MARY AND JOHN PROGRESS.
The experiences of Mary on her trip East to Wellesley and the first few
months of college life were such as to try her courage and earnestness
of purpose. Her traveling experience, until the family moved to Madison
County, had been limited to trips to Pineville, Middlesboro and Harlan.
Since moving, she had been to Richmond, Winchester and Lexington.
A week or so before she went East, she and her mother had gone to
Lexington to purchase her clothing. Her father had given her one hundred
and fifty dollars for the purpose, to which she had added fifty dollars
of her own money.
Before she bought anything she insisted on sitting an hour in the hotel
parlor and then walking about the street for the purpose of noting the
costumes of girls her own age. She had gone to church at Paint Lick and,
sitting near the pew of the Clays, had seen Bradley Clay and his sister,
Rosamond, come in. Watching the girl, she had thought what a becoming
costume she wore. It was a dark blue dress, very simply, though
carefully, made. With this limited experience, when she began
purchasing, going to a neatly dressed clerk and asking that she show her
some costumes, and such as she herself fancied; her purchases, when
completed and fitted, were appropriate and becoming and almost
transformed the girl.
When the time came to leave home, her resolution was near the breaking
point. She feared her father might be convicted, though she had faith in
Mr. Cornwall, which had been strengthened by his predicted reversal of
her father's case. She had never been separated any length of time from
her mother, except when at school in Pineville. Then she had lived with
her mother's sister, her aunt Mandy, and went home every Saturday. Now,
for many months, she would be away from all kindred and acquaintances,
depending for sympathy and companionship on yet unmade friends.
Her father said: "Don't go, little girl, if you don't feel like it,"
while she cried in his arms.
"Father, I shall go; be good to mother, and when Mr. Cornwall gets you
off never touch a gun."
"Alright, Mary."
Her mother accompanied her to Winchester and there, with face stained by
tears and the coal dust of the local train, bade her good-bye. Mary
bought her ticket by way of New York, on the C. & O. At the advice of
the agent, who was a kindly man and had grown daughters of his own, she
purchased a Pullman ticket and was told when she arrived in New York to
go straight to the traveler's aid matron in the station.
When the train pulled up, her cheap, little trunk was put in the baggage
car and she, with a paper shoe box of lunch under her arm and a cheap
handbag in the other hand, boarded the train and took a seat in the day
coach, where she would have remained, except that the agent, seeing her
talking through the window with her mother, pointed her out to the
conductor as a Pullman passenger. After the train started, the conductor
piloted her to her section and, as he went out, whispered to the car
conductor to shoo off the drummers.
In New York the station matron put her aboard her train and sent a
telegram to the college, asking that some one meet her, which Mary
signed and paid for.
She was unable to qualify for the freshman course, but was permitted to
enter on probation. Her natural ability and application were such that
in a few months she had qualified herself to continue in the class and
at the end of the spring term was ranked among the most proficient of
the freshmen.
Upon her arrival she had been given a room with a little snob, the only
child of a newly rich couple who lived in a suburb of Boston. Her
roommate did everything she could to make Mary as miserable as possible.
She made fun of her clothes, ridiculed her local idioms and expressions
and laughed at her inexperience. She would not study and tried to keep
Mary from doing so. She rolled on Mary's bed, keeping her own tidy;
appropriated three-fourths of the closet and most of the drawers of the
dresser and washstand, leaving for Mary the bottom drawer of each and
closet hooks in the dark corner. She reported to the matron that Mary
was not neat and quarrelled all the time. But the matron, wise to the
girls of her day and generation, had her suspicions, and by a careful
and unsuspected surveillance soon became cognizant of true conditions.
Mary was changed to share the room of a girl from Austin, Miss Litton,
whose disposition was more like her own. From then on conditions became
comfortable.
After Dorothy returned home, Cornwall's friends said he was hard hit,
because he turned his back on social diversions. He merely reverted to
his habits preceding her visit. For a while he was invited everywhere,
but declined; finally they discontinued sending invitations and left him
to his hermithood.
