Chapter 6

she wanted to settle down, and be kinder still and sot. But of all the bad luck she had! She married on short acquaintance, and he proved to be a perfect wanderer. Why, he couldn't keep still. It was s'posed to be a mark.

He moved Patty thirteen times in two years; and at last he took her into a cart,--a sort of a covered wagon,--and travelled right through the Eastern States with her. He wanted to see the country, and loved to live in the wagon: it was his make. And, of course, the law give him the control of her body; and she had to go where he moved it, or else part with him. And I s'pose the law thought it was guardin' and nourishin' her when it was a joltin' her over them praries and mountains and abysses. But it jest kep' her shook up the hull of the time.

It wus the regular Burpy luck.

And then, another one of her aunts, Drusilla Burpy, she married a industrius, hard-workin' man,--one that never drinked a drop, and was sound on the doctrines, and give good measure to his customers: he was a grocer-man. And a master hand for wantin' to foller the laws of his country, as tight as laws could be follered. And so, knowin' that the law approved of “moderate correction” for wimmen, and that “a man might whip his wife, but not enough to endanger her life,” he bein' such a master hand for wantin' to do every thing faithful, and do his very best for his customers, it was s'posed that he wanted to do his best for the law; and so, when he got to whippin' Drusilla, he would whip her _too_ severe--he would be _too_ faithful to it.

You see, the way ont was, what made him whip her at all wuz, she was cross to him. They had nine little children. She always thought that two or three children would be about all one woman could bring up well “by hand,” when that one hand wuz so awful full of work, as will be told more ensuin'ly. But he felt that big families wuz a protection to the Government; and “he wanted fourteen boys,” he said, so they could all foller their father's footsteps, and be noble, law-making, law-abiding citizens, jest as he was.

But she had to do every mite of the housework, and milk cows, and make butter and cheese, and cook and wash and scour, and take all the care of the children, day and night, in sickness and in health, and spin and weave the cloth for their clothes (as wimmen did in them days), and then make 'em, and keep 'em clean. And when there wuz so many of 'em, and only about a year's difference in their ages, some of 'em--why, I s'pose she sometimes thought more of her own achin' back than she did of the good of the Government; and she would get kinder discouraged sometimes, and be cross to him.

And knowin' his own motives was so high and loyal, he felt that he ought to whip her. So he did.

And what shows that Drusilla wuzn't so bad as he s'posed she wuz, what shows that she did have her good streaks, and a deep reverence for the law, is, that she stood his whippin's first-rate, and never whipped him.

Now, she wuz fur bigger than he wuz, weighed 80 pounds the most, and might have whipped him if the law had been such.

But they was both law-abidin', and wanted to keep every preamble; so she stood it to be whipped, and never once whipped him in all the seventeen years they lived together.

She died when her twelfth child was born: there wus jest 13 months difference in the age of that and the one next older. And they said she often spoke out in her last sickness, and said,--

“Thank fortune, I have always kept the law.”

And they said the same thought wus a great comfort to him in his last moments.

He died about a year after she did, leaving his 2nd wife with twins and a good property.

Then, there was Abagail Burpy. She married a sort of a high-headed man, though one that paid his debts, and was truthful, and considerable good-lookin', and played well on the fiddle. Why, it seemed as if he had almost every qualification for makin' a woman happy, only he had jest this one little excentricity,--that man would lock up Abagail Burpy's clothes every time he got mad at her.

Of course the law give her clothes to him; and knowin' it was one of the laws of the United States, she wouldn't have complained only when she had company. But it was mortifyin', and nobody could dispute it, to have company come, and nothin' to put on.

Several times she had to withdraw into the wood-house, and stay most of the day, shiverin', and under the cellar-stairs, and round in clothes-presses.

But he boasted in prayer-meetin's, and on boxes before grocery-stores, that he wus a law-abidin' citizen; and he wuz. Eben Flanders wouldn't lie for anybody.

But I'll bet that Abagail Flanders beat our old Revolutionary 4 mothers in thinkin' out new laws, when she lay round under stairs, and behind barrells, in her nightdress.

You see, when a man hides his wive's corset and petticoat, it is governin' without the “consent of the governed.” And if you don't believe it, you ort to have peeked round them barrells, and seen Abagail's eyes. Why, they had hull reams of by-laws in 'em, and preambles, and “declarations of independence.” So I have been told.

Why, it beat every thing I ever heard on, the lawful sufferin's of them wimmen. For there wuzn't nothin' illegal about one single trouble of theirn. They suffered accordin' to law, every one of 'em. But it wus tuff for 'em--very tuff.

