by Willa Cather
IV
"I won't have none of your weevily wheat, and I won't have none of your barley, But I'll take a measure of fine white flour, to make a cake for Charley."
WE were singing rhymes to tease Antonia while she was beating up one ofCharley's favorite cakes in her big mixing-bowl. It was a crisp autumnevening, just cold enough to make one glad to quit playing tag in theyard, and retreat into the kitchen. We had begun to roll popcorn ballswith syrup when we heard a knock at the back door, and Tony dropped herspoon and went to open it. A plump, fair-skinned girl was standing in thedoorway. She looked demure and pretty, and made a graceful picture in herblue cashmere dress and little blue hat, with a plaid shawl drawn neatlyabout her shoulders and a clumsy pocketbook in her hand.
"Hello, Tony. Don't you know me?" she asked in a smooth, low voice,looking in at us archly.
Antonia gasped and stepped back. "Why, it's Lena! Of course I did n't knowyou, so dressed up!"
Lena Lingard laughed, as if this pleased her. I had not recognized her fora moment, either. I had never seen her before with a hat on her head--orwith shoes and stockings on her feet, for that matter. And here she was,brushed and smoothed and dressed like a town girl, smiling at us withperfect composure.
"Hello, Jim," she said carelessly as she walked into the kitchen andlooked about her. "I've come to town to work, too, Tony."
"Have you, now? Well, ain't that funny!" Antonia stood ill at ease, anddid n't seem to know just what to do with her visitor.
The door was open into the dining-room, where Mrs. Harling sat crochetingand Frances was reading. Frances asked Lena to come in and join them.
"You are Lena Lingard, are n't you? I've been to see your mother, but youwere off herding cattle that day. Mama, this is Chris Lingard's oldestgirl."
Mrs. Harling dropped her worsted and examined the visitor with quick, keeneyes. Lena was not at all disconcerted. She sat down in the chair Francespointed out, carefully arranging her pocketbook and gray cotton gloves onher lap. We followed with our popcorn, but Antonia hung back--said she hadto get her cake into the oven.
"So you have come to town," said Mrs. Harling, her eyes still fixed onLena. "Where are you working?"
"For Mrs. Thomas, the dressmaker. She is going to teach me to sew. Shesays I have quite a knack. I'm through with the farm. There ain't any endto the work on a farm, and always so much trouble happens. I'm going to bea dressmaker."
"Well, there have to be dressmakers. It's a good trade. But I would n'trun down the farm, if I were you," said Mrs. Harling rather severely. "Howis your mother?"
"Oh, mother's never very well; she has too much to do. She'd get away fromthe farm, too, if she could. She was willing for me to come. After I learnto do sewing, I can make money and help her."
"See that you don't forget to," said Mrs. Harling skeptically, as she tookup her crocheting again and sent the hook in and out with nimble fingers.
"No, 'm, I won't," said Lena blandly. She took a few grains of the popcornwe pressed upon her, eating them discreetly and taking care not to get herfingers sticky.
Frances drew her chair up nearer to the visitor. "I thought you were goingto be married, Lena," she said teasingly. "Did n't I hear that NickSvendsen was rushing you pretty hard?"
Lena looked up with her curiously innocent smile. "He did go with me quitea while. But his father made a fuss about it and said he would n't giveNick any land if he married me, so he's going to marry Annie Iverson. Iwould n't like to be her; Nick's awful sullen, and he'll take it out onher. He ain't spoke to his father since he promised."
Frances laughed. "And how do you feel about it?"
"I don't want to marry Nick, or any other man," Lena murmured. "I've seena good deal of married life, and I don't care for it. I want to be so Ican help my mother and the children at home, and not have to ask lief ofanybody."
"That's right," said Frances. "And Mrs. Thomas thinks you can learndressmaking?"
"Yes, 'm. I've always liked to sew, but I never had much to do with. Mrs.Thomas makes lovely things for all the town ladies. Did you know Mrs.Gardener is having a purple velvet made? The velvet came from Omaha. My,but it's lovely!" Lena sighed softly and stroked her cashmere folds. "Tonyknows I never did like out-of-door work," she added.
Mrs. Harling glanced at her. "I expect you'll learn to sew all right,Lena, if you'll only keep your head and not go gadding about to dances allthe time and neglect your work, the way some country girls do."
"Yes, 'm. Tiny Soderball is coming to town, too. She's going to work atthe Boys' Home Hotel. She'll see lots of strangers," Lena added wistfully.
"Too many, like enough," said Mrs. Harling. "I don't think a hotel is agood place for a girl; though I guess Mrs. Gardener keeps an eye on herwaitresses."
Lena's candid eyes, that always looked a little sleepy under their longlashes, kept straying about the cheerful rooms with naive admiration.Presently she drew on her cotton gloves. "I guess I must be leaving," shesaid irresolutely.
Frances told her to come again, whenever she was lonesome or wanted adviceabout anything. Lena replied that she did n't believe she would ever getlonesome in Black Hawk.
She lingered at the kitchen door and begged Antonia to come and see heroften. "I've got a room of my own at Mrs. Thomas's, with a carpet."
Tony shuffled uneasily in her cloth slippers. "I'll come sometime, butMrs. Harling don't like to have me run much," she said evasively.
"You can do what you please when you go out, can't you?" Lena asked in aguarded whisper. "Ain't you crazy about town, Tony? I don't care whatanybody says, I'm done with the farm!" She glanced back over her shouldertoward the dining-room, where Mrs. Harling sat.
When Lena was gone, Frances asked Antonia why she had n't been a littlemore cordial to her.
