“Why don’t you go to the West?” said an acquaintance, to whom he was one day making complaint of his slow progress. “That is the country where enterprise meets a just reward. If I were as young a man as you are, you wouldn’t catch me long in these parts. I would sell out and buy five or six hundred acres of government land and settle down as a farmer. In a few years you’d see me with property on my hands worth looking at.”
This set Parker to thinking and inquiring about the West. The idea of becoming a substantial farmer, with broad acres covered with grain and fields alive with stock, soon became predominant in his mind, and he talked of little else at home or abroad. His wife said nothing, but she thought almost as much on the subject as did her husband. At length Benjamin Parker determined that he would remove to Northern Indiana, more than a thousand miles away, upon a farm of five hundred acres, that was offered to him at two dollars and a half an acre. It was government land that had been taken up a year or two before, and slightly improved by the erection of a log hut and the clearing of a few acres, and now sold at one hundred per cent. advance. Instead of first visiting the West and seeing the location of the land that was offered to him, Parker was willing to believe all that was said of its excellence and admirable location, and weak enough to invest in it more than half of all he was worth.
The store at Fairview was sold out, and Mrs. Parker permitted to spend a week with her sisters before parting with them, perhaps, forever. When the final moment of separation came it seemed to her like a death-parting. The eyes of Rachel lingered upon each loved countenance, as if for the last time, and when these passed from before her bodily visions, love kept them as distinct as ever, but distinct in their tearful sadness.
If the wishes and feelings of Rachel Parker had been consulted—if she had been at all considered and her true feelings and character justly appreciated—a removal to the West would never have been determined upon. But her husband’s mind was all absorbed in ideas of worldly things. Not possessing the habits and qualities of mind that ensure success in any calling, he was always oppressed with the consciousness that he was either standing still, or going behindhand. Instead of seeking to better his condition by greater activity, energy, and concentration of thought upon his business, he was ever looking to something beyond it, and to change of place and pursuit as the means of improving his fortunes. This at last, as has been seen, led him off to the West in the ardent hope of becoming in time a wealthy farmer. In an inverse ratio to the hopeful elevation of spirits with which Parker set out upon his journey was the sorrowful depression experienced by his wife. But Rachel kept meekly and patiently her feelings to herself. It was her duty, she felt, to go with her husband. She had united her fortunes with his, and without murmuring or complaining, she was ready to go with him through the world and to stand bravely up by his side in any and all circumstances.
After a journey of five weeks, Benjamin Parker and his wife, with their family of three children, arrived at their new home in the West. It was early in the spring. The main body of the farm, which was densely wooded, lay upon the eastern bank of a small, sluggish river, with broad, marshy bottom-lands. The cabin, which had been put up the year before on a small clearing, stood on an eminence just above this river, and was five miles away from any other human habitation. It consisted of two rooms and a small loft above. One of these rooms had only a ground floor. The windows were not glazed. The last thirty miles of the journey to this wild region had been performed in a wagon, which contained their furniture and a small supply of provisions.
The first night spent in this lonely, cheerless place was one that brought no very pleasant reflections to either Parker or his wife. He was disappointed in his expectations, and she felt as if a heavy hand were pressing upon her bosom.
But there they were, and the only thing for them to do was to make the best of what was in their hands. Parker obtained an assistant and went to work to prepare the cleared ground for spring crops, and his wife, with a babe at her breast and no help, assumed all the duties pertaining to her family. In cooking, washing, milking, sewing, etc., she found enough to occupy all her time late and early. It was a rare thing for her to lay her head upon her pillow without extreme weariness and even exhaustion.
Time went on, and they began to reap the first fruits of their industry. The wilderness and solitary place blossomed. The little clearing widened gradually its circle, and many little comforts, at first wanting, were obtained. Still they suffered many privations and Mrs. Parker far more than her husband imagined.
The first summer, hot and sultry, drew near to its close. Thus far they had been blessed with health. But now slight headache, nausea, and a general feeling of debility were experienced by all. The first to show symptoms of serious illness was the oldest child. She was nearly five years of age, her name was Rachel, and she was aptly named, for she was the image of her mother. The bright eyes, sweet, loving face, and happy voice of little Rachel, that was heard all day long, lightened the mother’s toil, refreshed her spirits, and often made her forget the loneliness and seclusion in which they lived. She was like a cool spring in the desert, a bright flower in a barren waste, a ray of sunshine from a wintry sky.
Little Rachel was the first to droop. Saturday was always the busiest day of the week; it was the day of preparation for the Sabbath; for even separate and lonely as they were, this family sacredly regarded the Sabbath as a day of rest from worldly care and labor. It was Saturday, and Mrs. Parker, in the more earnest attention which she gave to her household duties, did not notice that the child was more quiet than usual; nor did the fact of finding her fast asleep on the floor when dinner was ready, cause any thing further than a thought that she had tired herself out with play. At night she refused her supper, and then it was observed for the first time that her eyes were heavy, her hands hot, and that she was affected with a general languor. Her mother undressed her and put her to bed, and the child sank off immediately into a heavy sleep. For some time Mrs. Parker stood bending over her with a feeling of unusual tenderness for the child. She also felt concern, but not arising from any definite cause. The fear of extreme sickness and impending death she had not yet known. That was one of the lessons she had still to learn.
In the morning little Rachel awoke with a severe chill, accompanied by vomiting. A raging fever succeeded to this. The parents became alarmed, and Mr. Parker started off on horseback, for a physician, distant about seven miles. It was noon when the doctor arrived. He did not say much in answer to the anxious questions of the mother, but administered some medicine and promised to call on the next day. At his second visit he found nothing favorable in the symptoms of his little patient. Her fever was higher than on the day before. There had been a short intermission after midnight, which lasted until morning, when it had returned again greatly exacerbated.
Nine days did the fever last without the abatement of a single symptom, but rather a steady increase of all. The little sufferer had not only the violence of a dangerous disease to bear, but there was added to this a system of medical treatment that of itself, where no disease existed, would have made the child extremely ill. In the first place large doses of mercury were given, followed by other nauseous and poisonous drugs; then copious bleeding was resorted to; and then the entire breast of the child was covered with a blister that was kept on until the whole surface of the skin was ready to peel off. Afterward the head was shaved and blistered. During all this time, medicines that the poor sufferer’s stomach refused to take were forced down her throat, almost hourly! If there had been any hope of escape from the fever, this treatment would have made death certain.
At the close of the ninth day the physician informed the parents that he could do no more for their child. When Mrs. Parker received this intelligence, there was little change in her external appearance, except that her pale, anxious face grew slightly paler. She tried to say in her heart, as she endeavored to lift her spirit upward—”Thy will be done.” But she failed in the pious effort. It was too much to take from her this darling child; this companion of her loneliness; this blossom so gently unfolding and loading the desert air with soul-refreshing sweetness. It was too much—she bowed her spirit in meek endurance, but she could not say—”Thy will be done.”
