USA > South Dakota > Jerauld County > A history of Jerauld county, South Dakota > Part 38
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39
-
429
upon a steady improvement, little dreaming that it came about through the presence of the little black figure, well to the front of the room, and al- ways there.
She, in turn grew to feel the importance of her positon and to as- sume a responsibility in the direction of the church affairs to an unwonted degree. At one of the minor meetings in the absence of the pastor, she had even pronounced the benediction, but after a quiet explanation from the preacher, she had not again attempted that, confining herself to mat- ters more closely within her sphere.
She had many years to make up-Uncle Jimmie had never approved . of church going.
"What's the use a-wastin' time that away," he would growl, "horses that 'ave been worked 'ard h'all the week shoudn't ort to be druv on Sun- day-h'anyow don't see what you want to go fur .- Notice the folks that's so hanxious to go to church 're no better 'n them 'at stay at 'ome. Didn't h'old Bill Lawson, who was allus going to church, sell me seed flax as was more'n 'alf mustard, chargin' me fur the best flax?"
All these things were forgotten now, however, and Granny often sighed and wished "poor Jimmie" could have been with her to enjoy the church meetings.
Next to church going she most delighted in visiting-spending the day with her new acquaintances of the town or country near by. Her ten years residence within a few miles of the town had not made for her as many friends as the first year in her new home. She believed, without having heard it said, that she who would have friends, must show herself friendly, and so much of her time was spent in "visitations."
One bright, brisk morning in December, while the most of the town folks were still leisurely breakfasting, the quaint little figure in black shawl and hood started for a long day at the home of Mrs. Douglas. It was a hard walk-two miles over frozen country roads, with no chance of a ride, for all the teams were bound for the village. It was a breath- less old lady with red cheeks and blurred eyes who surprised Mrs. Doug- las's as she was skimming the milk for the calves' breakfast.
"Goodness, Grandma Smith, how you stratled me. You must be frozen after that long walk against the cold wind. Come in and sit by the fire-put your feet right in the oven and get them warm, while I make you a cup of tea," said Mrs. Douglass, as she bustled about helping remove the old lady's wraps, getting a newspaper to shield her face from the too ardent fire, and bringing out tea pot and caddy.
"You came just in time-yesterday I made a big batch of doughnuts. and I guess they're good the way they have been disappearing."
430
Grannie's face fairly beamed as she thawed under the influence of warm kitchen, hospitable greeting and the refreshing tea.
"You're right 'arly this mornin', Mis Douglass,-thought sure h'Id be down 'fore breakfast dishes wus washed. Anything special h'on to- day, you're so smart?"
"O, we're early birds down here, grandma, and today Malcolm is going up north for seed corn, so he wanted to be off in good season. You know how short the days are."
Good Mrs. Douglass said nothing of her plan to accompany Malcolm and visit a distant neighbor on the way. She was accustomed to Gran- ny's unexpected appearances.
"I declare," she had said to a friend whom Granny was also fond of visiting, "sometimes when the day's plans are so upset I feel like telling her she must send me word before coming, but that face-so unconscious that there can be anything more important than her entertainment- closes my lips ; I cannot bear to see the joy die out. Think how few her pleasures are at best."
So not a hint of frustrated plans appeared in her cordial manner, and when Malcolm rushed in with the cry, "All ready soon's I hitch un," on his lips her warning glance and shake of the head told him his journey must be made without her.
Malcolm was a prime favorite, and his gay greeting, "Hello, grandma, where'd you get those dandy red cheeks? The girls don't stand any show when you're around," met with broad smiles and a "Just 'ear that now. Don't 'e love to flatter the h'old ladies though?"
"No sir! I never flatter. You know, grandma," sitting down close bende her, "I always thought," but the rest of the sentence was finished in her ear and lost to all others. The effect was overpowering, for she laughed until she coughed and choked and wound up in a wild gale of cackles and gurgles.
"Go on now," she gasped, with tears streaming down her face, as Malcolm, seizing a doughnut in each hand, kissed his mother goodbye and was off with a parting wave to her. "Aint 'e the greatest-allus 'as the gay word for h'everybody-sech a pranker."
Then, and her eyes took on a faraway look, she said, "You know. Mis Douglass, that dear boy do make me think o' my poor dear Jimmie more and more h'every time I see 'im."
