The Homesteader - Epoch I Chapter I: Agnes
THEIR cognomen was Stewart, and three years had
gone by since their return from Western Kansas
where they had been on what they now chose to re-
gard as a "Wild Goose Chase." The substance was, that as
farmers they had failed to raise even one crop during the
three years they spent there, so had in the end, therefore, re-
turned broken and defeated to the rustic old district of In-
diana where they had again taken up their residence on a
rented farm.
Welcomed home like the "return of the prodigal," the
age old gossip of "I told you so!" had been exchanged,
and the episode was about forgotten.
But there was one in the family, the one with whom our
story is largely concerned, who, although she had found
little in Western Kansas to encourage her to stay there,
had not, on the other hand, found much cheer back in old
Indiana so long as they found no place to live but "Nubbin
Ridge." Although but a girl, it so happened through cir-
cumstances over which she had no control, that whatever
she thought or did, concerned largely the whole family's
welfare or destiny.
Her father was a quaint old Scotchman, coming directly
from Scotland to this country, a Highlander from the high-
est of the Highlands, and carried the accent still. But con-
cerning her mother, she had never known her. Indeed, few
had known her mother intimately; but it was generally un-
derstood that she had been the second wife of her father,
and that she had died that Agnes might live. She was
the only offspring by this marriage, although there were
two boys by the first union. These lived at home with her
and her father, but were, unfortunately, half-witted. Nat-
urally Agnes was regarded as having been fortunate in be-
ing born of the second wife. But, what seemed rather
singular, unlike her half brothers who were simple, she, on
the other hand, appeared to be possessed with an unusual
amount of wit; rare wit, extraordinary wit.
She was now twenty, and because she possessed such
sweet ways, she was often referred to as beautiful, although,
in truth she was not. Her face was somewhat square, and
while there was a semblance of red roses in her cheeks when
she smiled, her complexion was unusually white almost
pale. Her mouth, like her face, was also inclined to be
square, while her lips were the reddest. She had a chin
that was noticeable due to the fact that it was so prominent,
and her nose was straight almost to the point where it took
a slight turn upwards. It was her hair, however, that was
her greatest attraction. Unusually long, it was thick and
heavy, of a flaxen tint, and was her pride. Her eyes, how-
ever, were a mystery baffling. Sometimes when they
were observed by others they were called blue, but upon
second notice they might be taken for brown. Few really
knew their exact color, and to most they were a puzzle.
There was a flash about them at times that moved people,
a peculiarity withal that even her father had never been
able to understand. At such times he was singularly
frightened, frightened with what he saw, and what he didn't
see but felt. Always she then reminded him of her mother
whom he had known only briefly before taking her as his
wife. He had loved her, this wife, and had also feared
her as he now feared this daughter when her eyes flashed.
Her mother had kept a secret from him and the world!
In trust she left some papers. What they contained he did
not know, and would not until the day before she, Agnes,
was to marry; and should she not marry by the time she
reached thirty, the papers were to be given her then anyhow.
And so Jack Stewart had resigned himself to the situation;
had given her the best education possible, which had not
been much. She had gone through the grade schools, how-
ever, and barely succeeded in completing two years of the
high school course. The love that he had been deprived of
giving her mother because of her early death he had given to
Agnes; she was his joy, his pride. She read to him be-
cause his eyes were not the best; she wrote his letters, con-
sulted with him, assisted and conducted what business he
had, and had avoided the society of young men.
So we have met, and know some little of the girl we are
to follow. In the beginning of our story, we find her any-
thing but contented. Living in quaint old "Nubbin Ridge,"
could not, to say the most, be called illustrious. It was a
small district where the soil was very poor as poor, per-
haps, as Indiana afforded. So poor indeed, that it was
capable of producing nothing but nubbins (corn) from which
it derived its name. When a man went to rent a farm in
"Nubbin Ridge " he was considered all in, down and out.
To continue life there was to grow poorer. It was a
part of the state wherein no one had ever been known to
grow rich, and Stewarts had proven no exception to the
rule. But this story is to be concerned only briefly with
"Nubbin Ridge," so we will come back to the one around
whom it will in a measure center.
Her chief accomplishments since their disastrous con-
quest of Western Kansas had been the simple detail of
keeping a diary. But at other times she had attempted
musical composition and had even sent the same to pub-
lishers, one after another. Of course all she sent had duly
come back, and she had by this time grown to expect the
returned manuscripts as the inevitable. But since sending
the same gave her a diversion, she had kept it up and had
today received a letter! A letter, that was all, and a short
one at that; but even a letter in view of her previous ex-
periences was highly appreciated. It stated briefly that her
composition had been carefully examined, studied, but
had, they very much regretted to inform her, been found
unavailable for their needs. Although they had returned
the same, they wished to say that she had shown some merit
("symptoms" she thought would have sounded better)
and that they would always be patient and glad to examine
anything she might be so kind as to submit!
She read the letter over many times. Not that she hoped
that doing so would bring her anything, but because in her
little life in "Nubbin Ridge" there was so little to break
the usual monotonous routine. When she had read and
studied it until she knew every letter by heart, she sighed,
picked up her diary, and wrote therein:
There is little to record tonight. Today just passed was
like yesterday, and yesterday was like the day before that,
except it rained yesterday, and it didn't the day before.
