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Then the training was at an end and the people made their last farewells and there was
much anguish in the town of Dentonsville. On the day before the last Carl went to visit his
mothers grave then ambled back home where Theresa tearfully awaited him, upset that
on this his last day, he had been gone so long. They must go and visit and Carl must take
his leave of others for on the next day there could be no well wishers in the Mission
Square. Three days before the Miller had a slight stroke and though he was recovering he remained in bed. 'You see, Carl, the old mill, she's almost as sick as me. And who's to fix her up? There's hardly a carpenter left. Come winter that'll be the end. There'll be no Miller after me.' 'Don't strain yourself, father,' said Theresa anxiously. 'Of course there'll be a Miller after you. Lots of them.' 'And who'll train them? Carl might have but they've taken him too. No Miller, no Shopkeeper, the town is dying, child. It's been going for many years but we thought for a time we'd turned it around. When Ruth was married we thought... we all thought... ' The old man choked on his tears and could say no more. Of the three old men, Old Willard was now the most robust. He appeared at the doorway of his house surrounded by his grandchildren. 'Carl, Theresa, it'll be Ruth you want, not me. She's not here.' 'No, Carl's come to say good-bye,' said Theresa. 'He has, has he? Well then good-bye and good luck. I won't ask you in, there's too much going on. You never thought to live to see the day when I'd be doing women's work, Theresa. I hope you'll come and help me soon. We should be out planting. What'll we eat if someone doesn't get it done?' The farmer went back inside his house and Carl and Theresa walked away, but they had only gone a few yards down the path when he came out again and shouted at them: 'What's this town coming to anyways? It's full of nothing but religion and the law. And what good did either of them do for anyone? Where are them that earns their daily bread?' The hardest parting was with the Shopkeeper because there was nothing to be said: no words of parting or regret. The old man was exhausted. It was uncertain if he would last the night. All that Carl could do was accept his weak grip and stay with him until he slept. 'Good-bye, father. I won't see you in the morning.' Carl soon left him. He could not bear the agony of this ending. In the morning as the dismal crowds drained from their former residences into the Mission Square the old man died. Theresa and Carl walked part of the way to the Mission Square, along the familiar rutted path he used to follow to school where now no workers toiled in the fields though it was planting time. The day was damp and overcast. 'Good-bye,' she said. 'Good-bye.' |
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