THE REUNION.
The mornin’ of the fourteenth of September dawned fair and peacefully. The sun rose up considerable early in the mornin’, and looked down with a calm and serene face upon Jonesville and the earth. And not fur from the same time, I too, rose up and with as calm and serene a face as hisen, I went to work and got a excellent breakfast for my Josiah and me. It was the day we had looked forred to for a year. The deed that was to give our Tirzah Ann and her pardner a handsome home lay in security in the depths of my Josiah’s vest pocket, and in the buttery was a big basket full of as good vittles as was ever baked by woman—enough to last ’em a week. The new carpets and housen stuff had been privately carried into the house, unbeknown to them; and that very afternoon was the time we was a goin’ to make ’em almost perfectly happy. Oh! how serene and noble I felt as I poured out my dish-water and washed my breakfast dishes.
And as I washed and wiped I thought of the childern; thought how well Thomas J. was a doin’, and how Tirzah Ann and Whitfield had been prospered ever sense they took their bridal tower. I s’pose they had a dretful hard time then; I s’pose they suffered as much agony on that bridal tower, as any two bridals ever suffered in the same length of time. Tirzah Ann haint got over that tower to this day, and Whitfield looks mad every time he hears the word mentioned. They have both told me sense (in strict confidence) at two separate times, that if they was a goin’ to be married twenty-five times a piece, they had gone off on their last tower.
You see the way on’t was, Tirzah Ann—not bein’ used to travellin’—got lost. Whitfield left her a minute on the platform to go back after her parasol, and she heerd ’em say “All aboard,” and she thought she must git on that minute or die. He, seein’ she was gone, thought she had went back after him, and he went searchin’ after her. The train went on; he took the next train up, and she the next train down, and they passed each other; and then she took the next train up, and he the next train down, and they missed each other again. And so they kep’ it up all the first day and night. Finally, the next mornin’ the conductor—bein’ a old gentleman, and good hearted—telegraphed to Whitfield that he would be to the upper depot at 10 o’clock, and told him to come on instantly and claim his property and pay charges, or it would spile on his hands. I s’pose she did take on awfully, not bein’ used to trouble; she fainted dead away when Whitfield come on and claimed her and paid charges; and the old gentleman bein’ crazy with trouble deluged a mop-pail full of water onto her, and spilte every rag of her clothes, bunnet and all. Thirty dollars wouldn’t have made her whole; I s’pose she looked like a banty hen after a rain storm.
BRINGIN’ HER TO.
A BRIDAL TOWER
When they got to Whitfield’s cousins—where they expected to stay—they was away from home. Then they went to a second cousins; they was havin’ a funeral. Then they went to a third cousins, and they had the tyfus. Then they went to the only tarvern in the place; they was all right there, only the whoopin’ cough; and they never havin’ had it, took it, and come down in nine days—coughed and whooped awful.
They laid out to stay a fortnite on their tower, and they did; but they have both told me sense (in confidence, and I wouldn’t want it told of from me,) that their sufferins durin’ that time, can be imagined, but never described upon. The first cousin come home and sent for ’em, but she was of a jealous make, and kinder hinted that Tirzah Ann run away from Whitfield a purpose—didn’t come right out and say it, but kep’ a hintin’—made them feel as uncomfortable as if they was raked up on a coal. And then she would look at Tirzah Ann’s clothes that was spilte—when she fainted away, and was fetched to by water—and kinder hint that she had fell into some creek. I s’pose she kep’ Tirzah Ann on the tenderhooks the hull time, without sayin’ a word they could resent or make her take back.
And then she and Whitfield was dressed up all the time, and wanted to act natteral, and couldn’t—felt as if they must behave beautiful, and polite every minute. Why! I s’pose they got so sick of each other that they wished, both on ’em, that they had lived single, till they died of old age. And then on their way back they both had the blind headache, every step of the way, coughed their heads most off, and whooped—Tirzah Ann told me—as if they was two wild Injuns on a war path. Truly they had got enough of weddin’ towers to last through a long life.
Somehow Thomas Jefferson always felt different about such things. I’ve heerd him and Tirzah Ann—before she was married—argue about it, time and again. He said he couldn’t for his life see why folks felt as if they had got to go a caperin’ off somewhere, the minute they was married—and to tell the plain truth, I, myself, never could see the necessity, when they both feel as strange as strange can be, to think of goin’ off into a strange land to feel strange in.
