GRANDMA'S RETURN--GOOD-BYE TO THE DUMB CREATURES--GEORGIA AND I ARE OFF
FOR SACRAMENTO.
Meanwhile, grandma and her friends had reached Bodego and spent the
night there. She had not learned anything more terrible that I had said
about her, and at breakfast told Mrs. Stein that she had had a dream
foreboding trouble, and would not continue the journey to the Stein
home. The widow coaxed and insisted that she go the few remaining miles
to see her children. Then she waxed indignant and let slip the fact
that she considered it an outrage that American, instead of European
born children should inherit the Brunner property, and that she had
hoped that grandma would select two of her daughters to fill the places
from which Georgia and I should be expelled.
Grandma took a different view of the matter, and started homeward
immediately after breakfast.
That very afternoon, on the Santa Rosa road, whom should she pass but
our brother Ben. They recognized each other, but were too astonished to
speak. Grandma ordered her driver to whip up, saying that she had just
seen the red-whiskered imp of darkness who had troubled her sleep, and
she must get to town as fast as possible.
She stopped first at the butcher shop. Before grandpa could express
surprise at her unexpected return, she showered him with questions in
regard to happenings at home, and being informed, took him to task for
having permitted us to visit our people at the hotel. He innocently
remarked that he knew of no reason why we should not see our relatives;
that Georgia was spending the day with them; and that we both had his
permission to go again in the evening. In conclusion he said that I had
been a faithful, hard working little housekeeper, and she would find
everything in order at home.
Grandma arrived at home before sunset, too excited to be interested in
dairy matters. She told me all about her trip, even to the name she had
called my brother-in-law, adding that she knew he was "not
red-whiskered, but he was next door to it." Later, when he came, she
did not receive him pleasantly, nor would she let us go to Elitha.
Brusquely, she demanded to know if I had written to him to come for us,
and would not believe him when he assured her that neither he nor our
sisters had received letter or message from us in months.
After his departure, I could see that she was no longer angry, and I
dreaded the ensuing day, which was destined to be my last on that farm.
It came with a rosy dawn, and I was up to meet it, and to say good-bye
to the many dumb creatures that I had cared for. The tension I was
under lent me strength to work faster than usual. When the breakfast
call sounded, I had finished in the corrals, and was busy in the hen
houses, having taken care to keep out of grandpa's sight; for I knew
how he would miss me, and I did not want to say the parting words.
After he and the men were gone, grandma came, and watched me finish my
task, then said kindly,
"Come, Eliza, and eat thy breakfast."
I looked up and replied,
"Grandma, I ate my last meal in thy house last night. Dost thou not
remember, I told thee that I would take care of everything until thy
return, and then would not be a burden to thee longer? I have kept my
word, and am going away this morning."
"Thou are mine, and canst not go; but if thou wilt not eat, come and
help me with the dishes," she replied nervously.
I had planned to slip off and change my dress before meeting her, but
now, after a breath of hesitation, I went to dry the dishes, hoping
that our talk would soon be over. I knew it would be hard for both of
us, for dear, childish grandma was ready to forgive and forget what she
termed our little troubles. I, however, smarting under the wrong and
injustice that had been done me, felt she had nothing to forgive, and
that matters between us had reached the breaking-point.
She was still insisting on her right to keep me, when a slight sound
caused us both to turn, and meeting Georgia's anxious, listening gaze,
grandma appealed to her, saying,
"Thou hast heard thy sister's talk, but thou hast not been in this
fuss, and surely wilt not leave me?"
"Yes, I am going with Eliza," was the prompt answer, which had no
sooner left her lips, than grandma resorted to her last expedient: she
ordered us both to our room, and forbade us to leave it until she
should hear from grandpa.
What message she sent him by the milker we never learned. Georgia,
being already dressed for the journey, and her trunk containing most of
her possessions being at Mrs. Bergwald's, had nothing to do but await
results.
