| |
| I LET myself in at the kitchen door. | |
| “It’s you,” she said. “I can’t get up. Forgive me | |
| Not answering your knock. I can no more | |
| Let people in than I can keep them out. | |
| I’m getting too old for my size, I tell them. | 5 |
| My fingers are about all I’ve the use of | |
| So’s to take any comfort. I can sew: | |
| I help out with this beadwork what I can.” | |
| |
| “That’s a smart pair of pumps you’re beading there. | |
| Who are they for?” | 10 |
| |
| “You mean?—oh, for some miss. | |
| I can’t keep track of other people’s daughters. | |
| Lord, if I were to dream of everyone | |
| Whose shoes I primped to dance in!” | |
| |
| “And where’s John?” | 15 |
| |
| “Haven’t you seen him? Strange what set you off | |
| To come to his house when he’s gone to yours. | |
| You can’t have passed each other. I know what: | |
| He must have changed his mind and gone to Garlands. | |
| He won’t be long in that case. You can wait. | 20 |
| Though what good you can be, or anyone— | |
| It’s gone so far. You’ve heard? Estelle’s run off.” | |
| |
| “Yes, what’s it all about? When did she go?” | |
| |
| “Two weeks since.” | |
| |
| “She’s in earnest, it appears.” | 25 |
| |
| “I’m sure she won’t come back. She’s hiding somewhere. | |
| I don’t know where myself. John thinks I do. | |
| He thinks I only have to say the word, | |
| And she’ll come back. But, bless you, I’m her mother— | |
| I can’t talk to her, and, Lord, if I could!” | 30 |
| |
| “It will go hard with John. What will he do? | |
| He can’t find anyone to take her place.” | |
| |
| “Oh, if you ask me that, what will he do? | |
| He gets some sort of bakeshop meals together, | |
| With me to sit and tell him everything, | 35 |
| What’s wanted and how much and where it is. | |
| But when I’m gone—of course I can’t stay here: | |
| Estelle’s to take me when she’s settled down. | |
| He and I only hinder one another. | |
| I tell them they can’t get me through the door, though: | 40 |
| I’ve been built in here like a big church organ. | |
| We’ve been here fifteen years.” | |
| |
| “That’s a long time | |
| To live together and then pull apart. | |
| How do you see him living when you’re gone? | 45 |
| Two of you out will leave an empty house.” | |
| |
| “I don’t just see him living many years, | |
| Left here with nothing but the furniture. | |
| I hate to think of the old place when we’re gone, | |
| With the brook going by below the yard, | 50 |
| And no one here but hens blowing about. | |
| If he could sell the place, but then, he can’t: | |
| No one will ever live on it again. | |
| It’s too run down. This is the last of it. | |
| What I think he will do, is let things smash. | 55 |
| He’ll sort of swear the time away. He’s awful! | |
| I never saw a man let family troubles | |
| Make so much difference in his man’s affairs. | |
| He’s just dropped everything. He’s like a child. | |
| I blame his being brought up by his mother. | 60 |
| He’s got hay down that’s been rained on three times. | |
| He hoed a little yesterday for me: | |
| I thought the growing things would do him good. | |
| Something went wrong. I saw him throw the hoe | |
| Sky-high with both hands. I can see it now— | 65 |
| Come here—I’ll show you—in that apple tree. | |
| That’s no way for a man to do at his age: | |
| He’s fifty-five, you know, if he’s a day.” | |
| |
| “Aren’t you afraid of him? What’s that gun for?” | |
| |
| “Oh, that’s been there for hawks since chicken-time. | 70 |
| John Hall touch me! Not if he knows his friends. | |
| I’ll say that for him, John’s no threatener | |
| Like some men folk. No one’s afraid of him; | |
| All is, he’s made up his mind not to stand | |
| What he has got to stand.” | 75 |
| |
| “Where is Estelle? | |
| Couldn’t one talk to her? What does she say? | |
