“Maybe the neighbors will be able to do something with him. They left saying that if no one else could get him out they were going to take matters into their own hands.”
“What did they mean?”
“I didn’t inquire. Better not be too inquisitive in a country where the sheriff lives miles away from trouble.”
“You’re right about that,” said Mr. Cleaver.
THE same delegation that had waited upon Mr. Peters visited the Crane Hollow school a few days later. It had been a hard day for Becky, for the children had been unusually trying and stupid, and in the absence of Ole, who was out of school for the day, the two Welp boys had been impertinent and disorderly. At the noon period, while the children were out playing with what was left of the snow, Becky was bent over spelling papers. She was smiling as she corrected Joan’s, who had found time, while waiting for the others to finish, to add to her sheet a few patriotic thoughts:
My Contry is avey swee land of libery of tey I sing
Oh say can you see by the danser lee light
Oh buetiful for spay shuss skies for am burst wave of grane
“One hundred per cent on the lesson that she commits to memory,” thought Becky. “About six per cent on the extemporaneous spelling. Which side of her paper is the real test?”
There was a bang on the window, and a snowball crashed through the glass, and struck the hot stove, hissing as it melted. Becky looked out of the window, but there was no sign of the culprit. She covered the broken pane with a piece of pasted paper, and went on with her work. When the pupils filed in in response to the school bell, she questioned them about the broken glass. All denied it, Peter Welp the most vociferously of all.
“It was you that threw it, Pete Welp,” accused Shirley Lambert.
“It was not, you little liar!”
“It was him, Miss Linville,” put in one of the Trainer twins. “He was aiming at me when he did it.” And there were several other voices that rose in the accusation.
Becky was pleasant, but firm. “Peter, the school commissioner won’t mend our windows for us. Ask your father to send us a pane of glass, and you and William can set it for us.”
“You see me doing that, don’t you?” inquired Pete, for the benefit of the school. “You can’t prove that I broke that window. If you say I did you’re a liar. Whoever says I did it is a liar, and he’s got to fight me.”
“It will be an all-school fight, then,” said Becky, trying to smile. “They all seem to think it was you, Peter.”
“They’ve got another think coming, then. I’ll never pay a cent for that glass, and you can’t make me.” He approached her in the aisle, and glared at her threateningly. “My father’ll back me up in it, too. He says if you get too fresh with me he’ll show you what’s what!”
“Take off your cap, and go back to your seat, Peter.”
In the absence of Ole, Pete dared to defy authority. “Nobody’s going to make me,” he repeated.
“You’ll either go back to your seat or else you’ll go home.”
“I’ll not do neither one.”
Becky hesitated a moment. She, too, realized that Ole was not there. But she had known for a long time that this conflict was bound to come, and that when it came she would have to meet it.
“You’ll have to, Peter,” she said firmly.
Pete had seen the hesitation, and knew that Becky was afraid. He advanced a step toward her with clenched fists and cloudy face.
Marietta, who was slower than the others, came through the outer door. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Pete Welp,” she said. “Your sisters wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for the teacher.”
Pete curved his backbone, in cruel imitation. “Shut up, Crip, or I’ll break your humpy back,” he growled.
All of the bottled-up wrath of the past year seethed inside of Becky. She had started school with the idea of letting bygones be bygones with the Welps, and in all these months she had never let fall any sign of her past resentment. But at the taunt to the crippled child the old fury that she had felt the day that Phil and Autie were lassoed came rushing over her. She understood how it was that civilization often dropped back into savagery. It was not kindness that could tame Pete Welp; it was justice that was needed—a rude, rough justice that he could understand. From that moment she knew that she must win in the battle of wills.
But Ole was not there. And Pete towered above her; the teacher would be a child in his hands. Strength could not be allowed to win; it must be a contest of wits. She withdrew a step or two as though frightened. Peter followed, menacingly. Becky stepped back farther, and again Peter followed. The girl gave a quick glance toward the outside door, now only a yard away. If Marietta had only left it ajar!
