Original subtitles

For as long as I can remember, I never wanted to be

anything but a writer.

Nor can I remember ever thinking of giving up writing.

Although, at times, the agonies of being rejected...

were painful and frustrating.

I recall one Saturday morning...

when I had gone to pick up my usual batch of rejection slips.

It was a day which was to mark the beginning...

of a new plateau in my career.

It's alright. You're married.

Well, I guess we're still on our honeymoon, you might say.

-How is your family, John-Boy? -Fine. How's the mail situation?

We haven't quite figured out the division of labor.

Excuse me.

Now let's see, John-Boy, you got one back here from...

-Liberty Magazine. -Yeah.

And then you got another reject here from Collier's.

-Collier's? -And...

Saturday Evening Post sent you one back, too.

Corabeth? What are you doing?

Mr. Godsey, if I am to be your helpmate...

I must know the paperwork which that requires.

Please let me have this, Ike.

This one's from the Appalachian Journal.

I never heard of.

Yes, I know. It is a very, very fine publication.

It publishes only the best in recent Appalachian fiction.

And if you will notice, Ike, this is not a return envelope.

Oh, hey. So that means they might have accepted it, huh?

Yes.

-Did they buy it? -Not quite.

They like it. And they would like me to lengthen it.

John-Boy, for a young man about to break in to print...

you don't seem terribly excited.

Cousin Corabeth, I almost broke in to print once before...

and it was a disaster.

I always fancied I could write...

had I been given the time and place.

Corabeth, would you go fetch me a cup of coffee?

Mr. Godsey, if a gentleman wanted a lady

to get him a cup of coffee...

I'd think there would be a more gracious way of requesting it.

Corabeth, would you please get me a cup of coffee?

Of course, Mr. Godsey.

I will serve it on that small tray with the small flowers...

that Olivia gave us for our wedding present.

John-Boy?

No, thank you, I have to hit the trail.

John-Boy, that story that they're about to accept...

-It's not about me, is it? -No.

Who's it about?

Well, it's sort of about Miss Mamie

and Miss Emily Baldwin.

Come on. What could be interesting

about the Baldwin sisters?

Just add one Ashley Longworth, and you've got a good story.

Well, you don't believe that story about

Miss Emily and Ashley Longworth.

Maybe, maybe not. But you will when you read the story.

-If they buy it. -Okay, alright.

-You going to the church raffle? -I doubt it.

You're going to miss that first big prize. It's a doozy!

I'll probably be working.

I'll see you later, Ike.

Okay. Bye.

-Mama. -John-Boy.

Do you know where it mentions anything

in the Bible about raffles?

No, why?

Well, according to Grandma the Bible says they're sinful...

and I shouldn't let the children go.

I can't really see the children

going to hell for a church raffle.

Anyway, they've been selling tickets for weeks.

It's a pity to disappoint them. Listen, Mama.

I think I may have some good news for you.

-You've had a story accepted. -Maybe.

Maybe.

It's a story I don't think you've ever heard.

I sent it in to the Appalachian Journal

which is a very, very good magazine...

and this is what they said:

"Dear Mr. Walton, this is a splendid story

and we would like to publish it.

"Our requirements for the short story form...

"necessitates stories of 5,000 words or more.

"We would be most interested in publishing your story...

"if you can bring it up to the appropriate length.

"We suggest that you approach lengthening it

in the area of the"....

-Etcetera, etcetera. -Well, what's the story about?

It's about an old lady who has...

built a fantasy about a man that she fell in love with...

when they were both very young and she sort of tries...

to keep him alive in her imagination.

Sounds like Miss Emily to me.

I sort of did get the idea from Miss Emily.

Don't you think it might upset Miss Emily to read a story...

that says Ashley Longworth was only real in her imagination?

No. Well, I never really thought about it.

She'll probably never recognize herself. People never do...

when they read something that they're in.

I mean, that's what a writer does.

He takes the raw materials of a character or something...

and he molds it in his own way...

from his own imagination, into a different form.

Something original and different.

All the same, it'd be a shame to hurt Miss Emily's feelings.

Mama, I would not do anything to hurt Miss Emily's feelings.

And besides, she'll never even read it.

There's not more than five or six people

subscribe to this magazine.

-She'll never know. -I hope not.

Look, Mama, I would appreciate it...

if you would not tell anybody about this story.

