PLENTY OF NURSING FROM LOVING, TENDER HANDS.
WHAT days those were that followed the arrival of the boys home. In
Shorty's hard, rough life he had never so much as dreamed of such
immaculate housekeeping as Mrs. Klegg's. He had hardly been in speaking
distance of such women as Si's mother and sisters. To see these bright,
blithe, sweet-speeched women moving about the well-ordered house in busy
performance of their duties was a boundless revelation to him. It opened
up a world of which he had as little conception as of a fairy realm. For
the first time he began to understand things that Si had told him of his
home, yet it meant a hundredfold more to him than to Si, for Si had been
brought up in that home. Shorty began to regard the Deacon and Si as
superior beings, and to stand in such awe of Mrs. Klegg and the girls
that he became as tongue-tied as a bashful school-boy in their presence.
It amazed him to hear Si, when the girls would teaze him, speak to them
as sharply as brothers sometimes will, and just as if they were ordinary
mortals.
"Si, you orter to be more careful in talkin' to your sisters," he
remonstrated when they were alone.
"You've bin among rough men so long that you don't know how to talk to
real ladies."
"O, come off," said Si, petulantly. "What's a-eatin you. You don't know
them girls as well as I do. Particularly Maria. She'll run right over
you if you let her. She's one o' the best girls that ever breathed, but
you've got to keep a tight rein on her. The feller that marries her's
got to keep the whip-hand or she'll make him wish that he'd never bin
born."
Shorty's heart bounded at the thought of any man having the unspeakable
happiness of marrying that peerless creature, and then having the
meanness not to let her do precisely as she wanted to.
Both the boys had been long enough in the field to make that plain farm
home seem a luxurious palace of rest. The beds were wonders of
softness and warmth, from which no unwelcome reveille or cross-grained
Orderly-Sergeant aroused them with profane threats of extra duty.
Instead, after peeping cautiously through the door to see that they were
awake, the girls would come in with merry greeting, bowls of warm water,
and soft, white towels fragrant of the lawn. Maria would devote herself
to helping Shorty get ready for breakfast, and Amanda to Si.
Shorty trembled like a captured rabbit when Maria first began her
ministrations. All his blood rushed to his face, and he tried to
mumble something about being able to take care of himself, which that
straightforward young woman paid not the slightest attention to. After
his first fright was over there was a thrilling delight about the
operation which electrified him.
When the boys were properly washed and combed, Mrs. Klegg, her kind,
motherly face beaming with consciousness of good and acceptable service,
would enter with a large tray, laden with fragrant coffee,
delicious cream, golden butter, her own peerless bread and bits of
daintily-broiled chicken.
"Si," said Shorty, one morning after he had finished the best breakfast
he had ever known, the girls had gone away with the things, and he
was leaning back thinking it all over in measureless content, "if the
preachers'd preach that a feller'd go to such a place as this when
he died if he was real good, how good we'd all be, and we'd be rather
anxious to die. How in the world are we ever goin' to git up spunk
enough to leave this and go back to the field?"
"You'll git tired o' this soon enough," said Si. "It's awful nice for
a change, but I don't want it to last long. I want to be able to git up
and git out. I hate awfully to have women-folks putterin' around me."
The boys could not help rapidly recovering under such favorable
conditions, and soon they were able to sit up most of the day. In the
evening, ensconced in the big Shaker rocking chairs, sitting on pillows,
and carefully swathed in blankets, they would sit on either side of
the bright fire, with the family and neighbors forming the semi-circle
between, and talk over the war interminably. The neighbors all had sons
and brothers in the army, either in the 200th Ind. or elsewhere, and
were hungry for every detail of army news. They plied Si and Shorty with
questions until the boys' heads ached. Then the Deacon would help out
with his observations of camp-life.
"I'm not goin' to believe," said one good old brother, who was an
exhorter in the Methodist Church, "that the army is sich a pitfall, sich
a snare to the feet o' the unwary as many try to make out. There's
no need of any man or boy who goes to serve his country and his God,
fallin' from grace and servin' the devil. Don't you think so, too.
