ONE OF HERS
Long AfterWilla Cather
Long AfterWilla Cather
Long After
Willa Cather
Claude Wheeler opened his eyes, just as he had done often before. The dreary monotony of his day thus monotonously began. He turned on one elbow and gazed at his shirt hanging on the chair beside his bed. It was the same shirt which he had worn yesterday, would wear to-morrow. But it was not the monotony of the shirt that deluged him with self-pity. It was the fact that he had only one collar-button. Other people, the Erlich boys in Lincoln, his own father, had two. Claude had but one, which fastened his shirt in front. When he wore a collar he had to fasten it at the back with an old piece of string, which Mahailey had given him.
Claude would have liked to buy another collar-button. He had more than enough money; and his father was a rich farmer. He tried to excuse his cowardice to himself, but in his heart he knew that it was too difficult for him to do this simple thing.
He arose wearily and dressed. He crept down a flight of stairs to the second floor, thence he descended to the first floor by a rude ladder. There had been a staircase where the ladder stood but, in an access of humility, Claude had slid down the banisters two weeks before. Mistaking his self-effacement for hilarity, his father, laughing heartily, had removed the stairs with an ax. Nat Wheeler was a large easygoing affable man with a strong sense of humor.
It made little difference with the habits of the household. The men used the ladder freely. Mahailey slept in the cellar on a hanging shelf, which Claude had built for her, so that the rats could not get at her. She used to put herself to sleep by swinging the shelf to and fro, while she sang “And they laid Jesse James in his grave.” It was one of her quaint customs, a survival of her early arboreal life in Virginia. It added much to the gloom which overspread the household.
Mrs. Wheeler suspected that this removal of the stairs was a joke. She had learned that her husband’s humor might wear any guise. But she was old fashioned. She thought it improper either to descend or ascend a ladder, if there were any men below, and as the men always arose before she did and stayed up after her bed-time, she was practically confined to the second floor.
Claude could hear her now, walking up and down the passage above. He could hear her wandering, uncertain footsteps. He knew that she had both hands pressed tightly to her breast, that she was lost in religious meditation. He feared that, in her absence of mind, she might descend by the ladder and then be unable to overcome her scruples against ascending. There would be no place for her to sleep, except with Mahailey in the cellar. He had not made the shelf wide enough for two. His mother might die for want of sleep. He felt bitterly about that. He heard her voice calling him. She was blinking down at him over the banisters.
“It is circus day, Claude, and I’m so worried about your collar-button. I have a piece of an old can-opener here. Do you think you could make that do?”
“Don’t bother about it, mother. I’ll use a shingle nail.”
“Rest, rest, perturbed spirit!” she said softly and resumed her wanderings.
He went out into the kitchen to wash. Other people had used the bathroom before him and he was very exclusive. In Mahailey’s old broken mirror, he looked at himself. He was a handsome boy with a red face, pink eyebrows and a square head upon which his red hair stood up like a cock’s comb. He hated his head, however,because he always had to wear a soft hat. A stiff derby abraded the sharp corners.
Mahailey came with a low, padding step, her apron thrown over her face, as usual. She always wore it this way. In the Wheeler family, no one but Claude had ever seen her face. Sometimes she shyly removed her apron, when no one was about, and gave him one look. It was enough. Claude knew why she kept the apron over it.
When Claude saw her coming, he ran out of doors, down the hillside toward the barn. Molly, the faithful old three-legged cow, was mournfully chewing her cud. She had lost her other leg in the Civil War. He put his arms around her neck and kissed her. She stopped chewing and kissed him in return. He remained there a long time and thought about the life of a farmer.
A farmer raised good corn and wheat and sold them. In return he got clothes that wore out in two or three years, a house that would not stand more than a century, an automobile good for less than fifty thousand miles, furniture that broke down in two generations, food that lasted hardly a day.
The life of a farmer was useless, vain, empty, unsatisfying, monotonous, depressing, dreary. He was a farmer and he had but one collar-button.
A terrible joy clutched at the boy’s heart. He knew that he was playing the part to perfection. If he could keep it up through four hundred and fifty-nine pages the book would be a success.The Young Hamlet of the Prairieswould make a hit.
Claude and his men, B Company, were holding the Boar’s Head trench. He knew that the German attack might be expected about dawn. The smoke and darkness had begun to take on the livid color that announced the coming of daybreak, when a corporal hurried to him, saluted and announced that the linemen had completed the connection and that Claude was called on the telephone.
He went to the dug-out, took down the receiver.
“Lieutenant Wheeler, in command B Company in H-2, speaking.”
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“What? MissWilla? For the land’s sake, what’reyoudoing way out here?”
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“Courseyou are, Miss Willa. I know that, but you hadn’t ought to come out in such a dangerous place, just to look out forme.Really, ma’am, I’m getting along all right. You don’t have to tell me every little thing.”
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“You want me towhat?”
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“On theparapetwhen the attack comes? You don’t meanreallydo it, Miss Willa!”
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“Why, good Lord, Miss Willa, I wouldn’t do that for a farm. They’ll be shootin’ honest-to-Godlead bullets!”
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“Igotto do it? How’s that? I don’t see why.”