You can tell Daddy, but don't tell the children...

because after that vanity press business...

I don't want anyone to know until I've sold it for sure.

Not a word.

Even as a young woman, she was always addressed

as Miss Charlotte.

And it was not so much out of respect...

but rather from a sense of her obvious destiny.

Her friends whispered how unfortunate it was...

that Miss Charlotte had been born to be a spinster.

Miss Charlotte had no such image of herself.

She dreamt of a suitor who would love her...

and whom she would love in return.

-John-Boy, where are you? -What? I'm here.

I am in need of a friend and companion, John-Boy.

Wait, just a minute. I'm coming.

-John-Boy? -Yes?

I want you to take a stroll with me

over to Ike's for the church raffle.

I'm a little busy, Grandpa.

I'm doing something that's kind of important here.

You're too busy to take a look at the mysterious first prize?

They got it all covered over with something...

so you can't see.

-What's so mysterious about it? -As near as I can make out...

the Baldwin ladies have donated it...

and they don't want to unveil it until the last minute.

I wonder if it's....

Come on, it won't take more than a half-hour, 45 minutes maybe.

-The Baldwin ladies, you say? -Yeah.

Come on.

Well, it's a funny thing.

I'm just, sort of, working on a story...

that's, sort of, based on the Baldwin sisters.

-What's that? -I said I'm, writing a story...

that's loosely based on the Baldwin ladies.

What do you know?

You want to be careful what you write about them, you know...

if you want to sell it.

They're delicate ladies, if you know what I mean.

I know.

-Come on. -Sure. Okay, I'll come with you.

-Come on. -Let's go.

Okay, Elizabeth, take out the ticket for the big prize.

I know this is the one you've all been waiting for.

You've been wondering what it is.

And you'll find out in a minute.

That prize, by the way, was donated

by Miss Emily and Miss Mamie Baldwin.

It's a doozy. Now.

That number is number 17. Who's got lucky number 17?

Seventeen? Come on, somebody out there has got it.

Who's got 17? Look in your pockets. Number 17?

Zeb Walton. Come on up here, Zeb.

It's me!

Hey, Zeb Walton. He's the winner. Come on up here, Zeb.

Oh, that's wonderful.

-Congratulations, Grandpa. -Congrats on your good fortune.

Okay, Zeb, come on up here. Come on up here, Zeb...

and take the top off of that so we can see what you won.

Won't you say something, Mr. Walton?

I'm overwhelmed. I just don't know what to say.

Her beauty is extraordinary.

-Tell him her history, sister. -You tell him, Emily.

Well, as you know, Mr. Walton, in 1901...

Papa took us on the grand tour.

We traveled through the stately homes of England...

the fjords of Norway...

the cathedrals of Paris...

the canals of Venice...

coming at last to Florence, Italy.

You've neglected to mention that Papa was enraptured...

with Mr. Edgar Allan Poe's poem Annabel Lee.

Oh, yes. That's very important, because

it was in Florence, Italy...

that we met a young sculptor, quite talented...

and Papa commissioned him to sculpt this statue...

based on the poem composed by Mr. Poe.

Annabel Lee.

It's a lovely statue, ladies...

but I wouldn't want to deprive you

of such a beautiful objet d'art.

-Well. -Well...

we must confess, Mr. Walton.

Our dear late mother didn't care for her...

and she has been hidden away all these years.

And we just felt that the time had come

for her to see the light of day.

In that case, I gladly accept.

Congratulations, again. I hope you enjoy it.

Indeed. Indeed, yes.

-John-Boy? -Miss Emily, Miss Mamie.

That's a beautiful statue.

-We're pleased to hear the news. -What news?

Mr. Godsey told us all about the story you're writing...

about Ashley Longworth and me.

Indeed, yes, and we are deeply moved--

-At the prospect-- -The story finally being told.

Well.... Good, I'm glad. But....

Excuse me just a minute, ladies, I have to speak to somebody.

Excuse me.

-Ike Godsey. -Yeah?

What did you go and ruin everything for?

What did I ruin?

You told Miss Mamie and Miss Emily

about that story I was writing.

You didn't tell not to tell them.

Why, are they unhappy that you are writing about them?

That's not the point, Ike. Of course they love the idea.

It's just that I don't want the whole county knowing...

that I might get published. Suppose something happens again.

I'd just appreciate it if you'd be more private

about my business in the future. If you don't mind.

I was happy for you...