Deacon? There's no reason why he shouldn't be jest as good a man there
as he is at home. Don't you think so, too. Deacon Klegg?"
"Um--um-um," hemmed the Deacon, getting red in the face, and avoiding
answering the question by a vigorous stirring of the fire, while Si
slily winked at Shorty. "I impressed that on son Jed's mind when he
enlisted," continued the brother. "Jed was always a good, straight
up-and-down boy; never gave me or his mother a minute's uneasiness. I
told him to have no more to do with cards than with smallpox; to avoid
liquor as he would the bite of a rattlesnake; to take nothin' from other
people that he didn't pay full value for; that swearin' was a pollution
to the lips and the heart. I know that Jed hearkened to all that I said,
and that it sank into his heart, and that he'll come back, if it's God's
will that he shall come back, as good a boy as when he went away."
Si and Shorty did not trust themselves to look at one another before the
trusting father's eyes, for Jedediah Bennett, who was one of the best
soldiers in Co. Q, had developed a skill at poker that put all the other
boys on their mettle; and as for foraging--well, neither Si nor Shorty
ever looked for anything in a part where Jed Bennett had been.
"Deacon," persisted Mr. Bennett, "you saw a great deal o' the army. You
didn't see the wickedness down there that these Copperheads 's chargin',
did you? You only found men wicked that'd be wicked any place, and
really good men jest as good there as at home?"
"It's jest as you say, Mr. Bennett," answered the Deacon, coughing to
gain time for a diplomatic answer, and turning so that the boys could
not see his face. "A wicked man's wicked anywhere, and he finds more
chance for his wickedness in the army. A good man ought to be good
wherever he's placed, but there are positions which are more tryin' than
others. By the way, Maria, bring us some apples and hickory nuts. Bring
in a basketful o' them Rome Beauties for Mr. Bennett to take home with
him. You recollect them trees that I budded with Rome Beauty scions that
I got up the river, don't you, Bennett? Well, they bore this year, and
I've bin calculatin' to send over some for you and Mrs. Bennett. I tell
you, they're beauties indeed. Big as your fist, red as a hollyhock,
fragrant as a rose, and firm and juicy. I have sent for scions enough to
bud half my orchard. I won't raise nothin' hereafter but Rome Beauties
and Russets."
The apples and nuts were brought in, together with some of Mrs. Klegg's
famous crullers and a pitcher of sweet cider, and for awhile all were
engaged in discussing the delicious apples. To paraphrase Dr. Johnson,
God undoubtedly could make a better fruit than a Rome Beauty apple from
a young tree, growing in the right kind of soil, but undoubtedly He
never did. The very smell of the apple is a mild intoxication, and its
firm, juicy flesh has a delicacy of taste that the choicest vintages of
the Rhine cannot surpass.
But Mr. Bennett was persistent on the subject of morality in the army.
He soon refused the offer of another apple, laid his knife back on the
plate, put the plate on the table, wiped his mouth and hands, and said:
"Deacon, these brothers and sisters who have come here with me to-night
are, like myself, deeply interested in the moral condition of the army,
where we all have sons or kinsmen. Now, can't you sit right there and
tell us of your observations and experiences, as a Christian man and
father, from day to day, of every day that you were down there? Tell us
everything, just as it happened each day, that we may be able to judge
for ourselves."
Si trembled a httle, for fear that they had his father cornered. But the
Deacon was equal to the emergency.
"It's a'most too late, now, Mr. Bennett," he said, looking at the clock,
"for it's a long story. You know I was down there quite a spell. We
can't keep these boys out o' bed late now, and by the time we have
family worship it'll be high time for them to be tucked in. Won't you
read us a chapter o' the Bible and lead us in prayer, Brother Bennett?"
