主演：凯瑟琳·沃特斯顿,凡妮莎·柯比,克里斯托弗·阿波特
导演：莫娜·法斯特欧德
更新：2023-06-18 15:40
简介： 故事发生在19世纪的美国东北部，艾比盖尔（凯瑟琳·沃特森K..
自用，全剧台词搬运。来源：https://subslikescript.com/movie/The_World_to_Come-9738716
Tuesday,January 1st, 1856.
Fair and very cold.
This morning,
ice in our bedroomfor the first time all winter.
The water frozeon the potatoes
as soon as they were washed.
With little pride,and less hope,
we begin the new year.
On the porchafter sunup,
I could hear the low chirpingof sparrows
in the hedgerows that arenow buried in the snow.
Dyer has maintainedthat with good health,
and a level head,
there is alwaysan excellent chance
for a farmer willing to work.
He feels he can never fullyrid himself of his burdens.
And I'm certain that becausehis mind is in such a bad state,
it affects his whole system.
He told methis morning
that contentment was likea friend he never gets to see.
You're late with the milking.
She wasn't suffering.
And you?
Since our acquisitionof this farm,
my husband had kept a ledgerto help him see the year whole.
This way he knows what each crop
and field paysfrom year to year.
And Dyer has asked meto keep a diary of matters
that might otherwisego overlooked...
From tools lent outto bills outstanding.
That I have done.
But there would be no recordin these dull and simple pages
of the most passionatecircumstances
of our seasons past.
No record of our emotionsor fears.
Our greatest joys.
Our most piercing sorrows.
With our child,
it was as if I'd foundmy bearings.
But I too rarely told herthat she was our treasure.
Would you like to try?
Like this, papa?
That's it.
She often seemedseparate from us,
as if she was working atjust fitting in where she could.
They saw his brothersand sisters
and they werethe mouse's family...
There is somethingso affecting
about mute and motionless griefand illness
in a child so young.
She put her arms around meand said nothing else.
But it felt likewe were speaking.
I have becomemy grief.
I have become my grief.
"Welcome sweetday of rest",
says the hymn.
And Sunday is most welcomefor its few hours of quiet ease.
As for me.
I no longer attend.
After the calamityof Nellie's loss,
what calm I enjoy
does not derive from the notionof 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 themat 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 morefrivolous purchases
one could make.
I've saved 90 cents of my own.
I can't imagine a better wayto spend it.
Could buy your husband a gift.
What better giftcould I give him
than a wifewho is no longer a dullard?
My self-education
seems the only wayto keep my unhappiness
from overwhelming me.
Good afternoon.
I've been using a broomon my porch.
The snow is so dry.
I'm Tallie.
Abigail.
I hope I'm not intruding.
No.
I just, I needed to get awayfor the day.
The farm is a slaughterhouseright now.
My husband is killing his hogs.
Would you like to come in?
Yes, I'd love that.
Or we could just stayout on the porch, shivering.
I know it's the dullestof all things
to have an ignorant neighborcome by
and spoil a Sunday afternoon.
Oh, no,you're the most welcome here.
But I know the feeling.
Sometimes, I imagine duringthe Widow Weldon's visits
that I've been plunged up tomy eyes in a vat of the prosaic.
Oh, Widow Weldon!
She got going on the countylevy once...
She sawI had noticed her hair,
and admitted she had been vainabout it as a girl.
She said that back then,she'd worn it longer
and plaited in a bunat the back of her head.
In the winter sunthrough the window,
her skin had an underflushof rose and violet
which so disconcerted methat I had to look away.
As always,
when it came to speaking
and attempting to engageanother's affections,
circumstances doomed meto 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 youfrom something.
No.
I'm glad you've come.
Finney saw your husbandat the cooperage.
He mentioned his new methodfor farrowing his piglets.
With some asperity?
My husband mentions everythingwith some asperity.
I told him that once,
and...
he observed in response thatit seemed to be quite a favor
to get a kind word from me.
And I told him that if hewas married to himself,
he'd soon find outwhat a favor it was.
My mother always saidthat 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 complimentsfor my clothes.
I'm so glad you've come.
Meeting you has made my day.
It has?
Well...
How pleasant and uncommonit is to make someone's day.
Thursday, February 14th.
Dyer's third nightwith the fever.
Drink this.
I plan on getting sickmore often.
My wife smiles at me.
Promise me you're not gonna die.
That would be the oppositeof my intention.
I've restoredhim somewhat
with an enema of molasses,
warm water and lard.
Also a drop of turpentinenext to his nose.
