Читать книгу Josiah Allen's Wife as a P. A. and P. I - Marietta Holley - Страница 13

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Tirzah Ann was to home a visitin’, yesterday. They keep house in part of Brother Minkley’ses house, for this winter. Brother Minkley’ses house is a bigger one than they need, or can furnish, and it is handy for Whitfield on account of its bein’ near to the law office where he learnt his trade. But Whitfield lays out to open a office of his own next summer. Everybody says he will do well, for the lawyer he learnt his trade of, has a awful creek in his back most the hull time. If he is a tryin’ anybody, or a swearin’ anybody,—right when he is a usin’ the biggest words, a tryin’ and a swearin’—he is liable to crumple right down, and be carried out with that creek,—no dependence on him at all; and lawyer Snow has got so rich that he don’t care whether he works at his trade or not; so there seems to be a clear road for Whitfield.

And they are a goin’ to have a house of their own, before long,—though nobody knows a word about it, only jest Tirzah Ann’s pa, and me. I atted Josiah to give Tirzah Ann her portion, now. Says I,—“They are a stiddy, likely, equinomical couple, and wont run through it; why not give ’em a start now, when they need it, as well as to wait till you and I die, and have ’em kinder lookin’ forred and ‘hankerin’ after our shoes,’ as the poet says.” Says I,—“give her her talent now, Josiah, and let her improve on it.” Says I,—“less buy ’em a house, Josiah Allen; they wont run through it, I know they wont.”

I would sejest this to Josiah Allen, every little while; but he hung off. Josiah is close, (but honest.) But I kep’ a sejestin’ and I kep’ a ’swaidin’, and finally he give his consent.

We are goin’ to buy ’em a neat little cream-colored house, with green blinds, right on the age of the village. We have got our eyes on it now, Josiah and me have; and to speak more plain, and let out a secret—which mustn’t go no further—we have got a contract of it. The man can’t give a clear deed till 1st of September.

This house and the one next to it—which is jest exactly like it—are kinder set off by themselves, and are the handsomest, pleasantest places in Jonesville, and everybody says so. I told Josiah he couldn’t do better than to buy one of ’em, and he sees it now; he feels well.

In the back garden is fruit trees of all kinds, and berry vines, and bushes, and a well of soft water; two acres of land, “be it more or less: to wit, namely, and so 4th, a runnin’ up to a stake, and back again, to wit.”

Josiah read it all off to me; he is a great case to read deeds and insurance papers, and so 4th. He thinks they are dretful agreeable readin’.

I know when we was first married, and he wanted to use me so awful well,—bein jest married, he naturally wanted to make himself agreeable and interestin’ to me—and so to happyfy me and keep me from bein’ homesick, and endear himself still more to me, he would draw out his tin trunk from under the bed, and read over deeds and mortgages to me by the hour. But I didn’t encourage him in it, and kinder broke it up; but he loves to read ’em to this day; and I felt so neat over this contract, that I let him read the hull thing right through, and was glad to hear it, though it took him one hour by the clock. He reads slow, and then there was so many whereases, and namelys, and to wits, that he would git baulked every few minutes. He would git to wanderin’ round in ’em—git perfectly lost—and I’d have to lay holt and help him out.

We are goin’ to git a deed of the house, unbeknown to Whitfield and Tirzah Ann, and make ’em a present of it. They was married the 14th day of September, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon—jest the time Josiah was born—so I told Josiah that I would bake up as nice vittles as I could, and enough of ’em,—enough to last a week or ten days—and we would have supper all ready in the new house, jest the day of the month and the time of the day he was born and they was married, and invite ’em over; and we’d have Thomas Jefferson and Maggie Snow, and the Widder Doodle, and turn it into a sort of 4th of July,—keep the day in a kind of a camp-meetin’, holiday style.

I believe in workin’ and earnin’ your honest bread, etc. and so 4th; but still, I believe in makin’ things agreeable and pleasant, very. We Americans, as a nation, are a dretful anxious-lookin’, hard-workin’, long-faced, ambitious, go-ahead race, and we tackle a holiday as if it was a hard day’s work we had got to git through with jest as quick as we could; and we face enjoyments with considerable the same countenance we do funerals. But I am layin’ out now to take a good deal of comfort the 14th of next September, Providence permittin’.

