Whiter Than Snow (3 page)

Lucy fiddled with the tie of her apron. She’d never seen a picture show. “Well, I’d like to, but I can’t.”

Ted’s face fell. “I guess you think I’m a masher. Or maybe you already have a boyfriend. That’s it, isn’t it? A girl as pretty as you.”

Lucy liked that, because nobody ever called her pretty. “Oh no! I don’t have a boyfriend. And I don’t think you’re a masher. It’s just that I’m not allowed to date.”

“Really? You promised your parents you wouldn’t go out with boys?”

“Papa told me I couldn’t. I didn’t really promise it.”

Ted thought a moment. “If you just happened to run into me when we were both going to the pictures and we ended up sitting together, it wouldn’t really be a date, would it?”

Lucy thought that over. After all, she
hadn’t
promised. She looked at Ted slyly. “I guess it wouldn’t.”

Ted grinned. “Okay, then how about if I run into you on Saturday at the theater, the Novelty? It’s on Curtis Street. Your father didn’t tell you that you couldn’t go to the pictures, did he?”

“He’s probably never heard of the pictures.”

“Then how about it?”

“Maybe,” Lucy said, knowing her father would be boiling mad if he learned she had disobeyed him. But how would he find out? She’d tell her aunt she was busy at school. “I could try. But you’ll understand if I don’t show up, won’t you?”

“Not one bit. And I’ll be mighty disappointed.”

They agreed on a time, and Lucy fretted all week, wondering if Aunt Alice would somehow discover what she was up to and tell her father. The old woman would have a vexation about it. But by the weekend, Lucy decided to chance it. And Ted, it seemed, decided to take no chances at all, for when Lucy left work on Saturday to catch the trolley downtown, he was waiting for her outside the drugstore.

Lucy did not know that life could hold so much joy for her as it did in that third year of college. She had her classes, and she had Ted. She did not let herself think that it would all end. Because their schools were at far sides of the city—Lucy’s in the south end of Denver and Ted’s in Golden, a town to the west, they did not see each other as often as they would have liked. Besides, since Aunt Alice did not know about him, Ted could not call at the house, so they had to plan their meetings in public places. Sometimes he brought his books and studied at a table near the soda fountain or dropped by at the end of Lucy’s shift so that the two of them could walk to the corner near her aunt’s house. Ted would leave her there and take the trolley and then the interurban back to Golden. In the late autumn, when the leaves fell, they walked in Washington Park and around the lake, and after cold weather came, they continued to walk. Lucy was used to mountain cold, so the low temperature in Denver did not bother her. Nor did it affect Ted, who loved the brisk weather.

Neither one had much money—Ted’s parents had died, and his small inheritance barely covered tuition and living expenses—so they did not go to the movies often or to restaurants for dinner. Ted invited her to a dance once, but Lucy turned him down, because there was no way she could keep such an outing secret from her aunt. Mostly, they talked, sometimes stopping in drugstores for coffee. And talking seemed to satisfy both of them. Ted told Lucy, “I can talk to you about anything. You’re as smart as a fellow.”

One day as they sat on a bench in Washington Park, feeding stale buns from the drugstore to the ducks, Ted remarked, “God put gold in the ground for us to find, and I intend to do it. I can just imagine how those old fellows felt fifty years ago when they discovered gold. I guess they’re all living the life of Riley now.”

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Lucy told him. “Most of them sold out cheap and spent the money. It was the finding of it that mattered.”

“I guess I understand that.” He sat back on the bench and grinned. “I never thought I’d meet a girl who knew so much about mining.”

“There’s not much else to know about in Swandyke. Some of those old prospectors are still around, you know.”

“I’d like to meet them.”

“You’d be disappointed. Oh, they tromped around mighty for a while, but today, they’re no better than ragpickers, living off other folks’ leavings. Most people think they’re no account for nothing,” Lucy told him.

“Well, I wish I’d grown up hearing their stories.”

“I wish I hadn’t.”

Ted turned to stare at Lucy. “If you dislike Swandyke so much, how come you’re going back?”

“I don’t have a choice. I promised my father I would.” She thought a minute. “It’s not all bad up in the high country. There’s nothing prettier than a mountain summer. And in the fall, when the leaves turn, you’d swear you were inside a gold vug.” She added, “That’s one of those little pockets filled with pure gold. Every prospector in the world hopes to find one.”

