The pastures of heaven by John Steinbeck

Author:John Steinbeck
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Encyclopedias & General Reference, War & Military, John, Literature & literary studies, 1902-1968, Steinbeck, California, Lifestyles, Domestic fiction, Criticism, Juvenile Fiction, Sea Stories, Historical, Classics, Rural families, Literature: Classics, Farm & Ranch Life, Action & Adventure, Family, General, Literature - Classics, Farm life
ISBN: 9780140187489
Publisher: New York. : Penguin Books, 1995.
Published: 1995-05-01T20:00:00+00:00

Eight

MOLLY MORGAN got off the train in Salinas and waited three quarters of an hour for the bus. The big automobile was empty except for the driver and Molly.

“I’ve never been to the Pastures of Heaven, you know,” she said. “Is it far from the main road?”

“About three miles,” said the driver.

“Will there be a car to take me into the valley?”

“No, not unless you’re met.”

“But how do people get in there?”

The driver ran over the flattened body of a jack rabbit with apparent satisfaction. “I only hit ‘em when they’re dead,” he apologized. “In the dark, when they get caught in the lights, I try to miss ‘em.”

“Yes, but how am I going to get into the Pastures of Heaven?”

“I dunno. Walk, I guess. Most people walk if they ain’t met.”

When he set her down at the entrance to the dirt side-road, Molly Morgan grimly picked up her suitcase and marched toward the draw in the hills. An old Ford truck squeaked up beside her.

“Goin’ into the valley, ma’am?”

“Oh—yes, yes, I am.”

“Well, get in, then. Needn’t be scared. I’m Pat Humbert. I got a place in the Pastures.”

Molly surveyed the grimy man and acknowledged his introduction. “I’m the new school teacher. I mean, I think I am. Do you know where Mr. Whiteside lives?”

“Sure, I go right by there. He’s clerk of the board. I’m on the school board myself, you know. We wondered what you’d look like.” Then he grew embarrassed at what he had said, and flushed under his coating of dirt. “Course I mean what you’d be like. Last teacher we had gave a good deal of trouble. She was all right, but she was sick—I mean, sick and nervous. Finally quit because she was sick.”

Molly picked at the fingertips of her gloves. “My letter says I’m to call on Mr. Whiteside. Is he all right? I don’t mean that. I mean is he—what kind of a man is he?”

“Oh. you’ll get along with him all right. He’s a fine old man. Born in that house he lives in. Been to college, too. He’s a good man. Been clerk of the board for over twenty years.”

When he put her down in front of the big old house of John Whiteside, she was really frightened. “Now it’s com­ing,” she said to herself. “But there’s nothing to be afraid of. He can’t do anything to me.” Molly was only nineteen. She felt that this moment of interview for her first job was a tremendous inch in her whole existence. The walk up to the door did not reassure her, for the path lay between tight little flower beds hedged in with dipped box, seemingly planted with the admonition, “Now grow and multiply, but don’t grow too high, nor multiply too greatly, and above all things, keep out of this path!” There was a hand on those flowers, a guiding and a correcting hand. The large white house was very dignified. Venetian blinds of yellow wood were tilted down to keep out the noon sun.

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