And their all bein' so dretful humbly wuz and is another drawback to 'em; though that, too, is perfectly lawful, as everybody knows.

And Dorlesky looks as bad agin as she would otherways, on account of her teeth.

It wus after Lank had begun to kinder get after this other woman, and wus indifferent to his wive's looks, that Dorlesky had a new set of teeth on her upper jaw. And they sort o' sot out, and made her look so bad that it fairly made her ache to look at herself in the glass. And they hurt her gooms too. And she carried 'em back to the dentist, and wanted him to make her another set.

But the dentist acted mean, and wouldn't take 'em back, and sued Lank for the pay. And they had a lawsuit. And the law bein' such that a woman can't testify in court in any matter that is of mutual interest to husband and wife--and Lank wantin' to act mean, too, testified that “they wus good sound teeth.”

And there Dorlesky sot right in front of 'em with her gooms achin', and her face all pokin' out, and lookin' like furyation, and couldn't say a word. But she had to give in to the law.

And ruther than go toothless, she wears 'em to this day. And I do believe it is the raspin' of them teeth aginst her gooms, and her discouraged and mad feelin's every time she looks in a glass, that helps to embitter her towards men, and the laws men have made, so's a woman can't have the control over her own teeth and her own bones.

Wall, Dorlesky went home about 4 P.M., I a promisin' at the last minute as sacred as I could, without usin' a book, to do her errents for her.

I urged her to stay to supper, but she couldn't; for she said the man where she worked was usin' his horses, and couldn't come after her agin. And she said that--

“Mercy on her! how could anybody eat any more supper after such a dinner as I had got?”

And it wuzn't nothin' extra, I didn't think. No better than my common run of dinners.

Wall, she hadn't been gone over an hour (she a hollerin' from the wagon, a chargin' on me solemn, about the errents,--the man she works for is deef, deef as a post,--and I a noddin' to her firm, honorable nods, that I would do 'em), and I wus a slickin' up the settin'-room, and Martha, who had jest come in, wus measurin' off my skirt-breadths, when Josiah Allen drove up, and Cicely and the boy with him.

And there I had been a layin' out to write to her that very night to tell her I wus goin' away, and to be sure and come jest as quick as I got back!

Wall, I never see the time I wuzn't glad to see Cicely, and I felt that she could visit to Tirzah Ann's and Thomas J.'s while I wus gone. She looked dretful pale and sad, I thought; but she seemed glad to see me, and glad to get back. And the boy asked Josiah and Ury and me 47 questions between the wagon and the front doorstep, for I counted 'em. He wus well.

I broached the subject of my tower to Cicely when she and I wus all alone in her room. And, if you'll believe it, she all rousted up with the idee of wantin' to go too.

She says, “You know, aunt Samantha, just how I have prayed and labored for my boy's future; how I have made all the efforts that it is possible for a woman to make; how I have thrown my heart and life into the work,--but I have done no good. That letter,” says she, takin' one out of her pocket, and throwin' it into my lap,--“that letter tells me just what I knew so well before,--just how weak a woman is; that they have no power, only the power to suffer.”

It wus from that old executor, refusin' to comply with some request she had made about her own property,--a request of right and truth.

Oh, how glad I would have been to had him execkuted that very minute! Why, I'd done it myself if wimmen could execkit--but they can't.

Says she, “I'll go with you to Washington,--I and the boy. Perhaps I can do something for him there.” But when she mentioned the boy, I demurred in my own mind, and kep' a demurrin'. Thinks'es I, how can I stand it, as tired as I expect to be, to have him a askin' questions all the hull time? She see I was a demurrin'; and her pretty face grew sadder than it had, and overcasteder.

And as I see that, I gin in at once, and says with a cheerful face, but a forebodin' mind,--

“Wall, Cicely, we three will embark together on our tower.”

Wall, after supper Cicely and I sot down under the front stoop,--it was a warm evenin',--and we talked some about other wimmen. Not runnin' talk, or gossipin' talk, but jest plain talk, about her aunt Mary, and her aunt Melissa, and her aunt Mary's daughter, who wus a runnin' down, runnin' faster than ever, so I judged from what she said. And how Susan Ann Grimshaw that was, had a young babe. She said her aunt Mary was better now, so she had started for the Michigan; but she had had a dretful sick spell while she was there.

While she wuz a tellin' me this, Cicely sot on one of the steps of the stoop: I sot up under it in my rockin'-chair. And she looked dretful good to me. She had on a white dress. She most always wears white in the house, when we hain't got company; and always wears black when she is dressed up, and when she goes out.

