My story inspired by the lines of
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know. 
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I have promises to keep
I tugged hard only once. Instantly, Dobbin, my faithful Shetland pony stopped short. I was jerked forward by the sudden brake. Through fur-lined gloves, I felt the reins dig sharply into my palms. The wheels crunched through snow to halt at the last row of firs and junipers lining the shores of the frozen lake. I lifted my face up. Softly floating down, the flakes caressed my warm skin. I breathed deeply of the hushed, crisp, pine-scented air.
The cottage across the icy expanse was clearly visible against the gathering gloom. Heavy layers of ice had slid off the sloping roof to bury it in an uneven snow pile. Quavery fingers of icicles reached up to its windows. Did they want to peep into the rooms lit up by glowing lamps? Around me, tall, shadowy trees encrusted with icy jewels jabbed black claws at the falling darkness. My white fur cloak and bonnet melded into the snowy mural. Though the cluster of homesteads across the lake was visible to me, I was well hidden from anybody who cared to glance towards these woods.
I squinted at the yellow leaded glass panes under the eaves. Where was the family in the cottage? Did somebody pass the front bay window? And was that somebody, Ashley? His broad shoulders would form a distinct outline against the light.
Oh Ashley! If only I could see you one last time! My yearning was so palpable that it flashed an undercurrent of pain making me gasp. I closed my eyes as soft, icy wafers from above fell on my mittens leaving damp patches.
Ashley! Ashley! Ashley! His beloved face rose behind my eyelids while memories jostled for space. I imagined him close to me. My nostrils tingled recalling his scent…a mixture of tobacco and cologne! Against my cheek, I seemed to feel the smoothness of his elegant broadcloth coat. Ashley always stoutly maintained that the credibility of lawyers was influenced in no small way by their attire. A decorous ensemble that should radiate quiet affluence. Son of the richest farmer in the county, Ashley professed nonchalance towards his large inheritance yet was habituated to the finest. In fact, these woods that were slowly filling up with crumbly, powdery white munificence belonged to his family.
As far back as I could remember, Ashley had been a part of my life. His father, Mr Webster, was always occupied with travelling and supervision of his various land holdings. Nevertheless, he found time to pass a few hours with the headmaster of the local school, who was my father. Their love for the written word was the foundation of this life-long friendship. Several times a week, the two men would meet either at Mr Webster’s house or my father’s small farm. Ashley’s mother hardly ever visited our home or entertained us when we came over. But Ashley would always be there. While the two friends would contentedly smoke their pipes and discuss poetry, politics and philosophy, Ashley and I ran around. We would either play Indians and cowboys in the yard or climb the apple trees planted by my mamma. Those were truly halcyon days of innocent childhood. Ashley and I promised each other undying friendship forever and ever. Not a cloud dimmed the endless blue sky that stretched before us… like our lives where all dreams were possible. Ashley and I had gone to the same village school. At first, my mother had objected. She believed too much schooling turned the heads of females and I should be gainfully occupied learning to sew and bake. ‘Besides, doesn’t Sara need to imbibe social etiquette required of a lady? How else will she make a decent marriage?’ harangued my mother.
However, my father held different views on the education of females. It was his strong conviction that knowledge liberated people from the narrow alleys of hypocrisy and irreverence. ‘Gender doesn’t matter; whether it is a girl or a boy, everyone deserves to know better. What matters, above all, is to be a good human being, Anne,’ he told my mamma.
I was so glad that his conviction won the day.
All through our school days, Ashley had been my staunch supporter inside the schoolroom and outside it. When I questioned the theories aired by our teachers, he would give me an encouraging smile. When I was told sharply to sit down, the other children would snigger. With a bellicose frown on his countenance, Ashley would look. As he was taller than most, as well as the son of a Board member, the sounds would die down. After school, Ashley and I would rummage through Papa’s shelves stacked with atlases and books, looking for answers to my queries. And when we found them or some semblance to them, we would smile triumphantly like miners striking gold.
I preferred the games that Ashley liked. Actually, I enjoyed playing boys’ games. I would walk away, my nose in the air, when girls called me to play dolls and houses. And if I argued or fought with other children, which was often, Ashley would not only shout as loudly, but even add his fists to my small pummeling ones. Mamma would often throw up her hands and berate Papa for the wild cat I was growing into. But Papa had only smiled. ‘Girls don’t get into fisticuffs. Girls must learn to be docile and agreeable. They must be soft, delicate creatures and control their emotions. Gentlemen cherish ladies not belligerent nettles. And a lady must always yield her will to men. They know how the world goes around not us. So learn to acquiesce, Sara.’ Mamma would lecture me.
