Chapter IX: Some Letters

From Lewis Somerville to Douglas Carter.

Greendale, Va., May --, 19--.

Dear Douglas:

Bill and I are coming on finely. Already the noble palace is rearing
its head. We've got the posts planted and the uprights and rafters
in place and will begin on the roof to-morrow. Bill is a perfect
glutton for work. Speaking of gluttons--we've got a cook. A perfect
gem of a cook who has been born and bred at Lonesomehurst and
doesn't mind the country. We are going to hang on to her like grim
Death to a dead nigger.

The funny thing about her is she is a real lady. I spotted it from
the beginning from a certain way she had with her. She is only
fourteen and her father, who, by the way, was the Englishman who
built this cabin and used to own the side of the mountain, has been
dead five years; but before he died this child evidently learned to
eat with a fork and to take a daily bath and to keep her hair
smooth. She handles the King's English with the same respect and
grace she does a fork, and her speech is very marked because of the
contrast between it and the we uns and you uns and you allses of the
ordinary mountaineer. She has lived ever since her father's death
with Aunt Mandy, a regular old mountain character who looks as
though she might have stepped out of one of John Fox's books. She is
the same back and front, concave both ways--slightly more convex in
the back than the front. She stands a good six feet in her stocking
feet (although I doubt her ever having on a pair). I have never seen
her without a snuff stick in her mouth except once and then she had
a corn-cob pipe. She is as sharp as a tack and woe be to the one who
engages her in a contest of wit.

Josh is her son and Josephus her mule. Mr. Mandy is dead, and Aunt
Mandy and Josh, who is twelve, I think, have scratched a living out
of their "clarin'" with the help of Josephus, who is as much of a
character as Aunt Mandy and Josh.

When the Englishman died, Aunt Mandy took the little orphan
Gwendolin to her house, never dreaming that there was anything for
her to do but take her. She has been as good as gold to the girl and
shared her corn pone and drippings with a heart of charity. Gwen is
surely making up to her now for all her kindness as she does all
the housework for her foster mother and all kinds of sewing and
knitting, which she sells to the summer boarders down at the hotel
at Greendale. I am crazy to engage Gwen and Josh for you girls but
am afraid of butting in on your arrangements.

Josh is delicious. He did not learn to wash from an English father
nor to handle a fork, nor yet to speak the King's English--but good
old Aunt Mandy has endowed him plentifully with a keen wit and as
good and kind a heart as she herself has. Maybe he does not speak
the King's English but one thing sure: the King himself could not
boast a finer sense of honor and pride.

I have done one thing that may be butting in, but it seems to me to
be so necessary that I am sure you will forgive me: I have had Josh
and Josephus plow up a piece of land on top the mountain, where the
Englishman once had a garden, and there I have planned to set out a
lot of vegetables. It is late to start a garden but there are lots
of things that will come in mighty handy for you when you have a
camp full of boarders. This was Gwen's suggestion. Aunt Mandy and
Josh are enlarging their garden with a hope of selling things to you
and they are also planning to sell you milk. I say all right to
that, provided Gwen does the milking, but I am sure if Josh does it,
it will look like cocoa by the time we get it, no matter how much it
is strained. He is certainly one dirty boy but I comfort myself with
the thought that it is clean Mother Earth dirt, the kind Bobby gets
on him, and, after all, that isn't so germy.

We are having glorious weather and I do wish you girls could be
here, but no doubt if you were, we would not eat up work quite so
fast as we are doing now. We are enjoying ourselves greatly and are
getting over our terrible disappointment. If Uncle Sam doesn't want
us to soldier for him in times of peace we will show him what we are
good for in times of war. I did think right seriously of enlisting
with the Canadians and going over to help the Allies, but somehow I
have a feeling I won't butt in on Europe's troubles but wait for
one of our own which is sure to turn up sooner or later. In the
meantime, thanks to you girls, we work so hard in the day time that
when night comes there is nothing to do but sleep. I could sleep on
a rock pile I am so tired, but instead of a rock pile, a nice canvas
cot serves me very well. We have all kinds of schemes for comfort
but I am not going to tell you of them as they may not pan out as we
expect, and then if they do come right, we can surprise you with
them.

Bill sends his regards. He stayed awake for a little while one night
trying to decide which one of you was the most beautiful, but as he
had to give it up, he has lost no more sleep on the subject. One
thing that makes us work so hard is that we feel that as soon as we
get the place habitable you will come and inhabit. My love to the
girls and Bobby. Tell him there is so much mischief he can get in up
here, I know he is going to have the time of his life.

Your devoted cousin,
LEWIS SOMERVILLE.