His sole recreation was the improvement of the old place, at which he
spent all the time not given up to his law business. That grew steadily,
so that in 1900, six years after he had established himself in Harlan,
he had an income in excess of $5,000.00. This, with his mother's annuity
of $1,800.00, gave them more than three thousand dollars a year in
excess of their actual needs.
The leisure of the fall and winter of 1895 was spent in cleaning up,
trimming the trees, transplanting shrubs and vines, including border
beds of hydrangeas which were planted around the walls of the house and
out-buildings. When spring came and the garden had been plowed, rolled
and planted, the grounds were in perfect condition.
The yard and garden, so artistically laid off and perfectly kept,
emphasized the unattractive appearance of the bare, red-brick house
until John and his mother felt forced to alter its rectangular
barrenness. Since paying for the house they had saved something over
$2,000.00 for that purpose and felt justified in commencing its
alteration.
Duffield, the company engineer, was possessed of considerable artistic
taste and an amateur architect. It so happened a friend of his from
Pittsburgh, an architect, whose specialty was suburban homes, was
spending his summer vacation camping and fishing on the Poor Fork.
Duffield, who was with him, finally prevailed upon John to join the
party. He rode up to the camp on Friday afternoon and remained until the
following Monday.
The visiting architect, the afternoon of his arrival in Harlan, passed
the Cornwall home with Duffield. He commented upon the artistic
arrangement of the grounds; the contrast between them and the house; and
the opportunity the house offered for easy and artistic improvement.
John, not knowing the visitor was an architect, or that he had even seen
his home, but seeking Duffield's approval of the contemplated
modifications, disclosed his plans and asked for suggestions.
The architect, recalling the house, began making suggestions, in the
main approving John's plans. After they had discussed them for some
time, the visitor stated that when the fishing camp broke up he would
take a look and help out a bit. It was then John learned that Mr.
Bradford was an architect and regarded as an authority on suburban
homes.
"Unless you stay up here and fish a few days with us, Bradford and I
will not help you change the sober face and severe interior of your old,
red-brick house. A home should suggest the character of its occupant,
and your character is growing more in concord with your house each day;
your affinitive expressions in a year or two will be perfect."
"I must go to town Monday morning; it is county court day, but will
return Wednesday evening and remain until I have persuaded Mr. Bradford
to make his home with me while I pump him dry of plans for the
improvement of the old house."
And so Cornwall had the cheerful and gratuitous assistance of an
architect in remodeling his home, who otherwise would have charged more
than he contemplated spending for improvement. When they returned to
town the three, with Mrs. Cornwall, spent several pleasant evenings
discussing and drawing up plans for remodeling it, Mr. Bradford and
Duffield becoming almost as interested as John and his mother.
When the time came for Mr. Bradford to return home, John and his mother
exacted a promise from him to return the following summer and pass his
vacation as their guest.
By the first of November the improvements were completed at a cost of
$3,300.00, making the total cost of the place nearly $10,000.00. It was
conceded to be the most attractive and modern home in the county, though
not the most expensive. Mr. Neal liked it so well that he offered John
$15,000.00, which was declined.
The little mountain city in growth kept pace with John's improved
conditions. There were many new brick business buildings. The character
and appearance of the stores were modified from a general to a
specialized stock. When you bought a saw you might have to go round the
corner to buy a sack of flour or a pair of shoes. The names of the old
merchants, such as Nolen and Ward and Middleton, disappeared and the new
signs and advertisements read: "Shoes greatly reduced because of our
fire last week; going at half price. Leo Cohen." "We cut everything half
in two to make room for our new stock. Herman Mann." "Linens at less
than cost. Jacob Straus."
A new bank and trust company were opened and the old bank, The Harlan
National, doubled its capital stock. The ice and lighting plants were
enlarged, and the city bought a site up the river, built a dam,
installed pumping engines and constructed water mains into the city. An
opera house was built, which, though its walls never re-echoed to the
high soprano notes of a prima donna; had trembled to their foundations
at the invectives of E. T. Franks; had shed sections of blistered
plaster at the sad wailings of Gus Wilson, and had been moved by the
matchless eloquence of A. O. Stanley when telling the tale of his setter
dog.
