Womans Trials | Page 2

While brooding over these and other disheartening
circumstances, Netty, my chambermaid, opened the door of the room
where I was sitting, (it was Monday morning,) and said--

"Harriet has just sent word that she is sick, and can't come to-day."
"Then you and Agnes will have to do the washing," I replied, in a
fretful voice; this new source of trouble completely breaking me down.
"Indeed, ma'am," replied Netty, tossing her head and speaking with
some pertness, "I can't do the washing. I didn't engage for any thing but
chamber-work."
And so saying she left me to my own reflections. I must own to feeling
exceedingly angry, and rose to ring the bell for Netty to return, in order
to tell her that she could go to washing or leave the house, as best
suited her fancy. But the sudden recollection of a somewhat similar
collision with a former chambermaid, in which I was worsted, and
compelled to do my own chamber-work for a week, caused me to
hesitate, and, finally, to sit down and indulge in a hearty fit of crying.
When my husband came home at dinnertime, things did not seem very
pleasant for him, I must own. I had on a long, a very long face--much
longer than it was when he went away in the morning.
"Still in trouble, I see, Jane," said he. "I wish you would try and take
things a little more cheerfully. To be unhappy about what is not exactly
agreeable doesn't help the matter any, but really makes it worse."
"If you had to contend with what I have to contend with, you wouldn't
talk about things being _exactly agreeable,_" I replied to this. "It is
easy enough to talk. I only wish you had a little of my trouble; you
wouldn't think so lightly of it."
"What is the great trouble now, Jane?" said my husband, without being
at all fretted with my unamiable temper. "Let us hear. Perhaps I can
suggest a remedy."
"If you will get me a washerwoman, you will exceedingly oblige me,"
said I.
"Where is Harriet?" he asked.
"She is sick, or pretends to be, I don't know which."
"Perhaps she will be well enough to do your washing to-morrow,"
suggested my husband.
"Perhaps is a poor dependence."
I said this with a tartness that ill repaid my husband's effort to comfort
me. I saw that he felt the unkindness of my manner, in the slight shade
that passed over his face.
"Can't you get some one else to do your washing this week?"

I made no reply. The question was easily asked. After that, my husband
was silent,--silent in that peculiar way that I understood, too well, as
the effect of my words, or tones, or state of mind. Here was another
cause for unhappiness, in the reflection that I had disturbed my
husband's peace.
I am sure that I did not much look like a loving wife and mother as I
presided at the dinner table that day. The children never seemed so
restless and hard to manage; and I could not help speaking to them,
every now and then, "as if I would take their heads off;" but to little
good effect.
After my husband went away on finishing his dinner, I went to bed, and
cried for more than half the afternoon. Oh! how wretched I felt! Life
seemed an almost intolerable burden.
Then my mind grew more composed, and I tried to think about what
was to be done. The necessity for having the clothes washed was
absolute; and this roused me, at length, as the most pressing domestic
duty, into thinking so earnestly, that I presently rang the bell for Netty,
who came in her own good time.
"Tell Agnes that I want to see her," said I, not in a very good-natured
way.
The effect was that Netty left the chamber without replying, and
slammed the door hard after her, which mark of disrespect set my blood
to boiling. In a little while my cook made her appearance.
"Agnes," said I, "do you know of any one that can get to do the
washing this week?"
Agnes thought for a few moments, and then replied--
"There's a poor woman who lives near my mother's. I think she goes
out to wash sometimes."
"I wish you would step round and see if she can't come here
to-morrow."
Agnes said that she would do so.
"Tell her she must come," said I.
"Very well, ma'am."
And Agnes withdrew.
In an hour she tame back, and said that she had seen the woman, who
promised to come.
"What is her name?" I asked.

"Mrs. Partridge," was answered.
"You think she won't disappoint me?"
"Oh, no, ma'am. I don't think Mrs. Partridge is the kind