Authors: Nancy E. Turner
Oh, Lord, let what I saw in his eyes be only my imagination. Please let it be only his gallantry and not what it looked like to me.
January 18, 1888
Jack came home, and the children practically attacked him, dusty and hungry, and he played with them both until they were exhausted and went to bed early. What a pleasure to have him tuck them in their little beds.
Oh, Jack, I said, I have to tell you, before you hear some rumor. My heart was aching and my throat was dry as dust. Jack, I said again, Sergeant Lockwood took us to church again while you were gone.
Well, he said, that was nice. Then he got a look in his eye. It wasn’t mad or fierce, but just real stiff.
Jack, I told him the next Sunday I was sick, but it was a pure lie. Then I told him I wouldn’t be going to church until after this baby, and after it is grown some, and so I said thank you very much but please don’t take us to church again.
That’s it? he said. You look like you’re afraid I would worry about you.
I’m not afraid of what any of those busybodies in church say about me, Jack, about anything in the world. But if there was to start a rumor about something that would come between us, why, I would go back to the ranch to live, permanently, and never come back here, to keep that from happening, I said. I sat in my rocking chair. Jack Elliot, I told him, I love you every way there is to love a man.
You know, he said, I asked Sergeant Lockwood to look out for you a little. He’s a real good man.
Even though Jack said that about Sergeant Lockwood, his eyes were flashing with sparks, and it’s a good thing they weren’t in the same room right then. Well, I said, I’m sure he is. I suppose he is mighty lonely. He never did or said anything improper. It was just a feeling I had. Maybe I was wrong. But I’d prefer if it was some married fellow with a wife and family here, too, so that there wouldn’t be any talk.
How about if I find one that’s real ugly and mean, too? he said, and breathed easier.
I’m serious, I told him.
Come here, Mrs. Elliot, he said. Then he took me in his arms and kissed the breath right out of me. While he did, this baby squirmed between us and made us both laugh. Jack tried to pick me up, but he said, My, you’ve developed quite a girth there. Tell me that part about how you love me again.
Then he sat in the rocking chair and I sat on his lap and put my head on his shoulder, and we just sat quiet for a long time and watched the stove die down. I leaned my head against his shoulder and smelled the sunshine in his clean shirt, and the roughness of him needing a shave at night.
I said it. I told him how much I loved him and he didn’t slip away. He didn’t even flinch or look the other direction, but lapped it up like he’d been waiting a long time to hear it.
March 9, 1888
Thank you God, for this new little boy. He was only an hour in coming. Cute little sweet potato too, with a big thatch of wavy black hair. His name is Gilbert. He has a dimple in his little chin. We have not decided on a middle name yet.
All the time I was laboring, Blue Horse was on the front porch singing an Indian song at the top of his lungs. I held Jack’s hands and groaned with the pains, and in between, hearing the sound of chanting, we would smile to each other and even laugh out loud at this curious situation. When little Gilbert cried, the chanting stopped for a minute and then changed. My neighbors must have thought we had something mighty peculiar going on here.
Later, Jack took the baby to Blue Horse, and told me the man held the baby and patted Jack’s shoulder many times, then put a string with a colored bead on it around Gilbert’s neck. Jack says it is to ward off evil. My Mama would have a ring-tailed fit. I will take it off him tomorrow before she comes, but I cannot let Blue Horse know, as he meant it in the best wishes for the baby.
Little Charlie is fascinated with the new brother, and April said only, Oh, another brother? Have a girl, Mama, I want a girl baby, not another brother. But she held him and cuddled him, and he made little newborn faces at her, and one of them was a big smile, so she declared he loved her best and it was okay if he was a boy after all. Jack was so good to me again. Mama will be here tomorrow. And just a week ago Jack hired a lady named Anna to help me around the house a bit. Anna seemed to get used to Blue Horse being here right away. She is very old and plump as a quail, but pretty spry, and the children love her.
