Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 June 1882 — “JUST LIKE A MAN.” [ARTICLE]

“JUST LIKE A MAN.”

BY ROSE TERRY COOKE.

•‘They ’do beat all!” sighed Mrs. Peek, as she wiped her face earnestly with a spotted cotton h andkerohief, and set her spectacles aloft on top of her cap border. “ I summered an’wintered one on ’em nigh on to fifty years, and the* was things he done’t I don’t see into up to this day. Beside, I had sons, and darters’ husbands as well, and they’re al! of a piece; tarred with the same stick, as Lias used to say.” “ Well,” spoke up Miss Patty Brinkly, a vivacious maiden lady, stopping to thread her needle, with I Kith elbows on the qmlt-framo and her thread and needle stabbing at each other nearly half a yard away from her straining eyes.' •• I hain't never had no such experience, thanks be to praise ! Pa used to say if I had ha’ married anybody I’d have killed ’em or ran away from ’em, and I dono but what I should.” They had something to be thankful for, then, as well as thee, Patty,” dryly rennrked Aunt Marcia Blinn, the only lady of the Friends” persuasion, as she called it, cl whom Oakley boasted. “Well, they re queer anyhow,” resumed the Widow Peck. “ Ther’s no ’counting for ’em; they’ll up and do things you wouldn’t no more expect of ’em than anything; and as for bein’ protectors for women-folks and all that, which folks tell about in books, my land! Lias Peck would ha’ died more’n forty times es I hadn’t ha’ had dry things for to put onto him when he came in soakin’ wet out of the crick, or after a pourin’ rain. As ’twas, he died o’ rheumatiz’t he took along o’ floatin’ saw logs down to the mill in a spring freshet and never coming home to dinner, but working all day in them damp clothes. I gave him pokeberry rum, an’ a hemlock sweat, and two hull bottles of Gumption’s Ginger Bitters, besides a rubbin’ of him powerful with camphire, before I sent for thS doctor; but it stuck to his stomick and he went off like a snuff. But that ain’t here nor there ; as I was a sayin’, for nigh onto fifty years I’d put his flannel shirts into the front left-hand corner of the bottom drawer in the m’hog’ny bureau in the bedroom, and every Sunday mornin’ reg’lar, when he was cleanin’ up for the meetin’ he’d hoi lor out ‘ Lurancy ! where’s them flannel shirts o’ mine?’ Now that’s so!” concluded the disconsolate widow, wiping her eyes, and adding in a stage aside —“But I’d give consider’ble to hear him holler that again ! ” “ And they hain’t got no memory,” put in Miss Patty, who had at last coaxed needle and thread to an amicable understanding, and was quilting away with zeal and discretion, as every good quilter knows how. “I never seethe time when they wouldn’t forget things. I’ve tailored round quite a number o’ years, and I’ve had an eye on ’em, as you say. Tbeie was Silas Buck, I used to tailor for his folks consider’ble; the* was him and three boys and the hired man. Well, I’d get out o’ linen thread, say, and you can’t no more make overhauls with sewin’ cotton than you can with spider wetjs, and Mis’ Buck she’d say, ‘ Silas,’ says she, ‘Patty’s all out o’ linen thread. When ye go down to the store after them rake-tails I wish’t you’d fetch up a hank o’ black and a hank o’ brown. Now don’t ye forget it I’ And Silas he’d laugh, he was just as clever as a basket o’ phips, and he’d say, ‘Til fetch it mother;’ but he wouldn’t! ’nd I set an’ set a waitin’ for’t, and fin’lly put on my bunnit and walk a mile down to the Corners for to fetch it myself; then he’d say, ‘ Cousin Patty’—you see we called cousins because his father’s second wife was sister my Aunt Sophrony’s husband —‘ Cousin Patty, hain’t you got them overhauls done yet?’ and I’d sorter bluster ’nd say, ‘ Cousin Silas, I ain’t no more able to make bricks without straw ’n the Isr’elites was for Pharo’, and you didn’t fetch me no thread yesterday!’ and then he’d haw, haw, right out, he was real clever, but land ! so shiftless. That’s just a case in p’int, so to speak, ye know; just one time, but you can tell by a little what a great deal means, and, as Mis’ Peek says, they’re all alike.” “Thee doesn’t think women folks are perfect does thee, Patty ?” queried Aunt Marcia, in her calm voice. “ Well, I dono as they be; I dono as I said they be, but you can gen’lly tell where most of ’em ’ll fetch up, and you are kinder fit and prepared for what they will do, and specially for what they won’t do. Sometimes they’ll disapp’int all your calculation, but then you can fall back on Scripter, and see’t they was made to be the weaker sect; though, if ’tain’t really lawful to say so, I own I always did have as poor opinion of Adam as ever was; to be a tollin’ how ’twas Eve made him eat the apple, when he done it the first time askin’, but ’twas just like a man ! They keep a doing of it to this day, it’s forever an’ always ‘ the woman tempted me.’ ” “Thee remembers, doesn’t thee? the Scripture says, ‘the woman being deceived was in the transgression.’ It hath always seemed to me kindly in Timothy so to speak of her as to lay the blame on the enemy. ” “That ain’t neither here nor there,’ answered the logical and undaunted Patty. “I ain’t tryin’ to make light of Eve’s disobeyin’, but I do say Adam was real mean to get behind her ; he was able to say he wouldn’t, I guess, jest as well as she was, but he didn’t no more’n she did. I was a readin’ somewheres, t’other day, about an old French feller, a Judge or somethin’, Judge of a P’lice Court, I expect by the tell, and whensomever they fetched a man before him that had been- took up for a misdeed, no matter what ’twas, he always asked, ‘Who is she?’ lettin’ on as though a woman was to the bottom of every wrong-doin’. Clear Adam ! And that’s what I fault ’em for.” “Well, they be queer.” Mrs. Peek again took up the fruitful theme. “Sary, what waa that you waa telling

