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diff --git a/26344-h/26344-h.htm b/26344-h/26344-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6655e00 --- /dev/null +++ b/26344-h/26344-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2534 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Letters of a Dakota Divorcee, by Jane Burr. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .date {position: absolute; top: auto; right: 20%;} + .place {position: absolute; top: auto; right: 20%;} + .closer {position: absolute; top: auto; right: 20%;} + .name {position: absolute; top: auto; right: 15%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Letters of a Dakota Divorcee, by Jane Burr + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Letters of a Dakota Divorcee + +Author: Jane Burr + +Release Date: August 18, 2008 [EBook #26344] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF A DAKOTA DIVORCEE *** + + + + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images generously +made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>Letters of</h1> + +<h1>A Dakota Divorcee</h1> + +<h3><i>By Jane Burr</i></h3> + +<p class="center">BOSTON<br /> + +THE ROXBURGH PUBLISHING CO.<br /> + +INCORPORATED</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Copyrighted 1909</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">By The Roxburgh Publishing Company</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">All Rights Reserved</span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Gratefully Dedicated to</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">My Sioux Falls Friends.</span><br /> +</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>AUTHOR'S NOTE.</h2> + + +<p>This little volume will soon assume the proportions of an invaluable +reference book as the Divorcee is gradually becoming extinct in South +Dakota.</p> + +<p>Species may thrive in a given latitude and longitude for ages. Suddenly +the atmospheric, climatic, or diatetic conditions become so altered as +to preclude the further development of the species—yes even the further +survival of the animal. The result may be either of two alternatives:</p> + +<p>1st. The animal finding the habitat no longer conducive to its well +being may migrate singly or in bunches to another environment. In this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>case scientists have noted that the animal undergoes a considerable +morphological and physiological change.</p> + +<p>2nd. In an environment unfavorable to its existence an animal may become +extinct.</p> + +<p>In the case of the South Dakota Divorcee the former alternative would +seem to be the course followed, for up to date the animal has shown +itself to be quite too resourceful to lapse into that most archaic +condition—extinctness.</p> + +<p>Time was when it roamed the prairies and hills of the State in vast +herds, but owing to the removal of the protective underbrush in the form +of the Referendum (which decrees that one year is necessary for its +complete development), it has gone in great droves to Nevada and +Oklahoma, which promise to be a more suitable environment for it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p><p>There are a few rare species left, but they are disconsolate and +hang-jawed and by no means representative of the species. In former +years the Divorcee reached maturity in three short months, and was so +tame that it built its lair near the city limits and some even ventured +quite into the hearts of the villages and attempted to live there. But +these were half tamed individuals and by no means indicative of the +genus as a whole. Then peculiar to relate, the environmental influences +caused them to grow less rapidly and six whole months passed before a +single specimen could call itself full fledged. The other Dakota animals +sported around with the Divorcee and received it <i>a bras ouverts</i>, but +the latter developed a slight <i>degage</i> mannerism and the other beasts +grew alarmed and crawled within their dens.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>Now they have almost died out entirely as the atmosphere grew not only +unfriendly, but owing to the sudden cool change their development was +intensely slow. The animal originally migrated from New York and thus +anything slow would naturally unnerve its intuitively high strung +temperament.</p> + +<p>And if in some future sociological period of the earth's history some +antiquarian of the post-aviatorian age, prying into the <i>modus vivendi</i> +of the men of pre-air-shippian times can learn "a thing or two" about +that delicate gazelle-like mammal so as to show his contemporaries how +"fierce" living was before the age of trial marriages and legitimate +affinities, the dessicated author will rattle what is left of her teeth +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>in a contended mummified smile.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p>Duckie Lorna:</p> + +<p>Sip a mint julip—slowly, gently, through a long dry straw, then before +it dies in you, read my P. O. mark—Sioux Falls, South Dakota,—Yes, +I've bolted!</p> + +<p>Don't dare to tell anyone where I am for if my husband should find out, +he might make me go where I could get a divorce more quickly—You know +I'm here for his health. I would splash round in orange blossoms, and +this is the result.</p> + +<p>My boarding house is a love, furnished with prizes got with soap—"Buy +ten bars of our Fluffy Ruffles soap, and we will mail you, prepaid, one +of our large size solid mahogany library tables."</p> + +<p>Would you believe dear, that these Sioux<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> Fallians have already +complained because I bathe my dear, shaggy Othello in the bath tub. And +there isn't a human being here with a pedigree as long as his.</p> + +<p>If you hear any talk about my being seen in a Staten Island beer garden +with Bern Cameron, don't believe one word of it—we didn't go in at all, +the place was too smelly. And that fib about his giving me a diamond +ring,—deny it please, as I have never shown it to a soul—So you can +see how people manufacture gossip.</p> + +<p>I walk to the Penitentiary for recreation, as I may have to visit there +some day and I never like to be surprised at anything. It isn't refined.</p> + +<p>My Attorney is thoroughly picturesque. He wears a coat in his office +that his wife <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>must have made. His collar came from Noah's grab bag, +and, if you remember, there was no washing machine on the ark. A heavy +gold chain meanders down his shirt front to protect his watch from +improbable theft. On Sunday he passes the contribution box and is +considered a philanthropic pest. I asked how much the fee would be and +he said, "One hundred if you furnish witnesses, two hundred if we do." +You can hire a man for five dollars out here to swear that he killed +you.</p> + +<p>When my attorney talks, he sits on his haunches, showing his teeth that +would do credit to a shark, and fancies he's smiling when he permits his +cracked purple lips to slide back. I wouldn't trust my case to him, only +he could not lose if he tried.</p> + +<p>Every time I look at him I wonder if there could be a face behind that +nose and those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> whiskers, which give his head the appearance of a fern +dish. He wears an old silk hat whose nap is attacked with a skin +disease. They say he belongs to one of the first families of this +town—first on the way coming up from the station I suppose. He was +married years ago, but isn't working at it now. I am so unstrung after +our seances that I feel like crawling right out under a bush and eating +sage. If I weren't afraid of him I'd raise my umbrella while he +talks—his conversation is so showery. In my ingrown heart I hate him so +there is no danger for me, tho' I've heard that he's a perfect fusser +with the women.</p> + +<p>I telephoned the livery stable yesterday and asked if any of the hearse +horses were idle, as I'd like to take a ride. The fellow said he'd send +me a winner, so I togged up in my bloomers, boots and spurs and stood on +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> veranda waiting. A young boy galloped up with something dragging +behind him. I said: "Do you call that insect a horse?" he answered; "No, +but it used to be, m'am." The poor creature was all bones and only +waiting for a nudge to push him into the grave. I mounted the broncho, +which kept "bronking," but after an encouraging tclk-tclk, I made a +detour of the block, then sent the nag to the stable.</p> + +<p>There were two children and a dog drowned here yesterday—it almost +makes one afraid to go near the tub.</p> + +<p>The man who sits on my right at the table, says he's here for +nervousness. First time I ever heard a divorce called that, but anyway +we all know that he gets out of jail on December, and I will be glad, +for the way he plays the anvil chorus with his soup makes me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> get out of +my skin backwards. Hope some day that the Devil will play dominoes with +his bones.</p> + +<p>The lady on the other end, chews with her lips and of course I'm always +excited for fear her dinner will fall overboard. The way she juggles +food would get her a job in the vaudeville game any day. She sits up as +tho' she'd been impaled, and the shaft broken off in her body.</p> + +<p>Long ago—a being, desirous of unhitchment could come here, rent a room, +hang her pajamas in the closet and fade away back to Broadway, but times +are changed, and you must serve six months or the Judge's wife will not +let you have a divorce. The Judge's house is next to mine and the way I +look demure when I pass, is a heathenism hypocrisy. But he is under +petticoat tyranny and I dread ruffling the petticoat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>Formerly the law was three months, but the Cataract Hotel had the +Legislature change it as they could not make enough money.</p> + +<p>We had chicken last night and asparagus tips—did you ever notice what a +lot of skin a boarding house chicken has? And the tips just missed by +one, being tip. The meals are an unsatisfactory substitute for something +to eat, and I find myself filling up on bread to keep my stomach and +backbone apart.</p> + +<p>I am up against old timers that are always to be met at boarding +houses—the dear old soldier and the lady "too heavy for light +amusements, and not old enough to sit in the corner and knit," as George +Ade puts it. She is simply ubiquitous; she is everywhere; she does not +gossip! Oh no! Still she wonders if they really are married, you know, +and if that strange man is her brother or not? Oh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> you know the whole +tribe! Dear old parasites on the body politic! I have also had sudden +paralysis of the jaw from looking into a country mirror and was not +again convinced, until consulting my own hand glass during the night +that one of my eyes had not slipped down below my nose. I can get along +very well if my hair is not parted at all, but I insist upon my features +remaining in the same locations.</p> + +<p>I am copying down some of the stories that I hear as they are well worth +it, and may come in handy some day. I have the advantage of coming upon +them suddenly for the first time, with an absolute unbiased mind, which +like the Bellman's chart in "The Hunting of the Snark" is "a perfect and +absolute blank."</p> + +<p>I know I shall go mad before the six months are up, for after ten days, +I am down-down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> deep in a bog of melancholy, and so bored that I feel +like the president of the gimlet club.</p> + +<p>My stomach like nature abhors a vacuum, so me to the strangled eggs and +baked spuds which are our unfailing morning diet.</p> + +<p>In the name of Charity, send me messages from the world I love.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Devotedly,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p>Dearest Lorna:</p> + +<p>There's an old maid here (Heaven knows she's out of place) who wears her +hair in one of those "tied for life knots," and she comes tip-toeing to +my room each night to ask me if I think she'll ever get a man. Because +I've had one, and am making something that resembles a trousseau, she +thinks that I have a recipe for cornering the male market. Her dental +arch is like the porte-cochere of the new Belmont Hotel, and last night +a precocious four-year-old said, "Miss Mandy, why don't you tuck your +teeth in?"—Miss Mandy would if she could but she can't. She is the sort +who would stop her own funeral to sew up a hole in her shroud.</p> + +<p>The moonlight nights here are a perfect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> irritation, and I really think +this moon isn't half as calloused to demonstration as our dear old New +York moon. There are so few men here that the female congregation is +getting terribly out of practice.</p> + +<p>I have found out lately that our attorneys out here rob us of everything +and politely allow us to keep the balance.</p> + +<p>My abode of virtue is filled with furniture from the vintage of the +early forties and I sit in it alone and am so pathetically good, that I +am beginning to suspect myself.</p> + +<p>You know I was born when I was very young and have been desperately tidy +about my morals ever since, but for fear of stumbling just because I'm +so bored I have entrenched myself behind a maddening routine. Six months +here ought to put ballast into the brain of the silliest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>I think that marriage has become a social atrophy, and I never want to +be guilty of irrevocably skewering two hearts together.</p> + +<p>I fear myself only when I'm bored. Eve never would have flirted with the +snake if Adam hadn't got on her nerves. I always could resist everything +but temptation.</p> + +<p>Bern once told me that every married man ought to be made to run after +his wife. And I told him he'd be out of breath most of the time if he +tied up with me.