All language subtitles for The.World.to.Come.2021.HDRip.XviD.AC3-EVO

Provided by explosiveskull
https://twitter.com/kaboomskull
M_I_SForEver

Tuesday,
January 1st, 1856.

Fair and very cold.

This morning,

ice in our bedroom
for the first time all winter.

The water froze
on the potatoes

as soon as they were washed.

With little pride,
and less hope,

we begin the new year.

On the porch
after sunup,

I could hear the low chirping
of sparrows

in the hedgerows that are
now buried in the snow.

Dyer has maintained
that with good health,

and a level head,

there is always
an excellent chance

for a farmer willing to work.

He feels he can never fully
rid himself of his burdens.

And I'm certain that because
his mind is in such a bad state,

it affects his whole system.

He told me
this morning

that contentment was like
a friend he never gets to see.

You're late with the milking.

She wasn't suffering.

And you?

Since our acquisition
of this farm,

my husband had kept a ledger
to help him see the year whole.

This way he knows what each crop

and field pays
from year to year.

And Dyer has asked me
to keep a diary of matters

that might otherwise
go overlooked...

From tools lent out
to bills outstanding.

That I have done.

But there would be no record
in these dull and simple pages

of the most passionate
circumstances

of our seasons past.

No record of our emotions
or fears.

Our greatest joys.

Our most piercing sorrows.

With our child,

it was as if I'd found
my bearings.

But I too rarely told her
that she was our treasure.

Would you like to try?

Like this, papa?

That's it.

She often seemed
separate from us,

as if she was working at
just fitting in where she could.

They saw his brothers
and sisters

and they were
the mouse's family...

There is something
so affecting

about mute and motionless grief
and illness

in a child so young.

She put her arms around me
and said nothing else.

But it felt like
we were speaking.

I have become
my grief.

I have become my grief.

"Welcome sweet
day of rest",

says the hymn.

And Sunday is most welcome
for its few hours of quiet ease.

As for me.

I no longer attend.

After the calamity
of Nellie's loss,

what calm I enjoy

does not derive from the notion
of a better world to come.

I want to purchase an atlas.

- It could be a bother.
- No, no. No bother.

Who is that?

His name is Finney.

- His wife Tallie.
- Hyah!

I met them
at the feed store.

They seem to keep to themselves.

They're renting the Zebrun farm.

Monday, February 4th.

Why is ink like fire?

Because it is a good servant,

and a hard master.

Did you say something?

I want to purchase an atlas.

I suppose there are more
frivolous purchases

one could make.

I've saved 90 cents of my own.

I can't imagine a better way
to spend it.

Could buy your husband a gift.

What better gift
could I give him

than a wife
who is no longer a dullard?

My self-education

seems the only way
to keep my unhappiness

from overwhelming me.

Good afternoon.

I've been using a broom
on my porch.

The snow is so dry.

I'm Tallie.

Abigail.

I hope I'm not intruding.

No.

I just, I needed to get away
for the day.

The farm is a slaughterhouse
right now.

My husband is killing his hogs.

Would you like to come in?

Yes, I'd love that.

Or we could just stay
out on the porch, shivering.

I know it's the dullest
of all things

to have an ignorant neighbor
come by

and spoil a Sunday afternoon.

Oh, no,
you're the most welcome here.

But I know the feeling.

Sometimes, I imagine during
the Widow Weldon's visits

that I've been plunged up to
my eyes in a vat of the prosaic.

Oh, Widow Weldon!

She got going on the county
levy once...

She saw
I had noticed her hair,

and admitted she had been vain
about it as a girl.

She said that back then,
she'd worn it longer

and plaited in a bun
at the back of her head.

In the winter sun
through the window,

her skin had an underflush
of rose and violet

which so disconcerted me
that I had to look away.

As always,

when it came to speaking

and attempting to engage
another's affections,

circumstances doomed me
to striving and anxiety.

From my earliest youth,
I was like a pot-bound root,

all curled in upon itself.

I hope I'm not keeping you
from something.

No.

I'm glad you've come.

