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“Selling her will help out,” said Pa. “I ought to get all of fifteen dollars for her.”
“Don’t worry about it, girls,” said Ma. “We must cut our coat to fit the cloth.”
“Oh, Pa, it sets you back a whole year,” Mary mourned.
“Never mind, Mary,” said Pa. “It’s time you were going to college, and now we’ve made up our minds you’re going. A flock of pesky blackbirds can’t stop us.”
Chapter 10
Mary Goes To College
The last day came. Tomorrow Mary was going away.
Pa and Ma had brought home her new trunk. It was covered outside with bright tin, pressed into little bumps that made a pattern. Strips of shiny varnished wood were riveted around its middle and up its corners, and three strips ran lengthwise of its curved lid. Short pieces of iron were screwed onto the corners, to protect the wooden strips. When the lid was shut down, two iron tongues fitted into two small iron pockets, and two pairs of iron rings came together so that the trunk could be locked with padlocks.
“It’s a good, solid trunk,” Pa said. “And I got fifty feet of stout new rope to rope it with.”
Mary’s face shone while she felt it over carefully with her sensitive fingers and Laura told her about the bright tin and shiny yellow wood. Ma said, “It is the very newest style in trunks, Mary, and it should last you a lifetime.”
Inside, the trunk was smooth-polished wood. Ma lined it carefully with newspapers, and packed tightly into it all Mary’s belongings. Every corner she crammed with wadded newspapers, so firmly that nothing could move during the rough journey on the train. She put in many layers of newspapers, too, for she feared that Mary did not have enough clothes to fill the trunk. But when everything was in and cram-jammed down as tightly as possible, the paper-covered mound rose up high enough to fill the curved lid, and Ma sat on it to hold it down while Pa snapped the padlocks.
Then, rolling the trunk end over end, and over and over, Pa tugged and strained loops of the new rope around it, and Laura helped hold the rope tight while he drew the knots fast.
“There,” he said finally. “That’s one job well done.” As long as they were busy, they could keep pushed deep down inside them the knowledge that Mary was going away. Now everything was done. It was not yet supper time, and the time was empty, for thinking.
Pa cleared his throat and went out of the house. Ma brought her darning basket, but she set it on the table and stood looking out of the window. Grace begged, “Don’t go away, Mary, why? Don’t go away, tell me a story.”
This was the last time that Mary would hold Grace in her lap and tell the story of Grandpa and the panther in the Big Woods of Wisconsin. Grace would be a big girl before Mary came back.
“No, Grace, you must not tease,” Ma said, when the story was finished. “What would you like for supper, Mary?” It would be Mary’s last supper at home.
“Anything you put on the table is good, Ma,” Mary answered.
“It is so hot,” Ma said. “I believe I will have cottage cheese balls with onions in them, and the cold creamed peas. Suppose you bring in some lettuce and tomatoes from the garden, Laura.”
Suddenly Mary asked, “Could I come with you? I would like a little walk.”
“You needn’t hurry,” Ma told them. “There is plenty of time before supper.”
They went walking past the stable and up the low hill beyond. The sun was sinking to rest, like a king, Laura thought, drawing the gorgeous curtains of his great bed around him. But Mary was not pleased by such fancies. So Laura said, “The sun is sinking, Mary, into white downy clouds that spread to the edge of the world. All the tops of them are crimson, and streaming down from the top of the sky are great gorgeous curtains of rose and gold with pearly edges. They are a great canopy over the whole prairie. The little streaks of sky between them are clear, pure green.”
Mary stood still. “I’ll miss our walks,” she said, her voice trembling a little.
“So will I.” Laura swallowed, and said, “but only think, you are going to college.”
“I couldn’t have, without you,” Mary said. “You have always helped me to study, and you gave Ma your nine dollars for me.”
“It wasn’t much,” said Laura. “It wasn’t anything like I wish I—”
“It was, too!” Mary contradicted. “It was a lot.”
Laura’s throat choked up. She winked her eyelids hard and took a deep breath but her voice quivered. “I hope you like college, Mary.”
“Oh, I will. I will!” Mary breathed. “Think of being able to study and learn—Oh, everything! Even to play the organ. I do owe it partly to you, Laura. Even if you aren’t teaching school yet, you have helped me to go.”
“I am going to teach school as soon as I am old enough,” said Laura. “Then I can help more.”
“I wish you didn’t have to,” Mary said.
