Part One - TWO

by Willa Cather

　　But we will begin this story with a summer morning long ago, whenMrs. Forrester was still a young woman, and Sweet Water was a townof which great things were expected. That morning she was standingin the deep bay-window of her parlour, arranging old-fashionedblush roses in a glass bowl. Glancing up, she saw a group oflittle boys coming along the driveway, barefoot, with fishing-polesand lunch-baskets. She knew most of them; there was Niel Herbert,Judge Pommeroy's nephew, a handsome boy of twelve whom she liked;and polite George Adams, son of a gentleman rancher from Lowell,Massachusetts. The others were just little boys from the town; thebutcher's red-headed son, the leading grocer's fat brown twins, EdElliott (whose flirtatious old father kept a shoe store and was theDon Juan of the lower world of Sweet Water), and the two sons ofthe German tailor,--pale, freckled lads with ragged clothes andragged rust-coloured hair, from whom she sometimes bought game orcatfish when they appeared silent and spook-like at her kitchendoor and thinly asked if she would "care for any fish thismorning."

　　As the boys came up the hill she saw them hesitate and consulttogether. "You ask her, Niel."

　　"You'd better, George. She goes to your house all the time, andshe barely knows me to speak to."

　　As they paused before the three steps which led up to the frontporch, Mrs. Forrester came to the door and nodded graciously, oneof the pink roses in her hand.

　　"Good-morning, boys. Off for a picnic?"

　　George Adams stepped forward and solemnly took off his big strawhat. "Good-morning, Mrs. Forrester. Please may we fish and wadedown in the marsh and have our lunch in the grove?"

　　"Certainly. You have a lovely day. How long has school been out?Don't you miss it? I'm sure Niel does. Judge Pommeroy tells mehe's very studious."

　　The boys laughed, and Niel looked unhappy.

　　"Run along, and be sure you don't leave the gate into the pastureopen. Mr. Forrester hates to have the cattle get in on his bluegrass."

　　The boys went quietly round the house to the gate into the grove,then ran shouting down the grassy slopes under the tall trees.Mrs. Forrester watched them from the kitchen window until theydisappeared behind the roll of the hill. She turned to herBohemian cook.

　　"Mary, when you are baking this morning, put in a pan of cookiesfor those boys. I'll take them down when they are having theirlunch."

　　The round hill on which the Forrester house stood sloped gentlydown to the bridge in front, and gently down through the grovebehind. But east of the house, where the grove ended, it brokesteeply from high grassy banks, like bluffs, to the marsh below.It was thither the boys were bound.

　　When lunch time came they had done none of the things they meant todo. They had behaved like wild creatures all morning; shoutingfrom the breezy bluffs, dashing down into the silvery marsh throughthe dewy cobwebs that glistened on the tall weeds, swishing amongthe pale tan cattails, wading in the sandy creek bed, chasing astriped water snake from the old willow stump where he was sunninghimself, cutting sling-shot crotches, throwing themselves on theirstomachs to drink at the cool spring that flowed out from under abank into a thatch of dark watercress. Only the two German boys,Rheinhold and Adolph Blum, withdrew to a still pool where the creekwas dammed by a reclining tree trunk, and, in spite of all thenoise and splashing about them, managed to catch a few suckers.The wild roses were wide open and brilliant, the blue-eyed grasswas in purple flower, and the silvery milkweed was just coming on.Birds and butterflies darted everywhere. All at once the breezedied, the air grew very hot, the marsh steamed, and the birdsdisappeared. The boys found they were tired; their shirts stuck totheir bodies and their hair to their foreheads. They left thesweltering marsh-meadows for the grove, lay down on the clean grassunder the grateful shade of the tall cottonwoods, and spread outtheir lunch. The Blum boys never brought anything but rye breadand hunks of dry cheese,--their companions wouldn't have touched iton any account. But Thaddeus Grimes, the butcher's red-headed son,was the only one impolite enough to show his scorn. "You live onwienies to home, why don't you never bring none?" he bawled.

　　"Hush," said Niel Herbert. He pointed to a white figure comingrapidly down through the grove, under the flickering leaf shadows,--Mrs. Forrester, bareheaded, a basket on her arm, her blue-blackhair shining in the sun. It was not until years afterward that shebegan to wear veils and sun hats, though her complexion was neverone of her beauties. Her cheeks were pale and rather thin,slightly freckled in summer.

　　As she approached, George Adams, who had a particular mother, rose,and Niel followed his example.

　　"Here are some hot cookies for your lunch, boys." She took thenapkin off the basket. "Did you catch anything?"

　　"We didn't fish much. Just ran about," said George.

