CHAPTER IX

WAS EVER LETTER HALF SO DEAR?

How eagerly we devoured the paper when the new President was inaugurated. The Whig party had a ball at the Tremont Hotel, and the young ladies who went held their heads very high for weeks. Polly Morrison and Peggy Garnier were the two belles. Miss Garnier was among the immigrants from the border of Kentucky. Her father had taken a great interest in cattle raising and packing. There were two smaller girls and a son, who certainly was a spoiled darling, even in those days. Margaret Garnier was tall and really handsome. Sixteen was grown up at that period. She had large, beautiful black eyes, and a great coil of black hair which, those who knew, said came down to her knees. A brunette complexion, not very dark, and color in her cheeks like an opening rose; by all odds, the handsomest girl in the room, it was said.

But Polly Morrison pressed her hard. She was tall and slim and with the litheness of figure that made every movement fascinating. And as for her dancing, every man was crazy to dance with her, and when he had danced once he was bewitched and bound to dance again. She must have had some charm in spite of her red hair and her peculiar eyes. Her skin was very white and she rarely flushed all over her face, even when she had been dancing at her wildest.

Some of the girls in school had sisters or brothers who were present. Many of the married people went as well. I sat at home and studied my lessons, then knit some rounds on a pair of white wool stockings for myself, while M'liss told of some dances she had been to out at the old fort.

"An' how I could come to be sech an idjit as to marry Jed Hatch I can't fer the life of me 'xplain now, 'cept what is to be will be ef it doesn't come to pass in years, en ef 'tis writ down agin yer, yer can't 'scape it. An' now he's up yander 'n I'm jest as good as a d'serted wife, airnin' my own livin'."

I couldn't altogether fancy M'liss dressed up in an airy costume dancing. I had always thought her rather heavy footed.

Dan Hayne was one of the stars of the evening as well, and no one could have mistrusted as he and Peggy whirled round, and I sat between the chimney and the light stand knitting, that we three were marked out for a tragedy. Was it true what M'liss had said—"That what is to be will be?"

The girls discussed it eagerly at recess. Jenny Hale's sister Betty was at the ball and had spiced the breakfast with it.

"'Pears like them two girls were jest neck and neck for Dan Hayne, Bet said, 'n he was the han'somest feller in the room. An' Bet danced once with him 'n she didn't see that he was so much eleganter than Tee Kent, 'n she was glad she had a feller of her own. Bet's goin' to be married when Tee's house is done—long in May that'll be—en ther'll be some dancin' then, an' I'll have a sheer, you'll see!"

"You need a little grammar more than you do dancing," declared Martha Dole. "You talk as if you had just come out of the backwoods."

"Oh, you think you're great, Mat Dole! You're mighty stuck up on a little."

"Girls, don't quarrel," said a soft voice, "and it does seem as if we might pay a little attention to teacher. You know she wrote out a lot of words the other day that she asked us to be careful about. Some of us do talk outlandish."

"I'll talk as I like. I'm way ahead of you in figurin', an' I don't care a pin fer grammar. 'Twont help you keep house, 'n I'm goin' to be married first chance I have. I ain't hankerin' fer school teachin' and sech."

"What sort of rigs did they have on?" asked another girl. "My mother's got a satiny frock all lace and white ribbons that she was married in, and in a year or two I'll grow in it. You'll see me dancing when the next President goes in."

The bell rang and we filed back into school. M'liss heard about the ball, and it was dished up at supper.

"The men had a big dinner which was quite as sensible," said father, "except the whiskey, and if they hadn't all been of one stripe they'd quarrelled. Strange men don't know enough not to get drunk!"

Dan Hayne was getting to be one of the young men of note—born lucky, people said. He was dickering in a good many things, and whatever he took hold of turned out well. He traded one of his horses for some wharf property and a few weeks afterward sold that at an advance, and so with most things. Chita, his beautiful mare, was the apple of his eye and always won in a race. If there was a purse she captured it.

