“It is so commonplace to marry, Esther,” these were her parting words; “any woman can marry—but so few can have a real career.”
Alice’s “career” had abruptly ended in “commonplace matrimony,” for she had just married a Mr. Van Winkle from Brooklyn, a man I had never met. They were touring the West and were most anxious to include our ranch. I was very eager to see them so I wrote, urging her to come, but asked her to let us know when to expect them, so there would be no mistake about our being at the station.
I was particularly anxious to have them see ranch life at its best for they were our first guests. The house looked very attractive with all our own furniture and wedding presents in place, but I thought the guest room floor might be improved so I painted it Saturday afternoon. Then everything went wrong: the wind-mill pump failed to work, the whole pipe had to be pulled out of the well; we were without running water in the house and couldn’t have a fire in the kitchen range, so rations were extremely light.
Supper, consisting chiefly of sardines, awaited Owen, who was trying to get some of the grease off his hands, when a homesteader by the name of Hamm, his wife, sister and five children drove up. He had come to see Owen on business and they were invited in to supper.
The table was lengthened and reset, more sardines were opened and we were just ready to sit down when my Aunt, who was standing near the window, exclaimed:
Who, indeed! Alice Joice and her husband with a team they had hired at the station.
Having a strong heart I did not faint, but left Auntie to help the maid make the necessary additions to the table—and sardines, while Owen and I hurried out to greet them.
“Hello, dearie, here we are,” Alice called from the wagon as I approached. “Clarence and I thought it would be such fun to surprise you. How-do-you-do, Mr. Brook, I want you to meet my husband, Mr. Van Winkle.” Alice jumped off the step and threw herself into my arms. “Oh, Esther, isn’t this fun?” Gay, inconsequent Alice, from her city home, never considered for a moment that a surprise _could_ be anything but joyous.
If I had met him in Egypt, I should have known that her husband’s name was Van Winkle—Clarence Van Winkle, it couldn’t have been anything else.