Selected Stories of Bret Harte

  A MOTHER OF FIVE

  She was a mother--and a rather exemplary one--of five children, althoughher own age was barely nine. Two of these children were twins, and shegenerally alluded to them as "Mr. Amplach's children," referring to anexceedingly respectable gentleman in the next settlement who, I havereason to believe, had never set eyes on her or them. The twins werequite naturally alike--having been in a previous state of existence twoninepins--and were still somewhat vague and inchoate below their lowshoulders in their long clothes, but were also firm and globular aboutthe head, and there were not wanting those who professed to see in thisan unmistakable resemblance to their reputed father. The other childrenwere dolls of different ages, sex, and condition, but the twins maybe said to have been distinctly her own conception. Yet such was heradmirable and impartial maternity that she never made any differencebetween them. "The Amplach's children" was a description rather than adistinction.

  She was herself the motherless child of Robert Foulkes, a hardworkingbut somewhat improvident teamster on the Express Route between Big Bendand Reno. His daily avocation, when she was not actually with him in thewagon, led to an occasional dispersion of herself and her progeny alongthe road and at wayside stations between those places. But the familywas generally collected together by rough but kindly hands alreadyfamiliar with the handling of her children. I have a very vividrecollection of Jim Carter trampling into a saloon, after a five-milewalk through a snowdrift, with an Amplach twin in his pocket. "Suthin'ought to be done," he growled, "to make Meary a little more careful o'them Amplach children; I picked up one outer the snow a mile beyond BigBend." "God bless my soul!" said a casual passenger, looking up hastily;"I didn't know Mr. Amplach was married." Jim winked diabolically at usover his glass. "No more did I," he responded gloomily, "but you can'ttell anything about the ways o' them respectable, psalm-singing jaybirds." Having thus disposed of Amplach's character, later on, whenhe was alone with Mary, or "Meary," as she chose to pronounce it, therascal worked upon her feelings with an account of the infant Amplach'ssufferings in the snowdrift and its agonized whisperings for "Meary!Meary!" until real tears stood in Mary's blue eyes. "Let this be alesson to you," he concluded, drawing the ninepin dexterously from hispocket, "for it took nigh a quart of the best forty-rod whisky to bringthat child to." Not only did Mary firmly believe him, but for weeksafterwards "Julian Amplach"--this unhappy twin--was kept in a somnolentattitude in the cart, and was believed to have contracted dissipatedhabits from the effects of his heroic treatment.

