Miss Tempy’s Watchers Page #4

"Miss Tempy’s Watchers" is a charming short story by Sarah Orne Jewett that revolves around the character of Miss Tempy, an elderly woman living in a quiet New England town. The narrative unfolds as she grapples with the passage of time and the changes in her community, particularly through the lens of her relationships with her neighbors and the younger generation. The story explores themes of aging, memory, and the importance of community connections, all rendered with Jewett's signature attention to the nuances of rural life. Through a blend of warmth and insight, Jewett captures the essence of human experiences and the bonds that tie individuals together.

• Short story

								


“Yes, Tempy aged all of a sudden. I remember I asked her if she felt as
well as common, one day, and she laughed at me good. There, when Mr.
Crowe begun to look old, I couldn’t help feeling as if somethin’ ailed
him, and like as not ’twas somethin’ he was goin’ to git right over, and
I dosed him for it stiddy, half of one summer.”

“How many things we shall be wanting to ask Tempy!” exclaimed Sarah Ann
Binson, after a long pause. “I can’t make up my mind to doin’ without
her. I wish folks could come back just once, and tell us how ’tis where
they’ve gone. Seems then we could do without ’em better.”

The brook hurried on, the wind blew about the house now and then; the
house itself was a silent place, and the supper, the warm fire, and an
absence of any new topics for conversation made the watchers drowsy.
Sister Binson closed her eyes first, to rest them for a minute; and Mrs.
Crowe glanced at her compassionately, with a new sympathy for the
hard-worked little woman. She made up her mind to let Sarah Ann have a
good rest, while she kept watch alone; but in a few minutes her own
knitting was dropped, and she, too, fell asleep. Overhead, the pale
shape of Tempy Dent, the outworn body of that generous, loving-hearted,
simple soul, slept on also in its white raiment. Perhaps Tempy herself
stood near, and saw her own life and its surroundings with new
understanding. Perhaps she herself was the only watcher.

Later, by some hours, Sarah Ann Binson woke with a start. There was a
pale light of dawn outside the small windows. Inside the kitchen, the
lamp burned dim. Mrs. Crowe awoke, too.

“I think Tempy’d be the first to say ’twas just as well we both had some
rest,” she said, not without a guilty feeling.

Her companion went to the outer door, and opened it wide. The fresh air
was none too cold, and the brook’s voice was not nearly so loud as it
had been in the midnight darkness. She could see the shapes of the
hills, and the great shadows that lay across the lower country. The east
was fast growing bright.

“’Twill be a beautiful day for the funeral,” she said, and turned again,
with a sigh, to follow Mrs. Crowe up the stairs.
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