This dress was made of white mull. The yoke wus made all of thin embroidery, and her white neck and shoulders shone through it like snow. Her sleeves was all trimmed with lace, and fell back from her pretty white arms. Her hands wus clasped over her knees; and her hair, which the boy had got loose a playin' with her, wus fallin' round her face and neck. And her great, earnest eyes wus lookin' into the West, and the light from the sunset fallin' through the mornin'-glorys wus a fallin' over her, till I declare, I never see any thing look so pretty in my hull life. And there was some thin' more, fur more than prettiness in her face, in her big eyes.

It wuzn't unhappiness, and it wuzn't happiness, and I don't know as I can tell what it wuz. It seemed as if she wuz a lookin' fur, fur away, further than Jonesville, further than the lake that lay beyend Jonesville, and which was pure gold now,--a sea of glass mingled with fire,--further than the cloudy masses in the western heavens, which looked like a city of shinin' mansions, fur off; but her eyes was lookin' away off, beyend them.

And I kep' still, and didn't feel like talkin' about other wimmen.

Finally she spoke out. “Aunt Samantha, what do you suppose I thought when dear aunt Mary was so ill when I was there?”

And I says, “I don't know, dear: what did you?”

“Well, I thought, that, though I loved her so dearly, I almost wished she would die while I was there.”

“Why, Cicely!” says I. “Why-ee! what did you wish that for? and thinkin' so much of your aunt as you do.”

“Well, you know how mother and aunt Mary loved each other, how near they were to each other. Why, mother could always tell when aunt Mary was ill or in trouble, and she was just the same in regard to mother. And I can't think that when death has freed the soul from the flesh, that they will have less spiritual knowledge of each other than when they were here; and I felt, that with such a love as theirs, death would only make their souls nearer: and you know what the Bible says,--that 'God shall make of his angels ministering spirits;' and I _know_ He would send no other angel but my mother, to dear aunt Mary's bedside, to take her spirit home. And I thought, that, if I were there, my mother would be there right in the room with me; and I didn't know but I might _feel_ her presence if I could not see her. And I _do_ want my mother so sometimes, aunt Samantha,” says she with the tears comin' into them soft brown eyes. “It seems as if she would tell me what to do for the boy--she always knew what was right and best to do.”

Says I to myself, “For the land's sake, what won't Cicely think on next?” But I didn't say a word, mind you, not a single word would I say to hurt that child's feelin's--not for a silver dollar, I wouldn't.

I only says, in calm accents,--

“Don't for mercy's sake, child, talk of seein' your mother now.”

She looked far off into the shinin' western heavens with that deep, searchin', but soft gaze,--seemin' to look clear through them cloudy mansions of rose and pearl,--and says she,--

“If I were good enough, I think I could.”

And I says, “Cicely, you are goin' to take cold, with nothin' round your shoulders.” Says I, “The weather is very ketchin', and it looks to me as if we wus goin' to have quite a spell of it.”

And the boy overheard me, and asked me 75 questions about ketchin' the weather.

“If the weather set a trap? If it ketched with bait, or with a hook, and what it ketched? and how? and who?”

Oh my stars! what a time I did have!

The next mornin' after this Cicely wuzn't well enough to get up. I carried up her breakfast with my own hands,--a good one, though I am fur from bein' the one that ort to say it.

And after breakfast, along in the forenoon, Martha, who was makin' my dress, felt troubled in mind as to whether she had better cut the polenay kitrin' ways of the cloth, or not: and Miss Gowdey had jest had one made in the height of the fashion, to Jonesville; and so to ease Martha's mind (she is one that gets deprested easy, when weighty subjects are pressin' her down), I said I would run over cross-lots, and carry home a drawin' of tea I had borrowed, and look at the polenay, and bring back tidin's from it. And I wus goin' there acrost the orchard, when I see the boy a layin' on his back under a apple-tree, lookin' up into the sky; and says I,--

“What be you doin' here, Paul?”

He never got up, nor moved a mite. That is one of the peculiarities of the boy, you can't surprise him: nothin' seems to startle him.

He lay still, and spoke out for all the world as if I had been there with him all day.

“I am lookin' to see if I can see it. I thought I got a glimpse of it a minute ago, but it wus only a white cloud.”

“Lookin' for what?” says I.

“The gate of that City that comes down out of the heavens. You know, uncle Josiah read about it this morning, out of that big book he prays out of after breakfast. He said the gate was one pearl.

“And I asked mamma what a pearl was, and she said it was just like that ring she wears that papa gave her. And I asked her where the City was, and she said it was up in the heavens. And I asked her if I should ever see it; and she said, if I was good, it would swing down out of the sky, sometime, and that shining gate would open, and I should walk through it into the City.

