That evening and the next day, Mary Jane enjoyed somewhat the heroine status. She relished it to the full, for she rather loved the dramatic. But sisters have a way of deflating one another. There’s always the bigger’n better story to tell. This one was true too, and we heard Lori saying: “Boy! I’ll never forget the time when you were only four years old, Mary Jane. Jennie and I had to get the cows in and you were fussing and bawling and pestering Mamma to go with us. We all knew you’d get tired and want to be carried home, but Mamma finally gave in. She made you promise to walk yourself home. We got just beyond the west bean field and had to cross that big ditch out there. You were playing cow –.”
“Figures,” interrupted Clara with a leer.
“Well, anyway,” Lori went on, “you were on your hands and feet, Mary Jane, when I saw this great big old rattlesnake! Jennie saw it too. We screamed ‘Snake!’ and ran. But you just stayed right there saying, ‘Where? Where?’ And he was crawling closer and closer!”
“What a dummy!” again interrupted Clara.
“I ‘spect I just wanted to see it, ‘cause I still never have seen a live one,” Mary Jane retorted.
Lori went on: “And I came back and yanked you up just in time and took you home to Mamma.”
“You probably weren’t even chased by a coyote last night. I bet it was somebody’s old dog out hunting. Probably he just wanted you to pet him!” Clara went on. But Daddy had overheard.
“That will do, young lady!” And steel gray eyes punctuated the message with a period.
“Mother, I’ve been thinkin’, these girls have got to learn to ride. Tomorrow I’m getting Macey up in the corral and they can practice everyday for a while. There’s no sense in them walking after the cows like that anymore.”
“But, Ned – she’s rather spirited. You always keep such frisky mares.” Mother looked anxious.
“Yeah, I cain’t stand ‘em too slow myself. But Macey ain’t bad – least she’s milder’n Lucy. They can’t get hurt in the corral. Robbie needs practice too.”
And so it was that riding practice began in earnest.
Later that afternoon, it being Saturday, the waning sun found Mamma and the girls in the large living room, the men folk having gone to town. It was autumn and the distant hills seen from the large west window were delicately veiled in the Indian Summer haze. Indian Summer! How Mary Jane loved it! Once a friend of Jennie’s had tried to write a poem about it. Quite inspired she reached the high point with:
“There’s a somber sadness
In the haze of autumn gray —
There’s a hush expectant
O’er the hills at close of day.”
But she couldn’t make the rest of it smooth. However, the words pleased Mary Jane somehow. Autumn made her “pleasantly melancholy.”
There in the living room today was a cozy scene. Mother was rocking gently in her chair, with the mending on her lap, surrounded by her girls. A cheery fire was burning in the big stove, and a circle of chairs behind it were discreetly draped with blankets. It being a bit chilly, Mother had arranged this warm corner for bath time. Even now the gentle splish-splash of the current bather blended with the song of the tea kettle, the mournful squeak of the windmill leashed for the present in the yard, and Mamma’s chair crick-creaking as she rocked. Everyone was happy and busy. Best of all Mamma was there. Her presence when at ease always produced in all of them something hard to explain – something really nice – peace, love, security, contentment – all rolled into one good feeling. As was typical on such occasions someone chirped, “Mamma, tell us a story!”
“Yes, Mamma, tell us about when you were little!”
“No, Mamma, tell us about when you met Papa!”
The lady thus variously addressed, raised expressive blue eyes, very pretty eyes really, from her mending and a characteristic slightly slanting smile of exquisite sweetness flashed across her face, accompanied by a quaint cozy sound which was perhaps more like a cross between a chuckle and a purr than anything. It somehow carried motherly interest and understanding.
“Oh, girls, you don’t really want to hear Mamma’s old stories again, do you?”
But they did, of course.
“Mamma, when you and Uncle Maxey were lost that time in the mountains, you know, about the cow. Did you ever see the bear?” prompted Ellen.
“Well, no, Honey. I’ll start from the beginning. You see we had this cow — old Mr. Peterson who worked with my father (I guess they did some gold prospecting — had a claim to work together); anyhow he got this cow cheap and gave it to us. I still remember how happy Mother was to get her. We put a bell around her neck and let her graze on the range around our cabin. There were no fences. It was my job with Uncle Maxey, who was only about your age, Mary Jane — eight or so — to bring in the cow each night. Usually she never strayed far as the vegetation was so plentiful near the cabin. But this day was an exception. We called and called and listened for her bell. Without realizing, we strayed quite far ourselves. Night was coming on and I began to think we would have to give up and go home. To my horror, I couldn’t locate anything familiar around me. Trying to hide my growing dismay from Maxey who was holding my hand rather tightly, I looked for a stream of water. Papa had taught me to do this. He said the settlements were in the valleys there, and if I got lost, that is what I should do. We found a stream, all right, and began to follow it down the mountain.
“All of a sudden a great crashing in the underbrush near the water made us nearly faint with fright. Maxey began to cry and I tried bravely to tell him it was just some old wild steer — maybe a wild boar.
“‘We’re lost, Eva! I know it! I know it!’ he cried.
“The sad part, girls, was that I had no one to turn to above. I knew nothing at all of God, so that I could not cry to Him. We stumbled on in the dimming light. My eyes caught something which chilled my blood. I tried to hide it from Maxey. There were very large bear tracks, so fresh that water was still trickling into the depression made by the bear’s feet. Papa had said that there were mostly black bears around there – only an occasional grizzly. Black bears are more likely to run from humans, but a grizzly – well, that could be different. With our hearts pounding and imaginations playing all sorts of tricks on us, it’s a wonder we didn’t just drop from fright. I’m sure I would have, too, if I’d heard a panther scream. (We used to hear them at night in the safety of our cabin.)
