Part 13
They ort to respect and reverence each other’s individuality.—(That is a long hefty word, but I have got it all right, for I looked it out in Thomas Jefferson’s big dictionary, see what it meant, and spelt it all out as I went along; nobody need to be afraid of sayin’ it jest as I have got it down.) Because Miss Horn, and the rest of ’em git lonesome, they hadn’t ort to inflict themselves and their gossip onto a busy man or woman who don’t git lonesome. Good land! if anybody lays holt of life as they ort to, they haint no time to be lonesome. Now Serepta Simmons meant well, and liked her neighbors, and their childern, and wanted to treat ’em friendly and handsome. But she hankered dretfully after havin’ a home of her own, and not livin’ with ’em all premiscous (as it were.) But they wouldn’t let her; she didn’t have a minute she could call her own. The Shackvillians seemed to think she belonged to ’em, jest as much as the clock on the meetin’ house did, and they perused her every minute jest as they did that. It made her feel curious, sunthin’ as if she was livin’ out doors, or in an open cage in the menagery way.
They flocked in on her all the hull time without knockin’, at all times of the day and night, before breakfast, and after bedtime, and right along through the day, stiddy; watchin’ her with as keen a vision as if she was a one-eyed turkey carried round for a side-show; findin’ fault with everything she did or didn’t do, inflictin’ their gossip on her, and collectin’ all they could to retail to other folks’es housen; watchin’ every motion she made, and commentin’ on it in public; catchin’ every little word she dropped in answer to their gossipin’ remarks, and addin’ and swellin’ out that little word till it wouldn’t know itself it was so different, and then repeatin’ it on the house tops (as it were).
I declare, it madded me to see a likely woman so imposed upon, and I thought to myself, if it was _me_, I should ruther have ’em steal pork right out of my pork barrell, than to have ’em steal my peace and comfort.
But as I was sayin’, this woman come in right through the back door without knockin’, as independent as you please, and as she sot down she looked all round the house so’s to remember how everything looked, so’s to tell it again, though Serepta wasn’t no more to blame than a babe two or three hours old, for her work not bein’ done up. I see that this woman glared at Miss Horn, and Miss Horn glared back at her, and I knew in a minute she was gittin’ up another society. And so it turned out. She wanted Serepta to head the list of the “Weepin’ Marys” a opposition party to the “Cumberin’ Marthas.”
Serepta looked as if she would sink. But I spoke right up, for I was determined to take her part. And says I, “Mom, I am of a investigatin’ turn, and am collectin’ information on a tower, and may I ask as a well-wisher to the sect, what job has the ‘Weepin’ Marys’ got ahead of ’em. What are they expected to tackle?” says I in a polite way.
Says she, “They are expected to spend the hull of their time, day and night, a learnin’, pryin’ into docterines, and studyin’ on some way to ameliorate the condition of the heathen, and the African gorillas.”
Says I, “In them cases if Serepta jines ’em, what chance would the Elder run of gittin’ anything to eat, or Serepta, or the childern?”
“Eatin’,” says she, “what is eatin’ compared to a knowledge of the docterines and the condition of the perishin’ heathen?”
“But,” says I in reasonable axents, “folks have got to eat or else die—and if they haint able to hire a girl, they have got to cook the vittles themselves or else they’ll perish, and die jest as dead as a dead heathen.”
Speakin’ about Serepta’s time, always seemed to set Miss Horn off onto her poetry, and she repeated again,—“Go to the ant—”
But I interrupted of her, and says I, “You have advised Serepta several times to go to her _aunt_ and be _wise_. _I_ am her aunt, and I motion she falls in with the advice you have give her, in a handsome way. I advise her to do up her work. And I advise you to clear out, all of you, and give her a chance to wash her dishes, and nurse her babies, and get her dinner.” For truly dinner time was approachin’.
They acted mad, but they started off. Serepta’s face was as white as a white cotton sheet, as she seen ’em go, she was that skairt; but I kep’ pretty cool and considerable firm, for I see she needed a friend. I laid to and helped her do up her work, and git her dinner. And she owned up to me that her work wouldn’t seem to be nothin’ to her if she could have her house and her time to herself some. I see plain, that she was a carryin’ the hull meetin’ house on her back, though she didn’t say so. I could see that she dassant say her soul was her own, she was so afraid of offendin’ the flock.