Miss Elizabeth Somerville to Lewis Somerville.

Richmond, Va.

My dear Nephew:

Your letters have been most satisfactory and I am deeply grateful to
you for writing so frequently and in such detail. I spent yesterday
afternoon with the Carter girls and Douglas read me your last
letter to her. I must say your description of the mountain woman and
her son is far from pleasant.

You are very much mistaken, germs do lurk in the earth. Tetanus and
hookworm are both taken in directly from the earth, and meningitis
is considered by some of the best authorities to be a product of
rotting wood. Did the Englishman die of T. B.? If he did, no power
on earth will make me sleep in that cabin. The daughter no doubt has
inherited the disease from her parent and is this moment stirring
the dread germ into your batter cakes. She sounds to be very
industrious and efficient. Do not praise her too much but remember:
"A new broom sweeps clean." Please find out from this girl what was
the matter with her father. Did you burn the sulphur candles?

The Carter's tenants take possession of their house next week and
then all of the girls and that Bobby, who is certainly a living
illustration of "Spare the rod and spoil the child," will come to me
until it is time to go to the mountains. It will be quite a care for
me, but I do not forget that my mother, your grandmother, was
brought up in their grandfather's house. "Cast your bread upon the
waters and after many days," etc. Old Cousin Robert Carter left no
money but many debts, debts to himself just like this one that I owe
him.

Please let me know by return mail what was the matter with the
Englishman and if he died of T. B.'s.

Your devoted
AUNT LIZZIE.

Telegram from Lewis Somerville to his Aunt Lizzie.

Englishman had melancholia and committed suicide. Lungs sound.

LEWIS.

From Douglas Carter to Lewis Somerville.

Richmond, Va., May --, 19--.

My dear Lewis:

You don't know how we appreciate your kindness in going up to the
mountains and working so hard for us. We feel as though we could
never repay you and Mr. Tinsley for your kindness. Everything you
have to say about the camp sounds delightful. As for your butting
in--you know you couldn't do that. If you think Josh and the little
English girl would be good ones to have for the Week-End Boarding
Camp, why you just engage them. We are so inexperienced that
sometimes I think we are perfectly crazy to undertake this thing,
but then I think if the boarders don't like our ways they don't have
to stay, and certainly one week-end would not kill them. They don't
have to come back, either.

Nan's funny ads have called forth all kinds of replies and already
we have many applications for board. One woman wants us to take care
of her six children as she wants to go to the war zone as Red Cross
nurse. We had to turn that down as Bobby will be about all we can
manage in the way of kids. She only wanted to pay two full boards
for the six children as she declared their ages aggregated only
thirty-seven, which would not be as much as two full grown persons.

Some of our school friends are eager to go, and as Cousin Lizzie has
a reputation for being a very strict chaperone, their mothers are
willing. Mr. Lane and Dick, the two young men in Father's office,
are both coming up when they can and they are going to send us some
of their friends.

While you have been working so hard, we, too, have not been idle.
Of course, school has kept me very busy as I am anxious to take my
exams and make all the points I can for college, whether I am to go
next year or not. Helen has decided that her schooling just now is
of very little importance since she has no idea of going in for
college, so she has simply quit; but she is very busy, busier than
any of us perhaps. She is learning all the cooking that our cook
can teach her in the few days she is to be with us, and she has
also joined a domestic science class at the Y. W. C. A. and has
added jelly roll and chocolate pie to her list of culinary
accomplishments.

Dr. Wright made a splendid suggestion: that each one of us learns to
cook a meal, a different menu for each girl. If we do that, we can
change about and give the boarders some variety, and then the
responsibility would not rest too heavily on any one of us. Nan and
I are trying it and on Saturday I am to serve the family a dinner
under cook's directions. Helen, of course, scorns Dr. Wright's
suggestion and Lucy says she won't learn anything Helen won't.
Susan, this housegirl who is to go with us, cannot cook at all, but
we are to have her wash the dishes and make up beds, or cots, and
set the tables, etc. Oscar will wait on the table and help with the
dishes.

We are looking out for a cook, but the trouble is good cooks are
already cooking. This old woman who has been with us for years is
weeping all the time because she is too afraid of snakes to go to
the mountains. I have found her a good home and next week she leaves
us. Oscar says he can cook but he has lived with us, as Lucy says,
since before we were born, and no one has ever known of his so much
as making a cup of tea or a piece of toast, and I am afraid that he
has hid his light under a bushel for so long that it has perhaps
gone out.

