WHAT THE WOMEN SAID
A few days after this, the Ladies' Society met at the house of Miss
Bethia Wax. There had been much discussion among the members of the
Society as to whether it were fitting to hold a meeting so soon after
the death of the foremost woman of the parish. Mrs. Worritt said she for
one would be loth to be found wanting in respect for one who had been,
as it were, a mile-stone and a beacon-light in that village. Mrs.
Weight, on the other hand, maintained that business was business, and
that the heathen in their blindness needed flannel petticoats just as
much as they did last week. Miss Wax herself, a lady with a strong
sense of the proprieties, was in doubt as to which course would preserve
them most strictly. Finally the matter was submitted to Mrs. Geoffrey
Strong for decision.
"There is only one wish in my mind, Vesta," said Miss Wax, "and that is
to show the highest respect for our venerable friend, and I speak, I am
sure, for the whole Society. The question is, how best _to_ show it."
Vesta Strong reflected a moment. "I think, Miss Wax," she said, "it will
be wisest to hold the meeting. I am quite sure Aunt Marcia would have
wished it. But you might, perhaps, give it a rather special character;
make it something of a memorial meeting. What do you think of that?"
Miss Wax's face brightened.
"Excellent," she said. "Vesta, I do think that would be excellent. I am
real glad I came to you. I will have the room draped in mourning. Tapes
has some nice black bombazine, a little injured by water, but--"
Vesta suppressed a shudder. "Oh, no, Miss Wax!" she said. "I wouldn't do
that. Aunt Marcia did not like display of any kind, you know. Your
pleasant parlors just as they are will be much better, I am sure."
"I do aim at showing my respect!" pleaded Miss Wax. "Perhaps we might
all wear a crape rosette, or streamer. What do you think of that?"
But Vesta did not think well even of this, and Miss Wax reluctantly
abandoned the plan of official mourning, though determined to show her
respect in her own way as regarded her own person. She was a very tall
woman, with a figure which, in youth, had been called willowy, and was
now unkindly termed scraggy. She had been something of a beauty, and
there was a note of the pathetic in her ringlets and the few girlish
trinkets she habitually wore,--a coral necklace, which at sixteen had
set off admirably the whiteness of her neck, but which at fifty did not
harmonize so well with the prevailing sallow tint; a blue enamel locket
on a slender gold chain, etc. She was very fond of pink, and could never
forget, poor lady, that Pindar Hollopeter had once called her a lily
dressed in rose-leaves. But, though a trifle fantastic, Miss Bethia was
as good a soul as ever wore prunella shoes, and her desire to do honor
to Mrs. Tree's memory was genuine and earnest. Her soul yearned for the
black bombazine hangings, but she was loyal to Vesta's expressed wish,
and contented herself with removing certain rose-colored scarfs and
sofa-pillows, which on ordinary occasions of entertainment were the
delight of her eyes. She had gathered all the white flowers she could
find, and had arranged a kind of trophy of silver coffee-spoons on the
mantelpiece, surrounding a black velvet band, on which was worked in
silver tinsel the inscription:
"HER WE HONOR."
Miss Bethia had meant to have a photograph of Mrs. Tree in the centre of
this sombre glory, but no photograph was to be had. Mrs. Tree had
stoutly refused to be photographed, or to have her portrait painted in
her later years.
"Folderol!" she used to say, when urged by loving friends or relatives.
"When I go, I'm going, all there is of me. I shall leave my gowns,
because they are good satin, but I'm not going to leave my old rags, nor
the likeness of old rags. Cat's foot! don't talk to me!"
So, except the miniature which was Vesta Strong's choicest treasure,
the portrait of the brilliant, flashing little beauty whom Ethan Tree
named the Pocket Venus when first he saw her, and whom he vowed then and
there to woo and win, there was no portrait of Mrs. Tree; but Miss Wax
put a cluster of immortelles above the inscription, and hoped it would
"convey the idea."
