The Sun Maid Part 35

CHAPTER XXIII.

HEROES.

The Sun Maid's gaze into her husband's face was a prolonged and questioning one. Before it was withdrawn she had found her answer.

There was still a silence between them, which she broke at last, and it touched him to see how pale she had become and yet how calm.

"You are going, Gaspar?"

"Yes, my love; I am going. Already I have pledged my word, as my arm and my purse."

"But, my dear, do you consider? We are growing old, even we, who have never yet had time to realize it--till now. There are younger men, plenty of them. Your counsels at home----"

"Would be empty words as compared to my example in the field. The young of heart are never old. Besides, do you remember that once, against my stubborn will, you resisted for duty's sake? We have never regretted it, not for a day. More than that, when our first-born came to us, do you remember how we clasped his tiny hand and resolved always to lead it onward to the right? _Lead_ it, sweetheart. We vowed never to say to him: 'Go!' to this or that high duty; but rather, still holding fast to him, say: 'Come.' There is such a wide, wide difference between the two."

Then, indeed, again she trembled. The mother love shook her visibly and a secret rejoicing died a sudden death.

"'Come,' you say. But they are not here, in our own unhappy land.

Gaspar in Europe, Winthrop in South America, and Hugh in j.a.pan. They are better so."

"Are they better there? You will be the first to say 'no' when this shock pa.s.ses. A telegram will summon each as easily as we could call them from that other room--supposing that they, your sons, wait for the call. But they'll not. I know them and trust them. They are already on the railways and steamships that will bring them fastest; and it will truly be the 'Come with me!' that we elected, for we shall all march together."

So they did; and it was the Sun Maid herself, standing proudly among her daughters and daughters-in-law, yet more beautiful than any, who fastened the last glittering b.u.t.ton over each manly breast and flicked away an imaginary mote from the spotless uniforms. Then she stood aside and let them go; two by two, "step," "step"--as if in echo to the first sound which had greeted her own baby ear.

But as they pa.s.sed out of sight, transgressing military discipline Gaspar turned; and once more the black eyes and the blue read in each other's depths the unfathomable love that filled them. Then he was gone and the younger Gaspar's wife lifted to her own aching bosom the form that had sunk unconscious at her feet. For the too prescient heart of the Sun Maid had pierced the future and she knew what would befall her.

Yet before the gray shadow had quite left her face she rallied and again smiled into the anxious countenances bending over her.

"Now, my dears, how foolish I was and how wasteful of precious time!

There is so much to be done for them and for ourselves. Gaspar's business must not suffer, nor Son's (as she always called her eldest), nor his brothers'. There are new hospitals to equip and nurses to secure. Alas! there should be a Home made ready, even so soon, for the widows and orphans of our soldiers. Let us organize into a regular band of workers; just ourselves, as systematically as your father has trained us to believe is best. There are six of us, a little army of supplies and reinforcements. Though, Honoria, my daughter, shall I count upon you?"

"Surely, Mother darling, though not here. Thanks to the hospital course you let me enjoy, I can follow my father and brothers to the front. I am a trained nurse, you know, and some will need me there."

The Sun Maid caught her breath with a little gasp. Then again she smiled.

"Of course, Honoria; if you wish it. It is only one more to give; yet you will be in little danger and your father in so much the less because of your presence. Now let us apportion the other duties and set about them."

This was quickly done; and to the mother herself remained the a.s.sumption of all monetary affairs in her husband's private office in their last new home; where, when they had removed to it, she had inquired:

"Why such a palace, Gaspar, for two plain, simple folk like you and me? It is big enough for a barrack, and those great empty 'blocks' on every side remind me of our old days in Mercy's log cabin among the woods."

"I like it, dear. There will be room in this big house to entertain guests of every rank and station as they should be entertained in our dear city. These empty squares about us shall keep their old trees intact, but the grounds shall be beautified by the highest landscape art, to which the full view of our grand lake will give crowning charm. When we have done with it all we will give it to the little children for a perpetual playground. Even the proposed new enlargement of the city limits will hardly encroach upon us here."

"But it will, Gaspar, it surely will! When I hark back, as Abel used to say, I find Katasha's prophecies and my old dreams more than fulfilled. But the end is not yet, nor soon."

Now that her daughters were scattered to their various points of usefulness and the Sun Maid was left alone with Hugh's one motherless child--another Kitty--the great house seemed more empty than ever; and its brave mistress resolved to people it with something more substantial and needy than memories. So she gathered about her a host to whom the cruel war had brought distress of one form or another; while out among the trees of the park she erected a great barrack, fitted with every aid to comfort and convalescence. This, like the mansion, was speedily filled, and the "Keith Rest" became a household word throughout the land.