We have sold the car and all debts are paid, and we have a tidy
little sum to buy camping outfits and also provisions. Mr. Lane
assures me that the store room will be large enough for a quantity
of provisions, so we are ordering everything by the barrel, except
pepper, of course. It saves a lot and Schmidt pays the freight. We
already have a list as long as I am of things we have to get, and
every day one of us thinks of more things.

We are filled with admiration for you that you should have thought
of a garden. Have you looked into the matter of chickens? I remember
when we have boarded in the country chickens were what we and all
the other boarders clamored for. I want to have fried chicken on my
menu that I am to learn to cook, but they are so terribly high now
in town that I shall have to put in a substitute and learn how to
fry chickens when they get cheaper, which they will surely do later
on.

Dear Cousin Lizzie, who has been kindness itself, is to take us to
her home after this week, where we will stay until we go to the
mountains. It is so good of her to go with us. I just know she hates
it and we must all of us try to make things as easy for her as
possible. Will the cabin be comfortable? When the other things are
freighted, I am going to send a little iron bed with a good
mattress, also an easy chair for her to be comfortable in.

Please remember me to Mr. Tinsley. All the girls send messages to
both of you.

Very sincerely,
DOUGLAS CARTER.

From Mrs. Carter to her children.

My darling children:

I am writing this on the steamer but expect to mail it at Bermuda.
You are in my thoughts every moment, but my dreams of you are so
sweet and peaceful that somehow I feel that you are all right. I
know you are anxious about your beloved father and I am very happy
to tell you that he is much better. It seems that every day puts
new life in him. At first he lay so quiet and slept so much that a
strange dread filled my heart. The young surgeon on board, who is a
friend of Dr. Wright, assured me that sleep was the best thing for
him, but while he slept, I would get so lonely that I could hardly
stand it. I had time to think much of what a poor wife I have been
to him and foolish mother to all of you. I have not worried him with
my grievance against myself, however, and I am not going to worry
you, but am going to be less selfish with him and may even be
stricter with you. He lets me wait on him now and he thinks it is a
great joke to lie still and ask me to bring water or to fill his
pipe or do something equally easy.

Sometimes he worries about his business, but I won't let him talk
about it. He thinks he hasn't any money left, but of course I know
that is nonsense. Dr. Wright told me he would look after you girls
and see that you were well taken care of. As for money,--why, you
don't need much cash and our credit at the shops is perfectly good,
and you can get what you need. If you summer in the mountains, which
is what Dr. Wright hinted you might do, you must all of you have
plenty of little afternoon frocks. I hate to see girls at the
springs wear the same clothes morning and afternoon. Don't be dowdy,
I pray of you.

You had better take Susan wherever you go so she can look after
Bobby, who is too large for a nurse, I know, but who needs much
attention. Susan can look after your clothes, too, and do up your
lace collars and keep your boots cleaned. Keep the other servants in
town on full pay and be sure that they have plenty of provisions. I
think nothing is so horrid as the habit some persons have of letting
servants shift for themselves while they are off enjoying
themselves at the springs.

I am hoping for letters when we land at Bermuda. I am hungry for
news of all of you. Your poor father talks a great deal of you and
wants to go over incidents of your childhood. He says he is relying
on your good sense to keep you from harm until we return.

We both of us liked Dr. Wright very much,--at least, your father
liked him. I was too afraid of him to call it liking but I trusted
him implicitly, and now that your father is so much better, I know
that his treatment was exactly the right thing. This young surgeon
on board says that Dr. Wright is one of the very finest young men in
the profession and his friends expect great things of him.

Our quarters are very comfortable and, strange to say, although the
food is far from dainty, I am enjoying it very much. It is well
cooked and everything is spotlessly clean. They have room for only
thirty passengers on this boat as it is entirely given up to
freight. This young surgeon has accepted a position on the boat so
he can have time to do some writing he is deep in.

It is a very lazy, peaceful life and somehow I feel that your father
and I have always been on this boat and that all the rest of it is a
dream--even my dear children are just dream children. I believe that
is the state of mind that Dr. Wright wanted your father to attain. I
think he has attained it, too. He worries less and less and will lie
for hours in his deck chair watching the sailors at work, seemingly
with no care in the world.

Tell my dear little Bobby he must be very good and must mind all his
sisters, even Lucy. There is no scrap of news too small to interest
us and you must tell us what you are doing and all the doings of
your friends. Give our kindest regards to all the servants and tell
them I know they are taking good care of you in our absence.

Good by, my darlings,
Your MOTHER.

Bobby to his father.

richmond, vA.