about Thomas an* them letters t’other night?” “Oh, me!” said Sarah Beers deprecatingly, but with a laugh that lit ner pale face and sad eyes; for Sarah was a typical New England woman; careful and troubled about everything; a coward physically, a heroine mentally; afraid of her very shadow, but doing the bravest things, with her heart sinking and her joints trembling all the time, because duty or affection called her to such service. She married Tom Beers, a bright, strong fellow, full of fun and reckless daring, and devoted to Sarah, but entirely ignorant of her daily anxieties and terrors, for she was as reticent as she was timid, if she thought she could save anyone—much more any one she loved—by such reticence. “ Oh, tell on’t, Sary; ’tain’t no harm ; we all know Tom sets by ye like h» life. He wouldn’t do nothin’ to plague ye, if he knowed it, no more’n he’d cut his head off; but that letter business waff Bo exactly like men-folks.” A chorus of voices echoed the request. There were only about ten people at the quilting—it was the regular sewingcircle meeting of Oakley—so Sarah consented.

“Well; ’tain’t much to tell,but if ma wants me to. You know Tom’s horse is real young and kind of skittish, and if there is one thing above another I’m afeard of it’s a horse.” “Bless your soul and body,” put in her mother; “I never see the thing yet you wa’n’t afeard of, Sary, horse or not. ” “ Oh, I know it, nA, but I am awfully afeard of a skittish horse; Tom, he don’t really sense it, and he says Jenny ain’t ugly, she’s just full of play; and I s’pose she is; she’s knowing as a dog, and I give her a bite of somethin’ every time he fetches her ’round, and she knows me real well, but she will jump and lash out and shy sometimes, and it makes me just as weak as water, so’t I I don’t never drive her es I can help it.” “ You don’t mean to say you ever do drive a creetur when you feel that kind o’ way toward it?” queried Miss Patty, sharply. “ Why, I hev to, sometimes, ye know; there’s oft-times a dav Tom can’t leave the hayin’ or harvestin’ or plantin’, or something, and there has to be things fetched from the store, and no way to get ’em except I go for ’em, so Tom he jist tackles up and I go for ’em; he don’t really mistrust that I’m scared, and I don’t never tell him that I be ; what’s the use ?” “ Well,” said Miss Patty, with a snuff no type can express, and Sarah went on: “So week before last Auut Simons writ and said she was cornin’ out to stay a day or two before she went back South, and she was goin* to fetch Joe, that’s her oldest, along with her ; she wanted for to have us meet her at the station, but she said she shouldn’t come if it rained; she’s got dreadful weak lungs; but she’d telegraph if she wan’t coming. Well, Wednesday morning, the day she set to come, it did rain, sure enough, and seeing there was a donation party to get up, I sided my work away early and walked over to the Center, for I knew I should find all the folks I’d g t to see to home. I’d just got ready o start for home about noon-time, and I bethought myself to step into office, for I knew there’d be a mail for the creamery, so I got a double-handful of letters and papers and set my face toward home, when who should come up but Tom in the buggy. “ ‘ Get in,’ says he, ‘ I’m a-goin’ to the station.’