　　"I know! You were wading and things." She had a nice way oftalking to boys, light and confidential. "I wade down there myselfsometimes, when I go down to get flowers. I can't resist it. Ipull off my stockings and pick up my skirts, and in I go!" Shethrust out a white shoe and shook it.

　　"But you can swim, can't you, Mrs. Forrester," said George. "Mostwomen can't."

　　"Oh yes, they can! In California everybody swims. But the SweetWater doesn't tempt me,--mud and water snakes and blood-suckers--Ugh!" she shivered, laughing.

　　"We seen a water snake this morning and chased him. A whopper!"Thad Grimes put in.

　　"Why didn't you kill him? Next time I go wading he'll bite mytoes! Now, go on with your lunch. George can leave the basketwith Mary as you go out." She left them, and they watched herwhite figure drifting along the edge of the grove as she stoppedhere and there to examine the raspberry vines by the fence.

　　"These are good cookies, all right," said one of the giggly brownWeaver twins. The German boys munched in silence. They were allrather pleased that Mrs. Forrester had come down to them herself,instead of sending Mary. Even rough little Thad Grimes, with hisred thatch and catfish mouth--the characteristic feature of all theGrimes brood--knew that Mrs. Forrester was a very special kind ofperson. George and Niel were already old enough to see forthemselves that she was different from the other townswomen, and toreflect upon what it was that made her so. The Blum brothersregarded her humbly from under their pale, chewed-off hair, as oneof the rich and great of the world. They realized, more than theircompanions, that such a fortunate and privileged class was anaxiomatic fact in the social order.

　　The boys had finished their lunch and were lying on the grasstalking about how Judge Pommeroy's water spaniel, Fanny, had beenpoisoned, and who had certainly done it, when they had a secondvisitor.

　　"Shut up, boys, there he comes now. That's Poison Ivy," said oneof the Weaver twins. "Shut up, we don't want old Roger poisoned."

　　A well-grown boy of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in a shabbycorduroy hunting suit, with a gun and gamebag, had climbed up fromthe marsh and was coming down the grove between the rows of trees.He walked with a rude, arrogant stride, kicking at the twigs, andcarried himself with unnatural erectness, as if he had a steel roddown his back. There was something defiant and suspicious aboutthe way he held his head. He came up to the group and addressedthem in a superior, patronizing tone.

　　"Hullo, kids. What are YOU doing here?"

　　"Picnic," said Ed Elliott.

　　"I thought girls went on picnics. Did you bring teacher along?Ain't you kids old enough to hunt yet?"

　　George Adams looked at him scornfully. "Of course we are. I got a22 Remington for my last birthday. But we know better than tobring guns over here. You better hide yours, Mr. Ivy, or Mrs.Forrester will come down and tell you to get out."

　　"She can't see us from the house. And anyhow, she can't sayanything to me. I'm just as good as she is."

　　To this the boys made no reply. Such an assertion was absurd evento fish-mouthed Thad; his father's business depended upon somepeople being better than others, and ordering better cuts of meatin consequence. If everybody ate round steak like Ivy Peters'family, there would be nothing in the butcher's trade.

　　The visitor had put his gun and gamebag behind a tree, however, andstood stiffly upright, surveying the group out of his narrow beadyeyes and making them all uncomfortable. George and Niel hated tolook at Ivy,--and yet his face had a kind of fascination for them.It was red, and the flesh looked hard, as if it were swollen frombee-stings, or from an encounter with poison ivy. This nickname,however, was given him because it was well known that he had "madeaway" with several other dogs before he had poisoned the Judge'sfriendly water spaniel. The boys said he took a dislike to a dogand couldn't rest until he made an end of him.

　　Ivy's red skin was flecked with tiny freckles, like rust spots, andin each of his hard cheeks there was a curly indentation, like aknot in a tree-bole,--two permanent dimples which did anything butsoften his countenance. His eyes were very small, and an absenceof eyelashes gave his pupils the fixed, unblinking hardness of asnake's or a lizard's. His hands had the same swollen look as hisface, were deeply creased across the back and knuckles, as if theskin were stretched too tight. He was an ugly fellow, Ivy Peters,and he liked being ugly.

　　He began telling the boys that it was too hot to hunt now, butlater he meant to steal down to the marsh, where the ducks came atsundown, and bag a few. "I can make off across the corn fieldsbefore the old Cap sees me. He's not much on the run."

　　"He'll complain to your father."

　　"A whoop my father cares!" The speaker's restless eyes werelooking up through the branches. "See that woodpecker tapping;don't mind us a bit. That's nerve!"

