Clearwater Republican. [volume] (Orofino, Idaho) 1912-1922, 1918-05-31
CHAPTER XII.


mommie when she's asleep and l get tired
OF reading all the time, 80 a nurse in this
ward-mommie has a room to herself, Of
course. but not q special nurse, because
l can do a lot Of the little things. Well,
the nurse taught me how to hemstitch.
So l got some silk and made some nice
soft observation-disclosures for you and one
for me.
This one l made last. 1 didn't want
your eagle eyes seeing all the bobby
stitches on the first one. I hope you like
1t, Ward. Every stitch stands for a
thought Of the hills and our good times.
I've brought Minervy back to life, and l
try to play my old pretends sometimes.
But they always break up into pieces. I'm
not a kid now, you see. And life Is a lot
Inherent when you get out into it, isn't 1t?
Mommie doesn't seem to get much bet
ter. I'm worried about her. She seems
to have let go, somehow. She never talks
about the ranch much OF sven worries
about whether Phoebe is keeping the win
dows washed. She talks about when she
was a little girl and about when she and
daddy were first married. 1t gets on my
nerves to see how she has slipped out Of
everyday life. The nurse says that's COM
mon, though, In sickness. She say l
could go home and look after things for
q week or SO just as we'll as not. She
says mommie would be all right. But l
hate to leave her.
dWIuIly HOH1eSlCk TOT a SOOu OlQ rue
on Blue. l miss him terribly. Have you
seen anything of the cove folks lately?
Seems like I'm clear out of the world. I
hate town, anyway, and a hospital Is the
limit for dismalness. Even the Louise Of
me is getting ready to do something aw-
full If l have to stay much longer. Nom
ME sleeps most of the time. l believe they
dope her with something. She doesn't
lave that awful pain so bad So 1 don't
have anything to do but sit around and
read and sew and wait for her to wake
up and want something.
And this is Christmas, almost. ! Won
der what you'll be doing. Say, Ward. II
you to be a perfect jewel of a man
eend me some of hat jerky you've got
hanging at the head OF your bunk. I
swiped some that last time l was there.
It would taste mighty good to me now,
after all this hospital truck.
Well, a merry Christmas, Pa1-o'-mine,
and here's hoping you and mommie and
] will be eating turkey together at the
Wolverine when next Christmas comes.
Nummy-num! Wouldn't that taste good,
though?
Now remember and write a whole tablet
full to BILLY LOUISE.
Phoebe put that letter on the mantel
over the fireplace the day after Christ
mas.
Billy Louise refrained from expect
ing any reply until after New Years;
then she began to look for a letter,
and when the days passed and brought
her no word her moods changed often
er than the weather.
Wards literary efforts along about
that time consisted of cutting notches
In the window sill beside his bunk.
On the day when the stage driver
gave Billy Louise's letter to Phoebe
Ward cut a deeper, wider notch, think
ing that day was Christmas. Under
the notch he scratched a word with
the point of his knife. 1t had four
letters, and it told %eloquently Of the
state of mind he was in.
The letter gathered dust upon the
mantel down at the Wolverine. When
the postmark was more than two
weeks old another letter came, and
Phoebe laid it on the first one with
fingers that trembled a little. Phoebe
had a letter Of her own that day. Both
were thin, and the addresses were more
instinct warned her that something
was amiss.
This was Wards letter:
Oh, God, Ward, mommie's dead. She
died last night. l thought she was asleep
till the nurse came in at s o'clock. In
all alone and l don't know what to do. l
wish you could come, but if you dom get
this right away, I'll see you at the ranch.
I'm coming home as soon as l can. Oh.
Ward. 1 hate life and everything.
BILLY LOUISE.
Please Ward, stay at the ranch till 1
come. / want to see you. l feel as II
you're the only friend i've got left, now
mommie's gone. She looked SO peaceful
when they took her away-and 80 strange.
I didn't belong to her any more. l felt
rs if l didn't know her at all-and there
IL such an awful gap in my life-maybe
you'll understand. You always do.
The day that letter was written
Ward drew a plan Of the house he
meant to build some day, with a wide
porch ON the front, where a hammock
would swing comfortably.
He had no presentiment of Billy's
need of him, which vas just as well,
since he was absolutely powerless to
help her.
Billy Louise, having arrived unex-
pectedly on the stage, pulled on ner
fur lined mittens and put her chilled
hands before the swapping blaze In the
fireplace. Her eyes were tired and
sunken, and her mouth dropped pitt
fully ut the corners, but aside from
that she did not seem much changed
from the girl who had left the ranch
two months and more before.
"In take a cup Of tea, Phoebe, but
I'm not Il bit hungry" she said. ~
ate just before l left town. How have
you been, PhoebeT
ave been fine. We been so sorry
for you
"Never mind that now, Phoebe. I'd
rather not talk about II. Has anybody
been here latelyT'
"Charlle Fox, he come las week
mebby week before las. Marthy, she
got rheumatis in her knee. Charlie
he say she been pretty bad n night
l guess she's better now. ] toll / wasf
for her II he brings me clo'es, but hi
says he wash them clO'es hisself.
guess Charlie pretty good to that ole