</p> + +<p>I went to church Sunday and the funny man at the head of the table said +he was going round to view the ruins in the afternoon. Father Time, who +sits opposite me and mows down the food said, "Every stylish woman I +see, I know she's getting a divorce and I can't understand it, as most +of them are good looking."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> I answered "You didn't see the other half."</p> + +<p>I am not going to correspond with Bern as our mail might be intercepted. +For although I'm passing through the mournful ceremony of losing my +husband in South Dakota, I don't want to gather too much dust on my +skirts on the way to the funeral. We send each other registered letters +every day—but that's different—nobody could possibly get those.</p> + +<p>There is a woman here who does a queer, pretty sort of embroidery. And +she said this morning with unquenchable urbanity, "I will learn you how +to do shadow work." Now Bern and I have been busy on all sorts of shadow +work for the past four years in New York, but this is a different +pattern. Sioux Falls is plethoric of widows and when one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> is freed, the +other convicts writhe under the burden of their stripes. Dearie, won't +you drop in and try to quiet my dressmaker? She is beginning to show +evidences of dissatisfaction—inscrutable sign-manual of finances at low +tide. I'm not rich but I'm sweet and clean—did I hear two dollars and a +dish of cherries?</p> + +<p>I have bought a calendar with the dates on a block of pages—one page +for each day, just for the joy of tearing them off with a vim every +twenty-four hours. Sometimes I allow two days to pass, then I do a war +dance like a Sioux, wild at the opportunity of pulling off a couple at a +time.</p> + +<p>There is a N. Y. Central time table on my desk and I am eternally +looking up train connections until I feel like a bureau of information. +I have enough money to get back on,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> tucked away in my stocking. And if +I have to take in washing I won't touch it. Funds are getting very low +so I've started writing short stories again but "like" usual, publishers +don't seem to recognize a genius and my P. O. box is always filled with +long yellow comebacks—slip enclosed "Sorry we find your valuable Mss. +unavailable for our publication, etc." However, nothing beats trying but +failure. And although everything on this mud ball looks inky, and I am +once more Past Grand Master of Hoodoo Philosophy, I shall grit my teeth +and push ahead as I have done a thousand times before. My debts are +growing like a snow ball and although I am not entirely broke, I am so +badly bent that it ceases to be funny. There isn't a blooded dog here +except the ones we Easterners bring. The Sioux Falls dogs are like the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +people—you can't tell exactly what breed they are, but as a few of the +N. Y. lawyers and doctors and a few of the N. Y. dogs have remained +here, we hope for a better blending in the next litter.</p> + +<p>There is an Englishman here who calls himself "Chappie" but "Baw Jove" +he never saw the other side of the Atlantic if I am any judge. But you +can hand these people any sort of pill and they'll swallow it without +making a face. We have no indigestible pleasures here, but the food. I +am suffering from gastric nostalgia. I was so hungry for something sharp +and sour last night that I bought a bottle of horse-radish and ate it in +cold blood. Today my digestive apparatus is slumped and I feel like the +ragged edge of a misspent career.</p> + +<p>Every night the man in the next room,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> treats himself to a skin full and +comes home so pleasantly lit up that he has to be put to bed. Last night +he must have drunk like the sands of the desert, for he was a bit more +tipsy than ever and flung apologies and hiccoughs over my transom.</p> + +<p>I look back upon my old life as an impression received in the dawn, and +already it seems but a level highroad on a gray day. Marriage laws were +made by old maids—any one can see that. And they have decreed that +conjugal love, apart from passion, is elevating and a woman in yielding +herself may evict the sanctum of love if the man may legally call her +his own. It's all wrong dear—woman has been sacrificed to the family. +And what a degrading imitation of Nature to propagate the species. How +glorious never again to be shod in the slippers of matrimony—I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> seem to +demand the advantages of marriage with none of the drawbacks.</p> + +<p>To return to things less serious, Othello hates something about my new +combination lingerie and barks like fury when I put it on—maybe it is +the blue ribbon—I'll try a dash of lavender tomorrow.</p> + +<p>You will agree that my <i>geistes ab vesend</i> has reached an alarming +degree when I tell you that this A. M. after my tub, I liberally dashed +tooth powder all over my body instead of talcum.</p> + +<p>My affection is all for you—for the opposite sex it seems to have grown +as cold as a raked-out oven.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Goodnight,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">September 21.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Most Precious Lorna:</p> + +<p>I am excited—excited—from the bottom lift on my French heels to the +top hair on my golden puffs.</p> + +<p>Now who would have thought that the "Fate Sisters" would discover me way +out here and sit on the corner of Minnesota and 12th spinning their +breakable yarn.</p> + +<p>Well—well—yesterday the one with the weary look and the crooked nose, +got a knot in her twine and this is how it happened. I was crossing this +Minnie-something street, when a shrill siren and the cannonade of a +powerful exhaust warned me to stay my tootsies. I wasn't looking for a +big white aseptic machine out here or any other kind, so the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> blooming +thing crashed into us and rather than have Bunky hurt, I ran the risk +(not quite, but nearly) of losing my life, but not until I had assured +myself that the man at the wheel was exotic to this soil.</p> + +<p>Zip-bang-gasoline-smoke! and I was fished out, laid tenderly on the back +seat and rushed to a druggery. I allowed the dramatic spirits of +pneumonia to be forced down my throat by his manicured hands and somehow +I couldn't find the courage to take my head away from his shoulder—it +was such a comfy, tailored Fifth Avenue shoulder. You know my +reputation—30 years in a circus and never lost a spangle.</p> + +<p>What is it that the Christian Scientists have on their souvenir spoons: +"There is no life in matter?"—well old girl I can sign a testimonial to +the opposite. Poor little Bunky<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> added one more knot to his tail during +the mix-up, but as every knot is worth twenty-four dollars on a French +bull pup's tail, I don't mind this acquisition.</p> + +<p>I was asked the other day if Bunk was a Pomeranian and I said, "No, a +French bull pup." The woman answered, "That's the same thing, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Finally with a little home-made sob I opened my eyes and asked the same +question that Eve put to Adam the morning after God had presented him +with that poisonous bon-bon. "Where am I?" and it's none of your +inquisitive business what he answered. The white auto will call tonight +to see of I'm still living and meantime I have ordered fifty yards of +white dabby stuff from "Fantles" to keep busy on. No—not a trousseau—I +shall never—never marry again—I'm too full of experience.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>I told the white auto that I had been hemmed in so long that I did not +know how to act in decent society any more and he said he's the best +hem-ripper that ever lived, so I think I'll take a chance. Isn't there a +great difference in men, dear? But, in husbands—they vary only in the +color of their hair.</p> + +<p>I'm so glad motors stand without hitching. Now you'll say "Can't you +leave men alone for six months?" Sometimes my conscience does get +feverish and bothers me, but it's so seldom that I am grateful for the +change as it acts as a stimulation to my gray matter—whatever that is.</p> + +<p>My honest intentions were to leave off my puffs and artificials while +here, just to give Nature a chance, but now that I have been run over by +an auto I consider the plan inadvisable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are dandy golf links here but they don't allow "Divorsays" on the +ground. The Sioux Falls women, (cats for short) had it stopped three +years ago, because they were all neglected when any number of my tribe +appeared.</p> + +<p>Not a soul knows what I'm here for. One must never tell. That's the +first divorce colony by-law. I have become a perfect diplomat and know +how to keep still in three languages. I just casually told my troubles +to the boarding house keeper and her daughters, but they don't count, as +they are such dears, and it won't go any further.</p> + +<p>As long as I live, my attorney says, I must sign in hotel registers from +Sioux Falls—If I do the clerks will stoop to pick cockle burrs and +tumble weeds off my skirts and help me to loosen my Indian +wampum—whatever that is.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>Father Time, whom I mentioned in my last and who possesses as much +energy for getting divorces (this being his third time on earth) as +Roosevelt exhibits in the Baby market, has taken to peddling "The Ladies +Home Journal," and the "Saturday Evening Post," and if you only knew how +cunning he looks with his abbreviated coat and short, quick, little +steps, you would give a dollar for a picture of him to paste in your +book of curiosities of the world.</p> + +<p>Court was in session last week and all sorts of real Indians paraded the +streets. They weren't like our dear old Irish Indians on Manhattan +Island, who perambulate inside little houses placarded with one night +corn cures; these were the real article and their wives walked behind, +just like New York wives, carrying an orphan asylum on their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> backs and +provisions for the week on their hips.</p> + +<p>Poor down trodden creatures. I feel like organizing a class to show them +how to <i>marcelle</i> their mops and "straight front" their stomachs. A +tommyhawk for me and no mop to <i>marcelle</i> if I try to revolutionize +Indiandom.</p> + +<p>Last night at a wonderful performance of Fiske in "Rosmerholm," the +house was packed with Indians and in the ghostly part where everybody +throws himself into the mill-stream, Squaw Sloppy-Closey and Chief +Many-Licey opened soda pop and passed it to each other for a drink out +of the same bottle. Poor Fiske was horrified and threatened to stop the +performance if the soda pop artillery didn't cease its bombarding.</p> + +<p>The wind tears around the corner of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> room on the bias and the cats +keep up a Thomas Concert beneath my windows all night long. No wonder I +have nightmares. Last night I dreamed that I was a saint with an apple +pie for a halo—this boarding house pie habit will eventually tell on +the strongest nerves.</p> + +<p>Last night I cut my leg on a barbed wire—no dear I wasn't hurdling the +fence—the wire was on the side walk, where everything except the +kitchen stove usually lies. I hope I won't have lockjaw—it's harder on +a woman than it is on a man anytime. I was just thinking how clever it +would be, if a man who had a chattering wife, would keep a bunch of +rusty pins on hand.</p> + +<p>I sat down to the piano this morning and ran through that pyrotechnical +<i>Solfigetto</i> by the other Bach, and Father Time, who sat enchanted, +said, "You and the piano has met<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> before." It's a shame to cheat the +aged.</p> + +<p>Thank heaven that the sunshine is free and that the florist's window is +gratis to look at, otherwise on my slender means I should have to take +advantage of the bankrupt law.</p> + +<p>My old friend Insomnia again stands incessantly at the foot of my bed +and bids me corner the sunrise market. A heavy heart is mine tonight and +though I try to fancy beautiful pictures in the crystal ball of the +future, I grow sick with anticipation as the visions fall away before +they are half formed, leaving me melancholy and wondering if there is an +angel somewhere who collects the sighs of such ever-repressed feeling.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Goodnight,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">October 5.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Lorna Dear:</p> + +<p>Well, Lorna, you and I were "all day suckers" to believe that Mrs. +Phyllis Lathrop was touring California; I bumped plump into her +yesterday in front of the poor-house. No, dear, I did not go there to +stay, merely to visit. Phyllis is nice in her red-headed way and looked +very fresh and sweet with the lower part of her face lost in a tulle +abyss. She lives just a whisper away from me—so strange I haven't seen +her before. She's trotting around with a Sioux Falls fellow who looks +like a Dutch luncheon favor. Every time he lifts his hat I look for +bon-bons to drop out. Says she must be loving someone all the time, even +if she is considered in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> light of an accommodation train. She's the +unfinished sort of a woman who carries her beauty around in little tubes +and seems so used to audiences that I always feel that she must have +sung between the acts.</p> + +<p><i>Town Topics</i> said something about "The soft breezes of California +restoring the bloom to Phyllis' cheeks"—to think that <i>T. Ts</i> got +fogged in the matter is consoling to such lesser lights as you and I. +You can take it from me, "the soft breezes of California" are blowing +into her room in a nearby Sioux Falls boarding house, but instead of +being laden with the scent of flowers they are redolent of hash from the +cookery. I'll take off my hat to her. She was a slick duck. Of course +she denied nothing to me—her time is up soon; then she will lay her +history before the Judge, who is always busy picking hairs from his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +coat and doing other things of vital import while you pour out your +heart's woes.