The Story of a Country TownHowe, E. W. (Edgar Watson)
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The Story of a Country Town
Howe, E. W. (Edgar Watson)
Frontier and pioneer life -- Kansas -- Fiction
Perhaps I worried so much about Jo at this time that I never tried to
form an opinion as to whether she loved her husband as much as I knew he
loved her, or whether her dejected manner was due to mortification or
regret. I was witness to incidents which confirmed me in both these
opinions, so that I think I must have concluded that one caused her as
much trouble as the other. I often thought to speak to her and say she
misjudged me; that I would gladly serve her if I could, and that in my
friendship for Jo I had no unkind thought of her, but the favorable
opportunity never came, and I neglected it.
Although at long intervals Agnes came to visit my mother, she usually
went away again before I had seen her, and only once during this time
did I find opportunity to visit her at the mill. It was in the winter,
when my mother seemed much better, and I was greatly impressed by the
change at the mill. The heavy wooden shutters formerly at the windows
were taken down entirely, or left wide open; the thick growth of trees
had been cleared out, and in every way the house seemed more cheerful
than it had been. I could no longer, as I had done before, think of the
house as the home of a desperate man who had retired with his ill-gotten
gains and who was always expecting occasion to defend himself; and I
thought I had never seen Agnes look so contented and happy as she did in
her own home, although she had always been that. A great lump rose in my
throat as I remembered that all of them seemed to be getting on better
than myself, for as I looked around the pleasant place, the cheerless
rooms at home, where my mother sat the day out and in again, appeared
before me; I thought of the unhappiness at Jo’s, where I intended to
stop on my return, of my father wandering about, a homeless and
disgraced man, and of my tiresome work, which seemed never to end, but I
could not help feeling keen pleasure that patient Agnes had reason to be
happy at last, as I knew she was, for every action showed it, and the
house and everything in it seemed to be repeating it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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