Howells, William Dean, 1837-1920 -- Childhood and youth
The foreman wanted me to go back with him in his buggy, but a day’s
grace was granted me, and then my older brother took me to X----, where
he was to meet my father at the railroad station on his return from
Cincinnati. It had been snowing, in the soft Southern Ohio fashion, but
the clouds had broken away, and the evening fell in a clear sky,
apple-green along the horizon as we drove on. This color of the sky must
always be associated for me with the despair that then filled my soul,
and which I was constantly swallowing down with great gulps. We joked,
and got some miserable laughter out of the efforts of the horse to free
himself from the snow that balled in his hoofs, but I suffered all the
time an anguish of homesickness that now seems incredible. All the time
I had every fact of the cabin life before me; what each of the children
was doing, especially the younger ones, and what, above all, my mother
was doing, and how at every moment she was looking; I saw the wretched
little phantasm of myself moving about there.
The editor to whom my brother delivered me over could not conceive of me
as tragedy; he received me as if I were the merest commonplace, and
delivered me in turn to the good man with whom I was to board. There
were half a dozen school-girls boarding there, too, and their gayety,
when they came in, added to my desolation.
The man said supper was about ready, and he reckoned I would get
something to eat if I looked out for myself. Upon reflection I answered
that I thought I did not want any supper, and that I must go to find my
brother, whom I had to tell something. I found him at the station and
told him I was going home with him. He tried to reason with me, or
rather with my frenzy of homesickness; and I agreed to leave the
question open till my father came; but in my own mind it was closed.
My father suggested, however, something that had not occurred to either
of us; we should both stay. This seemed possible for me; but not at that
boardinghouse, not within the sound of the laughter of those girls! We
went to the hotel, where we had beefsteak and ham and eggs and hot
biscuit every morning for breakfast, and where we paid two dollars
apiece for the week we stayed. At the end of this time the editor had
found another hand, and we went home, where I was welcomed as from a
year’s absence.
Again I was called to suffer this trial, the chief trial of my boyhood,
but it came in a milder form, and was lightened to me not only by the
experience of survival from it, but by various circumstances. This time
I went to D----, where one of my uncles was still living, and he somehow
learned the misery I was in, and bade me come and stay with him while I
remained in D----. I was very fond of him, and of the gentle creature,
his wife, who stood to me for all that was at once naturally and
conventionally refined, a type of gracious loveliness and worldly
splendor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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