Plays Part 27

GRANDMOTHER: 1820, that was.

SMITH: And-you mean you were here all alone?

GRANDMOTHER: No, we weren't alone. We had the Owens ten miles down the river.

SMITH: But how did you get here?

GRANDMOTHER: Got here in a wagon, how do you s'pose? (gaily) Think we flew?

SMITH: But wasn't it unsafe?

GRANDMOTHER: Them set on safety stayed back in Ohio.

SMITH: But one family! I should think the Indians would have wiped you out.

GRANDMOTHER: The way they wiped us out was to bring fish and corn. We'd have starved to death that first winter hadn't been for the Indians.

SMITH: But they were such good neighbours-why did you throw dish water at them?

GRANDMOTHER: That was after other white folks had roiled them up-white folks that didn't know how to treat 'em. This very land-land you want to buy-was the land they loved-Blackhawk and his Indians. They came here for their games. This was where their fathers-as they called 'em-were buried. I've seen my husband and Blackhawk climb that hill together. (a backward point right) He used to love that hill-Blackhawk. He talked how the red man and the white man could live together. But poor old Blackhawk-what he didn't know was how many white man there was. After the war-when he was beaten but not conquered in his heart-they took him east-Was.h.i.+ngton, Philadelphia, New York-and when he saw the white man's cities-it was a different Indian came back. He just let his heart break without ever turning a hand.

SMITH: But we paid them for their lands. (she looks at him) Paid them something.

GRANDMOTHER: Something. For fifteen million acres of this Mississippi Valley land-best on this globe, we paid two thousand two hundred and thirty-four dollars and fifty cents, and promised to deliver annually goods to the value of one thousand dollars. Not a fancy price-even for them days, (children's voices are heard outside. She leans forward and looks through the door, left) Ira! Let that cat be!

SMITH: (looking from the window) These, I suppose, are your grandchildren?

GRANDMOTHER: The boy's my grandson. The little girl is Madeline Fejevary-Mr Fejevary's youngest child.

SMITH: The Fejevary place adjoins on this side? (pointing right, down)

GRANDMOTHER: Yes. We've been neighbours ever since the Fejevarys came here from Hungary after 1848. He was a count at home-and he's a man of learning. But he was a refugee because he fought for freedom in his country. Nothing Silas could do for him was too good. Silas sets great store by learning-and freedom.

SMITH: (thinking of his own project, looking off toward the hill-the hill is not seen from the front) I suppose then Mr Fejevary has great influence with your son?

GRANDMOTHER: More 'an anybody. Silas thinks 'twas a great thing for our family to have a family like theirs next place to. Well-so 'twas, for we've had no time for the things their family was brought up on. Old Mrs Fejevary (with her shrewd smile)-she weren't stuck up-but she did have an awful ladylike way of feeding the chickens. Silas thinks-oh, my son has all kinds of notions-though a harder worker never found his bed at night.

SMITH: And Mr Fejevary-is he a veteran too?

GRANDMOTHER: (dryly) You don't seem to know these parts well-for one that's all stirred up about the development of the town. Yes-Felix Fejevary and Silas Morton went off together, down that road (motioning with her hand, right)-when them of their age was wanted. Fejevary came back with one arm less than he went with. Silas brought home everything he took-and something he didn't. Rheumatiz. So now they set more store by each other 'an ever. Seems nothing draws men together like killing other men. (a boy's voice teasingly imitating a cat) Madeline, make Ira let that cat be. (a whoop from the girl-a boy's whoop) (looking) There they go, off for the creek. If they set in it-(seems about to call after them, gives this up) Well, they're not the first.

(rather dreams over this)

SMITH: You must feel as if you pretty near owned this country.

GRANDMOTHER: We worked. A country don't make itself. When the sun was up we were up, and when the sun went down we didn't. (as if this renews the self of those days) Here-let me set out something for you to eat. (gets up with difficulty)

SMITH: Oh, no, please-never mind. I had something in town before I came out.

GRANDMOTHER: Dunno as that's any reason you shouldn't have something here.

(She goes off, right; he stands at the door, looking toward the hill until she returns with a gla.s.s of milk, a plate of cookies.)

SMITH: Well, this looks good.

GRANDMOTHER: I've fed a lot of folks-take it by and large. I didn't care how many I had to feed in the daytime-what's ten or fifteen more when you're up and around. But to get up-after sixteen hours on your feet-I was willin', but my bones complained some.

SMITH: But did you-keep a tavern?

GRANDMOTHER: Keep a tavern? I guess we did. Every house is a tavern when houses are spa.r.s.e. You think the way to settle a country is to go on ahead and build hotels? That's all you folks know. Why, I never went to bed without leaving something on the stove for the new ones that might be coming. And we never went away from home without seein' there was a-plenty for them that might stop.

SMITH: They'd come right in and take your food?

GRANDMOTHER: What else could they do? There was a woman I always wanted to know. She made a kind of bread I never had before-and left a-plenty for our supper when we got back with the ducks and berries. And she left the kitchen handier than it had ever been. I often wondered about her-where she came from, and where she went, (as she dreams over this there is laughing and talking at the side of the house) There come the boys.

(MR FEJEVARY comes in, followed by SILAS MORTON. They are men not far from sixty, wearing their army uniforms, carrying the muskets they used in the parade. FEJEVARY has a lean, distinguished face, his dark eyes are penetrating and rather wistful. The left sleeve of his old uniform is empty. SILAS MORTON is a strong man who has borne the burden of the land, and not for himself alone-the pioneer. Seeing the stranger, he sets his musket against the wall and holds out his hand to him, as MR FEJEVARY goes up to GRANDMOTHER MORTON.)

SILAS: How do, stranger?

FEJEVARY: And how are you today, Mrs Morton?

GRANDMOTHER: I'm not abed-and don't expect to be.

SILAS: (letting go of the balloons he has bought) Where's Ira? and Madeline?

GRANDMOTHER: Mr Fejevary's Delia brought them home with her. They've gone down to dam the creek, I guess. This young man's been waiting to see you, Silas.

SMITH: Yes, I wanted to have a little talk with you.

SILAS: Well, why not? (he is tying the gay balloons to his gun, then as he talks, hangs his hat in the corner closet) We've been having a little talk ourselves. Mother, Nat Rice was there. I've not seen Nat Rice since the day we had to leave him on the road with his torn leg-him cursing like a pirate. I wanted to bring him home, but he had to go back to Chicago. His wife's dead, mother.

GRANDMOTHER: Well, I guess she's not sorry.

SILAS: Why, mother.

GRANDMOTHER: 'Why, mother.' Nat Rice is a mean, stingy, complaining man-his leg notwithstanding. Where'd you leave the folks?

SILAS: Oh-scattered around. Everybody visitin' with anybody that'll visit with them. Wish you could have gone.

GRANDMOTHER: I've heard it all. (to FEJEVARY) Your folks well?

FEJEVARY: All well, Mrs Morton. And my boy Felix is home. He'll stop in here to see you by and by.

SILAS: Oh, he's a fine-looking boy, mother. And think of what he knows! (cordially including the young man) Mr Fejevary's son has been to Harvard College.

SMITH: Well, well-quite a trip. Well, Mr Morton, I hope this is not a bad time for me to-present a little matter to you?

SILAS: (genially) That depends, of course, on what you're going to present. (attracted by a sound outside) Mind if I present a little matter to your horse? Like to uncheck him so's he can geta a bit o'gra.s.s.