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About The west shore. (Portland, Or.) 1875-1891 | View Entire Issue (March 1, 1889)
THE WEST SHORE. which bad come to be so much to him. Clarisay had kn right. They would make him go into this curs ed businens, but of course she would understand it waa not because he wanted to. lie wished he had told her ab3ut it, but it had seemed impossible. At any rate, he must find her now. lie looked through the rooms, crcn venturing into the one sacred to the imall fry, where he woke one innocent in his bung ling cflforts to see if Clarissy's wraps were gone. As he stood irresolutely watching the sets forming once more, bo heard Mr. Luther's wheezy voice, aa that gentleman stood with his back to him. " Good joke on Tom," chuckled the old man. " Whilo bo's a-sparkin Liz, lo an' behold, the bishop be'i shinin' op to Clariasy." Tom waited to bear no more. " Chalcy," he said, a few minutes later, on finding her sitting out a set, " I'm going home; get your things, and don't say any thing about it to anyone else." Chalcy obeyed, poutingly. She did not want to go so toon. M Whero's Clarissy?" she snapped, as Tom help ed her in. " Home," waa Tom's curt reply. Chalcy sniffed. She could put this and that to gether as well as anykxly. " Tom, you goin' to marry thet dough-faced Liz an' set her 'longside o' ClarisBy?" she asked, almost viciously. " No," snapicd Tom, in return; ho was in no mood lo talk. What a fool bo had been to think that Clarissy would stand it As for tho bishop, his game was plain. Ho meant to get Clarissy ono way or an other. Tom knew how easily church divorces were obtained, and ho had thought, idiot that he waa, that Clarissy would look at tho matter aa he did-aa a dis agreeable necessity. Ho had planned to build anoth cr bouso at tho far side of tho farm, so that she need never aeo the other wife. He sneered at himself for supposing that would make it any easier for her Ihen bo Wgan to wonder if she would forgivo him bhe was a proud woman, ho knew, and, perhaps, in a moment of jealousy, she might have encouraged the bishop II, lt00J op ani, whjppM lhe horse8 .nto run. Chalcy screamed and clutched at him. Would bo never get home! Presently tho bouso loomed up, dark and still A new terror distractM bin, What if she had finished tha U,ful task from which he had savM heron their -Uingngbt VMHMZ U) desperation. An oath at hi. own folly LZ h lr.u be lIfew tho lines, and jumping ouUf th wagon bo ran into tho bouse, lcavine ih , Chalcy to follow. The palo moonlight wlvLX"!1 poplars, showed him the sitting room empty. ge opened the door of their room with a trembling hani Thank God, she was there; her arms were about him her dear face, tear-wet and trembling, was pressed to his, her true eyes shining with the love that big coW. ardice had not killed. Tom could only say, broken ly- " Oh, Clarisay, I must 'ave been mad; forgive me an' we'll leave Utah or die tryin'." There was no need for him to ask it; she had al. ready forgiven him, and presently they went out, hand in hand, to put up the team and relieve Chalcy's suspense. When Uncle Tommy heard the story he shook his head sadly. "You'll have to leave," he said, sadly, "they'll never let up on ye. But 1 can't hardly bide the thought o' ye goin'; happen it won't be long, though." He spoke the last words wistfully, as to himself, and they knew they could not leave him now, no matter what the cost of staying might be. That evening the old man called Clarissy to him. " Clarissy, you'll need some money, an' I'd best give ye what I've got by me. I've had it many a long year," he went on, musingly, fingering the money absently. " Yes, ye'll need some money, an' it's hard to git here." He fell into the deep reverie of old age, and Clarissy waited patiently. "Money answereth all things," he went on, presently, his old eyes twink ling with quiet amusement " When I came to Utah I turned most o' my money over to the church they thought all but I kep' some. I never liked the feel o' bein' a pauper. Here it is, Clarissy, keep it fer Tom." Clarissy's simple faith in the God of her mother's teachings sustained and comforted her in the dark days closing about them. Yet it is hard to live in hourly dread of violence, perhaps death; to hear the muttering voices of hate; to meet the cold, averted faces that had once beamed with friendliness. It hurt Tom sorely to be an outcast in his own country. The evil time grew darker. The hired man and his wife left secretly and silently, after years of pleasant service under Uncle Tommy's roof. A pretty, sleek heifer came lowing piteously home, a deep gash in ner side. Then Uncle Tommy died , and no one canifl to offer friendly service to them in their sorrow. They had laid him in his last narrow bed, and come back to the house that was no longer home, but the haunt of anxiety and unrest; the short twilight wai lading mto the cheerless dusk of the winter night, when a light tap on the door startled them both Clarissy instinctively put out the light, then see ing Tom turn to the door she held him back, her face deathly p&le.