Part 20 (1/2)
Ignatius, that Italian Alp town with its old mission at the foot of mountains like the wall of Heaven, Claire had driven west, then north.
She was sailing past Flathead Lake, where fifty miles of mountain glory are reflected in bright waters. Everywhere were sections of flat wheat-plains, stirring with thres.h.i.+ng, with clattering machinery and the flash of blown straw. But these miniature prairies were encircled by abrupt mountains.
Mr. Boltwood remarked, ”I'd rather have one of these homesteads and look across my fields at those hills than be King of England.” Not that he made any effort to buy one of the homesteads. But then, he made no appreciable effort to become King of England.
Claire had not seen Milt for a day and a half; not since the morning when both cars had left b.u.t.te. She wondered, and was piqued, and slightly lonely. Toward evening, when she was speculating as to whether she would make Kalispell--almost up to the Canadian border--she saw a woman run into the road from a house on the sh.o.r.e of Flathead Lake. The woman held out her hand. Claire pulled up.
”Are you Miss Boltwood?”
It was as startling as the same question would have been in a Chinese village.
”W-why, yes.”
”Somebody trying to get you on the long-distance 'phone.”
”Me? 'Phone?”
She was trembling. ”Something's happened to Milt. He needs me!” She could not manage her voice, as she got the operator on the farmers'-line wire, and croaked, ”Was some one trying to get Miss Boltwood?”
”Yes. This Boltwood? Hotel in Kalispell trying to locate you, for two hours. Been telephoning all along the line, from b.u.t.te to Somers.”
”W-well, w-will you g-get 'em for me?”
It was not Milt's placid and slightly tw.a.n.gy voice but one smoother, more decisive, perplexingly familiar, that finally vibrated, ”h.e.l.lo!
h.e.l.lo! Miss Boltwood! Operator, I can't hear. Get me a better connection. Miss Boltwood?”
”Yes! Yes! This is Miss Boltwood!” she kept beseeching, during a long and not unheated controversy between the unknown and the crisp operator, who knew nothing of the English language beyond, ”Here's your party. Why don't you talk? Speak louder!”
Then came clearly, ”Hear me now?”
”Yes! Yes!”
”Miss Boltwood?”
”Yes?”
”Oh. Oh, h.e.l.lo, Claire. This is Jeff.”
”Jess who?”
”Not Jess. Jeff! Geoffrey! J-e-f-f! Jeff Saxton!”
”Oh!” It was like a sob. ”Why--why--but you're in New York.”
”Not exactly, dear. I'm in Kalispell, Montana.”
”But that's right near here.”
”So am I!”
”B-but----”
”Out West to see copper interests. Traced you from Yellowstone Park but missed you at b.u.t.te. Thought I'd catch you on road. You talking from Barmberry's?”