Always Fighting
"Might as well go on," he urged, with a smile.
"I can't. It isn't nice of me."
"But it's true. I don't know why you shouldn't hate your Grandmother and your Aunt Matilda. I do. It's better to be truthful than nice."
"Is it?"
"Sincerity always has a charm of its own. Even when two men are fighting, you are compelled to admire their earnestness and singleness of purpose."
"I wish you lived where you could admire Grandmother and Aunt Matilda. They're always fighting."
"No doubt. Isn't it a little early for sassafras tea?"
"I thought so, but Grandmother said Spring was coming early this year. She feels it in her bones and she intends to be ready for it."
"She should know the signs of the seasons, if anyone does. How old is she now?"
"Something past eighty."
"Suffering Moses! Eighty Springs and Summers and Autumns! Let me see--I was only twenty when I began with the grapes. If I live to be eighty, that means I've got to go to town sixty times to buy baskets, sell the crop, and hire help--go through the whole process from Spring to frost sixty times, and I've only done it ten times. Fifty more! And when the imps who unwillingly learned their multiplication table from me are grandparents on their own account, I'll still be saying: 'See the cat! Can the cat run? Yes, the cat can run.'"
Slaves of the Vineyard
"Why don't you sell the vineyard?" she asked, though her heart sank at the mere suggestion.
"Sell it? Why didn't the Ancient Mariner sell his albatross and take a nice little trip around the world on the proceeds? Mother would die of a broken heart if I mentioned it to her. The Marsh family have been the slaves of that vineyard since the first mistaken ancestor went into the grape business. We've fertilised it, pruned it, protected it, tied it up, sat up nights with it, fanned the insects away from it, hired people to pick the fruit and pack it, fed the people, entertained them, sent presents to their wives and children--we've done everything! And what have we had for it? Only a very moderate living, all the grapes we could eat, and a few bottles of musty old wine.
"Mother, of course, has very little to do with it, and, to her, it has come to represent some sort of entailed possession that becomes more sacred every year. It's a family heirloom, like a title, or some very old and valuable piece of jewelry. Other people have family plate and family traditions, but we've got a vineyard, or, to speak more truthfully, it has us."