This evening, my eyes swept over the cart fast getting obscured under a white blanket. It was piled high with sacks of flour, tins of butter, biscuits, cloth to sew into curtains, and even bags of seeds for the vegetable patch. And where would we be today, if I had been bred a delicate, helpless lady? Alan. No, Major Alan Harrington, my brother was away at Washington, recruiting for General Grant’s army. Ever since Papa had died suddenly of a heart attack, Mamma had been stricken with severe arthritis and was often confined to her bed. Who would have got all the stores, the coal for the kitchen and room fires, repaired the barn, dug the garden, handled the croppers and managed the farm? Our farm was a good five miles away from the village. Dobbin and I had to make a trip, like this one, at least twice a week for replenishments and errands.
Of course, Alan had insisted that we stay with him in his town house at Washington. We had even done that for six months. And what exciting months they had been! I was spectator to a life that I had never imagined existed; a life completely alien to my years in our sleepy, quiet village. Every evening, the two large salons in Alan’s home filled with his friends and guests. There were social discussions, political debates, and literary critiques by people whom I had only read about in newspapers that reached our village library once a week. I met and heard so many erudite and learned men and women. Yes women! These were not quiet, agreeable ladies; they argued vehemently about the suffrage movement and women’s rights. And some of these women were breathtakingly beautiful as well as dressed in the height of fashion. Their skirts were shortened in the latest style to show off well-turned out ankles. Mamma was so shocked when she first beheld them, but I was fascinated. For me, this rarified air was enlightenment. I soaked it all in like a dry bread crust thrown in a bowl of syrup.
One evening, I was thrilled to hear a vociferous discussion about Margaret Fuller’s latest poem, ‘The One in You’. I learned more in those six months than what my books had taught me in eighteen years of my life.
During that period, a great deal was happening across the country. Political events held everyone’s attention. President Abraham Lincoln had me totally awed. However, when I heard conversations night after night about his plans, I understood his policies and realized their far-reaching implications. My admiration of this simple yet deeply committed gentleman increased manifold. I used to be so caught up with all the excitement that I hardly wrote Ashley two letters in those months. I was also absorbed by the attentions of a very interesting, young man I met in Washington. Bespectacled and shy, Ernest Davis was an officer like Alan. And my brother told me that he was involved in gathering intelligence… whatever that meant.
When I probed Ernest, all he said was that he made and broke codes. Apparently, all messages between army units had to be in special code languages. This was to ensure that if a messenger was taken captive, the enemy would not be able to retrieve from him any information about military plans. How intriguing! Not only that, when I was able to break through his diffidence, he taught me some simple numerical codes. That was an immensely enjoyable task. But like all good things, our sojourn came to an end. Mamma’s arthritis worsened in the damp Washington autumn. Alan’s company was transferred to the frontlines. Besides, it was sowing season. Who would look after the croppers and supervise the tilling, if not I? Whereupon we returned to the farm in the village. And while I was engaged in the Washington adventure, my fate had been sealed… forever and ever. The only person, Ashley could not stand up to, was his Mamma. He had not wanted to study law. He had confessed to me, that all he wanted was to look after their farms, once school was over. He wanted to shoot in the woods, fish in the streams and live in a cottage at the edge of the lake. But that was not to be. Mrs Webster’s sights were set high for her only son. If village gossip was to be believed, she was a direct descendant of the Puritan families. She declared that Ashley had to go to New York to become a coat-and-tails lawyer. One fine summer, Ashley boarded a carriage to New York. School was over. However, I tried to continue my learning. I delved into Papa’s rows and rows of books and read up everything that the village library had to offer. Ashley and I had kept contact through long letters written every Sunday. I wrote passionately about the politics, economics, and social transformations, I read about in the papers. In a similar tone, he wrote back about the new suffrage movement started by Mrs Elizabeth Stanton. His letters described in detail the first convention of Women’s Rights held at New York in 1848, where it had been declared, “all men and women were created equal.” Ashley echoed my sentiments.
The Webster heir returned from New York, a qualified lawyer. Early next morning, he had ridden over to our farm. I can never forget my first sight of him, after a separation of three years. He looked so self-assured, poised and debonair! He had grown up and I felt gauche and childish before him. Hatless, his ash blonde hair bouncing in soft waves, the hard ride staining his face ruddy, his perfect teeth flashing a wide smile, he was like a knight on his steed. Though I had never admitted it till then, I had always known my looks could never hold a candle to his.
