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A Mountain Woman | Elia W. Peattie | |
A Mountain Woman |
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IF Leroy Brainard had not had such a respect for literature, he would have written a book. As it was, he played at being an architect -- and succeeded in being a charming fellow. My sister Jessica never lost an opportunity of laughing at his endeavors as an architect. "You can build an enchanting villa, but what would you do with a cathedral?" "I shall never have a chance at a cathedral," he would reply. "And, besides, it always seems to me so material and so impertinent to build a little structure of stone and wood in which to worship God!" You see what he was like? He was frivolous, yet one could never tell when he would become eloquently earnest. Brainard went off suddenly Westward one day. I suspected that Jessica was at the bottom of it, but I asked no questions; and I did not hear from him for months. Then I got a letter from Colorado. "I have married a mountain woman," he wrote. "None of your puny breed of modern femininity, but a remnant left over from the heroic ages, -- a primitive woman, grand and vast of spirit, capable of true and steadfast wifehood. No sophistry about her; no knowledge even that there is sophistry. Heavens! man, do you remember the rondeaux and triolets I used to write to those pretty creatures back East? It would take a Saga man of the old Norseland to write for my mountain woman. If I were an artist, I would paint her with the north star in her locks and her feet on purple cloud. I suppose you are at the Pier. I know you usually are at this season. At any rate, I shall direct this letter thither, and will follow close after it. I want my wife to see something of life. And I want her to meet your sister." |
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A Mountain Woman Elia W. Peattie |
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