</p> + +<p>The fellow whose motor sent me to the brink of the Styx, is now +preparing me by night light to take the 33d degree of happiness. You +have heard of him I know, Carlton Somerville, the Wall Street broker. I +forget what it was his wife did that got on his nerves, but anyway he +too is hibernating in Sioux Falls clay. We have gotten "First-namey" and +have frankly decided that in order to keep our cleverness from dying of +inanition, we will practice on each other.</p> + +<p>How could you, my dearest friend, accuse me of being forgetful of Bern? +He wouldn't appreciate me at all if I forgot how. And really six months +of non-practice would be ruination.</p> + +<p>Carlton has fallen in love over his depth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> with that beefy Mrs. Claymore +and takes me motoring to pour his love (of her) into my aural +labyrinths. I don't object to playing second fiddle, but when it comes +to holding the triangle for the drummer, I pass blind. Never mind, while +he isn't watching some day he'll get stung, for I'm really fond of him. +You say that you are so much stronger willed than I am—did you ever +look at yourself in the mirror? Carlton has eyes that I adore—they are +the deeply sad sort that would make one think that love had passed that +way. If it really hasn't, he might as well begin to put up the grand +stand and have the tickets printed. My dear, I'd never marry another man +with a memory—most inconvenient asset that a husband can possess.</p> + +<p>"Chappie," the Englishman, has started a society paper—sort of six +months gestation of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> <i>Town Topics</i>, so Carlton and I are batting around +after midnight, so "we won't become saw." There are all sorts of ways to +make a bee buzz. Do keep Bern from wearing red ties while I'm gone and +give him a shove along the straight and narrow, once and so often.</p> + +<p>After a month and a half of drinking Sioux Falls water, I would bring a +higher price as a lime kiln than I would in the woman market. One's pelt +gets wind tanned and such a thing as a daintily flushed face is as +unlooked for out here as consideration from the natives.</p> + +<p>My head ached so yesterday that I called on a doctor, "Visit including +all medicine, one dollar." Isn't it "patetic?" He raved about the +climate and said he brought his wife here with T. B., and she improved +so much. Naturally I asked, "How is she now?" He said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> "O, she's dead." +Don't blame him for raving about the climate, do you?</p> + +<p>My dear it is worth a trip out here to see a whist party "let out." No, +not "bridge,"—they haven't heard of it yet—just plain whist; but as I +was saying, to see one turn out with its white alpaca skirt and blue +satin ribbon belt. I've paid two dollars at Hammerstein's to see things +not half so funny. O, for a sip of Fleischman's coffee—there are +grounds for divorce in every cup out here. The butter we eat, walks in +from the country alone, and at every meal we get smashed potatoes piled +as high as the snow on the Alps. I can't look a potato in the eye any +more.</p> + +<p>There is a couple here on business from Michigan,—a Mr. and Mrs. Jones, +odd name that. Isn't it sad that they are so happily married, they might +both be getting divorces,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> but as it is they are simply wasting a year +out here for nothing. I passed the Judge on the street this morning and +I was so nervous that I walked bow-legged. But thanks to <i>skirts et +cetera-et cetera</i>.</p> + +<p>I have sampled all the churches and have finally landed at the Christian +Science house of worship, as I would rather any day hear a pianola grind +out its <i>papier mache</i> music than listen to a poor performer.</p> + +<p>If I had Carnegie's millions, I'd go straight to Chicago, buy a big, +fat, thick, beef steak, step into the middle of it and eat my way out. +I'm hungry, hungry. I worry down the "dope" that they deal out in the +dining room, then go back to my sanctum and finish on limey water and +crack-nells—you know what they are, a powdery sort of counterfeit cake +that chokes you to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> death if you happen to breathe while you're chewing +it.</p> + +<p>Last night while trying to cut some stringy roast beef and still retain +my dignity, the man with the red tie said: "Put your other foot on it." +I'm afraid if I don't eat potatoes again, my stomach will shrivel so +that I will never be able to sit through a course dinner when I get +back. Potatoes distend it all right—I feel like I have swallowed one +wing of Fleischman's yeast factory whenever I eat them. You have to come +down on the meat with such force to make any impression on it, that more +gets pushed up between your teeth than goes down your alimentary canal; +then you spend the balance of the night squandering Japanese dental +floss. I unconsciously finish my prayers with "Lord preserve us from +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> holy trinity of roast beef, roast mutton and roast pork."</p> + +<p>You can recognise one of the clan in a moment by what is known as the +"Divorsay jaw." No feek and weeble expression on our faces but "Do or +die" is the look we have in our optics.</p> + +<p>Every time I go to church I vow I'll never go again. The organ is +asthmatic and the wheezing gets on my gray matter.</p> + +<p>The Judge has begun to wear a fur coat—Dakota cow fur, I think, and he +looks for all the world like a turkey gobbler in distress.</p> + +<p>I sleep on what they call here a "sanitary couch." Can't fathom the +mystery of the name, for mine is so chucked with dust that I dream I'm +in a sand storm crossing the Sahara, and when I awaken my sympathies are +keen with the camel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>There's a new boarder here whose face looks like a chapel and every time +she opens her mouth you're afraid it's going to be the Lord's Prayer. +She wears a wide ruching which makes her look excited; distributes +tracts, and can't see a joke. She says she's Miss and leaves envelopes +around with "Mrs." written on them in red ink—modest writing fluid I've +always considered it.</p> + +<p>Will you buy me some new puffs? Mine are all ratty and I feel +bare-footed without them. Enclosed is a clipping from my hair. Read it +carefully. False hair is no crime as long as it matches—like that +German song that says "Kissing is no sin with a pretty woman."</p> + +<p>Have you caught "Three Weeks" yet? I had a violent attack a few days +ago. Cured it with a small dose of Christian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> Science before meals and +some of Bunyan's <i>Pilgrim's Progress</i>, which I shook well after using.</p> + +<p>You can imagine what disastrous effect Eleanor Glynn's book had on the +"Divorce Colony." We all bunched together and said "What's the use," and +if it hadn't been for the old man who eats his soup out loud, we would +have bolted in a mass to suggest "Free Love" to our respective +"Fiascos"—Dakota's past tense for "Fiance."</p> + +<p>I long so to flash my calciums on a Fifth Ave. stroller that I'd flirt +with God if I met him.</p> + +<p>I close dear with a sigh over my chin, which is getting triple (an +invention of the devil).</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer"><i>Auf wiedersehen</i>,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class="date">October 25.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>My Dear:</p> + +<p>I've changed lodgings and before I took the new chambers, I inquired of +the landlady if there was any electricity in the house and she answered +"Yes," so today I asked here where it was, and she pointed to the +telephone. O, me! O, my! this life is wearing me to a fraz!</p> + +<p>Last week the autumn leaves fell and in order to show Mrs. Judge how +simple and near to nature I live, I raked their lawn, and ours, clean, +and stood long after dark making huge bonfires on a line with the +sidewalk. But lo! the fleas that were of the earth became the fleas of +me and I have occupied most of my time since scratching.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> But anything +to pass the hours away.</p> + +<p>Our hedges are cut for the last time this fall, and look as though they +are fresh from the barber. Isn't that phrase "for the last time" the +most desolate utterance that a human voice can make? It goes thundering +down the aisles of time only to be lost in the arcana of treacherous +memory. To dream for the last time—to love for the last time—bitter +contemplation—funereal introspection.</p> + +<p>I am suffering from acute nostalgia—by this time you are standing in +the gun-room at Keith Lodge, drinking your first. I can hear Duncan ask: +"Scotch or Irish," and see you tip it off with Blake and the rest. No +bridge for you tonight—early to bed and tomorrow morning you'll all +start out in your natty knickers and short kilts to murder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> things that +will fall in bloody feathery heaps at your feet. Native woodcock, jack +snipe, black mallard, grouse, etc., the restless eager setters doing +their own retrieving; the soft dank ground daintily overspread with the +frond of marvelous fern like my window pane this morning with its +delicate tracery in frost; the tall-stemmed alders echoing your shots to +skyward; the big dense timber with its springy ground all saturated with +the fragrance of the mounting sea: I seem like something dead whispering +to you from the tomb. Nothing lasts longer than twenty-four hours in New +York—not even a memory, so no one misses me. It's another of God's +jollies and I know I'm ungrateful dear, for you are thinking of me I +know, with my dear old "Sport" ready to point for you tomorrow, just to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +receive your pats of recognition and thanks. My feelings are worn into +meaningless smoothness like the head on an old coin, and because I have +added my quota of absurdity to the morning papers I am no longer +interesting. But, pshaw! one can't buy cocaine for a nickel, and as I +could live extravagantly on the interest of my debts, I haven't more +than five cents to invest.</p> + +<p>Don't mind this slump in grit—it will return to par and slang tomorrow. +Keep a record of all you do to send to me, and above all—win the cup. +With whom are you shooting?</p> + +<p>I will now stuff the cracks of my door with medicated cotton, open the +portholes and smoke my cigarette alone—Lord preserve me, if anybody +knew! See if you can't get the Humane Society to form a branch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> out here +to feed and water the widows.</p> + +<p>I have just returned from a little walk with Carlton—I suppose my eyes +prattled, for he smiled at me through his wrinkles and was rather more +thoughtful of my comforts than usual. His <i>Insouciance</i> is charming and +always turns the tide of my melancholy. He is the only man who ever +ventured to stand on my tack and take me broadsides. We have framed up a +little Bacchic plot to be enacted on our way back from the Post where I +shall soon meander to mail this on the late Rock Island.</p> + +<p>I am certainly in love, because I know the symptoms, but I can't tell +with whom. Some temperature, high pulse and strange flutterings—but who +is the victim? Bern or Howard in New York or Carlton here? The thought +of all of them stirs me, so how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> am I to know which is in the lead? Hope +the period of incubation will soon be over and the blooming thing assert +itself. I have often been vaccinated and the thing always takes, but +still I am not immune and never will be until I am six feet under, even +if I live to be an hundred years old! Did you catch the an? But it's +disgusting not to know whether it is the measles or something worse, +however I am taking all precautions and awaiting developments.</p> + +<p>I often wonder what I'll do with my decree when I get it—I can't wear +it on my finger, and it certainly isn't the thing for gold leaf and a +shadow box—Oh! I shan't waste time placing it; perhaps Carlton will +find a pigeon-hole for it somewhere.</p> + +<p>I haven't written to Bern in days, but I don't care; I never considered +a banker as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> one of the human race, anyway. Poor Bern; he's thrown out +like a bill in Parliament! Beaten by a blackball called Carlton—I'd +hate to see him now. Roland the Furious is charming in a poem, but in a +drawing room, prosaic and expensive.</p> + +<p>Carlton and I went to church Sunday and were refused communion—the dear +good Bishop has but one eye, so he sees things half way. I said: "If +this is God's table, I want communion, if it's the Episcopal, I don't." +In his sermon he called divorcees "social lepers, social filthiness," +and said: "After the new law goes into effect, we'll have no more +dumping here." He's an old pop-gun that shoots spit-balls, so the wounds +he makes are not fatal. Carlton refuses to go to church here or anywhere +else again, and will once more trudge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> along his Sunday field of Bacchus +cultivated by Venus.</p> + +<p>By the way, after June 1st, all divorcees will be required to stay one +year, then they won't come at all. Oklahoma had a hunch and changed her +law back to three months. Now the colony will transplant itself, then +watch the death agony of Sioux Falls. She's foolish—foolish! The +Easterners have made this burg what it is. Take away our influence and +she'll sink into nothingness again. Some of us are bad, but all of us +are not; however, the Sioux Falls gossips make no distinction. They lift +their $2.98 skirts when they pass us, for fear of inoculation by the +<i>bacillus</i> divorce. I often wonder if they realize that the prejudice is +returned with compound interest.