Papa and Bill and George have just completed picking
corn nubbins, the kind and only thing that grows in Nub-
bin Ridge. Verily does the name fit the production! We
will perhaps have enough when it is sold to pay the rent,
send to Sears & Roebuck for a few things, and that's all.
George wants a gun and thinks he's worked hard enough
this summer to earn one. He has found one in the catalogue
that can be had for $4.85 and is all heart that papa will get
it for him; along with four boxes of shells that will, all
told, reach $6.00. Little enough, to say the least, for a
summer's work! Bill has his mind set on a watch, but
papa bought him a suit of clothes that cost $5.89 two months
ago when we sold the hogs, so I don't think Bill will get in
on anything this fall or winter. As for me, I would like
to have a dress that I see can be had through a catalogue
for a reasonable sum; but if it will crowd papa I will say
nothing about it. He has the mortgage on the horses to
pay, and by the time we get the few other necessities, it
will not leave much, if anything.
(LATER) Papa has been growing very restless of late. I
don't wonder, either. Any one that had any energy, any
spark of ambition, would grow restless or crazy in Nubbin
Ridge! The very name smacks of poverty, ignorance and
degeneration! But a real estate man from South Dakota
has been in the neighborhood for a week, and has told some
wonderful tales of opportunities out there. He has made
it plain to papa that Western Kansas has been a failure to
thousands of people for forty years; that South Dakota is
different; that the rainfall is abundant; the climate is the
best, and that every renter in Indiana should there proceed
forthwith. I'm surprised that he should waste his time
talking with papa who has no money, but he seems to be
just as anxious for him to go as he is for others. Perhaps
it's because he wishes a crowd. A crowd even though
some are poor would, I imagine, appear more like business.
Bill and George are full for going, and papa has hinted
to me as to whether I would like it. How should I know?
It couldn't be worse than this place even if it was the jump-
ing off place of all creation! I have about come to the
place where I am willing to try anywhere once. There
surely must be some place in this wide world where people
have a chance to rise. Of course, with us poor Bill and
George, and papa's getting old, I don't suppose we will ever
get hold of much anywhere. But the real estate man says
we could all take homesteads; that in those parts I cannot
quite call the name, I'll study a while. . . . The Rosebud
Country, is what he called it there had been a great land
opening, and there would be another in a few years. That
we could go out now and rent on a place, raise big crops
and get in good financial circumstances by the time the
opening comes, go forth then and all take homesteads and
grow rich! It sounds fishy us growing rich; but since
we have nothing we couldn't lose.
He says that people have grown wealthy in two years;
that among the successful men those who have made it
quickly is a colored man out there who came from he
couldn't say just where; but that if a colored man could
make it, and get money together, surely any one else should.
I will close this now because it is late, the light is low; be-
sides I'm sleepy, and since that is surely one thing a person
can do with success in "Nubbin Ridge," I will retire and
have my share of it.
(A MONTH LATER) It has happened! We are going
West! The real estate man has gone back, and papa has
been out there. He is carried away with the country. Says
it is the greatest place on earth. I won't attempt to put
down the wonders he has told of. Rich land to be rented
for one-third of the crops and we pay two-fifths in
Nubbin Ridge where there is no soil, just a sprinkling of
dust over the surface. Has rented a place already, and
has made arrangements with the man that we owe to give
him a year's time to pay the two hundred dollars. So
we have enough to get out there and buy seed next spring!
Everybody says we are going on another "Wild Goose
Chase," but they would say that if we were going into
the next county. It would seem better, however, if we
would wait until spring, but Papa is getting ready to
go right after Xmas. That settles it! I will make no more
notes in this diary until we have reached the "promised
land." In the meantime I am full of dreams, dreams,
dreams! I had a strange dream last night; a real dream in
which things happened! Always I have those day dreams,
but last night I had a real dream. I dreamed that we went
out to this country and that we rented and lived on a farm
near the colored man the real estate man spoke of. I
dreamed that he was an unusual man, a wonderful person-
ality, and that we he and I became very close friends!
That a strange murder occurred near where we went; a
murder that no one could ever understand; but that in after
years it was all made plain and I was involved! Think
of such a dream! Me being involved in anything; I, of
"Nubbin Ridge!" I am sure that if I told out there the
name of the place from where we came they would think
we were crazy! But that was not all the dream and it
was all so plain! It frightens me when I think of it. I
cannot realize how I could have had such a strange dream.
I dreamed after we had been there a while that I fell in love
but it's the man I fell in love with which makes the
dream so unusual, and impossible! Yet there is a say-
ing that nothing is impossible!
I will not record here or describe the one with whom I
fell in love. Strangely I feel that I should wait. I cannot
say why, but something seems to caution me; to tell me not
to say more now.
There remains but one thing more. Yesterday I hap-
pened to glance at myself in the mirror. As if by magic I
was drawn closer and studied myself, studied something
in my features I had never seen before at least not in
that way. I observed then my hands. They, too, appeared
unlike they had been before. It seems to have been the
dream that prompted me to look and the dream that re-
vealed this about myself that I cannot understand. My eyes
did not appear the same; they were as if as if, they
belonged to some other! My lips were red as usual; but
there was about them something too I had not seen before:
they appeared thicker, and as I studied them in the mirror
more closely, I couldn't resist that singularity in my eyes.
They became large and then small; they were blue, so blue,
and then they were brown. It was when they appeared
brown that I could not understand. I will close now for
I wish to think. My brain is afire, I must think, think,
think!