Till then it hadn’t mattered. But that night, after Ashley had left leaving behind him a magical air, I had sat for a long time staring into the mirror. A familiar face framed by masses of auburn hair, the long nose between grey, cool eyes had gazed back. You are unattractive, I had told myself. The only redeeming features were my small mouth with its sculpted lips and a slim waist. I was tall. Despite Mama overfeeding me to plump out my hips and chest fashionably, I was more statuesque than curved like an hourglass. I remembered, Ashley, had once likened me to the Grecian goddess we had glimpsed in Papa’s illustrated encyclopedia. I had laughed in his face. ‘Me, Juno?’ ‘Why not? Only you have to stop chattering so much.’ And I had playfully pulled his pigtail.
As I had sat looking at my imperfections, I wished I had clear, pink-rose complexion and a bosom that struck out. Then I had flung my wishes out of the window. I had tossed my dark hair, plaited it, and got between the bedclothes. I had whispered into the darkness before dozing off were, ‘He came to see me as soon as he reached home. That must mean something.’ A breeze touched my cold skin and sang through the pine needles. Dobbin stamped his feet throwing up clumps of snow. The harness bells tinkled. Dobbin must be wondering why we had stopped in the middle of the woods. We had never done this before. Yes Dobbin, we hadn’t because my heart had never ached so much before. Oh Ashley! How could you?
The winter ball had been held just a couple of months before Mamma and I had gone off to Washington. It was past midnight and the large village hall was stuffy. Two huge fires roared to warm the room. A lot of young energetic people were dancing away. Even the chaperones were fanning themselves vigorously. I was not much of a dancer but had still accepted half dozen invitations to please Mamma. In fact, I preferred talking to dancing. You can’t talk when you were kicking up your feet trying to keep in step with your partner. Ashley had had the first dance with me and then had been whisked away by his mamma.
I was aware that Ashley’s mamma did not approve of me, a poor schoolmaster’s daughter and not even a pretty one at that! She wanted him to socialize with the other debutantes, such as Sally. Silly Sally! Like all the girls and boys in the village, Sally had been our classmate right from kindergarten. Everyone knew about her notorious giggles. They erupted at the slightest pretext, trilling through the room and drilling through your head, going on and on, ad nauseam. Apparently, once they started, they were unstoppable or so claimed Sally! Other than the giggles, Sally with her corkscrew ringlets, fluttering lashes and large, blue eyes wide in amazement, could have easily been mistaken for one of the china dolls that little girls carried around. Of course, now she was grown up. Quite evident by the ample, creamy bosom spilling from the décolletage of her red evening gown with golden locks artfully arranged on it. Fluttering lashes and amazed blue eyes were her signature features. Only they became accentuated whenever a pair of male eyes fell on her. After a couple of hours, Ashley had escaped Mrs Webster and the debutantes. I had been downing a second glass of wine to quench my dry throat when I had seen him skillfully twisting his way through the dancers. Feeling hot and sweaty, I gestured towards the door. Gathering up the skirts of my midnight blue gown which set off my eyes, according to Mamma, I pushed through the crush. I knew Ashley would follow me. Once we were outside, I took some deep gulps of the sharp, cold air and instantly felt better.
I leaned on the wooden rails of the covered porch and looked up. The star-spangled night seemed so serene. I could see Orion shining and turned around to point it out to Ashley. He was right behind me and close enough for the scotch on his breath form a vapour around me. The words died on my lips as I looked up into his eyes. Even in the starlight, what I saw in their depths made my pulse beat faster. I was standing between his hands gripping the rails. He lowered his face… the stars were snuffed out as our lips met. Startled, my lips remained stiff for a moment and then yielded to the pressure. As his tongue entered my mouth, a fiery flame leaped up from my belly. Involuntarily, I kissed him back; once; twice; then again and again. Even I was taken aback by the fierce hunger my body betrayed. His arms were around me now and his body moulded to mine. My fingers clutched his hair, tugged on his pigtail to press his head down on mine. I leaned into him crushing his carefully tied necktie. We were one entity; blind, deaf, unfeeling to all but this overwhelming sensation of welding into each other. Our senses only strained to gauge the other half of that one entity. Even now, tiny flickering pleasurable impulses sprang up in the core of my being as that voluptuous memory fills my consciousness! How long we stayed that way satiating our thirst at each other’s fount, I don’t know. But laughter and voices penetrated our bubble and we had reluctantly moved apart. Some guests went down the porch to their carriages without giving us a second glance. Raw heat smouldered between us but it was too risky; too public, for us to give way there.
