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_ Enid decided that she would be married in the first week of June.
Early in May the plasterers and painters began to be busy in the
new house. The walls began to shine, and Claude went about all
day, oiling and polishing the hard-pine floors and wainscoting.
He hated to have anybody step on his floors. He planted gourd
vines about the back porch, set out clematis and lilac bushes,
and put in a kitchen garden. He and Enid were going to Denver and
Colorado Springs for their wedding trip, but Ralph would be at
home then, and he had promised to come over and water the flowers
and shrubs if the weather was dry.
Enid often brought her work and sat sewing on the front porch
while Claude was rubbing the woodwork inside the house, or
digging and planting outside. This was the best part of his
courtship. It seemed to him that he had never spent such happy
days before. If Enid did not come, he kept looking down the road
and listening, went from one thing to another and made no
progress. He felt full of energy, so long as she sat there on the
porch, with lace and ribbons and muslin in her lap. When he
passed by, going in or out, and stopped to be near her for a
moment, she seemed glad to have him tarry. She liked him to
admire her needlework, and did not hesitate to show him the
featherstitching and embroidery she was putting on her new
underclothes. He could see, from the glances they exchanged, that
the painters thought this very bold behaviour in one so soon to
be a bride. He thought it very charming behaviour himself, though
he would never have expected it of Enid. His heart beat hard when
he realized how far she confided in him, how little she was
afraid of him! She would let him linger there, standing over her
and looking down at her quick fingers, or sitting on the ground
at her feet, gazing at the muslin pinned to her knee, until his
own sense of propriety told him to get about his work and spare
the feelings of the painters.
"When are you going over to the timber claim with me?" he asked,
dropping on the ground beside her one warm, windy afternoon. Enid
was sitting on the porch floor, her back against a pillar, and
her feet on one of those round mats of pursley that grow over
hard-beaten earth. "I've found my flock of quail again. They live
in the deep grass, over by a ditch that holds water most of the
year. I'm going to plant a few rows of peas in there, so they'll
have a feeding ground at home. I consider Leonard's cornfield a
great danger. I don't know whether to take him into my confidence
or not."
"You've told Ernest Havel, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes!" Claude replied, trying not to be aware of the little
note of acrimony in her voice. "He's perfectly safe. That place
is a paradise for birds. The trees are full of nests. You can
stand over there in the morning and hear the young robins
squawking for their breakfast. Come up early tomorrow morning and
go over with me, won't you? But wear heavy shoes; it's wet in the
long grass."
While they were talking a sudden whirlwind swept round the corner
of the house, caught up the little mound of folded lace
corset-covers and strewed them over the dusty yard. Claude ran
after them with Enid's flowered workbag and thrust them into it
as he came upon one after another, fluttering in the weeds. When
he returned, Enid had folded her needle-case and was putting on
her hat. "Thank you," she said with a smile. "Did you find
everything?"
"I think so." He hurried toward the car to hide his guilty face.
One little lace thing he had not put into the bag, but had thrust
into his pocket.
The next morning Enid came up early to hear the birds in the
timber. _
Read next: Book Two: Enid: Chapter 12
Read previous: Book Two: Enid: Chapter 10
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