THE SHUT AND THE OPEN DOOR.
"They are all unfitted to take care of themselves, though the girl has
the best sense of the lot. The Fort is always overfull. They would be
happier by themselves, and it will be a blessing to have such a good
man among us. Let us build them a log cabin and instal them in it."
Such was the Fort commandant's decision and, as he suggested, it was
quickly done. The old maxim of many hands and light work was verified,
for in a magically short time the little parsonage was reared and the
few belongings of the household moved into it.
"That's what it seems to me,"--cried the Sun Maid, as the last stroke
was given, and a soldier climbed to the roof-peak to thrust a fresh
green branch into the crevice,--"as if yesterday we dreamed we wanted
a home, and now it's ours. If only Wahneenah and Gaspar were here, I
should be almost too happy to live. Yes, and poor Mercy Smith, who
says she never did have a good time in her life; and Abel, and Black
Partridge; and----"
"Everybody! I guess you're wanting," reproved the elder son of the
minister. For, during the time of building, short though it was, the
orphan girl had become wholly identified with the Littlejohns'
household and felt as full a right to the cabin as if it had been her
own especial property.
Now, suddenly, as she stood in the doorway there came into her mind
the prophecy of old Katasha; and she looked afar, as if she saw
visions and heard voices denied to the others. So rapt did her gaze
become that little Four stole his pudgy hand into hers and inquired,
beneath his breath:
"What is it, Kitty? What do you see?"
"I see crowds and crowds of people. Of all sorts, all forms, all
colors, all races. Crowding, crowding, and yet not crushing. Only
coming, more--and more--and more. I see strange buildings. Bigger than
any pictures in that book you showed me yesterday. They keep rising
and spreading out on every side. I see ships on the lake; curious
ones, with tall masts, a hundred times taller than that in which my
Gaspar sailed away. They are so laden with people and stuff that
I--I--it seems to choke me!"
She did not notice that the Doctor had drawn near and was listening
intently; and even when his hand touched her shoulder she found it
difficult to comprehend what he was saying.
"Wake up, lassie! Why, what is this? My practical new daughter growing
a star-gazer, like the foolish old man? That won't do for our little
housekeeper."
"Won't it, sir? I guess I've been dreaming. But I know I shall see all
that some day, right here in this spot. This is the lake where the big
ships sail, and this the ground where the houses stand."
One was at hand with his ever-ready reproof.
"That's all nonsense, Kitty Briscoe. A person can't see more than a
person can. There are neither houses nor ships, such as you talk
about, and you are sillier than any fairy story I ever read."
Yet long afterward he was to remember that first hour in the new home,
and the rapt face of the girl gazing skyward.
Then they all went in to supper, which had been provided by the
thoughtful friends at the Fort across the river; but which, the Sun
Maid assured the busy women there, must be the only meal supplied that
was ready prepared.
"For, if I'm to be housekeeper I mean to learn all about that, even
before I do the books, which the Doctor will teach me and that I am so
eager to study. But I'll be his home-maker first, and I'll give them
jonny-cake for breakfast. Mercy said it was cheap and wholesome, and
we have to be very careful of the Doctor's little money."
How wholesome, rather how most unwholesome, that first jonny-cake
proved, Kitty never after liked to recall; but she was not the only
young house mistress who has made mistakes; and, fortunately, the
master of the house was not critical. And how far the study-craving
girl would have carried out her own plan of housewifery before reading
is not known; for, having done the best she could, and having, at
least, swept and dusted the rooms carefully she took little Four by
the hand and set out to ask instruction of her Fort friends against
the dinner-getting.
Now the fascinating dread and interest of this little fellow was an
Indian; and, trudging along through the dirt, he scanned the horizon
critically, then suddenly gripped her hand hard and tight.
"Kitty! I do believe--there are--some coming! Run! Run!"
"Why should I run? The Indians are my best and oldest friends. It
might even be----"
She paused so long, shading her eyes from the sunlight and gazing
fixedly across the landscape with a gathering surprise and delight
upon her face, that the child clutched her frock, demanding:
"What is it, Kitty? What do you see? What do you see?"