I quickly changed my working suit for a better one, which had been
given me by a German friend from San Francisco. Then I laid out my
treasured keepsakes. In my nervous energy, nothing was forgotten. I
took pains that my clothes against the wall should hang in straight
rows, that the folded ones should lie in neat piles in my pretty
Chinese trunk, and that the bunch of artificial flowers which I had
always kept for a top centre mark, should be exactly in the middle;
finally, that the gray gauze veil used as a fancy covering of the whole
should be smoothly tucked in around the clothing. This done, I gave a
parting glance at the dainty effect, dropped the cover, snapped the
queer little brass padlock in place, put the key on the table, and
covered the trunk so that its embossed figures of birds and flowers
should be protected from harm.
We had not remembered to tell Elitha about the hundred dollars which
Jakie had willed us, so decided to let grandma keep it to cover some
of the expense we had been to her, also not to ask for our little
trinkets stored in her closet.
With the bundle containing my keepsakes, I now sat down by Georgia and
listened with bated breath to the sound of grandma's approaching
footsteps. She entered and hastily began,
"Grandpa says, if you want to go, and your people are here to take you,
we have no right to keep you; but that I am not to part with you bad
friends. So I came to shake hands and say good-bye. But I don't forgive
you for going away, and I never want to see you or hear from you
again!"
She did not ask to see what we were taking away, nor did her good-bye
seem like parting.
The fear that something might yet arise to prevent our reaching brother
and sister impelled us to run the greater part of the distance to the
hotel, and in less than an hour thereafter, we were in the carriage
with them on the way to Mrs. Bergwald's, prior to taking the road to
Sacramento.
Off at last, without a soul in the town knowing it!
Georgia, who had neither said nor done anything to anger grandma, was
easier in mind and more comfortable in body, than I, who, fasting, had
borne the trials of the morning. I could conceal the cause, but not the
faint and ill feeling which oppressed me during the morning drive and
continued until I had had something to eat at the wayside inn, and a
rest, while the horses were enjoying their nooning.
I had also been too miserable to feel any interest in what occurred at
Mrs. Bergwald's after we stopped to let Georgia get her keepsakes. But
when the day's travel was over, and we were comfortably housed for the
night, Georgia and I left our brother and sister to their happy hour
with their child, and sat close together on the outer doorsteps to
review the events of the day. Our world during that solemn hour was
circumscribed, reaching back only to the busy scenes of the morning,
and forward to the little home that should open to us on the morrow.
When we resumed travel, we did not follow the pioneers' trail, once
marked by hoof of deer, elk, and antelope, nor the winding way of the
Spanish _cabellero,_ but took the short route which the eager tradesman
and miner had hewn and tramped into shape.
On reaching the ferry across the Sacramento River, I gazed at the
surrounding country in silent amazement. Seven and a half years with
their marvellous influx of brawn and brain, and their output of gold,
had indeed changed every familiar scene, except the snow-capped
Sierras, wrapped in their misty cloak of autumnal blue. The broad, deep
river had given up both its crystal floods and the wild, free song
which had accompanied it to the sea, and become a turbid waterway,
encumbered with busy craft bringing daily supplies to countless homes,
and carrying afar the long hidden wealth of ages.
The tule flat between the water front and Sutter's Fort had become a
bustling city. The streets running north and south were numbered from
first to twenty-eighth, and those east and west lettered from A to Z,
and thriving, light-hearted throngs were pursuing their various
occupations upon ground which had once seemed like a Noah's ark to me.
Yes, this was the very spot where with wondering eyes I had watched
nature's untamed herds winding through the reedy paths to the river
bank, to quench their morning and evening thirst.
As we crossed from J Street to K, brother remarked, "Our journey will
end on this street; which of you girls will pick out the house before
we come to it?"
Elitha would not help us, but smiled, when, after several guesses, I
said that I wished it to be a white house with brownish steps and a
dark door with a white knob. Hence, great was my satisfaction when near
the southeast corner of Eighteenth and K streets, we halted in front of
a cottage of that description; and it was regarded as a lucky omen for
me, that my first wish amid new scenes should be realized.
The meeting with Sister Frances and the novelty of the new situation
kept up a pleasurable excitement until bed-time. Then in the stillness
of the night, in the darkness of the new chamber, came the recollection
that at about that hour one week ago, I, sorrowing and alone, had stood
by a weird old tree-trunk in Sonoma, and vowed by the rising moon that
before it should come up again in its full, Georgia and I would be in
Sacramento. I did not sleep until I had thanked the good Father for
sending help to me in my time of need.