-I wanted to tell somebody. -Okay.

Just try to contain yourself next time, alright?

Okay.

John-Boy. I need your help here.

What are you gonna do with this thing?

This is the spitting image, the very image of Moselle Lewis.

-Who is Moselle Lewis? -The woman that I was courting.

before your grandma come down the track.

Really? What is Grandma gonna say about that?

I hope she don't remember Moselle as well as I did.

-Come on, give me a hand. -Wait a minute.

-That's too heavy. Let me. -We need a wheelbarrow.

-No, Grandpa. -Let it go.

Steady, John-Boy, here we go.

-Need a hand, Pa? -Can I make her....

No, I want you all to stand back...

and be prepared to gaze upon a thing of beauty.

I can't see what all the mystery's about.

You'll like it, Grandma.

Yeah, I'll make up my own mind after I see it.

Alright, folks, gaze upon this glorious first prize.

-My Lord! -What's the matter, old woman?

Don't you recognize a work of art when you see one?

If that's the first prize, how bad are the others?

-Livie? -It's very interesting, Grandpa.

John, you have not expressed an opinion.

Congratulations, Pa.

Now, she looks like somebody

but for the life of me I don't know who.

Where are you planning on putting her, Grandpa?

Why, she'll sit right here, so I can be up there

on the porch in my rocker, gaze at her to my heart's content.

Wouldn't the meadow be a little bit better?

Then you could enjoy her while you're working in the mill.

No. I wouldn't think so. That'd take my mind from my work.

You know it's dangerous working around a wood saw.

There's something about that face I don't like.

She reminds me of somebody.

This statue was inspired by Annabel Lee.

She's disgraceful with--

Well, put her in the vegetable garden

and use her as a scarecrow.

-No, keep her here. -Grandma, I think she's pretty.

She stays right here.

Well, wherever she stays, supper's getting cold.

-Come on inside, everybody. -Well, I think she's pretty.

-Goodbye, Annabel. -I think she's real pretty.

John-Boy? You going to stay up all night?

I may have to. It's pretty slow going.

You running out of inspiration?

Ike blabbed to the Baldwin ladies

that I was writing this story about them.

And now knowing that they know that I'm writing this story...

makes it impossible to write it.

Why don't you give it a rest and start fresh in the morning?

-Yeah, you're probably right. -Goodnight.

Goodnight.

I know what I've to do. I just have to write it my way.

I've to put it down as it comes to me.

Just something is stopping the flow.

Company, Mamie? Were we expecting company?

No, but I'll see who it is just the same.

What a treat! Sister, it's John-Boy.

John-Boy. Just in time for tea.

-Do come in and sit down. -Thank you very much.

Will you have some tea, John-Boy?

No, thank you. No tea for me.

I wanted to speak with you about something.

I do hope you and your grandfather

got his prize home safely.

Yes, we did. It's sitting in the front yard.

Did the rest of the family enjoy his good fortune?

They had different opinions about it.

I wanted to speak with you about that story

that Ike told you I was writing.

Oh, John-Boy.

You can't know the joy that the knowledge

that you've written a story about us...

-And Ashley Longworth. -has given to my sister and me.

Yes.

I want to be completely honest in this story. So--

Now, we wouldn't have it any other way.

Now, we will, of course, supply you...

with any and all information you may need.

You know, of course, that Ashley Longworth...

was a student at the University of Virginia?

Well, of course he knows that, sister.

And how would he know that?

You've told the story often enough.

Sister, I do believe you're jealous.

By what right would I be jealous? I had beaus of my own.

Name one.

Octavius Fairweather.

Papa could never have allowed you to marry a Fairweather.

Why, the family have only been in Virginia for about 100 years.

Practically newcomers.

After all, as I recall, he only came to see you once.

But he would have called again. But Papa intimidated him.

Yes, and I never did understand why.

After all, Octavius never kissed you.

You see, John-Boy, Ashley did kiss me.

Yes.

Miss Emily--

It was out there under the maple tree.

And a shower of golden leaves...

was swirling about in the autumn wind.

Yes.

Miss Emily...

every writer has...

a different version, his own version, of a familiar story...

which may or may not coincide

with the versions of other people.

I wouldn't want the story to offend you.

Offend me?

You see, I, as a writer...

when I transliterate or fictionalize an event...

which has actually taken place....

