A DISCOVERY--AND A SURPRISE
Jean Baptiste called by to see the Merrills before leaving the city, and
took Mildred and her mother one afternoon to a matinee at the Colonial
theatre. It was a musical repertoire, and a delightful entertainment.
Before one of the numbers was to appear, the director of the orchestra
came upon the stage and announced:
"Ladies and gentlemen: If I may have your kind attention, I wish to
announce that the next number is an extraordinary specialty. Miss Inez
Maryland, the young prima donna who has made considerable of a
reputation by her beautiful singing in the last year, will this
afternoon sing in an introduction, a song that is destined by the
critics to be one of the most popular of recent production." Whereat, he
stepped to one side, and led upon the stage, a charming blonde who was
greeted profusely.
"I am glad to have you meet Miss Maryland, who will now sing the
discovery of the season, _O, My Homesteader_, by Miss Agnes Stewart."
In the moment Jean Baptiste did not quite recall the name, or rather, he
did not connect it with an instance in his life; but as the sweet mezzo
soprano voice, combined with the strains of the orchestra, floated out
over the audience, the years gone by, to him were recalled. He listened
to it with a peculiar and growing enchantment, and the night he had lain
upon the ground and would have frozen, but for the now composer, came
fresh again into his mind.
"Beautiful."
"Wonderful."
"Grand!" came to his ears from over all the theatre and then followed
the storm of applause. Again and again did the singer have to return to
satisfy the audience before her, and when the crowds poured into the
street at the close of the performance, every one seemed to be humming
the tune that had that afternoon began its initial success.
As it would take nine months or a year for the suit to come to trial,
Jean resumed his efforts in the book business, and was able by borrowing
a little, to meet the interest and taxes on the foreclosed property, and
was given the customary year's extension.
He traveled now from town to town, from city to city, and found agents
for his book, and was able in a small way to recuperate his finances. He
hired an engine to plow all his land that was not prepared, besides
renting a little more, and also took a flier in wheat. The war abroad
had been going on a year, and he conceived that if it "happened" to rain
at the right time he _might_ get a crop and redeem his land. At least,
he could lose only what he put into it by risking the same, so he took
the chance. So with all he could get hold of until the last days of
October of that year, he put it into winter wheat on his land, and
succeeded in getting over 700 acres seeded.
And everywhere he went, the people were playing and singing _O, My
Homesteader_. Never, whether it was fifty times a day, or one, could he
seem to tire of hearing it. At the stores he saw hundreds of copies of
it, and in every home it was. And always it took him back to his
youthful days in the land where he had gone with the great hope. And
then one day he saw a picture of her. It was in a musical review. It
spoke at length of her, and of the simple life she had lived. That she
was a product of the prairies and a wonderful future was in store for
her because of the fact that her work was original.
So the winter passed and springtime came again with all its beauty, and
he continued in his book business. He made a trip to Gregory and Winner
to see what the prospects were again in the Northwest. The winter for
the wheat, he was cheered to learn, had been ideal; but the spring was
dry, and that was not to the wheat's advantage. However, he had the best
prospects he had had for years, and he returned to the book business
with renewed hope.
* * * * *
And now we are compelled by the course of events to return to certain
characters who were conspicuous in the early part of our story.
When Jack Stewart left the farm he had rented near the property of Jean
Baptiste and went West and took a homestead and had George and Bill and
Agnes to do likewise, he was obsessed with a dream that riches had come
to him at last. Agnes was delighted with the prospects, also, and so
they looked forward to a great future in the new land.
But there was something that troubled Jack Stewart, and for days when
alone he would shake his head and cry: "Dang it. Dang it! I oughtn't to
have let it go that far, dang it!" But he had kept what was now the
cause of his worry to himself so long that he would not bring himself to
confess it even to Agnes after what had occurred. But never did he
forget Jean Baptiste, and to Agnes he would mention him quite often.
"By the way, my girl," he said one day when they were settled on their
claims, staying mostly on his, of course, for the prospects were
hopeful. "Do you know that I never did learn who saved me from that
foreclosure. No, sir, I never did! I paid the note and was so glad that
it was paid, that I tore it up and forgot the whole matter.
"Now _who_ do you reckon it was that interceded for me?"
She paused and looked up from her sewing, and then bent over it again,
as she said:
"Jean Baptiste."
"Jean Baptiste!" he exclaimed incredibly.
"It was him."
"Why the stinkin' rascal, he never told me!"
She was silent.
"And it was him that came to my assistance," the other mused
reflectively. "Well, now since I come to recall him, it was just like
him to do something like that and keep it to himself. Well, well, I do
say!" He paused then, and looked down at the toe of his boot. Suddenly
he looked up, and concentrated his gaze on Agnes.
"And _you knew_ it all the time. He told you."
"He didn't tell me."
"Didn't tell you!"
"I knew it when you returned home that morning."
"Well, well...."
