The Lark came rushing in as though it had no intention of stopping. And only when the engine and baggage cars were well past did the air brakes give their screaming hiss and the straining iron protest to a halt.
The train delivered quite a crowd for Salinas, returning relatives home for Thanksgiving, their hands entangled in cartons and gift-wrapped paper boxes. It was a moment or two before his family could locate Aron. And then they saw him, and he seemed bigger than he had been.
He was wearing a flat-topped, narrow-brimmed hat, very stylish, and when he saw them he broke into a run and yanked off his hat, and they could see that his bright hair was clipped to a short brush of a pompadour that stood straight up. And his eyes shone so that they laughed with pleasure to see him.
Aron dropped his suitcase and lifted Abra from the ground in a great hug. He set her down and gave Adam and Cal his two hands. He put his arms around Lee’s shoulders and nearly crushed him.
On the way home they all talked at once. “Well, how are you?”
“You look fine.”
“Abra, you’re so pretty.”
“I am not. Why did you cut your hair?”
“Oh, everybody wears it that way,”
“But you have such nice hair.”
They hurried up to Main Street and one short block and around the corner on Central past Reynaud’s with stacked French bread in the window and black-haired Mrs. Reynaud waved her flour-pale hand at them and they were home.
Adam said, “Coffee, Lee?”
“I made it before we left. It’s on the simmer.” He had the cups laid out too. Suddenly they were together—Aron and Abra on the couch, Adam in his chair under the light, Lee passing coffee, and Cal braced in the doorway to the hall. And they were silent, for it was too late to say hello and too early to begin other things.
Adam did say, “I’ll want to hear all about it. Will you get good marks?”
“Finals aren’t until next month, Father.”
“Oh, I see. Well, you’ll get good marks, all right. I’m sure you will.”
In spite of himself a grimace of impatience crossed Aron’s face.
“I’ll bet you’re tired,” said Adam. “Well, we can talk tomorrow.”
Lee said, “I’ll bet he’s not. I’ll bet he’d like to be alone.”
Adam looked at Lee and said, “Why, of course—of course. Do you think we should all go to bed?”
Abra solved it for them. “I can’t stay out long,” she said. “Aron, why don’t you walk me home? We’ll be together tomorrow.”
On the way Aron clung to her arm. He shivered. “There’s going to a frost,” he said.
“You’re glad to be back.”
“Yes, I am. I have a lot to talk about.”
“Good things?”
“Maybe. I hope you think so.”
“You sound serious.”
“It is serious.”
“When do you have to go back?”
“Not until Sunday night.”
“We’ll have lots of time. I want to tell you some things too. We have tomorrow and Friday and Saturday and all day Sunday. Would you mind not coming in tonight?”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“I want to know now.”
“Well, my father’s got one of his streaks.”
“Against me?”
“Yes. I can’t go to dinner with you tomorrow, but I won’t eat much at home, so you can tell Lee to save a plate for me.”
He was turning shy. She could feel it in the relaxing grip on her arm and in his silence, and she could see it in his raised face. “I shouldn’t have told you that tonight.”
“Yes, you should,” he said slowly. “Tell me the truth. Do you still—want to be with me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then all right. I’ll go away now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He left her on her porch with the feeling of a light-brushed kiss on her lips. She felt hurt that he had agreed so easily, and she laughed sourly at herself that she could ask a thing and be hurt when she got it. She watched his tall quick step through the radiance of the corner streetlight. She thought, I must be crazy. I’ve been imagining things.
2
In his bedroom after he had said his good night, Aron sat on the edge of his bed and peered down at his hands cupped between his knees. He felt let down and helpless, packed like a bird’s egg in the cotton of his father’s ambition for him. He had not known its strength until tonight, and he wondered whether he would have the strength to break free of its soft, persistent force. His thoughts would not coagulate. The house seemed cold with a dampness that made him shiver. He got up and softly opened his door. There was a light under Cal’s door. He tapped and went in without waiting for a reply.
Cal sat at a new desk. He was working with tissue paper and a bolt of red ribbon, and as Aron came in he hastily covered something on his desk with a large blotter.
Aron smiled. “Presents?”
“Yes,” said Cal and left it at that.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure! Come on in. Talk low or Father will come in. He hates to miss a moment.”
Aron sat down on the bed. He was silent so long that Cal asked, “What’s the matter—you got trouble?”
“No, not trouble. I just wanted to talk to you. Cal, I don’t want to go on at college.”
Cal’s head jerked around. “You don’t? Why not?”
“I just don’t like it.”
“You haven’t told Father, have you? He’ll be disappointed. It’s bad enough that I don’t want to go. What do you want to do?”
“I thought I’d like to take over the ranch.”
“How about Abra?”
“She told me a long time ago that’s what she’d like.”
Cal studied him. “The ranch has got a lease to run.”
“Well, I was just thinking about it.”
Cal said, “There’s no money in farming.”
“I don’t want much money. Just to get along.”
“That’s not good enough for me,” said Cal. “I want a lot of money and I’m going to get it too.”
“How?”
Cal felt older and surer than his brother. He felt protective toward him. “If you’ll go on at college, why, I’ll get started and lay in a foundation. Then when you finish we can be partners. I’ll have one kind of thing and you’ll have another. That might be pretty good.”
“I don’t want to go back. Why do I have to go back?”
“Because Father wants you to.”
“That won’t make me go.”
Cal stared fiercely at his brother, at the pale hair and the wide-set eyes, and suddenly he knew why his father loved Aron, knew it beyond doubt. “Sleep on it,” he said quickly. “It would be better if you finish out the term at least. Don’t do anything now.”
Aron got up and moved toward the door. “Who’s the present for?” he asked.
“It’s for Father. You’ll see it tomorrow—after dinner.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“No,” said Cal, “it’s better than Christmas.”
When Aron had gone back to his room Cal uncovered his present. He counted the fifteen new bills once more, and they were so crisp they made a sharp, cracking sound. The Monterey County Bank had to send to San Francisco to get them, and only did so when the reason for them was told. It was a matter of shock and disbelief to the bank that a seventeen-year-old boy should, first, own them, and, second, carry them about. Bankers do not like money to be lightly handled even if the handling is sentimental. It had taken Will Hamilton’s word to make the bank believe that the money belonged to Cal, that it was honestly come by, and that he could do what he wanted to with it.
Cal wrapped the bills in tissue and tied it with red ribbon finished in a blob that was faintly recognizable as a bow. The package might have been a handkerchief. He concealed it under the shirts in his bureau and went to bed. But he could not sleep. He was excited and at the same time shy. He wished the day was over and the gift given. He went over what he planned to say.
“This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“A present.”
From then on he didn’t know what would happen. He tossed and rolled in bed, and at dawn he got up and dressed and crept out of the house.
On Main Street he saw Old Martin sweeping the street with a stable broom. The city council was discussing the purchase of a mechanical sweeper. Old Martin hoped he would get to drive it, but he was cynical about it. Young men got the cream of everything. Bacigalupi’s garbage wagon went by, and Martin looked after it spitefully. There was a good business. Those wops were getting rich.