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Updated: June 29, 2025
I watched her with a buying eye, as she circled like a pointer pup and finally caught up with the wagon, a full mile on to the westward. I had wondered once if she had not deserted the Fewkes party forever.
Where were now all my dreams of fat cattle, sleek horses, waddling hogs, and the fine house in which I had had so many visions of spending my life, with a more or less clearly-seen wife especially during those days after Rowena Fewkes had told me how well she could cook, and proved it by getting me my breakfast; and the later days of my stay in the Grove of Destiny with Virginia Royall.
I forgave her, even at the time, for making fun of the Hell Slew Dutch boy. All the girls made fun of me but Virginia, and she did sometimes Virginia and Rowena Fewkes. Thinking of Rowena reminded me of the fact that I had not seen any of the Fewkeses for nearly two years. This brought up the thought of Buck Gowdy, who had carried them off to his great farmstead which he called Blue-grass Manor.
The writer's friends, Dr. and Mrs. Fewkes, had told of her several years ago, for it was in her house that they had lived for some time in the early nineties while carrying on research work for the Bureau of American Ethnology. The writer did not realize that this was the house and the woman of whom she had heard till half-way through the first story, when some mention of Dr.
Vandemark wanted to see me. "She ain't Mrs. Vandemark," I corrected. "Her name is Rowena Fewkes." "I make it a habit," said the widow, whose name was Mrs. Williams, "to speak in the present tense." Whatever she may have meant was a problem to me; but I went in. Rowena lay in my bed, and beside her was a little bundle wrapped in a blanket made of one of my flannel sheets.
But who the dwarfs were, or where they have gone to, no one seems to have the remotest idea. But by and by, such men as Bandelier, the Mendeleffs, Stevenson, Cushing, Fewkes, Hough, Hodge and Hewett, began to investigate. They took the field, and carefully explored hundreds of ruins.
She was rosy, she was plump, her new calico dress was as pretty as it could be, and her brown skin and browner hair made with her dark eyes a study in brown and pink, as the artists say. It was two or three days before I had a chance to talk with her. She had changed a good deal, I sensed, as she told me all about her folks. Old Man Fewkes was working in the vegetable garden.
"I don't want to," she said. "I like to wait on table better." "Then why do you change?" said I. "Mr. Gowdy ," began Ma Fewkes, but was interrupted by her daughter, who talked on until her mother was switched off from her explanation. "I wun't work with niggers!" said Rowena. "That Pinck has brought a yellow girl here from Dubuque, and she's goin' to wait on the table as she did in Dubuque.
Fewkes and others think they may have been ventilator shafts to keep the smoke from blowing back in the room, but in Casa Grande they are in rooms where there is no fireplace. Others think they were whispering tubes, for use in time of war or religious ceremony; but in a house of open doors, would it not have been as simple to call through the opening?
So I only waited occasionally to break in or rest up the foot-sore and lame cattle for which I traded from time to time. The Fewkes family went on after I had given them some butter, some side pork and a milking of milk. While I was baking pancakes that last morning, Rowena came to my fire, and snatching the spider away from me took the job off my hands, baking the cakes while I ate.
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