</p> + +<p>When any new gossip is born, they fly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> around the streets like the beads +of a rosary when the string is snapped. Perhaps you haven't noticed how +serious this letter is. I'm frowning as I write—a habit most bad on the +eyebrows—surest of signs that I am sinking again into the quagmire of +love.</p> + +<p>I have felt my pulse so often and know all the symptoms—which I more +than enjoy scrutinizing—not even the finest emotion escapes me. I +believe that I play the game well for I am still unjaded, which is +unusual with so much over-feeding.</p> + +<p>Is your new fur coat unborn lamb, or did it happen? Speaking of +possessions—my appendix still gives me ample proof of its constancy. +The blue devils are chasing me today and I am wearing the expression +that sits on the lips of every portrait in every exhibition. I smile to +keep from crying,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> because if I cry—I'm lost!</p> + +<p>As I am of the experienced elite of society that sups, I must bid you +adieu—I promise more jocosity in my next.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Affy,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">December 1.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Since writing you I have heard the turkey gobbler say his last prayer +and have had a coming out party for "Penny," short for appendix. The +receiving party was comprised of two eminent surgeons, two trained +nurses, who served adhesive plaster and instruments, and an "etherist" +who poured. Costumes were uniformly white with great profusion of gauze +trimmings, with which I also eventually became somewhat decorated. One +of the internes wasn't half bad, so I kept the nurse busy combing my +adopted hair and pinning it on becomingly. It is a much quicker and +easier process to have your appendix cut out than your husband.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was away four weeks and am now back in Sioux and well taken care of by +my landlady, whose hair and face disagree as to age. My walls are hung +with ten-cent store art, and if I were not awfully strong-minded I could +not overcome the effect.</p> + +<p>The white auto called last night, and as my head rested on his shoulder +our conversation was the rambling sort that may be ticketed "all rights +reserved," so I won't repeat it as the postmaster-general would refuse +me stamps in the future if I sent it through the mail. In Chicago they'd +take out my phone if I squeaked it over the wires. Carlton is deeply +interested in some mines out here—spinach mines I think. I made up my +mind to something last night—I am determined to get him away from that +carrotty giraffe whom he used to believe he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> loved. If in my +convalescent state I am unable to arouse his sympathy, I'll relapse into +white muslin emotions and thereby gain my end. I am made from dust and +the slightest rustle from the right man's coat can blow me whithersoever +it willeth. You know I am a spoiled child who has had everything it +wanted, so bon-bons no longer excite me. Carlton is so thin that you can +see daylight through his lattice work, and cold as paving stone in +winter. He's a real "millionery," but his cash is 40 degrees below, so I +am determined to warm up his eagles and teach them to fly. I am going to +touch that cash box under his left breast and show him that the devil +has a sister. The man wants bleeding—he has too many bank notes in his +veins. He seems to be toppling so I might as well register him in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> my +"Book of Mistakes."</p> + +<p>Do you know that I still keep a record of these undying passions of mine +with a picture of each culprit attached, and Carlton is 999. I thought, +when I was sixteen, I would record the one divine fire that was +like to consume me, and now I have eighteen volumes of this +105-degrees-in-the-shade literature, all bound alike in a perfect +<i>edition de luxe</i>. I'd rather regret what I have done than what I have +not done. You dear old ostrich, I can hear you sigh over me, but don't +you waste your gasoline. You, too, should have callouses on your +emotions by this time.</p> + +<p>Bunky and Othello have both decided to bark at my chemiselets and +skirtlets in one,—maybe they think they are too flossy to be concealed. +I agree there.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>Phyllis Lathop's lawyer, Mr. Maryan Soe Early, got her decree for her +last week and she flew back on the 3.30 train to Manhattan and Gordon +Booth. Of course everyone knows that he is booked.</p> + +<p>Her plea was extreme cruelty; said her husband struck her. The dear old +judge asked her to explain in detail some of the circumstances of her +husband's brutality. She said: "While crossing Lake Michigan there was a +terrible storm on, and as my husband was descending from the upper +berth, the boat lurched and he struck me with his elbow." Phyllis said +the judge smiled very broadly and gave her her decree on "Extreme +Nerve," instead of "Extreme Cruelty."</p> + +<p>She writes that she and Gordon are having such times together—batting +around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> their old stamping ground, Bronx Park—strange how hard it is to +overcome habits. They slink off to the New York woman's trysting place +when there is no longer any reason for secrecy. One bitter cold day last +winter Bern and I met Phyllis and Gordon in the very spot that we always +frequented, and poor individuals were stamping their feet to keep them +from freezing. The monkey house was full of people and they dared not +remain there any longer. We all smiled as much as to say: "You don't +tell, and I certainly won't." Not a word ever came out, so the treaty +was well kept. Bern and I were more or less engaged at the time.</p> + +<p>We laughed over it when she was out here, and I asked her why she never +repeated it, as she never keeps anything to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> her gossipy self. She +answered: "If I had said that I had seen you there, I would have had to +explain my own presence in the park, and I never incriminate myself." +She says that "there are two new kinds of monkeys out there and one +looks like Elbert Hubbard—sits all day surrounded by his hair."</p> + +<p>She's running a bar in connection with her tea table now, which is +equivalent to putting salt on the tail of the social male bird. She can +hardly believe that she's free, and says that it will take some time for +her to realize "that there aint no beast." Isn't it strange that the +most fascinating lover in the world can turn into the veriest beast +within six months after he has hit you on the head and dragged you +senseless into his Fifth Avenue home? Of course you're senseless or you +would not have tied up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<p>Phyllis says that she has gotten out of the habit of decent food, that +every time she really dines, she gets strange pains in her underneath. I +wish I could fly back home, but I must grit my teeth and get rid of my +beast too. I wonder which breed I'll try next time. Boston Bull, I +suppose, I think that's where Carlton was first kenneled.</p> + +<p>I have a large stove in my sitting-room and keep it going myself. +Othello looks as though he'd laugh himself to death every time I put +coal on—darn his pelt! He's crazy over Sioux Falls—possibly because +there are seven dogs to the city block. He goes away on bridal tours +every few days and then I have to get out a search warrant. I could live +quite decently if I did not have to invest in so many rewards for him.</p> + +<p>It is so terribly cold here that my very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> thoughts are frozen and my +hot-water bag does nightly service. The thing sprung a leak last week +and I took it to a garage to ask if they would mend it, and the fellow +answered: "Certainly, madam, we have quite a trade in hot-water bottles +and "nature's rivals."" I have also found out that the only place to buy +burnt wood is at Mr. Trepaning's the undertaker and embalmer.</p> + +<p>All the stiff and crackling branches of the trees are weighted down with +a three-inch ruching of snow. It is all silently fascinating, especially +so because since starting this letter two short raps at my window +announce Carlton who comes each night to accompany me to the late post +after the landlady is snoozing. His arms are around me as I scrawl, and +the thousand tiny little thrills that answer so eagerly to his +nearness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> assure me that it is not deplorable to be thirty-nine.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Good night,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">December 20.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>So near Xmas, dear, yet none of the Yule-tide joys float out to this +frozen wilderness. Snow, snow everywhere. The tall alders, whose vivid +coloring so inspired me when I arrived, are now black and gaunt, and the +pitiless desert wind comes tearing and howling from the north to bend +and crack their stiffened joints. I often wonder—am I any more the +arbiter of my fate than these lifeless snow-draped spectres around me.</p> + +<p>Carlton left the hotel almost a week ago and took the room next to mine. +We are hopelessly in love with each other, and he wonders how he ever +could have thought of accepting happiness from Mrs. Claymore, +accompanied by so many freckles and a half million dollars.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>As for Bern, dear, he will survive. I am much older than he is, so that +some day he would be forty with all his emotions and I would be fifty +with the rheumatism—it would never do. Henceforth I shall be prodigal +of negatives, except where Carlton is concerned.</p> + +<p>We have attained the intimacy which thinks aloud, and instead of hating +Sioux Falls and longing for my sentence to expire, I am beginning to +worship every inch of the ground, and only pray that such an exile +should last forever.</p> + +<p>None of the fulminating fires that I have heretofore known are +mine—only calm and peace and the joys born of a perfect understanding. +We have not let the moment slip when souls meet in comprehension. I +almost decided not to confide all this to you,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> but it slipped off my +pen and I'm not sorry, for no woman living was ever before blessed with +a friend like you. You and I have visited the lowest Dantesque circles +of despair together, and no confidence between us could amount to an +indiscretion.</p> + +<p>Our landlady thinks that we are merely speaking acquaintances, and it is +best, as this new-found sympathy must not be distilled by Sioux Falls +scandal-mongers, though I should like to shout it from the house tops +through a megaphone, I am so happy and proud of it.</p> + +<p>So you shot with Aldrich and he tried to get you to buy "Steel +Preferred." I am glad you did not invest and sorry you did not win the +cup. I shall never again shoot for pleasure. I am ashamed of my +trophies. Perhaps love has made me mushy but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> don't regret it as hate +made me flinty. Have you noticed how our bonds have slumped—the whole +thing was a Golden Fleece. Commercialism bores me to extinction. I +suppose the world began with trade, since Adam sold Paradise for a +pippin.</p> + +<p>Are you still of the opinion that tradespeople should be branded on the +forehead down to the third generation?—you dear snobbish treasure.</p> + +<p>Henceforth I shall only deal in sentimental tramways and have shares in +the moral funds—maybe not moral according to the threadbare ideal of +the genus <i>homo sapiens</i>.</p> + +<p>Surprising that a girl as young as Alice Noah—no relation to the fellow +who built the ark—should just take out legal separation papers in New +York. How can the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> <i>modus vivendi</i> suit her better than divorce? Perhaps +she wants to cinch her alimony until she finds another affinity. Then +Alice for Dakota. It is foolish to cut your financial string when you +might just as well dangle, especially until you find something worth +dropping for.</p> + +<p>Dear, will you please send me a reel of Sirdars? I can't smoke anything +else and no one sells them out here. Our landlady has one eye that looks +up the chimney and another that goes cellar wards and Carlton says that +she always regards him obliquely—never mind, she is a good stupid soul +and I can forgive a landlady anything but perspicacity. I don't see how +our intimacy has escaped her,—to me it looks like the first foreign +sticker on an American five dollar dress suit case.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>Why do you write such short letters? Is it because you have but a +limited number of ideas and must dispense them carefully?</p> + +<p>What did Philip Leighton die of? His wife, I suppose. They never had +anything in common but the kiddies. That means no more hunts at +Blackburn Heath unless someone careless like Philip absorbs the estate. +Mrs. Philip was a Pennsylvania girl. <i>N'est ce pas?</i> That accounts for +her effulgent spontaneity. Isn't it a shame for me to wax bombastic over +a girl who, if she were just a little brighter, might be called half +witted. She's the girl with the massive mother, who suffers from +dislocated adjectives. They say when she was married her prayer book was +missing, so she carried a cake of ivory soap instead—The mother was +divorced and could have had alimony if she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> had wanted it, but she had +better sense than to want it. She has venomous optics—the fellows used +to say they flew when she flashed her calciums; ugly as the seven deadly +sins and so mannish that I was always afraid her trousers would show +beneath her petticoats. The giddy old cat! If she had been hanging since +her sixtieth birthday, she would certainly be breathless now.</p> + +<p>All day, dear, I go about my duties with a most ladylike absence of +passion, but when night comes I cross the sandy waste of the past and +stretch out my hands to fondle the idea of perfect companionship. Our +thoughts seem to be a reverberation of the same thunderous roll, and +while they are not identical, they are of the same breadth and +elevation. The conditions of propinquity are responsible; and as love +did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> come to me, I had to do as Mahomet did with the mountain.