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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Do you want Wilmer?" he demanded. "Do you love him truly? Is he enough?" "I don't know." Slow tears wet her cheeks. "I can't say. I ought to; he's good and faithful, and with some of me that's enough. But there's another part; I can't explain it except to say it's a kind of excitement for the life Mr. Eckles told us about, all those lights and restaurants and theaters.
A few days later he went before his fellow-sufferer Eckles, the appointee for chief justice of Utah, and took an oath; but why did he swear so recklessly when the one before whom he swore was no more an official than himself? The army wintered at a satisfactory distance from Salt Lake City, and such a winter, according to official reports, the soldiers of our nation have rarely had to brave.
And Calvin, with a strong impression of having heard such a thing before, was vaguely uneasy. Eckles sat for a long space; Lucy didn't appear, and at last the visitor rose reluctantly. But Lucy had not gone to bed; she came out on the porch and dropped with a flounce into a chair beside Calvin. "Wilmer's pestering me to get married right away," she told him; "before ever the house is built.
She rocked in her chair with a slight endless motion, her dreaming gaze fixed on the dim valley. Wilmer Deakon, on the occasion of his first encounter with Eckles at the Stammarks', acknowledged the other's phrase and stood waiting for Lucy to proceed with him to the parlor.
Martin Eckles, it developed, was a fluent and persuasive talker, a man of the broadest worldly experiences and wit. He was younger than Calvin, but older than Wilmer Deakon, and a little fat. He had a small mustache cut above his lip, and closely shaved ruddy cheeks with a tinge of purple about his ears. Drawing out his monologue entertainingly he gazed repeatedly at Lucy.
Wilmer came out, Calvin thought, in an astonishingly short time. Courting was nothing like it had been in his day. The young man muttered an unintelligible sentence that, from its connection, might be interpreted as a good night, and strode back to the barn and his horse. Martin Eckles smiled: "The love birds must have been a little ruffled."
"Martin Eckles was killed yesterday; shot out of the buggy." She grew pale, her breast rose in a sudden gasp and her hands were clenched. "Oh!" she whispered, horrified. But there was nothing in her manner beyond the natural detestation of such brutality; nothing, he saw, hidden. "He wanted me to go away with him," she swept on; "and get married in Stanwick. Martin wanted me to see the world.
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