Red Bird

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  Walter Jennings said, “I’m impressed, Mrs. Hathaway. Not so much by the university, but by your apparent knowledge of the details regarding its founding and function.”

  “I’m a very involved citizen, Mr. Jennings. And the founding of the university has not been unclouded by controversy,” Augusta explained. “In the seventies when the grasshoppers ruined everything in sight, there were many who insisted that the university was unnecessary. The state teacher’s association even passed a resolution to try to get the resources appropriated for the university diverted to the lower levels of public education. I was part of all that battle—on the side of the university.

  “Our first chancellor, Allen Benton, did a great work. He traveled the entire state raising support and recruiting students. In only ten years, the university has grown to employ seventeen professors and boasts nearly three hundred students. I’d say the battle was worth it.”

  Carrie nodded appreciatively at the building. “See, Grandmother and Grandfather, I told you I could get a good education here. And I like the idea of going to a campus where there’s only one building and fewer students.” Carrie paused to explain to Augusta, “In St. Louis, I’d be on a huge campus.” Carrie raised her hand to her forehead in mock woe, “A tiny speck on the sea of humanity.”

  “Well, Carrie,” Augusta laughed, “you are a tiny speck of a thing, but at this university, you’ll get plenty of individual attention from the professors, and plenty of opportunities to teach. There are many rural schools near Lincoln truly begging for teachers. It’s not at all unusual for university students to take a term or two away from their studies to teach and build up their bank account.”

  Carrie nodded. “I thought I might even take a year off to teach after my first year here—if you think a rural school would have me. I’d like to get experience as quickly as possible. Which reminds me, Mrs. Hathaway, I’ll be happy to accept that class of scholars for Christian Endeavor meetings—if it’s still available.”

  At the surprised looks on the Jenningses’ faces, Augusta explained, “When Carrie wrote about her desire to teach as soon as possible, I mentioned that our Sunday meetings have been growing right along with the city, and I suggested she might want to take on a children’s class.”

  Walter and Lucy Jennings nodded approvingly.

  “I think you’ll discover,” Augusta offered, “that the students at this university are older and more serious than those at many of the institutions back east. A large number of our students are here because they really want higher education—not because they were sent here. Many of these students have to sacrifice in heartbreaking ways to pay for their education. Last year I heard about one young man who walked forty miles to enroll. It’s been my experience that most have to work to stay in school. They work hard and have little time for extracurricular activities.”

  Carrie was paying close attention to Augusta’s every word, enjoying a rather dramatic picture of herself as overworked and undernourished, yet triumphing over all to gain her teaching certificate and head north to teach the beloved Lakota languishing in ignorance. The carriage jolted as Joseph began to pull away from the university, and Augusta went on with her recitation about Lincoln buildings. They drove by a neat row of frame houses with yards outlined by picket fences which Augusta announced were faculty and student housing.

  “There’s another three-story dormitory building just three blocks from campus. It’s coeducational, which means about seventy female students receive room and board, and about eighty young gentlemen receive day board. Carrie will be the only student at Hathaway House, of course. I’ve rarely a free room any more, what with emigrants pouring into Nebraska from all over. The railroad offers free accommodations up at the Emigrant House. Even so, Hathaway House stays full. Not all the emigrants are poor, you know. We’re getting German Mennonites now who brought sizable fortunes with them. I hear talk that they might even begin their own newspaper here in Lincoln soon.”

  Augusta broke off and pointed to a building. “That’s the Merchant’s Cafe, Carrie, and you’ll do well to turn down any invitations to that place. They sell a two-dollar meal ticket that’s good for twenty-one meals. The students call them ‘sample meals’ because the portions are so small. Silas used to eat there before he came to work for me. Told me he survived by taking all the bread in sight and emptying the milk pitcher as fast as it could be filled.”

  The carriage had been moving slowly back south into the busier part of the city. When it approached the capitol, Augusta called out to Joseph. “Turn in at the Braddocks, Joseph. I haven’t seen Abigail in over a week now, and Sarah said to be certain that we bring Carrie over right away so they can get reacquainted.”