A week afterward he had Miss Garnier out sleighing, for the snow was not all gone. The handsomest couple in Chicago, the men said, and the women predicted it would be a match.

Alas, in the midst of gayeties a great sorrow fell over the nation. The hero of the Indian wars, who had borne his former defeat with dignity, and his elevation to the highest office the nation could bestow, was suddenly called away from earthly honors. The nation mourned him sincerely. Mr. Tyler, the Vice-President, succeeded him, according to the Constitution.

Perhaps the whole country emerged from a period of prostration. Chicago, certainly did, and this time not to fall back into languor. The hogs were finally banished from the street. There had long been an estray pen, but it had proved no terror to evil doers. There was an attempt to make the streets passable, and the water question again came to the fore. There were some artesian wells, and some good water quite on the outskirts of the town. Court House Square was filled up somewhat, and the questions of raising the grade of the streets was discussed, of a water supply, of deepening the bed of the river at its outlet and removing the sand bar, of new wharfs and docks to accommodate business. The papers were full of plans and schemes, and the completion of the canal was again strenuously advocated.

Father was a good deal interested in all these matters. I used to sit and listen to the talk and imagine what the town would be sometime, but no dream ever approached the marvellous reality. Occasionally Dan would stop. He and father were interested in corn and cattle. He had developed into a handsome fellow, but all the Haynes were good looking.

Quite in the summer word came to M'liss that her husband was dead up in Michigan. As he had never done much toward taking care of her, even child as I was, he did not seem much loss, but she took it very hard, and straightway endowed him with numerous virtues, and bewailed him in tones of anguish that really alarmed me.

"O, M'liss," exclaimed father, "do use a little reason and sense. You took more than half the care of him when he was home, and now for over a year you have not had a penny from him. You can support yourself and your child just as well without him as with him. And if you are hankering for another husband, I'll hunt up two or three likely men and give you your pick."

"It's all very well fer you to talk, Mr. Gaynor, but you only had a little gal to bring up, an' she's been the kind that doesn't jump over bars an' get outen the pasture. But boys is diffrunt an' mighty high headed. En I'm thinkin' what I'll do whenst he grows up an' needs a strong hand—a man's hand. Poor fatherless lamb!"

"He seems a pretty good kind now," and father gave, a dry smile. "Between you and me, M'liss, I guess we can manage to bring him up and have him trot in single harness. You can have a good home here as long as you like, so I wouldn't worry."

"But I've never lost a husband before, an' to have him snatched outen your hand without a momen's warnin', as one may say, is very tryin' to nerves. An' no funeral to speak of. Mebbe not a hymn sung over him. Everybody's sorrows is deepest."

Father took his hat and went out. M'liss caught up little Joe, who kicked and scrambled to be let down on the floor again.

"Oh, you poor lamb, you don't know what you've lost. You can never have a nuther father. Fer if I should marry again, which the Lord forbid, he'd only be a stepfather an' like as not be ugly to you."

Little Joe gave an expansive smile, showing his eight small white teeth, and pounded his mother's knee with his fist.

"I'll clear the table," I said, thinking to leave her to enjoy her sorrow.

"No, you needn't. I won't defraud any one, even if I am bowed down with grief. I've got to airn my livin' an' my child's livin', fer ther's no one to depend on now, an' I've heard say he who goes sorrowin' fills the pools with water, er somethin' like that. No, I'll wash up. But I'd feel a heap better ef there'd been a funeral en a farewell to the remains. An' that ther' great big cimitery with hardly a livin' soul in it, where he'd be doubly welcome, I know."

She went at the dishes, and presently began to sing,

"Why should we mourn departed friends, Or shake at death's alarms?"

That seemed to be her favorite for days, but I wondered she did not comfort herself with the remaining half of the verse.

I think father felt altogether resigned to the affliction of Providence. M'liss was a good cook and kept the house tidy. Sometimes he thought I wasn't learning enough to fit me to manage a house, but there were so many other interests. I was working away with spirit at the French. I knew a good many words, and when Madame Piaget found that I really wanted to learn, she gave me assistance more to the point than Sophie's desultory training.