I think a sight of Tirzah Ann. I’ve done well by her, and she sees it now; she thinks a sight of old mother, I can tell you. She enjoys middlin’ poor health, now-a-days, and her pa and I feel anxious about her, and we talk about her a good deal nights, after we git to bed; and I wake up and think of her considerable, and worry.

And truly, if anybody is goin’ to set up in the worry business, nights is the best time for it in the hull twenty-four hours; middlin’-sized troubles swell out so in the dark; tribulations that haint by daylight much bigger’n a pipes-tail, at midnight will look bigger’n a barn. I declare for’t, I’ve had bunnets before now, that didn’t suit me,—was trimmed up too gay, or come over my face too much, or sunthin’, and when I’d wake up in the night and think on ’em, they’d look as big to me as a bushel basket, and humblier; and I’d lay and sweat to think of ever wearin’ ’em to meetin’; but at daylight, they would kinder dwindle down again to their natural shape. And so with other sufferin’s that come tougher to me to bear. When I was a bringin’ up Thomas Jefferson, tryin’ to git him headed right, how many times he has stood before me at midnight a black-leg—his legs as black as a coal, both of ’em;—a pirate; a burglar; he has burgled his pa and me, night after night; set Jonesville afire; burnt New York village to ashes; and has swung himself on the gallows.

And Tirzah Ann has had cancers; and childern; and consumptions; and has been eloped with; and drownded in the canal, night after night; but good land! in the mornin’ the childern was all right. The sunshine would shine into my heart like the promises in the Bible to them that try to bring up their childern in the fear of the Lord; and I could lay holt of them promises and feel first rate.

And Josiah Allen! I s’pose I have buried that man as many times as he has got hairs on his head, (he is pretty bald) when he’d have a cold or anything. I’d wake up in the latter part of the night, when it was dark as Egyptian darkness, and I’d git to thinkin’ and worryin’, and before I knew it, there Josiah would be all laid out and the procession a meanderin’ off towards Jonesville buryin’ ground, and I a follerin’ him, a weepin’ widder. And there I’d lay and sweat about it; and I’ve gone so far as to see myself lay dead by the side of him, killed by the feelin’s I felt for that man; and there we’d lay, with one stun over us, a readin’:

“Here lays Josiah and Samantha;

Their warfare is accomplished.”

Oh! nobody knows the feelin’s I would feel there in the dead of night, with Josiah a snorin’ peacefully by my side. But jest as quick as the sun would rise up and build up his fire in the east, and Josiah would rise up and build up his fire in the stove, why them ghosts of fears and anxieties that haunted me, would, in the language of the poem Thomas J. was readin’ the other day:—Fold up their tents like an Arab man and silently go to stealin’ somewhere else. And I’d git up and git a splendid breakfast, and Josiah and I would enjoy ourselves first rate.

There is sunthin’ in the sunlight that these phantoms can’t stand; curious, but so it is. Their constitution seems to be like the Serious flower that blows out in the night. These serious ghosts—as you may say—are built jest right for livin’ in the dark; they eat darkness and gloom for a livin’, die off in the daytime, and then resurrect themselves when it comes dark, ready to tackle anybody again, and haunt ’em, and make ’em perfectly miserable for the time bein’. But truly, I am a episodin’; and to resoom and go on:

Tirzah Ann, as I said, come down a visitin’; she brought down a little pail of canned sweet corn, all fixed for the table. I thought that sweet corn would be the death of the Widder Doodle; it made her think so of Doodle.

“Oh!” says she, “when I think how I used to raise sweet corn in my garden, and how Mr. Doodle would set out on the back stoop and read to me them beautiful arguments ag’inst wimmen’s rights, when I was a hoein’ it; and how he would enjoy eatin’ it when I’d cook it, it seems as if I can’t stand it; and shant I never see that man?” says she, “shant I never see that dear linement again?”

And she out with her snuff handkerchief and covered her face with it. Whether she cried or not, I don’t know. I shant say she did, or didn’t; but she went through with the motions, that I know.