It is curious enough and solemn enough to enter into a new life, untried, crowded full of possibilities for happiness or misery, if you face that future calmly and with bodily ease. It is a new life, not to be entered into highlariously, tired to death, and wild as two lunys, at the rate of twenty miles an hour, amidst the screechins of omnibus drivers and pop corn peddlers, but with calmness, meditation, and prayer. That is my idee; howsumever, everybody to their own.
And then another thing that made Tirzah Ann’s tower so awful tryin’; she had wore herself down almost to a skeleton and got irritable and nervous, a makin’ tattin, and embroideries; for she felt she couldn’t be married till she had got her nineteenth suit all trimmed off to the extreme of the fashion.
Thomas J. and Maggy (they think alike on most things) always felt different about that. I have heerd Maggy say that she never could understand why it was necessary for a girl to make up such a stupendus amount of clothin’ to marry one man in—a man she had seen every day from her youth up. She said that any civilized young woman who respected herself, would have enough clothin’ by her all the time to be comfortable and meet any other emergency of life; and she couldn’t understand why her marryin’ to a mild dispositioned young man, should render it imperative to disable several dressmakers, make mothers lunatics with fine sewin’, and work themselves down to a complete skeleton, makin’ up as many garments as if they was goin’ for life into a land where needles was unknown, and side thimbles was no more.
And to tell the truth I joined with her; I always thought that health and a good disposition would be more useful, and go further than tattin in the cares and emergencies of married life; and that girls would do better to spend some of their time a makin’ weddin’ garments for their souls, gettin’ ready the white robes of patience and gentleness, and long sufferins. They’ll need them, every rag on ’em if they are married any length of time. But everybody has their ways, and Tirzah Ann had hers, and truly she had the worst of it.
I finished washin’ my dishes, and then I brought out my linen dress and cape, and my common bunnet, so’s to have everything ready. Jest as I come out with ’em on my arm, Thomas J. come in, and says he:
“Wear your best shawl and bunnet this afternoon, won’t you mother?”
Says I, “Why, Thomas Jefferson?”
Says he, “I didn’t know but you would want to step into the Presbeteryun church this afternoon on your way down to Tirzah Ann’s. There is a couple a goin’ to be married there at two o’clock.”
“Who be they Thomas J.?” says I.
Says he, “It is a couple that don’t want to be gossiped about; that think marriage is sunthin’ too sacred and holy to be turned into a circus, with tinsel and folderols, and a big crowd of strangers a gazin’ on—the woman dressed up for principal performer, and the man for a clown. A couple that wants jest them they love best—”
I dropped right down into a chair and put up my gingham apron over my eyes and bust right out a cryin’, and I couldn’t have helped it, if Josiah had stood over me with a meat-axe. I knew who it was that was goin’ to be married and most probable set off for the west in the mornin’. Goin’ way off west; my boy, my Thomas Jefferson.
He come up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder and said in a kind of a tremblin’ voice—he thinks a sight of me, my boy does; and then he knows enough to know that a new life is a serious thing to set out on, even if love goes with ’em—says he:
“I thought you loved Maggy, mother.”
Says I, out from under my apron, “You know I do, Thomas Jefferson, and you ort to know your mother well enough to know she is a cryin’ for pleasure, pure enjoyment.” I wasn’t a goin’ to put no dampers onto my boy’s happiness that day, not if he sot off the next minute for the Antipithes. He stood there for a moment with his hand on my shoulder, and then he bent down and kissed me, and that was every word he said. Then he went up stairs to git ready.
It seems he had jest told his father to the barn, and Josiah come in all broke down about his goin’ off west. Maggy was my choice, and hisen, but the goin’ west was where the cast-iron entered into our very souls. But when I see my companion’s mean, I see where my duty lay, and I grasped holt of it. I knew he was completely unstrung, and I had got to string him up by my example, or he would crumple completely down on my hands. I see if I kep’ my Josiah collected together, I must keep my own composure up, and be calm. But while holdin’ up Duty and Josiah with a almost marble grip, what feelins I felt when we was on our way to the meetin’ house. What feelins I felt when I see Thomas J. and Maggy standin’ up in front of the altar, and Elder Colvin Kirk a marryin’ of ’em.
