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Amy Lowell - Off the Turnpike
Work rating: Low

Good ev`nin`, Mis` Priest.
I jest stepped in to tell you Good-bye.
Yes, it`s all over.
All my things is packed
An` every last one o` them boxes
Is on Bradley`s team
Bein` hauled over to th` depot.
No, I ain`t goin` back agin.
I`m stoppin` over to French`s fer to-night,
And goin` down first train in th` mornin`.
Yes, it do seem kinder queer
Not to be goin` to see Cherry`s Orchard no more,
But Land Sakes! When a change`s comin`,
Why, I al`ays say it can`t come too quick.
Now, that`s real kind o` you,
Your doughnuts is always so tasty.
Yes, I`m goin` to Chicago,
To my niece,
She`s married to a fine man, hardware business,
An` doin` real well, she tells me.
Lizzie`s be`n at me to go out ther for the longest while.
She ain`t got no kith nor kin to Chicago, you know
She`s rented me a real nice little flat,
Same house as hers,
An` I`m goin` to try that city livin` folks say`s so pleasant.
Oh, yes, he was real generous,
Paid me a sight o` money fer the Orchard;
I told him `twouldn`t yield nothin` but stones,
But he ain`t farmin` it.
Lor`, no, Mis` Priest,
He`s jest took it to set and look at the view.
Mebbe he wouldn`t be so stuck on the view
Ef he`d seed it every mornin` and night for forty year
Same`s as I have.
I dessay it`s pretty enough,
But it`s so pressed into me
I c`n see`t with my eyes shut.
No. I ain`t cold, Mis` Priest,
Don`t shut th` door.
I`ll be all right in a minit.
But I ain`t a mite sorry to leave that view.
Well, mebbe `tis queer to feel so,
An` mebbe `taint.
My! But that tea`s revivin`.
Old things ain`t always pleasant things, Mis` Priest.
No, no, I don`t cal`late on comin` back,
That`s why I`d ruther be to Chicago,
Boston`s too near.
It ain`t cold, Mis` Priest,
It`s jest my thoughts.
I ain`t sick, only —
Mis` Priest, ef you`ve nothin` ter take yer time,
An` have a mind to listen,
Ther`s somethin` I`d like ter speak about
I ain`t never mentioned it,
But I`d like to tell yer `fore I go.
Would you mind lowerin` them shades,
Fall twilight`s awful grey,
An` that fire`s real cosy with the shades drawed.
Well, I guess folks about here think I`ve be`n dret`ful onsociable.
You needn`t say `taint so, `cause I know diff`rent.
An` what`s more, it`s true.
Well, the reason is I`ve be`n scared out o` my life.
Scared ev`ry minit o` th` time, fer eight year.
Eight mortal year `tis, come next June.
`Twas on the eighteenth o` June,
Six months after I`d buried my husband,
That somethin` happened ter me.
Mebbe you`ll mind that afore that
I was a cheery body.
Hiram was too,
Al`ays liked to ask a neighbor in,
An` ev`n when he died,
Barrin` low sperrits, I warn`t averse to seein` nobody.
But that eighteenth o` June changed ev`rythin`.
I was doin` most o` th` farmwork myself,
With jest a hired boy, Clarence King, `twas,
Comin` in fer an hour or two.
Well, that eighteenth o` June
I was goin` round,
Lockin` up and seein` to things `fore I went to bed.
I was jest steppin` out t` th` barn,
Goin` round outside `stead o` through the shed,
`Cause there was such a sight o` moonlight
Somehow or another I thought `twould be pretty outdoors.
I got settled for pretty things that night, I guess.
I ain`t stuck on `em no more.
Well, them laylock bushes side o` th` house
Was real lovely.
Glitt`rin` and shakin` in the moonlight,
An` the smell o` them rose right up
An` most took my breath away.
The colour o` the spikes was all faded out,
They never keep their colour when the moon`s on `em,
But the smell fair `toxicated me.
I was al`ays partial to a sweet scent,
An` I went close up t` th` bushes
So`s to put my face right into a flower.
Mis` Priest, jest`s I got breathin` in that laylock bloom
I saw, layin` right at my feet,
A man`s hand!
It was as white`s the side o` th` house,
And sparklin` like that lum`nous paint they put on gate-posts.
I screamed right out,
I couldn`t help it,
An` I could hear my scream
Goin` over an` over
In that echo be`ind th` barn.
Hearin` it agin an` agin like that
Scared me so, I dar`sn`t scream any more.
I jest stood ther,
And looked at that hand.
I thought the echo`d begin to hammer like my heart,
But it didn`t.
There was only th` wind,
Sighin` through the laylock leaves,
An` slappin` `em up agin the house.
Well, I guess I looked at that hand
Most ten minits,
An` it never moved,
Jest lay there white as white.
After a while I got to thinkin` that o` course
`Twas some drunken tramp over from Redfield.
That calmed me some,
An` I commenced to think I`d better git him out
From under them laylocks.
I planned to drag him in t` th` barn
An` lock him in ther till Clarence come in th` mornin`.
I got so mad thinkin` o` that all-fired brazen tramp
Asleep in my laylocks,
I jest stooped down and grabbed th` hand and give it an awful pull.
