The Sun Maid: A Story of Fort Dearborn

“Burned out! Oh, Mercy, that is trouble, indeed! Tell me – No, wait. Let us go and get something to eat first; and what were you intending to do with that load of stuff?”

“Ship it East, if I can. I’ve heard there was consid’able that business bein’ done. Or sell it to the Fort folks.”

“I think they’ll be glad of it; they are always needing everything. I’ll go with you there, and your team can be left there, too, till Abel comes.”

“Abel! You don’t think I’d leave him to manage business, do you?”

“I thought you said he was now staying behind to sell out – to ‘manage.’”

“He’s stayin’ to try. There’s a big difference ’twixt tryin’ an’ doin’. He can’t sell, not easy. And some day, when this whim of his is over, we’ll go back an’ settle again, or move farther on. It’s gettin’ ruther crowded where we be for comfort, these days.”

“Crowded? Are there many new neighbors?”

“Lots. Some of ’em ain’t more ’n a mile away, an’ I call that too close for convenience. Don’t like to have folks pokin’ their noses into my very door-yard, so to speak.”

“How will you endure it here, where, according to your ideas, the houses are so very close?”

“I don’t expect to like it. But, pshaw! They be thick, ain’t they? I declare it makes me think of out East, an’ our village; only that wasn’t built on the bottomless pit, like this.”

“This is the Fort. After you’ve finished your business with the officer in charge, we’ll go home and get our dinner.”

The stranger observed with surprise and some pride the great respect with which this girl, who had once been under her own care, was treated by all she met. The few soldiers on duty that morning saluted her with a smile and military precision, while the women hailed her coming with exclamations of:

“Oh, Kitty! You here? I’m so glad; for I wanted to ask you about my work”; or: “Say, Kit! There are a lot of new newspapers, only a week old, that I’ve hidden for you to read first before the others get hold of them.”

One called after her, as they started homeward:

“How are the sick ones to-day?”

“What did she mean?” demanded Mercy.

“Oh, that house on the edge of the village is a sort of hospital and school combined. I am there most of the time, though my real home is with the Littlejohns, just as it has always been; though the Doctor is not rich, as you fancied, in anything save wisdom and goodness.”

“You’re a great scholar now, Kitty, I s’pose – could even do figurin’ an’ writin’ letters.”

“I can do that much without being a ‘scholar.’ I’ve learned all sorts of things that came my way, from civil engineering – enough to survey lots for people – to a little Greek. The surveying was taught me by a man who was in our sick-room, and in gratitude for the care we gave him. It’s very useful here.”

“Can you sing, or play music?”

“I always sang, you know; and I can play the violin to guide the hymns ‘in meeting.’”

“What’s that? A fiddle – to hymns!”

“Yes. Why not, since it’s the only instrument we have?”

“My land! You’ll be dancin’ at worship next!”

“Maybe. There are religious people who dance at their services. But here we are. This is the Doctor’s house, and you’ll meet Wahneenah.”

“Wahneeny! You don’t tell me that good, pious parson is consortin’ with that bad-tempered Indian squaw!”

“Wait, Mercy. You must not speak like that of her, nor think so. She is as my very own mother. She is nobility itself. Everybody acknowledges that. I want there should be peace, even if there can’t be love, between you two. It’s better, isn’t it, to understand things in the beginning?”

“Hmm! You can speak your mind out yet, I see. But that’s all right. I don’t care, child. I don’t care. It does my old eyes good just to look at you; an’, for once, I’ll ’low Abel was right in wantin’ to move out here. I’m lookin’ for him ’fore night, by the way. But hold on! Who’s that out in the back yard, with feathers in his hair, an’ a blue check shirt, grinnin’ like a hyena, an’ a knife stickin’ out his pocket? Wait till I get hold of him, my sake!”

Mercy’s words poured out without breathing-space or stop, and the Sun Maid laughed as she replied:

“Why, that’s only Osceolo. Do you know him?”

“Kitty Briscoe! All the wild horses in Illinois can’t make me believe no different but ’twas him set our barn afire!”

“When? He’s not been away – for some days.”

“Wait till he catches sight of me!”

But when the young Indian did turn around, and saw the pair watching him, he coolly walked toward them, regarding Mercy as if she were an utter stranger, and one whom he was rather pleased to meet.

“Friend of yours, Sun Maid? Glad to see her.”

“Glad to see me, be you? Wait till Abel Smith comes an’ identifies you. Then see which side the laugh’s on, you – you – ”

“Osceolo is my name, ma’am.”

Foreseeing difficulties, the girl guided her guest into the kitchen, where Wahneenah was preparing dinner, and where the Indian woman greeted her old acquaintance with no surprise and, certainly, without any of the effusiveness that, for once, rather marked Mercy’s manner toward her former “hired girl.”

“Well, it’s a real likely house, now, ain’t it? I’d admire to see the minister. It’s years since I saw one. Is he about?”

Kitty answered:

“Yes. He is studying. I rather hate to disturb him; but at dinner you will meet him.”

“Studying! Studying what? Why, I thought he was an old man.”

“He is. So old, I sometimes fear we will not have him with us long.”

“What’s the use learnin’ anything more, then?”

“One can never know too much, I fancy. Just at present he is writing a dictionary of the Indian dialects, so far as he has been able to obtain them.”

“The – Indian – language! He wouldn’t be so silly, now come!”

“He is just so wise. It is a splendid work. I am proud to be his helper, even by just merely copying his papers.”

“Well! You could knock me down with a feather! One thing – I sha’n’t never set under his preachin’. I wouldn’t demean myself. The idee!”

“Mercy, do you remember the red-covered Bible? Have you it still?”

“Course. I wouldn’t let anything happen to that. It was a reward of merit. It’s wrote in the front: ‘To Mercy Balch, for being a Good Girl.’ That was me afore I was married. It’s in my carpet-bag. I mean to have it buried with me. I wouldn’t never sp’ile it by handlin’.”