Going to Shrewsbury
The train stopped at a way station with apparent unwillingness, andthere was barely time for one elderly passenger to be hurried on boardbefore a sudden jerk threw her almost off her unsteady old feet and wemoved on. At my first glance I saw only a perturbed old countrywoman,laden with a large basket and a heavy bundle tied up in anold-fashioned bundle-handkerchief; then I discovered that she was afriend of mine, Mrs. Peet, who lived on a small farm, several milesfrom the village. She used to be renowned for good butter and fresheggs and the earliest cowslip greens; in fact, she always made themost of her farm's slender resources; but it was some time since I hadseen her drive by from market in her ancient thorough-braced wagon.The brakeman followed her into the crowded car, also carrying a numberof packages. I leaned forward and asked Mrs. Peet to sit by me; it wasa great pleasure to see her again. The brakeman seemed relieved, andsmiled as he tried to put part of his burden into the rack overhead;but even the flowered carpet-bag was much too large, and he explainedthat he would take care of everything at the end of the car. Mrs. Peetwas not large herself, but with the big basket, and thebundle-handkerchief, and some possessions of my own we had very littlespare room."So this 'ere is what you call ridin' in the cars! Well, I dodeclare!" said my friend, as soon as she had recovered herself alittle. She looked pale and as if she had been in tears, but there wasthe familiar gleam of good humor in her tired old eyes."Where in the world are you going, Mrs. Peet?" I asked."Can't be you ain't heared about me, dear?" said she. "Well, theworld's bigger than I used to think 't was. I've broke up,--'twas theonly thing to do,--and I'm a-movin' to Shrewsbury.""To Shrewsbury? Have you sold the farm?" I exclaimed, with sorrow andsurprise. Mrs. Peet was too old and too characteristic to be suddenlytransplanted from her native soil. "'T wa'n't mine, the place wa'n't."Her pleasant face hardened slightly. "He was coaxed an' over-persuadedinto signin' off before he was taken away. Is'iah, son of his sisterthat married old Josh Peet, come it over him about his bein' past workand how he'd do for him like an own son, an' we owed him a littlesomethin'. I'd paid off everythin' but that, an' was fool enough toleave it till the last, on account o' Is'iah's bein' a relation andnot needin' his pay much as some others did. It's hurt me to have theplace fall into other hands. Some wanted me to go right to law; but 'twouldn't be no use. Is'iah's smarter 'n I be about them matters. Yousee he's got my name on the paper, too; he said 't was somethin' 'boutbein' responsible for the taxes. We was scant o' money, an' I was woreout with watchin' an' being broke o' my rest. After my tryin' hard forrisin' forty-five year to provide for bein' past work, here I be,dear, here I be! I used to drive things smart, you remember. But wewas fools enough in '72 to put about everythin' we had safe in thebank into that spool factory that come to nothin'. But I tell ye Icould ha' kept myself long's I lived, if I could ha' held the place.I'd parted with most o' the woodland, if Is'iah'd coveted it. He waswelcome to that, 'cept what might keep me in oven-wood. I've alwaysdesired to travel an' see somethin' o' the world, but I've got thechance now when I don't value it no great.""Shrewsbury is a busy, pleasant place," I ventured to say by way ofcomfort, though my heart was filled with rage at the trickery ofIsaiah Peet, who had always looked like a fox and behaved like one."Shrewsbury's be'n held up consid'able for me to smile at," said thepoor old soul, "but I tell ye, dear, it's hard to go an' livetwenty-two miles from where you've always had your home and friends.It may divert me, but it won't be home. You might as well set out oneo' my old apple-trees on the beach, so 't could see the waves comein,--there wouldn't be no please to it.""Where are you going to live in Shrewsbury?" I asked presently."I don't expect to stop long, dear creatur'. I'm 'most seventy-sixyear old," and Mrs. Peet turned to look at me with pathetic amusementin her honest wrinkled face. "I said right out to Is'iah, before aroomful o' the neighbors, that I expected it of him to git me home an'bury me when my time come, and do it respectable; but I wanted to airnmy livin', if 'twas so I could, till then. He'd made sly talk, yousee, about my electin' to leave the farm and go 'long some o' my ownfolks; but"--and she whispered this carefully--"he didn't give me nochance to stay there without hurtin' my pride and dependin' on him. Iain't said that to many folks, but all must have suspected. A goodsight on 'em's had money of Is'iah, though, and they don't like to donothin' but take his part an' be pretty soft spoken, fear it'll git tohis ears. Well, well, dear, we'll let it be bygones, and not think ofit no more;" but I saw the great tears roll slowly down her cheeks,and she pulled her bonnet forward impatiently, and looked the otherway."There looks to be plenty o' good farmin' land in this part