Pop's Ploughing: A True Story of Forty Years Ago

SARAH sat upon the doorstep in the warm darkness of the summer evening, with her nephew’s head in her lap. The little boy had fallen asleep.

’He looks so much like his father when he was six or seven,’ she said quietly to the little boy’s mother. ‘It reminds me of the time— ’

She broke off. After a pause Jennie, the boy’s mother, said, ‘Reminds you of what, Sarah?’

Sarah did not answer at once. Then she began: ‘It was a long time ago and I’ve never told you about it. Pop’s been dead, though, these three years and I’d kind of like to tell you.

‘It happened the summer I was fourteen years old. For a long time I could n’t forgive my father and I never felt quite the same toward him again. We were living on this very farm, and I tell you it meant work. As fast as we got one mortgage about paid off Pop bought some more acres with another mortgage on them. It was get up at sunrise and hustle all day, milking cows, baking bread, churning butter, feeding the pigs, and washing, scrubbing — there was n’t anything I did n’t do to help Mother.

’I was the oldest of the children and there were four younger: Billy, who was eleven; Tom and your Jim, who were six and seven; and little Susan, who was just a year old. Mother’d been planning all spring to go home to her mother’s for a visit when harvest was done. Then one day Pop came in and said, “I guess you’d better put off that visit for a while. I’m going to buy that forty acres of Tuttle’s that joins ours and we’ll be a mite short.”

‘Father had a soft voice and spoke kind of easy, but when he said something we knew he meant it. Mother just turned sort of white and looked as if all the starch had gone out of her. We set dinner on the table, but she could n’t eat. I was blazing mad, but I did n’t say anything then. After Pop had gone back to work I said to her, “You’re going to have that trip. You can have my ten dollars in the bank and you take all the butter and egg money, and you’re going!”

‘“Oh, Sarah, do you think I can?” says Mother, and she sat down and cried. I’d never seen her really cry before and I was scared. Right in the middle of it Pop came in for something he’d forgotten and I guess he was scared, too. Anyway, it was n’t long after that when Mom started on her trip.

‘Of course, the baby went with her and she took Billy, too, to help take care of Susan, she said. I was to look after Tom and Jim and do the housework. But I did n’t mind. I was young and strong and used to housework. Besides, I was pleased that Mother could go.

‘ But the very next day after she left if those two youngsters, Tom and Jim, weren’t ailing! They fussed and lay round and said they did n’t feel good. That night they were restless and by morning I was sure there was something wrong. I wanted to send for the doctor, but Pop said, “No. Give ’em some castor oil.” But I’d already done that, and by noon the boys were so flushed that he said if I could get word to old Doc Hanley perhaps he’d better drop round.

‘That was leave enough for me, and it was n’t long before old Doc Hanley was there. He looked at the boys’ throats, and hemmed and hawed and asked where Mother was. I told him about the trip and he said, “Well, that’s nice. We won’t send for her yet, anyway.”

‘“Send for her!” I exclaimed. “What’s the matter with them?”

‘ “ It’s early yet to say, but it looks like diphtheria. There’s some round.”

‘I went ice cold all over and my knees shook so I could hardly stand. It would have been bad enough with Mother at home, but without Mother! That was before the days of antitoxin, and to me diphtheria spelled just one word — death. There’d been a family living near us two or three years before that had three little girls, as pretty little things as you ever saw. They lost them all inside two weeks, and they did n’t even come back to the house after the last funeral. Just left everything and went. We never saw them again and their farm sold for next to nothing.

‘I did n’t know what fainting meant, but perhaps I came near to it. Anyhow, old Doc Hanley saw something was happening and set me down in a chair.

“‘Now, Sarah,” he said, “don’t you get fussed. You can look after these boys just as well as your mother. And anyway, it may not be diphtheria. I ’ll look in again in the morning and see.”

‘He kept on talking cheerfully and pretty soon I began to think things were n’t so bad. He told me what to do, and said to have Pop bring a bed downstairs to the parlor, where it was cooler. The bedrooms upstairs were low and it was blistering hot up there.