Maggy was dressed up in a white mull dress, with some lace ruffles round her neck and wrists. Not a mite of jewelry on her from head to foot, only a little pearl cross and ring that Thomas J. had give her; the ruffle round her neck was fastened in front with some sweet white poseys,—and she looked as pretty as the poseys herself, and prettier. Thomas Jefferson had on his best suit of clothes, and oh! how good he did look to me. And to think he was a goin’ way off where I couldn’t lay my eyes on him, or her either! Why, if I had leggo for a half a moment of Duty and Josiah, I should have groaned to that extent that it would have skairt ’em nearly to death.
But I held firm, and in the stoop of the meetin’-house I kissed ’em both and wished ’em well, with a almost marble composure. And with the same cast-iron command of myself, I got into the buggy and sot out for Tirzah Ann’s; she, and Whitfield and—well, it haint no matter who, but they, and Thomas J. and Maggy follerin’, and Judge Snow (he has been put in Judge and feels big about it they say) sayin’ he would join us at supper. He was in the secret of the deed, and so was Thomas Jefferson and Maggy.
But as we started off, Josiah groaned to that extent that he skairt the old mare, and I almost commanded him to control himself and be calm. But though he made a great effort, it was in vain; he groaned nearly every step of the way, and when he wasn’t a groanin’ he was a sithin’ fearful sithes. Oh! what a time I had.
Well, when we got to Tirzah Ann’s, we (havin’ the supper on our minds) told ’em we had a little business to tend to, and we wouldn’t git out of the buggy jest then, so we drove on and left ’em there by the gate. Oh! how beautiful and fair the house did look on the inside and on the outside, and I says to Josiah: “I don’t believe Josiah Allen, there is another so pretty a place in Jonesville as this is!”
A GOOD TIME GENERALLY
He was a standin’ out in the front portico as I said this, and says he: “Yes there is, Samantha; this house that stands right here by it, is jest as pretty;” and it was. There it stood, so peaceful and pretty, right by the side of this one, with green shady yards in front, and a handsome little lattice work gate all runnin’ over with green vines and poseys openin’ between the two. Oh! how perfectly beautiful they did look, and I knew this thought goared Josiah and me at the same time,—what if Thomas J. could be the doctor here in Jonesville and live right here by Tirzah Ann. Oh, what bliss it would be! Then I turned and went to unpackin’ my vittles, and settin’ the table. It looked splendid; and after I got it all done I sent Josiah for the childern and—well, I sent him for all on ’em.
And I shant begin to tell how Whitfield and Tirzah Ann acted when they come into that bright cosy little home, and Josiah put the deed of it into their hands; I dassant tell, for anybody would think they was lunys. I have seen tickled folks in my life, but never, never, did I see tickleder, that I know. Why, Whitfield looked fairly pale at first, and then his face flushed up as happy as a king. And Tirzah Ann cried a little, and then she laughed, and then she went to kissin’ of us like a little fury; she kissed her pa and me, and Whitfield and Thomas J. and Maggy, and—well, she kissed the hull on us more’n forty times I do believe.
And seein’ ’em both so tickled, and feelin’ so happy in their happiness, I do believe if it hadn’t been for the drawback of our boy’s goin’ west, Josiah and me would have broke down, and acted simple.
Judge Snow come jest as we was a settin’ down to the table. He seemed to be in awful good spirits, kep’ a jokin’ all supper time, and thinks’es I to myself, “You must feel different from what I do, if you can face the idee of your child’s goin’ west with such highlarity and mirth.” But truly, I wronged him; truly a shock was in store for us all; for as we got up from the supper table and went back into the settin’room, he stood up and says he in a deep noble voice: (they say his voice sounds a good deal nobler, and deeper, sense he got to be a Judge,)
“Have you heerd that Doctor Bombus has had a dowery fall to him, and has give up docterin’?”
“No!” says I, and we all said “no!” we hadn’t heerd on’t.
“Yes,” says he, “he has; he doctered a woman up in the town of Lyme and her husband settled 500 dollars a year on him for life.”
“He cured her,” says I, “what gratitude!”