</p> + +<p>When he goes from me, Joy vanishes, but leaves a bright track of light +behind, which bursts upon me through the clouds of cigarette smoke that +he has left.</p> + +<p>Each day I awaken more warmed and thrilled, like the sun which finds the +mountain tops that he touched with his departing rays still warm when he +sends his shaft of light in the morn.</p> + +<p>No maelstrom of distrust do we feel, only a mighty, overpowering passion +that no undress of intimacy can ever destroy.</p> + +<p>Good-night, friend of my babyhood, my girlhood, my womanhood. My +greetings for your birthday.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Affy,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">February 10.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Don't be cross with me, dear, I am in no danger. Your repeated letters +came—I read them, then straightway forgot that they should be answered. +It is no evidence of a lessening of my love for you, but because life +has become so mysteriously perfect for me that I dream away my hours.</p> + +<p>One night, seemingly a million years ago, but really only within the +present week, I felt cold as I stood by my stove and plaited my hair—I +have nice hair, Lorna, haven't I? But I didn't seem to notice it. I was +in my nightie and I shivered. My white chiffon bedspread with the pink +roses strewn over it was near, so I drew it close about me and felt that +I had protected myself from the chill. It wasn't an external<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> chill that +made me quake, but something old and deep-rooted and lonely that came +from the depths of the soul in me and begged and pleaded for +recognition.</p> + +<p>The big stove with its dozens of mica eyes threw out comforting little +rays of coziness, but the real me still shivered. I walked to the window +and opened it. Strange, disquieting, but gracious thoughts that I had +lost somewhere in the twilight of the night before, came riding back to +me on a snow flurry—it was so still that I feared to breathe, lest I +disturb the solitude—the sky wasn't heavy and gray, but clear and blue +and seemed like a soft silken canopy that the gaunt maples upheld to +protect me and my love, and the virgin snow that fell on my outstretched +arms in soft little rosettes that disappeared as our loves sometimes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> do +when they have but let us feel the deliciousness of their possession.</p> + +<p>The heavy old door between my room and his creaked with rustiness and +age, as for the first time in years it turned upon its hinges. Carlton +had watched for my last good-night signal and grew alarmed at its +absence and my quietude.</p> + +<p>I wonder why I didn't feel embarrassed—all I know is that after he +discovered a comfortable angle in my Morris, I crawled into his arms and +lay there quietly without a word until dawn the next morning. Our sleep +was rhythmic, just like our love. What a strange beautiful night we +passed and how difficult it would be to make the world believe!</p> + +<p>Awakening, I felt something cold around my neck, and there, dear girl, +he had fastened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> pearls while I slept in his arms. I cannot even imagine +their value, as I know nothing of jewels but how to accept and wear +them.</p> + +<p>Such a gift is wonderful at any time, but how much more subtly charming +to have it fastened on you as you lay, comfy and subconscious in his +strong and doubtless aching arms. Such peace, peace, dear, would have +benumbed Napoleon; but I need few other interests—my universe begins at +his head and ends at his feet.</p> + +<p>This is the purest jag of joy that I have ever been on in my life, and I +wonder that one small blonde woman is able to allow herself so much +spark and not have her engines explode.</p> + +<p>I always fancied that I should die if such an ideal existence even +attempted to show<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> its face to me; and instead, I take my soup before +it's cold, put my shoes on my feet, my hat on my head, retire and arise +at the usual hours.</p> + +<p>He embroiders his talk with bungalows, steam yachts and motor cars for +the future, while I fear to buy a pair of boots before a consultation +with my trousers pocket. I find myself imprisoned in a banker's +portfolio, floundering in statements covered with red ink. He doesn't +dream that such is the case, or all his funds would be at my disposal. +Somehow, if I had my decree, I should tell him; but while I am still +someone's else wife I cannot take his money—it would soil my emotions.</p> + +<p>Yesterday, while opening a crate for me, he cut his finger very badly, +and as I bound it up he said, "Forgive me," and concealing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> his hurt, he +sought pardon for the pain he had caused me.</p> + +<p>His feelings are intuitively charming, and though he hasn't a university +education, he has a universal one, which counts for far more in this +world where a stab is given in return for a pin prick.</p> + +<p>Good-night, precious girl-woman, whose friendship has never failed me, +whose love has been the most uplifting emotion that I have ever known.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">March 3.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Lorna Mine:</p> + +<p>My six months were up on March first, but as the judge hates undue haste +about serving papers, I waited one whole hour before I shot mine off to +New York. I am no longer doing time, but am a full-fledged citizen of +South Dakota. Isn't it nice that my case won't have a jury—it always +gets hung and it sounds unpleasant even if it really isn't.</p> + +<p>Oh! these dazzlingly cool, fresh, spring days. If there is anything more +beautiful in the West than their gaudy Indian summer, it is the half +scared spring. The wind is a bit blustery and pretentious, but otherwise +Nature seems doubtful as to whether she will paint her landscape or not. +Each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> night a grand sunset crowns the close of a cloudless day.</p> + +<p>Weeks ago Carlton's decree was granted him, but he stays to hold me in +his arms while I wait for mine. You ask if we are engaged? Yes—awfully +engaged all the time.</p> + +<p>I have never before been able to understand why people put such vast +sums in churches. Now I know. It isn't on account of the worship, nor of +the interior, but for the steps. When you take into consideration what +assistance they have rendered lovers, it only seems just that they +should be taxed. We worship at Christian Science Church, because it's +darker, every night except Wednesday; but they have some sort of a +shin-dig then, so we switch to the Episcopal and take communion with +each other.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> Nice clean, comfy, red granite steps that so many pious, +divorce-hating feet have passed over. My sympathies go out to all women, +even if they are fallen and so did Christ's; but the good Sioux Fallians +are above it. They pull all the hay to their side of the manger and +forget that we, having never used such food, don't miss it now. It is a +pity that we can't infuse more of the "God-honor-and-the-ladies" spirit +into this depth of silliness out here.</p> + +<p>The West is so big and glorious and free, it seems strange that the corn +crop should be so superior to the people. I suppose it is because each +perfect stalk of corn turns its face to God and Heaven, and the people +are so busy gossiping they haven't the time to worship. When we pass +them on the street we feel like saying: "Our reputations are in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> your +hands. In God's name be merciful!"</p> + +<p>I am keeping house now in my room—light housekeeping, you know. It's +positively airy sometimes. My landlady—bless her ignorant soul!—allows +my little ice-box to remain in her butler's pantry, which I have +christened "cockroach alley." They—the cockroaches—are so large and +educated that I have named them, and each one comes when it's called and +feeds from the hand.</p> + +<p>She wears the most artistic skirts—always ball-room back and ballet +front. Her grandchild was sitting on the floor yesterday, reading the +Bible, when suddenly she looked up and said: "Grandma, there's a +grammatical error in this Bible," and my landlady said: "Well, kill it, +child, kill it!" She spends whole hours each day talking to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> her birds, +which, she claims, save the expense of a piano. I told the grandchild to +go out into the sunshine this morning and it would do her cold good. She +said, very saucily: "I won't go into the sunshine, my grandma told me to +go into the air." My grandma didn't tell me to go there, Lorna, but +someone must have ordered it, for in the "air" I am, and so high that I +no longer feel the earth beneath my feet.</p> + +<p>Thank you so much for Mr. Fitch's article. So you think that Sioux Falls +is like his description of it. He came in one night and left the next +morning, then wrote an article which is a gross exaggeration in every +particular. In the first place there was never but one French maid here +and she was Irish. It is true that some scandalous people come here, but +there are also scandalous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> residents; however, there are many more +divorcees, quiet, charming and unseen, who do not fret away their six +months, but spend them profitably, writing, sewing, taking care of their +beloved children, <i>et cetera</i>.</p> + +<p>The very idea of mentioning anything as incongruous as Sioux Falls and +luxury in the same breath—it's a slam on luxury! Big and luxurious +hotels—Mr. Fitch ought to be mobbed. Wonder if he got a whiff of the +lobby of the only thing that can be called an hotel here, or if he had a +cold during his prolonged stay of twelve hours, nine of which he slept +through. At the hotel yesterday I mentioned to the elevator boy that +many children were stopping there. He answered: "Yes, there is more +children than there is guests."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>That grill room that he speaks of is a dim memory; I think it lasted two +months; and as it depended on divorce custom entirely, and as the main +part of the colony sups in its own home, the thing fell through. And the +theatres, dear, we have had two good shows since I came, otherwise "ten, +twenty and thirty."</p> + +<p>The women and preachers may be against the quick lunch method of +divorce, but you can gamble on it that the business men heartily +approve; and these same women and preachers will find their larders and +contribution boxes but scantily filled if the odorous money of the +dissolute "Divorsay" is barred.</p> + +<p>I am all excited over the article as there is neither truth nor ruth in +it, and Carlton is intensely amused, so I suppose I will not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> try to +fight the battles of the colony so long as I am lazy and comfortable in +the arms of my love.</p> + +<p>Had a long letter from Gretchen yesterday in which she says she enjoyed +her bridal tour thoroughly, particularly at the Falls. I wrote back and +asked: "Which?—Niagara or Sioux?"</p> + +<p>Good-night, dearest, I close my eyes and sleep in a moment, as there are +no longer any thorns to stuff my pillow.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">May 2nd.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Lorna Dear:</p> + +<p>It wasn't a bit hard to live through. The papers all came back by return +mail, and all day Sunday I was in my attorney's office practising. It +wasn't any more difficult than a Sunday-school lesson, and Monday +morning at eight o'clock I was waiting at Liberty Hall for the hoped-for +arrival of "The Greatest Common Divisor." At last he came, but with a +sour expression, and not knowing what trouble he might have had before +he left home, I tried to be patient.</p> + +<p>We were ushered through the big court room into the judge's +sanctum—asked how long I'd been here, and so forth and so fifth—then +the comical question: "Do you expect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> to make Sioux Falls your home?" +and the threadbare reply: "I have made no plans for the future," when +all the time I had my I. C. tickets for the 3.30 train in my pocket. Do +you know that was the first time I ever really perjured myself—like a +lady—before, and somehow I wished awfully that I had let Carlton hold +the tickets until after the trial. I couldn't even get my kerchief out +of my pocketbook for fear the blooming time tables and tickets would +show. Oh! the judge was terribly saccharine after he warmed up, and I +adore him. Wish I had to get another divorce tomorrow—he's just like a +dear old Universal Dad, and everyone loves him.</p> + +<p>Well! dear, just to think of it. I've lost my hobbies! Isn't it great, +and yet isn't it really sad! It means a failure in the greatest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +undertaking of a woman's life, and it also means that I issue +forth—branded. I refuse to hold post mortems and am practising loss of +memory. Now for the possibilities of the future. Possibility is the +biggest word in the dictionary. Isn't it strange that a woman may live +apart from her husband and do atrocious things, without wearing the +tell-tale letter on her bosom, yet let a virtuous woman take the step +for freedom, and, alas! she carries the scar as long as she breathes. +But its worth it, dear. I have thought it all over and I repeat it a +thousand times, its worth it. "I have written it upon the doorposts of +my house and upon my gates, and I wear it as frontlets between mine +eyes"—it's worth it!</p> + +<p>I have worn crepe for my departed virtues<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> for six years, but I throw it +aside now and feel a new being whose glad unrestraint may carry her +farther than she intended, just as prudery often lends a woman greater +cruelty than she feels.