In her own person, as has already been said, Miss Bethia felt that she
could brook no dictation, even from Vesta. Accordingly, as the hour of
the meeting approached, she arrayed herself in a trailing robe of black
cashmere, with long bands of crape hanging from the shoulders. Examining
with anxious care her slender stock of trinkets, she selected a mourning
brooch of the size of a small saucer, which displayed under glass an urn
and weeping willow in the choicest style of hair jewelry, and two hair
bracelets, one a broad, massive band clasped with a miniature, the
other a chain of globules not unlike the rockweed bladders that children
love to dry and "pop" between their fingers. Hair jewelry survived in
Elmerton long after it was forgotten in other places. Miss Wax herself
was a skilful worker in it, and might often be seen bending over the
curious little round table, from the centre of which radiated numerous
fine strands of hair, black, brown, or golden, hanging over the edge and
weighted with leaden pellets. To see Miss Bethia's long fingers weaving
the strands into braids or chains was a quaint and pleasant sight.
Her toilet completed, the good lady surveyed herself earnestly in the
oval mirror, gave a gentle sigh, half approval, half regretful
reminiscence, and went down to the parlor. Here she seated herself in
her favorite chair and her favorite attitude. The chair was an ancient
one, of slender and graceful shape; and the attitude--somehow--was a
good deal like the chair. Both were as accurate reproductions as might
be of a picture that hung over Miss Bethia's head as she sat, the
portrait of a handsome young woman with long, black ringlets, arched
eyebrows, and dark, expressive eyes. Miss Bethia had been said to
resemble this portrait of her great-great-aunt, and the resemblance was
one which she was loth to relinquish. Accordingly, she loved to sit
under it, in the same chair that the picture showed, leaning one elbow
on the same little table, her cheek resting on the same fingers of the
same hand,--the index and middle fingers,--while the others curved
outward at a graceful angle. When seated thus, somebody was pretty sure
to call attention to the resemblance, and not the most ill-natured
gossip could grudge Miss Bethia the mild pleasure that beamed in her
eyes whenever it was noted.
There might be a slight resemblance, she would say modestly. It had been
remarked upon, she might say, more than once. The lady was her relative,
and likenesses ran strong in her family.
Tommy Candy had once irreverently named Miss Wax's parlor "the Wax
Works," and the name had stuck, as naughty nicknames are apt to do. It
was indeed quite a little museum in itself of the fruit of bygone
accomplishments. Wax fruit, wax flowers--chiefly roses--in profusion,
all carefully guarded by glass; pictures in worsted work, pictures in
hair work, all in home-made frames of pinked leather, of varnished
acorns, of painted velvet; vases and jars decorated with potichomanie,
with decalcomanie, with spatter-work. One would think that not one, but
seven, Misses Wax had spent their entire lives in adorning this one
room.
But the first guests to arrive on this occasion gave little heed either
to the room or to the attitude of their hostess, even though, as usual,
Miss Wax sat still for a moment, with an air of gentle appeal, before
rising to receive them. Mrs. Deacon Weight is older than when we last
met her, and her surname is even more appropriate than it was then;
three hundred pounds of too, too solid flesh are encased in that brown
alpaca dress, and her inspiration in trimming it with transverse bands
of black velvet was not a happy one. Mrs. Weight was accompanied by Miss
Eliza Goby, a lady whose high complexion and protruding eyes made her
look rather more like a boiled lobster than anything else.
These two ladies, having obeyed the injunction of Miss Wax's handmaid to
"lay off their things" in the best bedroom, entered the parlor with an
eager air.
Miss Wax, after her little pause, came forward to meet them.
"Good afternoon, Malvina," she said; "Eliza, I am pleased to see you, I
am sure. Be seated, ladies, please." She waved her hand gracefully
toward a couple of chairs, and resumed her attitude, though more from
force of habit and a consciousness that others more appreciative were
coming than from any sense of impressing these first comers.
Mrs. Weight seated herself with emphasis, and drew her chair near to
that of her hostess, motioning her companion to do likewise.
"Bethia," she said, "we came early o' purpose, because we were wishful
to see you alone for a minute before folks came. We want to know what
stand you are prepared to take."