　　"They are protected here, so they're not afraid," said preciseGeorge.

　　"Hump! They'll spoil the old man's grove for him. That tree'sfull of holes already. Wouldn't he come down easy, now!"

　　Niel and George Adams sat up. "Don't you dare shoot here, you'llget us all into trouble."

　　"She'd come right down from the house," cried Ed Elliott.

　　"Let her come, stuck-up piece! Who's talking about shooting,anyway? There's more ways of killing dogs than choking them withbutter."

　　At this effrontery the boys shot amazed glances at one another, andthe brown Weaver twins broke simultaneously into giggles and rolledover on the turf.

　　But Ivy seemed unaware that he was regarded as being especiallyresourceful where dogs were concerned. He drew from his pocket ametal sling-shot and some round bits of gravel. "I won't kill it.I'll just surprise it, so we can have a look at it."

　　"Bet you won't hit it!"

　　"Bet I will!" He fitted the stone to the leather, squinted, andlet fly. Sure enough, the woodpecker dropped at his feet. Hethrew his heavy black felt hat over it. Ivy never wore a strawhat, even in the hottest weather. "Now wait. He'll come to.You'll hear him flutter in a minute."

　　"It ain't a he, anyhow. It's a female. Anybody would know that,"said Niel contemptuously, annoyed that this unpopular boy shouldcome along and spoil their afternoon. He held the fate of hisuncle's spaniel against Ivy Peters.

　　"All right, Miss Female," said Ivy carelessly, intent upon aproject of his own. He took from his pocket a little red leatherbox, and when he opened it the boys saw that it contained curiouslittle instruments: tiny sharp knife blades, hooks, curved needles,a saw, a blow-pipe, and scissors. "Some of these I got with ataxidermy outfit from the Youth's Companion, and some I mademyself." He got stiffly down on his knees,--his joints seemeddisinclined to bend at all,--and listened beside his hat. "She'sas lively as a cricket," he announced. Thrusting his hand suddenlyunder the brim, he brought out the startled bird. It was notbleeding, and did not seem to be crippled.

　　"Now, you watch, and I'll show you something," said Ivy. He heldthe woodpecker's head in a vice made of his thumb and forefinger,enclosing its panting body with his palm. Quick as a flash, as ifit were a practised trick, with one of those tiny blades he slitboth the eyes that glared in the bird's stupid little head, andinstantly released it.

　　The woodpecker rose in the air with a whirling, corkscrew motion,darted to the right, struck a tree-trunk,--to the left, and struckanother. Up and down, backward and forward among the tangle ofbranches it flew, raking its feathers, falling and recoveringitself. The boys stood watching it, indignant and uncomfortable,not knowing what to do. They were not especially sensitive; Thadwas always on hand when there was anything doing at the slaughterhouse, and the Blum boys lived by killing things. They wouldn'thave believed they could be so upset by a hurt woodpecker. Therewas something wild and desperate about the way the darkenedcreature beat its wings in the branches, whirling in the sunlightand never seeing it, always thrusting its head up and shaking it,as a bird does when it is drinking. Presently it managed to getits feet on the same limb where it had been struck, and seemed torecognize that perch. As if it had learned something by itsbruises, it pecked and crept its way along the branch anddisappeared into its own hole.

　　"There," Niel Herbert exclaimed between his teeth, "if I can get itnow, I can kill it and put it out of its misery. Let me on yourback, Rhein."

　　Rheinhold was the tallest, and he obediently bent his bony back.The trunk of a cottonwood tree is hard to climb; the bark is rough,and the branches begin a long way up. Niel tore his trousers andscratched his bare legs smartly before he got to the first fork.After recovering breath, he wound his way up toward the woodpecker'shole, which was inconveniently high. He was almost there, hiscompanions below thought him quite safe, when he suddenly lost hisbalance, turned a somersault in the air, and bumped down on thegrass at their feet. There he lay without moving.

　　"Run for water!"

　　"Run for Mrs. Forrester! Ask her for whiskey."

　　"No," said George Adams, "let's carry him up to the house. Shewill know what to do."

　　"That's sense," said Ivy Peters. As he was much bigger andstronger than any of the others, he lifted Niel's limp body andstarted up the hill. It had occurred to him that this would be afine chance to get inside the Forresters' house and see what it waslike, and this he had always wanted to do.

　　Mary, the cook, saw them coming from the kitchen window, and ranfor her mistress. Captain Forrester was in Kansas City that day.

　　Mrs. Forrester came to the back door. "What's happened? It'sNiel, too! Bring him in this way, please."