"The horses! White, black, and--Chestnut! It's Wahneenah! Wahneenah!"
Four watched her disappear behind a clump of bushes that hid the
sandhills from his lower sight, then hurried back to the new cabin,
crying out:
"Father, father! She's run away again! We've lost her!"
Before the minister could be made to comprehend his son's excited
story, voices without drew him to the entrance. Even to him the name
of Indian had, in those days, a sinister significance. Yet, as he
reached the threshold, there were the Sun Maid's arms about his neck
and her ecstatic declaration:
"It's my darling Other Mother! She's come! She'll live with us! And
the Black Partridge; and Osceolo, and Tempest, and Snowbird, and the
Chestnut! Oh, all together again; how happy we shall be!"
"Eh? What? Yes, yes, of course," assented the Doctor, though he cast a
rather perplexed glance about his limited apartments. "Well, if it's
to be part of my work, I am ready," he added resignedly, and not
without thought of the quiet study which would be out of the question
in a tenement so crowded.
The chief and the clergyman had met before, during the former's last
visit to the Fort, and they greeted each other suavely, as would two
white gentlemen of culture and unquestioned standing. Then, while the
Sun Maid drew Wahneenah aside and exhibited the cabin, the two men
talked together and rapidly became friends.
"The Lord never shuts one door but He opens another. I came here to
instruct, hoping to pass far onward into the wilderness. Behold! the
heathen are at my very threshold. He took away my wife and sent me a
daughter. Now, at her heels, follows a woman of the race I came to
help, who looks more noble than most of her white sisters. As the Sun
Maid said, shall we not do? Only--where to house them?"
"That is soon settled. Neither the chief's daughter nor the youth,
Osceolo, could sleep beneath the tight roof of the pale-face. Their
wigwams shall be pitched behind this cabin, and there will they abide.
So will I arrange with the people at the Fort, who are my friends.
Yet, let the great medicine-man keep a sharp eye to the young brave,
Osceolo. He is my kinsman. There is good in the youth, and there is,
also, evil--much evil. He lies upon the ground to dream wild schemes,
then rises up to practise them. He is like the pale-faces--by birth a
liar. He is not to be trusted. Only by fear does he become as clay in
the hands of the potter. If my brother, the great medicine-man, will
accept this charge I ask of him there shall be always venison in
plenty, and bear's meat, and the flesh of cattle, at his door. He
shall have corn from the fields of the scattered Pottawatomies, and
the fuel for his hearth-fire shall never waste. How says my brother,
the wise medicine-man?"
"What can I say but that the Black Partridge is as generous as he is
brave, and that his readiness to support a minister of the gospel
amazes me? In that more settled East, from which I came, the rich men
gave grudgingly to their pastor of such things as themselves did not
need, and I was always in poverty. Therefore, for the sake of my sons,
I came hither. Truly, in this wilderness, I have received evil at the
hand of the Lord; but I have, also, received much good. If He wills,
from this humble tenement shall go forth a blessing that cannot be
measured. Leave the woman and the undisciplined youth with me. I will
deal with them as I am given wisdom."
This was the beginning of a new, rich life for the Sun Maid. It opened
to Wahneenah, also, a period of unbroken happiness. The minister, over
whose household affairs she promptly assumed a wise control, honored
her with his confidence and abided by her clear-sighted counsel. She
was constantly associated with her beloved Girl-Child, and could watch
the rapid development of her intellect and all-loving heart.
Indeed, Love was the keynote to Kitty Briscoe's character; and out of
love for everybody about her, and especially in hope to be of use to
her Indian friends, sprang the greatest incentive to study.
"The more I know, the better I can help them to understand," she said
to Wahneenah, who agreed and approved.
The years sped quietly and rapidly by, as busy years always do. Some
changes came to the little settlement of Chicago, but they were only
few; until, one sunny day in spring, there reached the ears of the Sun
Maid a sudden cry that seemed to turn all the months backward, as a
scroll is rolled.