Finney saw your husband
at the cooperage.

He mentioned his new method
for farrowing his piglets.

With some asperity?

My husband mentions everything
with some asperity.

I told him that once,

and...

he observed in response that
it seemed to be quite a favor

to get a kind word from me.

And I told him that if he
was married to himself,

he'd soon find out
what a favor it was.

My mother always said
that having children

would resolve that dilemma.

My mother made the same claim.

And yet...

Here we are...

Both childless.

My daughter, Nellie,
would have been five today.

Oh.

How did she pass?

Diphtheria.

Last September.

I'm so sorry.

- Hello.
- Oh.

Good afternoon.

I'm Dyer.

Tallie.

Oh, it's late, isn't it?
I should be getting on.

Don't go on my account.

Oh, no.

That's a nice wrap you have.

Thank you.

I never receive compliments
for my clothes.

I'm so glad you've come.

Meeting you has made my day.

It has?

Well...

How pleasant and uncommon
it is to make someone's day.

Thursday, February 14th.

Dyer's third night
with the fever.

Drink this.

I plan on getting sick
more often.

My wife smiles at me.

Promise me you're not gonna die.

That would be the opposite
of my intention.

I've restored
him somewhat

with an enema of molasses,

warm water and lard.

Also a drop of turpentine
next to his nose.

I spent the day reconsidering
my conversation with Tallie.

We compared childhood beds...

Mine in which the straw

was always breaking up
and thinning out.

And hers, which was as hard,
she claimed,

as the Pharaoh's heart.

I should be
taking care of you.

I agree.

Her manner is sweet
and calm and gracious.

And yet her spirits
seem to quicken

at the prospect of
further conversation with me.

I find that everything
I wish to tell her

loses its eloquence
in her presence.

So how did you come
to meet Dyer?

He was the oldest son
of a neighbor.

He helped out
on my father's farm.

And was he instantly smitten
by you?

He was, wasn't he?

He was instantly smitten by you.

He admired what he viewed
as my practical good sense.

You don't countenance words
like "smitten", do you?

I suspect I use
all the same words you do.

I suspect you don't.

In speech,
yes, because you're shy.

But I bet you're more
accomplished in your writing.

Thank you.

Your good sense, that's all
your husband was smitten with?

And my efficient habits.

That's all?

My handy ways.

Dyer likes mechanical things.

I have no doubt he would've
been happier

had he been allowed to pursue

the natural scientific bent
of his mind.

Circumstances forced him
into farming.

And despite all of that,
his heart compelled him to you?

Well...

You would have to ask him
about that.

And what would you say
if I asked you?

I suppose that as a suitor,
he was...

not generous, but he was just.

And that he was affectionate,
if not constant.

I wasn't sure
of his suitability.

But my family felt that more
improving

might be in the offing.

After all, it is a long lane
that has no turning.

You both have much
to be thankful for.

We do.

It's still too soon.

Sorry.

Tuesday, February 19th.

My reluctance seems
to have become his shame.

His nighttime pleasures,
which were never numerous,

have curtailed even more.

And I have so far refused
to engage his persistence

on the subject of another child.

Evening.

This is my
husband Finney.

And you already know Dyer.

Our paths have crossed.

And this is the Abigail
that I've been mentioning.

My wife talks about you as
if you're all about the house,

and everything
reminds her of you.

Oh, well, it's all I can do
but sit cross-legged and morose

whenever she's away.

- Come in.
- Thank you.

The rain so heavy
that it broke down our mill.

Did you miss me?

Yes.

You look different.

No...

Finney seems agreeable.

Yes, he is,
when he chooses to be.

I guess I'm
supposed to offer a toast.

But when it comes
to the social graces,

I'm about as smooth as coming
down a rocky hill in the dark.

What my husband means
is he's so happy

to finally get together,

and to see Dyer again.

Cheers.

Part of what I value
about my wife

is how she taught me to
associate with my fellow beings.

Finney, that's a handsome
neck tie you've chosen.

Thank you.

But with my neck,

my head sticks out like a
chicken in a poultry wagon.