  Her numerous family was achieved in only two years, and succeeded herfirst child, which was brought from Sacramento at considerable expenseby a Mr. William Dodd, also a teamster, on her seventh birthday. This,by one of those rare inventions known only to a child's vocabulary,she at once called "Misery"--probably a combination of "Missy," as sheherself was formerly termed by strangers, and "Missouri," her nativeState. It was an excessively large doll at first--Mr. Dodd wishing toget the worth of his money--but time, and perhaps an excess of maternalcare, remedied the defect, and it lost flesh and certain unemployedparts of its limbs very rapidly. It was further reduced in bulk byfalling under the wagon and having the whole train pass over it,but singularly enough its greatest attenuation was in the head andshoulders--the complexion peeling off as a solid layer, followed by thedisappearance of distinct strata of its extraordinary composition. Thiscontinued until the head and shoulders were much too small for evenits reduced frame, and all the devices of childish millinery--a shawlsecured with tacks and well hammered in, and a hat which tilted backwardand forward and never appeared at the same angle--failed to restoresymmetry. Until one dreadful morning, after an imprudent bath, the wholeupper structure disappeared, leaving two hideous iron prongs standingerect from the spinal column. Even an imaginative child like Mary couldnot accept this sort of thing as a head. Later in the day Jack Roper,the blacksmith at the "Crossing," was concerned at the plaintiveappearance before his forge of a little girl clad in a bright-bluepinafore of the same color as her eyes, carrying her monstrous offspringin her arms. Jack recognized her and instantly divined the situation."You haven't," he suggested kindly, "got another head at home--suthin'left over," Mary shook her head sadly; even her prolific maternity wasnot equal to the creation of children in detail. "Nor anythin' likea head?" he persisted sympathetically. Mary's loving eyes filled withtears. "No, nuffen!" "You couldn't," he continued thoughtfully, "use herthe other side up?--we might get a fine pair o' legs outer them irons,"he added, touching the two prongs with artistic suggestion. "Now lookhere"--he was about to tilt the doll over when a small cry of femininedistress and a swift movement of a matronly little arm arrested theevident indiscretion. "I see," he said gravely. "Well, you come heretomorrow, and we'll fix up suthin' to work her." Jack was thoughtful therest of the day, more than usually impatient with certain stubborn mulesto be shod, and even knocked off work an hour earlier to walk to BigBend and a rival shop. But the next morning when the trustful andanxious mother appeared at the forge she uttered a scream of delight.Jack had neatly joined a hollow iron globe, taken from the newel post ofsome old iron staircase railing, to the two prongs, and covered itwith a coat of red fireproof paint. It was true that its complexion wasrather high, that it was inclined to be top-heavy, and that in the longrun the other dolls suffered considerably by enforced association withthis unyielding and implacable head and shoulders, but this did notdiminish Mary's joy over her restored first-born. Even its utter absenceof features was no defect in a family where features were as evanescentas in hers, and the most ordinary student of evolution could seethat the "Amplach" ninepins were in legitimate succession to theglobular-headed "Misery." For a time I think that Mary even preferredher to the others. Howbeit it was a pretty sight to see her on a summerafternoon sitting upon a wayside stump, her other children dutifullyranged around her, and the hard, unfeeling head of Misery pressed deepdown into her loving little heart as she swayed from side to side,crooning her plaintive lullaby. Small wonder that the bees took up thesong and droned a slumberous accompaniment, or that high above her headthe enormous pines, stirred through their depths by the soft Sierranair--or Heaven knows what--let slip flickering lights and shadows toplay over that cast-iron face, until the child, looking down upon itwith the quick, transforming power of love, thought that it smiled.

  The two remaining members of the family were less distinctive."Gloriana"--pronounced as two words: "Glory Anna"--being the work ofher father, who also named it, was simply a cylindrical roll of canvaswagon-covering, girt so as to define a neck and waist, with a rudelyinked face--altogether a weak, pitiable, manlike invention; and "JohnnyDear," alleged to be the representative of John Doremus, a youngstorekeeper who occasionally supplied Mary with gratuitous sweets. Marynever admitted this, and as we were all gentlemen along that road,we were blind to the suggestion. "Johnny Dear" was originally a smallplaster phrenological cast of a head and bust, begged from some shopwindow in the county town, with a body clearly constructed by Maryherself. It was an ominous fact that it was always dressed as a BOY,and was distinctly the most HUMAN-looking of all her progeny. Indeed,in spite of the faculties that were legibly printed all over its smooth,white, hairless head, it was appallingly lifelike. Left sometimes byMary astride of the branch of a wayside tree, horsemen had been known todismount hurriedly and examine it, returning with a mystified smile, andit was on record that Yuba Bill had once pulled up the Pioneer Coachat the request of curious and imploring passengers, and then grimlyinstalled "Johnny Dear" beside him on the box seat, publicly deliveringhim to Mary at Big Bend, to her wide-eyed confusion and the first blushwe had ever seen on her round, chubby, sunburnt cheeks. It may seemstrange that with her great popularity and her well-known maternalinstincts, she had not been kept fully supplied with proper and moreconventional dolls; but it was soon recognized that she did not carefor them--left their waxen faces, rolling eyes, and abundant hair inditches, or stripped them to help clothe the more extravagant creaturesof her
fancy. So it came that "Johnny Dear's" strictly classical profilelooked out from under a girl's fashionable straw sailor hat, to theutter obliteration of his prominent intellectual faculties; the Amplachtwins wore bonnets on their ninepins heads, and even an attempt wasmade to fit a flaxen scalp on the iron-headed Misery. But her dolls werealways a creation of her own--her affection for them increasing with thedemand upon her imagination. This may seem somewhat inconsistentwith her habit of occasionally abandoning them in the woods or in theditches. But she had an unbounded confidence in the kindly maternity ofNature, and trusted her children to the breast of the Great Mother asfreely as she did herself in her own motherlessness. And this confidencewas rarely betrayed. Rats, mice, snails, wildcats, panther, and bearnever touched her lost waifs. Even the elements were kindly; an Amplachtwin buried under a snowdrift in high altitudes reappeared smilinglyin the spring in all its wooden and painted integrity. We were allPantheists then--and believed this implicitly. It was only when exposedto the milder forces of civilization that Mary had anything to fear.Yet even then, when Patsy O'Connor's domestic goat had once tried to"sample" the lost Misery, he had retreated with the loss of threefront teeth, and Thompson's mule came out of an encounter with thatiron-headed prodigy with a sprained hind leg and a cut and swollenpastern.