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“Yes’m, I know that. I know you are. I read it in a piece in a magazine. Said you were one of America’s serious novelists. Yes’m, called you a serious artist of high purpose, the piece did.”
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“But, say, you know that’sawfuldangerous. I might easy get killed.”
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“Youexpectme to? Look here, lady, I don’t know what you’re driving at.”
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“Oh, yes, o’ course, I know that. I know I got to do what you say after I signed up with you.”
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“No’m, I might not be. I know that. I might be in the draft at a trainin’ camp or somewhere back there or prob’ly I’d got exempted on account of bein’ the only one on the farm—if it wasn’t for you.”
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“Well, if you was right out in this trench now I don’t think you’d think there was any special thanks due for your gettin’ me here.”
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“No,ma’am! I don’t!I ain’t hungry for just that kind o’ glory.You bet not.I’ll be satisfied to go home alive.”
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“Oh, Lord, yes! I got plenty to do when I get home.”
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“How’s that? Spoiled? Oh, no, Miss Willa, my life ain’t spoiledyet, but I’ve got a hunch it would be if I got up on that parapet. Oh, no, I’ve got a lot o’ plans. Don’t you worry about that. Ain’t many young fellows gets their life spoiled at twenty-three.”
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“My wife? Sure, she’s left me, all right. An’, Miss Willa, I hope you won’t get mad if I say I think that was really your fault. I’m pretty sure Enid wouldn’t of gone to China ’f you hadn’t kind of mesmerized her and madeher go. I think ’f you’d a let her alone, she’d be on the farm now.”
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“Yes’m, she did. She went, all right, and I’m not sure she’s comin’ back, but if she don’t, why—I don’t know as I’d die of grief. You see, she was a kind of cold proposition. Her and I never—oh, well, there’s plenty more. Gladys, f’r instance. An’ that’s another thing I kind of got against you, Miss Willa. If you’d left the three of us alone, I think me and Gladys might of——”
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“Oh, yes, course I know that—there wouldn’t of been much of a book ’f you hadn’t mixed in some. Still, ’f I get home I think I can straighten things out. After I get a good rest on the farm, I’m thinkin’ some of goin’ into the movies. Put a pair of goggles on me an’ you couldn’t tell me from Harold Lloyd.”
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“No’m, I ain’t tryin’ to get off the point.”
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“Go out on that parapet when the attack begins an’ get killed? No, ma’am, I most certainly an’ absolutelywill not.”
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“Yes’m, I know it. I told you I know you’re a serious novelist an’ I suppose you got to do those kind o’ things to make it tragic and importantan’ all that, so’s not to have a happy endin’.”
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“No’m, I don’t think it is natural, if that’s what you want. There ain’t only about six killed in action out of a thousand Americans in this war, an’ I don’t see why you pick on me. How’d I get elected?”
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“Yes,ma’am, I said three times already I know you’re serious. Good lan’! Miss Willa, I ought to know. Why, I ain’t had a real good laugh, hardly once since I begun working for you. But you don’t seem to understand I’m serious, too, an’ this whole business you’re proposin’ is more serious to me than it’s got any chance of bein’ to you. I’ve got alotof things to do in the next fifty years.”
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“No, lady,I will not.”
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“Well, first place, that’s no place for an officer in command. Officers are supposed to take care of theirselves an’ not expose theirselves unnecessarily. They got to look out for their men, not try to be heroes or anything.”
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“Well, I s’pose it will. But, see here, if I’ve got to choose between spoilin’ the book an’ gettin’ spoiled myself—forever, it’s only natural,ain’t it?—Say, listen!D’you ever go to themovies?”
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“Oh, excuse me. I thought maybe you might of once or twice.”
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“Oh, nothin’. Never mind. But, say, have I really got to get shot on the parapet? Won’t anything else do?”
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“A-a-llright, then. I s’pose Igotto. I’ll manage it somehow. You leave it to me. Don’t you worry.”
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“Don’t mention it. That’s all right. Anything to oblige a serious lady novelist. Good-by, Miss Willa.”
Claude was very busy for the next fifteen minutes. Just as he again took his position on the firing-step, the Hun advance began.
There they were, coming on the run. His men were on their feet again. The rifles began firing. Then something extraordinary happened. There was their commanding officer on the parapet, outlined against the Eastern sky! Stiffly erect he stood, one arm upraised, facing the oncoming foe. They heard his voice, “Steady, men! Steady! It’s up to you!”
They were amazed, astounded, but they responded.A withering fire swept the Hun lines, men were stumbling and falling. Then the solitary figure on the parapet was discovered by the enemy. A bullet rattled on the tin hat, one struck it in the shoulder. It swayed, lost its balance, plunged, face down, outside the parapet. Hicks caught a projecting foot, pulled—and it came off in his hand.
At the same moment the Missourians ran yelling up the communication trench, threw their machine-guns up on the sand-bags and went into action.
Hicks stood petrified, staring at the foot in his hand, when Claude, clad in his Jaegers only, appeared, reached out and dragged the limp figure in by both legs.
“Here, Sergeant, help me with this to the dug-out, so I can get my clothes on before it gets too public.”
“My God, Lieutenant, I thought you was killed. What’s this for? To fool the Heinies?”
“No—that was for the home-folks that read serious novels.”