They was kind of soft and dreamy anyhow. He used to look so pleading with them when he was courting me. He had a real hard time to get me, Mrs. Blythe. He was mad about me for years. I was full of bounce then and meant to pick and choose. My life story would be real thrilling if you ever get short of material, Mrs.
Blythe. Ah well, them days are gone. I had more beaus than you could shake a stick at. But they kept coming and going ... and Anthony just kept coming. He was kind of good-looking, too ... such a nice lean man. I never could abide pudgy men ... and he was a cut or two above me ... I'd be the last one to deny that.
'It'll be a step up for a Plummer if you marry a Mitchell,' Ma said ... I was a Plummer, Mrs. Blythe ... John A. Plummer's daughter. And he paid me such nice romantic compliments, Mrs.
Blythe. Once he told me I had the ethereal charm of moonlight.
I knew it meant something nice though I don't know yet what 'ethereal' means. I've always been meaning to look it up in the dictionary but I never get around to it. Well, anyway, in the end I passed my word of honour that I would be his bride. That is ... I mean ... I said I'd take him. My, but I wish you could have seen me in my wedding-dress, Mrs. Blythe. They all said I was a picture. Slim as a trout with hair yaller as gold, and such a complexion. Ah, time makes turrible changes in us. YOU haven't come to that yet, Mrs. Blythe. You're real pretty still ... and a highly eddicated woman into the bargain. Ah well, we can't all be clever ... some of us have to do the cooking. That dress you've got on is real handsome, Mrs. Blythe. You never wear black, I notice ... you're right ... you'll have to wear it soon enough. Put it off till you have to, I say. Well, where was I?”
"You were ... trying to tell me something about Mr. Mitchell.”
"Oh, yes. Well, we were married. There was a big comet that night ... I remember seeing it as we drove home. It's a real pity you couldn't have seen that comet, Mrs. Blythe. It was simply pretty.
I don't suppose you could work it into the obitchery, could you?”
"It ... might be rather difficult ...”
"Well," Mrs. Mitchell surrendered the comet with a sigh, "you'll have to do the best you can. He hadn't a very exciting life. He got drunk once ... he said he just wanted to see what it was like for once ... he was always of an inquiring turn of mind. But of course you couldn't put that in an obitchery. Nothing much else ever happened to him. Not to complain, but just to state facts he was a bit shiftless and easy-going. He would sit for an hour looking into a hollyhock. My, but he was fond of flowers ... hated to mow down the buttercups. No matter if the wheat crop failed as long as there was farewell-summers and goldenrod. And trees ... that orchard of his ... I always told him, joking like, that he cared more for his trees than for me. And his farm ... my, but he loved his bit of land. He seemed to think it was a human being. Many's the time I've heard him say, 'I think I'll go out and have a little talk to my farm.' When we got old I wanted him to sell, seeing as we had no boys, and retire to Lowbridge, but he would say, 'I can't sell my farm ... I can't sell my heart.' Ain't men funny? Not long before he died he took a notion to have a boiled hen for dinner, 'cooked in that way you have,' says he.
He was always partial to my cooking, if I do say it. The only thing he couldn't abide was my lettuce salad with nuts in it. He said the nuts was so durned unexpected. But there wasn't a hen to spare ... they was all laying good ... and there was only one rooster left and of course I couldn't kill him. My, but I like to see the roosters strutting round. Ain't anything much handsomer than a fine rooster, do you think, Mrs. Blythe? Well, where was I?”
"You were saying your husband wanted you to cook a hen for him.”
"Oh, yes. And I've been so sorry ever since I didn't. I wake up in the night and think of it. But I didn't know he was going to die, Mrs. Blythe. He never complained much and always said he was better. And interested in things to the last. If I'd a-known he was going to die, Mrs. Blythe, I'd have cooked a hen for him, eggs or no eggs.”
Mrs. Mitchell removed her rusty black lace mitts and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, black-bordered a full two inches.
"He'd have enjoyed it," she sobbed. "He had his own teeth to the last, poor dear. Well, anyway" ... folding the handkerchief and putting on the mitts, "he was sixty-five, so he weren't far from the allotted span. And I've got another coffin-plate. Mary Martha Plummer and me started collecting coffin-plates at the same time but she soon got ahead of me ... so many of her relation died, not to speak of her three children. She's got more coffin-plates than anyone in these parts. I didn't seem to have much luck but I've got a full mantelpiece at last. My cousin, Thomas Bates, was buried last week and I wanted his wife to give me the coffin-plate, but she had it buried with him. Said collecting coffin-plates was a relic of barbarism. She was a Hampson and the Hampsons were always odd. Well, where was I?”
Anne really could not tell Mrs. Mitchell where she was this time.
The coffin-plates had dazed her.
"Oh, well, anyway poor Anthony died. 'I go gladly and in quietness,' was all that he said but he smiled just at the last ... at the ceiling, not at me nor Seraphine. I'm so glad he was so happy just afore he died. There were times I used to think perhaps he wasn't quite happy, Mrs. Blythe ... he was so terrible high-strung and sensitive. But he looked real noble and sublime in his coffin. We had a grand funeral. It was just a lovely day. He was buried with loads of flowers. I took a sinking spell at the last but otherwise everything went off very well. We buried him in the Lower Glen graveyard though all his family were buried in Lowbridge. But he picked out his graveyard long ago ... said he wanted to be buried near his farm and where he could hear the sea and the wind in the trees ... there's trees around three sides of that graveyard, you know. I was glad, too ... I always thought it was such a cosy little graveyard and we can keep geraniums growing on his grave.
He was a good man ... he's likely in Heaven now, so that needn't trouble you. I always think it must be some chore to write an obichery when you DON'T know where the departed is. I can depend on you, then, Mrs. Blythe?”
Anne consented, feeling that Mrs. Mitchell would stay there and talk until she did consent. Mrs. Mitchell, with another sigh of relief, heaved herself out of her chair.
"I must be stepping. I'm expecting a hatching of turkey poults today. I've enjoyed my conversation with you and I wish I could have stayed longer. It's lonesome being a widow woman. A man mayn't amount to an awful lot but you sort of miss him when he goes.”
Anne politely saw her down the walk. The children were stalking robins on the lawn and daffodil tips were poking up everywhere.
"You've got a nice proud house here ... a real nice proud house, Mrs. Blythe. I've always felt I'd like a big house. But with only us and Seraphine ... and where was the money to come from? ... and, anyway, Anthony'd never hear of it. He had an awful affection for that old house. I'm meaning to sell if I get a fair offer and live either in Lowbridge or Mowbray Narrows, whichever I decide would be the best place to be a widow in. Anthony's insurance will come in handy. Say what you like it's easier to bear a full sorrow than an empty one. You'll find that out when you're a widow yourself ... though I hope that'll be a good few years yet. How is the doctor getting on? It's been a real sickly winter so he ought to have done pretty well. My, what a nice little family you've got! Three girls! Nice now, but wait you till they come to the boy-crazy age. Not that I'd much trouble with Seraphine. She was quiet ... like her father ... and stubborn like him. When she fell in love with John Whitaker, have him she would in spite of all I could say. A rowan tree? Whyn't you have it planted by the front door? It would keep the fairies out.”