| You say you don’t know where she is.” | |
| |
| “Nor want to! | |
| She thinks if it was bad to live with him, | 80 |
| It must be right to leave him.” | |
| |
| “Which is wrong!” | |
| |
| “Yes, but he should have married her.” | |
| |
| “I know.” | |
| |
| “The strain’s been too much for her all these years: | 85 |
| I can’t explain it any other way. | |
| It’s different with a man, at least with John: | |
| He knows he’s kinder than the run of men. | |
| Better than married ought to be as good | |
| As married—that’s what he has always said. | 90 |
| I know the way he’s felt—but all the same!” | |
| |
| “I wonder why he doesn’t marry her | |
| And end it.” | |
| |
| “Too late now: she wouldn’t have him. | |
| He’s given her time to think of something else. | 95 |
| That’s his mistake. The dear knows my interest | |
| Has been to keep the thing from breaking up. | |
| This is a good home: I don’t ask for better. | |
| But when I’ve said, ‘Why shouldn’t they be married,’ | |
| He’d say, ‘Why should they?’ no more words than that.” | 100 |
| |
| “And after all why should they? John’s been fair | |
| I take it. What was his was always hers. | |
| There was no quarrel about property.” | |
| |
| “Reason enough, there was no property. | |
| A friend or two as good as own the farm, | 105 |
| Such as it is. It isn’t worth the mortgage.” | |
| |
| “I mean Estelle has always held the purse.” | |
| |
| “The rights of that are harder to get at. | |
| I guess Estelle and I have filled the purse. | |
| ’Twas we let him have money, not he us. | 110 |
| John’s a bad farmer. I’m not blaming him. | |
| Take it year in, year out, he doesn’t make much. | |
| We came here for a home for me, you know, | |
| Estelle to do the housework for the board | |
| Of both of us. But look how it turns out: | 115 |
| She seems to have the housework, and besides, | |
| Half of the outdoor work, though as for that, | |
| He’d say she does it more because she likes it. | |
| You see our pretty things are all outdoors. | |
| Our hens and cows and pigs are always better | 120 |
| Than folks like us have any business with. | |
| Farmers around twice as well off as we | |
| Haven’t as good. They don’t go with the farm. | |
| One thing you can’t help liking about John, | |
| He’s fond of nice things—too fond, some would say. | 125 |
| But Estelle don’t complain: she’s like him there. | |
| She wants our hens to be the best there are. | |
| You never saw this room before a show, | |
| Full of lank, shivery, half-drowned birds | |
| In separate coops, having their plumage done. | 130 |
| The smell of the wet feathers in the heat! | |
| You spoke of John’s not being safe to stay with. | |
| You don’t know what a gentle lot we are: | |
| We wouldn’t hurt a hen! You ought to see us | |
| Moving a flock of hens from place to place. | 135 |
| We’re not allowed to take them upside down, | |
| All we can hold together by the legs. | |
| Two at a time’s the rule, one on each arm, | |
| No matter how far and how many times | |
| We have to go.” | 140 |
| |
| “You mean that’s John’s idea.” | |
| |
| “And we live up to it; or I don’t know | |
| What childishness he wouldn’t give way to. | |
| He manages to keep the upper hand | |
| On his own farm. He’s boss. But as to hens: | 145 |
| We fence our flowers in and the hens range. | |
| Nothing’s too good for them. We say it pays. | |
| John likes to tell the offers he has had, | |
| Twenty for this cock, twenty-five for that. | |
| He never takes the money. If they’re worth | 150 |
| That much to sell, they’re worth as much to keep. | |
| Bless you, it’s all expense, though. Reach me down | |
| The little tin box on the cupboard shelf, | |
| The upper shelf, the tin box. That’s the one. | |
