But Thomas J. is in the right on’t about wantin’ to set out in married life without any outside weights and incumbrances. The first years in married life is a precarious time, make the best of it. A dretful curious, strange, precarious time; and if ever a woman wants a free room for meditation and prayer, it is then; and likewise the same with the man. There never was two persons so near alike, but what they was different, and had their different ways and eccentricities; and folks don’t realize the difference in their dispositions so much, I can tell you, when they live from a half to three quarters of a mile apart, as they do when they cook over the same stove, and sleep under the same comforter. A woman may think she knows a man jest as well as if she had been through his head with a lantern a number of times; but let her come to live with him from day to day, and from week to week—in sunshine and in storm; when dinner is ready at noon, and when it is late; when his boot-jack is on the nail, and when it gets lost; when stove pipes are up, and when they are bein’ put up; and in all other trials and reverses of life. I tell you she will come acrost little impatient obstinate streaks in him she never laid eyes on before, little selfish, overbearin’ streaks. And the same with her. He may have been firm as a rock in the belief he was marryin’ an angel, but the very first time he brings unexpected company home to dinner on washin’ day, he’ll find he haint. They may be awful good-principled well-meanin’ folks nevertheless, but there are rocks they have got to sail round, and they want strength, and they want patience, and they want elbo’ room. It is a precarious time for both on ’em, and they don’t want no third person round be she male or female, sacred or profane, to intermeddle or molest. Let ’em fight their own warfare, enjoy their own blessings, build up their own homes in the fear of God, sacred to their own souls alone, and to Him.
They don’t want any little hasty word they may say to each other, commented on and repeated five minutes after, when it is all made up and forgiven. They don’t want anybody to run and complain to, in the little storms of temper that sometimes darken the honeymoon. Good land! if they are let alone the little clouds will disperse of themselves. And there is another moon, what you may call the harvest moon of married life, that rises to light true married lovers on their pilgrimage. It may not be so brilliant and dazzlin’ as the honeymoon, but its light is stiddy, and calm, and mellow as anything, and it shines all the way down to the dark valley, and throws its pure light clear acrost it to the other side. Thomas J. and Maggy will walk in its light yet, if they are let alone, for they love each other with a firm and cast-iron affection, that reminds me of Josiah and me, my affection and hisen.
So as I say I don’t blame ’em a mite for not wantin’ to live with his folks or hern. When passion has burnt itself out, and been purified into a calm tender affection but firm as anything can be firm, and patience has been born of domestic tribulation; when they have built up their own home on the foundations of mutual forbearance, and unselfishness, and trust in each other, as they will have to build it in order to have it stand—then in the true meanin’ of the term the two twain have become one. The separate strands of their own individual existence will become twisted into one firm cord, strong enough to stand any outside pressure—Sophronia Snow, or any other strain. Then if they want to take in a few infirm or even bedrid relations on his side or on hers, let ’em take ’em in, it would be perfectly safe. Let ’em do as they are a mind to, with fear and tremblin’.
But though I tell all this to Josiah Allen a tryin’ to make him reconciled to the idee of lettin’ Thomas J. go, though I keep a firm demeanor on the outside of me, nobody knows the feelin’s I feel when I think of his goin’ west to live.
Why when Tirzah Ann was married, the day after she moved away, the feelin’s I felt, the lonesomeness that took holt on me, wore on me so that I had to go to bed regular, ondress, and everything. But I held firm there in the bed, I hung on to reason, and never let on what ailed me. And Josiah and the Widder Doodle, was skairt most to death about me, and sweat me—give me a hemlock sweat. And though I didn’t say nothin’ thinks’es I to myself, with the bitter feelin’s I have got inside of me, and a hemlock sweat on the outside, I am in a pretty hot place.
But I persume that sweat was the best thing they could have done. It kinder opened the pours, and took my mind offen my troubles. It was so oncommon disagreeable, and hard to bear, that I couldn’t think of anything else while it was a goin’ on. And then it satisfied them, that was why I let ’em go on with it; it kinder took up their minds, and kep’ ’em from talkin’ to me every minute, and mournin’ to me about Tirzah Ann’s goin’ away. Truly, feelin’ as I felt, I could stand a hemlock sweat better than I could that.
But as I said more formally, I held firm there in the bed. Though my body was wet with sweat, my mind was dry and firm, and my principles cool and hefty. I knew it was the way of nater, what I ort to have expected, and what was perfectly right. I couldn’t expect to keep the childern with me always, it was unreasonable. And though it would seem as lonesome and roomy as if one side of the house was gone, I must stand it the best I could. Now when a bird lets her young ones fly away from the old nest, I dare persume to say, lots of memories almost haunt that old bird’s heart, of sweet May mornin’s, and the little ones chirpin’ in the nest, and her mate a workin’ for ’em, and a singin’ to ’em close by. I dare say she thought it all over, that old bird did, how the sweet May mornin’ with its bloom and gay brightness, she couldn’t never see again, and the little soft, dependent, lovin’ things couldn’t never come back to her heart again, to be loved and to be worked for, and she, paid for that work every minute by watchin’ their growin’ strength and beauty. But she held firm—and when the time came for ’em to fly, she let ’em fly. No matter what she felt, upheld by duty and principle she pushed ’em out of the nest herself. She held firm, and so Samantha Allen is determined to, she whose maiden name was Smith.
If Thomas J. and Maggy could feel contented to settle down in Jonesville after they was married, the cup of my happiness would be full and runnin’ over, and so would Josiah’s cup; for we could see him every day, or three times a day if we wanted to. But they have got a good Doctor there now—Thomas J. has studied for a Doctor; goin’ to get his sheep-skin in July. Though I have said and I say still, that I never heerd of such a present to give the last day of school as a sheep-skin. And it looks to me as if his teachers was dretful hard up for presents, to have to fall back on a sheep-skin. I told Thomas J. that when a scholar had studied day and night as he had for three years and over, it seemed as if (if they was goin’ in to sheep presents at all,) they ort to give him as much as a live sheep, instead of killin’ it and eatin’ the mutton themselves, and givin’ him the hide; howsumever, it haint none of my business, and if he is satisfied I ort to be. Old Dr. Bombus speaks dretful well of him, says he is jest as good a Doctor to-day as he is; but folks have got kinder attached to the old Doctor, he havin’ helped their friends into life and out of it, for years, they naturally take to him, and there don’t seem to be much of any chance for a young Doctor, I think; and I know that Thomas J. and Maggy had ruther stay in Jonesville if it wasn’t for that he and Maggy settle down by themselves there—than to go west. But if he makes up his mind to go, I am determined to put my shoulder blades to the wheel, keep my mind stiddy and stabled, so’s to do justice to my own principles, and be a comfort to my Josiah.
As I said, Thomas J. took Maggy over to Tirzah Ann’s in the mornin’ a calculatin’ to stay to the Debatin’ school, and I told Josiah we’d have an early supper, and go in good season. We had stewed oysters, and warm biscuit and canned peaches, a first rate supper, and Josiah said it was. And it went off dretful agreeable all but one thing; the Widder Doodle shed tears when Josiah passed the oysters to her, she said them oysters put her in mind so of Doodle.
But she wiped up in a minute or two, and enjoyed her supper first rate. She didn’t want to go out in the cold she said, and she offered to wash up the dishes—there wasn’t but a handful of ’em and so I let her. The dish-pan put her in mind of Doodle again, and we left her a cryin; it was time to go and we started off.