Poor Joanna

"Poor Joanna" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a poignant short story that explores the themes of isolation, social expectations, and the struggles of a woman living in a rural community. The narrative centers around Joanna, a woman who is perceived as odd and different by her neighbors, leading to her social exclusion. Jewett delves into the complexities of Joanna's character, revealing her inner life and the burdens she carries. Through rich descriptions and empathetic storytelling, the author highlights the challenges faced by individuals who do not conform to societal norms, ultimately prompting readers to reflect on compassion, understanding, and the nature of loneliness.

• Short story

								
One evening my ears caught a mysterious allusion which Mrs. Todd made to
Shell-heap Island. It was a chilly night of cold northeasterly rain, and
I made a fire for the first time in the Franklin stove in my room, and
begged my two housemates to come in and keep me company. The weather had
convinced Mrs. Todd that it was time to make a supply of cough-drops,
and she had been bringing forth herbs from dark and dry hiding-places,
until now the pungent dust and odor of them had resolved themselves into
one mighty flavor of spearmint that came from a simmering caldron of
syrup in the kitchen. She called it done, and well done, and had
ostentatiously left it to cool, and taken her knitting-work because Mrs.
Fosdick was busy with hers. They sat in the two rocking-chairs, the
small woman and the large one, but now and then I could see that Mrs.
Todd’s thoughts remained with the cough-drops. The time of gathering
herbs was nearly over, but the time of syrups and cordials had begun.

The heat of the open fire made us a little drowsy, but something in the
way Mrs. Todd spoke of Shell-heap Island waked my interest. I waited to
see if she would say any more, and then took a roundabout way back to
the subject by saying what was first in my mind: that I wished the Green
Island family were there to spend the evening with us,—Mrs. Todd’s
mother and her brother William.

Mrs. Todd smiled, and drummed on the arm of the rocking-chair. “Might
scare William to death,” she warned me; and Mrs. Fosdick mentioned her
intention of going out to Green Island to stay two or three days, if
this wind didn’t make too much sea.

“Where is Shell-heap Island?” I ventured to ask, seizing the
opportunity.

“Bears nor’east somewheres about three miles from Green Island; right
off shore, I should call it about eight miles out,” said Mrs. Todd. “You
never was there, dear; ’tis off the thoroughfares, and a very bad place
to land at best.”

“I should think ’twas,” agreed Mrs. Fosdick, smoothing down her black
silk apron. “’Tis a place worth visitin’ when you once get there. Some
o’ the old folks was kind o’ fearful about it. ’Twas ’counted a great
place in old Indian times; you can pick up their stone tools ’most any
time if you hunt about. There’s a beautiful spring o’ water, too. Yes, I
remember when they used to tell queer stories about Shell-heap Island.
Some said ’twas a great bangeing-place for the Indians, and an old chief
resided there once that ruled the winds; and others said they’d always
heard that once the Indians come down from up country an’ left a captive
there without any bo’t, an’ ’twas too far to swim across to Black
Island, so called, an’ he lived there till he perished.”

“I’ve heard say he walked the island after that, and sharp-sighted folks
could see him an’ lose him like one o’ them citizens Cap’n Littlepage
was acquainted with up to the north pole,” announced Mrs. Todd grimly.
“Anyway, there was Indians,—you can see their shell-heap that named the
island; and I’ve heard myself that ’twas one o’ their cannibal places,
but I never could believe it. There never was no cannibals on the coast
o’ Maine. All the Indians o’ these regions are tame-looking folks.”

“Sakes alive, yes!” exclaimed Mrs. Fosdick. “Ought to see them painted
savages I’ve seen when I was young out in the South Sea Islands! That
was the time for folks to travel, ’way back in the old whalin’ days!”

“Whalin’ must have been dull for a lady, hardly ever makin’ a lively
port, and not takin’ in any mixed cargoes,” said Mrs. Todd. “I never
desired to go a whalin’ v’y’ge myself.”

“I used to return feelin’ very slack an’ behind the times, ’tis true,”
explained Mrs. Fosdick, “but ’twas excitin’, an’ we always done extra
well, and felt rich when we did get ashore. I liked the variety. There,
how times have changed; how few seafarin’ families there are left! What
a lot o’ queer folks there used to be about here, anyway, when we was
young, Almiry. Everybody’s just like everybody else, now; nobody to
laugh about, and nobody to cry about.”

It seemed to me that there were peculiarities of character in the region
of Dunnet Landing yet, but I did not like to interrupt.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Todd after a moment of meditation, “there was certain a
good many curiosities of human natur’ in this neighborhood years ago.
There was more energy then, and in some the energy took a singular turn.
In these days the young folks is all copy-cats, ’fraid to death they
won’t be all just alike; as for the old folks, they pray for the
advantage o’ bein’ a little different.”

“I ain’t heard of a copy-cat this great many years,” said Mrs. Fosdick,
laughing; “’twas a favorite term o’ my grandmother’s. No, I wa’n’t
thinking o’ those things, but of them strange straying creatur’s that
used to rove the country. You don’t see them now, or the ones that used
to hive away in their own houses with some strange notion or other.”

I thought again of Captain Littlepage, but my companions were not
reminded of his name; and there was brother William at Green Island,
whom we all three knew.

“I was talking o’ poor Joanna the other day. I hadn’t thought of her for
a great while,” said Mrs. Fosdick abruptly. “Mis’ Brayton an’ I recalled
her as we sat together sewing. She was one o’ your peculiar persons,
wa’n’t she? Speaking of such persons,” she turned to explain to me,
“there was a sort of a nun or hermit person lived out there for years
all alone on Shell-heap Island. Miss Joanna Todd, her name was,—a cousin
o’ Almiry’s late husband.”

I expressed my interest, but as I glanced at Mrs. Todd I saw that she
was confused by sudden affectionate feeling and unmistakable desire for
reticence.

“I never want to hear Joanna laughed about,” she said anxiously.

“Nor I,” answered Mrs. Fosdick reassuringly. “She was crossed in
love,—that was all the matter to begin with; but as I look back, I can
see that Joanna was one doomed from the first to fall into a melancholy.
She retired from the world for good an’ all, though she was a well-off
woman. All she wanted was to get away from folks; she thought she wasn’t
fit to live with anybody, and wanted to be free. Shell-heap Island come
to her from her father, and first thing folks knew she’d gone off out
there to live, and left word she didn’t want no company. ’Twas a bad
place to get to, unless the wind an’ tide were just right; ’twas hard
work to make a landing.”

“What time of year was this?” I asked.

“Very late in the summer,” said Mrs. Fosdick. “No, I never could laugh
at Joanna, as some did. She set everything by the young man, an’ they
were going to marry in about a month, when he got bewitched with a girl
’way up the bay, and married her, and went off to Massachusetts. He
wasn’t well thought of,—there were those who thought Joanna’s money was
what had tempted him; but she’d given him her whole heart, an’ she
wa’n’t so young as she had been. All her hopes were built on marryin’,
an’ havin’ a real home and somebody to look to; she acted just like a

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