Tirzah Ann was all offen the hooks, yesterday, she felt down-hearted and nervous. She is dretful nervous lately; but I tell Josiah that I’ve seen other wimmen jest as nervous, and I have; and they got over it, and Tirzah Ann will. There was she that was Celestine Gowdey, she was so nervous—I’ve heerd her mother say—her husband was most afraid of his life; she would throw anything at him—the tea-pot, or anything—if he said a word to her she didn’t like; scalded him a number of times, real bad. But he, bein’ considerable of a family man—he had had three wives and fourteen or fifteen childern, before he married Celestine—didn’t mind it, knowin’ what wimmen was, and that she’d git over it and she did; and so will Tirzah Ann. It comes considerable hard on Whitfield now, but he will git over it and wont mind bein’ scolded at, if it rains, or if it don’t rain, or if the old cat has kittens.

After dinner the Widder Doodle went up stairs and laid down for a nap, as she makes a practice of doin’ every day; and glad enough was I to see her go. And after she had laid down and our ears had got rested off, and I had got the work all done up, and Tirzah Ann and me had sot down to our sewin’—she was doin’ some fine sewin’ and I laid to and helped her—as we sot there all alone by ourselves she began on me, and her face lengthened down a considerable number of inches longer than I had ever seen it as she went on:

She was afraid Whitfield didn’t think so much of her as he used to; he didn’t act a mite as he used to when he was a courtin’ of her. Didn’t kiss her so much in a week now, as he used to one Sunday night. Didn’t set and look at her for hours and hours at a time, as he did then. Didn’t seem to be half as ’fraid of her wings spreadin’ out, and takin’ her up to heaven. Didn’t seem to be a bit afraid of her goin’ up bodily. Didn’t call her “seraph” any more, or “blessed old honey-cake,” or “heavenly sweetness,” or “angel-pie.” About all he called her now besides Tirzah Ann, was “my dear.”

THE NERVOUS WOMAN.

I see in a minute the cause of the extra deprested look onto her face that day, I see in a minute “where the shoe pinched” as the poet says. And I see here was a chance for me to do good; and I spoke up real earnest like, but considerable calm, and says I:

“Tirzah Ann, that is a first-rate word, and your husband Whitfield Minkley hits the nail on the head every time he says it. ‘Dear!’ that is jest what you are to him, and when he puts the ‘my’ onto it that tells the hull of the story; you are dear, and you are hisen, that is the hull on’t.” Says I, in a real solemn and almost camp-meetin’ tone, “Tirzah Ann you are a sailin’ by that rock now that the happiness of a great many hearts founder on, that a great many life boats are wrecked on.” Says I, “lots of happy young hearts have sailed smilin’ out of the harbor of single blessedness, hit ag’inst that rock and gone down; don’t you be one of ’em;” says I, “don’t make a shipwreck of the happiness of T. A. Minkley late Allen; histe up the sail of common sense and go round the rock with flyin’ colors,” and says I in agitated tones, “I’ll help you, I’ll put my shoulder blades to the wheel.” And I continued in almost tremblin’ tones—as I trimmed off the edge of the linen cambric, and went to overcastin’ of it:

“I never could bear to see anybody want to set down and stand up at the same time,” says I, “it always looked so unreasonable to me.” And says I: “Tirzah Ann, you are in the same place; you want to be courted, and you want to be married at the same time; you want a husband and you want a bo out of the same man, simultaneous, as it were.”

Says I: “Truly we can’t have everything we want at one time. There is a time for apple trees to blow out, rosy color—sweet—with honey bees a hummin’ round ’em; and there is a time for the ripe fruit, and apple sass. We can’t have good sleighin’ in hot weather, we can’t be drawed out to a peach tree to eat ripe peaches on a hand sled. Slidin’ down hill is fun, but you can’t slide down hill over sweet clover blows, for clover and snow don’t blow out at the same time. And you can’t have peace, and rest, and quiet of mind, at the same time with delerious enjoyment, and highlarious mirth.

“There is as many kinds of happiness as ‘there is stars in the heavens,’ and no two stars are alike, they all differ from each other in their particular kind of glory.

“Now courtin’ is considerable fun, sunthin’ on the plan of catchin’ a bird, kind o’ resky and uncertin’ but excitin’ like, and considerable happyfyin’. To set down after a good supper, contented and quiet, by a bright fireside with your knittin’ work, and your affectionate pardner fast asleep and a snorin’ in the arm chair opposite, is another kind of happiness, nothin’ delerious nor highlarious about it, but considerable comfortin’ and consolin’ after all. Now you have got a good affectionate husband Tirzah Ann, a man that will look out for your comfort, do well by you, and be a good provider; and you musn’t expect to keep the lover; I mean, you musn’t expect him to go through with all the performances he used to when he was tryin’ to get you; why it is as unreasonable as anything in the world can be unreasonable.”