“And I went right to being good, that minute; and I have been good for as many as three hours, I should think. And _say_, how long have you got to be good before you can go through? And _say_, can you see it before you go through? And SAY”--

But I had got most out of hearin' then.

“And _say_”--

I heard his last “say” just as I got out of hearin' of him.

He acted kinder disappointed at dinner-time, and said “he wus tired of watchin', and tired out of bein' good;” and he wus considerable cross all that afternoon. But he got clever agin before bedtime. And he come and leaned up aginst my lap at sundown, and asked me, I guess, about 200 questions about the City.

And his eyes looked big and dreamy and soft, and his cheeks looked rosy, and his mouth awful good and sweet. And his curls wus kinder moist, and hung down over his white forehead. I _did_ love him, and couldn't help it, chin or no chin.

He had been still for quite a spell, a thinkin'; and at last he broke out,--

“Say, auntie, shall I see my father there in the City?”

And I didn't know what to tell him; for you know what it says,--

“_Without_ are murderers.”

But then, agin, I thought, what will become of the respectable church members who sell the fire that flames up in a man's soul, and ruins his life? What will become of them who lend their votes and their influence to make it right? They vote on Saturdays, to make the sale of this poison legal, and on Sundays go to church with their respectable families. And they expect to go right to heaven, of course; for they have improved all the means of grace. Hired costly pews, and give big charities--in money obtained by sellin' robberies, murders, broken hearts, ruined lives.

But the boy wanted an answer; and his eyes looked questioning but soft.

“Say, auntie, do you think we'll find him there, mamma and I? You know, that is what mamma cries so for,--she wants him so bad. And do you think he will stand just inside the gate, waiting for us? _Say!_”

But agin I thought of what it said,--

“No drunkard shall inherit eternal life.”

And agin I didn't know what to say, and I hurried him off to bed.

But, after he had gone, I spoke out entirely unbeknown to myself, and says,--

“I can't see through it.”

“You can't see through what?” says Josiah, who wus jest a comin' in.

“I can't see through it, why drunkards and murderers are punished, and them that make 'em drink and murder go free. I can't see through it.”

“Wall, I don't see how you can see through any thing here--dark as pitch.” Here he fell over a stool, which made him madder.

“Folks make fools of themselves, a follerin' up that subject.” Here he stubbed his foot aginst the rockin'-chair, and most fell, and snapped out enough to take my head off,--

“The dumb fools will get so before long, that a man can't drink milk porridge without their prayin' over him.”

Says I, “Be calm! stand right still in the middle of the floor, Josiah Allen, and I'll light a lamp,” which I did; and he sot down cleverer, though he says,--

“You want to take away all the rights of a man. Liquor is good for sickness, and you know it. You go onto extremes, you go too fur.”

Says I calmly, “Do you s'pose, at this late hour, I am goin' to stop bein' mejum? No! mejum have I lived, and mejum will I die. I believe liquor is good for medicine: if I should say I didn't, I should be a lyin', which I am fur from wantin' to do at my age. I think it kep' mother Allen alive for years, jest as I believe arsenic broke up Bildad Smith's chills. And I s'pose folks have jest as good a right to use it for the benefit of their health, as to use any other pizen, or fire, or any thing.

“And it should be used jest like pizen and fire and etcetery. You don't want to eat pizen for a treat, or pass it round amongst your friends. You don't want to play with fire for fun, or burn yourself up with it. You don't want to use it to confligrate yourself or anybody else.

“So with liquor. You don't want to drink liquor to kill yourself with, or to kill other folks. You don't want to inebriate with it. If I had my way, Josiah Allen,” says I firmly, “the hull liquor-trade should be in the hands of doctors, who wouldn't sell a drop without knowin' _positive_ that it wus _needed_ for sickness, or the aged and infirm. Good, honest doctors who couldn't be bought nor sold.”

“Where would you find 'em?” says Josiah in a gruff tone (I mistrust his toe pained him).

Says I thoughtfully, “Surely there is one good, reliable man left in every town--that could be found.”

“I don't know about it,” says he, sort o' musin'ly. “I am gettin' pretty old to begin it, but I don't know but I might get to be a doctor now.”

Says he, brightenin' up, “It can't take much study to deal out a dose of salts now and then, or count anybody's pult.”

But says I firmly, “Give up that idee at once, Josiah Allen. I have come out alive, out of all your other plans and progects, and I hain't a goin' to be killed now at my age, by you as a doctor.”

My tone wus so powerful, and even skairful, that he gin up the idee, and wound up the clock, and went to bed.