Cornelia's voice staggered and bumped like a cart in a bad road.It rounded corners and turned back again and arrived nowhere.Granny stepped up in the cart very lightly and reached for the reins,but a man sat beside her and she knew him by his hands,driving the cart.She did not look in his face,for she knew without seeing,but looked instead down the road where the trees leaned over and bowed to each other and a thousand birds were singing a Mass.She felt like singing too,but she put her hand in the bosom of her dress and pulled out a rosary,and Father Connolly murmured Latin in a very solemn voice and tickled her feet.My God,will you stop that nonsense?I'm a married woman.What if he did run away and leave me to face the priest by myself?I found another a whole world better.I wouldn't have exchanged my husband for anybody except St.Michael himself,and you may tell him that for me with a thank you in the bargain.
Light flashed on her closed eyelids,and a deep roaring shook her.Cornelia,is that lightning?I hear thunder.There's going to be a storm.Close all the windows.Call the children in..."Mother,here we are,all of us.""Is that you,Hapsy?""Oh,no,I'm Lydia.We drove as fast as we could."Their faces drifted above her,drifted away.The rosary fell out of her hands and Lydia put it back.Jimmy tried to help,their hands fumbled together,and Granny closed two fingers around Jimmy's thumb.Beads wouldn't do,it must be something alive.She was so amazed her thoughts ran round and round.So,my dear Lord,this is my death and I wasn't even thinking about it.My children have come to see me die.But I can't,it's not time.Oh,I always hated surprises.I wanted to give Cornelia the amethyst set—Cornelia,you're to have the amethyst set,but Hapsy's to wear it when she wants,and,Doctor Harry,do shut up.Nobody sent for you.Oh,my dear Lord,do wait a minute.I meant to do something about the Forty Acres,Jimmy doesn't need it and Lydia will later on,with that worthless husband of hers.I meant to finish the alter cloth and send six bottles of wine to Sister Borgia for her dyspepsia.I want to send six bottles of wine to Sister Borgia,Father Connolly,now don't let me forget.
Cornelia's voice made short turns and tilted over and crashed."Oh,mother,oh,mother,oh,mother..."
"I'm not going,Cornelia.I'm taken by surprise.I can't go."
You'll see Hapsy again.What about her?"I thought you'd never come."Granny made a long journey outward,looking for Hapsy.What if I don't find her?What then?Her heart sank down and down,there was no bottom to death,she couldn't come to the end of it.The blue light from Cornelia's lampshade drew into a tiny point in the center of her brain,it flickered and winked like an eye,quietly it fluttered and dwindled.Granny lay curled down within herself,amazed and watchful,staring at the point of light that was herself;her body was now only a deeper mass of shadow in an endless darkness and this darkness would curl around the light and swallow it up.God,give a sign!
For the second time there was no sign.Again no bridegroom and the priest in the house.She could not remember any other sorrow because this grief wiped them all away.Oh,no,there's nothing more cruel than this—I'll never forgive it.She stretched herself with a deep breath and blew out the light.
This is a story about an eighty-year-old woman on her deathbed,recalling major events of her life.There are ups and downs.She's successful in bringing up four children,managing a farm,and winning respect from people around.But what pains her were the premature death of her husband,and,worse still,the jilting by a man called George,who does not appear at the wedding.Sixty years has passed and the pain is still there,and gets sharper.She is a good person,honest and hard-working,but dies with a pain she cannot make peace with.This is a story fundamentally different from"Joy Cometh in the Morning,"in which conflicts are easily resolved and characters are guaranteed to lead a happy life.In"The Jilting of Granny Weatherall,"however,the sad reality is exposed and regrets and bitterness are profound and indelible.Part TwoA Collection of Stories