The Sun Maid: A Story of Fort Dearborn

“Father, father! She’s run away again! We’ve lost her!”

Before the minister could be made to comprehend his son’s excited story, voices without drew him to the entrance. Even to him the name of Indian had, in those days, a sinister significance. Yet, as he reached the threshold, there were the Sun Maid’s arms about his neck and her ecstatic declaration:

“It’s my darling Other Mother! She’s come! She’ll live with us! And the Black Partridge; and Osceolo, and Tempest, and Snowbird, and the Chestnut! Oh, all together again; how happy we shall be!”

“Eh? What? Yes, yes, of course,” assented the Doctor, though he cast a rather perplexed glance about his limited apartments. “Well, if it’s to be part of my work, I am ready,” he added resignedly, and not without thought of the quiet study which would be out of the question in a tenement so crowded.

The chief and the clergyman had met before, during the former’s last visit to the Fort, and they greeted each other suavely, as would two white gentlemen of culture and unquestioned standing. Then, while the Sun Maid drew Wahneenah aside and exhibited the cabin, the two men talked together and rapidly became friends.

“The Lord never shuts one door but He opens another. I came here to instruct, hoping to pass far onward into the wilderness. Behold! the heathen are at my very threshold. He took away my wife and sent me a daughter. Now, at her heels, follows a woman of the race I came to help, who looks more noble than most of her white sisters. As the Sun Maid said, shall we not do? Only – where to house them?”

“That is soon settled. Neither the chief’s daughter nor the youth, Osceolo, could sleep beneath the tight roof of the pale-face. Their wigwams shall be pitched behind this cabin, and there will they abide. So will I arrange with the people at the Fort, who are my friends. Yet, let the great medicine-man keep a sharp eye to the young brave, Osceolo. He is my kinsman. There is good in the youth, and there is, also, evil – much evil. He lies upon the ground to dream wild schemes, then rises up to practise them. He is like the pale-faces – by birth a liar. He is not to be trusted. Only by fear does he become as clay in the hands of the potter. If my brother, the great medicine-man, will accept this charge I ask of him there shall be always venison in plenty, and bear’s meat, and the flesh of cattle, at his door. He shall have corn from the fields of the scattered Pottawatomies, and the fuel for his hearth-fire shall never waste. How says my brother, the wise medicine-man?”

“What can I say but that the Black Partridge is as generous as he is brave, and that his readiness to support a minister of the gospel amazes me? In that more settled East, from which I came, the rich men gave grudgingly to their pastor of such things as themselves did not need, and I was always in poverty. Therefore, for the sake of my sons, I came hither. Truly, in this wilderness, I have received evil at the hand of the Lord; but I have, also, received much good. If He wills, from this humble tenement shall go forth a blessing that cannot be measured. Leave the woman and the undisciplined youth with me. I will deal with them as I am given wisdom.”

This was the beginning of a new, rich life for the Sun Maid. It opened to Wahneenah, also, a period of unbroken happiness. The minister, over whose household affairs she promptly assumed a wise control, honored her with his confidence and abided by her clear-sighted counsel. She was constantly associated with her beloved Girl-Child, and could watch the rapid development of her intellect and all-loving heart.

Indeed, Love was the keynote to Kitty Briscoe’s character; and out of love for everybody about her, and especially in hope to be of use to her Indian friends, sprang the greatest incentive to study.

“The more I know, the better I can help them to understand,” she said to Wahneenah, who agreed and approved.

The years sped quietly and rapidly by, as busy years always do. Some changes came to the little settlement of Chicago, but they were only few; until, one sunny day in spring, there reached the ears of the Sun Maid a sudden cry that seemed to turn all the months backward, as a scroll is rolled.

Bending above her table, strewn with the Doctor’s notes which she was copying, in the pleasant room of a big frame house that was one of the few new things of the town, she heard the call; dimly at first, as an out-of-door incident which did not concern herself. When it was repeated, she started visibly, and cried out:

“I know that voice! That’s Mercy Smith! There was never another just like it!”

She sprang up and ran to answer, shouting in return:

“Halloo! What is it?”

