GROWING UP.
"Well, I'm beat! I don't know what to do with myself. Out there to the
clearing I was just crazy wild to get back to town; and now I'm here
I'm nigh dead with plumb lonesomeness. My, my, my! Indians licked out
of their skins, about, and cleared out the whole endurin' State. Old
Black Hawk marched off to the East to be shown what kind of a nation
he'd bucked up against, the simpleton! And Osceolo takin' himself and
his pranks, with his tribe, clear beyond the Mississippi; an' me an'
ma lived through watchin' them little tackers of Kit's--oh, hum! I'd
ought to take some rest; but somehow I 'low I can't seem to."
Mercy looked up from the unbleached sheet she was hemming and smiled
grimly.
"Give it up, pa. Give it up. I've been a-studyin' this question, top
and bottom crust and through the inside stuffin', and I sum it this
way: _It's in the soil!_"
"What's in the soil? The shakes? or the homesickness when a feller's
right to home? or what in the land do you mean?"
"The restlessness. The something that gets inside your mind and keeps
you movin'. I've noticed it in everybody ever come here. Must be
doin'; can't keep still; up an' at it, till a body's clean wore an'
beat out. Me, for one. Here I've no more need to hem sheets than I
have to make myself a pink satin gown, which I never had nor hope to
have even----"
"The idee! I should hope not, indeed. You in a pink satin gown, ma;
'twould be scandalous!"
"Didn't I say I wasn't thinkin' of gettin' one, even so be I could, in
this hole in the mud? I was talkin' about Chicago. It ain't a town to
brag of, seein' there ain't two hundred left in it after the ravagin'
of the cholera; an' yet I don't know ary creature, man, woman, or
child, ain't goin' to plannin' right away for something to be done.
I've heard more talk of improvements and hospitals and schools an'
colleges and land knows what more truck an' dicker--Pshaw! It takes my
breath away."
"It does mine, ma."
"Well,--_that's_ Chicago! You can always tell by a child when it's a
baby what it's goin' to be when it's a man. Chicago's a baby now, an'
a mighty puny one, too; but it's kickin' like a good feller, an' it's
gettin' strong; an', first you know, folks will be pourin' in here
faster 'n the Indians or cholera carried 'em off, ary one."
"Them ain't your own idees; they're Gaspar's and Kit's. He's gone
right to work, an' so has she; layin' out buildin' sites an' sendin'
East for any poor man that's had hard luck and wants to begin all over
again. Say--do you know--I--believe--that our Gaspar writes for the
newspapers. _Our Gaspar, ma! Newspapers! Out East!_"
"Well, I don't know why he shouldn't. Didn't I raise him?"
"Where do I come in, Mercy?"
"Wherever you can catch on, Abel. The best place I can see for you to
take hold is to start in an' build a new tavern,--a tavern big enough
to swing a cat in. Then I'll have a place to keep my sheets an' it'll
pay me to go and make 'em."
"How'd you know what was in my mind, Mercy?"
"Easy enough. Ain't I been makin' stirabout for you these forty years?
Don't I know the size of your appetite? Can't I cal'late the size of
your mind the same way? Why, Abel, I can tell by the way you brush
your wisps----"
"Ma, I'll send East an' buy me a wig. I 'low when a man's few hairs
can tattle his inside thoughts to the neighbors, it's time I took a
stand."
"Well, I think you might 's well. I think you'd look real becomin' in
a wig. I'd get it red and curly if I was you; and you'd ought to wear
a bosomed shirt every day. You really had."
"Mercy Smith! Are you out your head?"
"No. But when a man's the first tavern-keeper in this risin' town he
ought to dress to fit his station. I always did like you best in your
dickeys."
"Shucks! I'll wear one every day."
"I'm goin' to give up homespun. Calico's a sight prettier an' we can
afford it. We're real forehanded now, Abel."
"Hello! Here comes Kit. Let's ask her about the tavern. She's got more
sense in her little finger than most folks have in their whole bodies.
She's a different woman than she was before Wahneeny died. I shall
always be glad you an' her was reconciled when you parted. Hum, hum.
Poor Wahneeny! Poor old Doctor! Well, it can't be very hard to die
when folks are as good as they was. Right in the line of duty, too."
"Yes, Abel; but all the same I'm satisfied to think _our_ duty laid
out in the woods, takin' care Kit's children, 'stead of here amongst
the sickness. Wonderful, ain't it, how our girl came through?"
"She'll come through anything, Sunny Maid will; right straight through
this open door into her old Father Abel's arms, eh? Well, my dear,
what's the good word? How's Gaspar and the youngsters?"
"Well, of course. We are never ill; but, Mother Mercy, I heard you
were feeling as if you hadn't enough to do. I came in to see about
that. It's a state of things will never answer for our Chicago, where
there is more to be done than people to do it. Didn't you say you had
a brother out East who was a miller?"
"Yes, of course. Made money hand over fist. He's smarter 'n chain
lightning, Ebenezer is, if I do say it as hadn't ought to, bein' I'm
his sister."
"Well, I'd like his address. Gaspar wants him here. We must have
mills. The idea of our using hand-mills and such expedients to get our
flour and meal is absurd for these days."
