Virginia of Elk Creek Valley

Excerpt

THE JOY OF ANTICIPATION

Elk Creek Valley was a blue and golden place that mid-summer morning in the Big Horn Country. It seemed like a joyous secret tucked away among the mountains, whose hazy, far-away summits were as blue as the sky above them. The lower ranges, too, were blue from purple haze and gray-green sagebrush, while the bare, brown foot-hills tumbling about their feet were golden in the sunlight. Blue lupines and great spikes of mountain larkspur made of the Valley itself a garden which sloped gently to the creek, and lost itself in a maze of quaking-asps and cottonwoods. As for the creek waters, they ceased their tumultuous haste upon nearing the garden, and were content to move slowly so that they might catch and hold the sunlight in their amber depths. Beyond the creek, and through a gap in the foot-hills, the prairie stretched for miles—blue and green with oats and wheat and alfalfa. Now and then a mountain bluebird was lost to sight among the larkspur, and always a cloud of tiny blue butterflies circled above the creek.

Two pair of delighted eyes—one gray and the other blue—gazed upon the loveliness of everything as their owners watered a team of big bay horses at the ford. The gray eyes belonged to a girl of seventeen—a girl with golden-brown hair and cheeks glowing red through the tan of her eager, thoughtful face. She was radiant with happiness. It beamed from her eyes and lurked about the corners of her mouth. She seemed too excited to sit still. Now her gray eyes swept the prairie stretches, now scanned the mountains, now peered up the creek beneath the over-hanging trees. She was talking in short, eager sentences to her companion—the owner of the blue eyes. He was a tall, clean, robust lad—a year older than she.

“Oh, Don,” she cried, “isn’t it wonderful? Just think! Our dream is really coming true! I used to say at school that even if it didn’t come true, we’d have the joy of dreaming it anyway. But it’s coming—this very day! And, oh, Don, isn’t this morning perfect? When I found in June they were really coming, I said I’d never be selfish enough to expect a perfect day, because it seemed as though I’d had enough already! But now it’s come, I just know it’s”—her voice softened—“it’s a real gift from God. Don’t you think so, too?”

“Yes, Virginia,” said the boy.

Then he gathered up the reins and drove his horses through the creek, and on toward the Gap and the open prairie.

“Don,” cried the girl, suddenly clutching his arm with one hand and pointing with the other, “there’s some wild bergamot just opening! I never knew it to be as early as this! And see! There’s a sunflower on the edge of the wheat field! There’ll be thousands of them soon! They’re like Priscilla! She has such big, brown eyes, and is always so merry and sunny. I know you’ll like her, Don. And Mary? I think Mary’s like the larkspur in the Valley, don’t you? So independent, and sort of—of self-resourceful, as Miss Wallace says, and true....