‘Pop was n’t much of a hand to help around the house. He came of German stock, you know, and in German families the womenfolk do the work unless they can’t get out of bed, and then they get a neighbor woman in to help. I was kind of scared to tell him about the parlor, but to my surprise he did n’t make any objection at all. Brought the bed downstairs and then carried down the boys. Kind of joked with them, too, about what Mom would say about their sleeping in the parlor. Then he spread some comforts on the floor and told me to go to bed. He’d stay with the boys.

‘I was surprised, but I went to bed. I thought I would n’t sleep at all, but the next thing I knew it was five o’clock and Pop was calling me.

“‘You’ll have to get up now, Sary. I got to get to my ploughing. If the doctor says to send for your Mom you get Jake’s boy to take a telegram in.”

“‘Send for Mom? What for?” I asked. I was so dead asleep I had forgotten everything. Then it all came rushing back and I hopped out of bed and hurried into my clothes. When I got downstairs I found that Pop had had his oatmeal and coffee and was out harnessing the team.

‘I don’t like to remember that day even yet. When the doctor came he said, “Well, I guess you’d like to have your mother here to help you. When could she get here?”

‘“I could telegraph her and she could get here to-morrow afternoon,” I said, trying not to tremble. I knew it meant the boys had diphtheria.

“‘You do that,” he answered, cheerfully. He stayed quite a while that morning and explained carefully all that he wanted done. But all that day the boys got sicker and sicker. They did n’t talk or cry much, but that scared me all the more.

‘That night Pop and I took turns sitting up with them, giving them water and tending to their medicine. But when five o’clock came Pop said, as he did the day before, “I’ve got to get to my ploughing.”

‘About seven a neighbor came in. She was an old woman who talked continually. I was too tired and anxious to pay much attention to her. She shook her head over the boys.

“‘If they get real bad, Sary,” she said, “you dose ’em with coal oil. That’s what I did with my Pete when he had the quinsy.” And she went on to tell a long story about Pete. I scarcely heard her, for I was watching the road for the doctor.

‘Old Doc Hanley didn’t do very much for the boys when he came that morning, but he was very gentle with them and with me.

“‘Where’s your father, Sarah?” he asked.

‘“He’s ploughing,” I said.

“‘H’m. Well, Sarah, listen to me. I can’t stay very long this morning because Mis’ Brown over on the hill road is getting her baby to-day and I’ve got to get back to her. When will your mother get here? Four o’clock. Well. Now, Sarah, it’s likely that before that time these boys will bleed some at the nose. It’s kind of frightening, Sarah, and I ’d stay with you if I could. I’ll come back as soon as I can, but there really is n’t any use sending for me because— ” He stopped, and then said, “Because there is n’t anything more I can do.”

‘ I knew what he meant, all right, but I had hold of myself and I said, “You wait just a minute, will you, doctor? I want to get Nell and tie her by the back door so I can get Father if— ”

‘“You do that,” he said. ‘I’ll wait a bit.”

‘I ran to the pasture gate and whistled to Nell. She was our pet horse. We children had raised her from a colt and she’d follow us round like a dog. Now she came running up, expecting sugar. I jumped on her back and in a minute was tying her at the back door.

‘“Now I feel safer,” I said to old Doc Hanley.

“’Good. You’re all right, Sarah,” he said, and drove away.

’Put I did n’t feel all right. If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget that morning. Except for their hard breathing and little moans now and then, the boys were quiet. The house was quiet. Everything was quiet except Nell, stamping outside. I sat by the bed in the parlor where the two lay, watching, watching, and trying to ease them.

‘It was just eleven o’clock when Jim had a choking spell and then began to bleed. The next moment I was on Nell, out of the yard, and galloping down the road to the field where Pop was ploughing. He saw me coming and stopped the team.

“’Pop, come quick!” I screamed. “ Jim’s bleeding and the doctor said — ”

‘I couldn’t go on. Pop got white under his tan, but he said sternly, “What did Doc Hanley say?”

“‘He said it was n’t any use to call him because there was n’t anything more he could do if they started bleeding!”