The way it appears on the printed page...

might not necessarily coincide...

with the way a person who had experienced the event...

would think about the event. Do you see?

I don't understand.

What I mean is...

that the story as I tell it may not be the way you remember it.

It's my interpretation of a character.

In other words, you might not even recognize

your own character at all.

I'm disappointed.

I'd hoped Ashley might read the story wherever he is...

and it might prompt him to come this way in his travels.

For old times' sake, don't you know?

He'll never see it. And you'll probably never even read it.

It's gonna be published in a very obscure literary magazine.

called the Appalachian Journal, and hardly anybody ever

subscribes to it.

-We do. -We do.

You subscribe to the Appalachian Journal?

Papa subscribed to it years ago and we get our copy every month.

-It's an excellent publication. -It certainly is.

John-Boy...

perhaps we could help in this way.

Perhaps you could let us read it before it appears...

and then if there are any details

that are incorrect, we could tell you.

-No. I-- -That's an excellent idea.

I think it is.

-John-Boy. -Ike.

I want you to know that I am very calm at this moment.

I've thought this over very carefully in my mind...

and I am in complete control over my own emotions.

John-Boy, there are some people who could profit

by your example.

Corabeth, I would like to speak with Ike privately, please.

John-Boy, whatever's Mr. Godsey's business

is my business.

You were present when we were joined

in the holy state of matrimony.

Corabeth. Please.

Ike, I want you to know...

that I have never been as angry at anyone in my whole life...

as I am with you right now.

-You seem pretty upset. -Upset is not the word for it.

I told you the other day that I was writing a story

about the Baldwin ladies.

This story is not literally a biography

about the Baldwin ladies.

I got the idea from them.

You blabbed to them and now they think...

-that the story is about them. -It is, isn't it?

No, it's not literally about them.

The story is my interpretation...

of an event, which is suggested by an event in their lives.

It does not necessarily coincide with their own interpretation.

And because you cannot keep your mouth shut about something.

which is not your business, I can't get my story published.

I can't even write it correctly.

I'll not have you hollering at me.

What?

Look, first you were mad because you were afraid...

that everyone would find out that you're being published.

Now you're mad because the Baldwin ladies...

think that you're going to be writing about them.

John-Boy, what's really bothering you?

What is bothering me?

I don't know.

"I was a child and she was a child

"In our kingdom by the sea

"But we loved with a love that was more than love

"I and my Annabel Lee

"With a love that the wing'd seraphs of heaven

"Coveted her and me

"Oh, Annabel, Annabel, Annabel Lee!"

Old man, you'll catch your death sitting out here

in the chill of the evening.

Just taking the night air, Esther.

And admiring that....

Contemplation is a harmless sport, Esther.

I know who she looks like.

Who is that, old darling?

That loose woman that you were having such a fine time with...

when you met me. That's Moselle Lewis!

No. No, Esther. You're mistaken.

Moselle Lewis I remember very well.

She's a fine high-stepping lady.

And I regarded her very favorably, but no...

this isn't Moselle, this is Poe's Annabel Lee.

Don't you come complaining to me when the rheumatism hits you...

for sitting out here in the night air with her.

I best be getting in. Esther's feathers appear to be ruffled.

Yeah, Pa, I guess you could say that.

It's ridiculous.

Do you think he's planning on letting that thing

sit there forever?

I don't know, Liv. Maybe it'll start a trend.

People will start trying to keep up with the Waltons...

and soon everybody will have a statue

in their front yard.

That is no joke. We'll be the laughingstock of the county.

I'll have him move it if you want me to.

I'd hate to do that. Seems to get such pleasure.

He just sat there all afternoon looking at that silly thing.

You're a cheerful looking sight, Son.

Don't make fun of me tonight, Daddy.

You should see yourself, Son.

I came pretty close to hitting Ike Godsey

and I think I insulted Corabeth.

Are you still mad at Ike...

for telling Miss Mamie and Miss Emily about your story?

Liv, remember what it was like being young?

-What an awful thing to say. -It happens, Liv.

It's not gonna happen to me.

-How're you going to stop it? -Getting old?

I don't know. But that's some place I don't want to go.

Ma and Pa seem to manage.

You call that managing? Her bickering at him day and night

and him sitting there looking at that silly statue all day?

I wonder what we're gonna be like when we're their age.

Just don't you dare call me "old woman."

You like "old darling" any better?

You sleepy?

