INTO THE WEST AGAIN
The good cry which Kate had been longing for came before she got back to
her grandfather’s that morning. She took it with a girlish abandon,
sitting on the meadow bridge. Then she rose up, bathed her face in the
brook and went on her way, half ashamed of what she had done, half
wondering that she had dared to do it, and wholly glad that it was over.
Tom was waiting for her at the bars below the barn. It helped the
appearance of things that she should go in with him to breakfast, and,
though he would have scorned to own it, Tom had a healthy curiosity as
to the outcome of this interview with Aunt Katharine.
Kate’s report of it was meagre; but the impression was left on his mind
that she had gotten rather the worst of it, especially as she made no
concealment of the fact that she had been summarily dismissed at the
end. She owned frankly that she had been crying, and then showed plainly
that the spirit of controversy was not dead in her yet by the reckless
manner in which she threw in her “Westernisms” and defended them during
the rest of their talk. On the whole, Tom felt relieved as to her state
of mind, and they went into the house quarrelling in the most natural
manner; she having remarked that Aunt Katharine’s fierce manner didn’t
“faze” her after she got started, and he protesting that there was no
such word in the dictionary. He maintained his point as far as the old
Webster in the house was concerned, but she at least proved that her
word came of good respectable stock, and stood firm on the proposition
that it _ought_ to be there if it wasn’t.
It was the last time for many a day that Kate spoke to any one of that
morning’s adventure. Not a suspicion of it dawned on Esther. The talk
between the sisters the night before had been too nearly a quarrel for
either of them to wish to reopen the subject which had so disturbed
them, and it was out of consideration for Kate’s uneasiness over the
intimacy with Aunt Katharine that Esther went to her house less often
than usual during the next few days. But indeed it was not easy during
the week that was left of Kate’s stay at her grandfather’s for either of
the girls to find time for anything except the pleasurings which always
crowd the last days of a visit. Everything which had been omitted before
must be done now, and there were all the little gifts to be prepared for
the family at home, tokens of special meaning for each one, and for Mrs.
Northmore most of all.
She had asked for a piece of flag-root from the old spot in the meadow,
and enough was dug to satisfy her appetite for years, Aunt Elsie
preserving some of it in sugar, just as the grandmother used to in the
old days, when children carried bits of it to church in their pockets to
keep them awake during sermon time. She had mentioned an apple from the
crooked tree in the lane, whose seeds always shook in their core like a
rattlebox by the first of September, and every apple which ripened on
the old farm in the summer had a place in Kate’s trunk. There were
odors, too, which she loved; odors of pine, and sweet fern, and life
everlasting, to be gathered and sewed into silken bags and pillows; and
there was a little bunch—Aunt Elsie tucked it in—of dried hardhack and
catnip and spearmint.
“I don’t suppose she ever steeped those things for her own babies, being
a doctor’s wife,” she said; “but she knew the taste of them when she was
a baby herself, and I guess it’ll bring back the old garret to her, and
the bunches that hung from the rafters when she and I used to play there
on rainy days.”
Such were the chief events of that last week, but there was one other of
some importance, a call from Mr. Philip Hadley, who did not come this
time to inquire for his ancestors, but very distinctly for the young
ladies, and the fact that their grandfather was absent did not prevent
his making a decidedly long call. He seemed extremely interested in all
their doings since he saw them last, and the look of pleasure with which
he heard the announcement that Esther was to spend the winter in Boston
would have convinced Tom, had he seen it, of the correctness of an
opinion he had lately expressed to Kate. It did not affect her, however.
It was no young man with soft white hands, but only a grim old woman,
whose influence she feared for her sister.
So the days went by, swift, hurrying days, and brought the morning of
Kate’s departure. Tom would have liked to go with her to the depot, but
it was the grandfather, with the girls, of course, who made the trip.
They said good-by to each other in a last interview at the barn, and
though each tried to be gay and off-hand, the effort was not very
successful. They made solemn compact to write to each other often, Tom
for his part agreeing to keep his “eye peeled” for any developments
concerning Esther, and Kate for hers promising to “watch out” for
anything that could interest him in affairs at the West.