The company's demands upon Cornwall's time had grown so that he asked
for and received an increase of salary of $50.00 per month to be used in
the employment of a stenographer. The young woman in the main office
who had formerly done his work was now scarcely able to answer the
company mail.
It being impossible to procure a competent unemployed local
stenographer, he inserted an advertisement in a Louisville paper. The
answers he received were varied and in some instances amusing. One or
two sent their pictures. Several desired in advance to know the age of
their prospective employer and whether he was blonde or brunette. One
even asked that he send his picture, as she did not care to travel two
hundred miles from home to face a fright.
He finally employed a little Jewess, whose reply dwelt particularly on
the question of compensation; demanded Saturday afternoon off; and if
the place did not prove satisfactory, even after several months' trial,
that her return expenses to Louisville were to be paid. Her name was
Rachael Rothchilds. She stated she was a sister of Mrs. Mann, whose
husband had bought out the Middleton general store. She remained with
him seven years until she married, and he never once regretted the
selection.
When she came into the office the following Monday, Duffield was
present; they were going over a survey together. After taking a good
look at her he said: "Well, she'll not waste much time in flirtations.
This office will give her the go-by." She weighed about ninety pounds,
was twenty years old and had a sallow, scabby complexion. She evidently
thought that her face called for an apology, and stated that she had
just recovered from a spell of sickness, and her father thought the
mountain air might do her good.
Her hair, however, was of remarkably fine texture and color, of a light
chestnut, giving forth flashes of gold. She was of slight though good
figure, was quick in catching a suggestion and endowed with considerable
business sagacity.
As her father had expected, the mountain air did her good. Within three
months her complexion cleared up and she took on several pounds in
weight; color came into her lips and a snappy expression into her
formerly dull eyes. Duffield, who had been so severe in his criticism of
her appearance, began to take notice and to extend invitations to go
driving, or to lunch, or for a walk, but she invariably answered that
she could only go out with Jewish boys.
She must have been with Cornwall a year before he realized how she had
improved in appearance. When sitting one day where the light and angle
brought out the perfect profile of her features and the golden sheen of
her hair, he first became aware that she was a beautiful woman, with as
clear-cut and classic a face as the best cameo might exhibit.
She was so smilingly cheerful and sweet-tempered that the boys of the
office gave her the name of "Cricket," and so competent that suggestions
and directions were superfluous in the performance of her efficient
work.
Slowly there crept into Cornwall's heart a tender feeling for the girl
and when, several months later, Leo Cohen, the shoe merchant, began
calling upon her and playing the devoted, and he saw how she responded
to his attentions, even when walking with him, taking side steps to look
up into his face with eyes of love and happiness, Cornwall suffered many
jealous pangs.
In a way that women have, not known to men, she found out that Cornwall
was a devoted and consistent admirer. While she was fond of him in a
companionable way, the shoe merchant was too strongly entrenched in her
heart to leave the least room for another.
The houses of Kentucky mountaineers are usually built upon a water
course. Every native family living on Cumberland River, or its forks or
tributaries, had a flock of geese which are kept to supply feathers for
their feather beds. The geese are rarely eaten. It is bad enough to be
plucked twice a year; the sensation is not pleasant and nights in the
mountains are cool.
Even sadder days were in store for the geese after the establishment of
the Jewish colony in Harlan; the average life of a goose is fifty years
and this for the Harlan County flock was considerably reduced. The
colony found no trouble in purchasing plucked geese at bargain prices
for food and grease.
Leo began his regular Sunday call on Rachael Rothchilds at 11 a. m. and
continued it without break or intermission until 11 o'clock every Sunday
night.
Rachael, during each of three winters, expended a month's salary buying
geese to feed Leo and he grew fat and slick, the sly, old fox, on
hot-baked goose for dinner and cold roast goose for supper. Every time
he sneezed she pressed upon him the gift of a jar of goose grease with
which to anoint his chest, and he blackened and sold it to his customers
for shoe oil.
