Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Mrs. Purdon put me on one side, and although she was physically
incapable of moving her body by a hair's breadth, she gave the effect of
having risen to meet the newcomer. "Well, Emma, here I am," she said in
a queer voice, with involuntary quavers in it. As she went on she had it
more under control, although in the course of her extraordinarily
succinct speech it broke and failed her occasionally. When it did, she
drew in her breath with an audible, painful effort, struggling forward
steadily in what she had to say. "You see, Emma, it's this way: My
'Niram and your Ev'leen Ann have been keeping company--ever since they
went to school together--you know that 's well as I do, for all we let
on we didn't, only I didn't know till just now how hard they took it.
They can't get married because 'Niram can't keep even, let alone get
ahead any, because I cost so much bein' sick, and the doctor says I may
live for years this way, same's Aunt Hettie did. An' 'Niram is
thirty-one, an' Ev'leen Ann is twenty-eight, an' they've had 'bout's
much waitin' as is good for folks that set such store by each other.
I've thought of every way out of it--and there ain't any. The Lord knows
I don't enjoy livin' any, not so's to notice the enjoyment, and I'd
thought of cutting my throat like Uncle Lish, but that'd make 'Niram and
Ev'leen Ann feel so--to think why I'd done it; they'd never take the
comfort they'd ought in bein' married; so that won't do. There's only
one thing to do. I guess you'll have to take care of me till the Lord
calls me. Maybe I won't last so long as the doctor thinks."
When she finished, I felt my ears ringing in the silence. She had walked
to the sacrificial altar with so steady a step, and laid upon it her
precious all with so gallant a front of quiet resolution, that for an
instant I failed to take in the sublimity of her self-immolation. Mrs.
Purdon asking for charity! And asking the one woman who had most reason
to refuse it to her.
Paul looked at me miserably, the craven desire to escape a scene written
all over him. "Wouldn't we better be going, Mrs. Purdon?" I said
uneasily. I had not ventured to look at the woman in the doorway.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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