Step by step she backed toward it, as though intimidated. Step by step Peter followed, his face glowering, his fists ready. The little Wubbers shivered in their seats. Becky stretched out her arm behind her, and felt for the knob of the door. It was within her grasp. Pete brushed Marietta aside and came closer. Becky swung the door open wide, and, wheeling suddenly, gave the half-grown boy a mighty push. He was head and shoulders taller than she, but it was an unexpected assault. He was thrust through the doorway. Before he could turn back to the attack twenty eager hands had banged the door shut, and Becky turned the key in the lock.
Pete pounded at the door, but it stood firm. Becky went directly to the lessons. Paying as little attention as possible to the roars and threats outside, she called out a class, and began the arithmetic lesson. She felt sure that Pete could not get into the room, and that his brother would not attempt to get out and join him. Bill sat with a tamed expression, and the two little Welp girls cowered shamefacedly in their seats.
“Leave me in!” shouted Pete.
Becky shook the coal stove vigorously to drown out the noise, but gave no other evidence of attention.
“My father will make it hot for you! He’ll show you if you can put me out o’ school!”
“If your mother were cooking potatoes for your family of six, and she only had three potatoes, how would she divide them?” she asked Crystal.
“The baby don’t eat potatoes,” said the little girl.
“But suppose they all ate them, and your mother only had three, what would she do?”
Crystal was short on reasoning, but long on economy. “Mash ’em,” said she. The school room filled with laughter which Pete, outside, felt was directed at him. He grew more noisy, and the lesson went on to the accompaniment of shrill catcalls, snowballs and threats, aimed at both teacher and schoolhouse. Becky tried to act as unconcerned as though that were a part of every day’s program, but it was hard to get the children back to work. So it was a relief when wheels sounded outside, the catcalls stopped, and a procession of parents filed into the room. Mrs. Wubber led the way, carrying a large bundle which she set on Becky’s table. Becky found chairs and empty desks for the other visitors, but Mrs. Wubber declined a seat. The children looked at her wide-eyed as she stepped to the front of the room, settled her hat more firmly, and addressed those assembled:
Ladies, gentlemen, childern, and Miss Linville".
When anything happens that is more than of average occurrence it is quite fitting that it be celebrated in some way. So it is with the Fourth of July and Christmas, which, while not much observed in this part of the country, is more observed in some other parts. Especially if there is a brave deed do we observe it with medals or monuments or other rewards.
We are here today, childern and fellow citizens, to rememberate a recent happening which was as brave as the winter in Valley Forge or the freeing of the slaves. I refer, as you all know, to the blizzard in Tripp County, which would have robbed us of our nearest and dearest if it had not been for the ee-nergy, the wisdom and the couringe of one person. Also the good horse-sense of that person, whom you all know.
Becky gave a little gasp. What was coming next.
The people of Tripp County are not r
ich in material wealth, but their hearts are true and they know a good deed when they see one. Also they know how to be grateful for favors, such as having their children restored to them with no damage but an empty stummick, after a night of sleepless worry on our parts.
We feel that such bravery and couringe should not go unnoticed and unrewarded. So we have asked small contributions from parents in this district, and I am glad to say that with but one exception, all compiled. With these funds we have purchased a slight token of our esteem, which I now take pleasure in presenting to your teacher, our friend, and the heroween of Tripp County—Miss Rebecca Linville.
The room rang with the applause. Mrs. Wubber wiped her hot face, and reached for the package on the table. She unwrapped the paper, and placed the contents in Becky’s hands. It was a giant vase, over two feet high. A vase that in its past life had been covered with putty or plaster. Into this soft surface had been pressed such ornamental objects as marbles, screws, buttons, shells, tobacco tags, keys, cruet tops, and suspender buckles. These had been allowed to set, and the putty to harden, after which the vase had received a coat of bronze paint that gave a most regal effect to the commonplace articles embedded therein. Nothing more hideous could have been conceived, but the eyes of the homesteaders, as well as the children, glistened with admiration as they beheld its glories.
