My Antonia

by Willa Cather

  XVIII

  AFTER I BEGAN TO go to the country school, I saw less of the Bohemians.We were sixteen pupils at the sod schoolhouse, and we all came onhorseback and brought our dinner. My schoolmates were none of them veryinteresting, but I somehow felt that, by making comrades of them, Iwas getting even with Antonia for her indifference. Since the father'sdeath, Ambrosch was more than ever the head of the house, and he seemedto direct the feelings as well as the fortunes of his womenfolk. Antoniaoften quoted his opinions to me, and she let me see that she admiredhim, while she thought of me only as a little boy. Before the springwas over, there was a distinct coldness between us and the Shimerdas. Itcame about in this way.

  One Sunday I rode over there with Jake to get a horse-collar whichAmbrosch had borrowed from him and had not returned. It was a beautifulblue morning. The buffalo-peas were blooming in pink and purplemasses along the roadside, and the larks, perched on last year's driedsunflower stalks, were singing straight at the sun, their heads thrownback and their yellow breasts a-quiver. The wind blew about us in warm,sweet gusts. We rode slowly, with a pleasant sense of Sunday indolence.

  We found the Shimerdas working just as if it were a week-day. Marek wascleaning out the stable, and Antonia and her mother were making garden,off across the pond in the draw-head. Ambrosch was up on the windmilltower, oiling the wheel. He came down, not very cordially. When Jakeasked for the collar, he grunted and scratched his head. The collarbelonged to grandfather, of course, and Jake, feeling responsible forit, flared up. 'Now, don't you say you haven't got it, Ambrosch, becauseI know you have, and if you ain't a-going to look for it, I will.'

  Ambrosch shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down the hill towardthe stable. I could see that it was one of his mean days. Presently hereturned, carrying a collar that had been badly used--trampled in thedirt and gnawed by rats until the hair was sticking out of it.

  'This what you want?' he asked surlily.

  Jake jumped off his horse. I saw a wave of red come up under the roughstubble on his face. 'That ain't the piece of harness I loaned you,Ambrosch; or, if it is, you've used it shameful. I ain't a-going tocarry such a looking thing back to Mr. Burden.'

  Ambrosch dropped the collar on the ground. 'All right,' he said coolly,took up his oil-can, and began to climb the mill. Jake caught him by thebelt of his trousers and yanked him back. Ambrosch's feet had scarcelytouched the ground when he lunged out with a vicious kick at Jake'sstomach. Fortunately, Jake was in such a position that he could dodgeit. This was not the sort of thing country boys did when they playedat fisticuffs, and Jake was furious. He landed Ambrosch a blow on thehead--it sounded like the crack of an axe on a cow-pumpkin. Ambroschdropped over, stunned.

  We heard squeals, and looking up saw Antonia and her mother coming onthe run. They did not take the path around the pond, but plunged throughthe muddy water, without even lifting their skirts. They came on,screaming and clawing the air. By this time Ambrosch had come to hissenses and was sputtering with nosebleed.

  Jake sprang into his saddle. 'Let's get out of this, Jim,' he called.

  Mrs. Shimerda threw her hands over her head and clutched as if she weregoing to pull down lightning. 'Law, law!' she shrieked after us. 'Lawfor knock my Ambrosch down!'

  'I never like you no more, Jake and Jim Burden,' Antonia panted. 'Nofriends any more!'

  Jake stopped and turned his horse for a second. 'Well, you're a damnedungrateful lot, the whole pack of you,' he shouted back. 'I guess theBurdens can get along without you. You've been a sight of trouble tothem, anyhow!'

  We rode away, feeling so outraged that the fine morning was spoiledfor us. I hadn't a word to say, and poor Jake was white as paper andtrembling all over. It made him sick to get so angry.

  'They ain't the same, Jimmy,' he kept saying in a hurt tone. 'Theseforeigners ain't the same. You can't trust 'em to be fair. It's dirty tokick a feller. You heard how the women turned on you--and after all wewent through on account of 'em last winter! They ain't to be trusted. Idon't want to see you get too thick with any of 'em.'

  'I'll never be friends with them again, Jake,' I declared hotly. 'Ibelieve they are all like Krajiek and Ambrosch underneath.'

  Grandfather heard our story with a twinkle in his eye. He advised Jaketo ride to town tomorrow, go to a justice of the peace, tell him he hadknocked young Shimerda down, and pay his fine. Then if Mrs. Shimerdawas inclined to make trouble--her son was still under age--she wouldbe forestalled. Jake said he might as well take the wagon and haul tomarket the pig he had been fattening. On Monday, about an hour afterJake had started, we saw Mrs. Shimerda and her Ambrosch proudly drivingby, looking neither to the right nor left. As they rattled out of sightdown the Black Hawk road, grandfather chuckled, saying he had ratherexpected she would follow the matter up.

  Jake paid his fine with a ten-dollar bill grandfather had given him forthat purpose. But when the Shimerdas found that Jake sold his pig intown that day, Ambrosch worked it out in his shrewd head that Jake hadto sell his pig to pay his fine. This theory afforded the Shimerdasgreat satisfaction, apparently. For weeks afterward, whenever Jake and Imet Antonia on her way to the post-office, or going along the road withher work-team, she would clap her hands and call to us in a spiteful,crowing voice:

  'Jake-y, Jake-y, sell the pig and pay the slap!'

  Otto pretended not to be surprised at Antonia's behaviour. He onlylifted his brows and said, 'You can't tell me anything new about aCzech; I'm an Austrian.'

