Farmer Henryer Meant Well, but He Didn't Deserve a Good Wife

1895

Old Ripley Henryer is a well to do farmer with skinflint tendencies whose life has been passed without an emotion except what may have been engendered in getting money together and holding fast to it.

When his father died a quarter of a century ago, his mother concluded she could not get along without him, so she quickly followed the same way, and Ripley, coming into possession of the homestead, felt the necessity for a good cook and washerwoman. Then he prevailed upon Hetty Mercer, an affectionate and pretty girl of the neighborhood, to assume those duties, first making her his wife.

It is possible he said nothing to her of the obligations attendant upon the wifely relations, but that made no difference as to results. Ripley was strong as an ox, and, a hard worker himself, he had no use for lazy people and no excuses for those who were weaker than himself.

As time passed little Henryers, one, two, three, five in all, came into the family fold, each one adding to the wife's cares, and meantime Ripley added to his acres.

The number of hired men increased, but in all the years it never occurred to him that the mother of his children might need help in her department. Hired girls were "scarce and awful high," as he put it when one of the neighbors reminded him of his remissness.

Hetty bore her yoke in silence and might have been contented even but for the man's utter lack of sentiment or affection. She had never felt the gentle pressure of his hand in soft caress, and he had never kissed her in his life. She grew old fast, faded and drooped, and finally even the stolid, sordid husband saw the necessity of calling in a doctor.

When the latter was leaving the house, he called Ripley aside and said:

"Suppose you show your wife a little kindness. I think a bit of affection will do her more good than medicine. She's in a bad way and may die."

The selfish fellow was frightened at the prospect of losing his cook and faithful housekeeper, and after some deliberation he entered her bedchamber and awkwardly approached her side, then stooped over and kissed her pale, cold brow.

The poor woman, who for 25 years had been dying for sympathy and love, was so startled at this exhibition of feeling on the part of her husband that tears of thankfulness gathered in her eyes and then rolled down her cheeks.

The lubberly fellow started back at sight of this evidence of weakness and blurted out:

"Gosh! Hetty, you needn't mind it. I didn't mean nothing by it. Doc, he said it mebbe'd make you feel better."

Then the tears dried quickly enough, and the woman turned her pallid face toward the wall.

When Ripley came back an hour later, all the kisses in the world could not have brought moisture to her eyes. The office of cook and laundress was vacant in his house. — Chicago Tribune.