A year before the gift would have been comic to Becky. But now she saw only the friendship and the gratitude that had prompted it. She knew from what poverty-stricken homes had gone the pennies that had purchased it, and the pitiful stock from which a present could be selected in that homesteading country. There was real gratitude and tenderness in her voice as she tried to return thanks for the gift. The school work was stopped, and there was a program of music before the school was dismissed.
Mrs. Wubber, once off the lecture platform, became easy and colloquial. “We ’lowed you must be havin’ trouble with those Welps, just as we came,” she said. “That Pete was peltin’ the school door good and proper. You should have seen him scuttle when we druv up.”
Becky explained the discord of the afternoon. “It was I who put him out,” she concluded with a sigh. “But I suppose the same trouble will start all over in the morning. He threatened to bring his father back and ‘settle me.’ I suppose I’m in for another fight, and I’m afraid there won’t be another open door handy next time.”
“You’ll have no more trouble with the Welps,” said Mr. Trainer, looking very pleased.
“Why not?”
“They’re going to move away.”
“When?”
“Soon as the roads are dry enough to freight their goods.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dead sure,” said Mr. Trainer. The other parents laughed. Everybody seemed pleased at something.
“Did Mr. Welp tell you he was going away to stay?”
“We told him,” answered Mr. Lambert. “We men made a call on him on our way over here—a neighborly call, but a business one, too. We told him we didn’t like his looks—his nor his family’s—and that we’d decided that Tripp County air wasn’t healthy for any of them. We thought he’d better move before any more cows got loose or children were abused; we were sick of seeing him pick on women and kids. He got fighting mad, of course, and said it was a free country; that he had this claim before you did, and he was going to keep it if he had to mortgage his soul for it.”
“Lambert told him his soul was mighty poor security, and no bank would take it,” put in Mr. Trainer.
“We all got after him, finally,” said Mr. Lambert, “and told him that we weren’t going to stand for him any longer. That if he dared go on with his contest we’d all get up and swear, lie or no lie, that you Linvilles were here first; he wouldn’t get one neighbor to testify for him. We mentioned, too, that tar and feathers could be got hold of without any trouble, and that we’d just about got to the tar and feather stage of the game. We told him that we’d give him fifty dollars for his shack—that’s about forty-three dollars more than it’s worth—and that he’d have to light out. He could decide than and there.”
“And what did he do?” asked Becky, breathless with suspense.
“Cussed us all round, kicked the cat, and finally growled out that he’d go as soon as the roads dried up. I believe he mentioned something about not caring much for his neighbors, either, but we didn’t wait for his comments. We picked up our women folks and came over here to celebrate.”
“It’s a wonderful celebration,” said Becky. “It’s two gifts you’ve brought me, not one; my, won’t the Linvilles sleep well tonight!”
“A nice easy feeling all around,” said Mr. Trainer. “I guess there ain’t much doubt, now, of our keeping our teacher.”
The Wubbers offered Becky a seat in their wagon when the party started home, but she was not quite ready to leave. She sent the two children with them, waved a grateful good-by to the committee, and turned back to the schoolroom for a few last duties. She sang as she cleaned the blackboard, pushed back the desks and picked up the waste paper from the floor. The fear and menace of her life was gone now; she felt safe and happy. And that safety and happiness had been purchased by the fifty pieces of silver that had been given, a dime and a quarter at a time, by her poverty-stricken neighbors. They had come from homes where bread was needed, and potatoes; where there was no meat, and not enough heat, and insufficient clothes. Yet it had been given graciously and willingly—a grateful thank-offering from appreciative hearts.
Had it ever been that she thought the prairie an unfriendly place? That seemed years ago. It was her school now; her claim. Dakota was her home.
