Isom Chase was silent. He stood as if reflecting his coming words, trying the loose boards of the siding with his blunt thumb.
“Peter and I, we came here from Kentucky,” said she, looking at him with a sidelong appeal, as if for permission to speak the profitless sentiments of her heart, “and people was scarce in this part of Missouri then. I rode all the way a-horseback, and I came here, to this very house, a bride.” 6
“I didn’t take a mortgage on sentiment–I took it on the land,” said Chase, out of humor with this reminiscent history.
“You can’t understand how I feel, Mr. Chase,” said she, dropping her arms at her sides hopelessly. “Peter–he planted them laylocks and them roses.”
“Better ’a’ planted corn–and tended to it!” grunted Chase. “Well, you can grub ’em all up and take ’em away with you, if you want ’em. They don’t pay interest–I suppose you’ve found that out.”
“Not on money,” said she, reaching out her hand toward a giant lilac with a caressing, tender air.
“Sit down,” said he in voice of command, planting himself upon the porch, his back against a post, “and let’s you and I have a little talk. Where do you expect to go when you leave here; what plans have you got for the future?”
“Lord, there’s not a clap-board in this world that I can poke my head under and lay claim to its shelter!” said she, sitting again in her low rocker, shaking her head sadly.
“Your boy Joe, he’ll not be able to command man’s wages for three or four years yet,” said Chase, studying her averted face as if to take possession of even her thoughts. “He’ll not be able to do much toward supportin’ you, even if he could light on to a steady, all-the-year job, which he can’t, the way times is.”
“No, I don’t reckon he could,” said she.