| I’ll show you. Here you are.” | 155 |
| |
| “What’s this?” | |
| |
| “A bill— | |
| For fifty dollars for one Langshang cock— | |
| Receipted. And the cock is in the yard.” | |
| |
| “Not in a glass case, then?” | 160 |
| |
| “He’d need a tall one: | |
| He can eat off a barrel from the ground. | |
| He’s been in a glass case, as you may say, | |
| The Crystal Palace, London. He’s imported. | |
| John bought him, and we paid the bill with beads— | 165 |
| Wampum, I call it. Mind, we don’t complain. | |
| But you see, don’t you, we take care of him.” | |
| |
| “And like it, too. It makes it all the worse.” | |
| |
| “It seems as if. And that’s not all: he’s helpless | |
| In ways that I can hardly tell you of. | 170 |
| Sometimes he gets possessed to keep accounts | |
| To see where all the money goes so fast. | |
| You know how men will be ridiculous. | |
| But it’s just fun the way he gets bedeviled— | |
| If he’s untidy now, what will he be——? | 175 |
| |
| “It makes it all the worse. You must be blind.” | |
| |
| “Estelle’s the one. You needn’t talk to me.” | |
| |
| “Can’t you and I get to the root of it? | |
| What’s the real trouble? What will satisfy her?” | |
| |
| “It’s as I say: she’s turned from him, that’s all.” | 180 |
| |
| “But why, when she’s well off? Is it the neighbours, | |
| Being cut off from friends?” | |
| |
| “We have our friends. | |
| That isn’t it. Folks aren’t afraid of us.” | |
| |
| “She’s let it worry her. You stood the strain, | 185 |
| And you’re her mother.” | |
| |
| “But I didn’t always. | |
| I didn’t relish it along at first. | |
| But I got wonted to it. And besides— | |
| John said I was too old to have grandchildren. | 190 |
| But what’s the use of talking when it’s done? | |
| She won’t come back—it’s worse than that—she can’t.” | |
| |
| “Why do you speak like that? What do you know? | |
| What do you mean?—she’s done harm to herself?” | |
| |
| “I mean she’s married—married someone else.” | 195 |
| |
| “Oho, oho!” | |
| |
| “You don’t believe me.” | |
| |
| “Yes, I do, | |
| Only too well. I knew there must be something! | |
| So that was what was back. She’s bad, that’s all!” | 200 |
| |
| “Bad to get married when she had the chance?” | |
| |
| “Nonsense! See what’s she done! But who, who——” | |
| |
| “Who’d marry her straight out of such a mess? | |
| Say it right out—no matter for her mother. | |
| The man was found. I’d better name no names. | 205 |
| John himself won’t imagine who he is.” | |
| |
| “Then it’s all up. I think I’ll get away. | |
| You’ll be expecting John. I pity Estelle; | |
| I suppose she deserves some pity, too. | |
| You ought to have the kitchen to yourself | 210 |
| To break it to him. You may have the job.” | |
| |
| “You needn’t think you’re going to get away. | |
| John’s almost here. I’ve had my eye on someone | |
| Coming down Ryan’s Hill. I thought ’twas him. | |
| Here he is now. This box! Put it away. | 215 |
| And this bill.” | |
| |
| “What’s the hurry? He’ll unhitch.” | |
| |
| “No, he won’t, either. He’ll just drop the reins | |
| And turn Doll out to pasture, rig and all. | |
| She won’t get far before the wheels hang up | 220 |
| On something—there’s no harm. See, there he is! | |
| My, but he looks as if he must have heard!” | |
| |
| John threw the door wide but he didn’t enter. | |
| “How are you, neighbour? Just the man I’m after. | |
| Isn’t it Hell,” he said. “I want to know. | 225 |
| Come out here if you want to hear me talk. | |
| I’ll talk to you, old woman, afterward. | |
| I’ve got some news that maybe isn’t news. | |
| What are they trying to do to me, these two?” | |
| |
| “Do go along with him and stop his shouting.” | 230 |
| She raised her voice against the closing door: | |
| “Who wants to hear your news, you—dreadful fool?” | |
| |