Then I bumped right down settin` on the ground.
Mis` Priest, ther warn`t no body come with the hand.
No, it ain`t cold, it`s jest that I can`t abear thinkin` of it,
Ev`n now.
I`ll take a sip o` tea.
Thank you, Mis` Priest, that`s better.
I`d ruther finish now I`ve begun.
Thank you, jest the same.
I dropped the hand`s ef it`d be`n red hot
`Stead o` ice cold.
Fer a minit or two I jest laid on that grass
Pantin`.
Then I up and run to them laylocks
An` pulled `em every which way.
True es I`m settin` here, Mis` Priest,
Ther warn`t nothin` ther.
I peeked an` pryed all about `em,
But ther warn`t no man ther
Neither livin` nor dead.
But the hand was ther all right,
Upside down, the way I`d dropped it,
And glist`nin` fit to dazzle yer.
I don`t know how I done it,
An` I don`t know why I done it,
But I wanted to git that dret`ful hand out o` sight
I got in t` th` barn, somehow,
An` felt roun` till I got a spade.
I couldn`t stop fer a lantern,
Besides, the moonlight was bright enough in all conscience.
Then I scooped that awful thing up in th` spade.
I had a sight o` trouble doin` it.
It slid off, and tipped over, and I couldn`t bear
Ev`n to touch it with my foot to prop it,
But I done it somehow.
Then I carried it off be`ind the barn,
Clost to an old apple-tree
Where you couldn`t see from the house,
An` I buried it,
Good an` deep.

I don`t rec`lect nothin` more o` that night.
Clarence woke me up in th` mornin`,
Hollerin` fer me to come down and set th` milk.
When he`d gone,
I stole roun` to the apple-tree
And seed the earth all new turned
Where I left it in my hurry.
I did a heap o` gardenin`
That mornin`.
I couldn`t cut no big sods
Fear Clarence would notice and ask me what I wanted `em fer,
So I got teeny bits o` turf here and ther,
And no one couldn`t tell ther`d be`n any diggin`
When I got through.
They was awful days after that, Mis` Priest,
I used ter go every mornin` and poke about them bushes,
An` up and down the fence,
Ter find the body that hand come off of.
But I couldn`t never find nothin`.
I`d lay awake nights
Hearin` them laylocks blowin` and whiskin`.
At last I had Clarence cut `em down
An` make a big bonfire of `em.
I told him the smell made me sick,
An` that warn`t no lie,
I can`t abear the smell on `em now;
An` no wonder, es you say.
I fretted somethin` awful `bout that hand
I wondered, could it be Hiram`s,
But folks don`t rob graveyards hereabouts.
Besides, Hiram`s hands warn`t that awful, starin` white.
I give up seein` people,
I was afeared I`d say somethin`.
You know what folks thought o` me
Better`n I do, I dessay,
But mebbe now you`ll see I couldn`t do nothin` diff`rent.
But I stuck it out,
I warn`t goin` to be downed
By no loose hand, no matter how it come ther
But that ain`t the worst, Mis` Priest,
Not by a long ways.
Two year ago, Mr. Densmore made me an offer for Cherry`s Orchard.
Well, I`d got used to th` thought o` bein` sort o` blighted,
An` I warn`t scared no more.
Lived down my fear, I guess.
I`d kinder got used to th` thought o` that awful night,
And I didn`t mope much about it.
Only I never went out o` doors by moonlight;
That stuck.
Well, when Mr. Densmore`s offer come,
I started thinkin` `bout the place
An` all the things that had gone on ther.
Thinks I, I guess I`ll go and see where I put the hand.
I was foolhardy with the long time that had gone by.
I know`d the place real well,
Fer I`d put it right in between two o` the apple roots.
I don`t know what possessed me, Mis` Priest,
But I kinder wanted to know
That the hand had been flesh and bone, anyway.
It had sorter bothered me, thinkin` I might ha` imagined it.
I took a mornin` when the sun was real pleasant and warm;
I guessed I wouldn`t jump for a few old bones.
But I did jump, somethin` wicked.
Ther warn`t no bones!
Ther warn`t nothin`!
Not ev`n the gold ring I`d minded bein` on the little finger.
I don`t know ef ther ever was anythin`.
I`ve worried myself sick over it.
I be`n diggin` and diggin` day in and day out
Till Clarence ketched me at it.
Oh, I know`d real well what you all thought,
An` I ain`t sayin` you`re not right,
But I ain`t goin` to end in no county `sylum
If I c`n help it.
The shiv`rin` fits come on me sudden like.
I know `em, don`t you trouble.
I`ve fretted considerable about the `sylum,
I guess I be`n frettin` all the time I ain`t be`n diggin`.
But anyhow I can`t dig to Chicago, can I?
Thank you, Mis` Priest,
I`m better now. I only dropped in in passin`.
I`ll jest be steppin` along down to French`s.
No, I won`t be seein` nobody in the mornin`,
It`s a pretty early start.
Don`t you stand ther, Mis` Priest,
The wind`ll blow yer lamp out,
An` I c`n see easy, I got aholt o` the gate now.
I ain`t a mite tired, thank you.
Good-night.
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