What the Heart Keeps (26 page)

He
moved at last to take possession of her. As he passed into her, she gloried in his strength and power. There was no pain, no fear. Only utter abandonment to the rising towards final fulfilment. When it came in an explosion of passion he held her hard as she arched convulsively, sharing his ecstasy.

Some
time in the early hours of the morning the baby awakened her. She sat up drowsily, scooped back the long flow of her hair and went to his crib. She soothed him and after a few minutes he was quiet again. She returned to the bedroom. Alan lay fast asleep, one arm stretched out where it had been lying across her. She knelt on the bed, looking down at his sleeping face in the moonlight. Understanding had come to her as to why there had been such hostile excitement between them from their first meeting. Against their wishes each had been violently attracted to the other. She had taken refuge in animosity and he in anger at the trick fate had played on him. Even though it had taken nothing away from his relationship with Harriet, it must have been torment for him, physically and mentally, to have another woman he desired living permanently under his own roof. When Harriet had spoken of finding a husband for her in Seattle, it had been abhorrence at the thought of another man making her his own that she had mistaken for hatred directed towards herself. When Harriet had gone, their particular conflict had been erased for them, the reason overshadowed by the shared grief of bereavement.

She
lay down again, lifting his arm gently to slide under it. Tonight she had learned something else about the man who had become her husband. He had not voiced it but she knew it. He loved her. Maybe he had loved her from the moment when they had looked upon each other’s faces in the rain-washed glow of a lantern light. It made her yearn to feel love in her heart for him, but life was not as simple as that. At least he had brought fondness to her liking for him. She would cherish the hope that out of that fondness love would come.

N
ine

Their new home at the sawmill settlement lay south of Seattle. They had been there almost two years when Minnie wrote to ask Lisa if she might come and live with her and Alan. The Jacksons were moving back East to the province of Ontario and the girl had no wish to return to a part of Canada where she had known only unhappiness. Lisa was baking when Alan brought her the reply to her invitation to Minnie that she should come without delay. Dusting the flour from her hands, she tore the letter open eagerly.

“
Minnie will arrive at Seattle by the Vancouver steamship on the fifteenth of June,” she informed him, glancing up from the letter. “That’s in two weeks’ time. Shall you be able to meet her?”

He
thought for a moment or two and then nodded. “I have to see the Manson’s Engineering Company about some equipment for one of the log-booming grounds along the Sound. I’ll combine business with the pleasure of collecting Minnie that day.”

“
Thank you.” She heaved a contented sigh. “It’s three years since I said goodbye to her at Quadra Island. She is sixteen now. I’m sure she’ll be a great help in looking after Harry. I never knew a more lively and active child than he!”

Alan
grinned. He was proud of his son, but the first to admit that Harry was a handful to control, being as strong-willed as he was good-natured and affectionate. “Who’s taking charge of him this evening?”

“
I’m taking him as usual to Mrs. Saanio. He’s always happy there.”

It
had become Lisa’s custom to act as cashier and sell the tickets when Alan gave one of his motion-picture shows at the local hotel, The Rainier, which was a large wooden building painted a bright terra cotta with white outside galleries. Its long saloon was widely patronised by lumbermen, and its spacious hall, which was used for parties, weddings, and political meetings, provided ample room for screen entertainment. The movie shows had proved so popular that everyone at the sawmill site and those inhabitants of the settlement where the hotel was located, expected a performance each evening as a matter of course whenever Alan happened to be at home. The hotel hall had become as near to being a regular cinema as it could be. Whenever movie distributors’ agents were in the Seattle district, they travelled out to the sawmill to call on him with their lists of reels and advisory information.

It
was easy to see that with time a whole new town would rise up out of the settlement, which was referred to by the local people as Dekova’s Place, the name of the old clearing where someone had once eked out a living. Before long that name would be abbreviated and maybe changed in spelling until one day it would be difficult to find anybody able to remember how it had originated. People of assorted trades and professions were gradually moving into the area, many of them new immigrants of nationalities as varied as those of the families already long established in houses at the sawmill site. Several years previously the lumber company had built a schoolhouse for the children of their employees. Now it was absorbing newcomers from the settlement and the need for another one was growing.