"I was positive the administrator hadn't granted you an extension, nor
wouldn't have, so it must have been some one near. So who else could it
have been but Jean Baptiste."
"Of course not, now that I recall it; but did you tell him about it?"
Her eyes had business in her lap at the moment, _very_ much business.
She saw the sewing and she didn't see it. What she was seeing again was
_what had happened one day when she had gone to carry his and her
brother's luncheon_.... It passed before her, as it had done many times
since. _Never_, she knew, would she be able to forget _that day, that
day_ when the harvest was on, and he had said sweet words to her.... It
was all past now, forever, but it was as fresh as the day it was done.
She understood why he had gone away, and when he returned and she had
seen his face she understood then his sacrifice. She knew that the man's
honor, his respect for his race and their struggle had brought him to
commit the sacrifice. And strangely, she loved him the more for it. It
had been an evidence of his great courage, the great strength with which
he was possessed. It was strange that the only man she, a white girl,
had ever loved was a Negro, and now when that was history, it seemed to
relieve her when she could recall that he had been a _man_.
"Did you hear me, Aggie?" her father called now again. She started.
"Why--yes, father--I heard you," she said, straightening up. "And--of
course--I told him about it...."
"Now I'm glad to hear that you did. It seems that you ought to have told
me at the time--at least before we left there, so that I could have
thanked him." He was silent for a time then and reflective.
"I wonder what sort of woman he married," he mused after a time.
"I don't know."
"I am sometimes a little afraid that he didn't get the right kind of
woman.
"He was such a prince of a good fellow, that it would most likely have
been his luck to have gotten a woman who would betray him in some way.
It is all rather strange, for I don't think he loved any woman but
_you_, Aggie."
He darted his eyes quickly in her direction, recalling a time before
when he had intimated something of the kind. This time, however, she did
not cry out, but continued at her sewing as though he had not spoken.
As he slowly walked out, what was in his mind was the thing that had
worried him before.
She looked after him and sighed. It was her effort then to forget the
past, and in so doing, the inspiration with regard to music came again,
and developed in her mind. But her efforts had brought so little
encouragement from those to whom she had submitted her compositions that
she for a long time despaired of making another effort.
So it was not until the great drought swept over the land and drove
almost all the settlers from their claims in a search for food, that
made her again resort to the effort.
The drought was even worse in the part of the country they now called
home than it had been in Tripp County and other parts farther East. Corn
that was planted under the sod one spring had actually not sprouted for
two years, for the moisture that fell had never wet the earth that deep.
So, after two years in which they came nearer to starvation than they
had ever before, she secured a position in a hotel in a town farther
West, and the money earned thereby, she gave to her father and brothers
to live on.
It was then she had returned to compositions in a desperate effort and
hope to save them from disaster. For a long time she met with the usual
rejections, and it was a year or more before anything she composed
received any notice.
But _O, My Homesteader_ was an instantaneous success. While she still
worked in the kitchen of the little hotel in the western village, the
royalties came pouring in upon her so fast until she could hardly
believe it. And coincident with the same, she became the recipient of
numerous offers from almost everywhere. Most were for compositions;
while many were offers to go on the stage, at which she was compelled to
laugh. The very thought of her, a dishwasher in a country hotel, going
on the stage! But she resigned her position and went back to her father
and brothers on the farm. She used her money to pay off their debts and
started them to farming, and made herself contented with staying on as
she had done before, and keeping house for her father and the boys. She
refused to submit any more manuscripts until the success of her first
song was growing old, and then she released others which followed with a
measure of success.
The offers from the East persisted; and with them, drought in the West
continued and they saw that trying to farm so far west was, for the
present time, at least, impractical. So they returned to Gregory where
she purchased the place they had lived on. Owing to the fact that the
drought had been severe there, also, she secured the place at a fair
bargain, and they returned to farming the summer following the
publication of Baptiste's book.
When she read it, she hardly knew what to think; but it was rather
unusual she thought, because he had told a true story in every detail;
but had chosen to leave his experiences with her out of it. She heard of
him, and the disaster that had overcome him, and was sorry. She felt
that if she could only help him in some way, it would give her relief.
And so the time passed, and he came again into her life in a strange and
mysterious manner.
She was surprised one day to receive a visit in person from the
publisher of her works. She was, to say the least, also flattered. He
had come direct from Chicago to persuade her to come to the city, and
while she was flattered and was really anxious to see the city, she
refrained from going, but promised to write more music.
In the months that followed, he wrote to her, and the experience was
new. Then his letters grew serious, and later she received the surprise.
He came again to see her and proposed. She hardly knew how to accept it,
but he was so persistent. To be offered the love of a man of such a
type, carried her off her feet, and she made him promise to wait.
He was very patient about it, and at last she concluded that while she
did not feel that she really loved him yet, she was a woman, and growing
no younger, and, besides, he was a successful publisher and the match
seemed logical. So after some months in which she tried to make herself
appear like the woman she knew he wished her to be, she accepted, but
left the date for their wedding indefinite.