Oldfield: A Kentucky Tale of the Last CenturyBanks, Nancy Huston
General
Oldfield: A Kentucky Tale of the Last Century
Banks, Nancy Huston
Kentucky -- Fiction
Here was the news! Miss Sophia settled back in her chair with a deep
breath of satisfaction. Miss Judy exclaimed in interested surprise. Very
few strangers came to Oldfield, consequently the advent of a young
gentleman from a distant city was an event indeed. No wonder that Sidney
had made as much of it as she could. Miss Judy, and even Miss Sophia,
felt the high compliment paid them in being the first to whom Sidney had
taken the thrilling intelligence. It was, in fact, the highest
expression of Sidney's gratitude to Miss Judy, and fully recognized as
such by both the little sisters, who appreciated it accordingly.
When Sidney was gone on her way to distribute the great news at the
various points which promised the largest results, Miss Judy went into
the darkened parlor, the other of the two large rooms which the house
contained. It was rarely opened, and never used except when, at long and
rare intervals, a formal caller, of whom there were not many in that
country, was invited to enter it and to feel the way to a chilly,
slippery seat. There were two good reasons for the room's disuse. One
was that social preeminence in the Pennyroyal Region demanded a dark and
disused parlor, although it did not militate against a bed in the living
room. Formal visitors expected to grope their way through impenetrable
gloom to invisible seats. Accidents sometimes happened, it is true, as
when, upon one occasion, old lady Gordon, in calling upon Miss Judy
shortly before Major Bramwell left for Virginia, sat down in a large
chair, without being aware that it was already occupied by the major,
who was a very small man. The second good reason for the room's not
being used was that in cool weather Miss Judy could not get fuel for
another fire. It was all that Merica could do, all the year round, to
find enough wood for one fire; the stray sticks dropped from passing
wagons, an occasional branch fallen from the old locust trees which
lined the big road, and the regular basket of chips picked up behind the
cabinet-maker's shop, barely sufficing to keep up a small blaze in the
corner of the fireplace in the living room, which was also the sisters'
bedroom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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