By the River Page #4

"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

								


"Let me see him," said Nan with decision. "Wait a minute, Mr. Gerry,
or perhaps you had better come in too," and she led the way, while the
surprised young man and the mistress of the house followed her. The
patient was a strong young fellow, who sat on the edge of the bed in
the little kitchen-bedroom, pale as ashes, and holding one elbow with
a look of complete misery, though he stopped his groans as the
strangers came in.

"Lord bless you, young man! don't wait here," he said; "tell the
doctor it may only be out o' place, but I feel as if 'twas broke."

But Nan had taken a pair of scissors from the high mantelpiece and was
making a cut in the coarse, white shirt, which was already torn and
stained by its contact with the ground, and with quick fingers and a
look of deep interest made herself sure what had happened, when she
stood still for a minute and seemed a little anxious, and all at once
entirely determined. "Just lie down on the floor a minute," she said,
and the patient with some exclamations, but no objections, obeyed.

Nan pushed the spectators into the doorway of the kitchen, and quickly
stooped and unbuttoned her right boot, and then planted her foot on
the damaged shoulder and caught up the hand and gave a quick pull, the
secret of which nobody understood; but there was an unpleasant cluck
as the bone went back into its socket, and a yell from the sufferer,
who scrambled to his feet.

"I'll be hanged if she ain't set it," he said, looking quite weak and
very much astonished. "You're the smartest young woman I ever see. I
shall have to lay down just to pull my wits together. Marthy, a drink
of water," and by the time this was brought the excitement seemed to
be at an end, though the patient was a little faint, and his wife
looked at Nan admiringly. Nan herself was fastening her boot again
with unwonted composure. George Gerry had not a word to say, and
listened to a simple direction of Nan's as if it were meant for him,
and acceded to her remark that she was glad for the shoulder's sake
that it did not have to wait and grow worse and worse all the while
the doctor was being brought from town. And after a few minutes, when
the volley of thanks and compliments could be politely cut short, the
two members of the picnic party set forth with their pail of water to
join their companions.

"Will you be so good as to tell me how you knew enough to do that?"
asked Mr. Gerry humbly, and looking at his companion with admiration.
"I should not have had the least idea."

"I was very glad it turned out so well," said Nan simply. "It was a
great pleasure to be of use, they were so frightened, poor things. We
won't say anything about it, will we?"

But the young man did not like to think yet of the noise the returning
bone had made. He was stout-hearted enough usually; as brave a fellow
as one could wish to see; but he felt weak and womanish, and somehow
wished it had been he who could play the doctor. Nan hurried back
bareheaded to the oak grove as if nothing had happened, though, if
possible, she looked gayer and brighter than ever. And when the
waiting party scolded a little at their slow pace, Miss Prince was
much amused and made two or three laughing apologies for their
laziness, and even ventured to give the information that they had made
a pleasant call at the farm-house.

The clouds were fading fast and the twilight began to gather under the
trees before they were ready to go away, and then the high tide had
floated off one of the boats, which must be chased and brought back.
But presently the picnickers embarked, and, as the moon came up, and
the river ebbed, the boats went back to the town and overtook others
on the way, and then were pulled up stream again in the favoring eddy
to make the evening's pleasure longer; at last Nan was left at her
door. She had managed that George Gerry should give Mary Parish his
arm, and told them, as they came up the street with her from the
wharf, that she had heard their voices Saturday night as they passed
under her window: it was Mary Parish herself who had talked about the
best room and its ghosts.
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