The Wind Before the Dawn Part 8

At home things were not so fortunate. The young girl had come back from Topeka with higher ideals of home life, of personal conduct, and of good manners than she had ever had before. It was so good to have something better, and Elizabeth hungered to pa.s.s along the transforming things she had found; but when she tried to give the boys gentle hints about correct ways of eating she was greeted with guffaws and sarcastic chuckles about handling soup with a fork. Mrs. Farnshaw saw nothing but Susan Hornby's interference, Mr. Farnshaw told her to attend to her own affairs until her help was desired, and when the child was rebuffed and unable to hide her disappointment and retired within herself, both parents resented the evident and growing difference between her and themselves.

It was to escape from a home which was unendurable that Elizabeth flat-footedly, and for the first time, refused to accede to her parents'

authority. When the matter of a spring term of school came up for discussion she refused to teach the home school again, though Mr. Crane had been so pleased with her work that he had offered it to her. When asked if Jake Ransom was the objection she indignantly a.s.serted to the contrary.

"He was the best pupil I had," she said, "but I don't want to teach at home, and I won't do it," and that was all she would say. She secured a school ten miles north of her home; ten miles had been the nearest point which she would consider.

The interest was at last paid, but when the summer groceries were paid for there was no money left with which to go back to Topeka, and it was necessary to teach a winter school. Elizabeth went to work anew to collect funds for another year's schooling. Mr. Farnshaw sold himself short of corn in the fall, however, and the young girl was expected to make up the deficit. In the spring the interest was to be paid again, and so at the end of a year and a half the situation was unchanged. The next year a thres.h.i.+ng machine was added to the family a.s.sets, and again the cry of "help" went up, again Elizabeth's plans were sacrificed. The next year the interest was doubled, and for four years Elizabeth Farnshaw worked against insurmountable odds.

CHAPTER IV

A CULTURED MAN

When no remonstrance of hers availed to prevent the constant increase of expenses, Elizabeth saw that her a.s.sistance, instead of helping the family to get out of debt, was simply the means of providing toys for experimentation, and that she was being quietly but persistenly euchred out of all that her heart cherished. Mr. Farnshaw valued the machinery he was collecting about him, Mrs. Farnshaw valued the money, partly because in one way and another it added to the family possessions, and also because her husband having found out that he could obtain it through her easier than by direct appeal, she could avoid unpleasantness with him by insisting upon her daughter giving it to him; but Elizabeth's education was valued by no one but Elizabeth, and unless she were to learn her lesson quickly the time for an education to be obtained would have pa.s.sed.

"It's of no use for you to talk to me, ma," Elizabeth said the spring after she was twenty years old, "I shall keep every cent I make this summer. Pa gets into debt and won't let anybody help him out, and I am going to go to Topeka this fall. I'm years older right now than the rest of the scholars will be--not a single pupil that was there when I went before will be there--and I'm going to go. I don't ever intend to pay the interest on that old mortgage again--it's just pouring money into a rat-hole!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'NOW LOOK HERE, LIZZIE, ... YOUR PA EXPECTS IT'"]

It was early morning and they were planting potatoes. Her mother stood with her back turned toward the raw April wind as they talked, her old nubia tied loosely about her head and neck, and her hands red with the cold.

"Now look here, Lizzie"--Mrs. Farnshaw always refused to use the full name--"your pa expects it."

"Of course he expects it; that's why he keeps adding to the mortgage; but that don't make any difference. I'm going to Topeka this fall just the same. I am not going to pay one dollar on the interest in May, and you can tell pa if you like."

Mrs. Farnshaw was alarmed. Elizabeth had protested and tried to beg off from the yearly stipend before, but never in that manner. The tone her daughter had used frightened her and she quivered with an unacknowledged fear. Her husband's wrath was the Sheol she fought daily to avoid. What would become of them if the interest were not paid?

Added to Mrs. Farnshaw's personal desire to command her daughter's funds there was the solid fear of her husband's estimate of her failure. She could not look in his eye and tell him that she was unable to obtain their daughter's consent. To live in the house with him after Lizzie had told him herself was equally unthinkable, for his wrath would be visited upon her own head.

"My child! My child!" she cried, "you don't have to be told what he will do t' me."

There was a long pause while she sobbed. The pause became a compelling one; some one had to speak.

"I can't help it, ma," Elizabeth said doggedly after a time.

"Oh, but you don't know what it means. Come on to th' house. I can't work no more, an' I've got t' talk this thing out with you."

They picked up the pails and the hoe with which they had been covering the hills and went to the house, carrying a burden that made a potato-planting day a thing of no consequence.

The mother busied herself with the cob fire as she argued, and Elizabeth put away the old mittens with which she had protected her hands from the earth which never failed to leave them chapped, before she picked up the broom and began an onslaught on the red and fluffy dust covering the kitchen floor.

"You see, You'll go off t' teach an' won't know nothin' about it, an'--an'--I'll have it t' bear an'----" The pause was significant.

Mrs. Farnshaw watched her daughter furtively and strained her ears for signs of giving up. At last Elizabeth said slowly:

"I'm as sorry as I can be, ma, but--I'm twenty years old, and I've _got_ to go."

There was no doubting that her mind was made up, and yet her mother threw herself against that stone wall of determination in frantic despair.

"Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie! I can't live an' have you do it. You don't know, child, what I have to bear."

