The Brimming Cup
CHAPTER XVII
THE SOUL OF NELLY POWERS
July 20.
The big pine was good for one thing, anyhow, if it did keep the
house as dark as a cellar with the black shade it made. The
side-porch was nice and cool even on a hot summer day, just right
for making butter. If it wasn't for the horrid pitch-piny smell the
tree wouldn't be so bad. The churning was getting along fine too.
The dasher was beginning to go the blob-blob way that showed in a
minute or two the butter would be there. It had been a real good
idea to get up early and get the work out of the way so that the
churning could be done before it got so hot. A thunder-storm was
coming, too, probably. You could feel it in the air. There, perhaps
the butter had come, now. Nelly pushed the dasher down slowly and
drew it back with care, turning her ear to listen expertly to the
sound it made. No, not yet, there wasn't that watery splash yet
that came after it had separated.
She went on with the regular rhythmic motion, her eyes fixed
dreamily on the round hole in the cover of the churn, through which
the dasher-handle went up and down and which was now rimmed with
thick yellow cream. She loved to churn, Nelly thought. She loved to
have milk to look out for, anyhow, from the time it came in from
the barn, warm and foamy and sweet-smelling, till the time when she
had taken off the thick, sour cream, like shammy-skin, and then
poured the loppered milk spatteringly into the pigs' trough. She
liked seeing how the pigs loved it, sucking it up, their eyes half
shut because it tasted so good. There wasn't anything that was
better than giving people or animals what they liked to eat. It
made her feel good all over to throw corn to the hens and see how
they scrabbled for it. She just loved to get a bag of stick candy
at the store, when she went to town, and see how Addie and Ralph
and little 'Gene jumped up and down when they saw it.
And then it was so nice to be fore-handed and get the churning
out of the way before noon. She would have time this afternoon
after the dishes were done, to sit right down with that sprigged
calico dress for little Addie. She could get the seams all run up
on the machine before supper-time, and have the hand-work,
buttonholes and finishing, for pick-up work for odd minutes. She
just loved to sit and sew, in a room all nice and picked up, and
know the house-work was done.
That would be a real pretty dress, she thought, with the
pink sprigs and the pink feather-stitching in mercerized cotton she
was going to put on it. Addie would look sweet in it. And if it was
washed careful and dried in the shade it wouldn't fade so much. It
was a good bright pink to start with. Only Addie ought to have a
new hat to wear with it. A white straw with pink flowers on it. But
that would cost a couple of dollars, anyhow, everything was so dear
now. Oh well, 'Gene would let her buy it. 'Gene would let her do
most anything.
She thought with pity of her sisters, mill-hands in West Adams
still, or married to mill-hands, men who got drunk on the sly and
didn't work regular, and wanted a full half of all they made for
themselves. 'Gene and his mother were always scolding about the
money they could have had if they'd kept that wood-land on the
mountain. They'd ought to ha' been really poor the way she had
been, so's you didn't know where the next meal was coming from, or
how the rent was going to be paid. She had been awfully lucky to
get 'Gene, who let her decide how much money ought to be spent on
the children's clothes and hers, and never said a thing, or scolded
or bothered. He was kind of funny, 'Gene was, always so
sober and solemn, and it was a sort of bother to have him so
crazy about her still. That had been all right when they were
engaged, and first married. She had liked it all right then,
although it always seemed sort of foolish to her. But men
were that way! Only now, when there were three children and
another one coming, and the house to be kept nice, and the work
done up right, and the farmwork and everything going so good, and
so much on her mind, why, it seemed as though they'd ought to have
other things to think about beside kissings and huggings. Not that
'Gene didn't do his share of the work. He was a fine farmer, as
good as anybody in the valley. But he never could settle down, and
be comfortable and quiet with her, like it was natural for old
married folks to do. If she went by him, close, so her arm touched
him, why then, if nobody was there he'd grab at her and kiss her
and rumple her hair, and set her all back in her work. With all she
had to do and think of, and she did her work as good as anybody if
she did say it who shouldn't, she had her day planned before she
turned her feet out of bed in the morning. And she liked to have
things go the way she planned them. She liked 'Gene all
right, only she had her work to get done.