“I know what a vug is. Remember, I’m a mining student?”

Lucy smiled. “The aspens are that bright—so bright that they bring a hurting to your eyes. And the people in Swandyke are as good as you’ll find anyplace. Why, when there’s a cave-in or somebody’s hurt on the dredge, there’s not a soul in town that won’t pitch in. Old Mrs. McCauley, who lives alone, always keeps a bed turned down in case there’s an accident and somebody needs tending. At times she has two or three at a time in her house. People who haven’t spoken to each other in years come together when there’s need.”

“Why did you promise your father you’d go back?” Ted broke off a piece of bun and threw it into the water, and they watched as a duck swam over to it and picked it up with his bill.

“I have to help carry the family. Papa made me promise if I went to college, I’d come back to help him out. There are half a dozen little ones at home. My sister’s the only one who works now, and she’ll likely get married soon.”

“What if
you
get married, Luce?”

“I can’t. I gave my word I’d go back, and there’s nobody on the Swan River I’d want to spend my life with.”

“It sounds like you made the devil’s bargain.”

Lucy laughed a little. “I suppose it will seem so after I graduate, but right now, I’m grateful I’m away for a few years.” She threw the rest of the buns into the lake, and they watched the ducks swim over to them and gobble their dinner. Then they rose and walked out of the park, Ted warming Lucy’s fingers in his own. She left him at the streetcar stop, then continued on home. When she arrived, Aunt Alice was mending a stocking in the light from the window.

“It’s awful cold to be outside,” she observed, weaving her needle in and out over the darning egg.

“I’m all right.”

“You’re liable to catch your death out there.”

Lucy shrugged and took off her coat.

“I don’t mind if you ask your young man to come inside next time.”

“What?”

“I’d hate to be the cause of you getting pneumonia, you or him.”

Lucy sat down on a footstool and stared at the woman.

Finally, her aunt looked up. “You think I don’t notice how you leave here all primped up and come back looking like you met the king of England himself?” She chuckled. “I know your Papa don’t want you to go out with a boy, ’cause he’s scared you won’t go on back home, but I think he’s terrible mean about that.” She put down the darning egg and leaned forward in her chair. “I never had the chance. Maybe you don’t know my mother died, and my father said I had to raise up the little ones, made me take charge of the house and be the mother to my brothers and sisters. I was the oldest. Your papa was the youngest. When he was grown sufficient, I was an old maid. I never had no good time. I was used up before I could marry. None of my brothers and sisters cared the least thing about me after they were growed, and Gus is the worst, never so much as sending me a postal, except when he wants something. So I don’t care much to keep his commandments. Lord have mercy! He ain’t God. Nobody in the family but Margaret—your mother—and you has ever took a liking to me, and I’ve become right fond of you. You’ve been a blessing to me every day since you been here, so I guess you can see a boy, and I won’t tell.”

Lucy grabbed the old woman’s hand and squeezed it, and Aunt Alice said, “Now, now.” But she seemed pleased, and after that, Ted called at the little house, and the two young people sat in the living room, sometimes by themselves, other times with the aunt. When spring came, the couple took her to Washington Park, or they all walked to the creamery for ice cream. Aunt Alice approved of the young man, and she knew long before Lucy did—or Ted, either, for that matter—that he would propose.

And of course he did. The day he was offered a job as assistant dredgemaster on the Liberty Dredge, up the Swan River from Swandyke, Ted asked Lucy to marry him. The proposal came as a shock to the girl, because she had refused to let herself consider the possibility of marriage, and she was so surprised that she couldn’t speak. Ted was sitting across the counter from her at the drugstore, and he said, “I guess I should have been more romantic, taken you to dinner or brought you flowers. But I got the job only an hour ago, and I was so excited, I couldn’t wait.” He grinned and added, “I expect at the least I should have taken a bath.”

“No, oh no…”

“No? What do you mean, no? I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll support us, and you can turn your wages over to your folks, the whole paycheck, if you want to. You’ll go back to Swandyke like you promised, but we’ll go together.”

“I meant you didn’t have to take a bath.” She smiled at him for a long time, then frowned. “I won’t quit school.”