Your tart was
wonderfully savory.

Oh, did you like it?
I'm so glad.

I was worried I wouldn't
have enough eggs

- because we had an accident.
- Oh.

My hired hand pulled down a
box of eggs and broke two dozen.

I announced that he was
unlucky to eggs

and no longer allowed
to approach them.

"Unlucky to eggs."
I like that.

I told him that his shirt
had so many holes,

he can make a necklace of it.

Well, we often wish
we could afford a hired hand.

We've suffered a great deal from
the carelessness of hired hands.

Mr. Holt's hired hand is said
to have swum his horse

over the canal despite the cold.

Really?

Yes.

Winter's been so hard,

sometimes Mrs. Weldon's son

has had to deliver the mail
on skis.

Now our letters can get lost
at breakneck speed.

Did you write letters to Tallie
when you were courting?

I did.

And did Tallie keep them?

Only Tallie knows for sure.

Monday, February 25th.

Finney and Tallie's bond
confounds me.

At times, when their eyes meet,

they seem yoked in opposition
to one another,

while at other times,
there seems a shared regard.

There is something going on
between us

that I cannot unravel.

Hold this here.

Okay.

Thank you.

Hello, Dyer.

Well, hello.

You're off?

Yes, to town.

Have a good day.

She'll be pleased to see you.

Happy birthday!

Brought you some things.

Hand-knitted?

I hoped you'd like them.

I do.

An Atlas!

The United States of America.

Oh and a little pot of
apple sauce with an egg on top.

My feet are freezing.

Oh, let me warm them.

How's Finney?

He's Finney.

Ah, it tickles.

My husband records
trespassers in his journals.

And this morning,
when I asked him

what he intends to do
about them,

his response was so unpleasant
that I...

resolved to visit you...

so that there would be something
in my day

other than his meanness.

Dyer thinks he has
many estimable qualities.

He does.

And he also uses a ledger to
keep accounting of whom I visit

and how long I stay.

Why?

I have no idea.

As he's gotten more like this,

I've given up trying
to figure out

all the peculiarities of his...

odd little world.

I suppose he's especially
unhappy with me since...

I'm yet to give him a child.

What does it feel like?

Like nothing at first.

But then when she began
to stir...

it's like butterflies
flapping their wings.

Later, like a rabbit...

when she kicked her legs
at night.

It frightens me.

The thought of having
none of that.

And of giving birth.

Most of us feel that way.

But...

when the time comes,
I will be there...

to guide you through it.

Dyer must want another child.

I understand.

Birthday gifts.

A box of raisins.

That needle case
you've been needing.

And a tin of sardines.

You spoil me.

Oh, you got gifts
from your new friend.

She left hours ago.

I just saw her leave.

The great storm began

with a faint groaning
in the northeast.

It was like a noise
of a locomotive.

Help!

Come closer, girl.

It's warmer over here.

I'm sorry, I'll be going.

You should wait it out.

Come on, mare.

Dyer!

Dyer!

Dyer!

How long would it be
before I receive word of Tallie?

How long could I wait?

How long will the feed
in the barn last?

Each cow eats 26 pounds
of forage every day.

You should know that.

They start to skinny down
after three days.

Heard the newspaper predicts
the storm'll let up by then.

But that's probably based on

an expert's consultation
of a goose bone.

"In a real crisis of nature,
we're all at another's mercy."

Yes.

My mother liked to say,

"We tumble from one
mortification to another."

When I was seven, an earthquake
knocked down our house and barn.

Did I tell you?

Never.

- An earthquake?
- Yes.

I remember something woke me
before dawn.

I don't know what.

My father was calling out.

But I couldn't tear myself
away from the window.

I saw birds fluttering
in the air, afraid to set down.

The river was roiling,
and I couldn't move.

And then...

Finally, I jumped down
to our collapsed stairwell,

as all my brothers
had done before me.

And we all huddled together
in the dark on the porch.

Later, my mother said

that the dread never fully
went away after that.

She said, "What was safe if
the solid earth could do that?"

