By the River Page #3

"By the River" is a poignant novella by Sarah Orne Jewett that explores themes of nature, human connection, and the passage of time. Set in the rural landscape of New England, the story follows the reflective journey of the protagonist as she observes the beauty and simplicity of life along a riverbank. Through vivid descriptions and rich characterizations, Jewett captures the intimacy of relationships and the influence of the natural world on personal growth and identity. The work is celebrated for its lyrical prose and deep appreciation of the often-overlooked aspects of everyday life.

• Short story

								

soon lost all feeling of strangeness, and shared in the good
comradeship to which she had been willingly admitted. It was some time
since she had been on the water before, and she thought more than once
of her paddling about the river in her childhood, and even regaled the
company once with a most amusing mishap, at the remembrance of which
she had been forced to laugh outright. The river was broad and brimful
of water; it seemed high tide already, and the boats pulled easily.
The fields sloped down to the river-banks, shaded with elms and parted
by hedgerows like a bit of English country. The freshest bloom of the
June greenness was in every blade of grass and every leaf. The birds
were beginning to sing the long day to a close, and the lowing of
cattle echoed from the pastures again and again across the water;
while the country boats were going home from the town, sometimes with
a crew of women, who seemed to have made this their regular conveyance
instead of following the more roundabout highways ashore. Some of
these navigators rowed with a cross-handed stroke that jerked their
boats along in a droll fashion, and some were propelled by one groping
oar, the sculler standing at the stern as if he were trying to push
his craft out of water altogether and take to the air, toward which
the lifted bow pointed. And in one of the river reaches half a mile
ahead, two heavy packet boats, with high-peaked lateen sails, like a
great bird's single wing, were making all the speed they could toward
port before the tide should begin to fall two hours later. The young
guest of the party was very happy; she had spent so many of her
childish days out of doors that a return to such pleasures always
filled her with strange delight. The color was bright in her cheeks,
and her half-forgotten girlishness came back in the place of the
gravity and dignity that had brought of late a sedate young
womanliness to her manner. The two new friends in the stern of the
boat were greatly attracted to her, and merry laughter rang out now
and then. Nan was so brave and handsome, so willing to be pleased, and
so grateful to them for this little festivity, that they quickly
became interested in each other, as girls will. The commander thought
himself a fortunate fellow, and took every chance of turning his head
to catch a glimpse of our heroine, though he always had a good excuse
of taking his bearings or inspecting for himself some object afloat or
ashore which one of the boat's company had pointed out. And Nan must
be told the names of the distant hills which stood out clear in the
afternoon light, and to what towns up river the packet boats were
bound, and so the time seemed short before the light dory was run in
among the coarse river grass and pulled up higher than seemed
necessary upon the shore.

Their companions had not chosen so fleet a craft, and were five
instead of four at any rate, but they were welcomed somewhat
derisively, and all chattered together in a little crowd for a few
minutes before they started for a bit of woodland which overhung the
river on a high point. The wind rustled the oak leaves and roughened
the surface of the water, which spread out into a wide inland bay. The
clouds began to gather in the west and to take on wonderful colors, as
if such a day must be ended with a grand ceremony, and the sun go down
through banners and gay parades of all the forces of the sky. Nan had
watched such sunsets from her favorite playground at the farm, and
somehow the memory of those days touched her heart more tenderly than
they had ever done before, and she wished for a moment that she could
get away from the noisy little flock who were busy getting the supper
ready, though they said eagerly what a beautiful evening it would be
to go back to town, and that they must go far up the river first to
meet the moonlight.

In a few minutes Nan heard some one say that water must be brought
from a farm-house not far away, and quickly insisted that she should
make one of the messengers, and after much discussion and
remonstrance, she and young Gerry found themselves crossing the open
field together. The girl had left her hat swinging from one of the low
oak branches; she wondered why Mary Parish had looked at her first as
if she were very fond of her, and then almost appealingly, until the
remembrance of Captain Walter's bit of gossip came to mind too late to
be acted upon. Nan felt a sudden sympathy, and was sorry she had not
thought to share with this favorite among her new friends, the
companion whom she had joined so carelessly. George Gerry had some
very attractive ways. He did not trouble Nan with unnecessary
attentions, as some young men had, and she told herself again, how
much she liked him. They walked fast, with free, light steps, and
talked as they went in a way that was very pleasant to both of them.
Nan was wise to a marvel, the good fellow told himself, and yet such
an amusing person. He did not know when he had liked anybody so much;
he was very glad to stand well in the sight of these sweet, clear
eyes, and could not help telling their owner some of the things that
lay very near his heart. He had wished to get away from Dunport; he
had not room there; everybody knew him as well as they knew the
courthouse; he somehow wanted to get to deeper water, and out of his
depth, and then swim for it with the rest. And Nan listened with deep
sympathy, for she also had felt that a great engine of strength and
ambition was at work with her in her plans and studies.

She waited until he should have finished his confidence, to say a word
from her own experience, but just then they reached the farm-house and
stood together at the low door. There was a meagre show of flowers in
the little garden, which the dripping eaves had beaten and troubled in
the late rains, and one rosebush was loosely caught to the clapboards
here and there.

There did not seem to be anybody in the kitchen, into which they could
look through the open doorway, though they could hear steps and voices
from some part of the house beyond it; and it was not until they had
knocked again loudly that a woman came to answer them, looking worried
and pale.

"I never was so glad to see folks, though I don't know who you be,"
she said hurriedly. "I believe I shall have to ask you to go for help.
My man's got hurt; he managed to get home, but he's broke his
shoulder, or any ways 'tis out o' place. He was to the pasture, and
we've got some young cattle, and somehow or 'nother one he'd caught
and was meaning to lead home give a jump, and John lost his balance;
he says he can't see how 't should 'a' happened, but over he went and
got jammed against a rock before he could let go o' the rope he'd put
round the critter's neck. He's in dreadful pain so 't I couldn't leave
him, and there's nobody but me an' the baby. You'll have to go to the
next house and ask them to send; Doctor Bent's always attended of us."
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