THE WIDDER AND WIDOWER.
Solomon Cypher is a widower! Yes, he has lost his wife with the tyfus; she was a likely woman, had a swelled neck, but that wasn’t nothin’ ag’inst her; I never laid it up ag’inst her for a minute. I told Thomas J. when he brought me the news, that I wished he and I was as likely a woman as she was, and says I still more warmly, “if the hull world was as likely a woman as she was, there wouldn’t be so much cuttin’ up, and actin’ as there is now.” And says I, “Thomas J., it stands us in hand to be prepared.”
But somehow it is awful hard to git that boy to take a realizin’ sense of things; his morals are dretful sound, but a good deal of the time he is light and triflin’ in his demeanor and his talk; and his mind don’t seem to be so stabled as I could wish it to be.
Now I don’t s’pose there would anybody believe me, but the very next day but one after Nancy Cypher’ses death, that boy begun to laugh at his aunt Doodle about the relict. I told him I never see anything in my hull life so wicked and awful, and I asked him where he s’posed he’d go to.
He was fixin’ on a paper collar to the lookin’ glass, and he says in a kind of a chirk way, and in a fine polite tone: “I s’pose I shall go to the weddin’.”
Good land! you might jest as well exhort the wind to stop blowin’ when it is out on a regular spree, as to stop him when he gits to behavin’. But I guess he got the worst of it this time, I guess his aunt Doodle skairt him—she took on so when he sejested the idee of her marryin’ to another man.
She bust right out cryin’, took out her snuff handkerchief, and rubbed her eyes with both hands, her elbo’s standin’ out most straight; she took it awful.
“Oh Doodle! Doodle!” says she, “what if you had lived to hear your relict laughed at about marryin’ to another man. What agony it would have brung to your dear linement; I can’t bear it, I can’t. Oh! when I think how he worshipped the ground I walked on; and the neighbors said he did; they said he thought more of the ground than he did of me: but he didn’t, he worshipped us both. And what would his feelin’s be if he’d lived to see his Widder laughed at about another man.”
She sobbed like a infant babe; and I come to the buttery door with my nutmeg grater in my hand, and winked at Thomas Jefferson two or three times, not to say another word to hurt her feelin’s. They was real firm and severe winks and he knew I meant ’em, and he took up one of his law books and went to readin’, and I went back to makin’ my fruit cake and cherry pies. But I kep’ one eye out at her, not knowin’ what trouble of mind would lead her into; she kep’ her snuff handkerchief over her eyes and groaned bad for nearly nine moments I should judge, and then she spoke out from under it:
“Do you think Solomon Cypher is good lookin’ Tommy?”
“Oh! from fair to middlin’,” says Thomas J.
And then she bust out again: “Oh what a linement my Doodle had on him; how can I think of any other man. I can’t! I can’t!” And she groaned the hardest she had yet. And I come to the buttery door again, and shook my head and winked at Thomas Jefferson again, severer and more reprovin’ winks than they was before, and more of ’em; and he, feelin’ sorry I guess for what he had done, got up and said he guessed he’d go out to the barn, and help his father. Josiah was puttin’ some new stanchils in the stable.
Thomas J. hadn’t much more’n got to the barn, and I had finished my cake, and had jest got my hands into the pie crust a mixin’ it up, when there come a knock to the door, and my hands bein’ in the dough, the Widder stopped groanin’ for the time bein’, and opened it. It was Solomon Cypher himself come to borry my bombazeen dress and crape veil for some of the mourners. Bein’ engaged and busy, I thought I wouldn’t go out till I had finished my pies; he and the Widder bein’ some acquainted. He hadn’t sot but a few minutes when he spoke up, and says he:
“This is a dretful blow to me, Widder;” and he hit himself a knock in the stomach so you could hear it all over the house—for he has got so used to public life and its duties, that he makes gestures right along every day, good enough for anybody, and this was; it would have knocked anybody down that wasn’t in the practice.
“A hard blow,” says he peltin’ himself again right in his breast.
“Yes,” says sister Doodle, puttin’ her snuff handkerchief to her eyes. “I can feel to sympathize with you, I know what feelin’s I felt when I lost Doodle.”
Not a word does she say about brother Timothy, but I hold firm and so does Josiah; we do well by the Widder.
Says he, “I believe you never see the corpse.”
“No,” says she, “but I have heerd her well spoke of; sister Samantha was a sayin’ jest before you come in, that she was a likely woman.”
“She was!” says he a smitin’ himself hard, “she was; my heart strings was completely wrapped round that woman; not a pair of pantaloons have I hired made sense we was both on us married to each other; nor a vest. I tell you it is hard to give her up Widder; dretful hard; she was healthy, savin’, equinomical, hard workin’, pious; I never realized how much I loved that woman;” says he in a heart broken tone, “I never did till I see I must give her up and hire a girl at 2 dollars a week; and they waste more’n their necks are worth.” Here he stopped a minute and sithed, and she sithed, so loud that I could hear ’em plain into the buttery; and then he went on in still more melancholly and despairin’ tones.
“I LOVED THAT WOMAN.”