March 12, 1888
A man knocked on my door today at noon while Jack was down at the drygoods store. Coming from somewhere near him was a strange moaning sound. He nodded at me right away and said, Mrs. Elliot? Mrs. John Elliot? and I said Yes. Well, he said, he had been left with something that was rightfully mine, and although it was an accident, he has taken good care of it for several weeks, and had asked all over town to determine the rightful owner of this box of goods.
I told him I had no idea what he meant, as I wasn’t aware of having lost anything except a thimble and a couple of hairpins in the last few weeks.
Nevertheless, he went on, This is surely your property, as there is no one else in the entire town with a shaggy red dog. Then he tipped his hat, and smiled really nice, and seemed just as happy as could be. He said, I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, Ma’am. Good afternoon to you. Then he whistled a real happy sound as he turned and left.
I stepped out on the porch. There by the door he had left a crate without a lid, and inside the crate, like a bushel of furry pumpkins, was a passel of red, Toobuddy-colored puppies. Only one had some black spots and shorter hair, but all the rest of it was red. And he was right, I have not seen another dog anywhere around that remotely resembles Toobuddy. Five puppies. They were whining, but their eyes were open, and they were bushy with fur and smelled clean and healthy. He had surely taken care of them and the mother dog, for which I am thankful, as I know lots of people would not care for unwanted puppies. Oh, what will I do with five puppies? Then I heard tiny Gilbert start to cry, and I felt my milk come, and I knew I had to put the puppies aside for a while. A three day old baby will not wait.
I have been trying to think of how I will find homes for them all. I will write a letter to Albert and Savannah, and ask Mason Sherrill, too, and even Mama if they all could use a puppy. And I will put up a little sign on our front porch, as maybe there is someone around the post that would keep a dog. The only thing I am worried about is that usually when I have seen a sign like that, people will say, Free, Good Kittens: excellent mousers, or Cow Dog: strong herder, or something like that. Well, Toobuddy doesn’t have much going for him in the way of talent except personal charm. He is playful and clumsy and will chase a rabbit or a mouse but only if it’s not too hard, and he gets into as much trouble as he saves me, so he is an even balance, not a big help. At least, he is patient with children. That I could honestly say. That will have to be their selling point. Nice puppies, good natured and friendly. That will do.
March 22, 1888
There goes the last of the three puppies we will be giving away. We kept the black spotted one for a house dog, and her name is Shiner. Then we kept one of the really furry red ones, and named him Rusty. I am hoping he will live at the ranch, and we will only keep one here, but that won’t be for a few months, until he is big enough to watch out for coyotes on his own. I declare if there was something I didn’t need after having a baby it was having five puppies, too. But Anna is just wonderful. She is slow and patient, as loving as a grandmother.
I sat this afternoon to read during the boys’ nap. I was going through the botanical theory book, and while I was reading I remembered something Blue Horse said to me back before Gilbert was born. He said wisdom is not a path, it is a tree. At the time I was too busy to give it much thought, so I nodded politely but didn’t pay much attention. Now I see that he was surely right. I have been sad almost a whole year, thinking that taking that test was somehow the end of my learning and that not having that as a possibility in my future left a big empty spot in my life that the children and the ranch didn’t fill. But my life is not like that, it is a tree, and I can stay in one place and spread out in all directions, and I can do more learning shading this brood of mine than if I was all alone. I declare, it is like some other part of me made up some rules about happiness and I just went along with them without thinking. My heart is lightened so much that I am amazed at how sad I felt for so long.
I have donated a box of books to the library of the university, and paid for a tree to be planted near the fountain which will be built by the front steps. Someone even wrote about it in the paper where they were listing all the names of people who gave trees, saying the books were a gift from “the extensive library of Captain and Mrs. J. E. Elliot.” What a hoot. I figured it was a good resting place for the Expositional Sermons.
September 1, 1888
April’s first day at school. I walked with her almost all the way there, and promised her I would be waiting to walk her home again. The pups went with us, and wanted to follow her right up into the school house. They are hardly pups anymore, big red reminders of their silly papa dog. April has got a brand new slate and a McGuffy’s First Reader, and a little chalk and a new pencil tied with a string. She holds these things out carefully, in one hand, as if she knows they are real important. In the other hand she is carrying a little shiny new lunch pail with a sandwich of jam and butter and a couple of apples from Albert’s place. She is walking as solemnly as she knows how, and I want to laugh at her seriousness, but I mustn’t or she will think I am laughing at her.