While Shorty was rapidly gaining health and strength, his mind was ill
at ease. He had more time than ever to think of Jerusha Briggs, of Bad
Ax, Wis., and his surroundings accentuated those thoughts. He began by
wondering what sort of a girl she really was, compared to Si's sisters,
and whether she was used to such a home as this? Was she as handsome, as
fine, as high-spirited as Maria? Then his loyal soul reproached him. If
she would have him he would marry her, no matter who she she was. Why
should he begin now making comparisons with other girls? Then, she might
be far finer than Maria. How would he himself compare with her, when he
dared not even raise his eyes to Maria?
He had not written her since the Tullahoma campaign. That seemed an age
away, so many things had happened in the meanwhile.
He blamed himself for his neglect, and resolved to write at once, to
tell her where he was, what had happened to him, and that he was going
to try to visit her before returning to the field. But difficult as
writing had always been, it was incomparably more so now. He found that
where he thought of Jerusha once, he was thinking of Maria a hundred
times. Not that he would admit to himself there was any likeness in
his thoughts about the two girls. He did not recognize that there
was anything sentimental in those about Maria. She was simply some
infinitely bright, superior sort of a being, whose voice was sweeter
than a bird's, and whose presence seemed to brighten the room. He found
himself uncomfortable when she was out of sight. The company of Si or
his father was not as all-sufficient and interesting as it used to be.
When Maria went out of the room they became strangely dull and almost
tiresome, unless they talked of her.
Worse yet. As he grew stronger and better able to take care of himself
Maria dropped the familiarity of the nurse, and began putting him on the
footing of a young gentleman and a guest of the house. She came no more
into the room with the basin of warm water, and got him ready for
his breakfast. She toned down carefully with every improvement in his
strength. First, she merely brought him the basin and towel, and then as
he grew able to go about she would rap on his door and tell him to come
out and get ready for breakfast. Shorty began to feel that he was losing
much by getting well, and that his convalescence had been entirely too
rapid.
Then he would go off and try to compose his thoughts for a letter to
Jerusha Briggs, but before he knew it he would find himself in the
kitchen watching, with dumb admiration, Maria knead bread, with her
sleeves rolled to her shoulders, and her white, plump arms and bright
face streaked with flour. There would be little conversation, for Maria
would sing with a lark's voice, as she worked, some of the sweet old
hymns, chording with Amanda, busy in another part of the house. Shorty
did not want to talk. It was enough for him to feast his eyes and ears.
They were sitting down to supper one evening when little Sammy Woggles
came in from the station.
"There's your Cincinnati Gazette," he said, handing the paper to the
Deacon, "and there's a letter for Si."
"Open it and read it, Maria," said Si, to whom reading of letters meant
labor, and he was yet too weak for work.
"It's postmarked Chattanooga, Tenn.," said she, scanning the envelope
carefully, "and addressed to Sergeant Josiah Klegg, 200th Indiana
Volunteer Infantry, Bean Blossom Creek, Ind."
"Sergeant!" ejaculated Si, Shorty and the Deacon, in the same breath.
"Are you sure it's Sergeant?"
"Yes, it's Sergeant," said Maria, spelling the title out. "Who in the
world do you s'pose it's from, Si?"
"It don't seem to occur to you that you could find out by openin' it,"
said the Deacon, sarcastically.
"Open it and see who it's from," said Si.
"The man writes a mighty nice hand," said Maria, scanning the
superscription. "Just like that man that taught writing-school here last
Winter. It can't be from him, can it? Didn't s'pose there was anybody in
your company that could write as well as that. Look, Si, and see if you
can tell whose handwritin' it is."
"O, open it, Maria," groaned Si, "and you'll likely find his name writ
somewhere inside."
"Don't be so impatient. Si," said Maria, feeling around for a hair-pin
with which to rip open the envelope. "You're gittin' crosser'n two
sticks since you're gittin' well."
"He certainly does write a nice hand," said Maria, scanning the
inclosure deliberately. "Just see how he makes his d's and s's. All
his up-strokes are light, and all his down ones are heavy, just as the
writing-master used to teach. And his curves are just lovely. And what
a funny name he has signed. J. T. No; I. T. No; that's a J, because it
comes down below the line. M-c-G-i-l-l--I can't make out the rest."
