The Diary of Mattie Spenser Read online

  It is no surprise that Persia was attracted to Mr. Talmadge, for he owns a bank and a sawmill and is as rich as a Pikes Peak nugget. She has always longed for a redbrick house on Third Street, and his is kept with such style. But here is the thing of it: He is old, two or three times Persia’s age, I should judge. And she is older than I! The marriage, coming so soon after the death of the first Mrs. Talmadge, certainly stirs the gossips’ tongues.

  Carrie writes, “That don’t bother Persia. What does bother her is gaining a daughter at least as old as herself.” Well, I think that must be a great trial to Persia. An even greater trial is that Abner, rejected twice in a year (by Self and Persia), has taken up with old banker Talmadge’s daughter. Persia must be in a state, fearing that Abner could become her son-in-law and perhaps make her a grandmother! Well, I think that our Persia will be a grandmother before a mother, since Mr. Talmadge resembles nothing so much as the prune, above the neck as well as below the waist buttons, is my guess. When an old man marries a young girl, you may be sure she is after gold and he is after sex. But if that is his goal, Mr. Talmadge will be sorely disappointed, for Persia does not keep her bargains.

  I informed Luke of Persia’s marriage as soon as I learnt of it. He was greatly surprised, then displeased at the idea of Persia being “an old man’s darling.” Well, did he think she would spend her days an old maid because my Darling Boy had thrown her over for me?

  We see little of our neighbors now that all labor in the fields during daylight hours. We put aside our toil on Sunday last, however, and gathered for Sabbath services at the Garfields’. I had not been inside the Garfield soddy before and found it a charming place, if a little ridiculous. There is a Persian carpet on the floor and several large portraits in heavy gilt frames. When I remember how little space we had in our wagon for any but necessities, I wonder how Sallie Garfield got them here. Missus said she never saw things so useless, but I spoke up and defended Mrs. Garfield, saying her pretty treasures made the day festive. Others do not care for Mrs. Garfield, believing she is stuck up and spoilt, but she is gently bred, and I prefer her silliness to Missus’s grumbling. Besides, in this place, one cannot be particular about one’s friends, for fear of having none. Luke has all but forgotten they are Rebels, because he no longer tells me to keep my distance.

  The service was Baby’s first outing, and he received many compliments. Right proud was his papa, acting as if he alone had produced this son, with no help from the mother. Tom and Moses took a fatherly interest in our boy, both asking to hold him, and Mr. Bondurant fairly danced around him with pride, telling each and every one the story of his birth. At Fort Madison, I would have pretended not to hear, but one does not take offense so easily in this country.

  Emmie Lou whispered that I was lucky to have a boy and hopes the babe she carries will be of that sex so that Johnnie will have a playmate. I hope so, too, not just for Johnnie’s sake but also because a boy may give her a respite from her pregnancies. Surely if he has a male heir, Mr. Amidon will practice continence. Emmie Lou dreads this birth more than the others, since each one takes a greater toll. When I tried to lighten the mood by recommending Ben Bondurant and Tom Early for her confinement, she said she was afraid she would have time to summon only Lucinda Osterwald, as the Osterwalds are her nearest neighbors.

  “You won’t let Brownie come with her?” I asked with alarm. I have told no one of my encounter with him, but Emmie Lou gave me such a piercing look that I wondered if Mr. Bondurant had betrayed my confidence. “My husband has given Brownie Osterwald orders not to set foot on our land unless he is accompanied by another, and I advise you to do the same,” Emmie Lou replied.

  When the Osterwald wagon arrived, I feared that Brownie was in it, and I sent a frightened glance to Mr. Bondurant, who came quickly to my side. But it was just the old couple. Mrs. Osterwald looked very pale, and I wished to let her know she had my sympathy for the cross she bears. But I concluded silence was the kinder course.

  We did not tarry as long at services as I would have liked, for after a quiet spring hereabouts with little sign of savages, there are reports that renegades, those hostile outcasts who are greatly to be feared, are making sorties into the neighborhood from the north. After last year’s dreadful encounter, none care to be surprised by them again. So all were anxious to be safely home.