“You must come out and see us, Tom,” she said earnestly. “I want to show
you everything, and make you like our part of the country as well as—as
well as I like this. Your ways are different from ours, of course; but
I’ve got a lot of new ideas, and I’ve had an awfully good time with you,
Tom. I didn’t know I _could_ feel so bad to go away.”
“I guess I should like it out your way too,” said Tom, turning his head
as if it were not quite safe to look into her eyes at that moment, “and
perhaps sometime I can come. I guess it’s good for folks to see
something besides their own things, and—I _know_ I should like it out
West if _you_ were there.”
And then they parted, each of them having apparently some trouble with
the throat just then, and Tom drawing his sleeve across his eyes in a
suspicious manner as he walked down the lane.
“The Lord bless and keep you and cause His face to shine upon you,” Ruel
Saxon said solemnly as he bade the girl good-by at the depot.
It was the last word before the train pulled out, for Esther’s heart was
full, and she could say no more after sending her love for the
thousandth time to them all at home. And then the beautiful New England
village, with its lovely homes and shaded streets, faded from Kate’s
sight; the hills and the little fields, crossed by the old stone walls,
rushed past her, and it was the wide green stretches of the home country
for which the eyes of her heart were straining as she flew on into the
West.
It was a great day for the family when she reached home. The doctor was
at the depot, impatient as a boy over the three minutes’ delay in the
train that brought her in, and he almost forgot to secure her trunk, or
set her bag into the carriage, in his delight at seeing her.
“Well, I believe they must have treated you pretty well back there,” he
said, pinching her cheek. And he would have had her on the scales before
she left the depot if she had not protested that she could not spare a
second getting weighed.
“I shall lose a pound for every minute we waste getting home,” she
cried, jumping into the carriage; and at this he laughed, and putting
the reins into her hands, told her to get the gray filly over the ground
as fast as she pleased. How they did go dashing down the road, and what
wonder that excitement was rife in the town that afternoon as to what
member of the community was lying at the point of death that the doctor
was going at such a rate to see him!
They were on the porch to greet her when she pulled up at the door, Mrs.
Northmore and Virgie, with Aunt Milly gorgeous in her best cap and
kerchief at the rear; and such a hugging and kissing, such a laughing
and crying followed as might have made one wonder what _would_ have
happened if the girl had stayed away a year instead of a single summer.
It was good to be back—so good; she realized it more with every minute,
and the trite old saying that the best part of going away from home is
coming back again appealed to her as never before. The trunk was
unpacked with all the household gathered round, but no one, not even
Mrs. Northmore, daring to help, lest some precious token, tucked safely
in by Kate’s own hand, should be drawn prematurely from its corner or
shaken unwarily from the folds of a dress. Oh, the joy of drawing them
out, one after another, and the bursts of delight with which they were
received!
Virgie skipped about the room in glee over the trinkets which had been
brought to her from Boston and the sea; Dr. Northmore declared he must
have coffee made at once to give him a chance of using the beautiful cup
which Stella had painted with just such blossoming honeysuckles as grew
over the door from which he had carried away his bride; Aunt Milly stood
agape over the glories of the black silk apron which her young ladies
had embroidered for her in figures of the gayest colors—Jack Horner
enjoying his Christmas pie in one corner, Miss Muffet frightened from
her curds by the wicked black spider in another, and the muffin man with
his tray on his head stalking proudly between; while as for Mrs.
Northmore, she sat like a little child, her lap filling with treasures,
nibbling now and then at the flag-root, or burying her face in those
dear old odors, and lifting it again with smiles shining through the
tears in her eyes.
Not till the very bottom of the trunk had been reached was it emptied of
its last gift, and then there was plenty of need for the mother’s help;
for the putting away of her scattered wardrobe was a task to which Kate
could not quiet her excited nerves. She was almost too happy to eat, but
the supper Aunt Milly had made ready would have put the edge of appetite
on satiety itself.
