Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
take the girls back in time for school. Andrew fairly shouted with
joy at the sight of his old master; Jennie was no less jubilant, but
had a different way of showing it; not until sleep overtook them,
could either restrain their long pent-up feelings.
The two men counselling together that night agreed upon a course of
action--first, that with Linda's consent an addition would be built
to the cabin, and a {186} one-room cabin put up for Andrew; second,
that Pelton would return home immediately, taking the girls to his
home until Kate could make suitable arrangements for them in their
own home in the village near the school; and third, that the Squire
should stay with Linda for an indefinite time, or at least until
after the approaching event that was to mean so much for her.
It required only one week to have Andrew's one-room cabin ready to
move into, and not much longer to complete the addition to the main
dwelling, more than doubling its rooming capacity. Meanwhile Isaac
had returned home with the girls ready for school. The two men
wanted to build a more pretentious residence, but Linda said she
preferred to live in the humble one that Ben had built with his own
hands.
The little conveniences that he had provided seemed doubly precious
in her eyes; every shelf and cooking utensil, the sheet iron stove
and even the cups he had used all seemed treasures to her. Having
been planned and built to accommodate Craig as well as Ben, the cabin
was commodious and very comfortable. She did want an open fireplace,
that she might enjoy the cheerful glow of the evening fire and the
pure-health giving air; so a large fireplace was built in it.
* * * * * * * * *
The Squire had been busy during the summer, and raised a bounteous
crop on the fresh plowed virgin {187} soil; to protect it during the
winter he had erected a "post-barn" large enough to shelter all the
stock and store the provender. Trunks of beautiful young timber
growths up to a hundred feet in length and practically any size
desired, were easily obtainable. A post-barn was constructed by
planting posts of this timber deep in the ground to support a roof,
using the ground as a floor; with a shelter on the windward side,
stock would be comfortable in the open air of the mild Oregon winter.
Andrew was happy in the thought of staying with Linda, without
expecting compensation for his labor; a wage was something foreign to
his mind. He was denied the privilege of owning a home in his own
right; and what was the use of earning wages, when he could not
enforce collection in courts closed to him? But these things did not
disturb him, as he lived in an atmosphere of love for his master and
missus, Jennie and Margie, and was happy.
December had come, and still the flowers remained in bloom and the
grass green; Christmas was approaching, and the Squire said they
ought to celebrate. He hoped to divert Linda's mind from her great
loss; but was puzzled how to do so. His first thought was to make a
present to her, though uncertain what would be the best selection.
Linda did not enter into the spirit of the suggested festivities--not
that she was brooding over her affliction, for she had regained her
cheerfulness. When Christmas was only three days away, and {188}
before the Squire had made up his mind about the present and the
celebration, a boy of nine pounds appeared in the cabin; and all
agreed that his name should be Benjamin.
Kate--hereafter Mrs. Pelton now that she is a mother--was delighted
when she heard that Linda also had a boy; no trace of jealousy tinged
her thought. Isaac, her own little son, was the brightest and cutest
baby in all the world; there could be no rival to him, and nothing
would excite the remotest feeling of envy. Sincere congratulations
were sent by Mr. and Mrs. Pelton to Mrs. Hardy with a substantial
gift for Benjamin, "the future protector of his mother and a joy
forever."
From some unexplained cause, both mothers felt that the two babes
were to be drawn close together in the experiences of life, as their
parents had been. Mrs. Pelton, whose wishes seemed almost prophetic,
freely communicated these thoughts to Mrs. Hardy--not Linda any more.
Prophecies of later days, like those of olden times, are often
remarkably fulfilled.
The two "babes in the woods," we might almost literally say, grew and
thrived amazingly under the best maternal care and in the healthful
environment of pure air and mild climate. Mulhall zealously guarded
the supply of pure milk and food for the household, and looked after
the little one with an almost paternal affection. After putting it
off as long as possible, he reluctantly informed Mrs. Hardy {189}
that he must soon leave for his own home, and at the same time
lessened her anxieties by saying that he would provide for her
financial needs.
Pelton had reached his own conclusion that Ben Hardy's widow needed
Andrew more than he; and wrote that the colored man could remain with
her a year or longer--practically without limit of time. That was a
sacrifice, as Isaac had planned to have his former slaves near-by,
where he could make their advancing years comfortable and happy; but
was now convinced that Andrew and Jennie would be about as content
where they were as in his own home, and, realized that they would
greatly assist Mrs. Hardy. A second letter, received soon after
father Mulhall arrived home, so informed Mrs. Hardy, to her great joy
and relief; she often wondered if it would ever be possible to repay
this great kindness, forgetting that Pelton was already rewarded by
the consciousness of having contributed materially to the welfare and
happiness of others.
It seemed to the parents an incredibly short time before the "babes"
of the two households became school children. A few years later they
were taking courses in the University, and grew into manhood--the
pride of their elders and an honor to the State which had been
developed out of the region in which they were born. Gradually, too,
the parents in each family realized that they had passed middle life,
and were approaching old age.
