Chiquita, an American Novel: The Romance of a Ute Chief's DaughterTileston, Merrill
General
Chiquita, an American Novel: The Romance of a Ute Chief's Daughter
Tileston, Merrill
Indian women -- Fiction; Ute Indians -- Fiction
The whole Deerfield valley was interested, and it made no difference if
the snow did play tag up and down the necks and on the faces of all
Bozrah as they brought paregoric, feather pillows, goody-goodies and all
the useful uselessnesses that each and every one had kept for years and
years awaiting a possible occasion. There was an old brass warming-pan
that Deacon Baxter used to warm the bed for Governor Winthrop, and a hot
water jug which Great-grandma Lathrop averred warmed the feet of every
one of her seventeen "darters and grand-darters." There was also a quilt
made of silk patches, each patch taken from a dress that some colonial
dame had worn when she danced the stately minuet at a great function in
Boston or Albany.
All these good people had a successful way of bringing up children in
the paths of self-reliance, respect, thrift, endurance and honesty which
made stalwart, orthodox patriots.
The Sheppards were an old English family who settled in New England late
in the seventeenth century--three brothers, one of which, according to
ye olden tyme records, planted the elm trees in front of the
meetyngehouse on Dorchester hill; these trees, at the age of sixty or
seventy years, being cut down by the British during the Revolutionary
War. The descendants of the three brothers were thrifty men, large of
physique and of great executive ability, the women the loveliest of the
colonies--families of sterling integrity, wealth and esteem.
"Thad" Sheppard, Jack's father, was in some respects an exception, he
being a man of the world, of the wild, dangerous class, handsome and
talented, but lacking the balance wheel which magnetic temperaments
usually require. He was admired by both men and women to the point of
the danger line, for his schemes wrecked many a fortune and family,
ultimately losing him the confidence of all. "Thad" loved one of the
beautiful daughters of the Deerfield valley, and, despite the
protestations of friends and relatives, she married him, claiming she
could do what none thus far had been able to accomplish--reform him.
"Thad's" habits had not been curbed. Life was too gay for thoughts of
the sombre hereafter, and the sedate, sober counsel of the old men was
scorned, but their predictions were to be most cruelly fulfilled. Yet
there was that confiding love, that desire to accomplish miracles, which
swayed the fair young girl of the Deerfield hills to sacrifice herself
in the hope of reform. Oh, what a waste of time for any woman! What
debauchery of intellect, what a prostitution of a fair and beautiful
life; utter folly, deliberate social suicide, with its months and years
of anguish and debasement for the mere gratification of an impulse! To
be sure, there are some moments, comprising even days or months, when
happiness reigns, but do these few hours, which grow farther apart,
shorter and shorter, as time wears away, compensate for the millions of
silent, expectant moments during which the uncomplaining wife watches
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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