Lisa
sometimes wondered if Alan would not do better by remaining with the lumber company, who wanted to extend his contract indefinitely, while building up a cinema proper at Dekova’s Place until it became a full-time project. He had certainly made no firm decisions about his future in Seattle, in spite of having a number of useful irons in the fire. Recently he had mentioned that certain motion-picture companies were leaving New York to relocate in California, which made that area of interest to him. He was certainly restless and unsettled.

For
herself, she was willing to go anywhere with him, glad that she was able to give him support and encouragement and affection. He had spoken of his love for her not long after they had come to this house. It had been a sweet and memorable night, for they had lain together in such immeasurable tenderness that both believed conception must have occurred. During that deeply shared happiness he had spoken the most beautiful words in any language.

“
I love you, Lisa.”

“
I know,” she had whispered, blissfully enervated by their love-making, and enfolded her arms about his neck. Sometimes she wondered whether heart-love for him would have come to her if their hopes had been fulfilled. There was no way of knowing. At least she was content in their relationship. Whether he was equally at ease she could not tell. She thought it strange that a man and woman could share the utmost physical intimacies and still not be able to see into each other’s minds.

She
took Harry, who was dressed for bed in sleeping-suit and dressing-gown, to Mrs. Saanio in good time. The Saanios were originally from Finland and their seventeen year old son, Risto, who was presently employed at the hotel, had been born soon after they had arrived in their new land. Three years later Mrs. Saanio had given birth to the first of ten daughters, who had arrived annually in succession. The older girls clustered about their mother as she picked Harry up and kissed him maternally as she always did. Her English was not good, and she invariably, spoke Finnish to him, which he appeared to comprehend without the least difficulty, being used to her. But the girls were his favourite companions and he was allowed to choose which one should read him a story.

Lisa
left the house. She always had an easy mind about leaving Harry with the Saanios, although she was careful not to take advantage of their neighbourliness. It was her policy to collect him again as soon as she had seen the last latecomer into the performance. It meant that she rarely saw any of the films, but this evening was the exception that was always made whenever Alan had a new batch of his photographs to show as lantern slides. She was always eager to view his work and the subject matter this time was to be the local community, for he liked to have a theme and this would make a contrast to the slides of the natural beauty of the forests, logging scenes, and wild animals and birds.

It
was no great distance to the hotel and she liked to walk. The lumber company allowed Alan the use of an automobile, which remained parked by the house when he was away in the forests. He had taught her to drive and she did use the car from time to time, but a few hours previously he had transported his cinematograph apparatus in it and she had told him not to drive back to pick her up. Once Minnie was installed everything would be much easier with regard to leaving Harry in the evening hours. With the girl at home to look after him, Lisa anticipated being free to come and go with Alan on these occasions. Moreover, she planned to become his pianist, taking over from the present one, who had once been a teacher of the pianoforte, as the woman chose always to refer to it, and made no secret of despising motion pictures as an aberration of the true theatre. The result was that her playing never supported the reels to a full extent.

People
were already lining up for admittance by the side entrance of the hotel when Lisa entered the building by way of the kitchen and reached the lobby where she sold tickets. Risto Saanio came from the cinema hall, wiping his hands on the seat of his trousers, for he had just delivered the water-soaked blanket kept in readiness by the projector in case of fire during a performance. He was a tall youth, spare of frame and virile in appearance, with a jaunty air about him that matched his cheerful handsomeness. His features were thin and chiselled, his eyes light brown and full of humour, his curly hair much the same colour.

“
Good evening, Mrs. Fernley,” he greeted her, whipping a chair into place for her at the table that served as the pay-box. “There’s going to be a big crowd this evening, so the benches have been pushed closer together and there’s more standing room.”

Lisa,
who had looked through the door to wave to Alan and let him know she was there, answered Risto as she took the chair he still held ready for her. “Shall you get a chance to see anything of the show?”