Bending above her table, strewn with the Doctor's notes which she was
copying, in the pleasant room of a big frame house that was one of the
few new things of the town, she heard the call; dimly at first, as an
out-of-door incident which did not concern herself. When it was
repeated, she started visibly, and cried out:
"I know that voice! That's Mercy Smith! There was never another just
like it!"
She sprang up and ran to answer, shouting in return:
"Halloo! What is it?"
"Help!"
A few rods' run beyond the clump of trees that bordered the garden
revealed the difficulty. A heavy wagon, loaded with bags of grain, was
mired in the mud of the prairie road. A woman stood upright in the
vehicle, lashing and scolding the oxen, which tried, but failed, to
extricate the wheels from the clay that held them fast.
"I'm coming! I'm Kitty! And, Mercy--is it really you?"
"Well, if I ain't beat! You're Kitty, sure enough! But what a size!"
"Yes. I'm a woman now, almost. How glad I am to see you! How's Abel?
Where is he?"
"Must be glad, if you'd let so many years go by without once comin' to
visit me."
"I didn't know that you'd be pleased to have me. I didn't treat you
well, to leave you as I did. But where's Abel?"
"Home. Trying to sell out. My land! How pretty you've growed! Only
that white dress and hair a-streamin'; be you dressed for a party,
child?"
"Oh, no, indeed! I'll run and get something to help you out with, if
you'll be patient."
"Have to be, I reckon, since I'm stuck tight. No hurry. The oxen'll
rest. I've heard about you, out home--how 't you'd found a rich
minister to take you in an' eddicate you, an' your keepin' half-Indian
still. Might have taught you to brush your hair, I 'low; an' from
appearances you'd have done better to have stayed with me. You hain't
growed up very sensible, have you?"
The Sun Maid laughed, just as merrily and infectiously as when she had
first crept for shelter into Mercy Smith's cabin.
"Maybe not. I'm not the judge. I'll test my wisdom, though, by trying
to help you out of that mud. I'll be back in a moment."
She turned to run toward the house, but Mercy remonstrated:
"You can't help in them fine clothes. Ain't there no men around?"
"A few. Most of them are out of the village on a big hunting frolic.
We'll manage without."
"Humph! They'd better be huntin' Indians."
The girl looked up anxiously. "Is there any trouble?"
"Always trouble where the red-skins are."
Kitty departed, and the settler's wife watched her with feelings of
mingled admiration, anger, and astonishment.
"She's grown, powerful. Tall an' straight as an Indian, an' fair as a
snowflake. Such hair! I don't wonder she wears it that way, though I
wouldn't humor her by lettin' on. I've heard she did it to please her
'tribe' an' the old minister. Well, there's always plenty of fools.
They're a crop 'at never fails."
The Sun Maid reappeared. She had not stopped to change her white gown,
but she brought a pair of snow-shoes, and carried three or four short
planks across her strong, firm shoulder.
"My sake! Ain't you tough! I couldn't lift one them planks, rugged as
I call myself, let alone four. But--snow-shoes in the springtime?"
"Yes. I've learned a way for myself of helping the many who get mired
out here. See how quickly I can set you free."
Putting on the shoes, the girl walked straight over the mud, and
throwing down the planks before the animals, encouraged them to help
themselves.
"What are their names? Jim and Pete? Come on, my poor beasts; and,
once clear, you shall have a fine rest and feed."
"Shucks! There! Go on! Giddap! Gee! Haw!"
There followed a time of suspense, but at last the oxen gained a
little advance, when Kitty promptly moved the planks forward, and in
due time the wagon rolled out upon a firmer spot.
"Well, Kitty girl, you may not have sense, but you've got what's
better--that's gumption. And that's Chicago, is it?"
"Yes. I hope you like it."
"I've got to, whether or no. I'm in awful trouble, Kitty Briscoe, an'
it's all your fault."
"What can you mean?"
"Abel--Abel----"
"Yes--yes! What is it?"