She churned meditatively, looking off towards the mountain where
the Eagle Rocks heaved themselves up stiff and straight and high.
'Gene's mother came to the door, asked if the butter was coming all
right, looked at her, and said, "My! Nelly, you get better looking
every day you live," and went back to her bread-baking.
Nelly went on with her reflections about 'Gene. It was more than
just that he bothered her and put her back with her work. She
really didn't think it was just exactly nice and refined to be so
crazy about anybody as that. Well, there was a streak in the
Powerses that wasn't refined. 'Gene's mother! gracious! When she
got going, laughing and carrying-on, what wouldn't she say, right
out before anybody! And dancing still like a young girl! And that
hateful old Mrs. Hewitt, just after they'd moved back to Ashley,
didn't she have to go and tell her about 'Gene's being born too
soon after his father and mother were married? 'Gene took it from
his mother she supposed; he wa'an't to blame, really. But she hoped
Addie and Ralph would be like her folks. Not but what the
Powerses were good-hearted enough. 'Gene was a good man, if he was
queer, and an awful good papa to Addie and Ralph and little 'Gene.
None of her sisters had got a man half so good. That sprigged dress
would look good with feather-stitching around the hem, too. Why
hadn't she thought of that before? She hadn't got enough mercerized
thread in the house, she didn't believe, to do it all; and it was
such a nuisance to run out of the thread you had to have, and
nobody going to the village for goodness knows when, with the
farmwork behind the way it was, on account of the rains.
She shifted her position and happened to bring one of her feet
into view. Without disturbing a single beat of the regular rhythm
of the dasher, she tilted her head to look at it with approbation.
If there was one thing she was particular about it was her shoes.
She took such comfort in having them nice. They could say what they
pleased, folks could, but high heels suited her feet. Maybe
some folks, that had great broad feet like that old Indian
Touclé, felt better in those awful, sloppy old gunboats they
called "Common-sense shoes," but she didn't! It would make
her sick to wear them! How they did look! Was there anything so
pretty, anyhow, as a fine-leather shoe with a nice pointed toe, and
a pretty, curved-in heel? It made you feel refined, and as good as
anybody, even if you had on a calico dress with it. That was
another nice thing about 'Gene, how he'd stand up for her about
wearing the kind of shoes she wanted. Let anybody start to pick on
her about it, if 'twas his own mother, he'd shut 'em up short, and
say Nelly could wear what she liked he guessed. Even when the
doctor had said so strict that she hadn't ought to wear them in the
time before the babies came, 'Gene never said a word, when he saw
her doing it.