“The Lord watched over us even though we were regular little heathen. Before long I began to recognize some landmarks. By the time we got near home, it was so dark that the lights from Papa’s and Mr. Peterson’s lanterns twinkled at us as they started out to search for us.”
“What about the cow, Mamma? Did the bear get her?” asked Mary Jane.
“No. Papa found her next day. But we lost her soon, that is, when we moved closer in to Cimarron.”
“Yeah, I remember you said Grandpa was too ornery to fix the fence and she got out and someone stole her,” Jennie put in. “It just makes me ‘see red’ to think of how you told us you just had bread and water to eat sometimes.”
The sad, faraway look in Mamma’s eyes betrayed no such feelings. “Yes,” she went on, “we used to pretend it was milk and bread. We could see through the neighbor’s window and they were eating good things. Poor Papa! He was too busy drinking and gambling at the saloon to care about us. Oh, I guess he did really care some, anyway when he was sober. I remember once he caught me wiring my poor old ragged shoes on.
“‘Is that all you have to wear, Eva?’ He looked pretty shocked. He had some money in his pocket, and so he took me to town. He bought the prettiest shoes in the store! They were a little big for me, and my sister Jessie wanted them so bad; so I didn’t get to keep them. I expect they pinched her feet.”
“What about Grandpa? Didn’t he spank her? That wasn’t fair!” blustered Lori.
“Well” — and the sad look deepened – “He never seemed to notice anymore. Anyway, Jessie was always wanting to go places. I never had much heart to try to go out.”
“Aw, Mamma. You were a knockout, I’ll bet.” Clara’s head appeared above the blanket. “I don’t see why I had to get Daddy’s great big old Roman nose instead of your pretty little nose,” she moaned, as she polished her clean face. “If I was as pretty as you –.” Clara’s voice trailed.
“Oh, honey, I wasn’t pretty, really. I was always so shy and never had much to wear, of course. No one noticed such a shabby little girl much.”
“Did you have any boy friends besides Noel Vance and Papa?” Clara pursued.
“Well, you know I met your father when I was 17. Before that I really didn’t care much about the boys around there. I knew they drank some – and well the Lord meant to keep me for Papa. But come, while we’re all together I’d like to read a chapter from this little book Mrs. French and I are reading. Fire, or From Loneliness to Relationship it’s called, and it’s so very good.”
As we looked at her rocking gently to and fro, we could see heavenly peace and joy replacing the faraway sad look. As a child she had yearned to know about God, to have an object for her little heart so often grieved and wounded by the sad circumstances of her home. When she married, her own dear husband, though a fine upright young man, knew as little as she of the God who longed to draw them to Himself and lead them through the mazes of life ahead. As each new baby had been placed in her care and helpless little arms were lifted to her, she grieved to think that she could not teach the child of God. Anew she would resolve to learn of Him. It would seem that God had spoken to her as a young girl. An older sister, in an angry outburst at their drunken father, ran away from home, vowing to send for little Eva when she could and see that she got to school.
Just after this, one night a glorious throne seemed to ascend into Eva’s bleak little room. A majestic but kindly Lord seemed to speak to her: “Eva, you must stay at home and obey your parents. Otherwise you will not live long.” This dream impressed her so much that she stayed with her parents and refused her sister’s offer.
Much of her meager wages earned from a little job in a hotel went to pay her father’s debts. It is at least to his credit that he rather tenderly thanked her when she left to be married, especially mentioning her obedience.
The blessed Savior watched over her and led her with a sure and steady hand. Not until all seven of their children had been born, did He see fit to reveal the full light of the glorious gospel of Christ to them. Timed to the exact moment of readiness, dear Mamma heard His voice saying: “Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” She came. Two weeks later her husband answered the same call. The Spirit of God had been moving in each heart privately. Not only were they converted almost together, but they were gathered at the same time around the Lord’s table with the same little group which had been used of the Lord to bring them in.
How happy darling Mamma had been! What joy at last to be so blessed! It seemed that no cloud could ever shadow her horizon again! Keenly they felt the responsibility to bring up their children in the “nurture and admonition of the Lord.”
It was Mrs. Hillman’s habit to arise at least by 5:00 in the morning and pour out her heart privately to God for the lives of their young children. And she always added a special prayer that they might be kept virtuous and morally clean. So it was that she “bought” the opportunities to teach her children, as now she did her girls.
Her sweet voice rose and fell as the good words from the little red book flowed forth. Mary Jane listened, spirits dampened. Why this was the very thing that was beginning to haunt her! She had no joy in Mamma’s books or Mamma’s God. This void in her heart – this separation coming in — oh, the ache of it! She understood the loneliness, but none of the sweet relationship with God. Loneliness, you say, in a family of nine? Down in the inner heart where no other mortal may peep, is the real self. Yes, here is the real self looking out through eyes and speaking through lips that may not give a true report of the counsels held in its secret chambers. God searches here.
When God breathed into man the “breath of life,” He gave him this soul, and it will live forever. Sadly little Mary Jane began to know that she was on an island apart – she, alone, responsible to God. Her little heart burned and ached within her, and she crept closer to Mamma’s side. But however sweetly that sainted lady might smile upon her, or however gently she might caress her little brown head, there was no real balm in it for Mary Jane. With burning shame she thought of how she had told dear Mamma and others that she was saved, vaguely hoping it was true, but mostly to turn aside any further probings. Surely God did not say in vain: “The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it?” Mary Jane began to long to have the peace and joy her Mother knew. But a flaw lay in her desire. She began to seek the feelings of peace and joy more than the God who gives them.