She happened to say to me as we was a washin’ up the dishes, how much she wanted a new dress. Her uncle had give her the money to git one, and she wanted it the worst way.
“Why don’t you git it then?” says I.
“Oh,” says she, “the church don’t like to have me git anything to wear, and they make so many speeches about my bein’ extravagant, and breakin’ down my husband’s influence, and settin’ a wicked example of extravagance, and ruinin’ the nation, that I can’t bear to git a rag of clothes to wear.”
“Well,” says I calmly wipin’ the butter plate, “if you feel like that, I don’t see anything to hinder you from goin’ naked. I don’t s’pose they would like that.”
“Oh no,” says she, ready to burst out a cryin’. “They don’t like it if I haint dressed up slick. They say I am a stumblin’ block, if I haint as dressy as the other minister’s wife.”
Says I, “Serepta you are in a bad spot. You seem to be in the same place the old drunkard’s wife was. He said he’d ‘whip Sally if supper was ready,’ and he’d ‘whip Sally if it wasn’t.’”
“Yes,” says she, “that is just where I stand. They say I am a pattern for the church to foller, and so I must be all the time away from home a workin’ for the heathen and missionary societies, for a minister’s wife must ‘be given to good works.’ And I must at the same time be to home all the time a workin’ and a takin’ care of my family, ‘For Sarah kept the tent.’ I have got to be to home a encouragin’ my husband all the time, ‘a holdin’ up his arms,’ like Aaron and Hur, and I have got to be away all the time, a ‘holdin’ up the ark.’ I have got to be to home a lettin’ out my little boy’s pantaloons, and at the same time away ‘enlargin’ the borders of Zion.’ I have got to give all my time to convertin’ the heathen or ‘woe be to me,’ and have got to be to home all the time a takin’ care of my own household, or I am ‘worse than an infidel.’ And amongst it all,” says she, “there is so much expected of me, that I git sometimes so worn out and discouraged I don’t know what to do.”
And Serepta’s tears gently drizzled down into the dish-water, for she was a washin’, and I was a wipin’.
I rubbed away on a pie plate, a musin’ in deep thought, and then I segested this to her, in pretty even tones, but earnest and deep:
“Did you ever try a mindin’ your own business, and makin’ other folks mind theirn?”
“No,” says she meekly. And she sithed as deep as I ever heerd any one sithe. “I mind my business pretty well,” says she, “but I never tried to make other folks mind theirn. I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Well,” says I, “before I leave this place, I lay out to make a change.” Says I, “many is the time I have filled the bottle you was brought up on, and I haint a goin’ to stand by and see you killed. And before I leave Shackville, the meetin’ house has got to git offen your back, or I’ll know the reason why.”
She looked considerable skairt, but I could see it made her feel better to have somebody to sort o’ lean on. And as we finished our dishes, (the buttery was full on ’em, she hadn’t had time to half wash ’em the night before,) she went on and told more of her troubles to me.
She said her husband bein’ a handsome man, the other wimmen in the church naturally took to him. She said there wasn’t a jealous hair in the hull of her back hair, or foretop, and her husband’s morals was known to her to be sound as sound could be, and she said he didn’t like it no better than she did, this bein’ follered up so uncommon close by ’em. She said it was kinder wearin’ on her to see it go on. But she meant to be reasonable, knowin’ that ministers was always took to by wimmen.
“Took to!” says I. “I should think as much!” Says I, “Wimmen are as flat as pancakes in some things, and this is one of ’em. I have seen a pack of wimmen before now, a actin’ round a minister, till their actin’ was jest as good as thoroughwort to my stomach, jest as sickenin’.” Says I, “I don’t wonder that the ’postle spoke about how beautiful minister’s feet was. I don’t wonder that he mentioned their feet in particular, for if ever there was a set of men that needed good feet in a world full of foolish wimmen, it is them.”