"That's it!" said Miss Goby, who had a short, snapping utterance, such
as a lobster might have if it were endowed with powers of speech. "What
stand you are prepared to take!"
"Stand?" repeated Miss Wax. "I do not quite comprehend you, ladies. I
usually rise to receive each guest, and then resume my seat; it seems
less formal and more friendly; and it fatigues me very much to stand
long," added the poor lady, with a glance at the portrait.
"Land!" said Mrs. Weight. "That isn't what we mean, Bethia. We mean
about this will of Mis' Tree's."
"Oh!" said Miss Wax. As she spoke, she sat upright, and the attitude was
forgotten.
"We are wishful to know," said Mrs. Weight, "whether you think that the
name of a place is to be changed back and forth to suit the fancy of
folks as weren't in their right minds, and are dead and buried besides.
What I say is for this room only, ladies. I am not one to spread abroad,
and I should be lawth indeed to speak ill of the dead, and them I've
lived opposite neighbors to for thirty years,--whether neighborly in
their actions or not, I will not say. But what I do say is, there's them
in this village as has been browbeat and gormineered over for the hull
of their earthly sojourn, and _they_ don't propose to be browbeat and
gormineered over from beyond the grave, in which direction forbid it as
a Christian and the widder of a sainted man that I should say."
Before Miss Wax could reply, a murmur of voices was heard in the hall,
and the next moment the Society entered in a body. There were women of
all ages, from old Mrs. Snow, who now stood in the proud position of
oldest inhabitant, down to Annie Lizzie Weight, who was only seventeen.
Miss Penny Pardon was there; Mrs. Pottle, the doctor's wife; and little
Mrs. Bliss from the parsonage. There were perhaps thirty women in all,
representing the best society of Elmerton.
Miss Wax received them with a troubled air, very different from her
usual pensive calm. A red spot burned in the centre of each cheek, and
her eyes were bright with suppressed excitement. Mrs. Pottle, observing
her, decided that she was in for a fever, and cast her mind's eye over
the doctor's engagements for the next few weeks. "She's liable to have a
long run of it!" said Mrs. Pottle to herself. "I'm thankful that Doctor
Strong went back yesterday, so the poor soul will have proper
treatment."
This was not a social, but a working, meeting. Every woman came armed
with thimble and work-bag, and a large basket being produced, flannel
and calico were dealt out by Miss Wax, and all set busily to work. But
Miss Wax, instead of taking up her own needle, exchanged a few words
with Mrs. Bliss. Mrs. Ware, a sweet-faced woman of fifty, invited by a
look, joined them, and there was a low-voiced consultation; then Miss
Wax rose and stood under the portrait and beside the mantelpiece with
its trophy of black and silver.
"Ladies of the Society," she said; her thin treble voice trembled at
first, and she fingered her bead reticule nervously, but she gathered
strength as she went on. "Ladies of the Society, I asked our pastor's
wife to address you, but Mrs. Bliss has a cold and feels unable so to
do. I will therefore say a few words, though well aware how unfitted I
am for such a task." She paused, and touched her lips delicately with a
black-bordered handkerchief.
"This occasion, ladies, is a mournful one to most--I trust I may say to
all--in this village. It is some years since--owing to advancing
years--we have seen Her we honor at the meetings of this Society; but
she was in former years a prop and a pillar of this Society, as she was
of this village; and it is the desire of many, as expressed to me, that
this meeting should be a memorial in honor of--of Her we honor,--Mrs.
Ethan Tree."
She waved her hand toward the trophy with an air of introducing the
ladies to it. For the life of her, little Mrs. Bliss could not help
thinking of the Red Queen's introduction: "Pudding--Alice;
Alice--Pudding!" Most of the ladies had a confused feeling that they
ought to rise, and glanced at each other, half getting their work
together, but Mrs. Bliss remained seated, and they followed her example.
The little minister's wife had loved Mrs. Tree devotedly, but she had a
keen sense of the ludicrous; and, after the unseemly recollections
referred to, she could not help recalling certain words spoken to her in
a clear, incisive voice not so many weeks ago: "Ladies' Society, child?