‘I can see Pop standing there as plainly to-day as I could then. He had a strong face, meant to be kind, but hardened by years of unending work — sunrise to sunset, sunrise to sunset. His faded, neatly patched shirt was open over his chest and his overalls had shrunk above his ankles. He had taken off his shoes and with his bare toes he made crosses and circles in the dusty earth.

‘After a moment he gave a sigh and gathered the reins closer in his hands.

“’If old Doc Hanley can’t do anything more,” he said, “I guess I can’t. Giddap!”

’Eor a moment I was stupefied. Then I cried, “But, Pop, aren’t you coming? Jim’s maybe going to die!”

’Put the horses were moving on.

“’I’ve got my ploughing to tend to,” said Pop.

‘I don’t remember how I got back to the house. I was blazing with anger, and as I rode a determination just as fierce grew within me. Mother was n’t going to come home and find Jim dead! She was n’t!

‘That was a house of terror when I got back. Tom had been bleeding as well as Jim, and they were plainly worse. I got warm water and washed their faces. I rubbed their hands and their legs. I gave them sips of water with a spoon, and as I did so I suddenly remembered what the old neighbor woman had said.

‘ “If they get real bad, dose ’em with coal oil!”

‘I flew to the woodshed and got the can of kerosene. I got a spoon, and with hands that shook so that I spilled a good deal I put a spoon of kerosene to Jim’s lips. But he would not open his mouth.

‘ “ Water, Jim,” I said, and as his lips parted I slipped in the kerosene. Then, before my courage failed me, I gave some to Tom, too.’

Sarah stopped talking.

‘Did they die?’ asked Jennie, breathlessly.

Sarah laughed shortly. ‘Hardly. Jim’s your husband and Tom’s your brother-in-law.’

‘I was so interested I forgot,’ said Jennie. ‘Go on.’

‘That was a horrible time. I thought for a while I had killed them. But, whatever else the coal oil did, it loosened the membrane in their throats. I helped them, and we got it out.

‘Pop brought the team in at noon, and after he had taken care of the horses he came into the kitchen. There was no dinner. He tiptoed to the parlor door and looked in. I was busy with the boys and did not look up. Neither of us spoke. Then I heard him moving round the kitchen, getting something to eat. Pretty soon he went back to his ploughing.

‘If the morning had gone slowly, the afternoon flew by. I did everything I could think of to make those boys comfortable and to help them clear their throats. After a while they began to doze, and at last the doctor drove in. He came quietly up to the bed and felt the boys’ pulses.

‘“What have you done to them, Sarah?” he asked.

‘I thought, “I have killed them and he knows it!” but I managed to answer, “I gave them coal oil.”

“‘Coal oil!” he exploded. “Coal oil!” And then he laughed. “Well, Sarah, I would n’t have dared! But they’re better. They’ll get well, I think.”

‘At that, something let go inside me, and I started crying and could n’t stop. Old Doc Hanley hustled me into the kitchen, and the next thing I knew there was Mother with her arms round me. Of course, finding me crying like that, she thought someone was dead.

‘“Is it both of them, Sarah?" she whispered, holding me so hard it hurt.

‘That brought me out of it in a hurry. “It isn’t either of them,” I gulped. “They’re all right. I gave them coal oil.”

‘“Coal oil!” exclaimed my mother. “Coal oil! Well, there’s nothing better if you can stand it! Now, you go to bed. I’ll tend to the boys."’

Again there was silence. Jennie wiped her eyes. After a bit Sarah continued.

‘No, I never felt quite the same toward Pop again. Of course, for a long time I just thought he was afraid to see Jim die. But since I’ve really been grown, and especially since I’ve had this farm to work, I’ve known it was n’t just that. Perhaps it was n’t that at all, for certainly Pop had been up two nights with the boys and had been very anxious about them.

‘But for years Pop had never let anything interfere with the farm work. Whether the weather was blazing hot or stormy cold, he worked. If he felt well he worked, and if he felt sick he worked. I don’t think any death in the family except Mother’s could have stopped him.

‘No, Pop had his ploughing to tend to, and he tended to it.'