"Ever sence you run away he's been pinin' to run after you. Said the
house wasn't home no more. 'Twasn't; though I wouldn't let on to him.
We've kept gettin' comfortabler off, an' I jawed him from mornin' to
night to make him contented. But he wouldn't listen. Got so he
wouldn't work home if he could help it, but lounged round the
neighbors'. Got hankerin' to go somewheres, an' keep tavern, like his
father afore him. Now, we've got burnt out----"
"Burned out! Oh, Mercy, that _is_ trouble, indeed! Tell me--No, wait.
Let us go and get something to eat first; and what were you intending
to do with that load of stuff?"
"Ship it East, if I can. I've heard there was consid'able that
business bein' done. Or sell it to the Fort folks."
"I think they'll be glad of it; they are always needing everything.
I'll go with you there, and your team can be left there, too, till
Abel comes."
"Abel! You don't think I'd leave him to manage _business_, do you?"
"I thought you said he was now staying behind to sell out--to
'manage.'"
"He's stayin' to try. There's a big difference 'twixt tryin' an'
doin'. He can't sell, not easy. And some day, when this whim of his
is over, we'll go back an' settle again, or move farther on. It's
gettin' ruther crowded where we be for comfort, these days."
"Crowded? Are there many new neighbors?"
"Lots. Some of 'em ain't more 'n a mile away, an' I call that too
close for convenience. Don't like to have folks pokin' their noses
into my very door-yard, so to speak."
"How will you endure it here, where, according to your ideas, the
houses are so very close?"
"I don't expect to like it. But, pshaw! They be thick, ain't they? I
declare it makes me think of out East, an' our village; only that
wasn't built on the bottomless pit, like this."
"This is the Fort. After you've finished your business with the
officer in charge, we'll go home and get our dinner."
The stranger observed with surprise and some pride the great respect
with which this girl, who had once been under her own care, was
treated by all she met. The few soldiers on duty that morning saluted
her with a smile and military precision, while the women hailed her
coming with exclamations of:
"Oh, Kitty! You here? I'm so glad; for I wanted to ask you about my
work"; or: "Say, Kit! There are a lot of new newspapers, only a week
old, that I've hidden for you to read first before the others get hold
of them."
One called after her, as they started homeward:
"How are the sick ones to-day?"
"What did she mean?" demanded Mercy.
"Oh, that house on the edge of the village is a sort of hospital and
school combined. I am there most of the time, though my real home is
with the Littlejohns, just as it has always been; though the Doctor is
not rich, as you fancied, in anything save wisdom and goodness."
"You're a great scholar now, Kitty, I s'pose--could even do figurin'
an' writin' letters."
"I can do that much without being a 'scholar.' I've learned all sorts
of things that came my way, from civil engineering--enough to survey
lots for people--to a little Greek. The surveying was taught me by a
man who was in our sick-room, and in gratitude for the care we gave
him. It's very useful here."
"Can you sing, or play music?"
"I always sang, you know; and I can play the violin to guide the hymns
'in meeting.'"
"What's that? A fiddle--to hymns!"
"Yes. Why not, since it's the only instrument we have?"
"My land! You'll be dancin' at worship next!"
"Maybe. There _are_ religious people who dance at their services. But
here we are. This is the Doctor's house, and you'll meet Wahneenah."
"Wahneeny! You don't tell me that good, pious parson is consortin'
with that bad-tempered Indian squaw!"
"Wait, Mercy. You must not speak like that of her, nor think so.
She is as my very own mother. She is nobility itself. Everybody
acknowledges that. I want there should be peace, even if there can't
be love, between you two. It's better, isn't it, to understand thing
in the beginning?"
"Hmm! You can speak your mind out yet, I see. But that's all right. I
don't care, child. I don't care. It does my old eyes good just to look
at you; an', for once, I'll 'low Abel was right in wantin' to move out
here. I'm lookin' for him 'fore night, by the way. But hold on! Who's
that out in the back yard, with feathers in his hair, an' a blue check
shirt, grinnin' like a hyena, an' a knife stickin' out his pocket?