  But these were the simple Arcadian days of the road between Big Bend andReno, and progress and prosperity, alas! brought changes in their wake.It was already whispered that Mary ought to be going to school, andMr. Amplach--still happily oblivious of the liberties taken with hisname--as trustee of the public school at Duckville, had intimated thatMary's bohemian wanderings were a scandal to the county. She was growingup in ignorance, a dreadful ignorance of everything but the chivalry,the deep tenderness, the delicacy and unselfishness of the rude menaround her, and obliviousness of faith in anything but the immeasurablebounty of Nature toward her and her children. Of course there was afierce discussion between "the boys" of the road and the few marriedfamilies of the settlement on this point, but, of course, progress and"snivelization"--as the boys chose to call it--triumphed. The projectionof a railroad settled it; Robert Foulkes, promoted to a foremanship ofa division of the line, was made to understand that his daughter must beeducated. But the terrible question of Mary's family remained. No schoolwould open its doors to that heterogeneous collection, and Mary's littleheart would have broken over the rude dispersal or heroic burning of herchildren. The ingenuity of Jack Roper suggested a compromise. Shewas allowed to select one to take to school with her; the others wereADOPTED by certain of her friends, and she was to be permitted to visitthem every Saturday afternoon. The selection was a cruel trial, so cruelthat, knowing her undoubted preference for her firstborn, Misery, wewould not have interfered for worlds, but in her unexpected choiceof "Johnny Dear" the most unworldly of us knew that it was the firstglimmering of feminine tact--her first submission to the world ofpropriety that she was now entering. "Johnny Dear" was undoubtedly themost presentable; even more, there was an educational suggestion in itsprominent, mapped-out phrenological organs. The adopted fathers wereloyal to their trust. Indeed, for years afterward the blacksmith keptthe iron-headed Misery on a rude shelf, like a shrine, near his bunk;nobody but himself and Mary ever knew the secret, stolen, and thrillinginterviews that took place during the first days of their separation.Certain facts, however, transpired concerning Mary's equal faithfulnessto another of her children. It is said that one Saturday afternoon, whenthe road manager of the new line was seated in his office at Reno inprivate business discussion with two directors, a gentle tap was heardat the door. It was opened to an eager little face, a pair of blue eyes,and a blue pinafore. To the astonishment of the directors, a change cameover the face of the manager. Taking the child gently by the hand, hewalked to his desk, on which the papers of the new line werescattered, and drew open a drawer from which he took a large ninepinextraordinarily dressed as a doll. The astonishment of the two gentlemenwas increased at the following quaint colloquy between the manager andthe child.

  "She's doing remarkably well in spite of the trying weather, but I havehad to keep her very quiet," said the manager, regarding the ninepincritically.

  "Ess," said Mary quickly, "It's just the same with Johnny Dear; hiscough is f'ightful at nights. But Misery's all right. I've just been tosee her."