  The Jenningses looked at one another with raised eyebrows as Joseph turned the carriage into a cobblestone-lined drive that led through a massive gate and onto impeccably groomed grounds hidden by a high brick wall. Augusta quickly explained Sarah and Tom Biddle’s arrival in Lincoln as runaway orphans, their coming to live with her and Jesse King, and Sarah’s subsequent opportunity to be trained as a housekeeper for Abigail Braddock and her son David. “Sarah’s done so very well for herself,” Augusta said as she climbed down from the carriage. “I’m so proud of her. And she’ll be delighted to get reacquainted with you, Carrie.”

  Chapter 7

  Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.

  Philippians 2:4

  Sarah Biddle leaned away from the heat of the open oven and wiped her moist forehead on her apron. Grasping hold of the leg bone of the mammoth turkey that had been roasting for hours, she gave a twist. The bone gave way easily and Sarah nodded with satisfaction, sliding the turkey back into the oven, but leaving the door open as she crossed to the pantry to retrieve a platter. Just then she heard a carriage coming up the drive. Sarah didn’t wait for her visitors to knock before opening the door. Augusta Hathaway nearly fell through the open door into the kitchen.

  “Sarah! They’re finally here!” Augusta fairly pulled Carrie and the Jenningses into the kitchen. “It’s been five years, and little Carrie Brown has finally come back to Nebraska. Carrie, you remember Sarah. Walter and Lucy Jennings, meet Miss Sarah Biddle—the finest housekeeper to ever grace a home.”

  Sarah blushed with embarrassment, laughing nervously and shaking her guests’ hands. Augusta started for the front of the house. “Where’s Abigail, Sarah? I know I should have called at the proper hour this morning to arrange it, but I’d love for her to meet Carrie and her grandparents.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry. Mrs. Braddock hasn’t felt up to coming down today.” Sarah’s face brightened, “But Mr. Braddock will return from his bank meeting soon, and Tom’s due any moment from school. Perhaps you’d all like some lemonade.”

  There was something in Sarah’s voice that Augusta didn’t like. She looked towards the front of the house, then up towards Abigail’s room. “We’d love some lemonade, Sarah, but you must let me help to prepare it so you can tend your dinner.”

  The Jenningses were shown through another door and onto a small porch at the back of the house where bittersweet vines grew up a trellis, offering a shady haven from which to observe a beautifully manicured rose garden.

  “Now, how does she get such roses, I’d like to know,” Lucy Jennings said admiringly. She settled comfortably on a wicker swing with Walter beside her. Carrie took the opportunity to walk through the garden.

  In the kitchen, Augusta and Sarah were quiet while Augusta made lemonade and Sarah bustled about preparing supper. Just then twelve-year-old Tom Biddle arrived home from school. He came up the back stairs slowly, dragging his left leg a little more than usual. He grimaced as he reached the top stair, but the sight of Augusta took his mind from the dull ache and he smiled a welcome. “Aunt Augusta!” he boomed, giving Augusta a hug.

  “Well, Tom. How’s Hortense Griswall treating you these days?”

  Tom began a recitation of ca
refully practiced complaints against Miss Griswall and her demands on Tom Biddle, but Sarah stopped him. “Tom, you know that Miss Griswall pushes you because she knows you can do the work. She wants you to do well and to get into the university. If you want to read law, you’ve got to do well.”

  Sarah’s speech was well-rehearsed, and Tom crossed the kitchen, helping himself to an apple fritter without so much as acknowledging Sarah’s comments.

  Sarah ordered, “Take those fritters out to the porch to our guests, Tom. Aunt Augusta has the lemonade all ready.” She looked doubtfully at Augusta. “I need to do a few more things. Do you think they’d mind? I’ll be out in just a minute.”

  “Of course not, Sarah. You go on about your duties. We’re the ones who are being rude by turning up at this awkward hour. But I just couldn’t drive by without stopping in.”

