HEROES.
The Sun Maid's gaze into her husband's face was a prolonged and
questioning one. Before it was withdrawn she had found her answer.
There was still a silence between them, which she broke at last, and
it touched him to see how pale she had become and yet how calm.
"You are going, Gaspar?"
"Yes, my love; I am going. Already I have pledged my word, as my arm
and my purse."
"But, my dear, do you consider? We are growing old, even we, who have
never yet had time to realize it--till now. There are younger men,
plenty of them. Your counsels at home----"
"Would be empty words as compared to my example in the field. The
young of heart are never old. Besides, do you remember that once,
against my stubborn will, you resisted for duty's sake? We have never
regretted it, not for a day. More than that, when our first-born came
to us, do you remember how we clasped his tiny hand and resolved
always to lead it onward to the right? _Lead_ it, sweetheart. We
vowed never to say to him: 'Go!' to this or that high duty; but
rather, still holding fast to him, say: 'Come.' There is such a wide,
wide difference between the two."
Then, indeed, again she trembled. The mother love shook her visibly
and a secret rejoicing died a sudden death.
"'Come,' you say. But they are not here, in our own unhappy land.
Gaspar in Europe, Winthrop in South America, and Hugh in Japan. They
are better so."
"Are they better there? You will be the first to say 'no' when this
shock passes. A telegram will summon each as easily as we could call
them from that other room--supposing that they, your sons, wait for
the call. But they'll not. I know them and trust them. They are
already on the railways and steamships that will bring them fastest;
and it will truly be the 'Come with me!' that we elected, for we shall
all march together."
So they did; and it was the Sun Maid herself, standing proudly among
her daughters and daughters-in-law, yet more beautiful than any, who
fastened the last glittering button over each manly breast and flicked
away an imaginary mote from the spotless uniforms. Then she stood
aside and let them go; two by two, "step," "step"--as if in echo to
the first sound which had greeted her own baby ear.
But as they passed out of sight, transgressing military discipline
Gaspar turned; and once more the black eyes and the blue read in each
other's depths the unfathomable love that filled them. Then he was
gone and the younger Gaspar's wife lifted to her own aching bosom the
form that had sunk unconscious at her feet. For the too prescient
heart of the Sun Maid had pierced the future and she knew what would
befall her.
Yet before the gray shadow had quite left her face she rallied and
again smiled into the anxious countenances bending over her.
"Now, my dears, how foolish I was and how wasteful of precious time!
There is so much to be done for them and for ourselves. Gaspar's
business must not suffer, nor Son's (as she always called her eldest),
nor his brothers'. There are new hospitals to equip and nurses to
secure. Alas! there should be a Home made ready, even so soon, for the
widows and orphans of our soldiers. Let us organize into a regular
band of workers; just ourselves, as systematically as your father has
trained us to believe is best. There are six of us, a little army of
supplies and reinforcements. Though, Honoria, my daughter, shall I
count upon you?"
"Surely, Mother darling, though not here. Thanks to the hospital
course you let me enjoy, I can follow my father and brothers to the
front. I am a trained nurse, you know, and some will need me there."
The Sun Maid caught her breath with a little gasp. Then again she
smiled.
"Of course, Honoria; if you wish it. It is only one more to give; yet
you will be in little danger and your father in so much the less
because of your presence. Now let us apportion the other duties and
set about them."
This was quickly done; and to the mother herself remained the
assumption of all monetary affairs in her husband's private office in
their last new home; where, when they had removed to it, she had
inquired:
"Why such a palace, Gaspar, for two plain, simple folk like you and
me? It is big enough for a barrack, and those great empty 'blocks' on
every side remind me of our old days in Mercy's log cabin among the
woods."
"I like it, dear. There will be room in this big house to entertain
guests of every rank and station as they should be entertained in
our dear city. These empty squares about us shall keep their old
trees intact, but the grounds shall be beautified by the highest
landscape art, to which the full view of our grand lake will give
crowning charm. When we have done with it all we will give it to the
little children for a perpetual playground. Even the proposed new
enlargement of the city limits will hardly encroach upon us here."
"But it will, Gaspar, it surely will! When I hark back, as Abel used
to say, I find Katasha's prophecies and my old dreams more than
fulfilled. But the end is not yet, nor soon."