There, the butter was just almost there. She could hear the
buttermilk begin to swash! She turned her head to call to her
mother-in-law to bring a pitcher for the buttermilk, when a sound
of galloping hoofs echoed from the road. Nelly frowned, released
her hold on the dasher, listened an instant, and ran into the
house. She went right upstairs to her room as provoked as she could
be. Well, she would make the bed and do the room-work anyhow, so's
not to waste all that time. She'd be that much ahead,
anyhow. And as soon as Frank had finished chinning with Mother
Powers, and had gone, she'd go back and finish her churning. She
felt mad all through at the thought of that cream left at just the
wrong minute, just as it was separating. Suppose Frank hung round
and hung around, the way he did often, and the sun got
higher and the cream got too warm, and she'd have to put in ice,
and go down cellar with it, and fuss over it all the rest of the
day? She was furious and thumped the pillows hard, with her
doubled-up fist. But if she went down, Frank'd hang around worse,
and talk so foolish she'd want to slap him. He wa'n't more'n
half-witted, sometimes, she thought. What was the matter
with men, anyhow? They didn't seem to have as much sense as so many
calves! You'd think Frank would think up something better to do
than to bother the life out of busy folks, sprawling around all
over creation the way he did. But she never had any luck! Before
Frank it had been that old Mrs. Hewitt, nosing around to see what
she could pick fault with in a person's housekeeping, looking under
the sink if you left her alone in the kitchen for a minute, and
opening your dresser drawers right before your face and eyes. Well,
Frank was getting to be most as much of a nuisance. He didn't peek
and snoop the way Mrs. Hewitt did, but he bothered; and he
was getting so impudent, too! He had the big-head because he was
the best dancer in the valley, that was what was the matter with
him, and he knew she liked to dance with him. Well, she did. But
she would like to dance with anybody who danced good. If 'Gene
didn't clump so with his feet, she'd love to dance with him. And
Frank needn't think he was so much either. That city man who was
staying with the old man next to the Crittendens was just as good a
dancer as Frank, just exactly as light on his feet. She didn't like
him a bit. She thought he was just plain fresh, the way he told
Frank to go on dancing with her. What was it to him! But she'd
dance with him just the same, if she got the chance. How she just
loved to dance! Something seemed to get into her, when the music
struck up. She hardly knew what she was doing, felt as though she
was floating around on that thick, soft moss you walked on when you
went blue-berrying on the Burning above the Eagle Rocks . . . all
springly. . . . If you could only dance by yourself, without having
to bother with partners, that was what would be nice.
She stepped to the door to listen, and heard 'Gene's mother
cackling away like an old hen. How she would carry on, with anybody
that came along! She hadn't never settled down, not a bit really,
for all she had been married and was a widow and was old. It wa'n't
nice to be so lively as that, at her age. But she wasn't
nice, Mother Powers wasn't, for all she was good to Addie and Ralph
and little 'Gene. Nelly liked nice people, she thought, as she went
back to shake the rag rugs out of the window; refined ladies like
Mrs. Bayweather, the minister's wife. That was the way she
wanted to be, and have little Addie grow up. She lingered at the
window a moment looking up at the thick dark branches of the big
pine. How horrid it was to have that great tree so close to the
house! It shaded the bedroom so that there was a musty smell no
matter how much it was aired. And the needles dropped down so messy
too, and spoiled the grass.
Frank's voice came up the stairs, bold, laughing, "Nelly, Nelly,
come down here a minute. I want to ask you something!"
"I can't," she called back. Didn't he have the nerve!
"Why can't you?" the skeptical question came from halfway up the
stairs. "I saw you on the side-porch, just as I came up."
Nelly cast about for an excuse. Of course you had to have some
reason for saying you couldn't see a neighbor who came in.
She had an inspiration. "I'm washing my hair," she called back,
taking out the hair-pins hastily, as she spoke. The great coils
came tumbling down on her shoulders. She soused them in the water
pitcher, and went to the door, opening it a crack, tipping her head
forward so that the water streamed on the floor. "Can't you ask
Mother Powers for whatever it is?" she said impatiently. She wished
as she spoke that she could ever speak right out sharp and scratchy
the way other people did. She was too easy, that was the
trouble.
"Well," said Frank, astonished, "you be, for a fact."
He went back down the stairs, and Nelly shut the door. She was
hot all over with impatience about that butter. When it wasn't one
thing to keep her from her work, it was another. Her hair all wet
now. And such a job to dry it!
She heard voices in the kitchen, and the screen-door open. Thank
goodness, Frank was going away! Oh my! Maybe he was going to the
village! He could bring some of the pink mercerized cotton on his
way back. He might as well be of some use in the world. She
thrust her head out of the window. "Frank, Frank, wait a minute!"
she called. She ran back to her work-basket, cut a length from a
spool of thread, wound it around a bit of paper, and went again to
the window. "Say, Frank, get me two spools of cotton to match that,
will you, at Warner and Hardy's."