"Now look here, ma; you won't let me have things out openly with pa and come to an understanding with him, and when I told you four years ago that you ought to leave him if you couldn't live with him peaceably you talked as if I had committed some sort of sin. You and pa are determined to fuss it out and I can't help it, and I've sacrificed four good years to you and the interest is bigger than it ever was. I haven't helped you one bit. If you want to go on living with him You'll do it in your own way, but if your life is unbearable, and you want to leave him, I'll see that you are provided for. The law would give you a share of this----"

The noise of the broom and of their voices had prevented them from hearing any other sounds, but a shadow fell across the middle door and Josiah Farnshaw entered the kitchen a blazing picture of wrath. Before he could speak, however, the dog on the doorstep barked sharply at a stranger who was close upon him, and the irate father was obliged to smooth his manner.

Elizabeth escaped to the bedroom as her father crossed to the kitchen to see what the man wanted, and Mr. Farnshaw went on out to the pens a moment later with the "hog buyer," as the man proved to be.

"My G.o.d! My G.o.d! What have you done?" Mrs. Farnshaw cried, following Elizabeth into the bedroom.

"I don't know, ma," the girl cried, as white as her mother. "I'm going to get off to hunt up a school while that man is here. The sun has come out and it's only ten o'clock. If you're afraid, come along," she advised, as she hurried into a clean calico dress and took down her old black riding skirt from its nail.

"Lizzie!" the mother exclaimed, as much afraid of the advice as she was of her husband.

There was little time left her for argument, for Elizabeth hurriedly tied a thick green veil over her plain straw hat and left the house. The hog pens were on the opposite side of the stable from the house and Elizabeth soon had Patsie, now a mare of five years, saddled and bridled.

The air was softening, and it occurred to her that it was going to rain, as she hurried out of the yard, but she did not wait to get extra wraps nor her umbrella. The best thing to do, she knew, was to get away while that hog buyer was there and trust to luck for the edge of her father's anger to wear away before she returned.

Fortunately she had worn her old coat, which was heavy and waterproof, and when it did begin to rain half an hour later, instead of turning back she pressed forward, more afraid of the thunderstorm at home than any to be encountered on the way.

Elizabeth rode steadily southward, thinking out her share in this new quarrel in which she had embroiled her parents, unaware that as it drizzled it became warmer and that the day had become spring-like and endurable. She began to question the propriety of having suggested drastic measures to her mother. "Till death do you part" rang in her ears in spite of the certainty that the union of her mother and her father was an unholy thing which was d.a.m.ning them more surely than a separation could possibly do. Of only one thing could Elizabeth be sure: she saw without mistake at last that she must decide upon her own duties hereafter without listening to a mother who could not decide anything for herself.

The director of the district to which Elizabeth first turned her steps was away from home when she arrived and it was necessary to consider where she would go next. After some thought she decided to try the Chamberlain district, which lay between there and her home. It was eight miles from the Farnshaw homestead and far enough away so that she would not have to board with her parents and she determined to try to meet the school board, which met usually on the first Tuesday night in April.

The fact of facing around toward the north again set her to considering what course of action she would pursue when she went back home.

"I'll go back, I guess, and be patient with whatever he feels like doing with me," she resolved, reflecting that from her father's standpoint he had a very real grievance against her. "It was a dreadful thing for him to hear me advising ma to leave him. I guess I owe it to them to try to straighten it up. But I don't believe it can ever be straightened up," she ended doubtfully.

Elizabeth was pa.s.sing a grove of young cottonwood trees and was so absorbed in her thoughts that, becoming only half conscious that Patsie was lagging and that time was pa.s.sing rapidly, she gave her a slap with the strap in her hand, urging the horse to a faster pace as she rounded the corner of the section without looking up. Patsie broke into a long, easy lope. Suddenly Elizabeth became conscious of the noise of other hoofs splas.h.i.+ng toward them. Glancing up, she saw a farm team almost upon them, whose driver was stooped to avoid the rain.

Elizabeth pulled her horse up sharply, and to one side. The trail was an old one, and the sloping, washed-out rut was deep. Patsie lost her footing and, after a slipping plunge or two, fell floundering on her side before her mistress could support her with the rein. Active as a boy, Elizabeth loosened her foot from the stirrup and flung herself to the other side of the road, out of the way of the dangerous hoofs. Elizabeth slipped as her feet struck the ground and she landed on "all-fours" in the gra.s.s.

The young man, suddenly awake to what had happened, was out of his high seat and had the mare by the bridle before its rider had fairly scrambled up.

"I beg your pardon! Are you hurt?" he called across the wagon, when Patsie, still nervous from her fall, hung back as far as her rein would permit and not only refused to be led but threatened to break away altogether.

"Not at all! Not a bit! Whoa! Patsie! Whoa! Lady!" Elizabeth cried, coming around to them, and extending a smeary, dripping hand for the taut rein.

The young man let her step in front of him and put her hand on the strap, but kept his own there as well, while they both followed the backing horse with braced steps, the girl talking soothingly to the frightened animal the while. The naturally docile filly responded to the voice she had heard from earliest colthood and soon let Elizabeth approach close enough to put her hand on the bit. The seriousness of the affair gave way to the comic when the horse began to s.n.a.t.c.h bits of gra.s.s from the roadside.

The young couple laughed and looked at each other rather sheepishly as they saw that further cooperation was not needed. They untangled their hands where they had slipped tight together in the loop of the bridle rein as they had followed the rearing beast.

"She has broken the girth," the young man said, lifting his hat ceremoniously and with a manner not born of life on the farm.

He threw the stirrup over the top of the saddle and fished under the now quiet horse for her dangling surcingle. Having secured it, he untied the strap and examined it to see if it were sufficiently long to permit of tying another knot. Deciding that it was, he tied one end in the ring in the saddle and, pa.s.sing the other through the ring of the girth, drew it up with a strong, steady pull. His side face against the saddle, as he pulled, permitted him to examine curiously the young girl in front of him.

"Are you sure you are not hurt at all?" he asked solicitously.