Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol4, 1920.pdf/102
“It was dark when we arrived in the village. It was summer and I knew that at that hour they would be at supper. We left the road and went through the orchard so as not to be observed. The dogs came out from our house and barked at us; I called them but they only barked the louder. The tears filled my eyes, my heart felt heavy,—for the moment I forgot that it was fifteen years since I had left home and that they were not the same dogs that we had then. In the orchard, I noticed many young trees, the fence was repaired, the barn had a new roof, but the pear tree under which George and I used to sit, had been touched by God’s messenger (lightning) and its top was gone. At the cottage near by there was no change; it had been taken by father from the late Widow Novotny for an annuity. She was the woman that made those woolen blankets, and my husband was her son.
“There was a little garden near the cottage, for she always liked to have a bed of parsley, onions, some little corner of sweet balsams, sage, and such herbs as are needed in the household. George made her a fence of wicker work around the garden. That same fence was there still, but the ground had been neglected and allowed to run to grass; only a few onions were still seen. An old dog, half-blind, crawled out of his kennel. ‘Old fellow, do you know me?’ I said to him, and the brute began to rub himself about my feet. To be recognized and welcomed by this dumb animal touched me so that I burst into tears.
“The children, poor things! looked at me wondering why I wept. I had not told them that we were going to their grandmother’s; for I thought that if my parents should be displeased with me, the children must not know it. Caspar, the oldest, asked: ‘Why do you cry, mother? shan’t we get a night’s lodging here? Sit down and rest. We can wait; then I shall carry the bundle for you. We are not hungry.’ Both Johanna and Theresa agred with him, but I knew they were hungry, for we had gone several hours on our journey without coming upon any habitation.
“‘No, my children, that is not why I am weeping’, I replied. ‘We have reached our journey’s end; here in this house your father was born, your mother in that one yonder. This is the home of your grandparents. Let us thank God for bringing us home safe, and pray that we may receive a fatherly welcome.’ The prayer finished, we went to the cottage, for I remembered that my parents lived there, having given the homestead to my brother for an annuity. Upon the outside of the door was still pasted the picture that George brought his mother from the Vamberitz shrine,—the Virgin with the fourteen helpers. (Saints.) A burden fell from my heart as soon as I saw it. I thought: “They blessed me when I left, and welcomed me as I return;’ and much comforted I entered the house with confidence.
“Father, mother, and old Betsey sat at the table eating soup out of one dish,—it was milk soup thickened with flour and egg. I remember it as if it were yesterday. ‘Praised be Jesus Christ!’ I said. ‘For ever’ was the reply. May I beg a night’s lodging for myself and these children? We come from far, we are tired and hungry’, I said, my voice trembling with emotion. They did not recognize me; it was somewhat dark in the room. ‘Lay down your baggage, and sit down by the table!’ said father and laid aside his spoon. ‘Betsey,’ said mother, ‘go cook some more soup. In the meantime, sit down, mother. take some bread and give the children. Then we will take you to sleep up in the garret. Where do you come from?’
“‘Clear from Silesia, from Niesse,’ I replied. ‘Inded! That’s where our Madaline is,’ cried father. ‘I beg you, my good woman, didn’t you hear anything of her?’ asked mother approaching me closely. ‘Madaline Novotny, her husband is a soldier. She is our daughter, and we haven’t heard for two years what she is doing and how she is. I’ve had bad dreams lately; not long ago I dreamed that I lost a tooth; so I have that girl and her children on my mind constantly, and I wonder whether something has not happened to George, since they have those battles all the time. God only knows why those men cannot let each other alone!’
“I wept, but the children hearing their grandmother speaking thus, pulled at my skirt and asked: ‘Mamma, are these our grandmother and grandfather?’ As soon as they said this mother recognized me and fell upon my neck, and father took the children into his arms; and then we told each other every thing that had happened. Betsy ran to fetch brother and sister, sister-in-law and brother-in-law, and before long the whole village was together, and not only my relatives and old friends, but everybody else welcomed me as though I had been a sister to them all. ‘You did well to return home with those children,’ said father; ‘true, the earth is the Lord’s, but one’s own country is always dearest, as ours is to us, and thus it should be. As long as God gives us bread, neither you nor your children shall suffer, even if you cannot work. That which befell you is indeed a heavy blow, but lay it aside! Think: “Whom God loveth he chastiseth.”
“Thus I was again among them, and was as their own. My brother offered to let me have a room in his house, but I preferred to remain with my parents in the cottage where my husband had lived. The children soon were entirely at home, and my parents loved them dearly. I sent them regularly to school. When I was young, girls did not learn to write; it was thought enough if they could read a little, and that only the town girls. And yet it is a great pity and a sin when a person has the gift of