Lucy Montgomery - Mistress Pat

"Suzanne is going to be married next month," said David suddenly.

Pat lifted a startled face. She had not thought it would be before the fall. And ... if Suzanne were to be married ... what about David? He couldn't stay on at the Long House alone. Would his next words say something of the sort? Pat felt her lips and mouth go curiously dry. But of course ...

What WAS David saying?

"Do you really want to marry me, Pat?"

What an extraordinary question! Hadn't she promised to marry him? Hadn't they been engaged ... happily, contentedly, engaged, for years?

"David! What DO you mean? Of course ..."

"Wait." David bent forward and looked her squarely in the face.

"Look into my eyes, Pat ... don't turn your face away. Tell me the truth."

Under his compelling gaze Pat gasped out,

"I ... I can't ... I don't know it. But I think I do, David ... oh, I really think I do."

" I think, dear," said David slowly, "that your attitude, whether you realise it or not, is, 'I'd just as soon be married to you as any one, if I have to be married.' That isn't enough for me, Pat. No, you don't love me, though you've pretended you have ... pretended beautifully, to yourself as well as me. I won't have you on those terms, Pat."

The garden whirled around Pat ... jigged up and down ... steadied itself.

"I ... I meant to make you happy, David," she said piteously.

"I know. And I don't mind taking chances with my own life ... but with yours ... no, I can't risk it."

"You seem to have made up your mind to jilt me, David." Pat was between tears and something like hysterical laughter. "And I do ... I really do ... like you so much."

"That isn't enough. I'm not blaming you. I took a chance. I thought I could teach you to love me. I've failed. I'm the kind of man all women like ... and none love. It ... it was that way before. I will not have it so again ... it's too bitter. There's an old couplet--

"'There's always one who kisses And one who turns the cheek.'"

"Not always," murmured Pat.

"No, not always. But often ... and it's not going to be that way with me a second time. We'll always be good friends, Pat ... and nothing more."

"You NEED me," said Pat desperately again. After all ... though she knew in her heart he was right ... knew he had never been anything but a way out ... knew that sometimes at three o'clock of night she had wakened and felt that she was a prisoner ... she could not bear to lose him out of her life.

"Yes, I need you ... but I can never have YOU. I've known that ever since Hilary Gordon's visit last summer."

"David, what nonsense have you got into your head? Hilary has always been like a dear brother to me ..."

"He's twined with the roots of your life, Pat ... in some way I can never be. I can't brook such a rival."

Pat couldn't have told what she felt like ... on the surface. The whole experience seemed unreal. Had David really told her he couldn't marry her? But away down under everything she knew she felt FREE ... curiously free. She was almost a little dizzy with the thought of freedom ... as if she had drunk some heady, potent wine. Mechanically she began to take his ring off her finger.

"No." David lifted his hand. "Keep it, Pat ... wear it on some other finger. We've had a wonderful ... friendship. It was only my blindness that I hoped for more. And don't worry over me. I've been offered the head editorship of the Weekly Review. When Suzanne marries I'll take it."

So he would go, too, out of her life. Pat never remembered quite how she got home. But Judy was knitting in the kitchen and Pat sat down opposite her rather grimly.

"Judy ... I've been jilted."

"Jilted, is it?" Judy said no more. She was suddenly like a watchful terrier.

"Yes ... in the most bare-faced manner. David Kirk told me to- night that he wouldn't marry me" ... Pat contrived to give her voice a plaintive twist ... "that nothing on earth would induce him to marry me."

"Oh, oh, ye didn't be asking him to marry ye, I'm thinking. Did he be giving his rasons?" Judy was still watchful.

"He said I didn't love him ... enough."

"Oh, oh, and do ye?"

"No," said Pat in a low tone. "No. I've tried, Judy ... I've tried ... but I think I've always known. And so have you."

"I'm not be way av being sorry it's all off," said Judy. She went on knitting quietly.

"What will the Binnies say?" said Pat whimsically.

"Oh, oh, I don't think ye've come down to minding what the Binnies say, me jewel."

"No, I don't care a rap what they say. But others ... oh well, they are used to me by this time. And this is the last of my broken-backed love affairs they'll ever have to worry over. I'll never have any more, Judy."

"Niver do be a long day," said Judy sceptically. Then she added,

"Ye'll be getting the one ye ARE to get. A thing like that don't be left to chance, Patsy."

"Anyway, Judy, we won't talk of this any more. It ... it isn't pleasant. I'm free once more ... free to love and live for Silver Bush. That's all that matters. Free! It's a wonderful word."

When Pat had gone out Judy knitted inscrutably for a while. Then she remarked to Bold-and-Bad, "So that do be the last av the widower, thank the Good Man Above."

The breaking of Pat's engagement made but little flurry in the clan. They had given up expecting anything else of this fickle wayward girl. May said she had always looked for it ... she knew David wasn't really the marrying kind. Dad said nothing ... what was there to say? Mother understood, as always. In her heart mother was relieved. Suzanne understood, too.

"I'm sorry ... terribly sorry ... and bitterly disappointed. But it was just one of the things that had to be."

"It's nice to be able to lay the blame of everything on predestination," said Pat ruefully. "I feel I've failed you ... and David ... and I'm ever so fond of him ..."

"That might be enough for some men, but not David," said Suzanne quietly. "I wish it could have been different, Pat dear ... but it can't be, so we must just put it behind us and go on."

When Suzanne was married and David had gone the Long House was closed and lightless once more. Again it was the Long Lonely House. Some houses are like that ... they have a doom on them which they can never long escape.

Pat took stock of things. She was at peace. Her whole world had been temporarily wrecked ... ruined ... turned upside down, but nothing had really changed in Silver Bush. There was no longer anything to come between her and it ... never would be again. She was through with love and all its counterfeits. Henceforth Silver Bush would have no rival in her heart. She could live for it alone. There might be some hours of loneliness. But there was something wonderful even in loneliness. At least you belonged to yourself when you were lonely.

Pat flung back her brown head and her brown eyes kindled.

"Freedom is a glad thing," she said.

One smoky October evening they found Judy lying unconscious in the stable beside the old white cow. She had not been allowed to do any milking for a long time but she had slipped out in the dim to do it that night, since May was away and she knew "the min" would be tired when they came home from the other place.

They carried her to her bed in the kitchen chamber and sent for Dr. Bentley. Under his ministrations she recovered consciousness but he looked very grave when he came down to the kitchen.

"Her heart is in a very bad condition. I can't understand how she kept up so long."

"Judy hasn't felt well all summer," said Pat heavily. "I've known it ... though she wouldn't give in that there was anything the matter with her or let me call you. 'Can he be curing old age?' she would say. I know I should have insisted ... I knew she was old but I think I never realised it ... never believed Judy COULD be ill ..."