Wait till I get hold of him, my sake!"
Mercy's words poured out without breathing-space or stop, and the Sun
Maid laughed as she replied:
"Why, that's only Osceolo. Do you know him?"
"Kitty Briscoe! All the wild horses in Illinois can't make me believe
no different but 'twas him set our barn afire!"
"When? He's not been away--for some days."
"Wait till he catches sight of me!"
But when the young Indian did turn around, and saw the pair watching
him, he coolly walked toward them, regarding Mercy as if she were an
utter stranger, and one whom he was rather pleased to meet.
"Friend of yours, Sun Maid? Glad to see her."
"Glad to see me, be you? Wait till Abel Smith comes an' identifies
you. Then see which side the laugh's on, you--you----"
"Osceolo is my name, ma'am."
Foreseeing difficulties, the girl guided her guest into the kitchen,
where Wahneenah was preparing dinner, and where the Indian woman
greeted her old acquaintance with no surprise and, certainly, without
any of the effusiveness that, for once, rather marked Mercy's manner
toward her former "hired girl."
"Well, it's a real likely house, now, ain't it? I'd admire to see the
minister. It's years since I saw one. Is he about?"
Kitty answered:
"Yes. He is studying. I rather hate to disturb him; but at dinner you
will meet him."
"Studying! Studying what? Why, I thought he was an old man."
"He is. So old, I sometimes fear we will not have him with us long."
"What's the use learnin' anything more, then?"
"One can never know too much, I fancy. Just at present he is writing a
dictionary of the Indian dialects, so far as he has been able to
obtain them."
"The--Indian--language! He wouldn't be so silly, now come!"
"He is just so wise. It is a splendid work. I am proud to be his
helper, even by just merely copying his papers."
"Well! You could knock me down with a feather! One thing--I sha'n't
never set under his preachin'. I wouldn't demean myself. The idee!"
"Mercy, do you remember the red-covered Bible? Have you it still?"
"Course. I wouldn't let anything happen to that. It was a reward of
merit. It's wrote in the front: 'To Mercy Balch, for being a Good
Girl.' That was me afore I was married. It's in my carpet-bag. I mean
to have it buried with me. I wouldn't never spile it by handlin'."
"I hope you'll use it now, for it's so easy to get another. The Doctor
will give you one at any time. The Bible Society in the East
furnishes all he needs."
Dinner was promptly ready, and, after it was over, the Sun Maid
carried her old friend away with her to the government building, which
was not only hospital, but schoolhouse and land-office all in one.
Everything here was so new and interesting to Mercy that surprise kept
her silent; until, happening to glance through the window, she beheld
a rough-looking man approaching on horseback.
"Pshaw! there's Abel! Wait an' see him stick where I stuck!" she
chuckled. "Well, he sold out sudden, didn't he? He'd better come in
the wagon, but he 'lowed he'd enjoy a ride all by himself. I reckon
he's had it. See him stare and splash! There he goes! See that old nag
flounder!"
Kitty sprang up and ran to welcome him, the heartiest of love in her
clear tones.
"Why, bless my soul! If I thought it could be, I should say it was my
own lost little Kit!"
As he gazed his rugged face grew beautiful in its wondering joy.
"Oh, Abel! That's the way Chicago receives her new citizens! She
plants them so deep in the mud that they can't get away! But wait.
I'll help you out the same way I did Mercy, and then I'll get my arms
about your neck, you dear old Abel!"
"Help me out? Not much! Not when there's such a pretty girl a few feet
away waitin' to kiss my homely face!" and, with a spring that was
marvellous to see, the woodsman leaped from his horse and landed on
the higher sod beside his "Kit."
"Well, well! To think it! Just to think it once! Well, well, well! How
big you are, Kit! My, my, my; and as sweet to look at as a locust tree
in bloom, with your white frock, an' all. I've got here at last! I
can't scarce believe it. And, lassie, are you as close-mouthed as you
used to be when you made a promise? Then--don't tell Mercy; but--_I
done it a-purpose_!"