  "There's a good deal of scarlet fever around," continued the managerwith quiet concern, "and we can't be too careful. But I shall take herfor a little run down the line tomorrow."

  The eyes of Mary sparkled and overflowed like blue water. Then there wasa kiss, a little laugh, a shy glance at the two curious strangers, theblue pinafore fluttered away, and the colloquy ended. She was equallyattentive in her care of the others, but the rag baby "Gloriana," whohad found a home in Jim Carter's cabin at the Ridge, living too far fordaily visits, was brought down regularly on Saturday afternoon to Mary'shouse by Jim, tucked in asleep in his saddle bags or riding gallantlybefore him on the horn of his saddle. On Sunday there was a dressparade of all the dolls, which kept Mary in heart for the next week'sdesolation.

  But there came one Saturday and Sunday when Mary did not appear, and itwas known along the road that she had been called to San Francisco tomeet an aunt who had just arrived from "the States." It was a vacantSunday to "the boys," a very hollow, unsanctified Sunday, somehow,without that little figure. But the next, Sunday, and the next, werestill worse, and then it was known that the dreadful aunt was makingmuch of Mary, and was sending her to a grand school--a convent at SantaClara--where it was rumored girls were turned out so accomplished thattheir own parents did not know them. But WE knew that was impossible toour Mary; and a letter which came from her at the end of the month, andbefore the convent had closed upon the blue pinafore, satisfied us, andwas balm to our anxious hearts. It was characteristic of Mary; it wasaddressed to nobody in particular, and would--but for the prudence ofthe aunt--have been entrusted to the post office open and undirected. Itwas a single sheet, handed to us without a word by her father; but aswe passed it from hand to hand, we understood it as if we had heard ourlost playfellow's voice.

  "Ther's more houses in 'Frisco than you kin shake a stick at andwimmens till you kant rest, but mules and jakasses ain't got no sho, norblacksmiffs shops, wich is not to be seen no wear. Rapits and Skwirlsalso bares and panfers is on-noun and unforgotten on account of thestreets and Sunday skoles. Jim Roper you orter be very good to Mizzeryon a kount of my not bein' here, and not harten your hart to her bekosshe is top heavy--which is ontroo and simply an imptient lie--likeyou allus make. I have a kinary bird wot sings deliteful--but isn't ayellerhamer sutch as I know, as you'd think. Dear Mister Montgommery,don't keep Gulan Amplak to mutch shet up in office drors; it isn't goodfor his lungs and chest. And don't you ink his head--nother! youre asbad as the rest. Johnny Dear, you must be very kind to your attoptedfather, and you, Glory Anna, must lov your kind Jimmy Carter verrymutch for taking you hossback so offen. I has been buggy ridin' withan orficer who has killed injuns real! I am comin' back soon with grateaffeckshun, so luke out and mind."

  But it was three years before she returned, and this was her lastand only letter. The "adopted fathers" of her children were faithful,however, and when the new line was opened, and it was understood thatshe was to be present with her father at the ceremony, they came, witha common understanding, to the station to meet their old playmate. Theywere ranged along the platform--poor Jack Roper a little overweightedwith a bundle he was carrying on his left arm. And then a young girlin the freshness of her teens and the spotless purity of a muslin frockthat although brief in skirt was perfect in fit, faultlessly booted andgloved, tripped from the train, and offered a delicate hand in turn toeach of her old friends. Nothing could be prettier than the smile on thecheeks that were no longer sunburnt; nothing could be clearer than theblue eyes lifted frankly to theirs. And yet, as she gracefully turnedaway with her father, the faces of the four adopted parents were foundto be as red and embarrassed as her own
on the day that Yuba Bill droveup publicly with "Johnny Dear" on the box seat.

  "You weren't such a fool," said Jack Montgomery to Roper, "as to bringMisery here with you?"

  "I was," said Roper with a constrained laugh--"and you?" He had justcaught sight of the head of a ninepin peeping from the manager's pocket.The man laughed, and then the four turned silently away.

  "Mary" had indeed come back to them; but not "The Mother of Five!"