Aunt Cynthy Dallett

"Aunt Cynthy Dallett" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a short story that captures the nuances of rural New England life through the lens of familial relationships and the wisdom of older generations. The narrative revolves around the titular character, Aunt Cynthy, who embodies the strength and resilience of women in a changing world. Through her interactions with younger characters, the story explores themes of heritage, the passage of time, and the importance of storytelling. Jewett's lyrical prose and keen observations offer a rich portrait of community and the enduring bonds of love and tradition.

• Short story

								
                                   I.

“No,” said Mrs. Hand, speaking wistfully,—“no, we never were in the
habit of keeping Christmas at our house. Mother died when we were all
young; she would have been the one to keep up with all new ideas, but
father and grandmother were old-fashioned folks, and—well, you know how
’twas then, Miss Pendexter: nobody took much notice of the day except to
wish you a Merry Christmas.”

“They didn’t do much to make it merry, certain,” answered Miss
Pendexter. “Sometimes nowadays I hear folks complainin’ o’ bein’
overtaxed with all the Christmas work they have to do.”

“Well, others think that it makes a lovely chance for all that really
enjoys givin’; you get an opportunity to speak your kind feelin’ right
out,” answered Mrs. Hand, with a bright smile. “But there! I shall
always keep New Year’s Day, too; it won’t do no hurt to have an extra
day kept an’ made pleasant. And there’s many of the real old folks have
got pretty things to remember about New Year’s Day.”

“Aunt Cynthy Dallett’s just one of ’em,” said Miss Pendexter. “She’s
always very reproachful if I don’t get up to see her. Last year I missed
it, on account of a light fall o’ snow that seemed to make the walkin’
too bad, an’ she sent a neighbor’s boy ’way down from the mount’in to
see if I was sick. Her lameness confines her to the house altogether
now, an’ I have her on my mind a good deal. How anybody does get
thinkin’ of those that lives alone, as they get older! I waked up only
last night with a start, thinkin’ if Aunt Cynthy’s house should get
afire or anything, what she would do, ’way up there all alone. I was
half dreamin’, I s’pose, but I couldn’t seem to settle down until I got
up an’ went upstairs to the north garret window to see if I could see
any light; but the mountains was all dark an’ safe, same ’s usual. I
remember noticin’ last time I was there that her chimney needed
pointin’, and I spoke to her about it,—the bricks looked poor in some
places.”

“Can you see the house from your north gable window?” asked Mrs. Hand, a
little absently.

“Yes’m; it’s a great comfort that I can,” answered her companion. “I
have often wished we were near enough to have her make me some sort o’
signal in case she needed help. I used to plead with her to come down
and spend the winters with me, but she told me one day I might as well
try to fetch down one o’ the old hemlocks, an’ I believe ’twas true.”

“Your aunt Dallett is a very self-contained person,” observed Mrs. Hand.

“Oh, very!” exclaimed the elderly niece, with a pleased look. “Aunt
Cynthy laughs, an’ says she expects the time will come when age ’ll
compel her to have me move up an’ take care of her; and last time I was
there she looked up real funny, an’ says, ‘I do’ know, Abby; I’m most
afeard sometimes that I feel myself beginnin’ to look for’ard to it!’
’Twas a good deal, comin’ from Aunt Cynthy, an’ I so esteemed it.”

“She ought to have you there now,” said Mrs. Hand. “You’d both make a
savin’ by doin’ it; but I don’t expect she needs to save as much as
some. There! I know just how you both feel. I like to have my own home
an’ do everything just my way too.” And the friends laughed, and looked
at each other affectionately.

“There was old Mr. Nathan Dunn,—left no debts an’ no money when he
died,” said Mrs. Hand. “’Twas over to his niece’s last summer. He had a
little money in his wallet, an’ when the bill for funeral expenses come
in there was just exactly enough; some item or other made it come to so
many dollars an’ eighty-four cents, and, lo an’ behold! there was
eighty-four cents in a little separate pocket beside the neat fold o’
bills, as if the old gentleman had known beforehand. His niece couldn’t
help laughin’, to save her; she said the old gentleman died as
methodical as he lived. She didn’t expect he had any money, an’ was
prepared to pay for everything herself; she’s very well off.”

“’Twas funny, certain,” said Miss Pendexter. “I expect he felt
comfortable, knowin’ he had that money by him. ’Tis a comfort, when all
’s said and done, ‘specially to folks that ’s gettin’ old.”

A sad look shadowed her face for an instant, and then she smiled and
rose to take leave, looking expectantly at her hostess to see if there
were anything more to be said.

“I hope to come out square myself,” she said, by way of farewell
pleasantry; “but there are times when I feel doubtful.”

Mrs. Hand was evidently considering something, and waited a moment or
two before she spoke. “Suppose we both walk up to see your aunt Dallett,
New Year’s Day, if it ain’t too windy and the snow keeps off?” she
proposed. “I couldn’t rise the hill if ’twas a windy day. We could take
a hearty breakfast an’ start in good season; I’d rather walk than ride,
the road’s so rough this time o’ year.”

“Oh, what a person you are to think o’ things! I did so dread goin’ ’way
up there all alone,” said Abby Pendexter. “I’m no hand to go off alone,
an’ I had it before me, so I really got to dread it. I do so enjoy it
after I get there, seein’ Aunt Cynthy, an’ she’s always so much better
than I expect to find her.”

“Well, we’ll start early,” said Mrs. Hand cheerfully; and so they
parted. As Miss Pendexter went down the foot-path to the gate, she sent
grateful thoughts back to the little sitting-room she had just left.

“How doors are opened!” she exclaimed to herself. “Here I’ve been so
poor an’ distressed at beginnin’ the year with nothin’, as it were, that
I couldn’t think o’ even goin’ to make poor old Aunt Cynthy a friendly
call. I’ll manage to make some kind of a little pleasure too, an’
somethin’ for dear Mis’ Hand. ‘Use what you’ve got,’ mother always used
to say when every sort of an emergency come up, an’ I may only have
wishes to give, but I’ll make ’em good ones!”

                                  II.

The first day of the year was clear and bright, as if it were a New
Year’s pattern of what winter can be at its very best. The two friends
were prepared for changes of weather, and met each other well wrapped in
their winter cloaks and shawls, with sufficient brown barége veils tied
securely over their bonnets. They ignored for some time the plain truth
that each carried something under her arm; the shawls were rounded out
suspiciously, especially Miss Pendexter’s, but each respected the
other’s air of secrecy. The narrow road was frozen in deep ruts, but a
smooth-trodden little foot-path that ran along its edge was very
inviting to the wayfarers. Mrs. Hand walked first and Miss Pendexter
followed, and they were talking busily nearly all the way, so that they
had to stop for breath now and then at the tops of the little hills. It
was not a hard walk; there were a good many almost level stretches
through the woods, in spite of the fact that they should be a very great
deal higher when they reached Mrs. Dallett’s door.

“I do declare, what a nice day ’tis, an’ such pretty footin’!” said Mrs.
Hand, with satisfaction. “Seems to me as if my feet went o’ themselves;

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