Alternative histories (Fiction); Science fiction; Time travel -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
I must have been a sore trial to her for I showed no sign of proper
Hodgins gumption, such as she displayed herself and which surely kept
us all—though precariously—free. For one thing I was remarkably unhandy
and awkward, of little use in the hundred necessary chores around our
dilapidated house. I could not pick up a hammer at her command to do
something about fixing the loose weatherboards on the east side without
mashing my thumb or splitting the aged, unpainted wood. I could not hoe
the kitchen garden without damaging precious vegetables and leaving
weeds intact. I could shovel snow in the winter at a tremendous rate
for I was strong and had endurance, but work requiring manual dexterity
baffled me. I fumbled in harnessing Bessie, our mare, or hitching her
to the cart for my father’s trips to Poughkeepsie, and as for helping
him on the farm or in his smithy I’m afraid my efforts drove that mild
man nearest to a temper he ever came. He would lay the reins on the
plowhorse’s back or his hammer down on the anvil and say mournfully:
“Better see if you can help your mother, Hodge. Youre only in my way
here.”
On only one score did I come near pleasing Mother: I learned to read
and write early, and exhibited some proficiency. But even here there
was a flaw; she looked upon literacy as something which distinguished
Hodginses and McCormicks from the ruck who had to make their mark, as
an accomplishment which might somehow and unspecifiedly lead away from
poverty. I found reading an end in itself, which probably reminded her
of my father’s laxity or Grandfather Backmaker’s subversion.
“Make something of yourself, Hodge,” she admonished me often.
“You can’t change the world”—an obvious allusion to Grandfather
Backmaker—“but you can do something with it as it is if you try hard
enough. There’s always some way out.”
Yet she did not approve of the postoffice lottery, on which so many
pinned their hopes of escape from poverty or indenture. In this she and
my father were agreed; both believed in hard work rather than chance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account