  Sarah turned to slide a mound of thinly sliced potatoes onto a griddle before turning back to Augusta and smiling warmly. “I’m so happy you did, Aunt Augusta. We’ve been a little lonely these past few weeks.” Sarah turned away abruptly and Augusta frowned slightly as she took lemonade out onto the porch. She was back inside momentarily, and without a word from Sarah began to snap beans into a great blue crock.

  “How is Mrs. Braddock doing? Dr. Gilbert was in for dinner the other evening. I said something about Abigail, rather innocently, I thought. Well, he didn’t say much, but I could tell that he is really concerned.”

  Sarah’s blue eyes turned cool and she looked away before answering. “Not well. Not well at all, I’m afraid.” Sarah stopped, carefully choosing her next words. “She hasn’t been well enough to come downstairs in a few days. But we’re still hopeful. David—Mr. Braddock is very attentive.”

  Augusta’s voice was warm with affection. “I’m so pleased that you’ve made such a home for yourself here, Sarah. I admit, though, to having been a bit worried you’ll make yourself sick caring so much for Abigail.”

  Sarah looked up quickly. “That’s nonsense. Mrs. Braddock has done so very much for me. Both of you have. I’ll do whatever it takes to care for her, to see that her house is run just the way she wants it, and to see that she is as comfortable as I can make her for as long as it takes until, until she gets better.”

  Abruptly Sarah changed the subject. “Thank you for bringing Carrie over so soon. It’s amazing how much she’s grown up. I knew she grew up, of course. But seeing her is quite a surprise.” Sarah turned the potatoes and lowered the fire. “I think I can get away for a few minutes now, to actually visit.” Just as the two women headed for the porch, a bell rang in the pantry.

  “That’s Mrs. Braddock, Aunt Augusta. You’ll have to excuse me.” Pulling her apron off she opened a cupboard near the butler’s pantry door and grabbed a bottle. As she left the kitchen she called back, “Tell the Jenningses I’m terribly sorry—I hope they understand—” Her voice melted away as she ran up the back stairs to Abigail’s room.

  In her haste to answer the bell, Sarah had left the cupboard door open. Augusta went to close it. One shelf was lined with bottles, next to which was a copy of a book. Feeling only a little guilty, Augusta reached for the leather-bound book. Ladies Guide in Health and Disease, J. H. Kellogg, M.D. There was a torn piece of paper marking a page. Augusta opened the book and caught her breath. The page had been studied carefully. It was stained and several lines were marked under the heading that read Lotions for Use in Cancer of the Breast . . . Ex. Bella., dr. 1., Ex., Stramon., dr. 1. Vaseline, oz. 1. . . . to be used as an ointment . . . excellent to relieve pain arising from the rapid growth . . . Augusta looked up at the shelf. Two bottles bore the labels Ex. Bella., Ex. Stramon.

  Reaching up to take down another bottle, Augusta jumped as Sarah said, “The first recipe is still giving some relief. Dr. Gilbert has already shown me how to mix . . .” her voice faltered and she took a deep breath. “Dr. Gilbert has already shown me how to mix what we’ll need next.”

  “Oh, Sarah, I had no idea. Abigail never mentioned, I never guessed.”

  Sarah’s eyes filled with tears, but she willed them away and took a deep breath. “No one knows, so far, Aunt Augusta. Not even Mr. Braddock. Mrs. Braddock won’t have it. She doesn’t want to cause any trouble—any worry.”

  Augusta closed the book that lay open on the counter and put it away along with the bottles. Closing the cupboard door, she wrapped her arms around Sarah, feeling the slim body tremble with emotion. “You know. You’ve had this burden—alone—for how long?”

  Sarah shrugged and pulled away. “Not so long. It’s only in the first stages. The medication helps, and Mrs. Braddock still has good days. She may even come down for supper tonight.” Sarah looked boldly at Augusta. “She needs me now. I’m glad I’m here for her.”

  “But, Sarah, you shouldn’t have to bear it alone.”

  I’m not bearing it alone. Dr. Gilbert is very good about checking in. Every evening Tom reads to her.” Sarah lowered her voice as if sharing a great secret. “We’ve taken to calling her ‘Mother Braddock.’ She seems to like it. Tom reads and I quilt. Some evenings it’s almost like I’m back at the hotel with you and Aunt Jesse.”

