Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton (snow like ashes series txt) 📕

“How could I tell you before I started? How did I know what Dr. Buck would say?”

“Oh, Dr. Buck⁠—” Ethan’s incredulity escaped in a short laugh. “Did Dr. Buck tell you how I was to pay her wages?”

Her voice rose furiously with his. “No, he didn’t. For I’d ’a’ been ashamed to tell him that you grudged me the money to get back my health, when I lost it nursing your own mother!”

“You lost your health nursing mother?”

“Yes; and my folks all told me at the time you couldn’t do no less than marry me after⁠—”

“Zeena!”

Through the obscurity which hid their faces their thoughts seemed to dart at each other like serpents shooting venom. Ethan was seized with horror of the scene and shame at his own share in it. It was as senseless and savage as a physical fight between two enemies in the darkness.

He turned to the shelf above the chimney, groped for matches and lit the one candle in the room. At first its weak flame made no impression on the shadows; then Zeena’s face stood grimly out against the uncurtained pane, which had turned from grey to black.

It was the first scene of open anger between the couple in their sad seven years together, and Ethan felt as if he had lost an irretrievable advantage in descending to the level of recrimination. But the practical problem was there and had to be dealt with.

“You know I haven’t got the money to pay for a girl, Zeena. You’ll have to send her back: I can’t do it.”

“The doctor says it’ll be my death if I go on slaving the way I’ve had to. He doesn’t understand how I’ve stood it as long as I have.”

“Slaving!⁠—” He checked himself again. “You shan’t lift a hand, if he says so. I’ll do everything round the house myself⁠—”

She broke in: “You’re neglecting the farm enough already,” and this being true, he found no answer, and left her time to add ironically: “Better send me over to the almshouse and done with it⁠ ⁠… I guess there’s been Fromes there afore now.”

The taunt burned into him, but he let it pass. “I haven’t got the money. That settles it.”

There was a moment’s pause in the struggle, as though the combatants were testing their weapons. Then Zeena said in a level voice: “I thought you were to get fifty dollars from Andrew Hale for that lumber.”

“Andrew Hale never pays under three months.” He had hardly spoken when he remembered the excuse he had made for not accompanying his wife to the station the day before; and the blood rose to his frowning brows.

“Why, you told me yesterday you’d fixed it up with him to pay cash down. You said that was why you couldn’t drive me over to the Flats.”

Ethan had no suppleness in deceiving. He had never before been convicted of a lie, and all the resources of evasion failed him. “I guess that was a misunderstanding,” he stammered.

“You ain’t got the money?”

“No.”

“And you ain’t going to get it?”

“No.”

“Well, I couldn’t know that when I engaged the girl, could I?”

“No.” He paused to control his voice. “But you know it now. I’m sorry, but it can’t be helped. You’re a poor man’s wife, Zeena; but I’ll do the best I can for you.”

For a while she sat motionless, as if reflecting, her arms stretched along the arms of her chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy. “Oh, I guess we’ll make out,” she said mildly.

The change in her tone reassured him. “Of course we will! There’s a whole lot more I can do for you, and Mattie⁠—”

Zeena, while he spoke, seemed to be following out some elaborate mental calculation. She emerged from it to say: “There’ll be Mattie’s board less, anyhow⁠—”

Ethan, supposing the discussion to be over, had turned to go down to supper. He stopped short, not grasping what he heard. “Mattie’s board less⁠—?” he began.

Zeena laughed. It was an odd unfamiliar sound⁠—he did not remember ever having heard her laugh before. “You didn’t suppose I was going to keep two girls, did you? No wonder you were scared at the expense!”

He still had but a confused sense of what she was saying. From the beginning of the discussion he had instinctively avoided the mention of Mattie’s name, fearing he hardly knew what: criticism, complaints, or vague allusions to the imminent probability of her marrying. But the thought of a definite rupture had never come to him, and even now could not lodge itself in his mind.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Mattie Silver’s not a hired girl. She’s your relation.”

“She’s a pauper that’s hung onto us all after her father’d done his best to ruin us. I’ve kep’ her here a whole year: it’s somebody else’s turn now.”

As the shrill words shot out Ethan heard a tap on the door, which he had drawn shut when he turned back from the threshold.

“Ethan⁠—Zeena!” Mattie’s voice sounded gaily from the landing, “do you know what time it is? Supper’s been ready half an hour.”

Inside the room there was a moment’s silence; then Zeena called out from her seat: “I’m not coming down to supper.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Aren’t you well? Shan’t I bring you up a bite of something?”

Ethan roused himself with an effort and opened the door. “Go along down, Matt. Zeena’s just a little tired. I’m coming.”

He heard her “All right!” and her quick step on the stairs; then he shut the door and turned back into the room. His wife’s attitude was unchanged, her face inexorable, and he was seized with the despairing sense of his helplessness.

“You ain’t going to do it, Zeena?”

“Do what?” she emitted between flattened lips.

“Send Mattie away⁠—like this?”

“I never bargained to take her for life!”

He continued with rising vehemence: “You can’t put her out of the house like a thief⁠—a poor girl without friends or money. She’s done her best for you and she’s got no place to go to.