</p> + +<p>How clever of Don Willard to buy in Northern Pacific during the slump. +He gets on with his sense of smell—he's a jackal who scents a carcass +and gets there in time for a good bone.</p> + +<p>While unpacking my trunk today I came across my wedding veil and it was +all gray and dingy like the end of my honeymoon. How many sweet and +tremulous illusions I folded into it on that first night and how soon +afterwards did three-fourths of the world look like ashes to me. Dreams +are harder to give up than realities, because they come back and gibe us +even after they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> are dead and buried, while tangible realities stay +fairly well hidden when we screw down the lid. I suppose you think that +I talk like Old Man Solomon, but you know that the only serious thoughts +I have are mushrooms of one minute's gestation.</p> + +<p>My landlady does her own washing, so I asked her if she would do mine +for ample pay. She suffers so from modesty that she was hardly able to +answer me, but finally said: "I would be willing to, but my husband +don't improve on it." Poor creature, she has lived here all her days and +is still unable to direct me to a single place—her bump of location is +surely a dent.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Judge knows the name of each member of the colony; when they came +and how often they have gone away, and the Lord help you if your +residence isn't right!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> That's the one thing that the Judge is squeamish +about, and as Mrs. Judge keeps tab for him, there is no use trying to +fudge. If you don't come up before the Judge in six months and one week, +she inquires of your landlady the reason for your delay. And of course +the landlady knows the reason, even if you don't yourself. Every Monday +afternoon Mrs. Judge drives by the I. C. station at exactly 3.25 to see +which one of the widows, whose case was tried that morning, is leaving +the same day. Of course they all leave unless they are prostrated with +excitement. We always pack all baggage on Saturday, the dress-suit cases +on Sunday, and engage the drayman on the way down to the trial Monday +morning. There has never been any hitch in the arrangements, so I +suppose they will remain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> the same until the end of time.</p> + +<p>You don't know what a comfort my phonograph has been to me—I would +never attempt another divorce without one. The long, lonely +evenings—the endless days, when time never moves off the spot, my dogs +and I have sat on the floor fascinated with the greatest music in the +world. I like my machine because it may be depended upon, never is +nervous, and always willing to perform. Talent is so spasmodic and +dependent upon moods, while the little hard rubber discs tirelessly and +graciously amuse you.</p> + +<p>You say that you will write more anon. I have looked in Webster and the +Brittanica, as I was a bit anxious to find out just what length of time +anon signifies, but I have been unsuccessful. In other words, if after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +breakfast someone said to me, "You shall have more food anon," I should +probably starve to death if I sat down and waited for it. Now don't be +mean to me because I am in love and have neglected you. I send you +thousands of messages and ask you thousands of questions each day, and +simply because I don't waste time and paper in setting them down is no +sign that you aren't constantly in my thoughts. Love knows no distance, +and I go to you every evening for a good-night kiss just as I close my +eyes to sleep, and always do I feel that you know it. There is no +barrier of antagonism around you so my spirit enters where you are +whenever it so desires.</p> + +<p>You are melancholy again—how can you live in stays set with nails and +maintain the grace of a dancer? It must be because of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> your child. I +could not do it, I'm sure—not even for my child if I had one. You are +wiser than most of us fools who have choked our lives in the mud of New +York. To men, dear, you are a cold Alp. Snow bound and near to heaven, +impenetrable and frowning with flanks of granite, and yet beneficent. +How do you accomplish it when your heart is wrung from year's end to +year's end?</p> + +<p>It must be Machiavellian foresight, precious—foresight that you alone, +out of the whole set, possess. The world never forgives a failure and +never forgives you for telling it the truth, and my standard is truth, +as near as possible, and yours is sacrifice complete. Which is right? We +shall go on begging the question until the end of time. In human +transactions the law of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> optics seems to be reversed—we always see +indistinctly the things that are nearest to us. You have never judged, +so judge me not.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">The Black Hills,</span><br /> +<span class="place">September 20.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dearest Lorna:</p> + +<p>A thousand years ago—or maybe it wasn't so long, I can't clearly +remember things any more, time isn't of any consequence, but it was the +day I received my decree, and I returned my railroad tickets to the I. +C. office—Carlton and I packed up some rugs, pillows and luncheon, and +floated down the river to breathe confidences. Far away on the horizon +was a misty hedge of cypress trees darkly traced on a canvas of +lavenders and blues, overhung by extravagant yards of cloudy chiffon. +Nearby the tall alders were all bent to the southward, from the bitter +winds, and looked like huge giants on the march<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> with heavy burdens on +their shoulders. They swayed at times and seemed likely to fall with +their loads. On and on we floated, and on and on they marched.</p> + +<p>The country was as tremulous as a bride, and to us nothing seemed +impossible. In such magic moments when enjoyment sheds its reflection on +the future the soul foresees nothing but happiness.</p> + +<p>Toward sunset we moored our boat to a tree in a little backwater where +the current was barely felt and mutely watched the changes in the great +turquoise satin tent above us that seemed held aloft by the hills to +shelter the landscape of barley and corn and wheat that swished and +swished like feminine music of taffeta petticoats.</p> + +<p>We felt reasons all around us why we should be happy—the trees were +greens and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> browns—no one like the other, blended in the harmonious +colorings of an old French tapestry stolen from a deserted chateau.</p> + +<p>All the earth seemed so sweet and so pure, and we were enjoying the +world as a clean open-air playground. A few fluffy clouds began to +appear, but old Boreas blew them away as soon as the west wind brought +them up.</p> + +<p>Suddenly his gaze betrayed remembrance and he drew me into his arms and +our lips met. Thus we remained, languidly content, until long after the +sky man had studded the heavens with millions of silver nails. And +there, near a field of cattle, like Paul Potter painted, under a sky +worthy of Raphael, in a cove overhung with trees like a picture by +Hobbema, he asked me to be his wife. And then the sweetest ceremony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +that ever was solemnized under God's loving eyes was fulfilled there in +the stillness of the night. He said: "I love you," and for answer I +said: "I love you too," and on my finger was placed a cool new band, +which reads within: "For all eternity." As old and worldly as I am, I +felt all the instinct of chastity and delicacy which is the very +material of a first love. Our wedding feast was spread out in the bottom +of the craft, with no effulgence of light save the reflection of God's +own lanterns.</p> + +<p>All sorts of night things chirped and sang of our joy, and trout leaped +from the water in answer to the bread that I crumbled for them.</p> + +<p>Our boat rocked and swayed as the current reached us more directly, and +leaves and sticks and weeds went floating by with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> turgid little +whirlpools swirling aft. We were lazy lurdans, nestling there in the +moonlight, but time is the precious gift of the Almighty and man may +gamble it away if he chooses. Finally dawn found us floating homeward in +the mists of awakening morn.</p> + +<p>Months and months have passed since then—strange new mother instincts +have arisen in my soul, and he still presses me to his heart and +whispers: "For all eternity."</p> + +<p>You could not discover my whereabouts, as I left no address in Sioux +Falls. I did not want the world nor society, not even you, but just +solitude—and my husband. Now we want you to know that in this beautiful +wilderness we have a home—a mountain home with placid Indian servants, +who glide in and out and serve noiselessly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> and speechlessly: I must +confess that I am only one-half brave, as the world, all but you, thinks +that a minister has mumbled over us for a second time.</p> + +<p>You are great enough to appreciate the joy we feel in cheating all +humanity. Carlton has willed all of his possessions to me and to our +precious little future reproduction of our love, who can but be perfect, +as he is a creature of perfect conditions. We are also but half great, +as it pleased us that the New York papers reported our marriage; but in +our lives we are all-great and all-sufficient for each other.</p> + +<p>Our bungalow is built in rugged, primeval "Spearfish Canon," but you may +address all mail to Custer, where Carlton goes in his motor every day +for things that please me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>I am so happy, so proud, so grateful that my mate is as far-seeing as I +am, and we feel a mutual dread for the time when we must forsake our +Black Hills for the fuller and less satisfying life in New York—but we +can't play always, out here in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Write to me soon and forgive me for doubting that you would understand.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">Black Hills,</span><br /> +<span class="date">November 25.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dearest:</p> + +<p>How happy your letter has made me and how slow you were in making up +your mind, but I'd rather have you love me after thinking than to love +me just because I'm I. Had you not understood, I should have loved you +but because you understand I bow down and idolize you as I have done all +my days.</p> + +<p>Every girl deserves a mother—it is her natural heritage and Nature +risks a great deal in cheating her out of her original right. I have +been defrauded, but a friend like you compensates for much and is a +straight gift from God and Heaven.</p> + +<p>Carlton and I have motored over to Custer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> every day for your letter but +not until yesterday were we recompensed for all the anxiety and doubt +that I might have suffered. We read it together and I am not ashamed +that our eyes were moist with joy as we drove slowly away from the +little village and out into our free and glorious primevalism again. The +twilight fell like a silver dust on the crests of two double rows of +ancient elms in a long and lordly country road, and lighted up the sand +and the drying wild grass that had waved like so many spears of gold in +the sunset of a few moments before. On and on we flew—he with a +trembling hand on the wheel and I with my arm around him and my lips +pressing his cheek.</p> + +<p>The rays of our acetylene lamps began to cast lurid lights before us as +the darkness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> thickened, just as my soul's fire is luminous now in an +atmosphere ordained to bring forth all its normal glory—and all the +while the back seats were empty; empty dear. Do you know the luxury of +it?</p> + +<p>We were both dreaming and praying—dreaming of a thousand more such +perfect nights, praying in all our fervor and gratitude for more and yet +more of our boundless and mutual passion. And then we lost our way as +the machine rushed into a mystic cross-road that led due north, for the +Dipper was before us. I crawled closer and closer to him until I could +hear his heart pounding mercilessly as his breath came quicker and my +lips pressed closer. The lamps were brilliant then and the woods and +fields as silent and endless as eternity. A long snake stretched its +lazy length<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> across our path and frogs held mute high carnival on all +the little hills and bumps on the high road.</p> + +<p>We both felt the inspiration of the moment and neither profaned it with +words. As far as our lights fell three waving, nodding bands of seered +grass, beckoned us on and heedless of the danger we might be rushing +toward—our empassioned lips met. And like eternity the mystic course +lay hidden in darkness before us, but also like the things that look +most forbidding in the future, as we rushed by, the yellow hedge turned +golden by our lamps, the grassy plumage rose and fell in sallow waves of +approbation.</p> + +<p>The good little people were with us (you know I believe in fairies) and +the faithful engine puffed and struggled and tried its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> best on the +incline that we were ascending, but we were too jealous of our +sensations to pay much heed to its unaided success. I would work in the +fields for ten days were I sure that the eleventh night would be such +another as this.</p> + +<p>So lofty are the regions where I soar, that a fall would shiver me to +atoms, but just to breathe the same air with my love lifts me to the +vault of paradise. Whole hours each evening I lie on an Indian blanket +in front of the open grate and dream of the legacy of love that we shall +hand down to our children and our children's children until the end of +time.