Mother.

Tallie! You're frozen!

Tallie! Stay awake!
Stay awake!

Open your eyes! Open your eyes!

Keep your eyes open!

Keep your eyes open!

Look at me.

I would die without you.

Then you're safe.

Because I am here.

Monday, March 17th.

Half the chickens are lost.

I dug ice and snow
from their dead open mouths

in an attempt to revive them.

Hobnails...

For better traction.

The Widow Weldon's
son, on his rounds,

reported that Tallie
had gotten home safely,

with, he thought,
only a bit of frostbite.

We haven't seen your friend
down the lane for a while.

Finney took her to Oneonta.

So everything is tedious
and lonesome?

Thursday, April 10th.

Biscuits and dried mackerel
for breakfast.

Dyer has augmented
the padding in the cattle pens

with his hoardings
of maple leaves and old straw.

It always seems
that Tallie will never appear.

But I remind myself that time
and the needle wear

through the longest morning.

And I have noted
that when she does arrive,

my heart is like a leaf
borne over a rock

by rapidly moving water.

Hello. Oh!

Oh! Careful.

Stay. Sit, sit.

Saturday, April 12th.

- I spent the last two days...
- Very damp, cloudy and cool.

Smoky.

Perhaps the forest
is somewhere on fire.

Your nose is being gracious.

Monday, April 14th.

A terribly bad spring so far,

but the clover
has come up through it,

and is all right.

And how's Finney?

The soul of patience.

He's mentioning again the idea
of migrating west.

You're planning on moving west?

Perhaps.

I had an uncle who moved to Ohio
and came to a desperate end.

Which is what one
might expect from Ohio.

- Tomorrow?
- Hm.

Thursday, April 17th.

Rain in torrents
nearly all night.

The lane is flooded
and the ditches brim full.

This morning,
only a slight shower.

Tallie came later
than her usual time today.

She offered no explanation.

I'm sorry that your childhood
was anything less than joyous.

Joyous it was not.

But I made my own happinesses.

My husband says, "God
puts heavy stones in your path,

it's up to us
to step over them."

Stones are what
the fortunate receive.

My mother's mother was born
in 1780

right here in Schoharie County.

I often wonder at the courage

and the resourcefulness
of those women.

Imagine faring forth
into a wilderness,

hoping to build the foundations
of a home.

Maybe they had a certain high
hopefulness that we don't have.

When can you come?

Tuesday.

- Hello, Tallie!
- Good day.

Was your afternoon gladsome?

Yes, it was, very.

- Goodbye.
- Goodbye.

I felt,

looking at her expression,

as if she were
in full sail on a flood tide,

while I bobbed
along down backwards.

And yet,

I never say on her countenance
the indifference

of fortunate
towards the less fortunate.

Good day.

Good day.

Are you sick, too?

Not at all.

I was hoping to compare colds.

I'll make you tea and honey?

What?

Every morning I wake up

and I think that I never
want to be far from you.

And under your influence,
since you're so good with words,

I've composed a poem.

It's entitled...

"Oh, Sick and Miserable Heart,
Be Still."

When I was a little girl,

I thought I could cultivate
my intellect

and do something for the world.

But my life has surprised me
by being far more ordinary.

You're talking about that moment

that I have dreamed about,
when we're carried in triumph

for having done something
wonderful or received at home

with tears and shouts of joy.

Do you know what I wonder?

Is it possible...

that such a moment hasn't
yet come for either of us?

I think it has.

Or that it could.

You do.

So what do you think?

What do you think about us?

I don't know how
to put it into words.

Well, try.

- I have tried.
- Well, try again.

What do you imagine?

I imagine that I love

how our encircling feelings
leave nothing out...

for us to want or seek.

I've presumed too much.

It's been my experience
that it's not always those

who show the least
who actually feel the least.

Just my dog's toenails
on the wood.

Why didn't you do
what you attempted to do?

I worry you'll catch my cold.

You smell like a biscuit.

I have to go home.

Astonishment and joy.

Astonishment and joy.

Astonishment and joy.