He rode his horse past the big pine, under her window, and stood
up in the stirrups, looking up boldly at her, her hair in thick wet
curls about her face. "I'd do anything for you!" he said jokingly,
catching at the paper she threw down to him.
She slammed the window down hard. How provoking he was! But
anyhow she would have enough thread to feather-stitch that hem.
She'd got that much out of him. The thought made up to her for some
of the annoyance of the morning. She put a towel around her
shoulders under her wet hair, and waited till he was actually out
of sight around the bend of the road. It seemed to her that she saw
something stir in the long grass in the meadow there. Could the
woodchucks be getting so close to the house as that? She'd have to
tie Towser up by her lettuce, nights, if they were.
Gracious, there it was thundering, off behind the Rocks! She'd
have to hustle, if she got the butter done before the storm came.
When Frank had really disappeared, she ran downstairs, and rushed
out to her churn. She felt of it anxiously, her face clearing to
note that it seemed no warmer than when she had left it. Maybe it
was all right still. She began to plunge the dasher up and down.
Well, it had gone back some, she could tell by the feel, but not so
much, she guessed, but what she could make it come all right.
As she churned, she thought again of Frank Warner. This was the
limit! He got so on her nerves, she declared to herself she didn't
care if he never danced with her again. She wished she had
more spunk, like some girls, and could just send him packing. But
she never could think of any sharp things to say to folks, in time.
She was too easy, she knew that, always had been. Look how long she
had put up with Mrs. Hewitt's snooping around. And then in the end
she had got cold feet and had had to sick 'Gene on to her, to tell
her they didn't want her sitting around all the time and sponging
off them at meal-times.
But somehow she didn't want to ask 'Gene to speak to Frank that
way. She was afraid somehow it would get 'Gene excited. Mostly he
was so still, and then all of a sudden he'd flare up and she never
could see a thing to make him then more than any time. The best
thing to do with Gene was to keep him quiet, just as much as she
could, not do anything to get him started. That was why she never
went close up to him or put her arms around his neck of her own
accord. She'd like to pet him and make over him, the way she
did over the children, but it always seemed to get him so stirred
up and everything. Men were funny, anyhow! She often had thought
how nice it would be if 'Gene could only be another woman. They
could have such good times together.
Why, here was 'Gene himself come in from cultivating corn right
in the middle of the morning. Maybe he wanted a drink. He came up
on the porch, without looking at her and went into the house. How
heavy he walked. But then he always did. That was the trouble with
his dancing. You had to step light, to be a good dancer.
There was a crack of thunder again, nearer than the first one.
She heard him ask his mother, "Frank Warner been here?"
And Mother Powers say, "Yes, he come in to ask if we could loan
him our compass. He's going to go up tomorrow in the Eagle Rock
woods to run out the line between the Warner and the Benson
woodlots. The Warners have sold the popple on theirs to the
Crittenden mill, and Frank says the blazes are all barked over,
they're so old."
Oh goody! thought Nelly, there the butter was, come all at once.
The buttermilk was splashing like water. Yes, even there around the
hole you could see the little yellow specks. Well, she needn't have
got so provoked, after all. That was fine. Now she could get at
that sprigged dress for Addie, after all, this afternoon.
'Gene came out on the porch again. She looked at him and smiled.
She felt very happy and relieved that the butter had come so that
she could finish working it over before noon.
'Gene glowered at her smiling face and at her hair curling and
shining all down her back. How cross he looked! Oh bother! Excited
too. Well, what could the matter be, now? She should think
any man would be satisfied to come in, right in the middle of the
morning like that, without any warning, and find his house as spick
and span as a pin, and the butter churned and half the day's work
out of the way. She'd like to know what more he wanted? Who else
could do any better? Oh bother! How queer men were!
Yes, it would really be lots nicer if there were only women and
children in the world. Gracious! how that lightning made her jump!
The storm had got there quicker'n she'd thought. But the butter had
come, so it was all right.