The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-01-26
THE TWO MRS. FUCKERS.
Rose Terry Cooke, in Waterbury American.

|
made in their daily journeys to the pond below
and only approached at the back by a lane to the
great red barn and rckety board gate set be-
tween two posts of the rail fence
This was Wealthy Ann fuckers homecoming
She had married Amasa that morning at her
fathers house, in Stanton, little village twenty
miles away from Poets Mills, the town within
whose wide limits lay the Tucker farm and had
come home with him this early spring afternoon
i'll the old wagon, behind the bony horse that did
duty for Amasa's family carriage
Mrs. Tucker was tall, thin young woman,
with a sad, reticent face very silent andcapable
These last traits had been her chief recon-
mendation to her husband. There was no senti-
ment about the matter. Old Mrs. Tucker had
died two weeks before this marriage, but Amasa
was 'forehanded" and knowing his mother
could not live long had improved his opportuni-
ties-had been ''sparkin" Wealthy Ann Minor all
winter, in judicious provision for the coming
| event of his solitude
He had thought the thing all over, and con-
Guided that wife was cheaper than hired girl,
and more permanent; So when ne found this
| alert, firm jointed, handy girl living at her I'M
| cles, who was widower, on great farm the
| other side of the village, Amasa made her ac-
| QualnGanCe as soon as possible ana pfOCe6ueu 10
further intimacy. Wealthy liked better to work
| for her uncle than for a step-father with six
| secondary children but she thought it would be
| better still to have house of her own; so she
| agreed TO marry Amasa Tucker and this was her
| home coming
| She opened the door into a dingy room with
an open fire place at one end window on the
north and one on the south side, small, paned
with old, green, and imperfect glass, and letting
in but just enough light to work by. One cor
ner, to the north, was partitiOned off to make
| pantry and door by the fireplace led out into
| the woodshed. The front of the house con-
tanned two rooms. One opened into the kitchen,
and was bedroom, furnished sparsely enough;
the other was parlor, with high backed, rush
| bottomed chairs against the wall, a round table
in the middle, fireplace with brass andirons
and fire-irons, family Bible on the table, and
mourning piece" painted in ground hair on the
mantel. Green paper shades and white cotton
| curtains, a rag carpet fresh as it came from the
| loom-if its dinginess could ever be called fresh
and a ght-backed sofa covered with green
and yellow glazed chintz, made as dreary an
| apartment as could well be imagined.
| Wealthy shut the door behind her quickly, and
went to the shed for meteral to make her fire.
1t was almost sundOwn and she was hungry; but
she found only the scantiest supply of wood and
a few dry chips of kindling. However, she did
| her best and she had brought some provisions
from home, so that she managed to lay out
decent supper on the rickety table by the time
Amasa came stamping i'll from the barn.
| He looked disapprovingly at the pie, the bis
cult. the shaved beef, and the jelley set before
| him.
Il hope ye amt a waister, Wealthy" he
"Theres vittles enough for a township and
| the amt but two of US"
well our folks sent 'em over; and you no
| need to eat en- she answered, cheerily.
81 ant goin' to; don't We break into that jen,
| set it by; sometime or nuther somebody may be
comm and you'll want of it."
| Wealthy said more they made supper of
!
| by
| She was used to economy, but not to stngi-
ness, and she excused this extreme thrift in her
| husband more easily for the reason that she had
| been always poor, and she knew very well that
he not rich to say the least. But it was only
| the beginning.
Hard as Wealthy had worked at her unce's,
| here she found harder burdens; she had to draw
| and fetch all the water she used from an old
fashioned well with heavy sweep, picturesque
| to see, but wearisome to use; wood was scarce,
for though enough grew on the hundred acres
that Amasa owned, he grudged its use.
81 sha'nt cut down no more than is really
needful, he said, when she urged him to fetch
her a load; woods alters CROWN when ye don't
cut it, and maxim for lumber; and lumber's bet
| ter to SELL sight, than cord-wood. Ye must git
| along somehow with brush; mother used ter burn
next to nothin."
She did not remind him that his mother was
bent double with rheumatism, and died of the
| fifth attack of pneumonia. Wealthy never
wasted words
| Then there were eight cows to milk, the milk
| to strain, set, skim, chuln make into cheese,
and nothing but the simplest utensils to do with.
A cloth held over the edge of the pail served for
strainer; the pals themselves were heavy
wood the pans old and some of them leaky, the
holes stopped with bits of rag, often to be re
newed; the mlk-room was in the shed, built
against the chimney that it might not freeze
there in the winter, and only aired by Slated
window; the churn was an old wooden one with
dasher and even the ''spaddle" with which she
worked her butter whitfield out of maple
knot by Amasa himself, and was heavy and
rough
Then to her belonged the feeding of the pigs
gaunt, lean animals with sharp shouts, ridgy
backs, long legs and thin tanks deepset eyes
that cleaned with intelligent malice and never
stated hunger Wealthy grew almost afraid of
them when they clambered up on the rails of the
pen in their fury for food, and tapped their
pointed ears at her, squealing and fighting for
the scant fare that she brought. For Amasa I'M
derfed and overworked everything that belonged
to him.
Then there were hens to look after-the old
fashioned barn door 'creepers' that wanted food
too, and yet catered for themselves in great
measure and made free with barn and woodshed
for want of their own quarters, and were deci- |
mated every season by hawks, owls, skunks |
weasels and foxes to say nothing of the little
chickens on which crows and cats worked their
will if they dared to stray beyond the ruinous
old coop contrived for them by Amasas inventive
genius out of sticks and stones
Add to all this the cooking, washing, baking
and sewing the insufficient supply of pork, pota-
toes and tough pies, the ''bi1'd dinners" whose
strength lay in the vegetables rather than in the
small square of fat pork cooked with Them of
which Amasa invariably took the lions share
These accommodating and never ceasing labors all
wore day by day on the vitality of Mrs. Tucker
and when to these were added annual baby
life became a terror and burden to the poor
woman.
But what did Amasa carel He, too, worked
from sun to sun"
'He farmed in the hard old fashion with rude
implements and no knowledge but
MY father done it afore me, so am goin' to
do il now no use talkin'" One by one the wall |
ing, puny children were laid away in the little
yard on top of Sandhill, where the old fuckers
and their half dozen infants lay already; rough
L = l.