Although these things are required by Mrs. Fish for all first grade students, April can already read well beyond the McGuffy’s First, because I have taught her to read straight from some other books. After this first week of school, I will have a talk with Mrs. Fish and see if she will allow April to progress into another reader. What a glorious day to me, to see my daughter step up that walk and wave goodbye from inside a school house.
When she was gone, a strange feeling came over me, and I sat at my kitchen table and put my face in my hands. I am terribly envious of my own child. She has no idea what a blessing is being handed to her, and I can only dream of what I might have learned if I had ever lived near a school. While the little ones were playing, I got out my copy of
The Iliad
, which I found on a tinker’s wagon, battered and falling apart, tied together with a string. It cost nearly four dollars.
April 6, 1889
This morning as usual, I let April and Charlie out of the buggy in front of the Feed and Grain store. I left Gilbert with Anna at home. It is only three blocks to school, and April’s friends Carrie and Opal Rae usually meet her there at the corner. Charlie likes to walk along pretending he is old enough for school. Old Toobuddy often goes also, and sits by the school house door until I drive by and call him to jump up and ride home with me. When school is out, Toobuddy heads back through town to the school and waits for them, so to the children it is like he has sat there all day, rain or blistering sun, waiting for them. For such a silly dog, he has got the lay of the town smartly.
After handing them their lunches, I left them to go into the feed and grain store. They always check to see who got the biggest apple, and I saw them trade buckets. I smiled and went to pick up a sack of oats and some chicken mash. Not twenty seconds had passed when I heard April and Charlie both let out blood chilling screams. My heart felt stabbed at the sound because I knew it was them. I dropped the sack of mash and it burst on the floor as I ran to the door. I ran all the way down the street, with my bonnet blowing off and a wagon stopping short to let me pass.
There in the street was poor Toobuddy, run over by a wagon. April and Charlie were shrieking, with tears running down their faces, hovering over their dog. Up the street aways was a boy I recognized from school—one of the oldest ones who was having trouble finishing the last grades. He had turned around in his wagon and was laughing, pointing at my children to another boy sitting bareback on a horse. Both boys laughed loudly. People started to gather up and I felt sick at the sight.
I lifted Toobuddy’s head, and his eyes opened, but he didn’t even whimper. I could hear him breathing hard between the children’s cries. Suddenly beside me is Blue Horse, who must have been standing nearby when it happened. Get buggy, Ma’am Elliot, he said. I took my children’s hands and we hurried to it, and drove back there. Then Blue Horse lifted Toobuddy into the floor of the buggy for me, but he said, There isn’t much to do but save him from pain, now. April and Charlie wailed louder at that. I just looked at the man, feeling helpless.
Blue Horse climbed into the buggy seat beside me, and we drove back to the house. There he took the dog out, and Toobuddy drooped, limp. Blue Horse put his head against Toobuddy’s body, and said, The spirit is gone. Then he looked at my whimpering children and got a real sympathetic look on his face, and said, Little ones, bring shovel, come quickly.
They looked at me, and I said, You do what he tells you. The shovel is in the lean to.
From the back porch I watched as Blue Horse told first one child then the other to dig, and finally he took the shovel and made a bigger hole. They laid Toobuddy in it, and then stood by and Blue Horse put a big handful of dirt in both the children’s hands, then he started to sing. He motioned to them, two or three times, and then they started to sing too. Mingled from the back of my house were some Indian words in a soft, wailing sound, and April and Charlie singing in their childish voices some mixed up words to Blessed Assurance. They dropped their dirt on the little grave, and made a great ceremony of filling it and piling rocks.
By the time the funeral was over, the morning was near gone, and I told April she could stay home from school for the rest of the day. It remained a somewhat somber day, but later on, when Blue Horse had taken his usual chair on the porch, I saw April walk up to him with a wild flower and kiss his cheek as she gave it to him.