An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [200]
As they rode along Roberta found herself checking off mentally every tree, curve, landmark with which she had been familiar. But with no happy thoughts. It was all too drab. The farm itself, coupled with the chronic illness and inefficiency of Titus and the inability of the youngest boy Tom or her mother to help much, was as big a burden as ever. A mortgage of $2000 that had been placed on it years before had never been paid off, the north chimney was still impaired, the steps were sagging even more than ever and the walls and fences and outlying buildings were no different—save to be made picturesque now by the snows of winter covering them. Even the furniture remained the same jumble that it had always been. And there were her mother and younger sister and brother, who knew nothing of her true relationship to Clyde—a mere name his here— and assuming that she was wholeheartedly delighted to be back with them once more. Yet because of what she knew of her own life and Clyde’s uncertain attitude toward her, she was now, if anything, more depressed than before.
Indeed, the fact that despite her seeming recent success she had really compromised herself in such a way that unless through marriage with Clyde she was able to readjust herself to the moral level which her parents understood and approved, she, instead of being the emissary of a slowly and modestly improving social condition for all, might be looked upon as one who had reduced it to a lower level still—its destroyer—was sufficient to depress and reduce her even more. A very depressing and searing thought.
Worse and more painful still was the thought in connection with all this that, by reason of the illusions which from the first had dominated her in connection with Clyde, she had not been able to make a confidant of her mother or any one else in regard to him. For she was dubious as to whether her mother would not consider that her aspirations were a bit high. And she might ask questions in regard to him and herself which might prove embarrassing. At the same time, unless she had some confidant in whom she could truly trust, all her troublesome doubts in regard to herself and Clyde must remain a secret.
After talking for a few moments with Tom and Emily, she went into the kitchen where her mother was busy with various Christmas preparations. Her thought was to pave the way with some observations of her own in regard to the farm here and her life at Lycurgus, but as she entered, her mother looked up to say: “How does it feel, Bob, to come back to the country? I suppose it all looks rather poor compared to Lycurgus,” she added a little wistfully.
Roberta could tell from the tone of her mother’s voice and the rather admiring look she cast upon her that she was thinking of her as one who had vastly improved her state. At once she went over to her and, putting her arms about her affectionately, exclaimed: “Oh, Mamma, wherever you are is just the nicest place. Don’t you know that?”
For answer her mother merely looked at her with affectionate and well-wishing eyes and patted her on the back. “Well, Bobbie,” she added, quietly, “you know how you are about me.”
Something in her mother’s voice which epitomized the long years of affectionate understanding between them—an understanding based, not only on a mutual desire for each other’s happiness, but a complete frankness in regard to all emotions and moods which had hitherto dominated both—touched her almost to