Mrs. Douglass looked amused, for Uncle Jimmie, the gruff, surly old man, wasting few words, pleasant or otherwise on anyone, seemed end- lessly remote from her bright-faced boy, whose cheery presence and quick wit brightened not only the home but the whole neighborhood.
43I
"Yes," granny went on reflectively, " 'e cerinly do make me think o' Jimmie in 'is talk and hactions. Yes, hand in 'is looks too-that red 'air do remind me of Jimmie's ginger whiskers."
Mrs. Douglass laughed heartily. "Well Malcolm's hair is inclined to be gingery, and he is certainly the spice of our family. We will miss him sadly when he is off to school next month."
"Poor granny, how quickly all remembrance of disappointment and hardship has vanished," thought Mrs. Douglass, "she is enjoying Uncle Jimmie more in his death than she ever did in his life."
It was true,-the great alchemist Time had cast a pleasing glow over the past, eliminating all the glooni and shadows. To his widow now Jim- mie Smith had grown into the likeness of all one could desire, and Mal- colm's attractive face and manner personified to her all that she would ask for her husband.
Mrs. Douglas broke into her reverie by saying, "Now, grandma, shall we go into the other room and get to work? I have a comforter on the frames and while we visit I will try to tie it off. Yes, you may help if you wish, if it is not too hard for you."
A big base burner made this room comfortable. The bright sunlight flooded it through the south windows, and added almost a feeling of - summer, which could only be dissipated by a glance at the wintry land- scape outside. An organ brought from the east stood in one corner, neal it a bookcase, fashioned by Mrs. Douglass' own clever hands, and filled with well selected works. A roomy table, holding the big lamp, was well littered with books and magazines. Neighbors said, "Those Douglasses will never be rich. Look at the money they spend for books and papers. Why their magazines must cost them $10 a year. Think of getting a dif- ferent magazine for each of them six children. It's reckless waste."
Grandma seized upon some of the recent publications-Mrs. Douglass noticed she selected those belonging to the younger children-and looked through the pictures, but talk was more to her taste, and soon needles were threaded and she prepared to do her share of both talk and work. Mrs. Douglass was a safe companion. Under her kindly thought and suggestion, harsh criticism and unneighborly gossip were changed into harmless and friendly feeling.
"Well, Mis Douglass, did you 'ear 'ow cut up Mis Jack Thompson was when she got to church last Sunday mornin', a leetle late o' course, and found that Mattie Garraway up playin' the orgin in her place ? You know Mis Thompson thinks that Mattie's tryin' to git in as organist, and all them Garraways are jest pushin' her for'd."
"Why no, grandma, that's a mistake. Mrs. Thompson is a very busy woman and with all her family cares it is not strange she should occa-
432
sionally be late to church, and I know she is glad to have Mattie there to take her place when she is detained. It is so kind of her to give her talent freely and we should appreciate it."
"Well now, mebbe that's so, 'course I don't know nothin' about it, but that's the way it was handled to me," said granny, her mind easily diverted and ready to think good will to men, if somebody would only suggest it to her."
"Didn't you think Brother Norvell preached a powerful sermon week ago on the mistakes o' Cain? I tell you I couldn't help a thinkin' o' Mr. Miller and the spite he holds agin that good Mr. Grayson. You know for a long time 'e wouldn't come to church at h'all, 'e was so mad. 'I went right hup to im after meetin' and said 'h'I tell you that ort to be a strong example to h'us these days, sez I, not to hate our brotherin, but before h'I could say h'anything more 'e jest grunted and walked h'away. H'I tell ye Mis Douglass, that man's powerful sot, and if 'e haint watchin' i's steps e'll fall in the mud," finished granny with a pious look.
"Well, we must remember that Mr. Miller has not had the advantages of some and while he is very decided in his opinions and does not easily forgive, yet he is a kind neighbor and thoughtful of those less fortunate than himself."
"That's so," agreed granny again, reminded of his many visits to her door with vegetables from his well stocked pit, a chicken or a fresh piece of meat, "H'I allus did say that man 'ad a good 'art in 'is stummick. There's something good about h'anyone as has a warm thought for the widders and fatherless."
The day wore pleasantly away, granny enjoying to the utmost the atmosphere of the well ordered home.
"My land, Mis Douglass, h'I must be gittin' 'ome. Time h'I git my water and coal for the night, 'twill be supper time, tho I dunno 's I'll need much arter that 'earty dinner I et. But l'I'll 'ave a cup o' tea and get somethin' for Moses."