As she lifted Joan’s spelling book to carry home with her, a paper fell out on the floor. Becky, picking it up, read:
The Welps they are so mene a lot
I wisch theyd die upon the spot
not both the grils that can not help
from being souch a thing as welp
But I wold be verry verry glad if bill and pete
wold be fond ded upon the strete.
Becky looked and laughed. “There’s a better solution than that, Miss Joan,” she said to the air. “Just wait until I get home and tell you!”
UNDER the prairie winds the roads dried quickly, and the following Sunday the Cleavers came over the Linville trail to congratulate Becky. She had become famous, said Mr. Cleaver, with a smile that held pride as well as fun; the Dallas News had not alone a story, but an editorial about her that had been copied everywhere in the state, and the history of her night in the blizzard had gone all over the country.
“Prairie Heroine Defies Elements,” said Dick, with a grin.
“That’ll be all from you, young man,” replied Mr. Cleaver. “You can spend your time in being proud of that sister of yours. She’s better known in South Dakota than I am after thirty years of residence here. Everybody’s talking about her.”
“Have you seen her vase?” asked Dick.
Becky threw a warning glance at him. Not even to the Cleavers would she admit that there was anything unbeautiful in that gift.
The children could not wait to tell that the Welp family were leaving the neighborhood. “That’s what we’re celebrating today,” said Becky. “Dick killed a chicken for us, and we’re not going to have turnip or prunes! In other words, it’s a holiday. How lucky you happened along when it’s roast chicken instead of eggs served in a frying pan.”
Mr. Cleaver went out with Dick to see the work that had been done on the dam during the last days of fall. He had built a wall across the creek-bed, plastered the cracks, and built an overflow for the water. “I didn’t have much heart in the work when I started it,” he explained. “I was afraid I was doing it for the Welps. But that worry’s over now.”
“You’ll have a real lake here when the ice melts,” said Mr. Cleaver.
“That’s what I’m after,” said the boy. “Beck misses the trees an awful lot. I never think of that part of Platteville, b
ut you know how girls are: they’ll put up with all kinds of trouble without a word, and then go dippy over missing a hill. Just as soon as the frost gets out of the ground I’m going to move up a few cottonwoods and an ash from the thicket, and Mr. Dennison is going to send me some cedars and a couple of hard maples from home. I think they’ll grow near the water. Becky never could get over the birds trying to find shade behind the fence posts, last summer, and I’m going to see that she has a little herself when it gets a hundred in the shade. She was a pretty good scout last year, and hot weather is fierce on her, too.”
“Your fourteen months will be up next summer.”
“Yes, the last of next July.”
“Are you going to be able to meet your payments?”
“Yes, we’re all right now—if nobody’s sick. We have new tenants in the Platteville house, and with Beck teaching school we’ll be on Easy Street. It won’t be long now before I can help.”
“You don’t seem to have been exactly idle all the time you’ve been out here. What will you do after your fourteen months are up? Think you’d be satisfied to stay on in Dakota?”
Dick looked abashed, but pleased at the praise. “Sure,” he answered. “I didn’t feel that way last summer, when things looked so black. But living’s easier now, and it gets easier every day. The kids look better than they ever did before in their lives—I guess we all do—and we’re learning how to get along better. I’d like to stay and see what we can make out of the place as a farm, not a claim. We’ve just got things started to work for us, and it’s fun to see how they turn out. But the staying’s up to Beck.”
“Is she lonely for Platteville?”
“Well, I don’t know what to say. She loves this place more than I do, I believe. You know Becky; she can get drunk on a sunset. But she doesn’t get over Uncle Jim. She says she left him behind in Platteville; that he’s never seemed to be out here with us. Of course she doesn’t kick about living here—Beck never says she’s lonesome—but I know just the same. It’s Uncle Jim she wants, though, more than Platteville.”
The Jumping-Off Place Page 16