“No,” says he, “he didn’t cure her, she died, but the widower give him the dowery, and he is goin’ to give up docterin’,”
The minute he said “give up docterin’,” the thought come to me: what a chance for Thomas Jefferson! mebby he wouldn’t have to go west; and I felt as if there had been as many as seven flat-irons took offen my heart, and two or three cannon balls, and some lead, and things. I looked at Josiah, and Josiah looked at me, and we both smiled; we couldn’t help it. But better was a comin’, for right while we was a smilin’ the Judge spoke out again in a eloquent, sort of a low tone:
“Whereas Josiah Allen and Samantha his wife, has presented a deed of this house and lot to their daughter and her husband aforesaid, I, the party of the second part, I mean, I, Judge Snow, have purchased of Dr. Bombus his practice, and got a deed of the house and lot adjoinin’ this for you Maggy, and you Thomas Jefferson, and may the Lord have mercy on your souls.”
I s’pose bein’ so agitated, he forgot where he was and thought he was a judgin’, and then he handed the deed to Maggy, and blew his nose hard. As for me, nobody need to ask me how any of ’em behaved, for the minute I see what was a comin’, I almost buried my face in my handkerchief, and sobbed and wept like a infant babe. But through my wrapped blissfulness of mood—for the ear of affection is keen—I could hear my Josiah a blowin’ his nose, and I knew he too was in perfect rapture. Oh! Oh! what a time it was.
JUDGE SNOW’S SURPRISE
But I hadn’t time to weep long in my pure blissfulness of spirit, for Judge Snow proposed we should all walk over and see the house, and he took right holt of my arm and locked arms with me (he meant well, Josiah was right there) and we led the way, and Thomas Jefferson and Maggy a follerin’ as happy as any two turtle doves I ever see, and then Whitfield and Tirzah Ann, and then Josiah and—well, who do you s’pose he was a waitin’ on. What female do you s’pose he was a carryin’ in his arms, and wouldn’t let no one else touch it if he could help it, and kissin’ her right before his lawful pardner too, and she enjoyin’ of it? Who was it? I can’t keep in a minute longer; it was the baby—Tirzah Ann’s little infant babe. I have kep’ still about it; I have held the baby back to surprise the reader and happyfy ’em. And so the hull procession of us walked over the grass, green as green velvet, under the pleasant shade trees, under the little vine covered gate, and so through the other yard jest as green and shady and pleasant, up into the house which was to be my boy’s home.
Bimeby they all went over to Whitfield’s house, to examine sunthin’ or measure sunthin’, for Judge Snow was rampant now about furnishin’ the house right off, so they could git to housekeepin’. And Josiah and I and the baby went out and sot down under a big maple out in the yard. And we sot there happy as a king and queen, knowin’ them we loved best was a goin’ to be right here where we could lay our hands on ’em any time day or night. Come a visitin’ ’em every day if we wanted to, spend the forenoon with one, and the afternoon with the other or anyway to make it agreeable. Oh what a happyfyin’ time it was out there under the maple tree! The baby would kinder nod its head towards their house, and laugh when Josiah would shake it up, jest as if she thought their house was the prettiest. Such a knowledgeable child! I never see the beat of it in my life.
THE BABY
We think, and we know—Josiah and me do—that there never was such a child before. It is only eleven weeks old but its intellect is sunthin’ wonderful to study on. It understands everything that is goin’ on jest as well as I do, and it does have such a cunnin’ look to it, and so sensible. Its eyes are big, and a goin’ to be a sort of grey brown; they have a unworldly, innocent look, sort o’ deep and dreamy, jest as if it could tell if it was a mind to, a awful sight about the world it had come from so lately. Sometimes when there is foolish talk a goin’ on round it, it will kinder curl up its little lip and wink at me with its big solemn eyes, till it fairly scares me to see such a little thing know so much more than any grown folks.
And then it is so lady-like in its appearance; has got such good manners, such composure, such almost cool dignity; it is jest as much at its ease before a minister as before a tin peddler, uses ’em both well, but not put out by ’em a mite; cool, and collected together all the time, jest like a little queen. And it don’t seem to be a mite deceitful; it don’t try to cover up its thoughts and idees, it is jest like lookin’ through these clay bodies of ourn and seein’ a soul, to look at that babe.