“Why, Aunt Milly, a body’d think I was a regular prodigal, to have such
a feast as this set out for me,” she declared, at the close of the meal,
when it seemed as if every one of her favorite dainties had been heaped
upon her plate in turn, but the old woman shook her head at this with
emphasis.
“No ye ain’t, honey,” she said, “your Aunt Milly never did have no use
for prodigals” (she would probably not have recognized any member of her
family in that character, however he might have wasted his substance),
“but I allers did ’low that them that’s a comfort to you were the ones
to fix for. ’Pears to me that was a terrible mean-spirited man in the
Bible that never let ’em set out a kid or anything for the boy that was
so good ’n’ steady. _I’d_ have done it, if I’d been cookin’ for ’em,
sure nuff I would.”
It was, perhaps, the devoted old servant who had pined most for Kate’s
return, and it was certainly she who was most anxious to have the girl
all to herself now that she had fairly come. Mrs. Northmore could wait.
The things she cared most to know would be learned best in the
unsolicited confidences of the days that were coming, and she feigned
some errand for herself in the edge of evening which gave the girl a
chance to sit for a little while in the kitchen, with the old woman
questioning her and crooning over her out of the depths of an abounding
love.
“We’ve missed you powerful bad, honey,” she said, rocking back and
forth, with her eyes fixed in a beaming content on the girl’s face.
“’Spect they didn’t put much of it into the letters, but I tell you your
ma’s been mighty lonesome some of the time. I could see it, if the rest
couldn’t; and your pa—you could tell how _he_ felt by the way he fretted
if the letters didn’t come jes’ so often. And ’tween you ’n’ me he
didn’t like it much to have Esther stay all winter, only your ma worked
him round, the way she has, you know. Bless your heart, if they’d wanted
_you_ to stay too, dunno what would ’a’ happened to us. ’Spect this yer
ole woman would ’a’ been dead ’n’ gone before spring. I’ve been pinin’
for you all summer.”
“But I shouldn’t have stayed if they had wanted me,” Kate said
cheerfully, and then she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes,
“but really, Aunt Milly, you don’t look as if you had been pining. It
rather seems to me you’ve grown a little stouter since we went away.”
“Laws now, Miss Kate,” cried Aunt Milly, “that’s jes’ some o’ your
jokin’.” Then, smoothing her ample front with an uneasy expression, she
added beseechingly: “But you can’t tell by the looks o’ folks what’s
goin’ on inside of ’em. I was powerful puny a spell back. Your pa’ll
tell you how much medicine he giv’ me.” Then, her face brightening
again: “But you or’ to see the way I began to pick up when the day was
set for you to come home. ’Peared like the misery jes’ cleared out of
itself, an’ I reckon I did get back the flesh I lost, with maybe a
little more,” she ended serenely.
“Well, I hope the misery’ll stay away for good, now I’ve come,” said
Kate, laughing. The sound of voices in the hall told her that a bevy of
friends had come to welcome her home, and with another smile at Milly
she was off to meet them, and to begin all over again the account of her
beautiful summer.
The warmth with which the Western town greets its returning children is
one of the pleasant things to have known in one’s journey through life.
For the next few days Kate’s time was full, responding to the welcome of
her friends, asking and answering questions, and adjusting herself again
to her own place.
There was one friend for whom she inquired early, and of him Mrs. Elwell
brought the fullest report when she brought her own greeting to the girl
next morning. Morton had hardly been at home all summer. He had been
busy, first at one thing, then another, as Kate knew, and now—it was
quite a sudden move—he was with an engineering party in an adjoining
county. It seemed he had given some special attention to surveying
during the last year in college, and, like everything else he gave his
mind to, had it so well in hand that it turned to his use and advantage.
The work would keep him a few weeks longer, which would make him late in
getting back to school, but the pay was so good he had felt he must make
the most of his chance. She gave one of those little sighs which every
one understood when she talked of her nephew, and then her face
brightened as she added, “But he’ll certainly come home before he goes
back to college, and we shall see him before so very long.”
At which Kate’s face brightened too. There was no one now whom she
wanted so much to see as Morton Elwell.