Classic Poem

A LUMBER CAMP IDYLL

The lumber camps were lonely years ago.
I've heard my mother tell how many a time,
When she was " keeping Shanty " years ago
In the North Woods, cooking three meals a day
For twenty men on Morgan lumber jobs,
That four months would go by, and she'd not see
Another woman, and she would grow wan
And half forgetful out of loneliness,
And have strange fancies coming and start quick
If icicles fell down from off the eaves;
And if a panther howled down in the swamp
She'd go and bar the door, although she knew
'Twould never come into the clearing there.
And then she'd always say, " 'Twas not so bad
In later years, for then I had the boys
Playing around to keep me company,
And never went clean crazy like Nance Hills,
Who kept the Byrd Pond Shanty at " The Forks."
'Twas good six miles away as the crow flies
Across the cedar swamp to reach Byrd Pond,
Yet Nance would often tramp the trail and come
And sit with me what time she had to spare,
And play with you an hour with blocks and things
When you were little. And one day she said:
" " I'm not the same since little Jimmie died;
You see, he was the only one I had.
I ache somewhere; I think it's in my heart,
And I've steeped herbs, but still the pain don't go.
When I went home last year, I told Mis' Tripp,
And she said: " Sho, don't worry about that;
I've felt that way now, years and years ago
When I was young and lost a little child.
It's baby-fever; when you've lost your own,
Or they've been grown up for a heap of years,
Or sometimes when you're just sick and alone,
The spell comes on; you sit and ache and ache
And don't know rightly where. Sometimes it seems
Your heart is jumping right up in your throat,
And other times as if a lump of lead
Lay on your breast, and you have crazy dreams
Of babies; and sometimes in broad daylight
You see one come and play round on the floor,
And food don't taste, and you can't even cry;
But always you know somehow what you want,
And feel soft fingers clutching at your breast,
And all night long a head upon your arm.
That's " baby-fever"; it drives women mad. "

" She sat a time, and then she spoke again:
" I've hoped and hoped since little Jimmie died — "
Then I just bustled out and stirred the fire
And made her drink a good hot cup of tea.

" One day I heard our " marker" laugh and say,
" They've got a baby over at " The Forks. " "
And I said, " No, I haven't heard of it."
And he said, " Yep, it's so, for I looked in:
There was a cradle rocking on the floor."

" " Poor thing," I said; " she must have had a time
Without a woman 'round to care for her;
I must go over there the first fair day."
Next day I saddled our old skidding horse
And strapped a blanket on, and rode the trail
Through Cedar Swamp and came down to " The Forks."

" Nance met me at the Shanty door; her face
Was sunshine. " Sh-h-h," she said, " he's gone to sleep.
Take off your shawl; your mittens are all stiff;
I'll thaw them out; sit down and warm yourself."
We sat down by the stove and talked and talked,
And all the while she stitched and laughed away
And showed me fixings such as women make.

" I asked to see the baby and Nance said,
" If you don't mind today, I'll let him sleep,
For he was sick and fretted in the night."
I thought 'twas queer I couldn't look at him,
But something in her face kept my tongue still.
I rode off home and she stood watching me
Out of the clearing. I can see her now,
With her red hair wrapped in a bright blue shawl;
She looked like some old picture I had seen
I think now rightly in a Cath'lic Church;
They're full of pictures and of idols too.

*****

" The snow was deep that year; I couldn't go
Until Spring came again, on the swamp trail,
And by that time I'd heard no one had seen
The baby that was over at " The Forks."
They couldn't get a word out of Nance's man.
He'd say black oaths whenever they quizzed him.
But when Nance was alone — a man had watched —
She'd bring the baby from her own bunk-room
And coddle it, and nurse it at her breast.
But no one ever heard it make a cry.

" One day when the Spring freshets gullied out
The old log roads, Jim Hills came riding in.
" Can you come over? Nance is awful sick,"
He said as soon as I had let him in.
I said I could, and got on up behind.
We had to walk the horse through ankle slush,
And when we got there Nance was awful sick,
And wild with fever. " Land," said I, " what's this?
She needs a woman; let me look at her."
And when I made her easy, I went out
To tend the baby, for I saw a crib.
You won't believe 'twas true: I turned the quilt
And saw a baby made of cloth and rags —
A poor rag doll that she had dressed and nursed
And made believe with to her starved out heart.
I stared at it and lifted up the thing. —
I'd swear that it was warm — and then I screamed
And let it drop, for somehow something moved
Just like a baby moves, right in my hands.
And then I put it back, for Nance cried out,
And I heard Jim come blundering in the house.

" He saw me by the crib and said shamefaced:
" I couldn't stop her; so I held my tongue."
" Of course," I said; then Nance screamed out again,
And I went out and put the kettle on
To have hot water in a little while.

*****

" She slept at last, and nestling by her side
I laid her baby — the real living one
That came to answer that old craving need
That's deep in women. When the wind blew in
The chinks between the logs, I slipped away
And brought her old blue shawl to wrap her in
Against the cold. Then Jim came tip-toe soft.
" She's gone to sleep; don't you wake her," I said.
" I won't," he whispered; then he turned to me:
" She looks like someone, but I don't know who —
I think my mother, but I don't just know."

" Just then we heard the log chains clank outside.
The men had come; the skidding horses raced
Down to the barn; the kitchen door banged wide;
" Hullo," a big voice called; " say, where's the grub?" "