She
knew him to be avidly interested in movies. He was knowledgeable about all the actors and actresses, able to list their motion pictures and the companies for whom they worked, not only those in the United States but the British and continental ones as well. He never lost a chance to talk to Alan about the cinema in general and always tried to be on hand at the end of the performance to help wind back the films and stack the reels. He was an amiable and talented young man with a good singing voice which almost brought the house down whenever he sang a song appropriate to a scene in a movie. As for dancing, he was a shining light when the local Finns gathered together for a wedding or a baptism and performed the dances from the old country. Only his father took no interest in his ability, being a stern, obdurate man who could not forgive his only son for not following his footsteps into the lumber business. The Saanio men had worked in the forests of Finland for generations past, and it grieved him that his strong and healthy son should break with an honoured tradition to be nothing more or less than a lackey. The fact that he himself patronised the saloon to an excess on Saturday nights was beside the point. Let other men serve him his liquor, but not his son. Mrs. Saanio dreaded the times when her husband was in his cups, for then the constant tension that existed between his son and him erupted into terrible rages on his part. So far he had never struck Risto, but sometimes it had only been at her intervention by putting herself between them. Lisa thought that it would be better if Risto moved out into a room of his own somewhere, but filial duty in that respect made him remain under the family roof.

“
I’ve seen the show already, Mrs. Fernley,” he announced in reply to Lisa’s question. “I was off duty this afternoon when Mr. Fernley ran the movies through to check them, and I timed the slide-showing for him with a stop-watch.” He sounded pleased with his achievement.

“
Was it a good show?” She placed her cashbox on the table beside the roll of pink tickets. There was a different colour for each performance to keep out those who tried to get double value for their money.

“
One of the best,” he decreed. “Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee before we open the doors?”

She
glanced at the clock. “No, thank you. There isn’t time. If there’s going to be a rush, I think we might as well let the customers start coming in.”

He
shot back the bolts and from that moment forth a constant stream of people poured through. Tickets and money exchanged hands at lightning speed. Risto kept some sort of order and made sure nobody sidled into the hall without paying. Soon all the seats were taken and there was standing room only, but still the patrons came. By the time she was able to close the cashbox and Risto had placed a “House Full” notice outside, Alan had shown a couple of one-reel comedies and had begun on the lantern slides. She slipped into a place at the back of the hall to stand beside the hotel proprietress, whose name was Mae Remotti.

“
Have I missed many of the slides?” Lisa inquired in a whisper. Mae had been one of her first friends at the site, an agreeable, buxom widow who ran the hotel on her own and kept order in her saloon, which was not an easy task. But she liked lumbermen and knew their ways. Her late husband had been one of them before he was crushed to death by that enemy of all men in the forests, the hated knobbed tree, which was always cut down by chain saw and abandoned. She treated the men individually as homesick boys, scallywags, tellers of good yarns, lovers, or old friends in need of a hand-out, according to circumstances. She charged fair prices for her drinks, not taking advantage of owning the only saloon for miles around. The wooden menus at the table offered nourishing, well-cooked food, from big bowls of chicken soup at four cents to gefilte fish at seven cents. Portions were always ample, with chunks of home-baked bread on the side. She had snatched a respite from the saloon to watch the lantern slides, hoping that a brawl at the bar would not compel her to leave before they were over. In a low voice she gave her answer to Lisa.

“
Only half a dozen. Mostly of the schoolteacher and her pupils. Real cute.”

As
the slides proceeded, Lisa was filled anew with admiration for Alan’s eye for composition and his ability to capture the variations of light and shade. The audience was quick to applaud in appreciation. Often a loud buzz of chatter arose and there were always bursts of laughter at the amusing slides. Mae, enjoying the show as much as everybody else, had her attention suddenly distracted by hearing Lisa’s sharp intake of breath.

“
Are you sick, Lisa?” she asked with some anxiety. Even in the half-light thrown down by the projected image she could see that Lisa was stiff with shock, her fingers pressed into the side of her face as she stared fixedly at the screen. Following her gaze, the proprietress saw only a pleasing scene of several children running to meet a horse-dealer leading a team of shires into the sawmill. Then the picture disappeared in a second of darkness to be replaced by the last slide of the evening, which showed the same man again in close-up, laughing as he lifted a third child up to join the two others already seated on a horse’s back. Mae recognised him. He was one of the Scandinavians, a Norwegian if she remembered correctly. He always had a meal and a drink in the saloon whenever he was in the vicinity. What was his name? Hagen. That was it. Peter Hagen.