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Ecstatically yours,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">December 25.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dearest Friend:</p> + +<p>We are snowed in and our two bronze boys are trying to make a path to +the road. We are all so abnormally well and with the nurse and Carlton's +friend Dr. Harmen, constitute a lively household though I liked the +sweetness of our oneness better. These are happy times and they watch +and guard me as though I were another Wilhelmina.</p> + +<p>Was ever Christmas day so wonderful! Our tree is a real cedar of +Lebanon, uprooted by our beloved Indians and decorated with their +handiwork. Last eve we romped and sang and played tricks upon each other +until midnight, when we saucily hung up the biggest stockings and +sneaked off to bed to leave our Santa Claus with his labors.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> It must +have taken him hours for I slept for ages when I finally heard him +getting ready for bed. I slipped into my kimono and tried to crawl down +stairs and take a peep, but he heard me and would not countenance any +cheating so I snuggled up again and went to sleep, but like children, we +were all up at daybreak. For days and days Carlton has been going on +clandestine shopping tours to the meccas around us and has kept all +purchases locked and guarded. He can't bear the thought of grown-ups not +loving and believing in Santa.</p> + +<p>Aside from all the valuable and exquisite things that each received, the +gift that proved Carlton's feeling toward me,—if I may insult that +feeling by even suggesting the necessity of a proof—was a tiny silk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +stocking, hung quite at the end of the mantel shelf, all alone as though +it needed no protection, and filled with—you would never guess in a +thousand years, so I shan't keep you suspended in mid air—fifty +thousand dollars in U. S. bonds to start a bank account for the little +visitor that is to come. Every night before we sleep, we talk to our +baby, we pray to our baby, we worship our baby. Only beautiful thoughts +come to our minds; only beautiful things come to our hands,—surely God +sends babies for other reasons than to propagate the species—we are +grown entirely unselfish; we are filled with kindly sympathies and +affection, and our energies and aims reach to Heaven.</p> + +<p>A beautiful pink satin baby basket came direct from Printemps, filled +with the most delicate little garments that a human hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> could create. +Do you remember the day when we were at school in Paris, that we passed +Printemp's baby shop and planned our progenys' outfits—twenty years +ago? I am now fuller of the joy of living than I was then—but on the +threshold of womanly emotions.</p> + +<p>From my window I can see far down the icy canon. The mountain stream is +a fluted ribbon of snow and ice, and where the spray tumbled before it +froze, there are thousands of filmy rosettes iridescent in the sun's +rays. The path is finished and Dr. Harmen is building a snow man. We are +civilized aborigines gone mad with youth out here in the frigid zone, +and anything as grown up as bridge has failed to interest us. From our +home on the summit of "Kewanas Crag," Silver Lake looks like a stray +turquoise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> below and the mysterious Black Hills around us catch glimpses +of gold in the sunset hour, then dye themselves purple, take a tint of +glowing rose-water, then turn dull and gray; a drama of color goes on +ceaselessly; a play of ever shifting hues like those on a pigeon's +breast.</p> + +<p>Do you know of anyone who has ever died in childbirth? If you do, don't +tell me, as I am beginning to be frightened. Not afraid of the agony, +for I rather enjoy pondering over the sacrifice, but so fearful of +leaving all of this barely tasted sweet behind me. It seems as though my +impatience would consume me—I want so to know whether I may be spared +for more and more days of our endless joy.</p> + +<p>Your Christmas box came one day too soon and, like the child that I am +transformed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> into, I resorted to tears in order to wheedle Carlton into +permitting me to open it. The little things are wonderful and the +discretion of your love is more so. Each little article is an expression +of your faultless friendship, for losing which, not even Carlton's love +could compensate me.</p> + +<p>The new decorations in my bed room are all in bloom like our love, and I +lie awake during my specified hours of rest, gathering mental roses from +my wall garden. My revival is as natural as the effect of May on the +meadows; of a shower on a dry plant. I awaken with the breath of my +Spring, which is heavy with Oriental sweetness like a rose of +Frangistan. I should not in such moments as these, feel a death blow.</p> + +<p>All of the old mental bruises caused by knocking myself against corners, +some that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> I myself created at times, and others that I saw but could +not escape, are healed and quite forgotten in this new world of mine.</p> + +<p>I press a goodnight kiss on your dear understanding lips.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">The Black Hills.</span><br /> +<span class="date">February 1.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dearest of all Friends:</p> + +<p>Today for the first time I am permitted to write one letter, while Dr. +Harmen and Carlton are trying to discover traces of rare genius on the +head of Carlton Church Somerville Junior, who resembles one of those +cherubs circling about the Eternal Father in an old Italian picture.</p> + +<p>Dizzy with the wonder of it all, I lie for hours trying to convince +myself that the world is real. When my child awakens and craves his +nourishment, I cry for very ecstacy of giving him life. What woman on +earth who has nursed her child once, can refrain from doing so again? +His velvet lips kiss me; his precious hand, dimpled and immature,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +fondles me in gratitude. How can any mother ever be unhappy while her +infant breathes upon her breast.</p> + +<p>My wasted years squandered in society seem hideous fancies of a +perverted mind, while my one glorious year out here is a deep-breathing, +pure record of clean thoughts and a perfect life. No one save God +Almighty to wish us well on our wedding day; no purring women and +overfed men to throw rice and old shoes along with the "wedding +formula"—"Isn't she a perfect bride,"—"did ever couple seem so well +suited,"—"they are real affinities <i>et cetera</i>," all of which started +me out on my bridal trip sixteen years ago. I shall never witness +another wedding as long as I live—it is too insufferably sad a +contemplation.</p> + +<p>It seems strange and pitiful that your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> sweet daughter is now old enough +to make her formal bow into an atmosphere of hatred and vice. If she +could but seek rapturous peace out here in my wilderness with some man +that she really loves—but no woman is born into mature society with a +knowledge of its utter worthlessness. And even were you able to convince +her of it now, it would be a sin to rob her sweet mentality of its +blushes. No, the precious child must first suffer and find out alone.</p> + +<p>Almost childlessly greedy do I feel, to live so perfectly while you are +still sacrificing your years on the altar of motherhood. At least I am +thankful that Walter has decided to parade his affairs less, now that +Evelyn is coming out. You proud, queenly, beautiful woman, how can you +be so brave? In your place I should have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> died of hopelessness and grief +years ago. But you go on with your precious head high in the air, +smiling, though crushed by your agony. Day in and day out your nerves +are taut—you never rest. Why hasn't something snapped years ago? +Perhaps God gives an abundance of strength to those who are ordained to +suffer most.</p> + +<p>You ask if I have any regrets. No—no—a million times no. I have torn +the word from my dictionary and have forgotten the meaning. I repeat a +thousand times a day my honest prayer:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Spare me O Lord the crowded way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's busy mart where men contend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me the home the tranquil day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little sock to mend."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I try never to think of an end to my happiness, but somehow the crushing +thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> comes and stifles me into abject fear. Then my husband brings +me my little child and the evil thoughts are kissed away.</p> + +<p>Yesterday Carlton's eyes filled with tears of gratitude as I sat nursing +our baby before the open grate and running my hand through his thick +brown hair as he sat on the floor beside us. We remain long hours in +silence watching the pictures in the blazing back logs, then suddenly we +embrace to prove mutually that we still have each other.</p> + +<p>The river is still a frozen jagged band all down the canon, and the +roads are knee deep with snow and ice. I scarcely breathe while Carlton +is away in his motor, for fear the wheels will skid and hurl him into +endless depths down the mountain side. It is impossible to procure food +without his going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> to the railroad, but each day I try to believe that I +don't need nourishment just to see if I can't prevent these precarious +errands. We live so naturally and so happily that we are staying on +indefinitely in our frozen love bower.</p> + +<p>Dr. Harmen leaves tomorrow after weeks of rejuvenating pleasures out +here. The nurse will remain to render me such assistance as I need, +though I am so jealous of her care of my son that I shall claim my +mother rights as soon as I am strong enough. Junior has his father's +eyes with all the softness of the blue periwinkle flower in their +splendid depths, and I feel when I hold him in my arms and am held in +turn in Carlton's that I can never give either of them up—even to the +Almighty. I will never give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> them up. They are mine and I am theirs—for +all eternity.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Adieu sweet friend,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">February 25.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>It has come. The bright fire in the grate is a heap of smouldering ashes +and all the pictures and dreams are dead. I cannot breathe—I cannot +live—I am insane with grief. And the ignorant world teaches of an all +merciful God—an all seeing Father! The irony of it! I cannot live—I +must go too. It will be impossible to go on, and on, alone—forever and +for all eternity—alone—I cannot—I will not!</p> + +<p>They are lying down there in their shrouds—my husband and his faithful +Monkaushka with their poor bodies crushed and mangled—O! I cannot tell +you more! The machine is an unsightly heap at the bottom of the ravine. +I cannot write—I cannot think and yet I must do both. What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> have I done +but love with all my womanhood and all my motherhood!</p> + +<p>After all it was beautiful for him to die and go to heaven while flowers +filled his hands. A loud cry has gone up in my soul; an echo as it were +of the funereal <i>Consummatum est</i>, which is pronounced in church on Good +Friday at the hour when the <i>Saviour</i> died. And all day I wring my hands +helplessly and can do nought but build dungeons and dungeons in the air. +I speak in an altered voice as though my instrument had lost several +strings and those that remained were loosened.</p> + +<p>Dearest—can you tell me—am I responsible for his death? All during +last night I seemed to hear God's voice asking: "Cain, where is Abel?" +and I wail and beseech: "Am I my brother's keeper?" My soul is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +guilty—guilty of loving him—guilty of his death, for had I not loved +him he would never have known the Black Hills. Oh! if I could but be +resigned—if I could but bind up my bleeding wounds and lose myself in +immeasurable lassitude!</p> + +<p>I have pressed his lips for the last time, my precious son is at my +breast—his long lashes are pressed tightly against his cheeks as if to +secure his eyes from too strong a light, or to aid an effort of his +young soul to recollect and hold fast a bliss that had been perfect but +fleeting. His tiny pink and white ear framed by a stray lock of his hair +and outlined by a wrapping of lace from you, would make an artist, a +painter, even an old man wildly in love with his perfect little being, +and will, please God, restore me, a mad woman to her senses!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>Come to my Black Hills, I am crushed, desolate, heart-broken—come to</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="place">The Black Hills.</span><br /> +<span class="date">July 2.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>One week has passed Dear, since you left us—a strange week of +readjustment and thought. All of those precious months that you have +given me are but another expression of your divine friendship. The +poignant grief is gone with you and my gratitude to you can but be shown +by the degree of bravery that I now manifest.</p> + +<p>Every day this week, my son and I have sat in the sunshine near the two +mounds, which my remaining bronze boy has decorated with crocuses from +the neighboring ravine. He spends long hours after dark, gathering wild +flowers in the moonlight. His devotion to me and my dead love, is the +saddest, most boundless tribute that an uncivilized<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> mind could offer. +Silently he goes about his duties; silently he grieves, and more +silently he gathers flowers as a tangible evidence of his devotion.