| |
| The wind rose, and the wind fell, | |
| And the day that was that day | |
| Floated under a high Heaven. | |
| |
| “Home! Home! Home!” | |
| Sang a robin in a spice-bush. | 5 |
| “Sun on a roof-tree! Sun on a roof-tree!” | |
| Rang thin clouds | |
| In a chord of silver across a placid sky. | |
| |
| Rachel Gibbs stepped up the path | |
| To pass the time of day | 10 |
| With Haywood Green’s Minnie. | |
| “My, ef she ain’t shut the door! | |
| An’ all the breeze this side the house too. | |
| She must like to stew. | |
| Minnie, | 15 |
| Minnie, | |
| You ain’t gone out have yer? | |
| I’ll skin my knuckles ef I knock agin. | |
| I wonder did she lock the door— | |
| Well, I never! | 20 |
| Have you gone hard o’ hearin’? | |
| Have you— | |
| Minnie, child, what’s the matter? | |
| Why do you look like that? | |
| What you doin’? | 25 |
| Speak, I tell yer! | |
| What you hidin’ that cup for? | |
| God A’mighty, girl, what you doin’ with wood-alcohol | |
| In a drinkin’-cup? | |
| Here give it ter me, | 30 |
| An’ I’ll set it on the table. | |
| Set down, Minnie dear, | |
| Set right here in the rocker | |
| An’ tell me | |
| What ails yer to be wantin’ | 35 |
| To drink stuff like that? | |
| There, there, you poor lamb. | |
| Don’t look so scared. | |
| Just tell me all about it, | |
| An’ ease your heart. | 40 |
| Minnie, I’ll have to shake yer | |
| Ef you don’t stop starin’ | |
| In that dretful way. | |
| Poor Dear, | |
| You just lay your head up agin me | 45 |
| An’ let me soothe yer. | |
| Poor little thing. | |
| Poor little thing.” | |
| |
| “Don’t, don’t, Rachel, | |
| I can’t bear it. | 50 |
| I’m a wicked woman, | |
| But I jest couldn’t stand no more.” | |
| |
| “No more o’ what? | |
| Ain’t yer Pa good to yer? | |
| What’s come over yer, Minnie? | 55 |
| My! I’m jest as sorry as I can be.” | |
| |
| “Oh, it ain’t nothin’ like that. | |
| An’ don’t be so good to me, | |
| You’ll make me want to cry agin, | |
| An’ I can’t cry. | 60 |
| I’m all dried up, | |
| An’ it’s like squeezin’ my heart sick | |
| To want to cry, an’ can’t.” | |
| |
| “But what is it? | |
| Ain’t yer never goin’ ter tell me?” | 65 |
| |
| “Why there ain’t nothin’ to tell | |
| ’Cept that I’m tired.” | |
| |
| “Now, look-a-here, Minnie, | |
| No one don’t drink poison jest ’cause they’re tired.” | |
| |
| “I didn’t drink it, as it happens.” | 70 |
| |
| “No, you didn’t, ’cause I come in an’ stopped yer. | |
| But I’m mighty afeered you would have. | |
| Lord, it makes me shudder.” | |
| |
| “I guess yer right, | |
| I would have. | 75 |
| An’ I wish you’d ha’ let me be. | |
| Now it’s all to do over agin, | |
| An’ I don’t know as I’ll git the courage a second time. | |
| I guess you ain’t never been right down tired, Rachel.” | |
| |
| “Well, never to the poison point, no, I haven’t. | 80 |
| But what’s gone wrong to wear yer out so?” | |
| |
| “The cat’s sick.” | |
| |
| “Minnie Green, was you takin’ poison | |
| ’Cause you got a sick cat? | |
| That’s down-right foolishness.” | 85 |
| |
| “Yes, it does sound so. | |
| But I couldn’t face nussin’ her. | |
| Look here, Rachel, | |
| I may be foolish, or mad, or jest plain bad, | |
| But I couldn’t stan’ another thing. | 90 |
| I’m all fretted now | |
| An’ more’s one too many. | |
| I can’t go on! | |
| Oh, God! I can’t go on! | |
| I ain’t got no more’n most women, | 95 |
| I know that, | |
| But I fuss a lot more. | |
| There’s al’ays the same things | |
| Goin’ roun’ like the spokes to a cart-wheel, | |
| Ef one ain’t a-top it’s another, | 100 |
| An’ the next comin’ up all th’ time. | |
| It’s breakfast, an’ dinner, an’ supper, | |
| Every day. | |
| An’ the same dishes to wash. | |
| I hate them dishes. | 105 |
| I smashed a plate yesterday | |
| ’Cause I couldn’t bear to see it | |
| Settin’ on the sink waitin’ fer me. | |
| An’ when I go up to make Father’s bed | |
| I git seasick | 110 |
| Thinkin’ I’ll have to see that old check spread agin. | |
| I’ve settled it, | |
| An’ twitched it this way an’ that, | |
| For thirty year, | |
| An’ I hate the sight o’ the thing. | 115 |
