My Ántonia Page 22

  XVIII

  AFTER I began to go to the country school, I saw less of the Bohemians. Wewere sixteen pupils at the sod schoolhouse, and we all came on horsebackand brought our dinner. My schoolmates were none of them very interesting,but I somehow felt that by making comrades of them I was getting even withAntonia for her indifference. Since the father's death, Ambrosch was morethan ever the head of the house and he seemed to direct the feelings aswell as the fortunes of his women-folk. Antonia often quoted his opinionsto me, and she let me see that she admired him, while she thought of meonly as a little boy. Before the spring was over, there was a distinctcoldness between us and the Shimerdas. It came about in this way.

  One Sunday I rode over there with Jake to get a horse-collar whichAmbrosch had borrowed from him and had not returned. It was a beautifulblue morning. The buffalo-peas were blooming in pink and purple massesalong the roadside, and the larks, perched on last year's dried sunflowerstalks, were singing straight at the sun, their heads thrown back andtheir yellow breasts a-quiver. The wind blew about us in warm, sweetgusts. We rode slowly, with a pleasant sense of Sunday indolence.

  We found the Shimerdas working just as if it were a week-day. Marek wascleaning out the stable, and Antonia and her mother were making garden,off across the pond in the draw-head. Ambrosch was up on the windmilltower, oiling the wheel. He came down, not very cordially. When Jake askedfor the collar, he grunted and scratched his head. The collar belonged tograndfather, of course, and Jake, feeling responsible for it, flared up.

  "Now, don't you say you have n't got it, Ambrosch, because I know youhave, and if you ain't a-going to look for it, I will."

  Ambrosch shrugged his shoulders and sauntered down the hill toward thestable. I could see that it was one of his mean days. Presently hereturned, carrying a collar that had been badly used--trampled in the dirtand gnawed by rats until the hair was sticking out of it.

  "This what you want?" he asked surlily.

  Jake jumped off his horse. I saw a wave of red come up under the roughstubble on his face. "That ain't the piece of harness I loaned you,Ambrosch; or if it is, you've used it shameful. I ain't a-going to carrysuch a looking thing back to Mr. Burden."

  Ambrosch dropped the collar on the ground. "All right," he said coolly,took up his oil-can, and began to climb the mill. Jake caught him by thebelt of his trousers and yanked him back. Ambrosch's feet had scarcelytouched the ground when he lunged out with a vicious kick at Jake'sstomach. Fortunately Jake was in such a position that he could dodge it.This was not the sort of thing country boys did when they played atfisticuffs, and Jake was furious. He landed Ambrosch a blow on the head--itsounded like the crack of an axe on a cow-pumpkin. Ambrosch dropped over,stunned.

  We heard squeals, and looking up saw Antonia and her mother coming on therun. They did not take the path around the pond, but plunged through themuddy water, without even lifting their skirts. They came on, screamingand clawing the air. By this time Ambrosch had come to his senses and wassputtering with nose-bleed. Jake sprang into his saddle. "Let's get out ofthis, Jim," he called.

  Mrs. Shimerda threw her hands over her head and clutched as if she weregoing to pull down lightning. "Law, law!" she shrieked after us. "Law forknock my Ambrosch down!"

  "I never like you no more, Jake and Jim Burden," Antonia panted. "Nofriends any more!"

  Jake stopped and turned his horse for a second. "Well, you're a damnedungrateful lot, the whole pack of you," he shouted back. "I guess theBurdens can get along without you. You've been a sight of trouble to them,anyhow!"

  We rode away, feeling so outraged that the fine morning was spoiled forus. I had n't a word to say, and poor Jake was white as paper andtrembling all over. It made him sick to get so angry. "They ain't thesame, Jimmy," he kept saying in a hurt tone. "These foreigners ain't thesame. You can't trust 'em to be fair. It's dirty to kick a feller. Youheard how the women turned on you--and after all we went through on accountof 'em last winter! They ain't to be trusted. I don't want to see you gettoo thick with any of 'em."

  "I'll never be friends with them again, Jake," I declared hotly. "Ibelieve they are all like Krajiek and Ambrosch underneath."

  Grandfather heard our story with a twinkle in his eye. He advised Jake toride to town to-morrow, go to a justice of the peace, tell him he hadknocked young Shimerda down, and pay his fine. Then if Mrs. Shimerda wasinclined to make trouble--her son was still under age--she would beforestalled. Jake said he might as well take the wagon and haul to marketthe pig he had been fattening. On Monday, about an hour after Jake hadstarted, we saw Mrs. Shimerda and her Ambrosch proudly driving by, lookingneither to the right nor left. As they rattled out of sight down the BlackHawk road, grandfather chuckled, saying he had rather expected she wouldfollow the matter up.

  Jake paid his fine with a ten-dollar bill grandfather had given him forthat purpose. But when the Shimerdas found that Jake sold his pig in townthat day, Ambrosch worked it out in his shrewd head that Jake had to sellhis pig to pay his fine. This theory afforded the Shimerdas greatsatisfaction, apparently. For weeks afterward, whenever Jake and I metAntonia on her way to the post-office, or going along the road with herwork-team, she would clap her hands and call to us in a spiteful, crowingvoice:--

  "Jake-y, Jake-y, sell the pig and pay the slap!"

  Otto pretended not to be surprised at Antonia's behavior. He only liftedhis brows and said, "You can't tell me anything new about a Czech; I'm anAustrian."