I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I'll probably be asleep by the time you come up.

Sweet dreams.

You, too.

Zeb.

What's the trouble? What's the matter? Somebody breaking in?

Will you wake up? I want to talk to you.

Esther, sometimes you are the most exasperating woman.

Why have you awakened me?

I want that statue out of the front yard.

Why?

Why?

Well, I just don't like where it is.

Oh, dear, I suppose I will not be able to get any sleep...

until I promise to remove Annabel in the morning.

That's right.

I promise, but only under protest.

-Night, Zeb. -You're welcome, Esther.

John, did you hear strange noises during the night?

I thought I heard Pa moving around.

John.

How did that thing get in the house?

I don't know, it sure didn't fly in.

Good morning.

The hat's alright. But Grandma's apron doesn't work.

How did it get in here?

I don't know, but it's not staying.

You two get that thing out of here.

-Who's your friend? -Don't be funny.

Come here and help us, will you?

We can carry this thing if you'll give us a hand.

Come on, Son.

Where can I grab a hold of this?

Just take it to the corner.

Grandpa won't like you putting his lady in the corner.

He'll have to find some other place.

Your mother won't let him keep it in the house.

What's the matter with you, Chance?

Ain't you ever seen a thing of beauty before?

Careful, Son, doesn't look like he likes that thing.

Watch out, watch out!

Chance, come back here.

Chance! Watch it!

Darn thing kicked over the milk.

Well, there's no use crying over it.

Grandpa, did you bring that statue in here last night?

I did not.

It was in the middle of the floor

first thing this morning.

Where is she now?

John and John-Boy took her off somewhere.

I don't know what they did with her.

What have you fellows done with Annabel?

We put her in the barn, Pa.

First, I am falsely accused...

of doing mischievous acts in the middle of the night...

then I come out to find you two making merry...

with my own personal and private property.

Now I'm worked up over this affair, make no bones about it.

Can you think of a better place?

Indeed I can, and I will.

Zeb, what did you do with that.... That thing!

Esther, just what have you got against Annabel?

She doesn't belong here.

Not in the yard, not in the barn, and not in the house.

Just where do you think she does belong then?

In a graveyard. That is a tombstone.

Esther, you're right.

Zebulon.

John-Boy, have you seen your grandpa around?

-John-Boy, you answer me. -Grandma, I'm busy writing.

-Why couldn't you just tell me? -I did just tell you that.

There's no respect from young people anymore.

Grandma, I'm not being disrespectful, I'm working.

-You just said you were writing. -Grandma, writing is work.

It's as backbreaking as digging a ditch.

It's as exhausting as plowing a field from sunup to sundown.

And if you don't get your work published...

nobody in the world cares about

what you write except you yourself.

Then what did you take it up for?

Because I love it.

-Here, here. -Come on, Erin.

-Come on, Erin. -Oh, I can get you.

Oh, he missed. Come on.

Any of you children seen your grandpa?

Come on, get him.

Now, have any of you seen your grandpa?

No, Grandma, we haven't.

Not since breakfast, Grandma.

Alright. Now I've got it, so you better answer me.

Maybe he's lost, Grandma.

-Come on, throw it harder. -Get him, Ben!

Alright, now. You give me that.

If you want to play ball, you better answer me.

Grandma, he's probably where he was yesterday

and the day before that.

And where was that? Where was he yesterday?

At the graveyard.

-Grandma, the ball. -Grandma, the ball.

Come on. I'm in the middle.

Esther, what on earth are you doing here?

This was to be a surprise for you.

-It is. -Well, how do you like it?

Is it for keeping things in or keeping things out?

It's just a little old picket fence

for our final resting place.

You always did say you liked white picket fences.

-There's no gate. -What do you need a gate for?

I don't know. But a gate would give it a sense of freedom.

You don't need a gate.

You step right over a little old picket fence like this.

Couldn't you put a gate there?

I'll not give you a gate.

Next thing, you'll be wanting a padlock and a hasp...

and heaven knows what else.

Besides, once we are in here for keeps...

where would you put the key?

Couldn't you put a gate with a slide bolt on it?

No, I am not going to put a gate here.

On a cold, windy night, why, the gate would be

flapping back and forth like a chicken with one wing off.

Besides, there is something much more important...

that I want to talk to you about, Esther.

-Are you listening to me? -I'm listening.

Esther, we've got to make a decision right here and now.

