Letters of a Woman Homesteader by Elinore Pruitt Stewart (best english novels to read txt) 📖

his coat was two sizes too small, his shirt was of soft tan material, and he wore a blue tie. But whatever may have been amiss with his costume was easily forgotten when one saw his radiant face. He grasped my hand and wrung it as if it was a chicken's neck.

"What in the world is the matter with you?" I asked, as I rubbed my abused paw. "Just you come here and I'll tell you," he answered. There was no one to hear but the kiddies, but I went around the corner of the house with him. He put his hand up to his mouth and whispered that "Miss Em'ly" was coming, would be there on the afternoon stage. I had never heard of "Miss Em'ly," and said so. "Well, just you go in and set on the sofy and soon's I see your horses took care of I'll come in and tell you." I went into my own room, and after I rustled some water I made myself and the kiddies a little more presentable. Then we went into the sitting-room and sat on the "sofy." Presently Bishey sauntered in, trying to look unconcerned and at ease, but he was so fidgety he couldn't sit down. But he told his story, and a dear one it is.

It seems that back in New York State he and Miss Em'ly were "young uns" together. When they were older they planned to marry, but neither wanted to settle down to the humdrumness that they had always known. Both dreamed of the golden West; so Bishey had gone to blaze the trail, and "Miss Em'ly" was to follow. First one duty and then another had held her, until twenty-five years had slipped by and they had not seen each other, but now she was coming, that very day. They would be married that evening, and I at once appointed myself matron of honor and was plumb glad there was no other candidate.

I at once took the decorations in hand. Bishey, Jerrine, and myself went out and gathered armfuls of asters and goldenrod-like rabbit-brush. From the dump-pile we sorted cans and pails that would hold water, and we made the sitting-room a perfect bower of purple and gold beauty. I put on my last clean shirt-waist and the children's last clean dresses. Then, as there seemed nothing more to do, Bishey suggested that we walk up the road and meet the stage; but the day had been warm, and I remembered my own appearance when I had come over that same road the first time. I knew that journey was trying on any one's appearance at any time of the year, and after twenty-five years to be thrust into view covered with alkali dust and with one's hat on awry would be too much for feminine patience; so I pointed out to Bishey that he'd better clear out and let Miss Em'ly rest a bit before he showed up. At last he reluctantly agreed.

I went out to the kitchen to find what could be expected in the way of hot water for Miss Em'ly when she should come. I found I could have all I wanted if I heated it myself. Mrs. Ferguson could not be bothered about it, because a water company had met there to vote on new canals, the sheep-men were holding a convention, there was a more than usual run of transients besides the regular boarders, and supper was ordered for the whole push. All the help she had was a girl she just knew didn't have sense enough to pound sand into a rat-hole. Under those circumstances I was mighty glad to help. I put water on to heat and then forgot Miss Em'ly, I was enjoying helping so much, until I heard a door slam and saw the stage drive away toward the barn.

I hastened to the room I knew was reserved for Miss Em'ly. I rapped on the door, but it was only opened a tiny crack. I whispered through that I was a neighbor-friend of Mr. Bennet's, that I had lots of hot water for her and had come to help her if I might. Then she opened the door, and I entered. I found a very travel-stained little woman, down whose dust-covered cheeks tears had left their sign. Her prettiness was the kind that wins at once and keeps you ever after. She was a strange mixture of stiff reticence and childish trust. She was in such a flutter, and she said she was ashamed to own it, but she was so hungry she could hardly wait.

After helping her all I could, I ran out to see about the wedding supper that was to be served before the wedding. I found that no special supper had been prepared. It seemed to me a shame to thrust them down among the water company, the convention, the regulars, and the transients, and I mentally invited myself to the wedding supper and began to plan how we could have a little privacy. The carpenters were at work on a long room off the kitchen that was to be used as storeroom and pantry. They had gone for the day, and their saw-horses and benches were still in the room. It was only the work of a moment to sweep the sawdust away. There was only one window, but it was large and in the west. It took a little time to wash that, but it paid to do it. When a few asters and sprays of rabbit-brush were placed in a broken jar on the window-sill, there was a picture worth seeing. Some planks were laid on the saw-horses, some papers over them, and a clean white cloth over all. I sorted the dishes myself; the prettiest the house afforded graced our table. I rubbed the glassware until it shone almost as bright as Bishey's smile.