Leo was slow and careful in making proposals and suggesting a wedding
day. For three long, suspensive years he called from two to three times
weekly upon the girl and each Sunday feasted upon the fat of Gooseland,
which is at the headwaters of the Cumberland River--all the while making
the girl believe that she was to be his wife, though she was made to
understand that the date was far ahead in the dim vistal future when his
financial position justified marrying one who bore the name of that
celebrated family of bankers. The day of the girl's contemplated
happiness might have been moved forward with satisfactory celerity had
not Leo inquired of his friend Simon, of Louisville, as to old man
Rothchild's bank account, and learned that he had nothing that sounded
like real money but his name, whereas to Leo a rich Jewess by any other
name would have seemed sweeter.
After the courtship had continued three years, the shoe merchant in
preparing for a fire sale left too many tracks in the snow. The fire
marshal reported that the fire was caused by an Israelite in the
basement and Leo, after many worries and the loss of his insurance,
sought other goose pastures.
In the early summer Cornwall wrote Howard Bradford, reminding him of his
promise to spend his summer vacation with them, and received an answer
saying he looked forward with pleasure to the time of keeping it, which
would be about the 20th of July.
The first week in July, John, passing the Neal home, was surprised to
see Dorothy Durrett standing on the porch. She had arrived the day
before. He was glad to learn that she expected to spend the summer with
her aunt. They had a pleasant chat, for the most part, about their
parties of the summer of two years before. Dorothy was now nearly
twenty-one and in appearance even more attractive than when he had first
known her. He told her of Howard Bradford's contemplated visit, and they
began formulating plans for the summer.
"You have not seen our house since it was remodeled according to Mr.
Bradford's suggestion, nor have you seen my mother; come with me now. I
am thinking of giving a dance in honor of our guest. Three rooms of the
lower floor are so arranged that they can be made into one, giving us
plenty of room to dance. Will you please help me out?"
"Certainly I will, John. You used to say we were meant to help each
other. Let me get a hat and tell Aunt Anna where I am going."
"How the place is improved! The grounds were always delightful; now the
whole is toned and in concord; a very delightful picture. There is your
mother at the door waiting for her John. The woman who takes you off her
hands gets an armload of responsibility. A man always compares his wife
with his mother and you, John, will expect your wife to love and mother
you as she has done."
"Oh, Dorothy! I am glad to see you! I did not know you in the start, or
John, either. I do not see so well and I did not expect to see John with
a woman. When did you come? You are even more attractive than when you
were here two years ago. John has acted like an old man since then. I
wish some nice girl would marry him."
"Oh, John and I understand each other; we could be the best of friends,
but never lovers. I will have to find him a good wife, else in his
inexperience, with his head buried in a book, he may make a mistake. I
know the very girl--Rosamond Clay, of Madison County; she visited me
last winter. I shall have my aunt ask her to visit us while I am with
her. Then I shall assign John to her and depend on Mr. Bradford or Mr.
Duffield to entertain me. Watch what a match-maker I am, Mrs. Cornwall.
Let us go through the house and then into the garden. My aunt insisted
that I hurry back. What a delightful place for your dance! We can
decorate with hydrangeas and golden glow. John, the garden looks just
the same as it did that Sunday afternoon two years ago when we sat on
this same bench under the arbor of ripening grapes and I told you my
dream of the humming birds. For a while I regretted having done so,
knowing that you saw too deeply into my heart and was not wholly
satisfied with the vision. What you saw was, in a way, the soul of
Dorothy. Now I am glad I told it. We would never have been real happy,
John, though we were beginning to think so. I hope before I marry the
one I love will tell me even his dreams; they sometimes lift the curtain
to the inner self. I must go now."
"Mother, I am walking home with Dorothy and shall come right back."
"Don't say that, John; no sentiment; that day is gone, perhaps for our
mutual happiness. You are my friend, John Cornwall, and always will be.
Come over tomorrow evening and tell me about yourself and your friends.
When Mr. Bradford comes I imagine I will like him. Good-night, John."
The following evening John called on Dorothy. He found Duffield and
Helen Creech there. Duffield, rising when he came in, resumed his seat
beside Dorothy, while he sat on the opposite side of the porch talking
with Miss Creech. He remained an hour, walking home with her. As they
were leaving, Dorothy said: "Aunt Anna wrote to Miss Clay today.
Good-night, Mr. Cornwall. Come again whenever you can, Helen."