The war which wise folk augured at its beginning, would be over in a few days dragged its weary length into the months, and though for a time there were many and cheerful letters, these ceased suddenly at the last, giving place to one brief telegram from Honoria: "Mother, my work here is ended. I am bringing home your heroes--four."

Upon the hearth-rug, Kitty the younger, lay stretched at her ease, toying with the sharp nose of her favorite collie. She had the Sun Maid's own fairness of tint and the same wonderful hair; but her eyes were dark as her grandsire Gaspar's and saw many things which they appeared not to see; for instance, that one of the numerous telegrams her busy grandmother was always receiving had been read and dropped upon the floor. Yet this was a common circ.u.mstance, and though she felt it her duty to rise and return the yellow paper to the hand which had held it, she delayed a moment, enjoying the warmth and ease. Then Bruce, the collie, sat up and whined,--dolefully, and so humanly, it seemed, that the girl also sprang up, demanding:

"Why, Bruce, old doggie, what do you hear? What makes you look so queer?"

Then her own gaze followed the collie's to her grandmother's face and her scream echoed through all the house.

"Grandmother! My darling Grandmother! Are you--are you dead--dying--what----"

She picked up the telegram and read it, and her own happy young heart faltered in its rhythm.

"Oh! awful! 'Bringing'--those precious ones who cannot come of themselves. This will kill her. I believe it will kill even me."

But it did neither. After a s.p.a.ce the rigidity left the Sun Maid's figure and her staring eyes that had been gazing upon vacancy resumed intelligence. Rising stiffly from her seat, she put the younger Kit aside, yet very gently and tenderly, because of all her race this was the dearest. Had not the child Gaspar's eyes?

"My girl, you will know what to do. I am going to my chamber, and must be undisturbed."

Then she pa.s.sed out of the cheerful library into that "mother's room,"

where her husband and her sons had gathered about her so often and so fondly and in which she had bestowed upon each her farewell and especial blessing. As the portiere fell behind her it seemed to her that already they came hurrying to greet her, and softly closing the door she shut herself in from all the world with them and her own grief.

For the first time in all her life the Sun Maid considered her own self before another; and for hours she remained deaf to young Kitty's pleading:

"Let me come in, Grandmother. Let me come in. I am as alone as you--it was my father, too, as well as your son!"

It was the dawn of another day before the door did open and the mourner came out. Mourner? One could hardly call her that; for, though the beautiful face was colorless and the eyes heavy with unshed tears, there was a rapt, exalted look upon it which awed the grandchild into silence. Yet for the first time she was startled by the thought:

"We have lived together as if we were only elder and younger sister, for she has had the heart of a child. But now I see--she is, indeed, my grandmother--and she is growing old."

"Let all things be done decently and in order when Gaspar and the boys come home," was all the direction the Sun Maid gave, and it was well fulfilled. Yet, because she could not bear to be far apart from them, she sat out the hours of watching in the little ante-room adjoining the great parlor where her heroes lay in state, while all Chicago gathered to do them reverence.

There was none could touch her grief, not one. It was too deep. It benumbed even herself. Perhaps in all the land, during all that dreadful time, there was no person so afflicted as she, who had lost four at a blow. But she rose from her sorrow with that buoyant faith and hopefulness which nothing could for long depress.

"There is unfinished work to do. Gaspar left it when he went away, knowing I would take it up for him if he could never do it for himself. There is no time in life for unavailing sorrow. Come, Kitty, child. Others have their dead to bury, let us go forth and comfort them."

Obedient Kitty went, her thoughts full of wonder and admiration:

"By ma.s.sacre, famine, pestilence, and the sword! How has my dear 'Sun Maid' been chastened, and how beautifully she has come through it all!

She could not have been half so lovely as a girl, when Grandfather met and wooed her that morning on the prairie. I wonder have her trials ended? or are there more in store before she is made perfect? I cannot think of anything still which could befall her, unless I die or her beloved city come to ruin. Well, I'll walk with her, hand in hand, and if I live, I'll be as like her as I can."

CHAPTER XXIV.

CONCLUSION.

"What shall we do to celebrate your birthday, my child?" asked Grandmother Kitty, early in that first week of October on whose Sat.u.r.day the young girl would reach to the dignity of sixteen years.

"All the conditions of your life are so different from mine at your age: seeming to make you both older and younger--if you understand what I mean--that I would like to hear your own wishes."