THE LATHBUNS
Mrs. Wiley, dropping into the post-office that evening along about
seven, was frankly disappointed at finding her newspaper bundle still
undisturbed on the table in the adjoining kitchen.
"Why, I made sure you'd have laid 'em out, anyhow," she said, looking at
Mrs. Ray, who was busily beating batter; "you haven't even made a
start." And she sighed, seating herself in unwilling resignation.
"Made a start," said Mrs. Ray, glancing at her placidity with an air of
tart exasperation, "made fifty starts, you mean. This has been what I
call _a day_. Mrs. Catt came in early this afternoon to ask me to make
Sally's wedding-cake, and Clay Wright Benton was here about the parrot.
He's awful tired of that parrot 'cause it keeps his mother so tired and
cross from getting up nights to wait on it. It routs her up at all hours
for things, and if she don't hurry it calls her names in Spanish that it
learned on the ship coming from Brazil, and, oh, they're having an awful
time of it. And then Sammy Adams was here too; he was here from four
o'clock on, asking me to marry him again. I don't know as anything gives
me a lower opinion of Sammy than the way he sticks to wanting to marry
me. The older I get, the worse he wants to marry me, which shows me
only too plainly as it ain't me at all he wants--it's just my work."
"You ain't even unrolled it," said Mrs. Wiley, fingering the bundle
sadly. "I've been fixing onion-syrup for Lottie Ann and thinking of you
unrolling all day. And you wasn't ever unrolling, even."
"He set right where you're setting now," said Mrs. Ray, beating briskly.
"I was stoning raisins, so he wasn't in my way, but I do get tired of
being asked to marry men. They don't make no bones about the business
any more, and even a woman of my age likes a _little_ fluff of romance.
Sammy always goes into how we could join our chickens and our furniture.
Like they was going to be married, too. Oh, Sammy's very mooney--he's
very much like Mr. Ray. Most men are too much like Mr. Ray to please me.
There was days when Mr. Ray'd sit all day and tell me how he had yellow
curls and blue eyes before he had smallpox. Those were his mooney days.
When Mr. Ray wanted to be specially nice, he always used to tell me how
pretty he was when he was a baby. Men are so awful silly. It's too bad I
ever married. I had so many pleasant thoughts about men before. But now
all I think is they're all spying round for women to work for 'em."
"I never shall know no peace till I know whether you can get my two
backs out of these legs," said Mrs. Wiley, handling the bundle. "Father
was such a sitter the last year, his legs was very wore at the top." She
sighed.
"Mr. Catt was here this afternoon, too," continued Mrs. Ray, never
ceasing to beat; "he wants to get up a petition about the dam. He's
afraid they won't pay him for his orchard. He's against it. He says Mr.
Ledge is right. He says if he's going to lose money, he'd rather see the
Falls preserved for the blessings of unborn generations. He says he
doesn't believe we think enough about unborn generations in this
country. He says his orchard is worth a lot."
"If they're too wore out to cut over, I suppose we'll have to give it
all up," said Mrs. Wiley. "Oh, Mrs. Ray, Lottie Ann's so thin! I don't
know what to do! I say to her 'Lottie Ann, do eat,' and then she tries
and chokes. I think she ought to go to Buffalo and be examined with a
telescope. Rubbing her in goose-grease don't do a bit of good, and it
does ruin her flannels so."
"I was sorry for Clay Wright Benton," pursued Mrs. Ray; "he kind of
wants me to take his mother and the parrot for the winter. He says
besides the nights, his mother and the parrot quarrels so days that he's
afraid Sarah just won't have 'em in the house much longer. She's losing
all patience."
"If you _can't_ get my fronts out of his legs, do you suppose there'll
be any way to get them out of his fronts?" Mrs. Wiley propounded.
"I told Clay I'd see," continued Mrs. Ray. "I'm pretty full now, but
there's a proverb about room for one more, and if I can't do nothing
else my motto'll help me out. 'He moves in a mysterious way' you know,
and maybe I can put her in my room with Willy and move into the kitchen
myself with the parrot. Yes, indeed. Only I won't get up and wait on it.
I don't care what I get called in Spanish, if I'm once asleep for the
night, that parrot won't get me up again; or there'll be more Spanish
than his around."
"You'll be able to use the same buttons, anyhow," mused Mrs. Wiley. "Oh,
Mrs. Ray, we've had a letter from Uncle Purchase and the colt didn't
die. It'll be lame and blind in one eye, but anyway it's alive and it's
such a valuable colt. The father cost six thousand dollars, and if it
lives to have grandchildren maybe they'll race. Uncle Purchase does so
want a race-horse in his stock. He says a race-horse even raises the
value of your pigs and cattle."
"Does a parrot sleep on its side or sit up all night, do you know? I
forgot to ask Clay."
"Oh, that reminds me, speakin' of sleepin'," exclaimed Mrs. Wiley,
suddenly arousing to the realization of other woes than her own, "do you
know Cousin Granger Catterwallis was over this morning, and he says
those Lathbuns stayed at Sammy's the night afore they came here. You
know they come in a pourin' rain. Did Sammy ever tell you about it?"
Mrs. Ray stopped her beating. She stood seemingly transfixed.
"Cousin Granger says they wanted to stay all night, with him, but he's
too afraid of a breach of promise suit since his wife died, so he
wouldn't keep them, but he took his spy-glass and watched them through
the gap and they clum Sammy's fence," (Mrs. Ray's face was a sight),
"and then he went up to his cupalo and watched them through a break in
the trees, and he says he knows they went in the house!"
