The Evening Spider by Emily Arsenault Page B

was downstairs, occupied with the preparation of my next meal. It was a small green book, not much bigger than my hand, with a pretty gold design on its spine. Its title was The Sunny Side, and it was published by an organization called the AmericanSunday-School Union. It was a simply written little book, about the trials and tribulations of the wife of a minister.
    At first, I was rather annoyed with the milquetoast little nurse for her tame taste in stories. Why couldn’t she have been a devious sort of girl who’d bring to her work a novel with a bit of scandal or crime? Or at least a touch of romance? After many days with that book as my only entertainment, however, Emily, the wife, and Henry, the minister—and their family—became dear friends to me. I rationed the little book’s twenty-six chapters (yes, I remember exactly), allowing myself one chapter per day, and occasionally more if I was feeling particularly lonely or desperate and the nurse absented herself at length. The faithful and hardworking Emily had seven children, which the couple struggled to feed and clothe and educate on Henry’s meager earnings. Two chapters were devoted to finding the means to buy their son an appropriate cloak for college. One child died, one daughter married, and then another. The remaining sons eventually entered successful careers. Emily died, and then Henry followed her on the book’s final page.
    When I reached this ending, I wept—not because I found the story particularly compelling, or even because Emily and Henry were dead, as they both lived long and pious lives and had happy, successful progeny to show for it—but because I’d have nothing new to read, or to anticipate reading. Still, I turned back to the beginning during my next reading opportunity. I was five chapters into my second reading when Dr. Stayer declared the end of my treatment.
    I was given two days to move about the house and re-acclimate myself to the household duties before I was to seeMartha again. At my earliest opportunity, I tossed The Sunny Side into the oven coals. I didn’t want any evidence to remain of my rebellion against the treatment. Nor did I wish to ever think about Emily and Henry again. The mere thought of them left a terrible taste of milk in my mouth.

 
    Â 
    Chapter 19
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  January 3, 1879
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  This will probably be my last entry. I tried, at Christmas, to have special, private words with everyone dear to me—Mother, Clara, Matthew, and most of all Harry—to let them know how much I love them. Affection is not my strongest quality, but I tried my best.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I made the mistake, with Matthew, of saying something about my “final Christmas,” and he looked positively stunned. Poor dear. He’ll look even more stunned when the day comes and he sees how right I was.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Blessed Lord, I am in your hands.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  February 2, 1879
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  The birth was long and difficult, and my recovery has been slow. Clara has been assisting me a great deal. Martha Elizabeth Barnett was born on January 10, late in the evening.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  February 5, 1879
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Clara’s help continues to be invaluable. I am finally up and about the house more, although I am not yet asefficient in the kitchen as I was. Both Clara and Tessa have rushed me back to bed on more than one occasion, saying I don’t look well.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Sometimes I think Clara wishes to keep Martha mostly to herself. I do not blame her. Martha is an enchanting little creature when she