Bishey had come when he could stay away no longer; he and Miss Em'ly had had their first little talk, so they came out to where I was laying the table. They were both beaming. Miss Em'ly took hold at once to help. "Bishey," she commanded, "do you go at once to where my boxes are open, the one marked 7; bring me a blue jar you'll find in one corner." He went to do her bidding, and I to see about the kiddies. When I came back with them, there was a small willow basket in the center of our improvised table, heaped high with pears, apples, and grapes all a little the worse for their long journey from New York State to Wyoming, but still things of beauty and a joy as long as they lasted to Wyoming eyes and appetites. We had a perfectly roasted leg of lamb; we had mint sauce, a pyramid of flaky mashed potatoes, a big dish of new peas, a plate of sponge-cake I will be long in forgetting; and the blue jar was full of grape marmalade. Our iced tea was exactly right; the pieces of ice clinked pleasantly against our glasses. We took our time, and we were all happy. We could all see the beautiful sunset, its last rays lingering on Miss Em'ly's abundant auburn hair to make happy the bride the sun shines on. We saw the wonderful colors—orange, rose, and violet—creep up and fade into darker shades, until at last mellow dusk filled the room. Then I took the kiddies to my room to be put to bed while I should wait until time for the ceremony.

Soon the babies were sleeping, and Jerrine and I went into the sitting-room. They were sitting on the "sofy." She was telling him that the apples had come from the tree they had played under, the pears from the tree they had set out, the grapes from the vine over the well. She told him of things packed in her boxes, everything a part of the past they both knew. He in turn told her of his struggles, his successes, and some of what he called his failures. She was a most encouraging little person, and she'd say to him, "You did well, Bishey. I'll say that for you: you did well!" Then he told her about the flowers he had planted for her. I understood then why he acted so queerly about my flowers. It happens that I am partial to old-time favorites, and I grow as many of them as I can get to succeed in this altitude; so I have zinnias, marigolds, hollyhocks, and many other dear old flowers that my mother loved. Many of them had been the favorites of Miss Em'ly's childhood, but Bishey hadn't remembered the names; so he had visited us all, and when he found a flower he remembered, he asked the name and how we grew it, then he tried it, until at last he had about all. Miss Em'ly wiped the tears from her eyes as she remarked, "Bishey, you did well; yes, you did real well." I thought to myself how well we could all do if we were so encouraged.

At last the white-haired old justice of the peace came, and said the words that made Emily Wheeler the wife of Abisha Bennet. A powerfully noisy but truly friendly crowd wished them well. One polite fellow asked her where she was from. She told him from New York State. "Why," he asked, "do New Yorkers always say State?" "Why, because," she answered,—and her eyes were big with surprise,—"no one would want to say they were from New York City."

It had been a trying day for us, so soon Jerrine and I slipped out to our room. Ours was the first room off the sitting-room, and a long hallway led past our door; a bench sat against the wall, and it seemed a favorite roosting-place for people with long discussions. First some fellows were discussing the wedding. One thought Bishey "cracked" because he had shipped out an old cooking-stove, one of the first manufactured, all the way from where he came from, instead of buying a new one nearer home. They recalled instance after instance in which he had acted queerly, but to me his behavior was no longer a mystery. I know the stove belonged somewhere in the past and that his every act connected past and future. After they had talked themselves tired, two old fellows took possession of the bench and added a long discussion on how to grow corn to the general din. Even sweet corn cannot be successfully grown at this altitude, yet those old men argued pro and con till I know their throats must have ached. In the sitting-room they all talked at once of ditches, water-contracts, and sheep. I was so sleepy. I heard a tired clock away off somewhere strike two. Some sheep-men had the bench and were discussing the relative values of different dips. I reckon my ego must have gotten tangled with some one's else about then, for I found myself sitting up in bed foolishly saying,—