o' thecountry," she said, a minute later. "Where be we now? See themhandsome farm buildin's; he must be a well-off man." But I had totell my companion that we were still within the borders of the oldtown where we had both been born. Mrs. Peet gave a pleased littlelaugh, like a girl. "I'm expectin' Shrewsbury to pop up any minute.I'm feared to be kerried right by. I wa'n't never aboard of the carsbefore, but I've so often thought about 'em I don't know but it seemsnatural. Ain't it jest like flyin' through the air? I can't catch holtto see nothin'. Land! and here's my old cat goin' too, and nevermistrustin'. I ain't told you that I'd fetched her.""Is she in that basket?" I inquired with interest."Yis, dear. Truth was, I calc'lated to have her put out o' the miseryo' movin', an spoke to one o' the Barnes boys, an' he promised me allfair; but he wa'n't there in season, an' I kind o' made excuse tomyself to fetch her along. She's an' old creatur', like me, an' I canmake shift to keep her some way or 'nuther; there's probably micewhere we're goin', an' she's a proper mouser that can about keepherself if there's any sort o' chance. 'T will be somethin' o' home tosee her goin' an' comin', but I expect we're both on us goin' to missour old haunts. I'd love to know what kind o' mousin' there's goin' tobe for me.""You mustn't worry," I answered, with all the bravery and assurancethat I could muster. "Your niece will be thankful to have you withher. Is she one of Mrs. Winn's daughters?""Oh, no, they ain't able; it's Sister Wayland's darter Isabella, thatmarried the overseer of the gre't carriage-shop. I ain't seen hersince just after she was married; but I turned to her first because Iknew she was best able to have me, and then I can see just how theother girls is situated and make me some kind of a plot. I wrote toIsabella, though she is ambitious, and said 'twas so I'd got to askto come an' make her a visit, an' she wrote back she would be glad tohave me; but she didn't write right off, and her letter was scented updreadful strong with some sort o' essence, and I don't feel heartenedabout no great of a welcome. But there, I've got eyes, an' I can seeho't is when I git where't is. Sister Winn's gals ain't married,an' they've always boarded, an' worked in the shop on trimmin's.Isabella's well off; she had some means from her father's sister. Ithought it all over by night an' day, an' I recalled that our folkskept Sister Wayland's folks all one winter, when he'd failed up andgot into trouble. I'm reckonin' on sendin' over to-night an' gittin'the Winn gals to come and see me and advise. Perhaps some on 'em mayknow of somebody that'll take me for what help I can give about house,or some clever folks that have been lookin' for a smart cat, any ways;no, I don't know's I could let her go to strangers."There was two or three o' the folks round home that acted realwarm-hearted towards me, an' urged me to come an' winter with 'em,"continued the exile; "an' this mornin' I wished I'd agreed to, 'twasso hard to break away. But now it's done I feel more'n ever it's best.I couldn't bear to live right in sight o' the old place, and comespring I shouldn't 'prove of nothing Is'iah ondertakes to do with theland. Oh, dear sakes! now it comes hard with me not to have had nochild'n. When I was young an' workin' hard and into everything, I feltkind of free an' superior to them that was so blessed, an' theirhouses cluttered up from mornin' till night, but I tell ye it comeshome to me now. I'd be most willin' to own to even Is'iah, mean's heis; but I tell ye I'd took it out of him 'fore he was a grown man, ifthere'd be'n any virtue in cow-hidin' of him. Folks don't look likewild creatur's for nothin'. Is'iah's got fox blood in him, an'p'r'haps 't is his misfortune. His own mother always favored the looksof an old fox, true's the world; she was a poor tool,--a poor tool! Id'know's we ought to blame him same's we do."I've always been a master proud woman, if I was riz among thepastures," Mrs. Peet added, half to herself. There was no use insaying much to her; she was conscious of little beside her ownthoughts and the smouldering excitement caused by this great crisis inher simple existence. Yet the atmosphere of her loneliness,uncertainty, and sorrow was so touching that after scolding again ather nephew's treachery, and finding the tears come fast to my eyes asshe talked, I looked intently out of the car window, and tried tothink what could be done for the poor soul. She was one of theold-time people, and I hated to have her go away; but even if shecould keep her home she would soon be too feeble to live there alone,and some definite plan must be made for her comfort. Farms in thatneighborhood were not valuable. Perhaps through the agency of the lawand quite in secret, Isaiah Peet could be forced to give up hisunrighteous claim. Perhaps, too, the Winn girls, who were really nolonger young, might have saved something, and would come home again.But it was easy to make such pictures in one's mind, and I must dowhat I could through other people, for I was just leaving