  When Mr. Bondurant informed us of the reports, Mrs. Garfield turned to her husband and cried out, “Oh, Mr. Garfield, why ever did you bring me to this place?” I was shocked at her outburst, for I cannot abide a scold. Does she think she is the only one who suffers? These burdens were not sought by us, but they are borne by all other women here, and in silence.

  July 18, 1866. Prairie Home.

  I had scarcely finished writing in my journal four days ago, when the sky blackened and a hot wind began to blow so hard that it pushed clouds of dust, tumbleweeds, and even jackrabbits ahead of it. Johnnie was safely inside, so I ran to the barn, the wind pushing me forward, to make sure the door was latched tight. As I tested the door, the wind wrenched it out of my hand, pushing me inside, where I saw the cow was greatly agitated. (Luke was to Amidons’ with the horses.) I did not take the time to calm Bossie, because I feared the noise of the wind had awakened Johnnie. It took all my strength to secure the door. Then I pushed into the wind, seeming to take a step backward for each two I took toward the house. The sky was as black as I have seen it in daytime, but an eerie light was cast upon the prairie, and there was a prickly sensation, as if a loathesome lightning storm was about to burst upon us.

  At last, I reached the safety of the soddy and pushed inside, where Baby was crying loudly and would not be soothed, for he is as frightened of thunderstorms as his mother. I could hear the moans of the wind outside, and I felt its force as it blew against the side of our little house. With Baby safely in my arms, I went to the window, where I watched a herd of antelope rush blindly toward the barn. They were almost upon it when they turned as one and raced into the distance. By now, I could feel the soddy brace itself against the wind, which was roaring as loudly as the Mississippi’s angry waters when they tear into the riverbank at flood time.

  Far in the distance, I saw a black cloud that looked a little like a funnel. It moved quickly across the prairie, its strange black shape whirling about in the wind as it came toward me. The air prickled me all over, and I held Baby tight, expecting him to comfort me as much as I did him, for I was taken with a great gloomy sense. As the misshapen cloud came nearer, I turned, intending to hide us both under the quilt, but I changed my mind, and, pushing Baby ahead of me, I crawled under the bed. The soddy around me shook so fiercely, I thought it would blow away, taking Baby and me with it, and I began to shake just as hard, as if Armageddon were being fought in my barnyard.

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, the wind died out, and I emerged from my place of safety, to find all in the house was just as it had been. I was ashamed of my cowardice, and vowed I would not even tell Luke of the wind, for surely he would say I had imagined its intensity. Then I opened the door and looked out onto a desolate landscape. The prairie grasses were flattened, as if trampled by a giant steamroller. The barn roof had blown off, and pieces of the implements stored therein were scattered about the yard. The cow was safe but bawling loudly. My washtub, which hangs on the wall of the house, was inside the barn, and the bench Luke made before returning to Fort Madison was nowhere to be seen. Saddest of all, one of our precious trees was uprooted.

  As I picked through the wreckage, Tom Early arrived at a tear, his horse badly lathered. “I saw the twister head for you and feared the worst,” he said.

  I replied ’twas not the worst, but close to it, that if there had been rain, I would have called the storm a hurricane. Of a sudden, I burst into tears, putting my head against Tom’s chest, while he, poor fellow, tried to comfort me. When I had cried myself out, I begged him not to tell Luke.

  “Where is Luke?” he asked.

  I am ashame
d to say that until that minute, I had not thought of the danger to Husband, and I cried, “He is at Amidons’. Pray God that he is safe.”

  “He is. That was a tornado. It doesn’t cover such a wide area as a hurricane, but it’s just as deadly, for it takes everything in its path. You were lucky it veered off before it reached the soddy. A whirlwind is so powerful that it can pick up a house and set it down a hundred feet away.” I must have appeared ready to cry again, for Tom said slyly, “Why, it’s been said a twister can suck the milk right out of a cow and churn it into butter, which drops from the sky like gold coins.”

