The dim morning light, with the stars still twinkling in the heavens, the rude log house in a strange country,—the picture is not soon forgotten.
How the tedious weeks of convalescence were brightened by those honest people. They could not do enough and blamed themselves for former neglect. Delicacies from down the river came by the basketful; fruits from New Orleans, fresh vegetables, tender chickens and everything which kind hearts could suggest and ingenuity procure. Elisha Vedder was untiring and his horse always at their disposal.
Letters from Greenmeadow contained sad news. Mr. De Vere’s brother had been severely wounded in the battle of Gettysburg and many dear to him were fighting for their country. His mother could not become reconciled to the fact that her son had married what she termed a “Creole.”
It was April now and although Mr. De Vere had not taught school since February, the kind people of Crevecœur insisted on paying his salary, and the family were preparing to leave for the North. At Nootwyck, New York, was a good opening for a lawyer, and Andrew Genung, president of the savings bank there, had written him urging him to come; and only too glad to do so, Mr. De Vere answered saying that he would start in April. Now that the time had come to say good-bye to these more than friends, his heart failed him. Doctor Hoff and Elisha Vedder had particularly endeared themselves to him and though neither of them would accept a cent of remuneration, he exacted a promise that if he could ever serve them in any way, they would let him know.
The morning they left, the whole neighborhood assembled to see them off. Mrs. Murphy had provided a generous lunch-basket and her eyes were red with weeping. Mr. Murphy clumsily concealed his sorrow and Elisha Vedder was nowhere to be seen, but Reuben’s diligent search disclosed him behind the house, shaking with ill-suppressed emotion.
“Now, Massa ’Lish, don’t give way to idle grief. Jes’ run along and saddle Jinnie. Massa Murphy wants you to lead the way.”
Elisha obeyed willingly, and after a tearful parting and promises to write often, they were off. No one seemed inclined to talk. Nothing but the rolling Missouri broke the stillness. Their way led along its banks and in sight of Lake Crevecœur, and the mocking-bird’s voice was heard imitating first one bird and then another. Just as they were leaving the lake behind them, Mr. De Vere turned for a last look and said, “Farewell to Crevecœur! No more does that word to me mean ‘broken heart,’ but ‘grateful heart.’”
A little after noon they reached St. Louis where they were met by Doctor Hoff, and after again and again thanking him for all his kindness, the De Veres said good-bye to Missouri and soon were speeding northward.
Mr. De Vere’s brother-in-law, Peter Brown, met them at a hamlet west of the Shawangunks which they had crossed by stage from Middleburgh, bundled them into his great wagon, cracked his whip over his horses’ heads and in a little over an hour set them down at his home in Greenmeadow. Oh, that welcome home! Can words describe it? Dear old mother, with her silver hair, forgot all differences and the welcome accorded her ‘baby’s’ wife made Bessie feel that she was one of them in very truth.
Peter Brown was a generous provider, but to-day his table groaned under its weight of good things. Such deliciously sweet white bread and butter, steaming roast chickens, cranberries; and with appetites whetted by their ride over the hills, the hungry wayfarers did ample justice to everything.