Their eyes were dimmed and hearing somewhat {190} dulled, but their
minds were still clear and active; aspirations, hopes and even
ambitions remained with them, while reflections upon past
achievements and some failures (the ripe experience to which there is
no short-cut) brought deeper thought and greater happiness into their
lives. In both the Pelton and Hardy families, the results of
successful endeavor, intellectual development and independence were
manifest in an unusual degree.
Kate--Mrs. Pelton--had changed into a motherly stature so attractive
to her husband and all friends; the active, graceful movement and the
fire of her eye were retained, her complexion was still ruddy, and
there was a sprinkling of grey hairs to lighten the color of the
whole. Pelton continued in excellent health; the active outdoor life
on his farm had developed a sturdy frame, strengthened his muscles
and quickened his mind. Like many other pioneers with great
opportunities before them, he had prospered beyond expectation, and
was in affluent circumstances.
Ben Hardy had located on a Donation claim of three hundred and twenty
acres of such intrinsic value that if he had lived, the rise of land
values in a country of ever-increasing population and prosperity
would have made him a wealthy man. When the Donation Act under which
he took up his claim was passed, the law provided that half of it
should be held by the wife in her own right.
Before that date, and for many years afterward, {191} a wife could
not legally inherit or hold property in fee simple except in the
Oregon Country, under this special act. Incredible as it may seem,
she was also denied the right to control her children, sue in the
courts, speak in public or enter schools of higher education.
So when Linda became Ben's wife, she had no property rights except
insofar as this special law gave her an equal share in the land upon
which they had settled. Hardy did not live to return to the claim,
but after years of doubt and delay, his widow came into ownership of
half (160 acres) in her own right; and by descent her son received
the other half.
The experiences of these years, and considerable of what may properly
be called semi-litigation, developed Mrs. Hardy's latent ability to
cope with business problems as they arose; so she prospered and
became known as a woman of executive ability. It was in memory of
the husband and for the welfare of her boy, the younger Benjamin,
that she resolved that life was worth living; and right well did she
prove the correctness of the resolution.
Things did not run smoothly during the whole of the long period.
Pelton had been compelled to make one trip to the old home in
Missouri to adjust some business matters. Mrs. Hardy sustained a
loss in consequence of a heavy snowfall, and met some reverses of
minor importance; but the steady development of the country and
consequent increase of land values, proved of great advantage to them
both.
[1] A similar instance is recorded in the case of York, the slave of
Captain Lewis of the Lewis & Clark Expedition, upon whom the Indians
looked with superstitious awe mingled with terror.
{192}
CHAPTER VII
LINDA'S HOPE NEVER REALIZED; DEATH OF DAVID MULHALL; CRAIG'S PROMISE
REMEMBERED; LESSONS FROM A TRAIL-MAKING OUTFIT; DECISION TO MAKE THE
TRIP.
The thread of our story is now resumed at a later date, and in a new
century. Linda Shaeffer, as we first knew her, for many years Ben's
widow, has now passed the meridian of life; her only child, Benjamin,
has grown into manhood and assumed the cares of the farm and home.
Meanwhile the Pacific Northwest has made extraordinary progress, with
an increase in population and improvements in transportation almost
completely changing the old-time pioneer environment.
In the cool evening of a midsummer day, Linda Hardy was sitting in
front of the ivy covered cabin, whose roof was completely overspread
with the bright green of the beautiful climbing vine. Nearly half of
the front side was likewise covered with growths from the same
vigorous stalk at the corner of the cottage; and the foliage on the
roof had reached to the farther end of the cabin, two rods or more
from the roots that supported and gave life to it. The sultry
atmosphere was filled with perfume from a row of sweet peas that
lined the front of a {193} small but well-kept flower garden, mingled
with aroma from a choice variety of roses in bloom, while sweet
clover and various other flowers added to the pleasant fragrance
afloat in the air.
A young man with a glow of health in his countenance was leaning
against the wall of the cabin, with his feet on the rung of the
chair, and a book which he had been reading open upon his knees. In
an abstracted mood he suddenly closed the book, placed his feet upon
the ground and for a moment sat upright, looking out into space as if
unconscious of his surroundings. Recovering himself and looking
straight at the matron sitting nearby, he uttered one word, "Mother!"
"What is it, Benjamin?"
Only partly aroused from his reverie, he seemed unprepared to say
just what was on his mind; so made no immediate or direct reply.
For some years, the youthful Benjamin Hardy had hoped that some day
he could visit the spot where the remains of his father had been
left; but any reference to the tragedy seemed always to greatly
disturb his mother. He had the subject of a proposed trip to the
grave on his mind when, half abstractedly, he had first spoken to
her; now fully awake, he hesitated to continue.
"What is it, Benjamin?" repeated by his mother prompted him to go