"Who's Moses? Well now you knew I named that cat Moses, didn't ve? Didn't h'Il tell ye 'bout findin' 'im down in the Big Gulch sort o' caught in an old basket right in the runway? His yowls was gettin' feeble an' guess 'e begun to give up 'ope. I wonder I never told you about that. Anyhow, cause o' findin' h'im that way I called 'im Moses, and 'es as much comfort to me as h'ever the real Moses was to old Pharaoh way down in Egypt. 'E'll be at the door waitin' for me when i git 'ome," continued the old lady as she fastened the thick black shawl about her.
"Here, grandma, is something I've been intending for you and I think it will be a comfort during the cold trip home. I noticed your face was not well protected this morning and this thick veil you will find very
433
warm." So saying Mrs. Douglas proceeded to wrap the veil about gran- ny's head.
"Jest wait a minit, Mis Douglas, 'fore you tie that, there's something I want to speak about. You know they've decided to have another tree Christmas eve in the church like they did last year. Now if you really want to give that veil to me, and I certainly would be hawful thankful for "it, would you mind 'angin' it hon the Christmas tree instid?"
Then as Mrs. Douglas did not immediately reply, she went on: "You know every year it seems all the folks gits somethink on that tree but me, and its right lonesome settin' there jest lookin' on. I had some thought o' makin' up somethink and 'angin' a little parcel h'on fer myself. Of course no one would a knowed I done it, but seein' 's your givin' me this so near Christmas I reely would enjoy it a heap more if it came on the tree."
Mrs. Douglass showed no amusement at the odd request and assured granny that she could quite understand the feeling, but insisted upon her wearing the veil home.
The sudden appearance of Mr. Douglas with the announcement that he found it necessary to go to town and granny could ride, cut short the conversation and nothing more was said about the Christmas tree.
"Poor old grandma. The Christmas joy is for the children, and what is she but a child. Her life really began when she came to town to live, so she is pretty young still, and there are few of us who would think her existence held much to be happy over. I wonder I never before thought she might better enjoy her Christmas things if they came by way of Santa Claus and the tree," mused Mrs. Douglass as she went about preparations for the supper and made everything cozy for the home com- ing of the children from school. Her warm heart could understand and sympathize with the longing of children of whatever age, and between that time and Christmas she made several quiet suggestions to her friends.
The great night came at last and the church was crowded with people of all ages. Every seat was taken, all standing room filled. Even the high window sills each held two venturesome boys who could not under ordinary circumstances have kept still enough to sit on such uncertain perches. In her usual Sunday seat, second from the front, sat Grandma Smith among the children. Christmas songs were lustily sung, Christ- mas recitations given. From the tiniest member of the primary class who lisped, "The Bells of Christmas Ring," and then too much overcome to finish his couplet ran to hide his face in his mother's lap, to the almost young lady, who read of the Star and the Shepherds from Ben Hur. all ranks of the Sunday school were represented. But the crowning joy came with sudden and dramatic entry of Santa Claus from the cunningly
434
devised fire place and chimney, who, after a bright speech of greeting proceeded to distribute the gifts about the tree and in his pack.
Granny's face was as eager as any about her, and she had quite for- gotten the disappointment of past years when Santa Claus in loud tones announced "Grandma Smith," holding high a large white parcel. Then a moment later another, this time a tiny one. The old lady's surprise and delight were touching. At each call she would rise and bow her thanks to the princely benefactor, greeting the bearer of the gift with out- stretched arms. By the time the tree was stripped she was almost hid- den beneath her gifts and so overcome she could only sit quietly with tears running down her withered cheeks.
The young men, headed by Malcolm, escorted her and her treasures home, and after giving three cheers for "Grandma Smith, the most popular girl in town," left her table piled high to spend the rest of the night opening and enjoying her parcels. Even Moses was not forgotten, for one little packet bearing the inscription, "For Moses,-Merry Christ- mas," proved to be a beautiful red bow for his neck.