  Grandfather was never a party to what Jake called our feud with theShimerdas. Ambrosch and Antonia always greeted him respectfully, and heasked them about their affairs and gave them advice as usual. He thoughtthe future looked hopeful for them. Ambrosch was a far-seeing fellow; hesoon realized that his oxen were too heavy for any work except breakingsod, and he succeeded in selling them to a newly arrived German. Withthe money he bought another team of horses, which grandfather selectedfor him. Marek was strong, and Ambrosch worked him hard; but he couldnever teach him to cultivate corn, I remember. The one idea that hadever got through poor Marek's thick head was that all exertion wasmeritorious. He always bore down on the handles of the cultivatorand drove the blades so deep into the earth that the horses were soonexhausted.

  In June, Ambrosch went to work at Mr. Bushy's for a week, and took Marekwith him at full wages. Mrs. Shimerda then drove the second cultivator;she and Antonia worked in the fields all day and did the chores atnight. While the two women were running the place alone, one of the newhorses got colic and gave them a terrible fright.

  Antonia had gone down to the barn one night to see that all was wellbefore she went to bed, and she noticed that one of the roans wasswollen about the middle and stood with its head hanging. She mountedanother horse, without waiting to saddle him, and hammered on our doorjust as we were going to bed. Grandfather answered her knock. He did notsend one of his men, but rode back with her himself, taking a syringeand an old piece of carpet he kept for hot applications when our horseswere sick. He found Mrs. Shimerda sitting by the horse with her lantern,groaning and wringing her hands. It took but a few moments to releasethe gases pent up in the poor beast, and the two women heard the rush ofwind and saw the roan visibly diminish in girth.

  'If I lose that horse, Mr. Burden,' Antonia exclaimed, 'I never stayhere till Ambrosch come home! I go drown myself in the pond beforemorning.'

  When Ambrosch came back from Mr. Bushy's, we learned that he had givenMarek's wages to the priest at Black Hawk, for Masses for their father'ssoul. Grandmother thought Antonia needed shoes more than Mr. Shimerdaneeded prayers, but grandfather said tolerantly, 'If he can spare sixdollars, pinched as he is, it shows he believes what he professes.'

  It was grandfather who brought about a reconciliation with theShimerdas. One morning he told us that the small grain was coming on sowell, he thought he would begin to cut his wheat on the first of July.He would need more men, and if it were agreeable to everyone he wouldengage Ambrosch for the reaping and th
reshing, as the Shimerdas had nosmall grain of their own.

  'I think, Emmaline,' he concluded, 'I will ask Antonia to come over andhelp you in the kitchen. She will be glad to earn something, and it willbe a good time to end misunderstandings. I may as well ride over thismorning and make arrangements. Do you want to go with me, Jim?' His tonetold me that he had already decided for me.

  After breakfast we set off together. When Mrs. Shimerda saw us coming,she ran from her door down into the draw behind the stable, as if shedid not want to meet us. Grandfather smiled to himself while he tied hishorse, and we followed her.

  Behind the barn we came upon a funny sight. The cow had evidently beengrazing somewhere in the draw. Mrs. Shimerda had run to the animal,pulled up the lariat pin, and, when we came upon her, she was tryingto hide the cow in an old cave in the bank. As the hole was narrow anddark, the cow held back, and the old woman was slapping and pushing ather hind quarters, trying to spank her into the drawside.

  Grandfather ignored her singular occupation and greeted her politely.'Good morning, Mrs. Shimerda. Can you tell me where I will findAmbrosch? Which field?'

  'He with the sod corn.' She pointed toward the north, still standing infront of the cow as if she hoped to conceal it.

  'His sod corn will be good for fodder this winter,' said grandfatherencouragingly. 'And where is Antonia?'

  'She go with.' Mrs. Shimerda kept wiggling her bare feet about nervouslyin the dust.

  'Very well. I will ride up there. I want them to come over and help mecut my oats and wheat next month. I will pay them wages. Good morning.By the way, Mrs. Shimerda,' he said as he turned up the path, 'I thinkwe may as well call it square about the cow.'

  She started and clutched the rope tighter. Seeing that she did notunderstand, grandfather turned back. 'You need not pay me anything more;no more money. The cow is yours.'

  'Pay no more, keep cow?' she asked in a bewildered tone, her narrow eyessnapping at us in the sunlight.

  'Exactly. Pay no more, keep cow.' He nodded.

  Mrs. Shimerda dropped the rope, ran after us, and, crouching down besidegrandfather, she took his hand and kissed it. I doubt if he had everbeen so much embarrassed before. I was a little startled, too. Somehow,that seemed to bring the Old World very close.

  We rode away laughing, and grandfather said: 'I expect she thought wehad come to take the cow away for certain, Jim. I wonder if she wouldn'thave scratched a little if we'd laid hold of that lariat rope!'

  Our neighbours seemed glad to make peace with us. The next Sunday Mrs.Shimerda came over and brought Jake a pair of socks she had knitted. Shepresented them with an air of great magnanimity, saying, 'Now you notcome any more for knock my Ambrosch down?'

  Jake laughed sheepishly. 'I don't want to have no trouble with Ambrosch.If he'll let me alone, I'll let him alone.'

  'If he slap you, we ain't got no pig for pay the fine,' she saidinsinuatingly.

  Jake was not at all disconcerted. 'Have the last word ma'm,' he saidcheerfully. 'It's a lady's privilege.'