Eleanor's House by Willa Cather by Willa Cather - Read Online

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Willa Sibert Cather (1873-1947) was an eminent American author. She spent her childhood in Red Cloud, Nebraska, the same town that has been made famous by her writing. She insisted on attending college, so her family borrowed money so she could enroll at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. While there, she became a regular contributor to the Nebraska State Journal. She then moved to Pittsburgh, where she taught high school English and worked for Home Monthly, and eventually got a job offer from McClure's Magazine in New York City. Later, she became the managing editor in 1908. The latter publication serialized her first novel, Alexander's Bridge (1912), which was heavily influenced by Henry James. For her novels she returned to the prairie for inspiration, and these works became popular and critical successes. She won the Pulitzer Prize in 1923 for One of Ours (1922). Her other works include: O Pioneers (1913), The Song of the Lark (1915), My Antonia (1918) and A Lost Lady (1923).
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Eleanor's House

Taken From McClure's Magazine, Volume 29, May - October, 1907

By Willa Cather

Start Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2013 by Start Publishing LLC

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

First Start Publishing eBook edition October 2013

Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

Manufactured in the United States of America

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ISBN 978-1-60977-333-5

Shall you, then, Harriet ventured, go to Fortuney? The girl threw a startled glance toward the corner of the garden where Westfield and Harold were examining a leak in the basin of the little fountain, and Harriet was sorry that she had put the question so directly. Ethel's reply, when it came, seemed a mere emission of breath rather than articulation.

I think we shall go later. It's very trying for him there, of course. He hasn't been there since. She relapsed into silence,--indeed, she had never come very far out of it,--and Harriet called to Westfield. She found that she couldn't help resenting Ethel's singular inadeptness at keeping herself in hand.

Come, Robert. Harold is tired after his journey, and he and Ethel must have much to say to each other.

Both Harold and his wife, however, broke into hurried random remarks with an eagerness which seemed like a protest.

It is delightful to be near you here at Arques, with only a wall between our gardens, Ethel spurred herself to say. It will mean so much to Harold. He has so many old associations with you, Mrs. Westfield.

The two men had come back to the tea-table, and as the younger one overheard his wife's last remark, his handsome brown face took on the blankness of disapproval.

Ethel glanced at him furtively, but Harriet was unable to detect whether she realized just why or to what extent her remark had been unfortunate. She certainly looked as if she might not be