Bah! Parcel of fools! I get all of their society I want, sitting here in
this chair."
"It would have been my wish," Miss Wax continued, "that the Society
should have testified _as_ a Society to the fact that this was a
memorial meeting; it would have been my wish that each lady should wear
a crape rosette, or the like of that, in token of mourning; but it was
not agreeable to the family, and, if we wear them in our own hearts,
ladies, it may do equally as well, if worn sincerely, which I am sure
most, if not all, do."
She paused again to sigh and lift the handkerchief, with her favorite
delicate action of the third and fourth fingers.
"This small token," she continued, introducing the trophy anew, "is
_but_ a small one, and I could wish that gold instead of silver were
procurable, for gold was the heart of Her we honor, and, though velvet
does not precisely describe her manner, ladies, still well we know that
out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh, and the heart being
golden, the velvet is--a--I am sure--that is to say, velvet and gold are
often associated as tokens of richness, and--and the nature of Her we
honor was rich in goodness, and--"
Here poor Miss Wax became hopelessly involved, and taking refuge in a
fit of coughing, looked imploringly at Mrs. Bliss. Thus silently
adjured, the little lady rose, and in a few quiet words expressed the
hearty sympathy of all present in Miss Wax's feeling, and their
gratitude to her for the graceful tribute she had preferred. A rising
vote of thanks was then passed, and the Society settled to their labors.
For some time nothing was heard but requests for the shears and
wonderings, who cut this gore? and the like; but the same thought was in
all the ladies' minds, and as soon as was practicable the talk began
again. Miss Eliza Goby nudged Miss Luella Slocum, a sharp-nosed lady
with one eye that rolled like a marble and another that bored like a
gimlet.
"You speak, Luella!" she said in a half-whisper. "Speak up and say what
you said to me and Mrs. Weight this morning."
"I think Mrs. Weight ought to speak up herself," replied Miss Slocum, in
the same tone. "She's older than me; it behooves her, a deacon's widow
and all. I don't feel any call to begin, Eliza; though I am ready to
testify when it comes my turn."
Apparently Mrs. Weight was of the same opinion, for she now began the
attack cautiously.
"The Society having expressed its views on this subject, Miss Wax and
ladies, there is another on which I feel we have a call to speak
together. As one of the oldest present, and the widder of a sainted man,
I may have my own opinions, and they may be of consequence, or they may
not; but howbeit, there is them present as has sojourned longer than me
in this earthly pilgrimage, and I should wish to hear from Mrs. Philena
Snow as to what are her sentiments in regards to changing the name of
this village."
Mrs. Snow, an old lady of somewhat bewildered aspect, had learned in the
course of eighty-odd years that a decided opinion was sometimes a
dangerous thing. Replying to Mrs. Weight's request, she said that she
didn't know as it made any perticklar difference to her what the village
was called; she hadn't very much longer to stay in it, she presumed
likely. It used to be Quahaug, but some thought that wasn't a pretty
sounding name, and she didn't know but Elmerton was prettier; and yet
there was others thought--and so the old lady murmured herself away into
silence. A confused hubbub of voices arose, but little Mrs. Bliss,
saying to herself, "Oh, for one hour of Dundee,--one minute of Mrs.
Tree!" rose to the occasion.
"Ladies," she said, "though this village, Elmerton or Quahaug, whichever
it is, has grown to seem like home, and a very dear home, to me, I still
am comparatively speaking a newcomer. I should be very glad if some one
lady would tell me in a few words how and why the change was originally
made. Mrs. Ware, perhaps you will be so good!"
Mrs. Ware's gentle face wore a disturbed look, but she responded
promptly.
"The change was made many years ago, but I remember it distinctly. The
old Indian name was Quahaug, and no one ever thought of any other name
till Mr. Swain came to be pastor here. Mrs. Swain had a poetic turn, and
she thought Quahaug an awkward-sounding name, and made considerable talk
to that effect round the village. A petition to the Legislature was
circulated, and many people signed it, and so the name was changed to
Elmerton. Mrs. Tree was away at the time, on a voyage around the world,
and when she came back she was much incensed, I remember, and expressed
herself strongly. I always thought it a pity myself to change the old
name."