You haven't accomplished
any of your responsibilities.

- Do you need assistance?
- No, I don't think so.

So it's a cold plate
for supper tonight?

I'll milk the cows.

Friday, May 30th.

The sunshine streaming
through the branches

makes a tremendous farrago
of light and shade.

We hold our friendship
between us and study it,

as if it were the incomplete
map of our escape.

When the day is done,

my mind turns to her,

and I think,
with a special heat,

"Why are we to be separated?"

Your smile stopped.
Is it meant for someone else?

Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.

We need calico and buttons
and shoe thread.

Am I troubling you,
sitting here with you like this?

Not at all.

I may be late coming to it,

but I've learned
consideration of others.

I've learned the need
for human sympathy

and the unfulfilled want of it.

I feel I've provided you
with sympathy.

I suppose that's so.

The smile returns.

Good day.

Oh.

I believe that intimacy
increases goodwill.

And if that's the case,

then every minute
we spend together

will make us
more cheerful workers.

Won't our farms benefit
from that?

Won't our husbands?

All our burdens
will be lightened.

When she left,
I was like a skiff at sea

with neither hand nor helm
to guide it.

They're cleaning out the drain
under the street along the fork.

And several people
are down with fever.

Holt came by to hang the bacon.

He still hasn't recovered from
being beaten by two strangers.

He had to be hauled to his home
in his cart.

He said the men who did it
were gonna kill him,

and then realized they were
mistaken as to who he was.

Lately, it seems like
all you talk about

are highwaymen
and house breakers.

On the contrary,

I often defer
to your sensitivities.

And I haven't even
told you about

all the reports
in the county of men

who've poisoned
and killed their wives

because I haven't found it
a fitting subject for supper.

"Killed their wives,"
he used those words?

Mm-hm. those words.

Have you had any disagreements?

Yes, about my wifely duties.

I told him that I was opposed
to it, that I was not willing.

And he accepted that?

Well, he hasn't
touched me since, so...

But I made myself
feel better...

by composing a poem.

Can I read
you the opening stanza?

You can read me the entire poem.

No, I'll start with
the opening stanza.

"I love flowering gardens.

I love creeping plants.

I love walking in the air,

but I fear swarming ants."

I don't think I can
support the rhyme.

You see why I didn't
read the whole thing?

I'm sorry.

I've always been contrary
and maladroit.

Earlier, I... I felt that...

whenever I would draw close
to you, you would retreat,

and that, if I kept still,
you would return

but you'd stay at a distance,
like those sparrows

that stay in the farmyard
and won't come into the house.

- That's not how I feel.
- How do you feel, then?

When I was in school,

the teacher had me
read "Cordelia"

to an older boy's "King Lear."

Near the end of the play,

the king and his daughter
are imprisoned,

but he views it
in a positive way.

"Come, let's away to prison,"
he says.

"We two alone shall sing
like birds in a cage."

Imprisoned...

In a positive way?

Well, maybe that one has to read
the entire play.

It may be only in plays
where people

are imprisoned
in a positive way.

You don't think there's a cage
that could work to our benefit?

I just...

I only know that...

I've never liked cages.

I hope you had a good afternoon
in Shangri-La or Timbuktu,

wherever it is you've been.

I had a busy afternoon, yes.

I would think.

Five hours you've been gone.

I went to the drapers.

I couldn't find anything
I liked.

Then I stopped by the tinker
for a sack of coffee,

but he's now asking 60 cents,
and I only had 50.

Then I thought I would buy you
a treat of some kind,

but Mr. Arnolds reminded me

that I still owed
for my last transactions so...

I was forced
to close up my purse.

Tell me everything
about your day.

Don't hold anything back.

You're not interested in
how your wife spends her time.

I don't feel I have a wife.

I feel I have a selfish whore
who...

who'd rather wander off
to another man's house

than contribute any labor.

Well, Dyer was off
in the fields,

and her house
is on the way back home, so...

So it's just Abigail and you

tittering and gossiping
away the hours?

Enjoying each other's company.

