ORLEAN RECEIVES A LETTER AND ADVICE

"JEAN!" called Orlean three months later, as she came out of the house, the house where Stewarts had lived, and which Jean Baptiste had rented for the season so as to be near all his land in the older opened county. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it, dear?" he replied, drawing his horses to a stop, while she climbed on the step of the spring wagon he was riding in. He could see she was excited, and he was apprehensive.

She got up on the seat beside him, and placing her arms around him, began to cry. He petted her a moment and then, placing his hand under her chin, raised her head and said: "Well, now, my dear, what is the matter?" whereupon, he kissed her. Drawing his head down then, she whispered something in his ear.

"Oh!" he cried, his face suddenly aglow with an expression she had never seen in it before. The next instant he caught and drew her closely to him, and kissed her fondly. "I am so happy, dear; the happiest I have been since we married!"

"But, Jean!" she started and then hesitated. He appeared to understand.

"Now, my wife, you must not feel that way," he admonished. "That is the ultimate of young married life—children. Of course," he added, slowly, "couples are not always ready they feel, but such does not wait. We are not always ready to die, but old death comes when he gets ready and there's no use trying to argue a delay. So now, instead of looking distressed, just fancy what a great thing, a beautiful and heavenly thing after all it is, and be real nice." He kissed her again and assisted her from the buggy, and while he drove to his work she went into the house and picked up a letter.

It was from Ethel, and ran:

"My dear sister:

"I am writing you to say that I am very unhappy. You cannot imagine how disagreeable, how very inconvenient it is to be as I am. Never did I want a child—or children; but that silly man I'm married to is so crazy for a family that he has given me no peace.

"As a result I must sit around the house during these beautiful summer days and be satisfied to look out of the window and go nowhere. Oh, it is distressing, and I am so mad at times I can seem not to see! Can you sense it: Him so anxious for a family, when what he earns is hardly sufficient to keep us in comfort and maintain the payments on the home. I have tried to reason with him on the score, but it is no use at all. So while I sit around so angry I cannot see straight, he dances around gleefully, wondering whether it will be a girl or a boy!

"Now, I thought I would write you in time so that you could protect yourself. I am, therefore, sending you certain receipts which have been given me—but too late! They will not be again, though—trust me to attend to that! Don't wait too long, and use them as per direction. Do it and run no chance of getting to be as I am.

"I hope you are well and write me any time anything happens, and if these don't work, then tell me right quick and I will send you something that is sure. I depend on you taking care of yourself now, and don't let anybody put foolishness in your head.[Pg 214]

"Hoping to hear from you soon, and that you are safe as yet, believe me to be,

"As ever your sister,

"Ethel."

When she had completed the letter, she was thoughtful as her eyes wandered out to where her husband worked away in the field beyond. She tried to see a few months ahead. It was then midsummer, and Ethel and her father and all the girls were writing her already that they supposed they might as well not expect her until Xmas. But Jean had intimated already that he did not expect to go to Chicago Xmas. Still, that was several months away, and the dry weather of which he was complaining at the present, might be offset by rain soon. So she might get to see old Chicago Xmas after all. But she would be unable to go out if she did go to the city Xmas with what she knew now. She pondered, and while she did so, she read through certain receipts her sister had sent her. One was very simple, and she was tempted. It stated that the blossom of a certain weed was positive when made into a tea.

She was thoughtful a moment, and her eyes wandered again toward where her husband worked in the field. Finally they fell upon the creek that ran near the house, and she gave a start as she saw growing upon its banks, a peculiar weed with purple blossom. She wondered what kind of weeds they were. She made a mental note of the same and decided that when her husband came to luncheon she would ask him. She sighed then as she thought of the months to come, and what was to come with it. Presently, having nothing else urgent to do, she picked up paper, pen and ink and replied to Ethel's letter:

"My dear sister:

"Receipt of your recent letter is here acknowledged, and[Pg 215] in reply, will say that I have read the same carefully, and made a note of what you said.

"I hardly know how to reply to what you set forth in your letter, and I am not fully decided. But I might as well admit that I have just discovered that I also am to become a mother and, Jean, like Glavis, is tickled to death! I just told him this morning and he said it was the happiest moment he had experienced since we have been married.

"I am entirely at a loss what to do; but I will consult him regarding it. I don't think I ought to do as you advise—not let him know anything—because that would hardly be fair. He is just as good to me as he can be, and considers my every need. Sometimes I do not think he loves me as much as I would wish, but what can I do! He is my husband and gives me all his attention. I am, therefore, afraid that he will object to the measures you suggest. I am very much afraid he will, but I will ask him.

"He's a perfect dear, so jolly, so popular everywhere about, and, I repeat, so good to me that I hardly think my conscience would be clear if I did something in secret and something that he would not like.

"In the meantime, thanking you for your suggestions, and begging you not to act foolish, I am,

"Your affectionate sister,

"Orlean."

Jean Baptiste drove into the yard at noon singing cheerfully. He was met by his wife at the gate which she opened. The wind was blowing from the south, and the air was very hot. It had been blowing from that direction for days. He stopped singing while he unhitched the horses and gazed anxiously toward the northwest.

"What is it, dear?" she inquired, observing the old frown upon his face. He shook his head before replying, and tried to smile.

"This wind."

"The wind?"