But Serepta sithed, and I see that she was a carryin’ the meetin’ house, (as it were.) I see that Miss Horn was on her mind, and I pitted her. She said Miss Horn was the hardest cross she had to bear. She said she would watch her chimbly for hours, to see what time they got up. And havin’ the newraligy a good deal, and settin’ up with it, watchin’ with that and her babies, she sometimes slept till late in the mornin’. And her husband would git his brain so completely rousted up a writin’ his sermons that he couldn’t quell it down, and git it quieted off so’s to rest any till most mornin’. And she said Miss Horn and her hired girl would rise at daybreak and watch her chimbly, one hour on, and one hour off, till they see the smoke come out of it, and then one of ’em would sally out to tell the exact minute to the neighborhood, while the other got the breakfast. They didn’t try to do anything else only jest cook, and tend to Serepta and the other neighbors. And their gittin’ up so early, give ’em a chance to git their housework done, and then have as many as seven hours apiece left to gossip round the neighborhood. They made it profitable, dretful, as Miss Horn told Serepta she despised lazyness.
But Serepta said it made her feel curious, when they would come in and tell her the exact minute the smoke of her cook stove rose upward, for she—bein’ in the habit of goin’ to work when she did git up—didn’t have much time to devote to the pursuit of smoke. She said it was sort o’ wearin’ on her, not so much on the account of their callin’ her lazy, which she expected and looked out for, but it made her feel as if it was war time, and she was one of the enemy. She said to think their eyes was on her chimbly jest as soon as the sun was up, a watchin’ it so close, it give her a as curious a feelin’ as she ever felt; she felt somehow as if she was under the military. She said she felt as if she was a tory more’n half the time, on this very account; it wore on her considerable.
“Why don’t you spunk up Serepta Simmons,” says I, “and tell Miss Horn and the rest of ’em, that when you git so that you haint nothin’ else to do but watch other folks’es chimblys, you will hire out for a scarecrow, and so earn a respectable livin’, and be somebody?”
“Oh,” says she, “Miss Horn wouldn’t like it if I did.”
“Like it!” says I. “I don’t s’pose asalt and batterers love to be took up and handled for their asaltin’,” and says I, “I had jest as lives have my body salted and battered, as to have my feelin’s. Oh!” says I almost wildly, “if I had the blowin’ up of that Horn, I’d give it such a blast, that there would be no need of soundin’ on it again for years.” I spoke almost incoherently, for I was agitated to an extreme degree.
But Serepta went on to say that she had “gained thirteen ounces of flesh last winter, in one month. Miss Horn had been a visitin’ to Loontown to a brother’s who had died and left her quite a property.” And says she, “I did hear that she was goin’ to be married to a widower up there, but I don’t s’pose there is any such good news for me as that. I haint dared to lot on it much, knowin’ well what a world of sorrow and affliction this is, and knowin’ that freedom and happiness haint much likely to ever be my lot. I s’pose the chimbly and I have got to be watched jest as long as we both live.”
But she didn’t have no time to multiply any more words, for as we looked out of the buttery winder, we see her husband a walkin’ slowly along backwards and forwards with his hands under his coat tails, a composin’ a sermon, as I s’posed. But as we looked, he forgot himself, and come up bunt ag’inst the barn, and hit himself a awful blow on his forward; Serepta started off on the run to tend to him and head him off.
But that very afternoon I had a chance to speak my mind, and break her chains. Serepta and I was a settin’ there as contented and happy as you please, for Serepta was a master hand to love her home, and would have give the best ear she had, for the priviledge of bein’ let alone to make a happy home for them she loved, and take care of ’em. She was a mendin’ her 2 boys’ clothes, for they was as ragged as injuns, though truly as the poet observes,—“she was not to blame.” And I also was a tryin’ in my feeble way to help her and put a seat into the biggest little boy’s pantaloons; we had got ’em to bed for that purpose. And as we sot and worked, we could hear ’em in the room overhead, a throwin’ the pillers, and talkin’ language that for minister’s childern was scandelous—for she had had to let ’em run loose, though to quote again the words of the poet,—“_she_ was not to blame,” havin’ got it into her head that it was her duty to carry the meetin’ house.
Well, as I was a sayin’, we was a settin’ there, when all of a sudden, without no warnin’ of no kind, the door opened without no rappin’ on it, or anything, and in walked what I supposed at the time, was the hull meetin’ house; I was so wild at first as I beheld ’em, that I almost expected to see ’em bring in the steeple. I was skairt. But I found by strict measurement, when my senses come back, that there wasn’t only sixteen wimmen, and two childern and one old deacon. I heerd afterwards, that he was the only man they could git to come with ’em to labor with Serepta. (He was old as the hills, and dretful childish, so they got round him.)