Dere farther?

i am sho mising U. These here gurls is sech tickular feblemales they
Dont let a feller git no durt on him atall. I is printin this my
silf but arsker is tellin me how to spil them Few wourds what i aint
come tow yit in my book, dr Right is awl right wich is a joak. he
has reglar ingauged me as his shover to hole out my arum whin we
gose Round cornders. also to set in his cyar an keep the big hudlams
from Swipang it. They has bin mutch trubble in richmond latly becuze
of swipars. They jes takes cyars and joy riders in them and leaves
them in some Dish in the subbubs? whitch gose tow show they is jes
half way bunglars or robers. Plese tell my muther that i aint never
seed any lady yet what is so nice as she Is. I helped dr. Right mend
a tior yestiddy. it war a puctuashun an speakin of them things I
hope you and muther is noticing how i am a usin punctuashuns in my
letter? sumtime i Am goin to make a joak to dr. Right bout that
whin he runs over a broaken botle, i aint quiet sho how i will uze
it but i can bring it in sumhow. Did you all no that we air po now!
i is goin to dress in ovarawls and aint never goin to wash no more
when onct we gits in the mauntings. they is a boy up there what
never washis an lewis Somevil say they is a cow up thair what gives
choclid. whineva that nice boy milks. Helen bernt her thum tryin to
brile a stake an lucy had to bern hern to. boath of them bernt the
stake awlso. Dugles saiz i have rit enuf but i still have mutch to
tel. i am very good when i am a slep an when dr. Right lets me be
his siztant. he is bout the nisest man i ever seed but helen saiz he
looks like a man she can mak with a Hatchet. i done tole him what
she saiz an he got right redd an sed he was bliged to my fare
sister. I awlso tole helen what he sed an that wuz when she bernt
her thum. No more from me at presence,

bobbY.

From Gwen to Teacher.

Greendale, Va.
May --, 19--.

My dear Teacher:

At first, I missed the school so much that I felt as though I could
hardly stand to have you away for four long months. Now I am so busy
that it is growing much easier for me. Even Josh says he misses you,
too, but I think he is very happy in not having to bathe. I make
him say some lessons to me every day and practice his penmanship.

Some gentlemen from Richmond, the capital of the state, situated on
the James, are now building a camp on the land that my father at one
time owned. They have engaged Josh and me to serve in the capacity
of cook and gardener. I, of course, am the cook. I find I can apply
the knowledge that you have imparted to me at school, and the young
gentlemen are very kind in praising my culinary efforts. I learned
that word from Mr. Somerville who used it quite often and then I
looked it up in my school dictionary and now have added it to my
vocabulary.

At first, I felt almost faint when I had to go in the cabin where
Father and I used to live, but it was necessary if I was going to do
anything for these young gentlemen, and now the horror of the cabin
has passed from me. I believe I would not even mind being there at
night, but Josh says he is afraid of haunts. Of course he expresses
himself as "feard er hants." Josh distresses me because he will not
try to speak proper English. He is so good except for not washing
and saying we uns, etc.

I try not to be critical of my surroundings, remembering as I ever
must, how good Aunt Mandy and Josh have been to me, because even
before Father died Aunt Mandy was the only woman I could remember
who had ever been loving to me. I do wish they liked to wash more
than they do, though. I try to keep Aunt Mandy's cabin clean and she
likes it now that she does not have to do it herself. I set the
table carefully, too, and she likes the flowers I put in the centre.
I think Aunt Mandy would have been cultured if she had ever had the
chance. She loves beautiful things like sunsets and distant
mountains.

I think Mr. Somerville and Mr. Bill Tinsley like beautiful things,
too, but they are like Josh in some respects. I believe Josh would
just as soon have some one see him cry as to come right out and say
he was really admiring a view. These young gentlemen don't mind
saying girls are pretty, in fact, they are quite frank about saying
they are even beautiful and have long discussions about which young
lady is the most beautiful of some sisters, the Misses Carter, who
are coming up here to be the mistresses of this camp. I am very
eagerly awaiting their arrival. I am to be employed regularly by
them, so Mr. Somerville has just informed me, and I am going to make
a great deal of money, enough to enable me to buy the books I need
and have some warm clothes for next winter and to pay for my
schooling. I appreciate the kindness of the Mission School in giving
me my tuition so far, and now I am extremely happy that I will be
able to pay something, and that will give the chance to some other
child in the mountains to get an education. The young ladies are to
give me ten dollars a month for four months. Don't you consider this
a rare opportunity? Josh and Josephus are also employed by the
month.

I am afraid that my letter is composed in a stilted manner. You
remember that is the complaint you have always made in my
compositions, but I find it impossible to be free and easy in my
writing.

Very sincerely and affectionately,
GWENDOLIN BROWN.