"Phoebe Blyth was for the change," said Miss Eliza Goby. "Phoebe
and I were of one mind on the subject."
"It's the only time you ever were!" thought Miss Wax, but she did not
speak the thought.
"Phoebe Blyth had some peculiar ideas," said Mrs. Weight, "but she
showed her sense that time. Mis' Swain was a beautiful woman, and her
ideas was beautiful simularly. Why, she wrote an elegant poem about it:
"'Sure ne'er a village 'neath the sun
More lovely is than Elmerton.'
Those were the first lines. I've got it copied out at home. I never
thought Homer Hollopeter's poetry was a patch on Mis' Swain's."
"Homer was strong against the change," said Miss Wax. "Both Homer and
Pindar, and two more intellectual men this village has never seen. I
don't wish to say anything against Mrs. Swain, but I for one never
thought she had anything like Homer's gift. He was asked to write a poem
on the subject, but he said his Muse scorned such a name as Elmerton."
"It's the first thing ever his Muse did scorn, I guess," retorted Miss
Luella Slocum. "It's my belief Homer would write verses to a scarecrow
if he had nothing else to write about."
"I didn't know he ever wrote any to you, Luella," said Miss Penny
Pardon, her usually gentle spirit roused to anger by this attack on one
whom she considered a great though unappreciated poet.
"Ladies! ladies!" said little Mrs. Bliss, "pray let us keep to the
point. We are not here to discuss Mr. Hollopeter's poetry. Perhaps we
would better change the subject altogether, and confine our conversation
to subjects connected with our work."
"Excuse _me_, Mrs. Bliss!" said Mrs. Weight. "Though well aware that
since the death of the sainted man whose name I bear, I am of no account
in this village, still I _have_ my feelings and I _am_ a human
being,--deny it who can,--and, while I have breath to speak,--which by
reason of spasms growing on me may not be long,--I will protest against
changing the name of this village back to heathen and publican names,
from which it was rescued by them as now fills mansions in the sky. I
would not wish to be understood as reflecting on anybody, and I name no
names; but them as has lived on flowery beds of ease, no matter how
long, cannot expect to gormineer over this village to all eternity; and
so I proclaim,--hear me who will."
Mrs. Weight had risen to her feet, and stood heaving and panting, a
mountain of protest. Mrs. Bliss would have interfered, to pour oil on
the troubled meeting, but before she could speak the tall form of Miss
Bethia Wax had risen, and stood rigid, pointing to the trophy.
"Ladies of the Society," she said, "and our honored pastor's wife: I
cannot sit still and listen to words which are aimed at Her we honor.
This is a memorial meeting, sanctioned as such by the family of Her we
honor. She died as she lived, with this village on her mind and in her
heart, and she has given of her basket and her store, her treasures of
earth and treasures of sea, and gems of purest ray serene; she has given
all, save such as needed by the family, to this village, to have and to
hold till death do them part; and what I say is, shame upon us if we
cannot obey the wishes of Her we honor, our benefactress, who wafts us
from the other shore her parting benediction!"
But neither Mrs. Bliss nor Miss Wax could longer stem the tide of
speech. It ran, swelled, overflowed, a torrent of talk.
"Never in my born days!"
"I'd like to know who had the right if she hadn't!"
"I s'pose we've got some rights of our own, if we ain't rich in this
world's goods."
"I should laugh if we were to change back at this time of day."
"I should like to remind you, Mrs. Weight, that--
"'While the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return!'"
"Mrs. Bliss and ladies: I have not lived in this village seventy years
to be called the vilest sinner in it. I appeal to this society if names
is to be called at a meeting where the members are supposed to be
Christians--"
But Mrs. Bliss, though little, could, like Hermia, be fierce, and it
was in a very peremptory tone that she exclaimed:
"The discussion on this subject is closed. Sister Slocum, will you give
out the hymn?" and Miss Luella Slocum, one eye gleaming hatred and the
other malice, announced that the Society would now join in singing
"Blest be the tie that binds!"