"Pshaw, Kit! 'Tain't long since I had to ride as far as fifty miles to
get my grist ground, and when I got there there'd be so many before
me, I'd have to wait all night sometimes. 'First come first served' is
a miller's saying, and they did feel proud of the row of wagons would
be hitched alongside their places. I----"
"Come, Abel, don't reminisce. If there's one thing more tryin' to a
body's patience than another, it's hearin' about these everlastin'
has-beens."
Abel threw back his head and laughed till the room rang.
"Hear her, my girl! Just hear her! That's ma! That's Mercy! She's
caught the fever, or whatever 'tis, that ails this town. She's got no
more time to hark back. It's always get up and go ahead. What you
think? She's advising me to build a new tavern. _Me! Mercy_ advising
it! What do you think of that?"
"That it's a capital idea. We shall need it. We shall need more than
one tavern if all goes well. And it will. Now that the Indians are
gone forever,"--here Kitty breathed a gentle sigh,--"the white people
are no longer afraid. They have heard of our wonderful country and our
wonderful location,--right in the heart of the continent, with room on
every side to spread and grow eternally, indefinitely."
"Kitty, I sometimes think you an' Gaspar are a little _off_ on the
subject of your native town; for 'twasn't his'n; seein' what a
collection of disreputable old houses an' mud holes an' sloughs
of despond there's right in plain sight. But you seem to think
something's bound to happen and you two'll be in the midst of it."
The Sun Maid laughed, as merrily as in the old days, and answered
promptly:
"_I've_ never found any sloughs of despond and something _is_ bound
to happen. Katasha's dreams, or prophecies, whichever they were, are
to come true. There is something in the very air of our lake-bordered,
wind-swept prairie that attracts and exhilarates, and binds. That's
it,--_binds_. Once a dweller here by this great water, a man is bound
to return to it if he lives. Those soldiers who have gone away from
us, a mere handful, so to speak, will spread the story of our
beautiful land and will come again--a legion. It is our dream that
this little pestilence-visited hamlet will one day be one of the
marvels of the world; that to it will assemble people from all the
nations, to whom it will be an asylum, a home, and a treasure-house
for every sort of wealth and wisdom. In my fancies I can see them
coming, crowding, hastening; as in reality I shall some day see them,
and not far off. And in the name of all that is young and strong and
glorious--I bid them welcome!"
She stood in the open doorway and the sunlight streamed through it,
irradiating her wonderful beauty. The two old people, types of the
past, regarded her transfigured countenance with feelings not unmixed
with awe, and after a moment Abel spoke:
"Well, well, well! Kitty, my girl. Hum, hum! You yourself seem all
them things you say. Trouble you've had, an' sorrow; the sickness an'
Wahneeny; an' growin' up, an' love affairs; an' motherhood, an' all;
yet there you be, the youngest, the prettiest, the hopefullest, the
courageousest creature the Lord ever made. What is it, child; what is
it makes you so different from other folks?"
"Am I different, dear? Well, Mother Mercy, yonder, is looking
mystified and troubled. She doesn't half like my prophetic moods, I
know. I merely came, for Gaspar, to inquire about the miller. But I
like your own idea of the new tavern, and you should begin it right
away. Gaspar will lend you the money if you need it; and if you have
time for more sheets than these, Mercy dear, I'll send you over some
pieces of finer muslin and you might begin on a lot for our hospital."
"Your hospital? 'Tain't even begun nor planned."
"Oh, yes, it is planned. From my own experience and from books I can
guess what we will need. But there are doctors and nurses coming after
a time--There, there, dear. I will stop. I won't look ahead another
step while I'm here. But--it's coming--all of it!" she finished gayly,
as she turned from the doorway and passed down the forlorn little
street.
Was it "in the air," as the Sun Maid protested, that indomitable
courage and faith to do and dare, to plan, to begin, and to achieve?
Certain it is that in five years from that morning when Kitty Keith
had lingered in Mercy's doorway foretelling the future some, at least,
of her prophecies had materialized. Where then had been but two
hundred citizens were now more than twenty times that number. The
"crowding" had begun; and there followed years upon years of wonderful
growth; wherein Gaspar's cool head and shrewd business tact and
ever-deepening purse were always to the fore, at the demand of all who
needed either. In an unswerving singleness of purpose, he devoted his
energy and his ambition toward making his beloved home, as far as in
him lay, the leading home and mart of all the civilized world.
And the Sun Maid walked steadfastly by his side, adding to his efforts
and ambitions the sympathy of her great heart and cultured,
ever-broadening womanhood.
Thus passed almost a quarter-century of years so full and peaceful
that nothing can be written of them save the one word--happy. Yet at
the end of this long time, wherein Abel and Mercy had quietly fallen
on sleep and "Kit's little tackers" had grown up to be themselves
fathers and mothers, the Sun Maid's joy was rudely broken.
Not only hers, but many another's; for a drumbeat echoed through the
land, and the sound was as a death-knell.
Kitty looked into her husband's face and shivered. For the first time
in all his memory of her the Unafraid grew timid.
"Oh, Gaspar! War? Civil War! A family quarrel, of all quarrels the
most bitter and deadly. God help us!"