I have certain expectations,
and you have certain duties.

We've talked all night and day
about your expectations.

I will not stay with a woman

if it continually requires
contention.

Well, then you shouldn't stay
with me, should you?

Don't ask for more
than you can handle.

Sunday, June 8th.

All afternoon, a hawk has been
using a single cloud above us

as its own parasol.

To ward off others of its kind.

Our whole house now
seems both angry and repentant.

God help us.

When three days went by
without a word from her,

I stole over to her house
to look on her

from what I imagined to be

a vantage point
of perfect safety.

By turning the lens piece,
I could draw her face nearer,

and hold it there
until she turned away.

Her image provoked
a sensation in me

like the violence
that sends a floating branch

far out over
a waterfall's precipice

before it plummets.

"For the wife does not have
the authority over her own body,

but the husband does.

Do not deprive one another,

so that Satan may not tempt you

because of your lack
of self-control."

Ephesians 5:33. "Submit to your
own husbands, as to the Lord..."

Monday, June 9th.

Merciful father...

Turn the channel of events.

Wednesday, June 11th.

Dyer has been silent all day,

and I was happy to be left
in my solitude.

Hello!

Tallie...

We haven't seen you for days.

Have you been ill?

- Nothing serious, I hope.
- Ho!

She's been under the weather.

- Good afternoon.
- Good afternoon.

We want to invite you to dinner
again this Saturday next.

But it's our turn.
We should be feasting you.

In the meantime,
please be our guests.

We'd love to.

Six?

- Six it is.
- Hup!

My mother once told me
in a fury

when I was a little girl

that my father
asked nothing of her

except that
she work in the garden,

harvest the produce,
preserve the fruit,

tend the poultry,
milk the cows,

manage the household duties,

and help out in the fields
when needed.

She said she appeared
in his ledger

only when she purchased a dress.

Am I anywhere in there?

I'm recording spring expenses.

And how have
things changed?

Daughters are married off
so young

that everywhere you look
a slender and unwilling girl

is being forced to stem
a sea of tribulations

before she is even full-grown
in height.

That's its purpose!

Come on. Come on.

Morning.

Morning, Jim.

Morning, ma'am.

I've got a new book for you.

Do you know,
I'd actually like to see

that blue dress you have there.

All right, lady.

Over here!

It's two and a half.

I'll take it.

My change?

Thank you.

The Mannings' oldest
daughter tipped over an oil lamp

and it set the house ablaze.

- Fire!
- Ho! Ho!

- Fire!
- Before she was driven

from the house by the flames,

she heard calls from her sister,

who was trapped
in the upper loft.

Get her out of there.

Cassie!

Get her out!

Get her out!

Your wife is to be commended
on her hospitality and cooking.

I can recall the day...

No, thank you.

...when every family was fed,
clothed, shot, sheltered,

and warmed from the products
a good wife

gathered within
her own fence line.

I heard down by the loggers
that Mrs. Mannings' oldest

got fiercely burned
in the house fire.

- Cassie.
- And died.

Yes, she did.

Well, as my father used to say,

"The supreme disposer
of all events

does sometimes disappoint
our earthly hopes."

What a marvelous hanging lamp.

Finney purchased it so
that everyone could read

with equal ease around the room.

I wasn't brought up to read
over much,

but I do believe a father
should give his children

every chance to improve.

Children being a sore point
in this household.

And yours, I'd expect.

You'll have to forgive
my husband.

Even so,

whatever misfortunes
arrive at my doorstep,

I seek to improve my lot
with my own industry.

I...

I study my options closely,

and just attend to everything
with more vehemence.

Well, then you should be
commended for that.

I'll give you an example.

When I first began farming,

I was so vexed
at my own inability

to stop my dogs barking

that one January,
during a storm,

I held the dog around
the corner of the barn in a gale

until it froze to death.

I nearly froze to death myself,
at least froze my hands,

even with my heavy work gloves.

That is reprehensible.

Did I see outside
that you use an old shovel plow?

Well, since you're interested
in my machinery,

I have a hinged harrow
that's been giving me trouble.