home for along time. I wondered sadly about Mrs. Peet's future, and theambitious Isabella, and the favorite Sister Winn's daughters, to whom,with all their kindliness of heart, the care of so old and perhaps sodependent an aunt might seem impossible. The truth about life inShrewsbury would soon be known; more than half the short journey wasalready past.To my great pleasure, my fellow-traveler now began to forget her owntroubles in looking about her. She was an alert, quickly interestedold soul, and this was a bit of neutral ground between the farm andShrewsbury, where she was unattached and irresponsible. She had livedthrough the last tragic moments of her old life, and felt a certainrelief, and Shrewsbury might be as far away as the other side of theRocky Mountains for all the consciousness she had of its realexistence. She was simply a traveler for the time being, and began tocomment, with delicious phrases and shrewd understanding of humannature, on two or three persons near us who attracted her attention."Where do you s'pose they be all goin'?" she asked contemptuously."There ain't none on 'em but what looks kind o' respectable. I'llwarrant they've left work to home they'd ought to be doin'. I knowed,if ever I stopped to think, that cars was hived full o' folks, an'wa'n't run to an' fro for nothin'; but these can't be quite up to theaverage, be they? Some on 'em's real thrif'less; guess they've be'nshoved out o' the last place, an' goin' to try the next one,--like me,I suppose you'll want to say! Jest see that flauntin' old creatur'that looks like a stopped clock. There! everybody can't be o' onegoodness, even preachers."I was glad to have Mrs. Peet amused, and we were as cheerful as wecould be for a few minutes. She said earnestly that she hoped to beforgiven for such talk, but there were some kinds of folks in the carsthat she never had seen before. But when the conductor came to takeher ticket she relapsed into her first state of mind, and was at aloss."You'll have to look after me, dear, when we get to Shrewsbury," shesaid, after we had spent some distracted moments in hunting for theticket, and the cat had almost escaped from the basket, and thebundle-handkerchief had become untied and all its miscellaneouscontents scattered about our laps and the floor. It was a touchingcollection of the last odds and ends of Mrs. Peet's housekeeping: somebattered books, and singed holders for flatirons, and the faded littleshoulder shawl that I had seen her wear many a day about her bentshoulders. There were her old tin match-box spilling all its matches,and a goose-wing for brushing up ashes, and her much-thumbed Leavitt'sAlmanac. It was most pathetic to see these poor trifles out of theirplaces. At last the ticket was found in her left-hand woolen glove,where her stiff, work-worn hand had grown used to the feeling of it."I shouldn't wonder, now, if I come to like living over to Shrewsburyfirst-rate," she insisted, turning to me with a hopeful, eager look tosee if I differed. "You see't won't be so tough for me as if I hadn'talways felt it lurking within me to go off some day or 'nother an' seehow other folks did things. I do' know but what the Winn gals havelaid up somethin' sufficient for us to take a house, with the littlemite I've got by me. I might keep house for us all, 'stead o' boardin'round in other folks' houses. That I ain't never been demeaned to, butI dare say I should find it pleasant in some ways. Town folks has gotthe upper hand o' country folks, but with all their work an' pridethey can't make a dandelion. I do' know the times when I've set out towash Monday mornin's, an' tied out the line betwixt the oldpucker-pear tree and the corner o' the barn, an' thought, 'Here I bewith the same kind o' week's work right over again.' I'd wonder kindo' f'erce if I couldn't git out of it noways; an' now here I be outof it, and an uprooteder creatur' never stood on the airth. Just as Igot to feel I had somethin' ahead come that spool-factory business.There! you know he never was a forehanded man; his health was slim,and he got discouraged pretty nigh before ever he begun. I hope hedon't know I'm turned out o' the old place. 'Is'iah's well off; he'lldo the right thing by ye,' says he. But my! I turned hot all over whenI found out what I'd put my name to,--me that had always be'n counteda smart woman! I did undertake to read it over, but I couldn't senseit. I've told all the folks so when they laid it off on to me some:but hand-writin' is awful tedious readin' and my head felt that day asif the works was gone."I ain't goin' to sag on to nobody," she assured me eagerly, as thetrain rushed along. "I've got more work in me now than folks expectsat my age. I may be consid'able use to Isabella. She's got a family,an' I'll take right holt in the kitchen or with the little gals. Shehad four on 'em, last I heared. Isabella was never one that likedhouse-work. Little gals! I do' know now but what they must be aboutgrown, time doos slip away so. I expect I shall look outlandish to'em. But there! everybody knows me to home, an' nobody knows