When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois CountryParrish, Randall
General
When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois Country
Parrish, Randall
Illinois -- Fiction
How clear remains the memory of those hours, while I sat watchful of
the helm, her head resting peacefully on my lap, and all about us those
lonely tossing waters! What a mere chip was our boat in the midst of
that desolate sea; how dark and dreary the changeless night-shadows!
Over and over again I pictured the details of each scene I have here
set forth so poorly, to dream at the end of a final home coming which
should not be alone. It was with heart thankful to God, that I watched
the slow stealing upward of the gray dawn as the early rays of light
crept toward us across the heaving of the waters. It was typical of all
I had hoped,--this, and the black shadows fleeing away into the west.
Brighter and brighter grew the crimsoning sky over the boat's bow,
where Burns lay sleeping, until my eyes could distinguish a far-off
shore-line heavily crowned with trees. I thought to rouse her to the
glorious sight; but even as I glanced downward into the fair young
face, her dark eyes opened in instant smile of greeting.
"'Tis the morning," she said gladly, "and that dark, dark night has
passed away."
"For ever, Mademoiselle; and there is even a land of promise to be seen
out yonder!"
She sat up quickly, shading her eyes with her hand as she gazed with
eagerness toward where I pointed.
"Think you we shall find shelter and friends there?"
"The half-breed chief said there were yet white settlers upon the Saint
Joseph, Mademoiselle; and the mouth of that river should be easily
found."
She turned toward me, a slight frown darkening her face.
"I wish you would not call me Mademoiselle," she said slowly. "It is as
if we were still mere strangers; and you said Elsa Matherson was to be
as your sister."
I bent over her suddenly, all my repressed love glowing in my face.
"Toinette!" I whispered passionately, "I would call you by a dearer
name than that,--by the dearest of all dear names if I might, for you
have won my heart in the wilderness."
For a single instant she glanced shyly up into my face, her own crimson
at my sudden ardor. Her eyes drooped and hid themselves behind their
long lashes.
"Those who sent you forth seeking a sister might not thus wish to
welcome Elsa Matherson," she said softly.
"'Tis a venture I most gladly make," I insisted, "and would seal it
with a kiss."
Her eyes flashed up at me, full of sudden merriment.
"The unpaid wager leaves me helpless to resist, Monsieur."
The soft haze of Indian summer rested over the valley of the Maumee. We
rode slowly along the narrow winding trail that hugged the river bank;
for our journey had been a long one, and the horses were wearied. Burns
was riding just in advance of Toinette and me, his cap pulled low over
his eyes, his new growth of hair standing out stiff and black beneath
its covering. Once he twisted his seamed face about in time to catch us
smiling at his odd figure, and growled to himself as he kicked at his
horse's flanks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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