It was a delightful, merry summer. Sophie knew some games and curious stories and was always ready for a walk, and whether I had not noted it before or whether civilization had induced it to compensate for the barrenness, there were new wild flowers springing up here and there, and how magnificent the prairies were in their long reaches over to the western world, to the infinite golden distances and the glittering splendors of the sunset. Then when the long spires of crimson faded into lavender and pale pink and blue, then soft grays and darkness settled about the edges, coming nearer and nearer, like some weird army with a soundless step until one fairly shivered with a weird terror, and one's soul was entranced.

Crops were excellent. It seemed as if everything was prosperous and people were full of stir and spirit and hope. We girls used to go in town, as we called it. There were some stores with very pretty goods, and the two quite pretentious drug stores with red and blue jars. I told Sophie about Rosamond, and we wondered how any one could be so silly as to make a sacrifice for a purple jar.

"I just wish I could find some little girls willing to buy them. Mother makes such beautiful dyes," declared Sophie.

Madame Piaget, later on, made quite a little money by dyeing goods.

Of all the places, I liked the bookstore best. There were various articles besides books. Cigars, tobacco, papers from Black Rock, rather from the cities of the east. No matter if the news was a month old if we had not heard it before. Father was very fond of reading about the advances Boston was making.

"I wish we had a greater grasp of intelligence," he would say. Then with a sigh—"But one must have food and shelter first, and a town like this is going to cost a mint of money before we get through. Why, they're talking of raising the whole thing, so the river and the lake will not overflow. Pity it's so low, and no mountains about us to cast into the sea," with a chuckle. "If we had had faith to move 'em, we might transport some from Virginia or Tennessee, or we might find some nearer home, up Michigan way, or farther west. But I'm afraid we haven't the faith, so we must go at the work with good courage."

The Chicago River was not very wide then, but it had a considerable depth. It seemed as if the earth had been split open at some time just as a mighty plough had turned a furrow. It had no current to speak of and was a source of great discomfort.

It was true Chicago did not begin intellectually. There was too much work to do, and all honor to those who evolved a great city out of a trading station after years of work.

But we did take note of what was going on outside. Dickens was attracting attention, and Mr. Harris and his sister were quite enthusiastic about him until he had visited America and written the "Notes," showing up a certain uncouthness and sharpness in national character that was very displeasing. As if England had reached her full glory in a few years instead of centuries. I liked Sir Walter Scott best, though Thackeray was much talked of. I was fond of the illustrations—how crude we thought them twenty years afterward! There was a Mr. Cooper writing Indian stories and novels of the earlier history of the country, but Boston was considered a kind of head centre. And though there were such stirring episodes all up and down the Mississippi River, the Gulf of Mexico and the islands below that, no one thought of putting them in print. Madame Piaget knew many stories about John Lafitte, who had once been such a terror and defied the authorities on his curious unconquerable island. But I liked to hear how he came and offered his services to General Jackson when New Orleans was in danger by the British; and I used to wonder about the old wonderful Spanish French town, with its balconies overhung with roses that bloomed all the year round, and the beautiful women sitting on them and looking down at the passers-by, the streets full of bright merriment and music.

Chicago had begun to consider a regular water supply. The water carts had been the main dependence. Now at Lake Street and Michigan Avenue plans were laid for a great reservoir. An iron pipe was to run out in the lake about a hundred and fifty feet to clear water. There was to be a big pump, worked by steam engines of twenty-five horsepower. Large logs were bored for the water to run through. We all thought it wonderful then, and throngs of people crowded around on Sunday to view the progress, making various amusing comments. Ten years later the work was renewed on what was considered a magnificent scale, and even this was presently outgrown.

I was happy and busy through those years and making friends with the girls, the boys as well. We all played together, rambled around, went to each other's houses and spent evenings in guessing riddles, telling stories and reciting incidents or poems. The girls joined in ball playing and running races. Polly Morrison distanced all competitors, even the boys. I used to like to see her. She never "wriggled," nor threw out her arms like sails, but seemed to cut the air in a straight line. It was like the flying of a bird.

