Miss Walker heard me with interested
attention. She admitted that the complications were serious.
Undoubtedly, many women in the West would care nothing about such a
relationship, there was so much indifference here to form and breeding;
anything for a husband, anything to get along in the world. Well, if
Miss Walker from Connecticut could see my relationship to Zoe in such a
light, could I blame Dorothy from Tennessee for judging it more
seriously? Perhaps after all this was a woman's reaction to my story.
Later I had a party at my house, inviting all the young crowd of
Springfield to come over. Douglas came too, and Reverdy and Sarah and
Mr. and Mrs. Sturtevant. It was just after Christmas. We had a roaring
fire in the fireplace. We popped corn and pulled candy. I brought in my
old fiddler from the woods to play for us. We danced. These festivities
were in honor of Miss Walker, and she entered into the fun with great
zest. Day by day we were better friends. When she came to go back to
Springfield she was no longer Miss Walker to me, she was Abigail. I was
not in love with her--there was Dorothy still in my heart. Yet I was
very fond of her. I thought she approved of me. As we parted she asked
me why I did not come to Chicago. It was fast growing into a city. What
better field for making money? Vaguely the idea entered my mind and
began to mature.
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