From the West to the West : $b Across the plains to OregonDuniway, Abigail Scott
General
From the West to the West : $b Across the plains to Oregon
Duniway, Abigail Scott
Oregon -- Fiction; Overland journeys to the Pacific -- Fiction; Women pioneers -- Fiction
“She was in usual health up to the last day of her sojourn in the body,”
he wrote, “and retained her faculties to the last. She had walked to
Lijah’s and back during the day, with no companion but Rover, who deemed
her his especial charge from the time he took up his abode with us. But
she complained of being tired on her return, and ate less dinner than
usual. While your mother and I were sitting at the table, we heard a
peculiar gasp and gurgle from Grannie’s chair in the next room, and we
hastened to her side; but she never spoke again, except in whispered
messages of love to us all.
“We laid her precious remains in the family lot, in the dear, peaceful,
leafy burying-ground of Glen Eden, and returned to our lonely home,
and put away her empty chair. On the last morning of her earth-life,
as she sat at breakfast with us, she said, ‘I saw Joseph in my dreams
last night. I heard him speak as plainly as if he had been in this room.
He had a troubled look, but he said: “Tell mother I have written.”’ We
thought little of it at the time; but to-day we had a letter from him,
saying he is alive and well. He spoke of having seen you, John, but he
said you had quarrelled with him, or rather at him, and had left him in a
fit of anger. He did not say why you had quarrelled. But, oh, John, how
could you do it? We know he must have given you cause, but you should,
for our sakes, have risen above it. My old heart is heavy with sorrow.
And your dear, patient mother, who has prayed so long and earnestly for
this meeting between you two,—to think when her prayer is answered at
last that you would add to it such a sting! No matter which one of you is
the more to blame, you, my son, as the elder brother, should be the first
to make concessions. I know your gentle Annie joins me in this appeal.
She seems strangely near me as I write; and I can almost hear her say:
‘To err is human; to forgive divine.’ Give her and all the children our
messages of love and sympathy.”
The strong man wept convulsively. No tidings of his wife’s transition had
yet been despatched to the folks at home; nor could letters reach them
now for a month to come. There was no overland mail, and all “through”
letters sought transit _via_ Panama.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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