There was no end of guesses that summer, I think bets as well, as to which of the girls would capture Dan Hayne. Miss Garnier held her head very high. Peggy was daring and lawless. She had no end of admirers and the young fellows almost fought for her. But she had some art to keep them from coming to blows. They always had a good time where she was, and a dull time without her.

I had two staunch friends that I dealt around to the girls I liked the best—Homer and Ben Hayne. I was too young to think of lovers. They were both very good to me. Homer was doing finely and his father was proud of him. Building was no high art in those days, but Homer possessed a certain attractive ingenuity. He could make a closet that had an ornamental air. He could put up a shelf and tack a bit of moulding on it and it set off the corner or the vacant space. He made an ingenious chair held by strong oak pins, that you could let down and transform into a bed. He designed such dainty mouldings with his array of beading planes. His charm was that he finished everything so exquisitely.

He had his heart set on making money. He meant to be "well to do." What a small sum then seemed to be a fortune. Father liked him very much and often advised him.

Ben had less originality and aim. On the booky side we agreed very well, but he had not the breadth nor quickness of Norman. When I bade him pause at some delightful thought that one wanted to linger over he would glance up with a smile of unreasoning obedience. Everything I did and said was just right. He was a nice, steady, business fellow, but Mr. Harris admitted that Norman was worth two of him.

Mrs. Hayne was always sweet and motherly to me, but she was growing stouter and less energetic, though she kept her passion for cooking.

"If I had you down to the hotel!" Clement Ward used to say. "Though I d'now, you cook so all fired tasty an' temptin' that I might be et out of house an' home afore I knew jest what was the matter. There's no one in fifty mile that can give jest the flavoracity to victuals that you do. When I've et a meal here the taste stays in my mouth fer days. An sech pie crust!"

"Well, I've been cooking for men and boys all my life, afore I was married and since. An' Dan an' his father are powerful eaters. So 'twould be a poor story if I couldn't hit it jest right."

There was always plenty to cook, meat and game and several fine kinds of fish.

Then the day when the mail steamer came in was beginning to be one of expectation. I did not care for the ones that came down the lake, though they often brought valuable mail, but this came from the East. I had looked for a letter such a long while, it seemed to me, and early as I was the long line appalled me.

"You're John Gaynor's little girl!" said a friendly voice as I was peering about. "Come here, I'll make a little room, and he thrust out his arm, drawing me into the line just before him. "Father got any folks in York State?"

"No, but a letter may come from Canada."

"Whew!" he ejaculated. "Let me see—G— isn't it?"

They were sorting letters in the small room, and laying the piles on the floor.

"Denby," said my friend, "and John Gaynor."

"Here's a Gaynor, but it's a woman. Oh, yes, care of John, twenty cents postage."

You could not always pay postage through and no one made it a matter of compliment in those days. I had a quarter and some pennies beside.

"Here, I'll make change," he said, and I thanked him most sincerely. He smiled and nodded as I stepped out of the line and ran swiftly home. Norman had said the next letter would be all to myself.

It went in the great fire with hundreds of other choice treasures, but oh, what a delight it was to me! I had looked at the flag token in the morning, so I had not gone to school. Joe was playing about the door step, emulating the old monarch by eating grass. M'liss was washing out under the apple-tree, so I slipped into the room and threw my sunbonnet on the floor.

There were no envelopes, no dainty sheets of paper. This was "foolscap," written on three sides, and little spaces rescued on the fourth. Ah! what a delight it was. So much about the historic old city, the French residents, the English officers, the government and business, the picturesque houses with their pathetic stories. Norman could talk French almost like a native. And the business! Chicago would be amazed at the volume of it.