“Help!”

A few rods’ run beyond the clump of trees that bordered the garden revealed the difficulty. A heavy wagon, loaded with bags of grain, was mired in the mud of the prairie road. A woman stood upright in the vehicle, lashing and scolding the oxen, which tried, but failed, to extricate the wheels from the clay that held them fast.

“I’m coming! I’m Kitty! And, Mercy – is it really you?”

“Well, if I ain’t beat! You’re Kitty, sure enough! But what a size!”

“Yes. I’m a woman now, almost. How glad I am to see you! How’s Abel? Where is he?”

“Must be glad, if you’d let so many years go by without once comin’ to visit me.”

“I didn’t know that you’d be pleased to have me. I didn’t treat you well, to leave you as I did. But where’s Abel?”

“Home. Trying to sell out. My land! How pretty you’ve growed! Only that white dress and hair a-streamin’; be you dressed for a party, child?”

“Oh, no, indeed! I’ll run and get something to help you out with, if you’ll be patient.”

“Have to be, I reckon, since I’m stuck tight. No hurry. The oxen’ll rest. I’ve heard about you, out home – how ’t you’d found a rich minister to take you in an’ eddicate you, an’ your keepin’ half-Indian still. Might have taught you to brush your hair, I ’low; an’ from appearances you’d have done better to have stayed with me. You hain’t growed up very sensible, have you?”

The Sun Maid laughed, just as merrily and infectiously as when she had first crept for shelter into Mercy Smith’s cabin.

“Maybe not. I’m not the judge. I’ll test my wisdom, though, by trying to help you out of that mud. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She turned to run toward the house, but Mercy remonstrated:

“You can’t help in them fine clothes. Ain’t there no men around?”

“A few. Most of them are out of the village on a big hunting frolic. We’ll manage without.”

“Humph! They’d better be huntin’ Indians.”

The girl looked up anxiously. “Is there any trouble?”

“Always trouble where the red-skins are.”

Kitty departed, and the settler’s wife watched her with feelings of mingled admiration, anger, and astonishment.

“She’s grown, powerful. Tall an’ straight as an Indian, an’ fair as a snowflake. Such hair! I don’t wonder she wears it that way, though I wouldn’t humor her by lettin’ on. I’ve heard she did it to please her ‘tribe’ an’ the old minister. Well, there’s always plenty of fools. They’re a crop ’at never fails.”

The Sun Maid reappeared. She had not stopped to change her white gown, but she brought a pair of snow-shoes, and carried three or four short planks across her strong, firm shoulder.

“My sake! Ain’t you tough! I couldn’t lift one them planks, rugged as I call myself, let alone four. But – snow-shoes in the springtime?”

“Yes. I’ve learned a way for myself of helping the many who get mired out here. See how quickly I can set you free.”

Putting on the shoes, the girl walked straight over the mud, and throwing down the planks before the animals, encouraged them to help themselves.

“What are their names? Jim and Pete? Come on, my poor beasts; and, once clear, you shall have a fine rest and feed.”

“Shucks! There! Go on! Giddap! Gee! Haw!”

There followed a time of suspense, but at last the oxen gained a little advance, when Kitty promptly moved the planks forward, and in due time the wagon rolled out upon a firmer spot.

“Well, Kitty girl, you may not have sense, but you’ve got what’s better – that’s gumption. And that’s Chicago, is it?”

“Yes. I hope you like it.”

“I’ve got to, whether or no. I’m in awful trouble, Kitty Briscoe, an’ it’s all your fault.”

“What can you mean?”

“Abel – Abel – ”

“Yes – yes! What is it?”

“Ever sence you run away he’s been pinin’ to run after you. Said the house wasn’t home no more. ’Twasn’t; though I wouldn’t let on to him. We’ve kept gettin’ comfortabler off, an’ I jawed him from mornin’ to night to make him contented. But he wouldn’t listen. Got so he wouldn’t work home if he could help it, but lounged round the neighbors’. Got hankerin’ to go somewheres, an’ keep tavern, like his father afore him. Now, we’ve got burnt out – ”