"Yes. It's terribly hot. It's awfully drying. The oats are suffering, the wheat is hurt. I wish it would rain, and rain soon," whereat he shook his head again and his frown grew deeper.

He led the horses to the well to drink and while they were drinking she stood near, holding her hands and looking at the patch of strange weeds that were in blossom near. Presently she observed him, and, seeing that his mind was concerned with problems, she would satisfy her mind.

"Jean!" she called.

"Yes," he replied abstractedly.

"What kind of weeds are those?" and she pointed to the wild blossoms.

"Those!" he said, his mind struggling between what he was thinking about and the question. "Oh, those are evil weeds," he concluded, and turning, led his horses into the barn.

"Evil weeds!" she echoed. Slowly she turned and looked again. She was strangely frightened. Then taking courage, she went playfully to where they grew, and, gathering a bunch in a sort of bouquet, carried them into the house, laid them down, and began to place the meal upon the table.

"Why, Orlean," she heard, and turned to meet her husband. "What are you doing with these old things in here! My dear, you could find something better for the table than these things! Just outside the fence in the road roses are blooming everywhere, and the air is charged with their sweet fragrance." He paused briefly and held them to his nose. "And, besides, they stink. Booh!" he cried, holding them away. "They make me sick! Now, if you'll agree I'll throw these things away and run out into the road and get you a big bunch of roses. Will that be all right, dear?"

"Yes," she answered, and he did not understand why her eyes were downcast.

"Good!" he exclaimed, and she was glad to see that the frown upon his face was gone, if only for a while. "I'll bring you some nice flowers. You know," he paused in the doorway and turned to her, "I never liked this weed, anyhow. I have always connected them with all that's vile and evil." So saying, he turned and a few minutes later she heard his voice coming cheerfully from the road where he picked the various shades of roses.

"Now, my dear," said he pleasantly, "I have brought you a real bouquet," and he placed the vase containing the same in the center of the table, stood back and regarded the flowers admiringly.

"Why," he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening, "what is the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," she stammered more than spoke.

"Now there must be something?" While standing where he was he caught sight of Ethel's letter. Immediately she reached forth to snatch it from beneath his gaze. He made no effort to take it, but regarded her in the meantime wonderingly. The receipt concerning the weed lay in plain sight, and he could hardly help reading it. She caught it up then, while he still looked after her wonderingly. He raised his hand to his head and was thoughtful, before saying:

"Why were you so disturbed over me seeing the letter, Orlean? You have never been so before. Of course," he said, and hesitated, and then went on patiently, "I have no wish to pry into women's affairs or secrets, but I am curious to know why you acted as you did?"

She was an emotional girl. Never in her life had she violated the rules of her parents, and she had never thought of disobeying, or keeping secrets from her husband. When she was confronted with the situation, she broke down thereupon, and crying on his breast, told him all the letter contained, and what the receipt meant.

He listened patiently and when she was through he hesitated before speaking. After a moment he led her to the table, sat down, and fell to eating the luncheon.

"When we have dined," he paused after a few minutes to remark, "and you have washed the dishes, we will spare a few minutes for a talk, Orlean."

"Now," he resumed at the appointed time, "when we married, Orlean, it was my hope—and I feel sure 'twas yours, that we would live happily."

"Of course, Jean," she agreed tremulously.

"Then, dear, there are certain things we should come to an understanding thereto lest we find our lives at variance. To begin with, I wish your sister would not write you such letters as the one you received today. But, if she must and offer—yes, criminal advice, I trust you will not incline toward such seriously. You and I, as well as those who have gone before us; and as those who must perforce come after us, did not come into this world altogether by ours or others' providence. And if the world, and the people in the world are growing wicked, as yet, thank God, race suicide has not come to rule!" He was meditatively silent then for a time, gazing as if into space off across the sunkist fields.

"First," he resumed, "selfishness is a bad patient to nurse. Secondly, we must appreciate that ours—our lives have a duty to fulfill. Bringing children into the world and rearing them to clean and healthy man and womanhood is that duty—our greatest duty. And now with regards to that receipt, or receipts.

"I will not seek to deny that such practices are not in some measure a custom. Such very often are given thoughtlessly as to the infinite harm, ill health and unhappiness they might later bring. But the fact that others cultivate and heed such is no reason, dear, do you feel, that we should?"

"No, Jean," she admitted without hesitation and very humbly.

"I feel more inspired to say this at this point in our new union, Orlean, because I cannot believe that it is your nature to be wicked; to wilfully practice and condone the wrong."

"Oh, Jean," she cried, moving toward him; laying her hands upon him, and seeking his eyes with her soul standing out in hers. "You are so noble and so good," and in the next minute she was weeping silently upon his shoulder.

The dry weather continued over all the West, and for two weeks the wind remained in the south, and blew almost day and night. Heretofore, it had been known to blow not more than a week at the most, before the heat would be broken by a rain. And coincident with the heat and drought, the crops began to fire, plants of all kinds to wither, and every one in the country of our story became ominous.

But the Creator seemed to be with the struggling people of the new country, the drought was broken by rain before the crops were destroyed; the harvest was very good, and with the completion of the same, Orlean met her husband one evening with a letter, announcing that her father was coming to visit soon. And the next day they got another letter—no, a paper. It was a summons, and concerned Orlean.