| Sometimes I’ve set an hour on the stair | |
| Ruther’n go in an’ touch it. | |
| Oh, my God! Why couldn’t yer let me be? | |
| Why’d you have to come interferin’? | |
| Why? | 120 |
| Why?” | |
| |
| “Thank the Everlastin’ Mercy I did! | |
| But, Minnie, how long’s this been goin’ on? | |
| I never had no idea anythin’ was wrong.” | |
| |
| “I don’t know. | 125 |
| For ever an’ ever, I guess. | |
| Rachel, you can’t think how hard it is for me | |
| To set one foot after the other sometimes. | |
| I hate lookin’ out th’ winder, | |
| I’m so tired o’ seein’ the path to the barn. | 130 |
| An’ I can’t hardly bear | |
| To hear Father talkin’ to the horses. | |
| He loves ’em. | |
| But I don’t love nothin’ | |
| ’Cept the cat, | 135 |
| An’ cats is cold things to cling to, | |
| An’ now mine’s sick!” | |
| |
| “Don’t take on so, Minnie. | |
| She’ll get well. | |
| There, you rest awhile; | 140 |
| You can tell me afterwards.” | |
| |
| A wind rose, and a wind fell, | |
| And the day that was that day | |
| Hung against a turning sun. | |
| |
| The robin sang “Home! Home! Home!” | 145 |
| In an up-and-down scale of small, bright notes. | |
| The clouds rang silver arpeggios | |
| Stretched across a pleasant sky. | |
| |
| “I wish I loved somethin’, Rachel.” | |
| |
| “Bless your heart, Child, don’t you love your father?” | 150 |
| |
| “I suppose so. But he don’t mean nothin’ ter me. | |
| He don’t say nothin’ I want ter hear. | |
| My ears is achin’ to hear words, | |
| Words like what’s written in books, | |
| Words that would make me all bright like a spring day. | 155 |
| I lay awake nights | |
| Thinkin’ o’ hearin’ things, | |
| An’ seein’ things. | |
| I’m awful tired o’ these hills, | |
| They crowd in so. | 160 |
| Seems sometimes ef I could see the ocean, | |
| Or a real big city, | |
| ’Twould help. | |
| Kind o’ lay my eyes out straight for a while, | |
| Everythin’s so short here | 165 |
| My eyes feels crinkled. | |
| I love laylocks, | |
| But I git so tired o’ watchin’ | |
| The leaves come and the flowers | |
| Every year the same, | 170 |
| I’d like to root ’em up. | |
| I’ve set an’ set in the kitchen evenin’s awful late, | |
| Fer not bein’ able to git up and light the lamp | |
| To go ter bed. | |
| I’m all lead somehow. | 175 |
| I guess ef anybody did say anythin’ | |
| I’d be deaf | |
| Jest with listenin’ so long. | |
| I’m plumb tired out.” | |
| |
| “Look-a-here, Minnie, | 180 |
| Why don’t you go away | |
| Fer a spell?” | |
| |
| “Me go away! | |
| Oh, no, I couldn’t never do that. | |
| I couldn’t go no place. | 185 |
| I can’t hardly git over to Dicksville | |
| Fer my week with Aunt Abby now. | |
| I’m all wrong away from home. | |
| I can’t do nothin’! | |
| Nothin’ at all. | 190 |
| I’m so awful tired.” | |
| |
| “Minnie, did you ever love anybody? | |
| Any man, I mean?” | |
| |
| “No, Rachel, I never did. | |
| I know that sounds queer, but it’s a fact. | 195 |
| I’ve tried to think I did, | |
| But ’twarn’t true. | |
| I hadn’t hardly no time for men-folks, | |
| Mother was sick so long, | |
| And then there was Father. | 200 |
| I never was much account with ’em anyway, | |
| But I suppose I might ha’ had one | |
| Ef I’d fixed my mind so. | |
| But I al’ays waited. | |
| An’ now I’m through waitin’, | 205 |
| I’m through waitin’ fer anythin’, Rachel. | |
| It’s jest go, go, go, | |
| With never no end, | |
| And nothin’ done that ain’t to do over agin. | |
| There now it’s six o’clock, | 210 |
| And I must be gittin’ supper. | |
| You needn’t move that cup, Rachel. | |
| I ain’t a-goin’ to touch it. | |
| I’ll jest keep on now till the Lord takes me | |
| An’ I only hope he’ll do it soon.” | 215 |
| |
| The robin flew down from the spice-bush | |
| And pecked about for worms. | |
| The clouds were brazen trumpets | |
| Tumbled along the edge of an apple-colored sky. | |
| The shadow of the house | 220 |
| Fell across the path to the barn | |
| Confusing it with the grass and the daisies. | |
| |
| A wind rose, and a wind fell, | |
| And the day that was that day | |
| Vanished in the darkness. | 225 |
| |
