“She would marry,” sez Phila warmly, “if she knew what a lovely, lovely state it wuz.”
How strange it is that some folks are as soft as putty on some subjects and real cute on others. Phila knew enough on any other subject only jest marriage. But I spozed that her brain would harden up on this subject when she got more familiar with it––they generally do. And the light of that moon I spoke on liquefies common sense and a state, putty soft, ensues; but cold weather hardens putty, and I knew that she would git over it. But even as I methought, Phila sez, “I must go to my seat, pa will be lookin’ for me.” I see Miss Meechim smotherin’ a smile on her lace-edged handkerchief, and Dorothy’s eyes kinder laughin’ at the idee of a bride callin’ her husband “pa.”
But the groom returned at jest that minute, and I introduced ’em both to Miss Meechim and Dorothy, and we had quite a good little visit. But anon, the groom mentioned incidentally that they wuz a goin’ to live in Salt Lake City.
“Why!” sez I in horrow, “you hain’t a goin’ to jine the Mormons are you?”
And as I said that I see Miss Meechim kinder git Dorothy behind her, as if to protect her from what might be. But I knew there wuzn’t no danger from the groom’s flirtin’ with any other female or tryin’ to git ’em sealed to him, for quite a spell I knew that he felt himself as much alone with Baby as if them two wuz on a oasis in the middle of the 44 desert of Sarah. I knew that it would be some months before he waked up to the fact of there bein’ another woman in the world. And oh, how Phila scoffed at the idee of pa jinin’ the Mormons. They had bought part of a store of a Gentile and wuz goin’ to be pardners with him and kinder grow up with the country. I felt that hey wuz a likely couple and would do well, but rememberin’ Dorothy’s and Miss Meechim’s smiles I reached up and stiddied myself on that apron-string of Duty, and took Phila out one side and advised her not to call her bridegroom pa. Sez I, “You hain’t but jest married and it don’t look well.”
And she said that “Her ma always called her father pa.”
“Well,” sez I, “if you’ll take the advice of a old Jonesvillian and well-wisher, you’ll wait till you’re a few years older before you call him pa.”
And she sez, lookin’ admirin’ly at him, “I spoze I might call him papa.”
Well, you can’t put sense into a certain bump in anybody’s head if it wuzn’t made there in the first place––there are holler places in heads that you can’t fill up, do your best. But oh! how her devoted love to him put me in mind of myself, and how his small-sized devotion to her––how it reminded me of him who wuz far away––and oh, why did I not hear from him! my heart sunk nearly into my shues as I foreboded about it. It seemed as if everything brung him up before me, the provisions we had on the dining car wuz good and plenty of ’em, and how they made me think of him, who wuz a good provider. The long, long days and nights of travel, the jar and motion of the cars made me think of him who often wuz restless and oneasy. And even the sand of the desert between Cheyenne and Denver, even that sand brought me fond remembrances of one who wuz sandy complected when in his prime. And oh! when did I not think of him? Christmas had gone by, but how could we celebrate it without a home to set up a Christmas tree, or set out a table with good Jonesville vittles. How I 45 thought on him who made a holiday in my heart by his presence, and always helped me put the leaves in the extension table.
Tommy wanted to hang up his little stockin’, and did, hangin’ it out like a little red signal of distress over the side of his top shelf, and we filled it with everything good we could git hold on.
Dorothy put in a little silver watch she had bought on her travels, not bigger than a warnut, and Miss Meechim put in some of the toys she had bought for children of her acquaintance. I got a good little picture book for him in Chicago, and a set of Authors, and Aronette gin him two little linen handkerchiefs, hemstitched by herself, and his name, “Tommy,” worked in the corners. He wuz real tickled with ’em all. I told Miss Meechim that I had hoped to spend Christmas in Salt Lake City. Knowin’ that it wuz a warm climate, I thought I could have a Christmas tree out doors; I thought I could take one of them big pine trees I had read on, and invite Brigham Young’s wives, the hull on ’em, to my party, bein’ out doors I thought there would be room for ’em all, poor creeters!
But Miss Meechim is very cautious, and she said that she wuz afraid that such a party given by folks in my high position might have a tendency to encourage polygamy.
And I said, “I would rather give a dollar bill than do that, and mebbe I had better give it up, for we shan’t git there in time, anyway.”
And so I did, and spent the Christmas holidays on the cars, and tried to keep my heart and mind in a Christmas mood, but don’t spoze I did, so many fond recollections and sad forebodin’s hanted me as the cars swep’ us on, on through the valley of the Platte river on to Denver. Miss Meechim, who is a power on dates, said that Denver wuz five thousand two hundred feet above the sea.
And Tommy wonnered, wonnered who measured it, and if they did it with a yard stick as his ma measured cloth, 46 and then he wonnered if his ma missed her little boy, and then he laid up aginst me and kinder cried a little, evanescent grief soon soothed.
We stayed in Denver two days, sallyin’ out to different points of interest about it, and here I see irrigation carried on, water carried into the channels around the crops and trees some as I’ve dug little holes round my house-plants to hold water; only of course Denver wuz carryin’ it on, on a bigger scale. It is a handsome city with the water of the Platte river brung in and running along in little streams by the curbstones. We rode out to Idaho Springs on a narrer railroad but easy goin’, through Clear Creek Canon. I liked the looks of the Springs first-rate (they made me think of Josiah).
All the way we see Chinamen workin’ hard and patient, as is their wont, and their long frocks they had on made me think of him I mourned for, and their hair hangin’ in long braids down their back. So would his hair look if he had any, and let it grow.
We had to go a little out of our straight way to visit Salt Lake City but felt that it paid.
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CHAPTER IV
Salt Lake lays in a rich valley at the foot of a range of snow-capped mountains that tower up ’round it, seemin’ to the saints, I spoze, as if they wuz heavenly ramparts to protect ’em from evil; and lookin’ to them that despise the saints’ ways and customs, as if the very earth itself was liftin’ up its high hands in horrow at their deeds. But to me, hanted as I wuz by a memory, the mountains looked some like old men with white hair; as his would be when he got older if he wuzn’t bald. I knew that I ort not to think on it, but it would come onbid. It is a beautiful city with electric lights, electric railways, broad streets lined with lofty trees, and little rivulets of pure cold snow-water runnin’ along the side of ’em. The houses are clean and comfortable looking, with well-kep’ lawns and gardens about ’em and flowering shrubs. The temple is a magnificent building; it towers up to heaven, as if it wuz jest as sure of bein’ right as our Methodist Episcopal steeple at Jonesville. Though we know that the M. E. steeple, though smaller in size, is pintin’ the right way and will be found out so on that day that tries souls and steeples and everything else.
The old Bee Hive (where the swarm of Mormons first hived and made gall or honey––or mebby both)––is also an interestin’ sight to meditate on. It is shaped a good deal like one of them round straw bee hives you see in old Sabbath School books. The bride and groom went to their own home to live, on whom we called, or Tommy and I did, and left ’em well situated and happy; and I told him, sez I: “If you ’tend strict to the eighth commandment, you’ll git along first rate.”
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