“I tell you I have seen trouble for the last month Widder. It’s only four weeks ago yesterday, that I lost the best cow I had, and now my wife is dead; I tell you it cuts me right down Widder, it makes me feel dretful poor.”
I could tell by his voice that he was jest ready to bust out cryin’; Solomon takes her death hard, dretful. Here they both sithed again so powerful that they seemed more like groans than common sithes; and then he continued on:
“It seems Widder as if my heart will bust,” and I could see as I went acrost the buttery for the rollin’ pin, that he had laid his left hand over his heart, as if he was holdin’ it inside of his vest by main strength; “it seems as if it must bust, it is so full of tender memories for that woman. When I think how she would git up and build fires in the winter—”
“That is jest what I love to do,” says sister Doodle, “I always built fires for my Doodle.”
“Did you Widder?” says he, and his tone seemed to be some chirker than it was. “I wish you had been acquainted with the corpse, I believe you would have loved each other like sisters.”
Sister Doodle took her snuff handkerchief down from her face and says she in a more cheerful tone:
“You must chirk up, Mr. Cypher; you must look forred to happier days.”
“Yes,” says he, “I know there is another spear, and I try to keep it in view, and hang my hopes upon it; a spear where hired girls are unknown, and partin’s are no more.”
“I can’t bear hired girls,” says sister Doodle. “I wouldn’t have one round when I was a keepin’ house.”
“Can’t you bear hired girls?” says Solomon. “You make me feel better, Widder, than I did feel when I come in here! You chirk me up Widder! I believe you look like the corpse; you look out of your eyes as she looked out of hern. Oh what a woman that was; she knew her place so well; you couldn’t have hired her to vote; she said she’d drather dig potatoes any time—she was as good as a man at that, when I’d git kinder belated with my work; she’d dig as fast as I could any day.”
“I love to dig potatoes,” says the Widder.
“I do feel better,” says Solomon. “I know I don’t feel nigh so cast down as I did.”
“And no money wouldn’t hire me to vote.”
“You do look like her,” says he bustin’ out in a real convinced tone, “I know you do; I can see it plainer and plainer. You make me think on her.”
“Well,” says she “then you must think on me all you can. Think on me anytime it’s agreeable to you; it don’t make no difference when; any time, day or night; don’t be delicate about it at all. I’ll be glad if I can chirk you up that way, or any other.”
“You have; you have chirked me up Widder; I feel better than I did when I come in here.”
“Well then you must come real often and be chirked up. I haint nothin’ to do hardly, and I may jest as well be a chirkin’ you up as not, and better.”
“I will come,” says he.
“Well, so do; come Sunday nights or any time when it is the handiest to you.”
“I will, Widder, I will;” says he.
I can’t say but what my mind put out this deep question to myself as I stood there a hearin’ sister Doodle go on;
“Samantha, ort times ort is how many?” And though I answered back to myself calmly and firmly, “ort;” still, thinks’es I to myself, she is a clever critter, and what little sense she has got runs to goodness—and that is more than you can say of some folks’es sense—some folks’es runs to meanness every mite of it; I went out and got my dress and veil. I felt sorry for Solomon, very; and as I handed ’em to him, I says, tryin’ to comfort him:
“She was a likely woman, and I haint a doubt but what she is better off now.”
But he didn’t seem to like it, though I spoke with such good motives. He spoke up real crank:
“I don’t know about that; I don’t know about her bein’ better off, I did well by her.”
I heerd my pies a sozzlin over in the oven bottom, and I hastened to their rescue, and Solomon started off. The Widder, that clever critter, went to the door, and as he went down the door step, I didn’t hear jest what she said to him—bein’ a turnin’ my pies at the time—but I heerd his answer; it was this:
“I feel better than I did feel.”
I thought considerable that afternoon (to myself) what clever streaks the Widder Doodle did have in her, (considerin’ her sense) when all of a sudden she give me another sample of it. We got to talkin’ about the Sentinal and though my demeanor was calm, and my mean considerable cool, the old question would come up in my mind: “What shall I do with the Widder Doodle; what can I do with a Widder that don’t want to go, and don’t want to stay?”
The question was a goarin’ me (inwardly) the very minute when she spoke up, and says to me that she would stay to home and keep house for me; she wanted to.
But says I, “I hate to have you stay here sister Doodle; I am afraid you’ll git lonesome; you haint seemed to think you could, and I hate to put it on you. You know Thomas J. will be to Jonesville more’n half his time, and our tower will be a long one.” Says I, “visitin’, as we shall all along the way to the Sentinal, it will be the longest tower ever gone off on by us; and I am afraid you’ll be lonesome, sister Doodle; I am awful ’fraid you will.” Says she:
“Sister Samantha I want to be lonesome if it is a goin’ to be any accomodation to you; it will be a real treat to me to be lonesome. I never seemed to feel so willin’ to be lonesome in my hull life before.”
And as she wouldn’t take no for an answer, it was settled that she should stay and keep house. A cleverer critter (considerin’ her sense) never walked the earth than sister Doodle, and so I told Josiah.