The spikes catch the rocks
and roots, and they break off.

Well, our harrow
has upright discs.

Work better?

Yeah, it seems to.

Bring the desserts.

I think we're stuffed.

My husband insists
on his pastries

and preserved fruits and creams.

Well, good.

What is happening?

Are you in danger?

What happened to your neck?

No, I just took a fall
over a fence.

I hadn't heard.

There are many things about
which you haven't heard.

Back at the table,

Tallie kept strict custody
of her eyes.

Her husband's mood
seemed to have darkened.

He served the pastries
and creams himself,

leaving only her plate empty.

Saturday, June 21st.

My heart a maelstrom.

My head a bedlam.

A whole week
and no visit from Tallie.

No word.

My anxieties often force me
to stop my work

and pace the house
like an inmate.

I have to see her.

Ho, ho!

Tallie! Tallie!

What has happened?

They're gone.

And no goodbye?

We need to call the sheriff.

And report what exactly?
That our neighbors moved?

It's the Zebrun farm.
They were renting.

I'll go then.

For what reason?

There's blood!

And you never had an accident?

So we'll just do nothing?

I'll make the rounds
of the neighbors.

And if we are not satisfied,

we can take your fears
to the sheriff.

Thank you.

Monday, June 23rd.

Dyer said Mrs. Nottoway
recalled spotting their caravan

on the country road in the
late evening, heading northwest.

Mrs. Nottoway?

She believed she spied
Tallie's figure

alongside her husband's
but was unsure.

A hired hand, she thought,
was driving the second wagon.

Sunday, June 29th

I spotted the sheriff
on his way to church.

I conveyed my accusations,
to no response.

Dyer said that no one would
investigate a crime

without evidence that a crime
had been committed.

Calm myself?

I refused to calm myself,

so he tied me to a chair
and administered laudanum.

Monday, June 30th.

Bleary and short of breath
from the laudanum...

I wake weeping,

retire weeping,

stand before my duties weeping.

Sunday, July 6th.

I am a library without books,

a sea of fear,
agitation and want.

Dyer speaks of how much we
have for which to be grateful.

I sit violently conscious
of the ticking clock

while he weeps
at what he imagines

to be his own poor,
forgotten self.

Wednesday, July 9th.

Despite some hours
without the laudanum,

I was so befogged
and wild with grief

that Dyer left me
for the afternoon,

unsettled and wary of my state.

Tuesday, July 22nd.

- Weldon?
- Good day.

The renters at Zebrun's farm
are gone.

Did they leave
a forwarding address?

No. You've got a letter.

Hyah.

Is it from her?

It is.

- Oh.
- Origin?

Onondaga County. Do you know it?

It's north of Syracuse.

Are you gonna read it?

To myself.

Abigail, Abigail, Abigail.

I'm sorry that all I have
to send you is this letter,

and I'm sorry for all
that a letter cannot be.

Even the best letter
is just a little bit of someone.

I'm sorry I never got
to say goodbye,

and I'm sorry that we seem
to have traded

one sort of misery for another.

It turns out that houses deep
in the backwoods

always seem to be awful and
unnatural in their loneliness.

If there were only
a ruined abbey

around here with bats in it,
the view would be perfect.

Our roof is ramshackle and sheds
water nicely in dry weather

but we have to spread milk pans
around the floor when it rains.

Still, outside the kitchen,

there are already anemones
and heart's-ease,

and even prettier flowers
which my stupidity

keeps me from naming for you.

I believe I've enjoyed myself
less these last few weeks

than any other female
who ever lived.

During what little time
I have to myself,

Finney reads aloud
instructions for wives

from the Old Testament.

But when it comes to the Bible,

I have to say that
there are a lot of passages

he may know word for word,

but which haven't touched
his heart.

I can't account for his state
of mind except to say

that my company must be
intensely disagreeable to him.

And if that's the case,

I'm sorry for it.

Ho...

Good afternoon!

Afternoon.

Whoa.

Hey.

I've got something for you.

There you go.

Thank you.

