their rooms, could forbid their marrying this man or that, could keep them-- and in most cases did keep them, idle at home, penniless, dependent, all their days. It came to the 11 Barrett children by slow degrees, some 60 years ago, that their father didn't intend any one of them to have any love affairs whatsoever. Girl after girl and boy after boy meekly surrendered all hope of love and marriage because papa so or- dained it, The Natural Reaction. Modern marriage, with its quick divorces, its resulting independence and alimony, is the natural reac- tion to this unnatural situation. Girls painfully have fought their way to independence and freedom, and if that freedom is being abused in its turn perhaps that is only the swing of a pendulum that will presently right itself. Certainly a husband to- day is lnfln!tely more reasonable, considerate and faithful than a hus- band had to be a few generations ago, when anything he did was per- force pardoned by that helpless companion, who was always and forever, to the end of the chapter, until death actually did him part from her--his wife. But today's way means that any attractive woman, perhaps with two or three unsuccessful marital expe- riences behind her, can pick upon any desirable mate, and even though he be at the time happily married and with two or three small chil- dren, can do her best to win him away from his wife and family and home. And society, not to be too flagrantly inconsistent, must stand by and approve. Unless high moral conviction, the influence of religion, 4 or character save him, he may be drawn away by slow degrees, know- ing all the time, as his wife knows, and the woman knows, that a brief six weeks stay in Reno will suffice to free him for the intoxications of the new experiment. "My life is made completely wretched by jealous anxieties," writes a woman from Columbus, Ohio. "I've fought it, I've pr~ayed about it, but with eveFy fresh in- stance of my husband's attractive- ness to women and their feeling for him, I am down in the depths again. He likes to flirt; he is continually involved in an affair with some fas- cinating woman. He writes them delightful notes; meets them for lunch, makes them little presents, but refuses to open his mouth to me on the subject. "With the help of a young boy I do my own work in an eight-room house," the letter goes on. "We have two small children, a vegeta- ble garden, chickens, and I love ev- ery inch of it. I love my kitchen, my piano, my books, my room. Why should all this that I have built up be jeopardized by the selfishness of casual outsiders, who at best take him away from us, waste his mon- ey, and put us all into a false posi- tion, and at worst may lead any day to his asking me to set him free. I suppose it would be silly to say that in spite of all this I love him, but I do love him, love other sides of his nature which are more dependable, and I suffer a continual sense of inferiority and helplessness very hard to bear." A Vain Boy at Heart. This husband, and hundreds like him, is a type of the man who grows up in a business sense, and in some ways in a mental sense, but who remains a vain boy at heart. He is as tickled today, at 34, with the artless flatteries of new women ac- quaintances, as he was 15 years ago. He doesn't want to hold his own in 'a real world, where friendships, books, home, garden, children and birthdays fill his leisure hours. He doesn't realize that the quiet companionship of the woman who has loved him, all these years it real, and that the feelings he thinks he has for the other woman are self. deception. He hasn't sense enough in rnctters of the heart to look about him at the men who have married the objects of their "grande pas- sion," only to be bored and disil- lusioned, after a few years. And he isn't big enough, or his mother didn't train him thoroughly enough to know that the only sure path to comfort and happiness in middle age is to learn to live the hard married years in faithfulness and kindness and con. tent, taking their real Joys and rich- ness in place of the younger excite. ments and flatteries and dreams. I say, "the hard middle years." There IS a hard time in most mar. riages, when a man is reasonably sure of his job, a woman absorbed in nursery and household cares, and when the glamour of love-making, of the sacred intimacy and one-nest of m~arriage have lost a little some- thing by familiarity. Dire poverty and uncertainty, illness and bitter anxiety for the safety of children usually spare a family this crisis, but not all families experience these extremes, and in easier times we are all apt to forget the treasure we have in dreaming of the outside treasure that might be ours. After all, the greateatpercentage of human Joy comes ~ a well. adjust~d family circle. Most men know this. They know in their hearts that it is only to weak eyes that the far hills seem the greenest. ~ii