me toShrewsbury; 'twon't make a mite o' difference, if I take holtwillin'."I hoped, as I looked at Mrs. Peet, that she would never be persuadedto cast off the gathered brown silk bonnet and the plain shawl thatshe had worn so many years; but Isabella might think it best to insistupon more modern fashions. Mrs. Peet suggested, as if it were a matterof little consequence, that she had kept it in mind to buy somemourning; but there were other things to be thought of first, and soshe had let it go until winter, any way, or until she should be fairlysettled in Shrewsbury."Are your nieces expecting you by this train?" I was moved to ask,though with all the good soul's ready talk and appealing manner Icould hardly believe that she was going to Shrewsbury for more than avisit; it seemed as if she must return to the worn old farmhouse overby the sheep-lands. She answered that one of the Barnes boys hadwritten a letter for her the day before, and there was evidentlylittle uneasiness about her first reception.We drew near the junction where I must leave her within a mile of thetown. The cat was clawing indignantly at the basket, and her mistressgrew as impatient of the car. She began to look very old and pale, mypoor fellow-traveler, and said that she felt dizzy, going so fast.Presently the friendly red-cheeked young brakeman came along, bringingthe carpet-bag and other possessions, and insisted upon taking thealarmed cat beside, in spite of an aggressive paw that had worked itsway through the wicker prison. Mrs. Peet watched her goods disappearwith suspicious eyes, and clutched her bundle-handkerchief as if itmight be all that she could save. Then she anxiously got to her feet,much too soon, and when I said good-by to her at the car door she wasready to cry. I pointed to the car which she was to take next on thebranch line of railway, and I assured her that it was only a fewminutes' ride to Shrewsbury, and that I felt certain she would findsomebody waiting. The sight of that worn, thin figure adventuringalone across the platform gave my heart a sharp pang as the traincarried me away.Some of the passengers who sat near asked me about my old friend withgreat sympathy, after she had gone. There was a look of tragedy abouther, and indeed it had been impossible not to get a good deal of herhistory, as she talked straight on in the same tone, when we stoppedat a station, as if the train were going at full speed, and some ofher remarks caused pity and amusements by turns. At the last minuteshe said, with deep self-reproach, "Why, I haven't asked a word aboutyour folks; but you'd ought to excuse such an old stray hen as I be."In the spring I was driving by on what the old people of my nativetown call the sheep-lands road, and the sight of Mrs. Peet's formerhome brought our former journey freshly to my mind. I had last heardfrom her just after she got to Shrewsbury, when she had sent me amessage."Have you ever heard how she got on?" I eagerly asked my companion."Didn't I tell you that I met her in Shrewsbury High Street one day?"I was answered. "She seemed perfectly delighted with everything. Hernieces have laid up a good bit of money, and are soon to leave themill, and most thankful to have old Mrs. Peet with them. Somebody toldme that they wished to buy the farm here, and come back to live, butshe wouldn't hear of it, and thought they would miss too manyprivileges. She has been going to concerts and lectures this winter,and insists that Isaiah did her a good turn."We both laughed. My own heart was filled with joy, for the uncertain,lonely face of this homeless old woman had often haunted me. Therain-blackened little house did certainly look dreary, and a wholelifetime of patient toil had left few traces. The pucker-pear tree wasin full bloom, however, and gave a welcome gaiety to the deserteddoor-yard.A little way beyond we met Isaiah Peet, the prosperous money-lender,who had cheated the old woman of her own. I fancied that he lookedsomewhat ashamed, as he recognized us. To my surprise, he stopped hishorse in most social fashion."Old Aunt Peet's passed away," he informed me briskly. "She had ashock, and went right off sudden yisterday fore-noon. I'm about nowtendin' to the funeral 'rangements. She's be'n extry smart, they say,all winter,--out to meetin' last Sabbath; never enjoyed herself socomplete as she has this past month. She'd be'n a very hard-workin'woman. Her folks was glad to have her there, and give her everyattention. The place here never was good for nothin'. The oldgen'leman,--uncle, you know,--he wore hisself out tryin' to make alivin' off from it."There was an ostentatious sympathy and half-suppressed excitement frombad news which were quite lost upon us, and we did not linger to hearmuch more. It seemed to me as if I had known Mrs. Peet better than anyone else had known her. I had counted upon seeing her again, andhearing her own account of Shrewsbury life, its pleasures and itslimitations. I wondered what had become of the cat and the contents ofthe faded bundle-handkerchief.
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