</p> + +<p>Your letters have come each day and will come each day until I lie too, +beside my love on the desolate mountain side. Such is your unfailing +love and sympathy for me, all unworthy of your months of sacrifice and +isolation out here in my new home. My son, bless his precious heart, +tried to crawl today but the newly developed feat frightened his baby +mind and he cried. Closely almost roughly, I crush him to me a thousand +times a day, so fearful am I that he too may go to join infinitude.</p> + +<p>You ask me to come back to New York. I must refuse your request. I +cannot—I cannot leave my home—the only place worthy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> of the name that +I have ever possessed! Some day, maybe, but not now—it is all too dear +and consoling to breathe the same air that sustained me in my perfect +happiness.</p> + +<p>How can you say: "Don't regret." What do you mean? Regret the only joy +that my poor starved soul has ever known? No atom of regret enters my +grief—only a great unbounded gratitude to God, to the world, to Nature, +that one perfect year has been saved from out the wreck of time!</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Gratefully,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="place">The Black Hills,</span><br /> +<span class="date">September 20.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Two marvelous things have come to me today dear; my son took his first +trembling steps alone, and a letter came to me from the man who was my +husband. I am trembling with joy over the first and still dazed with +lack of understanding of the second. I enclose the letter as I have long +since given up trying to think clearly, and must depend upon you, to +decide for me any matters of grave import. I am plunged in perplexity; +advise me after reading the enclosed letter.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Lovingly,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="place">New York,</span><br /> +<span class="date">Sept. 16.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dear Marianne:</p> + +<p>Six years ago, I found myself, though fond of you, glad when business +took me away. We spent that summer in different places, but about +October lived together again. I was still fond of you, but at that time +found Vera, whose company was very pleasing to me. You and I seemed to +be drawn away from each other and we decided to separate at the end of +December, when I started on my long cruise.</p> + +<p>I felt very, very sorry to leave you, but something told me that it was +better to do so. I remember you seemed to feel the same, and we kissed +each other goodbye as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> though we were both sorry for something that had +to be.</p> + +<p>Leaving the question of dual or multiple personality aside, and putting +the matter very simply, I believe that my soul made a right choice in +you my wife. I believe that alcohol was necessary for a while to put my +body, even at its expense, into a state of conductivity, so that my +soul, when I was somewhat alcoholized, could gain some expression; give +some glimpses of itself and suggest the trend of my powers. For this +reason I believe that some men are made to drink and drug—but that is +another subject which I hope to take up with you more fully at some +future time.</p> + +<p>My soul self has always wanted my wife's soul self, and I believe that +if I could have you back, my conquered body self would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> never need to +wander from home. A little more pliability—all you ever lacked, and +which your trouble should have brought you, could make it so that we +could live together in very perfect harmony. Then I could release a lot +of good plays and good writings, much of which I know already has been +completed by my subliminal self. I get frequent glimpses of parts of +plays, plots and ideas.</p> + +<p>You cannot but feel proud of the success of my last book, which ought to +show you that I'm getting a grip of myself. My mother and I were <i>en +rapport</i> and under the dual personality theory, it is reasonable to +suppose that I have been guided by her since her death. I certainly have +been guided by God or by her, and it is reason<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>able to believe that she +is God's instrument of my guidance.</p> + +<p>A young man makes whole ranges of mountains out of tiny mole hills +which, when he has learned sense, he will spread under his foot without +noticing them. Most of our differences were mere mole hills, dear, which +couldn't thwart us now. For we are too big now, to be so easily +thwarted. Can't we give each other the chance to prove this to each +other?</p> + +<p>If you will permit me I will love your child as my own—as every real +man ought to love every child, dear little unfinished human beings. +Formerly I thought I knew a good deal; but God knew better and took me +away from you to teach me a few lessons. For they were lessons that I +alone needed and God did not want you to undergo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> them as well as me. +They were lessons calling for chastisement and you didn't need +chastising.</p> + +<p>I've taken God's punishment dear, and thanked Him for it. And I believe +I'm fit company for you now.</p> + +<p>I am coming next Monday to Custer, four miles from where you are, and on +Tuesday morning, starting at eight, I shall walk toward your bungalow by +way of the path by the river. I am familiar with every inch of the road, +as you know I wrote "Treasure-trove" at the Wilson ranch near your +canon.</p> + +<p>Will you and your little son meet me if only a few yards from your home +so that you may judge for yourself if I am fit company for you now.</p> + +<p>If you do not meet me—then the will of Allah be done, for I shall turn +back.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">DONALD.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">October 10.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Your message came too late, dear; already at eight o'clock Tokacon, with +my son in his arms, and I were far along on the river path that leads +out to the world. Our progress was slow with only the croonings and +gurglings of my beautiful child to interrupt the silences of nature, as +he clung affectionately to the neck of our red man protector, whose +solemnity, though he knew not my mission was superb.</p> + +<p>Half way, where Tokacon has built an exquisite rustic bower, we stopped +and waited while the Indian returned to the bungalow.</p> + +<p>What a strange hour I spent waiting with my baby, who had fallen asleep +in my arms. Thousands of rebellious thoughts burned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> themselves upon the +retina of my brain, as I sat planning and wondering. I want to be just +before I'm generous, or I'm afraid I'll never have the chance to be +generous. I sat staring like one at strife with a memory—and then he +came, slowly, resignedly. His hair is quite white and there are strange, +deep lines on his forehead, and marked parentheses round his mouth which +can be but the foot-prints of pain and thought. He could not see us in +our secluded shelter and I could not make my mouth utter his name—he +who had wrung my heart as a peasant twists an osier withe.</p> + +<p>On he walked with his head hung low and a lost look in his eyes—then I +called "Don," as I used to do when I loved him, and he stopped suddenly +and listened with his hand to his ear. Again I called "Don."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> He turned +and saw us. Slowly and with the dignity that he cannot lose, he came +back to where we sat. He could not speak, but knelt beside us and kissed +the baby's lips; my infant opened his innocent eyes and put his arms +around Donald's neck, as much at ease as though he had known him all of +his dear little life. Awake and rested, he must needs be tumbled about +and played with, which our visitor seemed pleased to do. The strain +would have been more than terrible, had it not been for the sweet +influence of the child who occupied us both constantly on our long walk, +home.</p> + +<p>Meeting one's husband again after so many years, is something akin to +the sensations of drowning—every ugly scene of our married life flashed +across my brain, also every kindness that he had done me became equally +prominent in my memory,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> that faculty one cannot cast away as one throws +down a <i>serviette</i> at table.</p> + +<p>Twilight found us still without words for each other, but when the back +logs were lighted (these October nights are cold in the Black Hills) our +thoughts came more freely. I find that I care for him as I would for +something long dead and half forgotten, but I am grateful for that, as I +was half afraid that I couldn't be even patient with him. However the +tolerance that we learn through suffering is the most beautiful +offspring of real grief.</p> + +<p>It was very difficult for me to speak of Carlton and our wonderful life +that is buried out there on the mountain side, but he is indeed +sympathetic and never interrupted the long and frequent silences that my +inmost memory created. The logs burnt in halves and fell with myriad +sparks and display<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> to the sides of the fireplace, but we touched them +not. He seemed to realize that Carlton and I were not married in the +eyes of the law. How he divined it I do not know, unless it is that he +has an uncanny way of reading one's thoughts. He said that he knew and +that he understood, and further, that I am a stronger and better woman +for all that I have suffered and done. He wants me to leave my West and +live again in New York, where he hopes to recreate in me the old feeling +for him which he so ruthlessly squandered, when it was his own.</p> + +<p>He is earnest and sad and I wish that I might care again, for he needs +help and so do I, and at least, with our past experiences we might +escape some of the ways of wounding each other that married people<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> seem +to possess in such unlimited quantities.</p> + +<p>Toward midnight the last candles that Tokacon had placed in the sconces, +flickered and went out. The helpless embers flared up for the last time, +then sank down resigned. Donald knelt beside me sobbing bitterly, with +his head upon my knee. All seems to be grief here on this earth—nothing +but grief! For answer I raised his head and kissed his eyes, then +fetched a candle and lighted him to his room. I showed him my Indian, +sleeping outside my door,—which he never forsakes except to allow me to +pass.</p> + +<p>Long into the still night I heard sobs, and opening my door I found +Tokacon swaying to and fro near Donald's room. He seems to understand +grief more keenly than any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> cultivated mind that I have ever known, and +he never intrudes, though it takes a mighty effort for him to suppress +his own sympathy.</p> + +<p>At last it grew quiet and we all rested though we did not sleep. The +next morning baby and I walked with Donald to the bower where we had met +him, and there we parted. Tokacon came and carried the baby back to the +bungalow and I followed later on when I felt sufficiently calm to go +about my simple duties again. I am not a connoisseur in consciences, +therefore I want days and still more days in which to think and weigh, +then maybe a decision will come to me as an inspiration.</p> + +<p>Donald will see you as soon as he returns to New York—be honest with +him and yet beneficent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>A thousand kisses from my son and me.</p> + +<p> +<span class="closer">Goodnight,</span><br /> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class="date">December 1.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Dearest Lorna:</p> + +<p>For the last time I am writing to you from the place which is dearest to +me in all the universe. My personal things are packed and on the way to +Custer. Tokacon is waiting with his torch to set fire to my palace of +dreams.</p> + +<p>I could not return to your world—to my old world if I thought that +other souls than ours were living in my home. The land, I have given to +my Indian with sufficient money to build a home for himself, but not one +corner of my own shall remain to be profaned by other human emotions.</p> + +<p>Now I am sitting in the machine at a safe distance from the flames, +which amuse my son, who is wild with joy and excitement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> over it. +Tokacon groans and I weep, for it is a tomb in flames before us. +Ashes—ashes—everywhere—in my home and in my heart, and every where +except in the smiles of my child.</p> + +<p>Donald has given me back my home and he has taken rooms at the +club—what people think and what people say, mean nothing to me. I shall +try bravely to construct something out of the ashes of three lives that +will be worthy of the respect of God's elect. I cannot teach myself to +forget; I can only await with patience the reawakening which for the +sake of Donald and my son, pray God, will not delay too long its coming. +I suppose the family cannot be built on a foundation of passion, because +something on earth always becomes revengeful when human beings are too +happy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> I shall never try to be too happy again.</p> + +<p>Now my memories must lie entombed in the arcana of memory. But some day +when my son is old enough to understand, I shall come back with him to +my Black Hills of Dakota, and breathe to him every sigh of my sorrow. +Then if he takes me in his arms and whispers "Precious Mother," I shall +not have loved and cherished in vain.</p> + +<p> +<span class="name">MARIANNE.</span><br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Letters of a Dakota Divorcee, by Jane Burr + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF A DAKOTA DIVORCEE *** + +***** This file should be named 26344-h.htm or 26344-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/3/4/26344/ + +Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +https://www.pgdp.net. 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