"I did n't know if your mother would like her coming here," said Antonia,looking troubled. "She was kind of talked about, out there."
"Yes, I know. But mother won't hold it against her if she behaves wellhere. You need n't say anything about that to the children. I guess Jimhas heard all that gossip?"
When I nodded, she pulled my hair and told me I knew too much, anyhow. Wewere good friends, Frances and I.
I ran home to tell grandmother that Lena Lingard had come to town. We wereglad of it, for she had a hard life on the farm.
Lena lived in the Norwegian settlement west of Squaw Creek, and she usedto herd her father's cattle in the open country between his place and theShimerdas'. Whenever we rode over in that direction we saw her out amongher cattle, bareheaded and barefooted, scantily dressed in tatteredclothing, always knitting as she watched her herd. Before I knew Lena, Ithought of her as something wild, that always lived on the prairie,because I had never seen her under a roof. Her yellow hair was burned to aruddy thatch on her head; but her legs and arms, curiously enough, inspite of constant exposure to the sun, kept a miraculous whiteness whichsomehow made her seem more undressed than other girls who went scantilyclad. The first time I stopped to talk to her, I was astonished at hersoft voice and easy, gentle ways. The girls out there usually got roughand mannish after they went to herding. But Lena asked Jake and me to getoff our horses and stay awhile, and behaved exactly as if she were in ahouse and were accustomed to having visitors. She was not embarrassed byher ragged clothes, and treated us as if we were old acquaintances. Eventhen I noticed the unusual color of her eyes--a shade of deep violet--andtheir soft, confiding expression.
Chris Lingard was not a very successful farmer, and he had a large family.Lena was always knitting stockings for little brothers and sisters, andeven the Norwegian women, who disapproved of her, admitted that she was agood daughter to her mother. As Tony said, she had been talked about. Shewas accused of making Ole Benson lose the little sense he had--and that atan age when she should still have been in pinafores.
Lena Lingard knitting stockings]
Ole lived in a leaky dugout somewhere at the edge of the settle
ment. Hewas fat and lazy and discouraged, and bad luck had become a habit withhim. After he had had every other kind of misfortune, his wife, "CrazyMary," tried to set a neighbor's barn on fire, and was sent to the asylumat Lincoln. She was kept there for a few months, then escaped and walkedall the way home, nearly two hundred miles, traveling by night and hidingin barns and haystacks by day. When she got back to the Norwegiansettlement, her poor feet were as hard as hoofs. She promised to be good,and was allowed to stay at home--though every one realized she was as crazyas ever, and she still ran about barefooted through the snow, telling herdomestic troubles to her neighbors.
Not long after Mary came back from the asylum, I heard a young Dane, whowas helping us to thrash, tell Jake and Otto that Chris Lingard's oldestgirl had put Ole Benson out of his head, until he had no more sense thanhis crazy wife. When Ole was cultivating his corn that summer, he used toget discouraged in the field, tie up his team, and wander off to whereverLena Lingard was herding. There he would sit down on the draw-side andhelp her watch her cattle. All the settlement was talking about it. TheNorwegian preacher's wife went to Lena and told her she ought not to allowthis; she begged Lena to come to church on Sundays. Lena said she had n'ta dress in the world any less ragged than the one on her back. Then theminister's wife went through her old trunks and found some things she hadworn before her marriage.
The next Sunday Lena appeared at church, a little late, with her hair doneup neatly on her head, like a young woman, wearing shoes and stockings,and the new dress, which she had made over for herself very becomingly.The congregation stared at her. Until that morning no one--unless it wereOle--had realized how pretty she was, or that she was growing up. Theswelling lines of her figure had been hidden under the shapeless rags shewore in the fields. After the last hymn had been sung, and thecongregation was dismissed, Ole slipped out to the hitch-bar and liftedLena on her horse. That, in itself, was shocking; a married man was notexpected to do such things. But it was nothing to the scene that followed.Crazy Mary darted out from the group of women at the church door, and randown the road after Lena, shouting horrible threats.
"Look out, you Lena Lingard, look out! I'll come over with a corn-knifeone day and trim some of that shape off you. Then you won't sail round sofine, making eyes at the men! {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}"
The Norwegian women did n't know where to look. They were formalhousewives, most of them, with a severe sense of decorum. But Lena Lingardonly laughed her lazy, good-natured laugh and rode on, gazing back overher shoulder at Ole's infuriated wife.
The time came, however, when Lena did n't laugh. More than once Crazy Marychased her across the prairie and round and round the Shimerdas'cornfield. Lena never told her father; perhaps she was ashamed; perhapsshe was more afraid of his anger than of the corn-knife. I was at theShimerdas' one afternoon when Lena came bounding through the red grass asfast as her white legs could carry her. She ran straight into the houseand hid in Antonia's feather-bed. Mary was not far behind; she came rightup to the door and made us feel how sharp her blade was, showing us verygraphically just what she meant to do to Lena. Mrs. Shimerda, leaning outof the window, enjoyed the situation keenly, and was sorry when Antoniasent Mary away, mollified by an apronful of bottle-tomatoes. Lena came outfrom Tony's room behind the kitchen, very pink from the heat of thefeathers, but otherwise calm. She begged Antonia and me to go with her,and help get her cattle together; they were scattered and might be gorgingthemselves in somebody's cornfield.
"Maybe you lose a steer and learn not to make somethings with your eyes atmarried men," Mrs. Shimerda told her hectoringly.
Lena only smiled her sleepy smile. "I never made anything to him with myeyes. I can't help it if he hangs around, and I can't order him off. Itain't my prairie."