Dutch was out feeding his rabbits when I drove up. I let him show me the new doe he’d bought from Edwin Balmer, and then I said, “Dutch, if anything should ever happen to me, like I should die or something, I’d want you to have King and my three big does that have litters.”
Dutch looked at me as though he thought I’d gone crazy. Then he grinned and said, “What’s got into you, Little Britches? You been into the locoweed? The way you had the measles, if you didn’t die then, you’ll live to be a hundred.”
“Well, anything can happen to a fellow,” I told him; “’specially around horses, and if it should, Dutch, would you take King and the three big does?”
“Sure, I would,” Dutch said, “and if I kick the bucket first you can have this one.” He was just putting his new doe back into the hutch when I drove away.
Mother had the big laundry basket filled nearly to the brim with sandwiches, cookies, bananas, and all sorts of lunch things. When I got home with the wagon, she laid a few of our good clothes over the top of the food and tucked a doubled sheet in all around it—just the way she fixed the basket for Philip and me to take curtains to Denver on the streetcar.
After it was finished, Mother called Philip to her, hugged him half a minute, and said, “Ralph is going to take Elizabeth and me for a little drive. Do you think you could stay alone and watch the house? If Mr. Cash or anyone else should come, you could just say that Ralph is with me and will be home soon.”
Elizabeth was all dressed and asleep on the parlor sofa. I helped Mother on with her cloak, and brought Elizabeth while she was putting on her hat. At the front door, she looked back through the house, caught a quick little breath, then turned and followed me out to the wagon.
As we had planned that afternoon on our way home from Denver, I drove Mother up Lake Street so as not to go through the village, across Windemere, and to Englewood, over the top of the hills. Though I kept Lady at a good trot, except where it was uphill or the snow was deep, it took us more than a half hour. But we were both so busy thinking that we hardly said a word all the way.
Coming down Cherry Hill toward the end of the Denver streetcar line, Mother gave me a dollar, and said, “You boys drive to the end of the streetcar line in Littleton, then tie the reins to the whipstock so that Lady will go home by herself. Mr. Cash will be there soon to take care of her. Then take your basket on the car just as you would if it were curtains. Come straight to the Union Depot and find us. You will have to hurry, because you mustn’t miss the eight o’clock streetcar.”
As soon as the Denver car had gone with Mother and Elizabeth on it, I drove home as fast as I could. Philip was all right, and nobody had come to the house, so we took the big basket out and lifted it into the wagon. Then, after I’d said good by to Ducklegs and King, I dropped the new curtain over the front of my rabbit hutch and we drove down to Main Street. I didn’t want to say good-by to Lady. I wrapped the lines around the whipsocket and just stood by her head till the streetcar came. Then I told her Mr. Batchlett would be good to her, patted her on the neck, and clucked to her.
Philip and I had trouble finding the others when we got to the Denver Union Depot. They were all huddled in the darkest corner of the waiting room, and Mother was so nervous she couldn’t keep her hands still. Elizabeth was crying, and Muriel and Hal looked scared to death. They were whimpering, and it was all Grace could do to keep them from crying out loud.
As Philip and I came up, Mother whispered, “Sit right down here and keep quiet; we can’t have anything go wrong right here at the last minute. Ralph, would you go and find out which car is ours? It might be best if you just asked the gateman for the tourist car on the train that goes to Omaha.”
When I came back and told Mother that ours was next to the end car on track four, she picked Elizabeth up and started for the gate. She didn’t hurry, but she held her head up high and kept her face straight forward. Philip and I followed with the basket, and Grace brought the other children with their bundles.
It was at least ten minutes after we got on before the train started. All that time Mother was so nervous she seemed ready to fly, and she jumped every time a man spoke behind her. None of us said a word, and I think we all were as jumpy inside as Mother was—though Grace and I were the only ones who knew there was any reason to be.
When at last the wheels began to turn, it was as though something had shut the electricity off from Mother’s nerves. She just leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen her look.
After a few minutes Muriel said, “Mother, won’t you say us just one piece?”
Mother didn’t open her eyes, but she opened the comforting book of her memory and put together the lines that we needed as she read: “The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore. And He shall give His angels charge concerning thee, to keep thee; and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.”
Ralph Moody, Man of the Family
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