Now that her daughters were scattered to their various points of
usefulness and the Sun Maid was left alone with Hugh's one motherless
child--another Kitty--the great house seemed more empty than ever; and
its brave mistress resolved to people it with something more
substantial and needy than memories. So she gathered about her a host
to whom the cruel war had brought distress of one form or another;
while out among the trees of the park she erected a great barrack,
fitted with every aid to comfort and convalescence. This, like the
mansion, was speedily filled, and the "Keith Rest" became a household
word throughout the land.
The war which wise folk augured at its beginning, would be over in a
few days dragged its weary length into the months, and though for a
time there were many and cheerful letters, these ceased suddenly at
the last, giving place to one brief telegram from Honoria: "Mother, my
work here is ended. I am bringing home your heroes--four."
Upon the hearth-rug, Kitty the younger, lay stretched at her ease,
toying with the sharp nose of her favorite collie. She had the Sun
Maid's own fairness of tint and the same wonderful hair; but her eyes
were dark as her grandsire Gaspar's and saw many things which they
appeared not to see; for instance, that one of the numerous telegrams
her busy grandmother was always receiving had been read and dropped
upon the floor. Yet this was a common circumstance, and though she
felt it her duty to rise and return the yellow paper to the hand which
had held it, she delayed a moment, enjoying the warmth and ease. Then
Bruce, the collie, sat up and whined,--dolefully, and so humanly, it
seemed, that the girl also sprang up, demanding:
"Why, Bruce, old doggie, what do you hear? What makes you look so
queer?"
Then her own gaze followed the collie's to her grandmother's face and
her scream echoed through all the house.
"Grandmother! My darling Grandmother! Are you--are you
dead--dying--what----"
She picked up the telegram and read it, and her own happy young heart
faltered in its rhythm.
"Oh! awful! 'Bringing'--those precious ones who cannot come of
themselves. This will kill her. I believe it will kill even me."
But it did neither. After a space the rigidity left the Sun Maid's
figure and her staring eyes that had been gazing upon vacancy resumed
intelligence. Rising stiffly from her seat, she put the younger Kit
aside, yet very gently and tenderly, because of all her race this was
the dearest. Had not the child Gaspar's eyes?
"My girl, you will know what to do. I am going to my chamber, and must
be undisturbed."
Then she passed out of the cheerful library into that "mother's room,"
where her husband and her sons had gathered about her so often and so
fondly and in which she had bestowed upon each her farewell and
especial blessing. As the portiere fell behind her it seemed to her
that already they came hurrying to greet her, and softly closing the
door she shut herself in from all the world with them and her own
grief.
For the first time in all her life the Sun Maid considered her own
self before another; and for hours she remained deaf to young Kitty's
pleading:
"Let me come in, Grandmother. Let me come in. I am as alone as you--it
was my father, too, as well as your son!"
It was the dawn of another day before the door did open and the
mourner came out. Mourner? One could hardly call her that; for, though
the beautiful face was colorless and the eyes heavy with unshed
tears, there was a rapt, exalted look upon it which awed the
grandchild into silence. Yet for the first time she was startled by
the thought:
"We have lived together as if we were only elder and younger sister,
for she has had the heart of a child. But now I see--she is, indeed,
my grandmother--and she is growing old."
"Let all things be done decently and in order when Gaspar and the boys
come home," was all the direction the Sun Maid gave, and it was well
fulfilled. Yet, because she could not bear to be far apart from them,
she sat out the hours of watching in the little ante-room adjoining
the great parlor where her heroes lay in state, while all Chicago
gathered to do them reverence.
There was none could touch her grief, not one. It was too deep. It
benumbed even herself. Perhaps in all the land, during all that
dreadful time, there was no person so afflicted as she, who had lost
four at a blow. But she rose from her sorrow with that buoyant faith
and hopefulness which nothing could for long depress.
"There is unfinished work to do. Gaspar left it when he went away,
knowing I would take it up for him if he could never do it for
himself. There is no time in life for unavailing sorrow. Come, Kitty,
child. Others have their dead to bury, let us go forth and comfort
them."
Obedient Kitty went, her thoughts full of wonder and admiration:
"By massacre, famine, pestilence, and the sword! How has my dear 'Sun
Maid' been chastened, and how beautifully she has come through it all!
She could not have been half so lovely as a girl, when Grandfather met
and wooed her that morning on the prairie. I wonder have her trials
ended? or are there more in store before she is made perfect? I cannot
think of anything still which could befall her, unless I die or her
beloved city come to ruin. Well, I'll walk with her, hand in hand, and
if I live, I'll be as like her as I can."