  Augusta was apologetic. “I didn’t mean to snoop, Sarah. You left the cupboard door open. I was just closing it, but I saw the book—I was curious. I should have just closed the door and let well enough alone. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s kind of a relief to have someone else know, Aunt Augusta—someone who can pray with me.” Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes. “I guess it has been kind of a lonely burden.”

  Augusta reached for Sarah’s hands and squeezed them, whispering, “I’ll pray every day—more than once. If I can help—”

  Sarah shook her head and pushed herself away. “No, there’s nothing you can do. Just don’t tell anyone, yet, and pray.” Tears threatened again as Sarah looked away, adding, “I don’t know what this will do to Mr. Braddock when he finds out. He’s already suspicious that there’s something seriously wrong. He’s always been so close to his mother.”

  Reaching for her apron, Sarah returned to the stove where she began looking under lids and stirring things. “He’ll be home soon. I hope you’ll come back for another visit, Aunt Augusta. Can you explain to the Jenningses? They must think me very rude.”

  “Do you think you can get away to join us for dinner at the hotel tomorrow evening, Sarah?”

  Sarah opened the oven and hefted the turkey onto the counter. “Yes, I promised Tom. Mr. Braddock will be home with Mother Braddock. She knows about it and she’d be very angry with me if we didn’t come.”

  Augusta nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Now, we’ll be off. I’ll send Tom in with the lemonade pitcher and glasses, Dear. You don’t even need to say good-bye. We’ll just slip away and look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening.”

  Tom came back into the kitchen with the lemonade pitcher and glasses. Sarah heard her guests’ footsteps go down the porch steps and around the back of the house towards where Joseph waited in the carriage. Just as Tom was rinsing the glasses, Augusta opened the kitchen door and called softly, “Good-bye, Dears. God bless. I’m praying.” She closed the door softly behind her, joined the others in the carriage, and was gone.

  Tom quizzed his sister. “What’s she prayin’ about?”

  “About us. Mother Braddock.”

  “Good. She needs it.”

  “We all need it, Tom. Now help me set the dining table for supper. David should be home any minute.”

  “How come you call him David when you’re with me and Mr. Braddock the rest of the time?”

  “Because he’s my employer, and that shows respect.”

  “You don’t respect him to his face,” Tom argued. “You call him David then too.”

  Sarah blushed. “That’s because he asked me to. Just like Mrs. Braddock asked us to call her Mother Braddock. Mr. Braddock asked me to call him David.”

  “Well, I like it. Makes it more like we got a real family.”

&
nbsp; They had walked through the butler’s pantry and begun to set the table, four places of fine china, with only two forks and two goblets, simple fare for the evening.

  “Will Mother Braddock be down for supper?”

  “I think so. The medicine is definitely helping.”

  “I hope she gets well soon.”

  “Me, too, Tom.” The sound of carriage wheels on the cobblestone drive brought a smile to Sarah’s thin lips. “There, David’s home. Now you finish this, and I’ll check on Mother Braddock.”

  David Braddock ascended the side stairs of his mansion slowly, stopping outside the leaded glass door to remove his hat. He passed one hand over the thick dark curls the hat had crushed down and then opened the door and went in. Tossing the hat onto a small settee he turned left and went straight into the kitchen where he pulled out one of the two chairs at the small white table in the corner and sat, waiting.

  Sarah and Tom entered the kitchen at the same moment. When David looked up at her, Sarah said to Tom, “Tom, see if Mother Braddock needs help coming down, will you? I’ll begin to dish up our supper.” She stood motionless, watching David carefully.

  Tom left the room. When David finally spoke, his mellow voice was strained. “I saw Dr. Gilbert today.” Anguish filled his eyes and he bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.

  Sarah crossed the spotless white kitchen floor and laid a hand on the broad shoulders. At her touch, David took in a deep breath. Then he wrapped both his arms around her. He was holding her so tightly that she could barely breathe. She stroked the dark curls.

  When David finally let go he looked up at her, his eyes shining with unspilled tears. “You knew.”