“You won’t have to. We’ll get married next year, after you graduate. By then, I’ll have the hang of the job, and I’ll have time to find a house and maybe get to know your family, too. Don’t you see, Luce, it’s perfect. You know I’ve been crazy about you ever since that day you painted my finger with Mercurochrome. I didn’t wash it for a week. I must have eaten a hundred grilled cheese sandwiches here, and I don’t even like cheese. Promise me you’ll never fix me another grilled cheese.” He grinned. “I hope you feel the same way about me.”

Lucy nodded. “I guess I swabbed that cut so I could hold your hand.” She blushed and added, “Now I can hold it for the rest of my life.”

“Then you’ll do it.”

“Of course I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”

Ted leaned across the counter and kissed her. He’d never done that before, and Lucy drew away. But then she reconsidered and kissed him back.

The drugstore owner came over then and asked, “What’s this about, Lucy? You can’t do that in here.”

“It’s about we just got engaged,” Ted told him.

“Oh, I guess that’s different. Isn’t that fine!” the man said, and, as the store was empty, he went behind the drug counter and took down a bottle and poured shots of whiskey into three Coca-Cola glasses and handed them around.

They told Aunt Alice right away, and she said it was about time.

“Now that I have your approval, I’ll have to get Lucy’s father’s,” Ted said. “I guess I’ll go to Swandyke and ask him.”

“No,” Aunt Alice said. “No, you won’t ask him. I know Gus, and he’ll put conditions on it, just like he did about Lucy going to college. You two just tell him you’re getting married, so that there’ll be nothing he can do about it.”

Lucy admitted her aunt was right. So not until the day she stepped off the train in Swandyke at the end of the school year, Ted behind her, did the family have the least knowing of her plans. It was a Sunday, a day off for both Gus and Dolly, and the entire family had gathered at the depot to meet the train. Lucy hugged her mother and Dolly and the little ones, then shook hands with her father, all before anyone became aware that Ted was waiting beside her. They looked him over, thinking perhaps that Lucy had met him on the train. But before they could wonder about it, Lucy blurted out, “This is Ted Turpin. Ted’s my fiancé.”

“He’s what?” Dolly asked, not understanding the word.

“My fiancé. That means we’re engaged.”

“Oh,” Margaret, Lucy’s mother, said. “Oh.”

“You mean you’re getting married?” Dolly’s eyes were wide with surprise, her mouth open a little. “Oh, Lucia!” She grabbed her sister’s wrist and squeezed it so tightly that Lucy thought the blood would stop going into her hand. Then Dolly turned to Ted. “Mr. Turpin, you are the luckiest man ever I met.”

“I am that.” Ted grinned, but he looked at Gus when he said it.

Gus was frowning. “I guess I’ll say who my daughter can marry.”

“I guess you won’t,” Lucy told him, and Gus’s face turned red.

Father and daughter stared at each other, neither turning away until Doll said, “Mama has a fine dinner all ready, and you can bring Mr. Turpin so’s we can all get acquainted.”

“I expect we could do that,” Gus said, finally turning his head to look at Dolly.

Then while Ted made arrangements to store his trunk at the depot, Dolly whispered to Lucy, “You let me talk to Papa. He’ll come around.”

“I never promised I wouldn’t get married,” Lucy said stubbornly.

“I’ll tell him that.”

As they walked back to the shabby house, Ted and Lucy lagging a little behind, Lucy whispered, “Dolly will talk to Papa. She has a way with him. She’s the sweetest of us.”

“Is she?” Ted replied. “Well, you’re the prettiest.”

Lucy stayed in Swandyke for only a few days, since she had to return to her job at the drugstore. By the time she left, however, Gus had accepted Ted. Dolly and Margaret had convinced him that Lucy would keep her word about supporting the family. Ted would live in a boardinghouse operated by the dredge company while he looked for a little house. Lucy saw him whenever he was sent to Denver on some errand. He’d go into the drugstore and surprise her, or she’d return home from school or work and find him sitting in the front room with her aunt, who would excuse herself, saying she had forgotten about some urgent business that required her attention.

They wrote to each other, of course, and Lucy revealed herself in letters as she had not done in conversation, quoting bits of poetry and writing her innermost thoughts. Once, she wrote that she would like the bedroom of their house painted blue “for the sky and your eyes,” and he wrote back that he had already found a house and would paint every room in it blue.