“Help!”
A few rods’ run beyond the clump of trees that bordered the garden revealed the difficulty. A heavy wagon, loaded with bags of grain, was mired in the mud of the prairie road. A woman stood upright in the vehicle, lashing and scolding the oxen, which tried, but failed, to extricate the wheels from the clay that held them fast.
“I’m coming! I’m Kitty! And, Mercy—is it really you?”
“Well, if I ain’t beat! You’re Kitty, sure enough! But what a size!”
“Yes. I’m a woman now, almost. How glad I am to see you! How’s Abel? Where is he?”
“Must be glad, if you’d let so many years go by without once comin’ to visit me.”
“I didn’t know that you’d be pleased to have me. I didn’t treat you well, to leave you as I did. But where’s Abel?”
“Home. Trying to sell out. My land! How pretty you’ve growed! Only that white dress and hair a-streamin’; be you dressed for a party, child?”
“Oh, no, indeed! I’ll run and get something to help you out with, if you’ll be patient.”
“Have to be, I reckon, since I’m stuck tight. No hurry. The oxen’ll rest. I’ve heard about you, out home—how ’t you’d found a rich minister to take you in an’ eddicate you, an’ your keepin’ half-Indian still. Might have taught you to brush your hair, I ’low; an’ from appearances you’d have done better to have stayed with me. You hain’t growed up very sensible, have you?”