　　Ivy Peters followed her, keeping his eyes open, and the resttrooped after him,--all but the Blum boys, who knew that theirplace was outside the kitchen door. Mrs. Forrester led the waythrough the butler's pantry, the dining-room, the back parlour, toher own bedroom. She threw down the white counterpane, and Ivylaid Niel upon the sheets. Mrs. Forrester was concerned, but notfrightened.

　　"Mary, will you bring the brandy from the sideboard. George,telephone Dr. Dennison to come over at once. Now you other boysrun out on the front porch and wait quietly. There are too many ofyou in here." She knelt by the bed, putting brandy between Niel'swhite lips with a teaspoon. The little boys withdrew, only IvyPeters remained standing in the back parlour, just outside thebedroom door, his arms folded across his chest, taking in hissurroundings with bold, unblinking eyes.

　　Mrs. Forrester glanced at him over her shoulder. "Will you wait onthe porch, please? You are older than the others, and if anythingis needed I can call on you."

　　Ivy cursed himself, but he had to go. There was something finalabout her imperious courtesy,--high-and-mighty, he called it. Hehad intended to sit down in the biggest leather chair and cross hislegs and make himself at home; but he found himself on the frontporch, put out by that delicately modulated voice as effectually asif he had been kicked out by the brawniest tough in town.

　　Niel opened his eyes and looked wonderingly about the big, half-darkened room, full of heavy, old-fashioned walnut furniture. Hewas lying on a white bed with ruffled pillow shams, and Mrs.Forrester was kneeling beside him, bathing his forehead withcologne. Bohemian Mary stood behind her, with a basin of water."Ouch, my arm!" he muttered, and the perspiration broke out on hisface.

　　"Yes, dear, I'm afraid it's broken. Don't move. Dr. Dennison willbe here in a few minutes. It doesn't hurt very much, does it?"

　　"No'm," he said faintly. He was in pain, but he felt weak andcontented. The room was cool and dusky and quiet. At his houseeverything was horrid when one was sick. . . . What soft fingersMrs. Forrester had, and what a lovely lady she was. Inside thelace ruffle of her dress he saw her white throat rising and fallingso quickly. Suddenly she got up to take off her glittering rings,--she had not thought of them before,--shed them off her fingerswith a quick motion as if she were washing her hands, and droppedthem into Mary's broad palm. The little boy was thinking that hewould probably never be in so nice a place again. The windows wentalmost down to the baseboard, like doors, and the closed greenshutters let in streaks of sunlight that quivered on the polishedfloor and the silver things on the dresser. The heavy curtainswere looped back with thick cords, like ropes. The marble-toppedwash-stand was as big as a sideboard. The massive walnut furniturewas all inlaid with pale-coloured woods. Niel had a scroll-saw,and this inlay interested him.

　　"There, he looks better now, doesn't he, Mary?" Mrs. Forrester ranher fingers through his black hair and lightly kissed him on theforehead. Oh, how sweet, how sweet she smelled!

　　"Wheels on the bridge; it's Doctor Dennison. Go and show him in,Mary."

　　Dr. Dennison set Niel's arm and took him home in his buggy. Homewas not a pleasant place to go to; a frail egg-shell house, set offon the edge of the prairie where people of no consequence lived.Except for the fact that he was Judge Pommeroy's nephew, Niel wouldhave been one of the boys to whom Mrs. Forrester merely noddedbrightly as she passed. His father was a widower. A poor relation,a spinster from Kentucky, kept house for them, and Niel thought shewas probably the worst housekeeper in the world. Their house wasusually full of washing in various stages of incompletion,--tubssitting about with linen soaking,--and the beds were "aired" untilany hour in the afternoon when Cousin Sadie happened to think ofmaking them up. She liked to sit down after breakfast and readmurder trials, or peruse a well-worn copy of "St. Elmo." Sadie wasa good-natured thing and was always running off to help a neighbour,but Niel hated to have anyone come to see them. His father was athome very little, spent all his time at his office. He kept thecounty abstract books and made farm loans. Having lost his ownproperty, he invested other people's money for them. He was agentle, agreeable man, young, good-looking, with nice manners, butNiel felt there was an air of failure and defeat about his family.He clung to his maternal uncle, Judge Pommeroy, white-whiskered andportly, who was Captain Forrester's lawyer and a friend of all thegreat men who visited the Forresters. Niel was proud, like hismother; she died when he was five years old. She had hated theWest, and used haughtily to tell her neighbours that she would neverthink of living anywhere but in Fayette county, Kentucky; that theyhad only come to Sweet Water to make investments and to "turn thecrown into the pound." By that phrase she was still remembered,poor lady.