  Tom’s little sally brought me to my senses, and when Luke returned from Mingo, he found us both in good spirits, cleaning up the mess. He had not seen the tornado, but he feared something was amiss, for on the way home, he had come across our little bench, sitting upright in the middle of the road, as if someone had placed it there for a friendly chat. He took it out of the wagon and returned it to its proper place, none the worse for its journey.

  August 8, 1866. Amidons’.

  At the last Sabbath services, Mr. Garfield solicited Luke’s opinion on how well the Fort Madison seed would perform on his land, which is on the river. Luke had planned to visit earlier but then delayed his plans, due to the damage caused by the whirlwind.

  So not until yesterday did Luke issue an invitation to Baby and me to return with him to Garfields’, where the two men could discuss agriculture at their leisure. I did not worry so much about encountering another twister, for I am told they are rare and the season for them is over. But I did express fear of running into savages. Luke retorted that when he married me, he thought I was game. He said it was his belief that Mr. Bondurant was making mischief with his latest remarks about the Red Men. I am inclined to put more trust in Mr. Bondurant, but as there have been no other reports, and Husband seemed anxious for us to go along, I threw concern aside and replied that Baby and I would be pleased to accept his kind invitation for an outing.

  The Garfields being our farthest neighbors, and knowing the trip would be a long one, I packed a picnic, which we enjoyed under the branches of a tree. The tree was dead, but we are not particular about such details in Colorado. Luke was in the best of humor and even paid me the compliment of saying that it was his opinion I “might be” the finest cook in Colorado Territory.

  “And just who ‘might be’ finer?” I inquired, which brought a laugh and a rare hug from Luke. As he held me a moment longer, I could feel that private part of him stiffen and, without thinking, I laughed gaily, which shocked me every bit as much as it did Luke. I thought my response would draw a rebuke, but instead, a strange look came over his face, such as I had never seen, but perhaps that is because, heretofore, Luke has been aroused only in the dark of night, and so I have not observed his face. I think Husband would have demanded his marital rights under that dead tree had not Baby awakened and saved the day by demanding his rights to lunch.

  The Garfields welcomed us with all the natural hospitality for which the Southerner is famous. Mrs. Garfield put her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek, and though I am not fond of such displays of affection from those I do not know well, I did not take offense, concluding this was the way of her people. As she did not know when we would visit, Mrs. Garfield had no refreshments but water, which we said would suit us fine. In this dry country, water is the most precious of all liquids.

  Sallie (as Mrs. Garfield insisted I call her) made a great fuss over Johnnie, saying he was the best-behaved baby she had ever seen. When I responded that her own little Frederick must have been a fine baby, she said she did not know, as he was her husband’s nephew, given to them to raise as their own. His pa was killed in the war, and the sorrowing mother lost her wits and starved herself to death. Little Freddie nearly died, too, “for the niggers turned on him and did unspeakable things,” Sallie said. Such treatment weakened his mind and brought about strange outbursts. The three Garfields are all that is left of two large families, the rest being dead from effects of the War of Southern Rebellion. They came here to mend their broken fortune.

  “I do not know why the Yankees could not leave us alone. They are vile meddlers,” Sallie said, not stopping to think Luke and I were members of that meddlling class. “O, I hate them. If it weren’t for the War of Northern Aggression and the price the North extracted for peace, we would be safely at home instead of in this hateful place.”

  As one who had lost friends from childhood in that awful war, which was instigated by the Southerners, I found the President’s treatment of the treasonous Rebels not only generous but lenient. But it was not polite for a guest to respond in such a manner, so I sought a new subject. Looking about me, I remarked that the view from her door was as pretty as any I had seen since arriving in Colorado Territory.

  “And how lucky we are that there is not a tree to spoil it,” she said, causing us both to burst into giggles. That brought us closer, and Sallie impulsively took my hand and said there was a place along the stream bank that reminded her a little of home. Nothing would do but that she should show it to me. Since the men were already in the field, sifting dirt between their fingers, as is their way, we did not ask permission, but took the two little ones and set off. Sallie’s spirits improved with the prospect of visiting her “secret dell,” and she fairly skipped along.