-Who'll be on the left-- -On the right.

On the right. That is what I want to talk to you about.

I want to tell you right here now. Esther, listen to me.

I'm listening.

I have never been completely comfortable sleeping

on the left side of our bed.

I only let you sleep on the right side of the bed...

because you seem to prefer it.

You mean that all these years you....

I have never spent a completely restful night. No, Esther.

It's true.

Well, it's only the Christian way.

One good sacrifice deserves another.

-Then you don't mind? -You can be on the right.

Then it's all settled.

And the little gate can go right there.

And the tombstone will sit right up there.

What tombstone is that?

That statue I won at the church raffle. You yourself said that.

that'd be the most appropriate place to make use of it.

If you put that statue anywhere near me...

I am going to be buried someplace else.

That's alright, Moselle. Don't you worry about a thing.

Although it was totally imaginary

she could see his face clearly.

She knew the curve of his lips, the slant of his nose...

each wave of his corn-colored hair.

He had been more fantasy than flesh from the very beginning.

And as the years passed, the unreal became real.

Come in.

Didn't you hear me calling you to supper?

Would it be alright if I didn't eat now, Mama?

No, it would not be alright.

But I can put a plate in the oven.

It won't taste the same, but I can do it.

Thank you.

Looks like you've got your problem with the story solved.

I do.

The opportunity of being published in this magazine...

is just too important for me to pass up.

And I have to submit that story the way I

as a writer, see it...

or else I don't deserve to be published at all.

I'm glad you got it settled one way or another.

It's okay if I don't go downstairs now?

As long as you don't make a habit of it.

Okay. Thank you.

You're welcome, John-Boy.

Liv.

-We're gonna start without you. -John-Boy will be down later.

Alright, Pa, will you say grace tonight, please?

No, thank you, John.

I do not feel like saying grace this evening.

-Ma? -Maybe one of the children.

Ben?

Gracious Lord, we thank thee for thy blessings

and for this food.

We pray that we may live to see another day...

and whatever's wrong between Grandma and Grandpa...

gets cleared up so this house can get back to normal. Amen.

-Amen. -Amen.

Amen.

What is wrong between Grandma and Grandpa?

They aren't speaking to each other.

Grandpa, why are you and Grandma not speaking to each other?

Pass the potatoes please, Jim-Bob.

Why won't you let the boy speak out?

Thought maybe you and Ma would like to settle your differences.

somewhere besides the table, Pa.

I haven't got any difference.

Your mother's the one that's clammed up...

like a cat that won't say boo, if we had one.

John, I would appreciate it very much...

if you would give your father a message for me.

Alright, Ma.

Alright. You tell him for me

that I don't plan to spend eternity

with that stone likeness of that fancy woman...

that he sowed his wild oats with...

looking down on my final resting place.

And you tell him...

that before I will let that statue of his

ruin my final resting place...

I will put it in my will that

I will be buried out in the cow pasture.

Pa.

Ma said that she's gonna....

Will you two settle this between yourselves, please?

Esther, may I speak to you alone?

We'll settle this in private.

I am tired to death....

Alright, everybody, it's getting cold. Eat up.

I kind of like that statue anyway.

You would.

Turn blue, Mary Ellen.

Alright, that's enough.

Old woman, you're simply jealous because you think....

-I saw an oriole today. -What's that, Liv?

-I said I saw an oriole today. -You did, huh?

I heard plenty of talk....

What was the oriole doing?

...you've a mind of your own.

It was eating a worm.

...50 years being married to you....

Where was this?

I warn you, Esther....

In the garden.

Well, I didn't say I would....

-Lot of worms this year. -Lots of orioles, too.

There's not room in this house for the both of us.

Sometimes, Esther, I don't think you've got sense enough....

What in the name of the Lord is going on?

Well, we were talking about orioles.

-Mama saw one in the garden. -It was eating a worm.

-Lots of worms this year. -Lots of orioles, too.

That's very good news. I mean, what is that going on in there?

Your grandparents are trying to settle

a difference of opinion.

Why doesn't he just listen to her?

Why doesn't she listen to him?

Then you won't have to any longer.

If anybody wants me, I'll be in the barn in the haymow.

John-Boy, bring me a blanket.

That old fool will catch his death out there in the barn.

Well, you men, do something.

Yeah as soon as we finish eating, Ma.

-Pa. -I'm up here.

