A Daughter of the Middle Border | Page 9

Thunder arose,
and an icy wind, furious and swift as a tornado roared among the trees.
The rain, chilled almost into hail, drummed on the shingles. The birds
fell silent, the hens scurried to shelter. In ten minutes the cutting blast
died out. A dead calm succeeded. Then out burst the sun, flooding the
land with laughter! The black-birds resumed their piping, the fowls
ventured forth, and the whole valley again lay beaming and blossoming
under a perfect sky."
The following night I was in the city watching a noble performance of
"Tristan and Isolde!"
I took enormous satisfaction in the fact that I could plant peas in my
garden till noon and hear a concert in Chicago on the same day. The
arrangement seemed ideal.
On May 9th I was again at home, "the first whippoorwill sang
to-night--trees are in full leaf," I note.

In a big square room in the eastern end of the house, I set up a
handmade walnut desk which I had found in LaCrosse, and on this I
began to write in the inspiration of morning sun-shine and bird-song.
For four hours I bent above my pen, and each afternoon I sturdily
flourished spade and hoe, while mother hobbled about with cane in
hand to see that I did it right. "You need watching," she laughingly
said.
With a cook and a housemaid, a man to work the garden, and a horse to
plow out my corn and potatoes, I began to wear the composed dignity
of an earl. I pruned trees, shifted flower beds and established berry
patches with the large-handed authority of a southern planter. It was
comical, it was delightful!
To eat home-cooked meals after years of dreadful restaurants gave me
especial satisfaction, but alas! there was a flaw in my lute. We had to
eat in our living room; and when I said "Mother, one of these days I'm
going to move the kitchen to the south and build a real sure-enough
dining room in between," she turned upon me with startled gaze.
"You'd better think a long time about that," she warningly replied.
"We're perfectly comfortable the way we are."
"Comfortable? Yes, but we must begin to think of being luxurious.
There's nothing too good for you, mother."
Early in July my brother Franklin joined me in the garden work, and
then my mother's cup of contentment fairly overflowed its brim. So far
as we knew she had no care, no regret. Day by day she sat in an easy
chair under the trees, watching us as we played ball on the lawn, or cut
weeds in the garden; and each time we looked at her, we both
acknowledged a profound sense of satisfaction, of relief. Never again
would she burn in the suns of the arid plains, or cower before the winds
of a desolate winter. She was secure. "You need never work again," I
assured her. "You can get up when you please and go to bed when you
please. Your only job is to sit in the shade and boss the rest of us," and
to this she answered only with a silent, characteristic chuckle of
delight.

"The Junior," as I called my brother, enjoyed the homestead quite as
much as I. Together we painted the porch, picked berries, hoed potatoes,
and trimmed trees. Everything we did, everything we saw, recovered
for us some part of our distant boyhood. The noble lines of the hills to
the west, the weeds of the road-side, the dusty weather-beaten,
covered-bridges, the workmen in the fields, the voices of our neighbors,
the gossip of the village--all these sights and sounds awakened
deep-laid, associated tender memories. The cadence of every song, the
quality of every resounding jest made us at home, once and for all. Our
twenty-five-year stay on the level lands of Iowa and Dakota seemed
only an unsuccessful family exploration--our life in the city merely a
business, winter adventure.
To visit among the farmers--to help at haying or harvesting, brought
back minute touches of the olden, wondrous prairie world. We went
swimming in the river just as we used to do when lads, rejoicing in the
caress of the wind, the sting of the cool water, and on such expeditions
we often thought of Burton and others of our play-mates faraway, and
of Uncle David, in his California exile. "I wish he, too, could enjoy this
sweet and tranquil world," I said, and in this desire my brother joined.
We wore the rudest and simplest clothing, and hoed (when we hoed)
with furious strokes; but as the sun grew hot we usually fled to the
shade of the great maples which filled the back yard, and there, at ease,
recounted the fierce toil of the Iowa harvest fields, recalling the names