The coastland times. [volume] (Mnateo [i.e. Manteo], N.C.) 1947-1959, 1952-04-25
THE WORTH OF A WIFE

II
he looked to be of middle age. His
WEAKNESS caused me to stop. the
car instantly and offer him ride.
He said he was going to Norfolk
to look for a job, and as l knew l
was going through Elizabeth City,
offered him a lift and he well
coined the ride.
He was a talkative man, and he
volunteered his name and former
habitat, as we'll as his occupation
for the past twenty years, and as
those who know me well can testl-
fy, seldom say anything while
riding, so intent l usually am upon
the road, that he seemed to con-
slider it an invitation to tell me all
he knew about the world. and a
bout his friends, and what they
did, and what they had said to him
when he had said something to
them, and so on and so forth, ad
Einfinitum and ad nauseum. l al
most yielded to the temptation
when l got to Plymouth to tell him
lit was as far as was going and
Ito let him out and to wish him
fwell, as l have done before with
hitch-hikers who have overpower-
ed my ultra-patient ears.
But before we got to Plymouth,
his conversation sharply veered off
lon a new tack, and he began to
ask me about myself and where I
lived and if l had children and if l
had a wife, and l had nodded my
head and said uh-huh a number of
times, and then he said: "My wife
died before Christmas, and | don't
know what l am going to do" |
said l regretted to know of his
misfortune, and felt sure he had
sustained a great loss, and wished
l could comfort him, but only
time can soften the blow of grief.
But he insisted he could never get
over it; he would never be happy
any more, he was constantly think
ing about how much he had neg
lected his wife in the little things
that we don't figure ever matter
to others, so long as one is living.
"My wife worked hard" he said.
Il didn't think of it when she was
living, but l know it now. | didn't
see her all day and it didn't occur
to me just how hard she did work
When we were first married, she
didn't have much fun because the
children came along pretty fast,
and l wasn't making much money,
and she didn't get a chance to get
away from home. l see now l was
mighty thoug.htless."
By that time we had gotten
through Plymouth, and since he
had stopped talking about what he
said, and what the other fellow
had said in return, l decided it
would be my kind deed for the day
to let him unburden himself. And
so the poor fellows lamentations
to my mind constitute a splendid
sermon on the worth of wife,
which am willing to pass on, be-
cause l think too many people
overlook the value of the better
half, or fail to express it when
they should, or until it is too late,
or at least until they become I'M
able to express themselves with
the essential degree of conviction
and sincerity that melts a woman's
heart.
As he said, he had had to work
hard, and sometimes it was tough
going, making living, being I'M
skilled and unschooled, but he had
a good wife. She worked and saved
and serinped and sometimes said
she hoped they would have better
days. When times were good they
got along, but he never failed to
buy his tobacco and his beer, and
when times were tighter, he con-
tinued to buy his tobacco and his
beer, but he remembered, now that
she was dead, her clothes kept get
ting older. He didn't notice then
how faded they had become, or how
much she made them over, and how
she did without a lot of little
things he now remembered she
should have had. Because the chill
dren kept her home all the time
to look after them it didn't occur
to him she might have wanted to
go out some place, and as she
never did go out for years on end,
he finally grew Indifferent, and
thought perhaps she didn't want to
go anywhere. He remembered how
many nights he loafed around the
stores, and played checkers until
midnight, or on a Saturday night
he would ride around with some of
the fellows and have few drinks.
"A man never knows how good a
wife he has had until she is gone"
he said; and he remembered on one