  We two laughed about the hardships in this place, Sallie saying the women had to put up with everything the men did, and with the men, as well. I scarcely noticed how far we had gone, until I realized we were no longer in sight of the soddy. Just then, Sallie called out, “Here we are,” and she led me down a steep bank to the stream, which is as crooked at that point as a “Sherman necktie,” which is what the Southerners called their railroad tracks after the Yankees tore them up. The sight was indeed a pretty one, with scrub brush and wildflowers and a tasteful rock garden that Sallie had fashioned.

  “Now, here is what I like best,” she said, removing her shoes and putting her toe into the water. I followed, and soon, we two, along with Frederick and Johnnie, were bathing our feet. Before I knew what she was about, Sallie splashed water on me, and I replied in kind, feeling carefree for the first time since arriving in Colorado Territory. Sallie was affability itself, and the day promised to be one of the pleasantest I had spent in this place.

  As I wondered if Sallie would prove to be the friend for whom I have longed, a sound came from above, and, believing Luke and Mr. Garfield were searching for us, I proposed to play a game of hide-and-seek with them, putting a finger over my lips and pointing to a hollow in the riverbank. Sallie and Frederick took my meaning, and we hastened into our hiding place. I raised my head to ascertain whether the men had seen us, and there came a sight that chilled my blood—a long, deadly lance decorated with feathers. I grasped Sallie’s arm and pointed. We held the children close and pressed into the safety of the stream bank. The Red Men had not seen us, and I think they were making ready to leave when, of a sudden, Frederick darted up the bank and rushed them, hollering abuses. I do not know what caused him to do that—possibly his enfeebled mind thought they were the darkies who had harmed him. With not a thought for her own safety, Sallie followed. I started after her, but something—perhaps it was Providence—told me I would be of no aid and called me back to protect my own little one.

  From that hiding place, I heard the shouts of Frederick and the pleas of Sallie, mixed with angry grunts from the rude children of nature, sounds so terrifying that I was unable to restrain myself, and I peeked out, to see six braves, their faces hideously smeared with paint.

  Mr. Bondurant had told me that savages do not allow their children to cry, and these heathens seemed greatly displeased with Frederick’s outburst. One prodded the poor boy with his lance, while another struck him a blow. Such acts do not quiet a white boy, and Frederick only cried harder. One fiend raised his weapon as if to tomahawk the boy, but before he could do so, his companion grabbed Frederick by the feet and smashed his
head against a boulder. I gasped aloud as the blood and gore rushed from the poor broken head, but the Red Men made such a racket, they did not hear me. Knowing what was in store for my own blessed babe should he awaken and cry, and that I could be of no assistance to Sallie, I crept back under the bank. Just then, Johnnie awakened, but unaware of the danger, he yawned and stretched out his little arms, and, mercifully, he fell asleep again.

  For what seemed like hours but I know was only a few minutes, there was a great commotion above me, and I heard Sallie’s pleas for mercy. Then all was silent. The Indians mounted their ponies and were off. I scrambled up the bank, leaving Baby behind for his safety, in case the savages discovered me.

  I was met by the grim sight of little Freddie’s broken body, covered with arrow wounds, for the Indians had not been content with bashing out his brains, but had added further insult. Mercifully, they had not taken his scalp. Perhaps it was too small. I looked for Sallie, calling her name, although I despaired of finding her alive. She was nowhere to be found, and with horror, I realized my poor friend had been snatched up and carried off, to be murdered or subjected to acts too vile to contemplate.

  I removed Johnnie from his hiding place and keeping as low to the ground as possible to avoid detection (though how a woman in a red dress could not be seen in this terrible open prairie, I do not know), I ran toward the Garfield soddy. When it came into view, I opened my mouth to call for help, but I was too exhausted to make a sound. I dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. I lay there, facedown, for some minutes, until I heard a noise and was seized with fear that the savages had raided the soddy, killing Luke and Mr. Garfield, and that now they would aim their flying arrows at Baby and me.