Mrs. Ray folded her arms firmly. "Well," she said, "I never heard the
beat! Sammy never said one word to me!"
"And Cousin Catterwallis says he doesn't believe they've got any trunks
or any money or any real love affair, except what they may manage to
pick up along the way. He says he wouldn't trust the young one as far as
you can throw a cat, and he says he wouldn't trust the old one as far as
that. Hannah Adele, indeed! He says he don't believe she's even Hannah."
Mrs. Ray drew a long breath. "Oh, well, I wasn't meaning to marry him,
anyhow," she said, a little absent-mindedly. "I told him that to-day.
Sammy's mooney, and I've been married to one mooney man. There were days
when Mr. Ray would upset everything, from the beehives to his second
wife's baby--those were his mooney days. I don't want to have no more of
that!"
"Cousin Catterwallis says it wasn't just proper taking them in that way,
either," Mrs. Wiley continued; "he's going to see Jack O'Neil this
afternoon, and tell him his opinion. Cousin Catterwallis says the dam is
bringing very queer folks our way. He doesn't take no interest in the
dam because he's so far inland, but he says when the canal was put
through the Italians stole one of his father's hens, and he hasn't any
use for any kind of improvements since then."
Mrs. Ray began slowly beating her batter again. Her lips were firm and
her attitude painfully decided.
"The old lady says she's Mrs. Ida Lathbun," Mrs. Wiley went on; "I
wonder if their name is really Lathbun."
"I d'n know, I'm sure."
Mrs. Wiley turned her eyes on the bundle.
"When do you think you can get at my coat, Mrs. Ray?" the tone was sadly
earnest.
"To-morrow, I guess. I haven't much on hand to-morrow, except to sweep
out the church and do some baking. I was planning to dig potatoes and
go to South Ledge to fit a dress, but I'll leave that till early Monday.
Think of his keeping them all night and never telling me!"
"I guess I'll go down to Nellie's," said Mrs. Wiley, rising slowly; "the
Lathbuns sit in her kitchen evenings, and I'll just throw a few hints
about and see how they take it."
"I wish I could go, too," Mrs. Ray's eyes suddenly became keenly bright,
"but I can't. The mail's due."
Mrs. Wiley shook her head with the air of understanding the weightiness
of her friend's excuse. "I'll stop in on my way back, and tell you what
I find out," she said, kindly.
She went away and was absent all of an hour. When she returned, Mrs.
Ray's duties, both as postmistress and stepmother, were over for that
day, her cake was safe in the oven, and she sat by the lamp, knitting.
"What'd you find out?" she said, as the door yielded to Mrs. Wiley's
push.
"Well, not much." Mrs. Wiley came in and sat down. "They was both there
in the kitchen, and there's no use denying it's hard to find out
anything about folks when they're looking right at you. But I did hear
one thing you'll like to know, Mrs. Ray?"
"What was it?"
"Why, those two girls went off walking this morning, and the young one
came back with the man."
"Don't surprise me one bit," said Mrs. Ray. "I've been saying that was
what would happen from the minute I knew she was coming."
"I'm sort of sorry for the older one," said Mrs. Wiley; "she's real
nice. I'm sorry for any one who's thinnish--Lottie Ann's so thin."
"Those kind of blind-eyed people always have trouble, and nobody can
help it for 'em," said Mrs. Ray; "they make their own troubles as they
go along--if they don't come bump on to them while they're stargazing.
That girl's made for trouble; you can see it in her eyes. But didn't you
ask anything about Sammy?"
"I just couldn't--with them right there. The old lady sits with her feet
in the oven the whole time. I don't see how Nellie cooks."
"Feet in the oven! I should say so! Well, I'll ask Sammy just as soon as
I see him--I know that! Did you hear anything new about the dam?"
"No; Nellie says the surveyors say it'll be six months before any one
can tell anything."
"Huh!" Mrs. Ray's note was highly contemptuous.
"Why, Mrs. Ray, don't you believe the surveyors?"
"I never say what I believe, Mrs. Wiley, it's enough for me to say what
I think; but I _will_ say just this, and that is that if we get the dam,
it's precious little good it'll ever do us here in Ledge. It's fine work
talking, but the legislature and the Dam Commission aren't working day
and night for our good. It's men in Rochester and Buffalo who'll get the
good out of the dam, and we'll be left to find ourselves high and dry as
usual."
"Why, Mrs. Ray, you talk as if you was against the dam, or is it only
because Sammy took those women in that night?"
Poor Mrs. Wiley! She had inadvertently hit the bull's-eye. Mrs. Ray laid
down her knitting and rose at once.
"No, Mrs. Wiley, it _isn't_ because Sammy took those women in that
night. As if I'd care whether Sammy took two women in or not! Did I ever
care about Mr. Ray's other two wives? or about their children? I guess
if I can stand all I've stood from Mr. Ray's first wife's children, I
won't care who Sammy Adams takes in out of the wet. I'm surprised at
you, Mrs. Wiley."
Mrs. Wiley got up in great confusion. "I hope you'll excuse what I said,
Mrs. Ray; you see I wasn't really thinking what I did say. And it may
not have been them, anyhow. I must be goin', I guess; I don't like to
leave Lottie Ann alone like that. Good-by, Mrs. Ray."
Mrs. Ray folded her arms severely.
"Good-by, Mrs. Wiley," she said, with reserve.