Bold Words at the Bridge Page #3

"Bold Words at the Bridge" is a short story by Sarah Orne Jewett, exploring themes of communication, connection, and the power of words in shaping relationships. Set against the backdrop of a quaint New England landscape, it delves into the interactions between characters who navigate the complexities of their emotions and experiences. Through rich descriptions and evocative dialogue, Jewett captures the intricacies of human connection, reflecting on how language can both bridge and divide. The story invites readers to contemplate the significance of expression in their own lives.

• Short story

								


"I don't know but I 'll slip on me bonnet in the afthernoon and go find
her," said Biddy Connelly, with hospitable warmth.  "I 've seen her
before, perhaps 't was long whiles ago at home."

"Indeed I thought of it myself," said Mrs. Dunleavy, with approval.
"We 'd best wait, perhaps, till she 'd be coming back; there's no train
now till three o'clock.  She might stop here till the five, and we 'll
find out all about her.  She 'll have a very lonesome day, whoiver she
is.  Did you see that old goat 'ating the best of me fairy-fingers that
all bloomed the day?" she asked eagerly, afraid that the conversation
might come to an end at any moment; but Mrs. Connelly took no notice of
so trivial a subject.

"Me melons is all getting ripe," she announced, with an air of
satisfaction.  "There 's a big one must be ate now while we can; it's
down in the cellar cooling itself, an' I 'd like to be dropping it,
getting down the stairs.  'Twas afther picking it I was before
breakfast, itself having begun to crack open.  Himself was the b'y that
loved a melon, an' I ain't got the heart to look at it alone.  Coom
over, will ye, Mary?"

"'Deed then an' I will," said Mrs. Dunleavy, whose face was close
against the mosquito netting.  "Them old pumpkin vines was no good anny
way; did you see how one of them had the invintion, and wint away up on
the fince entirely wit' its great flowers, an' there come a rain on
'em, and so they all blighted?  I 'd no call to grow such stramming
great things in my piece annyway, 'ating up all the goodness from me
beautiful cabbages."

III.

That afternoon the reunited friends sat banqueting together and keeping
an eye on the road.  They had so much to talk over and found each other
so agreeable that it was impossible to dwell with much regret upon the
long estrangement.  When the melon was only half finished the stranger
of the morning, with her large unopened bundle and the heavy handbag,
was seen making her way up the hill.  She wore such a weary and
disappointed look that she was accosted and invited in by both the
women, and being proved by Mrs. Connelly to be an old acquaintance, she
joined them at their feast.

"Yes, I was here seventeen years ago for the last time," she explained.
"I was working in Lawrence, and I came over and spent a fortnight with
Honora Flaherty; then I wint home that year to mind me old mother, and
she lived to past ninety.  I 'd nothing to keep me then, and I was
always homesick afther America, so back I come to it, but all me old
frinds and neighbors is changed and gone.  Faix, this is the first
welcome I 've got yet from anny one.  'Tis a beautiful welcome,
too,--I'll get me apron out of me bundle, by your l'ave, Mrs. Con'ly.
You 've a strong resemblance to Flaherty's folks, dear, being cousins.
Well, 't is a fine thing to have good neighbors.  You an' Mrs. Dunleavy
is very pleasant here so close together."

"Well, we does be having a hasty word now and then, ma'am," confessed
Mrs. Dunleavy, "but ourselves is good neighbors this manny years.  Whin
a quarrel's about nothing betune friends, it don't count for much, so
it don't."

"Most quarrels is the same way," said the stranger, who did not like
melons, but accepted a cup of hot tea.  "Sure, it always takes two to
make a quarrel, and but one to end it; that's what me mother always
told me, that never gave anny one a cross word in her life."

"'T is a beautiful melon," repeated Mrs. Dunleavy for the seventh time.
"Sure, I 'll plant a few seed myself next year; me pumpkins is no good
afther all me foolish pride wit' 'em.  Maybe the land don't suit 'em,
but glory be to God, me cabbages is the size of the house, an' you 'll
git the pick of the best, Mrs. Con'ly."

"What's melons betune friends, or cabbages ayther, that they should
ever make any trouble?" answered Mrs. Connelly handsomely, and the
great feud was forever ended.

But the stranger, innocent that she was the harbinger of peace, could
hardly understand why Bridget Connelly insisted upon her staying all
night and talking over old times, and why the two women put on their
bonnets and walked, one on either hand, to see the town with her that
evening.  As they crossed the bridge they looked at each other shyly,
and then began to laugh.

"Well, I missed it the most on Sundays going all alone to mass,"
confessed Mary Dunleavy.  "I 'm glad there's no one here seeing us go
over, so I am."

"'T was ourselves had bold words at the bridge, once, that we 've got
the laugh about now," explained Mrs. Connelly politely to the stranger.
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