The next Sunday as soon as the sermon was ended Grandma rose in her place and said "I hask your pardon, Brother Norvell, for gittin' up now, but if I don't tell these folks my thanks I can't stand it. Nothink I can ever say will let you know what my feelins 'as been sence Christmas eve. I know now 'ow the Prodigal Son felt when 'e came 'ome, and I jest wish I 'ad a fatted calf to give h'every one o' ye. God bless ye." ยท The joy of the Christmas time remained a never failing delight as the days went by, and everyone she met must needs hear of the comfort and pleasure she had enjoyed. Different ones, however, noticed as time went on, and the bracing cold winds yielded to the milder breath of spring that grandma was not as active-seemed content to be dreamily at home with the faded blue eyes fixed upon the waving grass growing green upon the hillside. To all inquiries, however, she returned the same answer : "Never was sick in my life-don't know why I should be now. Jest a leetle tired 's all, or else I've got spring fever."
One Sunday evening she was not in her accustomed seat at the service the first time she had missed in her four years of town life, and Mrs. Douglass went to learn if she was sick.
"No, not a mite sick, Mis Douglass, jest a bit tired, and somehow tonight when the bell rang it said, 'set and rest, set and rest,' instid of 'come to church, come to church,' as it allus 'as afore. Ben thinkin' a 'eap o' poor dear Jimmie tonight. You know I believe that poor man used to git hawful tired with 'is work, but 'e never said nothink about it. I've worried some about 'im sence I've ben a livin' here, the way 'e used to go on about things, never went to church nor took no intrust, but
-
435
settin' here tonight it come to me that it's all right. Poor Jimmie never 'ad no chance at h'anythink but 'ard work sence 'e was born, never had anybody to look arter him till 'e got me, and praps I. want much 'elp. I was jest a wishin' 'e could ha ben 'ere to 'ave enjoyed this Christmas with me. I know there never was a Christmas like it afore."
"No, there haint nothink you can do fer me. I haint sick-jest a leetle tired. I'll be all right in the mornin'. Good night, Miss Douglas, I'm comin' down one of these days for a good visit."
The next morning the neighbors, noticing an unusual quiet about the little home, went in-the door was never locked. Granny was lying quietly, still resting, with a smile of great content upon her old worn face.
They carried her to her beloved church, in accordance with her oft expressed wish and the minister spoke simply, telling of the inspiration her faithfulness had been to him, drawing lessons of courage and help- fulness from the simple, homely life for all his people. "These closing years," he said, "have been like the golden glow of the sunset, breaking through the clouds after a gloomy day, casting its softening, reflection over the day that is past and forecasting the glory to come."
A REVERIE
In Which a Burgomaster is Shown Some of the Old Ways of Wessing- ton Springs.
Twelve o'clock-midnight, and all was well. The street presented the appearance of a city in the night watches when the police are asleep. The last tired laborer had gone to his couch and to the refreshing slumber earned by honest toil.
The full moon from behind great banks of fleecy clouds was flooding the earth with a faint light that slightly relieved the darkness of the hour. Large objects were dimly visible a few feet away.
Insomnia, superinduced by heat and the manifold cares of city govern- ment, caused the burgomaster to leave his bed and wander forth upon the deserted streets. The air was still, and listen as he might, not a sound could his overwrought nerves distinguish; yet there was vibration, noise, sound, something like the moaning of the forest, or the sullen indisting- uishable roar of the ocean in calm. B. was feeling, rather than hearing. the great speechless voice of the prairie-the never-still noise of silence.
A half hour the B. stood, resting his hand against the liberty pole that stands, and has stood for years, in the center of the square at the crossing
436
of the main streets of the town. His head was bent, his gaze fixed upon the ground at his feet. He was absorbed in thought of the many cares laid upon him.
Suddenly B. felt, rather than heard, that someone was approaching. He raised his head and looked about. From the direction of the Willard Hotel a man was approaching, distinguishable through the darkness by his long beard and flowing locks, both of which were snowy white. The stranger made no sound as he came along the street. He advanced with rapid steps straight to the waiting magistrate and when almost within reach of arm, came to a sudden halt.
"Who are you?" said the alderman, in wonder at the appearance of the stranger.
"Don't know me, eh? Forgotten me so quick, have you? Well, sir, I at one time knew you very well, and you knew me very well, too. I was once the best friend you had, but so is the way of the world. A good friend is forgotten so soon as he is powerless to help."
"But, really, I do not recall you ; your appearance must have changed greatly. Tell me, who are you, I would not appear ungrateful."
"Don't worry, Mr. Aldeman, I am one of a very large family, and but few of us are remembered, except by an individual, now and then. We are hailed with joy and bell ringing when we come, but the bells peal just as loudly at our funerals, for another member of the family is always at hand to try what he can do for men."
