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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.
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?"
"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?"
"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.
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."
"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!"
"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,
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:
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?
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,
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.
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.
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--
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.
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."
"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,
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:
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.
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.
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."
"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,
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.
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:
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
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.
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.
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.
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."
"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:
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
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."
"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?"
"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--
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.
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----?
"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."
"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,
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.
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."
"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!"
"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.
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
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.
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
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.
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."
She raised her voice
against the closing door:
"Who wants to hear your
news, you--dreadful fool?"
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