New England Woman
Mrs Jedediah H Richards
By Cecelia Beaux (1895)
Thoughts Upon A Summer Evening
Now, ain’t it just like him? Here I sit, all dressed up, apparently with nowhere to go. It’s not so much that I really like barn dances, but he promised. I understand that I may not be the pick of the litter, but he didn’t seem to mind last Saturday night down by the creek when I let him have his—
I need to stop this. It ain’t proper for a mature woman to think about such things. After all, I wanted it as much as he did… maybe more. It ain’t like we’re a couple of kids. Maybe if we were, I could excuse him. But the things he said when he was…
There I go again. I think I need to go find something cool to drink, it’s jeezly hot tonight and I swear I’m about to get the vapors. Maybe not as hot as last Saturday night, all things considered, but any breeze at all would be welcome. This fan just ain’t gettin’ the job done. What I need is another swim in the creek, with a certain—
Stop it, Bertha, this ain’t helpin’ matters at all. Lord, how I miss Jedediah, God rest his soul. He was a good man, even if he lacked skills in a certain arena, unlike another man whom I hope dies a very slow and painful death if he fails to show up tonight.
Why am I hungry all of a sudden? Just sittin’ here like a ninny won’t bring him to my door any sooner… maybe I’ll go down to the kitchen and fix myself another plate of supper, that country ham was superb if I do say so myself. Too bad others don’t feel the necessity to show up when they’re invited to dinner.
But, I suppose Bessie Cavender is probably capable of cooking supper, too, even if her pickles have never won an award at the Fair. I guess if your breasts have trouble staying inside your dress, it doesn’t matter to some men.
I hope she drowns him in the creek—after she gives him the clap.