"McGillicuddy; ain't that it?" said Si eagerly. "It's from Capt.
McGillicuddy. Read it, Maria."
"McGillicuddy. Well, of all the names!" said that deliberate young
woman. "Do you really mean to say that any man has really such a name as
that?"
"'Mandy, take that letter away from her and read it," commanded Si.
"Well, I'm goin' to read your old letter for you, if you'll just gi'
me time," remonstrated Maria. "What are you in such a hurry for, old
cross-patch? Le' me see:
"Headquarters, Co. Q, 200th Indiana Volunteer Infantry.
"Chattanooga, Tenn., Nov. 20, 1863.
"Sergeant Josiah Klegg.
"Dear Klegg: I have not heard from you since you left, but I
am going to hope that you are getting well right along. All
the boys think of you and Shorty, and send their love and
their hopes that you will soon be back with us. We all miss
you very much.
"I have some good news for you and Shorty. On my
recommendation the Colonel has issued a special order
promoting you Sergeant and Shorty Corporal, for gallant and
meritorious services at the battle of Chickamauga, in which
you captured a rebel flag. The order was read on parade this
evening. So it is Sergeant Klegg and Corporal Elliott
hereafter, and they will be obeyed and respected
accordingly. You will take poor Pettibone's place, and
Elliott will take Harney's.
"I do not know where Elliott is, but expect that he is with
you. If so, give him the news, and also the inclosed letter,
which came to me. If not, and you know where he is, write
him.
"Write me as soon as you can. We are all getting along very
well, especially since Grant came up and opened our cracker
line. My little hurt is healing nicely, so that I can go
about with a cane. We are all getting ready to jump old
Bragg on Mission Ridge, and I am going to do my best to go
along at the head of Co. Q, though I have been Acting Major
and Lieutenant-Colonel since I got up.
"Regards to your father, and believe me, sincerely your
friend,
"J. T. MCGILLICUDDY,
"Captain, Co. Q, 200th Ind. Inf. Vols."
Maria passed the letter over to Si to read again, and without more ado
opened the inclosure. As she did so, a glance of recognition of the
handwriting flashed upon Shorty, and he started to take the letter from
her, but felt ashamed to do so.
"Why, this is from a woman," said Maria, "and she writes an awful bad,
scratchy hand." Being a woman's letter she was bound to read it without
loss of time, and she did so:
"Bad Ax, Wis., Nov. 10.
"Capt. McGillicuddy.
"Dear Sir: I believe you command the company, as they call
it, in which there was a gentleman named Mr. Elliott. The
papers reports that he was kild at thfe battle of
Chickamaugy. I had some correspondence with him, and I sent
him my picture.
Would you kindly write me the particklers of his death, and
also what was done with sich letters and other things that
he had? I would very much like to have you return me my
letters and picture if you have them. Send them by express
to Miss Jerusha Briggs, at this plais, and I will pay the
charges. I will explain to you why I want them sent to a
difrunt naim than that which I sign. Upon learnin' of Mr.
Elliott's deth I excepted the addresses of Mr. Adams, whose
wife passed away last summer. You may think I was in a
hurry, but widowers always mene bizniss when they go
a-courtin', as you will know if ever you was a widower, and he
had two little girls who needed a mother's care. My husband
is inclined to be jelous, as widowers usually are, and I
don't want him to ever know nothin' about my letters to Mr.
Elliott, and him havin' my picture. I am goin' to ask you to
help me, as a gentleman and a Christian, and to keep this
confidential.
"Very respectfully,
"Mrs. Benj. F. Adams."
They all listened eagerly to the reading of the letter, and when it was
finished looked for Shorty. But he had gone outside, where there was
more air.
[Illustration: SHORTY WENT OUTSIDE WHERE THERE WAS MORE AIR. 101]