"Did what? Let us get the poor horse out of the mud before we talk."
"Shucks! He ain't worth pullin' out. If he ain't horse enough to help
himself, let him stay there a spell, an' think it over. He'll flounder
round----"
"You don't know our mud, Abel."
"He's all right. He's helpin' himself. He's makin' a genu_ine_ effort.
A man--or horse--that does that is sure to win. That's how I put it to
myself. After I'd wrastled with the subject up hill an' down dale,
till I couldn't see nothin' else in the face of natur', I done it. Out
in the East, where I come from, they'd 'a' had me up for it; an' I
don't know but they will here. But I had to, Kit, I had to. I was
dead sick an' starvin' for a sight of you an' the boy, an' mis'able
with blamin' myself that I hadn't treated you different when I had
you, so you wouldn't have run away. You was a master hand at that
business, wasn't you, girl? I hope you've quit now, though."
"I think so. Here I was born, and here I hope to stay. All my runnings
have begun and ended here. But what did you do, Father Abel?"
"Oh, Sis! that name does me good. Promise you'll never tell,--not till
your dyin' day."
"I can't promise that; but I'll not tell if I can help it."
"Well, you always had a tender conscience. Yet I can trust your love
better 'n ary promise. Well--_I--burnt--it!_"
"Burned it? Your house? Your home? Yours and Mercy's? Why--Abel!"
The pioneer squared his mighty shoulders, and faced her as a defiant
child might an offended mother.
"Yes, I did. The house, the bed-quilts, the antiquated bedstead, the
whole endurin' business. It was the only way. Year after year she'd
keep naggin' for me to move on further into the wilderness. _Me_,
that was starvin' for folks, an' knew she was! It was just plumb
lonesomeness made her what she is: a nagger. So, at last--you've heard
about worms turnin', hain't you? I watched, an' when she'd gone
trudgin' off on a four-mile tramp, pretendin' somebody's baby was
sick, but really meanin' she was that druv to hear the sound of
another woman's voice, I took pity on her--an' myself--an' set
fire to that hateful old heirloom of a bedstead; an' whilst it was
burnin' I just whipped out the old fiddle, an' I played--my! how
I played! Every time a post fell into the middle, I just danced.
'So much nearer folks!' I thought. And the rag-carpet an' the
nineteen-hunderd-million-patch-bedspread--Kit, I've set there, day
after day, an' seen Mercy cuttin' up whole an' decent rags, an' sewin'
'em together again, till I've near gone stark mad. Fact. I used to
wonder if it wasn't a sort of craziness possessed her to do that
foolishness. Now, it's all over. She lays the fire to an Indian feller
that I've spoke fair to, now an' again, an' that had been round our
way huntin' not long before. I don't know where he come from, an' I
never asked him. He never told. Pretended he couldn't talk Yankee.
Don't know as he could, but he could talk chicken or little pig fast
enough. Leastways, I missed such after he'd been there. Well, it
wasn't him. _It was--me!_ I burnt the bedstead, an' now we're
free folks!"
"But, Abel, why not have brought the bedstead with you, if she loved
it so? Why destroy----"
"Sissy, you don't know Mercy--not as I do. It was that furniture kept
her. So long as she had it, so long as she could kind of boast it over
her neighbors, there she'd set. We couldn't have moved it. She near
worried herself into her grave gettin' it into the wilderness, first
off, an' she ain't so young now as she was then. She'd ruther lost a
leg than had it scratched. I saved that load of feed, an' the ox team,
an' the old horse. Yes, an' my fiddle. Mercy's got money. She had it
hid. I'm goin' to settle here an' keep tavern, if I can. If not here,
then somewheres else. Anywhere where there's folks. Trees are nice;
prairies are nice; a clearin' of your own is nice; but human natur' is
nicer. Don't tell Mercy, though, or there'll be trouble! Now, Kit,
where's Gaspar?"
"_Oh, Abel! Only the dear Lord knows!_"