"But who are you?" repeated the burgomaster, "from your aged ap- pearance you must be tired and in need of rest. Why did you not stop at the hotel yonder? Where are you going? Why are you out at this hour ?"
"I might put the same question to you, for it is the time when you and your family are wont to take their rest. But as for me and my fam- ily, no one of them ever yet was tired, though they have been numbered by thousands. They never sleep and never rest. I have come to look over the place where I lived and to see what my brothers have done for the people, every one of whom I knew so well. Will you pilot me about the place? I see many changes have occurred since I left. I came in on the old stage road that George Pratt traveled when he carried the mail for Bert Orr from Plankinton to Huron. Bert Orr had a livery stable here, you know, and Pratt rode in an open buggy summer and winter, carry- ing an umbrella over him to keep off the sun in hot weather, and in front of him to keep off the wind when it was cold. I think there are some here yet, who rode with him in that old buggy."
"Where is your team and vehicle?" asked the magistrate, still peering in the darkness at his singular companion."
437
"Didn't have any," said the stranger. "Makes too much noise. To carry me they take Time, and go too slow."
"Do you tell me you came on foot and are not tired."
"No matter how I came," said the mysterious stranger. "I got here on the old stage -road; I came through the Bateman gulch, that is what we used to call it before the Chicago preacher got hold of it. I climbed over or crawled through wire fences that now cross the road, till I got up on the hill. I find that the cemetery has spread out and increased in population, as well as the town. It is but a few rods east of the old road, so I went over there to look about a bit. It's a sightly spot and could be made very beautiful but will never be attractive. A few houses about forty rods west of the road have been built since I was here. Then I followed along this way till I came to a woven wire fence. I climbed that a couple of times and finally bumped up against the southwest corner of a lumber yard that has the name of Fullerton painted on the long build- ing which forms part of the inclosure. Then I went to the hotel built by Mrs. Spears and Jesse, away back there in the '8os. I saw a nice thrifty bush of yellow roses growing on the south side of the hotel. I remember when the good woman put the little sprout there and gave it the name of the great president of the W. C. T. U. Mrs. Spears always called it the Willard rose. I wonder how many of your people remember the bush and its name, though I warrant you all admire it and its blos- soms at the return of each June time. But I want to visit the Barrett gulch, where Uncle Peter and Aunt Sarah kept the Elmer postoffice, be- fore the town was large enough to claim an office and change its name.
"But you will not think of going on tonight; you cannot find the way."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the stranger; "don't worry, but go with me and I will show you that I can follow the old trail in a night darker than this."
"But its all changed and fenced, and buildings erected in the old way," exclaimed the alderman.
"Never mind about that," said the strange old man, as he clutched his long bony fingers about the Squire's arm and urged him on.
Starting from the liberty pole, the stranger, with wonderful strength for one so old, hurried the alderman west. down Main street a few yards, remarking that the hill was not as steep as when he lived in W., then turned to the right.
"They didn't have any stones in the street when I lived here," said the old man, as he stumbled on to the cement sidewalk. "But what's this?" he exlaimed, as he ran against a building. "I am in the road, surc. Has some one put a building in the road? 'Tisn't the post office? No.
438
that stands right where Uncle Peter built it when he came down town."
"This is Frick's drug store," said the burgomaster.
"Built right in the road," said the old man ; "why don't you make him move it?"
"We moved the road."
"That ye couldn't do. You might have laid out a new one, but the old one can't be moved. That's why I know I can follow it. Come on, we'll go round the house and get in the road beyond it. Now, turn to the left," he said, as they got to the northeast corner of the drug store, "and we'll find the road again. Thunder !" he exclaimed, as he and the magistrate plumped together down against another building. "What they got here?"
"Pfaff's bowling alley," said the squire.
"It's in the road and we've a right to step on it," said the old man, testily. "Come on, what next? Is the bridge gone?" he asked, as he plunged into the creek, dragging the burgomaster after him.
"People don't cross the creek here any more," said the alderman, as he lifted his muddy boots and stood beside the old man.
"Moved it, I suppose. Why don't they put their buildings by the side of the road, as they did in Boston, instead of making a new way every time a man wants to build a house. Now what?" the stranger inquired, as they came to the corner of a good sized structure.
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.