There was a great deal about Mr. Le Moyne, his kindly care, "almost as if I was a son," was the eager confession. The journeys they were taking about, the friends Mr. Le Moyne met, the charming and cultivated women, who played the piano and sang in the most delightful manner. It was like living in a story book. And he had to go everywhere, to do almost everything for Mr. Le Moyne, whose eyesight was poorer than ever. Presently when the business was all finished they would go to New York. And then he hoped to be able to come home. It seemed almost a lifetime to him.

"You are such a dear, sweet letter writer," he said. "The boys only send messages by mother, and she hasn't the fashion of telling me all the little things about them that you do. You picture everything so that I can see it. Mr. Harris writes about business and books, and what the _American_ and what the _Democrat_ says, and the squabbles of the city government. But I like to go down to the very heart of things, to know when you have a new frock, and the little companies you attended, and the plays and the walks, and the new wild flowers you have found. Is there any place like the boyhood home, any other little girl like you? Not if I should search the world over.

"I have been reading some wonderful plays by Shakespeare. Mr. Harris has a copy, I know. Ask him to let you see 'Midsummer Night's Dream.' We went to a theatre here in Quebec and saw it played. I can't tell why, but I thought of you all the time. 'If she were here, if she were here,' I kept saying to every turn. It was enchanting. I cannot do it any justice in a letter, and I have written so much already. Oh, why can't people talk through space? I sometimes send messages on the wind—do you get them, dear? Send me back some. And—can you believe at Christmas or thereabout I shall see you? I measure six feet now, and sometimes I think I begin to look like Dan, only I shall never be as handsome. Tell me all about his girls. It's high time he was married."

It was written very closely, and oh, what a delight it was! I sat there all of a tremble hugging it to my heart. Joe was hammering on the steps with the new potato masher that Homer had made, and I never heard him. M'liss came in wringing her hands as if she was squeezing the suds out of them.

"Fer the land sakes! Haven't you done a bit about dinner? I see you come in, an' sez I, 'She'll peel the 'taters sure,' an' here you're sittin' calm as if dinners come to hand already cooked. Ye might as well bin in school, then I'd a-knowed jest what to do."

"I'm sorry," I said penitently. "But I had such a splendid long letter from Norman." Then I jumped up and there was a sound like a pistol. A continual dripping will wear away a stone saith the adage—the steady pounding on the stone had split my masher.

"Drat that young un!" M'liss gave him two or three slaps, and the roar of little Joe was terrific.

"Oh don't!" I cried, and went to comfort him.

"You'll jes' spile that fatherless child, who'll need a man to govern him 'fore long, he's that deestructive. You goin' to peel the 'taters or me?"

I smiled at the question, but went for the potatoes, and soon had them over the fire.

"Ther's beans to heat up, an' that ther huckleberry puddin' to steam over. People can't have much to do whenst they write letters so long it takes a whole mornin' to read 'em. I've got the clothes to hang up."

Joe had rolled over on the grass and was trying to catch "hoppers," laughing at the way they eluded him. I set the table, brought out the boiled ham and sliced it, and when father came in everything was ready.

He was intensely interested in the letter.

"I do wonder how Chicago will look to him after all the fine cities he's seen. I sometimes think I was a fool to come out here. Then when I see the wheat standing so thick with great golden heads, and the corn rushing along like a regiment, and the pigs fattening, and the hens laying eggs, I say it's about as good a country as the Lord has made anywhere. Only if he'd raised the ground a little higher just around 'twould a been more to my liking, and there are plenty of mountains that could have spared a slice off of them."

I went over to the Haynes' in the afternoon. Mother Haynes's letter had come too. She was beginning to have trouble with her eyesight, and her spectacles didn't seem to fit rightly. So she was glad to have me read it aloud to her. Mr. Le Moyne had raised Norman's salary, and said he would never be able to spare him. And Norman was very happy, only he did want to see all the home folks. Did father keep well, and was little Chris growing? Why didn't some of the boys write to him? With all the pleasure and the business it was hard to be away from everybody.

"Harder for him than for us," and the mother sighed.

I read her my letter except some paragraphs that had a kind of sacred feeling to me, though there was nothing very secret in them.

And if we could see him by Christmas!