A Grandmother's Recollections

by Ella Rodman Church

I delighted to spell out the album quilt until I knew almost every line by heart; while the curious medley which these different scraps of poetry presented reminded me very much of a play, in which one person repeats a line, to which another must find a rhyme. When Aunt Henshaw died, which was just about the time that I was grown up, she left the quilt to me in her will; because, as she said. I had always been so fond of it. I still have it carefully packed away, and regard it as quite a treasure.

But very often, during a voyage of discoveries through rooms that were seldom used, I passed various boxes, and awkward-looking little trunks, and curious baskets, that struck me as being particularly interesting in appearance. But Aunt Henshaw always said: "Those are Statia's—we must not touch them," and passed quickly on, without in the least indulging my excited curiosity. Whether Cousin Statia kept wild animals, or mysterious treasures, or old clothes, in all these places, I was unable to conclude; but I determined to find out if possible. Having one day accompanied her upstairs, she proceeded to unlock a large trunk which I had always regarded with longing eyes; and opening them very wide, that I might take in as much as possible in a hasty survey, what was my disappointment to see her take out a couple of linen pillow-cases, nicely ruffled, while at least a dozen or two more remained, together with a corresponding number of sheets, table-cloths, napkins, etc.! All of home-made manufacture, and seeming to my youthful ideas enough to last a life-time. What could Cousin Statia possibly do with all these things? Or what had she put them there for? I knew that Aunt Henshaw possessed inexhaustible stores, and I could not imagine why Cousin Statia found it necessary to have her's separate. I pondered the matter over for two or three days, and then concluded to apply to Holly for information on the desired point.

"Why, lor bless you!" said the colored girl in a mysterious manner, "Didn't you know that Miss Statia has been crossed in love?"

Holly announced this fact as a sufficiently explanatory one; but I could not comprehend what connection there was between being crossed in love, and a large trunk of bran new things.

"Why, I quite pities your ignorance, Miss Amy! In old times," continued my informant, as though dwelling on her own particular virtue in this respect, "in old times people didn't used to be half so lazy as they am now-a-days, and thought nothing at all of sewing their fingers to the bone, or spinning their nails off, or knittin' forever; and when gals growed up, and had any thoughts of gittin' married, they set to work and made hull trunks full of things, and people used to call them spinsters. Now Miss Statia has been fillin' trunks and baskets ever sense she could do anything, so that she's got a pretty likely stock—but no one ever came along this way but what was married already, and that's the meanin' of bein' crossed in love. But don't for your life go to tellin' nobody—they'd most chop my head off, if it should come out."

I asked Holly how she had ascertained the fact; "Oh," she replied, knowingly, "there ain't much that escapes me. I know pretty much every article in this house, and hear whatever's goin' on. Key-holes is a great convenience; and though it ain't very pleasant to be squatin' in cold entries, and fallin' in the room sometimes, when people open the door without no warnin', yet I'm often there when they think I'm safe in the kitchin. Miss Statia once boxed my ears and sent me to bed, when she happened to ketch me listinin'; but it didn't smart much, and people can't 'spect to gather roses without thistles."

Holly often interspersed her conversation with various quotations and wise reflections; but the idea of listening at key-holes quite shocked my sense of honor, and I endeavored to remonstrate with her upon the practice.

"It won't do for you to talk so, Miss Amy," was her sagacious reply; "you mus'n't quarrel with the ship that carries you safe over. If I had not listened at key-holes, you'd never have known what was in them trunks."

The truth of this remark was quite manifest; and concluding that I was not exactly suited to the character of admonisher, I never renewed the attempt.

Aunt Henshaw had boxes of old letters which she estimated among her greatest valuables; and sometimes, when the sun was shining brightly without, and the soft air of summer waving the trees gently to and fro, the old lady would invite me in a mysterious manner to her room, and drawing forth an almost endless package, open letter after letter, and read to me the correspondence of people whom I cared nothing about. I tried very hard to suppress all signs of yawning, for I wanted to be out at play; but I must have been ungrateful not to exercise a little patience with one so kind and affectionate, and she, dear old soul! evidently considered it the greatest treat she could offer me. I became in this manner acquainted with the whole history of her courtship; and charmed with so quiet a listener, she would read to me till I fairly fell asleep. But her thoughts being entirely occupied with the past, and her eyes in endeavoring to decipher the faded hand-writing, this inattention passed unobserved; and she pursued her reading until called off by her daily duties.