The next few weeks were hedonistic, to say the least. We took every opportunity to meet; in the corn fields, in these woods, by the lake. There were walks, dances, rides and more passionate kisses. Though, between us, it was a foregone conclusion that we would marry, Ashley had to propose formally, before we could announce our engagement to everyone. I had been getting a little impatient as I packed for our Washington visit. And the day of my departure came around without Ashley uttering a single word. I was hurt but how could I speak up? That was not done. I wonder what had tied his tongue down. Had it been his mamma’s disapproval? Should I have spoken---taken the lead as I had always done? I looked across to the cottage now; its eaves hung with garlands of icicles. Oh Ashley! Can’t you come out for just a moment and let have one look of you? Had you been waiting for me to propose? But that is preposterous! Or was it the last discussion we had had about the voting rights of women that changed your mind?
For once, Ashley had not agreed that day. He did not argue. That had never been his way. All he did was put forward various examples of poor female judgment and the burden they would bear if they entered the political arena. Like always, I had heatedly disagreed and accused him of being chauvinistic. Had I gone too far? Had my words hurt him? Was I really the blue stocking who would die an old maid, as my mamma had warned me off and on?
Ashley, what made you do what you did?
Sometimes, in dark, sleepless nights, I often wondered whether I had been too passionate… shown too much fervor; was too eager to kiss? Should I have been more reticent? Did he think I was too forward or even lustful? But how could he? He had known me all his life.
Then why? Oh why did you let Silly Sally take my place?
By the time, I had returned from Washington, Ashley had been married to Sally for two whole months. They were living in the cottage by the lake, a gift from his father.
Tell me, Ashley, what did Sally have, that I did not? Rather, what was it that you were seeking? Did Sally have it? Could Sally give it but not I?
The moment these words crossed my mind, it dropped… slamming into me with the force of a sledgehammer!
It was not me!
Till now I had been moping. All the while, thinking it had been my fault----something that I had done to make him run away. Maybe my fierce arguments had made Ashley fall into the arms of the first female he had seen. Because nobody…nobody in their right mind could marry Silly Sally! But no! I was wrong.
The fact was it had been Ashley. For all his learning and supporting women’s rights, he had always needed somebody to follow. But as a husband he was expected to take the lead. And he knew there was no way that he could lead me. It was for this reason that he chose to marry Sally… who didn’t even know why she giggled so insanely! She would turn his inadequacy to sufficiency. With her as his wife, he could always be the man!
Oh dear Ashley! Beneath all your Adonis beauty, were you always so weak? Did I only see your lean dimples, your flaxen curls, your blue eyes and not notice that my Roman god had feet of clay?
Dobbin shook his head impatiently with another tinkle of bells. All of a sudden, a vast weight rolled off my shoulders. Yes Dobbin, let us go our way. I touched my cheeks. They were damp with tears. When did I weep? Why was I weeping? I was free!
Free of all self-doubts; free of misconceptions; free of ties that would have become restrictive with time.
The snowflakes drifted down… bigger and faster now. The darkness had deepened, and Mamma would be worried. I tugged at the reins and Dobbin started clip clopping through the thick white, woolly path.
It is time I had reached back. Dinner needed to be arranged for Alan and his pleasant friend, Ernest. I am so looking forward to meeting him. He wants me to design some codes. That is what he wrote in the letter. Why me…I don’t know. But just imagine… he wants me to devise codes? He wants to use some unique languages for the design. He wrote that I knew more languages than he did! These codes will be composed quickly because he wants to use during the forthcoming war with the Southern states. What a horrifying thought! In a matter of months, we will be fighting our own people simply because some men are too egoistic accept President Lincoln’s generous offer. Such a shame! This is the reason that women must participate in policy decisions that shake the hearth and home. If more women partook in governing the country, decisions would be more sensible.
I looked back at the windows gleaming from the faraway cottage. I hope you find the happiness you seek, Ashley. As for me, I must go on for there is much to do. There are promises I have made; promises to people; promises to life; promises to myself. Promises that I intend keeping whatever the cost.
All rights reserved. @Sutapa Basu 2017 First published on Readomania.com