Men has their faults. None can be more deeply sensible of that great truth than I am, as I often tell Josiah. But truly, so far as gossip and meddlin’ and interferin’ with your neighbor’s business is concerned, wimmen is fur ahead of the more opposite sect. It is mysterious that it should be so, but so it is, factorum.
Serepta looked white as a white ghost, and ready to sink right down through the floor into the suller, for from past experience she knew they had come to labor with her. But I held firm as any rock you can bring up, Plymouth, or Bunker Hill, or any of ’em. And when they glared at me, thank fortin I was enabled to do what duty and inclination both called on me to do, and glare back at ’em, and do a good job in the line o’ glarin’ too.
They seemed to be as mad at me as they was at Serepta, and madder. But I wasn’t afraid of any on ’em, and when they all commenced talkin’ to once, a complainin’ of Serepta and her doin’s and her not doin’s, my principles enabled me to look at ’em through my specks with a scornful mean that would have spoke louder than words if they had understood anything of the language of means.
Finally they all got to talkin’ together, a complainin’. “Why didn’t she jine the ‘Cumberin’ Marthas?’ Why couldn’t she head the ‘Weepin’ Marys?’ Why don’t she take more interest in the female fellah’s of Cairo? Why don’t she show more enthusiasm about the heathens and gorillas?”
Just then I heerd the biggest little boy swear like a pirate, and kick the other one out of bed, and I spoke coldly, very coldly:
“She’ll have a span of gorillas of her own pretty soon if she haint allowed no time to take care on ’em, she wont have to go to Africa for ’em, either;” says I, “Serepta will show you some male fellahs that will need more help than any of your female ones, bime-by; she will give you a good job in the line of heathens to convert in a few years, if things go on as they are a goin’ on now.”
With that, Serepta burst right out, and wept and cried, and cried and wept. It affected me awfully, and I spoke right up, and says I:
“Heathens are first rate themes to foller, but there is different ways of follerin’ ’em;” says I, “some will set their eyes on a heathen in Africa, and foller him so blindly that there can be ten heathens a caperin’ right round ’em to home, and they won’t see none on ’em.” And then I felt so, that I allegoried some, right there on the spot. Says I:
“After a big snow-storm, it may seem noble and grand to go round sweepin’ off meetin’ housen and etcetery; but in my opinion, duty would call on a man first, to make a path to the well for his own family, and the barn, then shovel round freely, where duty called. What good does it do to go off in foreign pastures a cuttin’ down thistle tops, when you are a raisin’ a big crop of ’em to home for somebody else to be scratched by? What advantage to the world at large is it, if a woman converts one heathen way off in India, and at the same time by neglect, and inattention and carelessness, raises a crop of seven of ’em in her own house. My advise to such would be—and so would Josiah’s—work in the garden God set you over. Try by earnest care and prayer, untirin’ diligent culture and, if need be, an occasional rakin’ down, to keep your own heathen crop down to the lowest possible state, and then after you have done this, do all you can for other heathens promiscous.”
But they glared at Serepta more glarin’ than they had before, and says Miss Horn:—“She wont do nothin’; she is shiftless.” And then I spoke out in tremblin’ tones, I was so agitated:
“Serepta is my own niece on my father’s side, and I helped to bring her up on a bottle, and she didn’t nurse a cast-iron strength and a leather constitution out of it as some of you seem to think she did;” says I, “such is not the nature of cow’s milk, neither is it the nature of bottles.” Says I, “If she has got a tender, timid, lovin’ disposition, and one that is easily influenced, so much the more pity for her in this state, that Shackville has called her to be in. But as it is, she is willin’ to be killed, and you with probable religious intentions are willin’ to kill her.”