“Now” says I, “there’s your pa and me, Tirzah Ann; we have lived together in the neighborhood of twenty years, and we are attached to each other with a firm and cast-iron affection, our love for each other towers up like a pillow. But if that man should go to talkin’ to me as he used to when he came a courtin’ me, I’d shet him up in the smoke house, for I should be afraid of him, I’ll be hanged if I shouldn’t; I should think he was a luny.

“I s’pose he thought it was necessary to go through with all them mysterious, curious performances,—talkin’ strange; praisin’ me up to the skies; runnin’ other wimmen down to the lowest notch; jealous of likely men; actin’ wild, spooney; eyein’ me all the time as close as if he was a cat, and I was a rat hole; writin’ the curiousest letters to me; threatenin’ to kill himself if I wouldn’t have him; and jumpin’ up as if he would jump out of his skin, if I went to wait on myself any, pick up a ball of yarn, or open a door or anything. I s’pose he thought he had got to go through all this, or else it wouldn’t be courtin’. But good land! he couldn’t keep it up, I hadn’t no idee he could, or he couldn’t get no rest nor I nuther. It wore on me, he used to talk so dretful curious to me, so ’fraid I’d get killed or wait on myself a little or sunthin’; and eat! why I s’pose he eat next to nothin’, till I promised to have him. Why! when we got engaged he wasn’t much more’n skin and bones. But good land! he eats enough now to make it up; we hadn’t been married a month before he’d eat everything that was put before him, and instead of settin’ down and talkin’ strange at me, or jumpin’ up as if he was shot to open the door—so ’fraid that I would strain myself openin’ a door;—why, he would set and whittle and let me wait on myself jest as natural—let me sprain my back a reachin’ for things at the table, or bring in wood, or anything. Or he would drop to sleep in his chair, and sleep most the hull evenin’ he felt so contented and happy in his mind.”

I see I was a impressin’ Tirzah Ann the way I wanted to—and it made me feel so neat, that I went to allegorin, as I make a practice of doin’ real often, when I get eloquent; sunthin’ in the Bunyan style, only not so long. It is a dretful impressive way of talkin’.

LEFT BEHIND.

Says I, “S’posen a man was a racin’ to catch a boat, that was liable to start off without him. How he would swing his arms and canter, and how the sweat would pour offen his eyebrows, so dretful afraid he wouldn’t get there in time to embark. But after he had catched it, and sot down as easy as could be, sailin’ along comfortable and happy towards the place he wants to go to; how simple it would be in him, if he should keep up his performances. Do you s’pose he is any more indifferent about the journey he has undertook because he haint a swingin’ his arms, and canterin’? No! the time for that was when he was a catchin’ the boat, ’fraid he shouldn’t git it in time. That was the time for racin’, that was the time for lookin’ wild, that was the time for sweat. And when he had catched it that was the time for quiet and happiness.

“When Whitfield Minkley was a tryin’ to git you, anxious, ’fraid he shouldn’t, jealous of Shakespeare Bobbet, and etcetery,—that was the time for exertion, that was the time for strange talk, spoony, wild, spiritual runnin’ and swingin’ of the arms, sentimental canterin’ and sweat. Now he has got you, he is jest as comfortable and happy as the man on the boat, and what under the sun is the use of his swingin’ his arms and hollerin’.

“There you two are, in your boat a sailin’ down the river of life, and don’t you go to upsetin’ it and your happiness, by insistin’ on makin’ him go through with all the performances he did when he was a tryin’ to catch you. It is unreasonable.”

I never see any one’s mean change much more in same length of time than Tirzah Ann’s mean did, while I was a allegorin’. Her face seemed to look a number of inches shorter than it did when I begun.

Pretty soon Whitfield come, and he and Tirzah Ann stayed and eat supper, and we should have got along first rate, only there was a nutcake—a long slim one with two legs—that put the Widder in mind of Doodle; it happened to be put on her plate, and she cried one hour and a half by the clock.