The Bowden Reunion Page #3

"The Bowden Reunion" by Sarah Orne Jewett is a poignant short story that explores themes of family, nostalgia, and the passage of time. Set in a small New England town, the narrative revolves around a family gathering that brings together various generations of the Bowden family. As the characters reflect on their shared history and the changes in their lives, the story captures the complexities of familial relationships and the bittersweet nature of reunion. Jewett’s lyrical prose and keen observations highlight the emotional richness of homecoming and the enduring bonds that tie family members together across time.

• Short story

								

ridin’ ’way down from up country into the salt air, and they’d been
treated to a sermon on faith an’ works from old Fayther Harlow that
never knows when to cease. ’Twa’n’t no time for tactics then,—they
wa’n’t a-thinkin’ of the church military. Sant, he couldn’t do nothin’
with ’em. All he thinks of, when he sees a crowd, is how to march ’em.
’Tis all very well when he don’t ’tempt too much. He never did act like
other folks.”

“Ain’t I just been maintainin’ that he ain’t like ’em?” urged Mrs. Todd
decidedly. “Strange folks has got to have strange ways, for what I see.”

“Somebody observed once that you could pick out the likeness of ’most
every sort of a foreigner when you looked about you in our parish,” said
Sister Caplin, her face brightening with sudden illumination. “I didn’t
see the bearin’ of it then quite so plain. I always did think Mari’
Harris resembled a Chinee.”

“Mari’ Harris was pretty as a child, I remember,” said the pleasant
voice of Mrs. Blackett, who, after receiving the affectionate greetings
of nearly the whole company, came to join us,—to see, as she insisted,
that we were out of mischief.

“Yes, Mari’ was one o’ them pretty little lambs that make dreadful
homely old sheep,” replied Mrs. Todd with energy. “Cap’n Littlepage
never’d look so disconsolate if she was any sort of a proper person to
direct things. She might divert him; yes, she might divert the old
gentleman, an’ let him think he had his own way, ’stead o’ arguing
everything down to the bare bone. ’Twouldn’t hurt her to sit down an’
hear his great stories once in a while.”

“The stories are very interesting,” I ventured to say.

“Yes, you always catch yourself a-thinkin’ what if they was all true,
and he had the right of it,” answered Mrs. Todd. “He’s a good sight
better company, though dreamy, than such sordid creatur’s as Mari’
Harris.”

“Live and let live,” said dear old Mrs. Blackett gently. “I haven’t seen
the captain for a good while, now that I ain’t so constant to meetin’,”
she added wistfully. “We always have known each other.”

“Why, if it is a good pleasant day to-morrow, I’ll get William to call
an’ invite the capt’in to dinner. William’ll be in early so’s to pass up
the street without meetin’ anybody.”

“There, they’re callin’ out it’s time to set the tables,” said Mrs.
Caplin, with great excitement.

“Here’s Cousin Sarah Jane Blackett! Well, I am pleased, certain!”
exclaimed Mrs. Todd, with unaffected delight; and these kindred spirits
met and parted with the promise of a good talk later on. After this
there was no more time for conversation until we were seated in order at
the long tables.

“I’m one that always dreads seeing some o’ the folks that I don’t like,
at such a time as this,” announced Mrs. Todd privately to me after a
season of reflection. We were just waiting for the feast to begin. “You
wouldn’t think such a great creatur’ ’s I be could feel all over pins
an’ needles. I remember, the day I promised to Nathan, how it come over
me, just’s I was feelin’ happy ’s I could, that I’d got to have an own
cousin o’ his for my near relation all the rest o’ my life, an’ it
seemed as if die I should. Poor Nathan saw somethin’ had crossed me,—he
had very nice feelings,—and when he asked me what ’twas, I told him. ‘I
never could like her myself,’ said he. ‘You sha’n’t be bothered, dear,’
he says; an’ ’twas one o’ the things that made me set a good deal by
Nathan, he didn’t make a habit of always opposin’, like some men. ‘Yes,’
says I, ‘but think o’ Thanksgivin’ times an’ funerals; she’s our
relation, an’ we’ve got to own her.’ Young folks don’t think o’ those
things. There she goes now, do let’s pray her by!” said Mrs. Todd, with
an alarming transition from general opinions to particular animosities.
“I hate her just the same as I always did; but she’s got on a real
pretty dress. I do try to remember that she’s Nathan’s cousin. Oh dear,
well; she’s gone by after all, an’ ain’t seen me. I expected she’d come
pleasantin’ round just to show off an’ say afterwards she was
acquainted.”

This was so different from Mrs. Todd’s usual largeness of mind that I
had a moment’s uneasiness; but the cloud passed quickly over her spirit,
and was gone with the offender.

There never was a more generous out-of-door feast along the coast than
the Bowden family set forth that day. To call it a picnic would make it
seem trivial. The great tables were edged with pretty oak-leaf trimming,
which the boys and girls made. We brought flowers from the
fence-thickets of the great field; and out of the disorder of flowers
and provisions suddenly appeared as orderly a scheme for the feast as
the marshal had shaped for the procession. I began to respect the
Bowdens for their inheritance of good taste and skill and a certain
pleasing gift of formality. Something made them do all these things in a
finer way than most country people would have done them. As I looked up
and down the tables there was a good cheer, a grave soberness that shone
with pleasure, a humble dignity of bearing. There were some who should
have sat below the salt for lack of this good breeding; but they were
not many. So, I said to myself, their ancestors may have sat in the
great hall of some old French house in the Middle Ages, when battles and
sieges and processions and feasts were familiar things. The ministers
and Mrs. Blackett, with a few of their rank and age, were put in places
of honor, and for once that I looked any other way I looked twice at
Mrs. Blackett’s face, serene and mindful of privilege and
responsibility, the mistress by simple fitness of this great day.

Mrs. Todd looked up at the roof of green trees, and then carefully
surveyed the company. “I see ’em better now they’re all settin’ down,”
she said with satisfaction. “There’s old Mr. Gilbraith and his sister. I
wish they were settin’ with us; they’re not among folks they can parley
with, an’ they look disappointed.”

As the feast went on, the spirits of my companion steadily rose. The
excitement of an unexpectedly great occasion was a subtle stimulant to
her disposition, and I could see that sometimes when Mrs. Todd had
seemed limited and heavily domestic, she had simply grown sluggish for
lack of proper surroundings. She was not so much reminiscent now as
expectant, and as alert and gay as a girl. We who were her neighbors
were full of gayety, which was but the reflected light from her beaming
countenance. It was not the first time that I was full of wonder at the
waste of human ability in this world, as a botanist wonders at the
wastefulness of nature, the thousand seeds that die, the unused
provision of every sort. The reserve force of society grows more and
more amazing to one’s thought. More than one face among the Bowdens
showed that only opportunity and stimulus were lacking,—a narrow set of
circumstances had caged a fine able character and held it captive. One
sees exactly the same types in a country gathering as in the most
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