“ ‘ What for ?’ says L “‘Why,’ says he, ‘they hain’t sent no telegraph, so they’re comin.’ “‘But it rains,’says I, ‘and Aunt Simons said she wouldn’t come if it rained. ’ “ ‘ Well, says he, ‘ I obey orders and break owners; she said she’d telegraph if they wan’t comin ;’ and how do you know but it didn’t rain there?’ “So I got in and put the mail down into the seat, and he driv like Jehu, for we heerd the train whistle ; and says I, ‘Oh fc Tom ! don’t drive up the hill to the station, I’m afraid Jenny’il be scared.’ “He laughed a little. ‘ I’ll bet she wouldn’t be half so scared as you,’ says he ; ‘but I’ll leave you to the foot of the hill, and, if they come. I’ll holler down to you, and I’ll get in and go up to t’other station and put ’em into the hack that waits there, for there can’t four ride in this buggy; and you drive along up to that station, and then I’ll put you into the hack with Aunt Simins, and I’ll take Joe along o’ me in the buggy.’ So sayin’ he jumped out, for we was there, and run up just in time to catch the train. I didn’t have a thought that they’d be there, but they was, and he called out, ‘They're here, drive along.’ I knew ’twas the quickest way to take the road alongside the track, but the ’Tuck train was due, and Jen is skittish, but I thought I’d ought to, so I drove along ; there wasn’t no train, but right in the road, where I couldn’t turn nor back, I see two loose bosses—and, if there is a thing that puts lightenin’ into Jenny, it’s loose bosses. I tell you the shivers run down my back, but I knew the only chance was to go so fast she wouldn’t think about shows ; so I jist lay the whin onto her, and she sprung to and went by them hosses quicker 1 Well, the hack was going over the bridge, but I oatched up with it, and Joe he got out with Thomas and took the buggy, and I got in with aunt. Tom had got to go up street to get a can for the creamery. I called out to him as we went off: “ ‘Look out for your mail on the seat,’ and we drove along. But we hadn’t gone a half a mile before Tom he came tearing along and stopped the hack.” “ ‘ Where did you put the mail ?’ says he. “ ‘Why, on the seat of the buggy,’ says I. “ ‘No you didnt’t ! ’ says he ; ‘there wasn’t nothing there but papers.’ “‘ I guess I gave you the letters, then. I sort of thought I did,’ says I. “ ‘ Well I havn’t ’em anyway,’ says he. ‘ Look in all your pockets, Sally ; they ain’t in mine.* So I looked and looked, but I hadn’t a letter. I knew I hadn’t, but I looked to suit him. Then I thought how I drove by the side road, and I told him I guessed they’d jolt out of the buggy wheif I driv so fast. “ ‘ Dear me ! ’ says hs, ‘ I must have those letters to-day. I’ve got to ; I’ll go back over the side road and see if I can see or hear anything about ’em. ’ So he turned round. I tell you, I felt real bad; I couldn’t think anyway in the world what I did with them letters, and I see he was worried to death. After we got to the house and Aunt Simons was fixing herself upstairs, he drove up with Joe.

“ ‘Sally,’ says, he, ‘do look over your pockets again for them letters; I expect there was a S3OO check in one of ’em and we can’t afford to lose it.’ I was just ready to cry, I tell you, but I overlooked the pockets again; they wan’t there, and he said there wasn’t any sign or bearin’ of ’em on the road. I felt as though I should give up, when he turned and went out of the door, but just as he swung the gate to he hollered ont : ’ ‘Sally I Sally ! ’ and I run. ‘ I cavef’ says he, laughing ; ‘ here they be in my own pocket; you give ’em to me.’ “ Sure enough I did, but he put ’em into a pocket he didn’t use for letters ordinarily, so he never looked there I and there wan’t no check at all in any one of ’em. “ I guess you was mad ? ” queired Miss Patty., “Well, I was a. little, stirred up, I don’t deny; I - set right down and cried quite a spell.” “ Wan’t that real mean Mrs. Peek asked of the audience with a tone of fine scorn. “Did thee wish thw thee’d neve?

seen thy husband ?” asked Aunt Marcia of Sal ly The anviona face flushed and the sad ey “ ASt I M»cia, I shouldn’t know how to live without Tom any way m this mortal world!” And the clear voice broke down aa if the thought of such a contingency was too much. . Aunt Marcia smiled. “ I expect there is faults in all human creatures. ‘Male and female created He them,’ though ; and we can’t set out greatly to better the Lord’s plans. We couldn’t really get along, thee knows, without menfolks, and they could not without us; but I expect if thee could hear them talk amongst themselves, Miss Patty, thee would hear, quite frequent, ‘Just like a woman.* ” Miss Patty could not deny it.