Marriage -- Fiction; Virginia -- Fiction; Wives -- Fiction; Women -- Fiction
And now I must tell you about our house, for I know you are dying to
hear how we are fixed. It's the tiniest one you ever imagined, with a
front yard the size of a pocket handkerchief, and it is painted the most
perfectly hideous shade of yellow--the shade father always calls
bilious. I can't understand why they made it so ugly, but, then, the
whole town is just as ugly as our house is. The people here don't seem
to have the least bit of taste. All the porches have dreadful brown
ornaments along the top of them, and they look exactly as if they were
made out of gingerbread. There are very few gardens, and nobody takes
any care of these. I suppose one reason is that it is almost impossible
to get servants for love or money. There are hardly any darkies here,
they say, and the few they have are perfectly worthless. Mrs.
Midden--the woman who opened my house for me--hasn't been able to get me
a cook, and we'll either have to take our meals at a boarding-house
across the street, or I shall have to put to practise the lessons you
gave me. I am so glad you made me learn how to housekeep and to cook,
because I am certain that I shall have greater need of both of these
accomplishments than of either drawing or music. Oliver was simply
horrified when I told him so. He said he'd rather starve than see me in
the kitchen, and he urged me to get you to send us a servant from
Dinwiddie--but things are so terribly costly here--you never dreamed of
such prices--that I really don't believe we can afford to have one come.
Then, Mrs. Midden says that they get ruined just as soon as they are
brought here. Everybody tries it at first, she told me, and it has
always proved a disappointment in the end. I am perfectly sure that I
shan't mind cooking at all--and as for cleaning up this little
house--why, it won't take me an hour--but Oliver almost weeps every time
I mention it. He is afraid every instant he is away from me that I am
lonesome or something has happened to me, and whenever he has ten
minutes free he runs up here to see what I am doing. Do you know he has
made me promise not to go out by myself until I am used to the place.
Isn't that too absurd?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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