  Grandfather was never a party to what Jake called our feud with theShimerdas. Ambrosch and Antonia always greeted him respectfully, and heasked them about their affairs and gave them advice as usual. He thoughtthe future looked hopeful for them. Ambrosch was a far-seeing fellow; hesoon realized that his oxen were too heavy for any work except breakingsod, and he succeeded in selling them to a newly arrived German. With themoney he bought another team of horses, which grandfather selected forhim. Marek was strong, and Ambrosch worked him hard; but he could neverteach him to cultivate corn, I remember. The one idea that had ever gotthrough poor Marek's thick head was that all exertion was meritorious. Healways bore down on the handles of the cultivator and drove the blades sodeep into the earth that the horses were soon exhausted.

  In June Ambrosch went to work at Mr. Bushy's for a week, and took Marekwith him at full wages. Mrs. Shimerda then drove the second cultivator;she and Antonia worked in the fields all day and did the chores at night.While the two women were running the place alone, one of the new horsesgot colic and gave them a terrible fright.

  Antonia had gone down to the barn one night to see that all was wellbefore she went to bed, and she noticed that one of the roans was swollenabout the middle and stood with its head hanging. She mounted anotherhorse, without waiting to saddle him, and hammered on our door just as wewere going to bed. Grandfather answered her knock. He did not send one ofhis men, but rode back with her himself, taking a syringe and an old pieceof carpet he kept for hot applications when our horses were sick. He foundMrs. Shimerda sitting by the horse with her lantern, groaning and wringingher hands. It took but a few moments to release the gases pent up in thepoor beast, and the two women heard the rush of wind and saw the roanvisibly diminish in girth.

  "If I lose that horse, Mr. Burden," Antonia exclaimed, "I never stay heretill Ambrosch come home! I go drown myself in the pond before morning."

  When Ambrosch came back from Mr. Bushy's, we learned that he had givenMarek's wages to the priest at Black Hawk, for masses for their father'ssoul. Grandmother thought Antonia needed shoes more than Mr. Shimerdaneeded prayers, but grandfather said tolerantly, "If he can spare sixdollars, pinched as he is, it shows he believes what he professes."

  It was grandfather who brought about a reconciliation with the Shimerdas.One morning he told us that the small grain was coming on so well, hethought he would begin to cut his wheat on the first of July. He wouldneed more men, and if it were agreeable to every one he would engageAmbrosch for the reaping and thrashing, as the
Shimerdas had no smallgrain of their own.

  "I think, Emmaline," he concluded, "I will ask Antonia to come over andhelp you in the kitchen. She will be glad to earn something, and it willbe a good time to end misunderstandings. I may as well ride over thismorning and make arrangements. Do you want to go with me, Jim?" His tonetold me that he had already decided for me.

  After breakfast we set off together. When Mrs. Shimerda saw us coming, sheran from her door down into the draw behind the stable, as if she did notwant to meet us. Grandfather smiled to himself while he tied his horse,and we followed her.

  Behind the barn we came upon a funny sight. The cow had evidently beengrazing somewhere in the draw. Mrs. Shimerda had run to the animal, pulledup the lariat pin, and, when we came upon her, she was trying to hide thecow in an old cave in the bank. As the hole was narrow and dark, the cowheld back, and the old woman was slapping and pushing at her hindquarters, trying to spank her into the draw-side.

  Grandfather ignored her singular occupation and greeted her politely."Good-morning, Mrs. Shimerda. Can you tell me where I will find Ambrosch?Which field?"

  "He with the sod corn." She pointed toward the north, still standing infront of the cow as if she hoped to conceal it.

  "His sod corn will be good for fodder this winter," said grandfatherencouragingly. "And where is Antonia?"

  "She go with." Mrs. Shimerda kept wiggling her bare feet about nervouslyin the dust.

  "Very well. I will ride up there. I want them to come over and help me cutmy oats and wheat next month. I will pay them wages. Good-morning. By theway, Mrs. Shimerda," he said as he turned up the path, "I think we may aswell call it square about the cow."

  She started and clutched the rope tighter. Seeing that she did notunderstand, grandfather turned back. "You need not pay me anything more;no more money. The cow is yours."

  "Pay no more, keep cow?" she asked in a bewildered tone, her narrow eyessnapping at us in the sunlight.

  "Exactly. Pay no more, keep cow." He nodded.

  Mrs. Shimerda dropped the rope, ran after us, and crouching down besidegrandfather, she took his hand and kissed it. I doubt if he had ever beenso much embarrassed before. I was a little startled, too. Somehow, thatseemed to bring the Old World very close.

  We rode away laughing, and grandfather said: "I expect she thought we hadcome to take the cow away for certain, Jim. I wonder if she would n't havescratched a little if we'd laid hold of that lariat rope!"

  Our neighbors seemed glad to make peace with us. The next Sunday Mrs.Shimerda came over and brought Jake a pair of socks she had knitted. Shepresented them with an air of great magnanimity, saying, "Now you not comeany more for knock my Ambrosch down?"

  Jake laughed sheepishly. "I don't want to have no trouble with Ambrosch.If he'll let me alone, I'll let him alone."

  "If he slap you, we ain't got no pig for pay the fine," she saidinsinuatingly.

  Jake was not at all disconcerted. "Have the last word, mam," he saidcheerfully. "It's a lady's privilege."