I am one that loves reason and philosophy. I have acted well about it; some grandmothers will act so foolish. I can’t bear to see foolishness in grandparents, and Josiah can’t neither. Now when it was half a day old, Sister Minkley thought it looked like Whitfield; I, myself, thought it looked more like a monkey. I didn’t say so, I wouldn’t for the world. I looked at it jest as I do at a little hard green bud that appears first on a rose bush; there haint no beauty to speak of in it; it is hard lookin’ and it is green lookin,’ and curious. But you set a awful sight of store by that little hard lookin’ thing, for you know the possibilities of handsomeness that are folded up in it,—the dainty rosiness, the freshness, the sweetness. And so with the baby; when I thought of the possibilities of beauty wrapped up in it—the smiles, the pinky dimpled cheeks, the curly gold hair, the innocent baby laugh, the pretty broken talk, the angelical purity, and the confidin’ confidence—why, when I thought of all this, there wasn’t a dry eye in my head, and my heart sung for joy (though it don’t understand a single note).
When the baby was four days old, Josiah thought it knew him; when it was a week old he thought it was a tryin’ to talk to him, and said it laughed jest as quick as he went near the cradle.
Says I, “Josiah Allen, it is wind!”
“Wind!” he hollered, “mebby you think it is wind that makes you know me, and set considerable store by me.” He almost took my head off, and I see by his mean that it wouldn’t do to say any more.
But when it was two weeks old, I think, myself, that the baby knew us—Josiah and me; it looked up to us somehow different from what it did to its Grandpa and Grandma Minkley, though it used them well. We are there to see the baby almost every day and we take a sight of comfort with it, for we see and realize jest what a child it is, and bein’ foundered on firm reason and solid truth, we are not afraid to express our opinions to anybody freely, without money and without price. But as I remarked more formally, we don’t act foolish about it at all.
“Its name is Samantha Jo, after me, and Josiah. You know they call girls Jo and Josie a sight lately; its name is agreeable to Josiah and me, very. Josiah is goin’ to give it a cow for the Samantha, and I am goin’ to give it a set of silver spoons for the Jo. If it had been a boy, we was a layin’ out to call it Josiah Sam,—Sam for Samantha.”
There is a dark veil that drops down between us and future events; you can’t lift up that curtain, or tear it offen its hooks, for it is as high up as Eternity, and solid down to the ground, as solid can be. You can’t peek round it, or tear a hole in it; tea-grounds haint a goin’ to help you; planchettes and cards can’t hist it up a mite; you have got to set down before the curtain that hides the future from you, and wait patiently till it is rolled up by the hand that put it there; but I am a episodin.’
UNDER THE MAPLES.
ALL HAPPY
And so we sot there under the maples—Josiah and me and the baby. And once in a while, a maple leaf would come a flutterin’ down like a great crimson posey, and the baby would laugh and stretch out its little dimpled hands and try to catch it, and the sunshine would throw golden rings on her little white gown and hands and arms, and she would try to lay holt of ’em and couldn’t, jest as natteral as if she was bigger. And then the baby would laugh, and Josiah would laugh, and the old maple tree as the settin’ sun shone through it seemed to be all lit up with the general enjoyment. That old maple tree acted sensible, and I knew it. What if her leaves was a flutterin’ down gradual; what if the fall of the year was a comin’ on? She didn’t mourn over it no more than I mourned as I sot there, over all the days and years, the delights and the sorrows, that had slipped away from me somehow, and floated off out of my life unbeknown to me.
She knew—that old maple did—that it was only for a time. That another summer was a comin’, when God would give back to her all she had lost, and more. Knowin’ that the very loss of what she had loved and cherished most, that even what some foolish ones called decay and death, would be changed by His divine hand into deeper growth, diviner beauty.
Oh, how chirk and happy my companion did look in his face; and oh, how sort o’ lifted up, and yet dretful serene and happyfied I felt in the inside of my mind. It was a beautiful time, very.
And never did I see my pardner wear a more contented and happy look on his face when he sot down to a extra good dinner, than he did as he says to me,—after lookin’ at the baby in perfect silence from a half to three-quarters of a minute:
“Heaven bless every little girl and boy in the land, for the sake of little Samantha Jo!”
And I felt so handsome and uncommon happy in my mind, and so wrapped up in Josiah, that I spoke right up and says:
“Yes, and all the old boys and girls too; amen!”
The End.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
- Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
- Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
- Added sidenotes for the items in the “WHAT I HAVE WRIT ABOUT” contents without headings.