Oh how they glared at me; but I kep’ on as firm as Gibbralter:
“Her husband is a good man, and thinks enough of her; but he is deep learnt and absent-minded, and needs headin’ off. And when he is walkin’ by himself through the shady lanes and crooked pathways of the docterines and creeds, and so on, and so 4th; when he is tryin’ to stand up straight with one foot on Genesis, and the other on geoligy, tryin’ his best to break a path through the wilderniss of beliefs a road that shall lead his hearers straight to heaven’s gate; with all this on his hands, how can he be expected to keep his eye every minute on the little woman by his side. How can he, when he is absent-minded, and needs headin’ off, how can he be expected to know whether the meetin’ house is a carryin’ her, or she is a carryin’ the meetin’ house.” Says I, “Serepta Simmons is a Christian woman, and if she has time to spare after taken’ care of them that Providence has placed in her keepin’, she would be willin’ to do what she could for other heathen nations, and tribes; it would be her duty and her priviledge.
“But,” says I, “because Serepta’s husband is hired out to you for 200 and 50 dollars a year, you have no more right to control Serepta’s actions, and time, than you have to order round that old stun female that keeps house by herself out in Egypt by the pyramids. I can’t think of her name, but howsumever it haint no matter; I wish Serepta had some of her traits, a good firm stun disposition, that couldn’t be coaxed nor skairt into bearin’ burdens enough to break down seven wimmen. I’d love to see you order old what’s-her-name round; I’d love to see you make _her_ do all the housework and sewin’ for a big family, head off a deep learnt, absent-minded husband, take care of five infant childern, and carry round a meetin’ house. She’s kep’ a stiddy head on her shoulders and minded her own business for centuries, and so is a pattern for some other wimmen I know of, to foller.”
Oh how that madded ’em, and Miss Horn spoke up and says she:
“We have got a claim on her, and we’ll let you know we have.”
Says I, “The meetin’ house pays Elder Simmons 200 and 50 dollars, and so has got a claim on him, and how much does it lay out to pay Serepta; how much does it lay out to give her for the comin’ year?”
“Not one cent,” screamed out Miss Horn in skairt, excited axents. “Not one cent,” says nine other wimmen and the old deacon.
Then says I, risin’ up on my feet and wavin’ my hand out nobly:
“Clear out, the hull caboodle of you, and” I added in still firmer, nobler axents, “if the meetin’ house don’t leggo of Serepta, I’ll _make_ it leggo.”
I s’pose my mean was that awful and commandin’ that it filled ’em with awe, and affright. They started right off, almost on the run, two able-bodied wimmen takin’ the old deacon between ’em.
* * * * *
I had a letter from Serepta yesterday. She is a gettin’ along first rate; her time is her own; her childern are gettin’ more’n half civilized; and she has gained a pound a week.
A VISIT TO PHILANDER SPICER’SES FOLKS.
Knowin’ that Philander Spicers’es folks was well off, and wouldn’t be put to it for things to wait on us, we thought we wouldn’t write to tell ’em we was a comin’, but give ’em a happy surprise. They owned five hundred acres of land, and had oceans of money out at interest. Well, it was about the middle of the afternoon, P. M. when we arrove at their dwellin’ place. It was a awful big, noble lookin’ house, but every winder and winder blind was shut up tight, and it looked lonesome, and close; but I haint one to be daunted, so I stepped up and rung at the bell. Nobody come. Then I rung at it again, and Josiah took my umberell and kinder rapped on the door with it, pretty considerable loud; and then a dejected lookin’ man hollered at us from the barn door, and says he:
“You wont get in there.”
Says I, “Why not, is it the house of mournin’?” says I; for there was sunthin’ strange and melancholly in his tone.
“Because you might let in a fly,” says he.
He didn’t say nothin’ more, but stood a lookin’ at us dretful dejected and melancholly-like, and Josiah and me stood lookin’ at him, and we felt curious, very. But pretty soon I found and recovered myself, and I says in pretty firm tones:
“If Mahala Spicer, she that was Mahala Allen lives here, I lay out to see her before I leave these premises.”
“Well,” says the man, “foller up that path round the back side of the house, and you’ll find her; we live in the wood-house.” As he said that, he seemed to kinder git over into the manger, and I laid holt of Josiah, and says I:
“That man is Philander Spicer, and he has seen trouble.”
“Bein’ a married man he might expect to—”
“Expect to _what_ Josiah Allen?” says I, lookin’ at him with a mean that was like a icicle for stiffness and coolness.
“Oh! I meant he might expect to lay up property. What a big house! I declare Samantha, I haint seen so big and nice a house sense we left Jonesville.”