-What are you doing up there? -Bleeding.

You hurt yourself, Pa?

I skunked the skin off my leg climbing up the ladder.

Pa, we got to talk to you.

You better make it quick

before I pass out from bleeding to death.

That's what we want to talk to you about, Pa.

John, I know you'll indulge in the whims of an old man.

I would like a real nice funeral.

A big one with a lot of people.

A homemade coffin and wild flowers

strewn around everywhere.

That's fine with me, Pa. When?

When what?

When are you planning on passing over

as they say down at the church?

Excuse me.

You know, I've always told you, John...

that I have every intention of living to be 101.

-How old are you? -I am 73. You know that.

What do you want to bring a thing like that up at this time?

That leaves you over 28 years, Pa.

You mean I've got over a quarter of a century left?

Twenty-eight years.

That's a long time to leave that poor statue

out there waiting on you.

Getting all worn out and weather-beaten

while you keep on living.

Tell you the truth, boys, just between the three of us...

I have been looking for a way to dispose of that first prize.

I've had nothing but hard luck...

ever since I first laid eyes on that statue of Annabel Lee.

John-Boy and me have been talking about it, Pa.

We've got an idea. You wanna hear?

Yeah, I'll listen to most anything now.

The old woman didn't send you out here, did she?

Kind of.

Alright, start talking.

Right here where you had in mind, Grandpa?

I think this is the appropriate spot.

Lift her up there now. Easy. Easy does it.

There we go.

-Ready, Grandpa? -No, Ben.

Give me a few more moments to admire her beauty.

"Oh the moon never beams

"without seeing her dreams

"Of the beautiful Annabel Lee

"And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

"Of my beautiful Annabel Lee"

Well, Ben, I think you better get it over with.

Yeah. Let's go.

"In her sepulcher by the sea

"In her tomb by the sounding sea"

I'm here to read you the story just as I promised I would.

-Do read it, John-Boy. -Oh, please do.

Alright.

Now, you remember that this is not meant to be

a story literally about you.

Okay.

"Miss Charlotte Ransom's family was an old

and respected one in the town.

"Even as a young woman, she was known

and addressed as Miss Charlotte.

"And it was not so much out of respect

but rather out of her obvious destiny.

"Her friends whispered how sad it was...

"that Miss Charlotte had been born to be a spinster.

"She walked from quiet room to quiet room...

"and the only sounds that came to her

were the ticking of clocks...

"and the beating of her own heart.

"The realization that she was to be alone...

"loveless, for the rest of her life crowded into her mind.

"She felt the rise of panic.

"She stood trembling at the window, which overlooked....

"She stood trembling at the window

which overlooked a maple tree.

"And there came to her mind a memory...

"of a day when she had met someone there.

"He was a young university student...

"handsome and debonair.

"And he and Miss Charlotte had loved one another...

"from the moment they first met.

"And as she stood there at the window in memory...

"she was once more the young girl that she had been...

"held in the arms of her one true love...

"while he kissed her...

"amid the swirling gold and russet autumn leaves.

"Cruel fate was to stand between their union.

"But she knew that wherever he traveled in the world...

"he cherished her memory, as she cherished his...

"and that someday in the future...

"they would be together again."

John-Boy, you've touched me very deeply.

Miss Emily?

Miss Emily.

I do not know why...

you ever thought your story would not please me, John-Boy.

You've captured the very essence of my feeling for Ashley...

and his for me.

I was always certain that a person of your sensitivity...

would realize the depths of our love.

I think of him often.

Sometimes I fancy him walking along a bridge in Venice...

with the sun setting across the scarlet canal...

and him remembering a maple tree.

My decision not to submit my story

about Miss Emily was difficult to make.

But later, I was glad I didn't send it to the magazine.

I did send them a new story calledThe Statue.

It was published and just about everybody

who read it enjoyed it very much.

Goodnight, Grandma.

Goodnight, Grandpa.

Mama.

Mama, goodnight.

Everybody asleep already?

No, Son, but no one has much to say to you...

since they read that story about the statue.

Telling everyone I was jealous over Moselle Lewis.

It's nobody's business but mine what color my nightshirt is.

I have never said a swear word in my life.

And I do not practice kissing on the mirror over my dresser.

And you didn't even mention me at all.

Is there any chance we can talk this over?

I think we ought to sleep on it, Son.

-Goodnight. -Goodnight.