Good day.

Hyah. Come on.

- Is it for me?
- From Schoharie County.

- Your Abigail.
- Give that to me.

Give it. Finney, give...

Finney!

"What's to become
of the thousands of our sex

scattered out in the wilderness

and obliged
to tax our strengths?

I feel as if,
at that selfsame hour

when our prospects
were brightest,

that in the dim distance
a black shadow approached.

And yet still,

imagine the happiest of unions
for us of the sort

in which two families previously
at daggers drawn

are miraculously brought
together on love's account.

It is your face
I bear through the night.

It is to you I devote
a dreaming space

before I turn myself to sleep,
but there is no sleep.

It's as if within me everything
clamors for air,

and I think
if it's like this now,

what will it be like later?

I send you what love
and support I can.

I send you all my heart's hopes.
Abigail."

Please know
that force alone

couldn't have gotten me here
to a place like this.

I was told I had to act
in support of interest,

happiness and the reputation
of someone I once loved.

As far as I can figure,

we're now still only about
85 miles apart.

But of course,

people like us
don't go on long visits.

Dyer refused first
to permit my departure,

and then to accompany me,

and only caught up to the cart

at the end of our property
and climbed aboard.

We were the very picture
of anguish,

rattling along side by side.

The night was fair and warm with
the appearance of a coming rain.

A shower.

It's so hard
to write about

how much I want to thank you,

but I have to start somewhere.

Abigail...

I want to tell you that being
with you, even alone,

has been like being a part
of the biggest

and most spacious community
I could ever imagine.

I feel closer to you
than I would a sister since

everything amazing that I feel,

I chose to feel.

And do you know what memory
it is that I most cherish?

It's of you turning to me
with that smile you gave me

once you realized
that you were loved.

I have no way of knowing
what is to come,

but I do know
that all of the trust

and care and courage we shared,

that will all shine on us

and protect us.

You are my city of joy.

You are my city of joy.

Whoa.

Might I ask
your business?

We've come to see Tallie.
Where is she?

I heard you on the road.

You made such a racket.
I took you for the tin knocker.

We've ridden for three days.

We are not leaving
without seeing her.

I'm not concerned with what you
will or will not leave without.

Keep a civil tongue,
friend.

Where is she?

I treated her with tea of soot

and pine-tree root
to good effect,

but sickness always tests
our willingness

to bow before
the greatest authority.

My guess is
that it was diphtheria.

No!

There is some
alienation from marital...

What time is it?

I don't care.

- I have to go.
- You're gonna make a mark.

Come on.

Come on.

Come on.

Sunday, August 31st.

Weather very hot and sunny.

I cleaned out the shed

which was full of rusty
and dusty rubbish,

washed the windows,

and preserved apples
for the winter.

Fourteen dollars from the sale
of our milk and butter.

I have cut my hand
with a paring knife.

I console myself
with the conviction

that someday in the future
when Dyer

is forced to travel to Syracuse
for feed or supplies,

I will join him,

and take his rifle
and go to Skaneateles

and kill Finney where he sits.

Dyer has been at work
on the barn.

Each day,
we enact our separation.

Sometimes after it gets dark,

we walk over the hills
across our upper fields

for the wide, wide view.

And Dyer tries to imagine us
as we were,

while I try to imagine Tallie

and that cordial
and accepting home

that existed solely
in our dreams.

I imagine Tallie and Nellie
somewhere together,

and Nellie running her brush
through Tallie's hair.

I imagine banishing forever
those sentiments of my own

that she chastened and refined.

I imagine resolving to do
what I can for Dyer.

And I imagine continuing
to write in this ledger,

here,

as though this was my life.

As though my life
was not elsewhere.

I've always feared
that I would bring misfortune

to those I loved.

Are you really saying nothing
to that?

I don't know where to start.

I can't imagine what more
we could do for one another...

with our constraints.

You can't?

I can't.

You can't?

Well, then...

It's a good thing we remember
that our imaginations

can always be cultivated.

Provided by explosiveskull
https://twitter.com/kaboomskull