Miss Debby's Neighbors Page #2

"Miss Debby's Neighbors," written by Sarah Orne Jewett, is a short story that captures the lives of residents in a small coastal town in New England. Through the lens of Miss Debby, a kind-hearted and observant woman, the narrative explores the dynamics of community, friendship, and the subtleties of everyday life. Jewett's rich, descriptive prose brings to life the interactions between neighbors, revealing the hidden depths of their relationships and the impact of social connections. This story reflects themes of observation, compassion, and the comfort found in familiar surroundings.

• Short story

								

could do to keep along then; and if anybody was called rich, it was only
because he had a great sight of land,--and then it was drudge, drudge
the harder to pay the taxes. There was hardly any ready money; and I
recollect well that old Tommy Simms was reputed wealthy, and it was told
over fifty times a year that he'd got a solid four thousand dollars in
the bank. He strutted round like a turkey-cock, and thought he ought to
have his first say about everything that was going.

"I was talking about the Ashbys, wasn't I? I do' know's I ever told you
about the fight they had after their father died about the old house.
Joseph was married to a girl he met in camp-meeting time, who had a
little property--two or three hundred dollars--from an old great uncle
that she'd been keeping house for; and I don't know what other plans she
may have had for spending of her means, but she laid most of it out in a
husband; for Joseph never cared any great about her that I could see,
though he always treated her well enough. She was a poor ignorant sort
of thing, seven years older than he was; but she had a pleasant kind of
a face, and seemed like an overgrown girl of six or eight years old. I
remember just after they was married Joseph was taken down with a quinsy
sore throat,--being always subject to them,--and mother was over in the
forenoon, and she was one that was always giving right hand and left,
and she told Susan Ellen--that was his wife--to step over in the
afternoon and she would give her some blackberry preserve for him; she
had some that was nice and it was very healing. So along about half-past
one o'clock, just as we had got the kitchen cleared, and mother and I
had got out the big wheels to spin a few rolls,--we always liked to spin
together, and mother was always good company;--my brother Jonas--that
was the youngest of us--looked out of the window, and says he: 'Here
comes Joe Ashby's wife with a six-quart pail.'

"Mother she began to shake all over with a laugh she tried to swallow
down, but I didn't know what it was all about, and in come poor Susan
Ellen and lit on the edge of the first chair and set the pail down
beside of her. We tried to make her feel welcome, and spoke about
everything we could contrive, seein' as it was the first time she'd
been over; and she seemed grateful and did the best she could, and lost
her strangeness with mother right away, for mother was the best hand to
make folks feel to home with her that I ever come across. There ain't
many like her now, nor never was, I tell 'em. But there wa'n't nothing
said about the six-quart pail, and there it set on the floor, until
Susan Ellen said she must be going and mentioned that there was
something said about a remedy for Joseph's throat. 'Oh, yes,' says
mother, and she brought out the little stone jar she kept the preserve
in, and there wa'n't more than the half of it full. Susan Ellen took up
the cover off the pail, and I walked off into the bedroom, for I thought
I should laugh, certain. Mother put in a big spoonful, and another, and
I heard 'em drop, and she went on with one or two more, and then she
give up. 'I'd give you the jar and welcome,' she says, 'but I ain't very
well off for preserves, and I was kind of counting on this for tea in
case my brother's folks are over.' Susan Ellen thanked her, and said
Joseph would be obliged, and back she went acrost the pasture. I can see
that big tin pail now a-shining in the sun.

"The old man was alive then, and he took a great spite against poor
Susan Ellen, though he never would if he hadn't been set on by John; and
whether he was mad because Joseph had stepped in to so much good money
or what, I don't know,--but he twitted him about her, and at last he and
the old man between 'em was too much to bear, and Joe fitted up a couple
o' rooms for himself in a building he'd put up for a kind of work-shop.
He used to carpenter by spells, and he clapboarded it and made it as
comfortable as he could, and he ordered John out of it for good and all;
but he and Susan Ellen both treated the old sir the best they knew how,
and Joseph kept right on with his farm work same as ever, and meant to
lay up a little more money to join with his wife's, and push off as soon
as he could for the sake of peace, though if there was anybody set by
the farm it was Joseph. He was to blame for some things,--I never saw an
Ashby that wasn't,--and I dare say he was aggravating. They were
clearing a piece of woodland that winter, and the old man was laid up in
the house with the rheumatism, off and on, and that made him fractious,
and he and John connived together, till one day Joseph and Susan Ellen
had taken the sleigh and gone to Freeport Four Corners to get some flour
and one thing and another, and to have the horse shod beside, so they
was likely to be gone two or three hours. John Jacobs was going by with
his oxen, and John Ashby and the old man hailed him, and said they'd
give him a dollar if he'd help 'em, and they hitched the two yoke, his
and their'n, to Joseph's house. There wa'n't any foundation to speak of,
the sills set right on the ground, and he'd banked it up with a few old
boards and some pine spills and sand and stuff, just to keep the cold
out. There wa'n't but a little snow, and the roads was smooth and icy,
and they slipped it along as if it had been a hand-sled, and got it down
the road a half a mile or so to the fork of the roads, and left it
settin' there right on the heater-piece. Jacobs told afterward that he
kind of disliked to do it, but he thought as long as their minds were
set, he might as well have the dollar as anybody. He said when the house
give a slew on a sideling piece in the road, he heard some of the
crockery-ware smash down, and a branch of an oak they passed by caught
hold of the stove-pipe that come out through one of the walls, and give
that a wrench, but he guessed there wa'n't no great damage. Joseph may
have given 'em some provocation before he went away in the morning,--I
don't know but he did, and I don't know as he did,--but
at any rate when he was coming home late in the afternoon he caught
sight of his house (some of our folks was right behind, and they saw
him), and he stood right up in the sleigh and shook his fist, he was so
mad; but afterwards he bu'st out laughin'. It did look kind of curi's;
it wa'n't bigger than a front entry, and it set up so pert right there
on the heater-piece, as if he was calc'latin' to farm it. The folks said
Susan Ellen covered up her face in her shawl and began to cry. I s'pose
the pore thing was discouraged. Joseph was awful mad,--he was kind of
laughing and cryin' together. Our folks stopped and asked him if there
was anything they could do, and he said no; but Susan Ellen went in to
view how things were, and they made up a fire, and then Joe took the
horse home, and I guess they had it hot and heavy. Nobody supposed
they'd ever make up 'less there was a funeral in the family to bring 'em
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