O Pioneers! by Willa Cather (ebook reader with internet browser .TXT) 📕

and still not be worth much. Why, Alexandra, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Our place wouldn’t bring now what it would six years ago. The fellows that settled up here just made a mistake. Now they’re beginning to see this high land wasn’t never meant to grow nothing on, and everybody who ain’t fixed to graze cattle is trying to crawl out. It’s too high to farm up here. All the Americans are skinning out. That man Percy Adams, north of town, told me that he was going to let Fuller take his land and stuff for four hundred dollars and a ticket to Chicago.”

“There’s Fuller again!” Alexandra exclaimed. “I wish that man would take me for a partner. He’s feathering his nest! If only poor people could learn a little from rich people! But all these fellows who are running off are bad farmers, like poor Mr. Linstrum. They couldn’t get ahead even in good years, and they all got into debt while father was getting out. I think we ought to hold on as long as we can on father’s account. He was so set on keeping this land. He must have seen harder times than this, here. How was it in the early days, mother?”

Mrs. Bergson was weeping quietly. These family discussions always depressed her, and made her remember all that she had been torn away from. “I don’t see why the boys are always taking on about going away,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I don’t want to move again; out to some raw place, maybe, where we’d be worse off than we are here, and all to do over again. I won’t move! If the rest of you go, I will ask some of the neighbors to take me in, and stay and be buried by father. I’m not going to leave him by himself on the prairie, for cattle to run over.” She began to cry more bitterly.

The boys looked angry. Alexandra put a soothing hand on her mother’s shoulder. “There’s no question of that, mother. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. A third of the place belongs to you by American law, and we can’t sell without your consent. We only want you to advise us. How did it use to be when you and father first came? Was it really as bad as this, or not?”

“Oh, worse! Much worse,” moaned Mrs. Bergson. “Drought, chinch bugs, hail, everything! My garden all cut to pieces like sauerkraut. No grapes on the creek, no nothing. The people all lived just like coyotes.”

Oscar got up and tramped out of the kitchen. Lou followed him. They felt that Alexandra had taken an unfair advantage in turning their mother loose on them. The next morning they were silent and reserved. They did not offer to take the women to church, but went down to the barn immediately after breakfast and stayed there all day. When Carl Linstrum came over in the afternoon, Alexandra winked to him and pointed toward the barn. He understood her and went down to play cards with the boys. They believed that a very wicked thing to do on Sunday, and it relieved their feelings.

Alexandra stayed in the house. On Sunday afternoon Mrs. Bergson always took a nap, and Alexandra read. During the week she read only the newspaper, but on Sunday, and in the long evenings of winter, she read a good deal; read a few things over a great many times. She knew long portions of the “Frithjof Saga” by heart, and, like most Swedes who read at all, she was fond of Longfellow’s verse⁠—the ballads and the “Golden Legend” and “The Spanish Student.” Today she sat in the wooden rocking chair with the Swedish Bible open on her knees, but she was not reading. She was looking thoughtfully away at the point where the upland road disappeared over the rim of the prairie. Her body was in an attitude of perfect repose, such as it was apt to take when she was thinking earnestly. Her mind was slow, truthful, steadfast. She had not the least spark of cleverness.

All afternoon the sitting room was full of quiet and sunlight. Emil was making rabbit traps in the kitchen shed. The hens were clucking and scratching brown holes in the flower beds, and the wind was teasing the prince’s feather by the door.

That evening Carl came in with the boys to supper.

“Emil,” said Alexandra, when they were all seated at the table, “how would you like to go traveling? Because I am going to take a trip, and you can go with me if you want to.”

The boys looked up in amazement; they were always afraid of Alexandra’s schemes. Carl was interested.

“I’ve been thinking, boys,” she went on, “that maybe I am too set against making a change. I’m going to take Brigham and the buckboard tomorrow and drive down to the river country and spend a few days looking over what they’ve got down there. If I find anything good, you boys can go down and make a trade.”

“Nobody down there will trade for anything up here,” said Oscar gloomily.

“That’s just what I want to find out. Maybe they are just as discontented down there as we are up here. Things away from home often look better than they are. You know what your Hans Andersen book says, Carl, about the Swedes liking to buy Danish bread and the Danes liking to buy Swedish bread, because people always think the bread of another country is better than their own. Anyway, I’ve heard so much about the river farms, I won’t be satisfied till I’ve seen for myself.”

Lou fidgeted. “Look out! Don’t agree to anything. Don’t let them fool you.”

Lou was apt to be fooled himself. He had not yet learned to keep away from the shell game wagons that followed the circus.

After supper Lou put on a necktie and went across the fields to court Annie Lee, and Carl and Oscar