I spent the day reconsideringmy conversation with Tallie.
We compared childhood beds...
Mine in which the straw
was always breaking upand thinning out.
And hers, which was as hard,she claimed,
as the Pharaoh's heart.
I should betaking care of you.
I agree.
Her manner is sweetand calm and gracious.
And yet her spiritsseem to quicken
at the prospect offurther conversation with me.
I find that everythingI wish to tell her
loses its eloquencein her presence.
So how did you cometo meet Dyer?
He was the oldest sonof a neighbor.
He helped outon my father's farm.
And was he instantly smittenby you?
He was, wasn't he?
He was instantly smitten by you.
He admired what he viewedas my practical good sense.
You don't countenance wordslike "smitten", do you?
I suspect I useall the same words you do.
I suspect you don't.
In speech,yes, because you're shy.
But I bet you're moreaccomplished in your writing.
Thank you.
Your good sense, that's allyour husband was smitten with?
And my efficient habits.
That's all?
My handy ways.
Dyer likes mechanical things.
I have no doubt he would'vebeen happier
had he been allowed to pursue
the natural scientific bentof his mind.
Circumstances forced himinto farming.
And despite all of that,his heart compelled him to you?
Well...
You would have to ask himabout that.
And what would you sayif 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 sureof his suitability.
But my family felt that moreimproving
might be in the offing.
After all, it is a long lanethat has no turning.
You both have muchto be thankful for.
We do.
It's still too soon.
Sorry.
Tuesday, February 19th.
My reluctance seemsto have become his shame.
His nighttime pleasures,which were never numerous,
have curtailed even more.
And I have so far refusedto engage his persistence
on the subject of another child.
Evening.
This is myhusband Finney.
And you already know Dyer.
Our paths have crossed.
And this is the Abigailthat I've been mentioning.
My wife talks about you asif you're all about the house,
and everythingreminds her of you.
Oh, well, it's all I can dobut sit cross-legged and morose
whenever she's away.
- Come in.- Thank you.
The rain so heavythat 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'msupposed to offer a toast.
But when it comesto the social graces,
I'm about as smooth as comingdown a rocky hill in the dark.
What my husband meansis he's so happy
to finally get together,
and to see Dyer again.
Cheers.
Part of what I valueabout my wife
is how she taught me toassociate with my fellow beings.
Finney, that's a handsomeneck tie you've chosen.
Thank you.
But with my neck,
my head sticks out like achicken in a poultry wagon.
Your tart waswonderfully savory.
Oh, did you like it?I'm so glad.
I was worried I wouldn'thave enough eggs
- because we had an accident.- Oh.
My hired hand pulled down abox of eggs and broke two dozen.
I announced that he wasunlucky to eggs
and no longer allowedto approach them.
"Unlucky to eggs."I like that.
I told him that his shirthad so many holes,
he can make a necklace of it.
Well, we often wishwe could afford a hired hand.
We've suffered a great deal fromthe carelessness of hired hands.
Mr. Holt's hired hand is saidto 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 mailon skis.
Now our letters can get lostat breakneck speed.
Did you write letters to Talliewhen you were courting?
I did.
And did Tallie keep them?
Only Tallie knows for sure.
Monday, February 25th.
Finney and Tallie's bondconfounds me.
At times, when their eyes meet,
they seem yoked in oppositionto one another,
while at other times,there seems a shared regard.
There is something going onbetween 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 ofapple 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 recordstrespassers in his journals.
And this morning,when I asked him
what he intends to doabout them,
his response was so unpleasantthat I...
resolved to visit you...
so that there would be somethingin my day
other than his meanness.
Dyer thinks he hasmany estimable qualities.
He does.
And he also uses a ledger tokeep 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 tryingto figure out
all the peculiarities of his...
odd little world.
I suppose he's especiallyunhappy with me since...
I'm yet to give him a child.
What does it feel like?
Like nothing at first.
But then when she beganto stir...
it's like butterfliesflapping their wings.
Later, like a rabbit...
when she kicked her legsat night.
It frightens me.
The thought of havingnone 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 caseyou've been needing.
And a tin of sardines.
You spoil me.
Oh, you got giftsfrom your new friend.
She left hours ago.
I just saw her leave.
The great storm began
with a faint groaningin the northeast.
It was like a noiseof 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 bebefore I receive word of Tallie?
How long could I wait?
How long will the feedin the barn last?
Each cow eats 26 poundsof forage every day.
You should know that.
They start to skinny downafter three days.
Heard the newspaper predictsthe storm'll let up by then.
But that's probably based on
an expert's consultationof 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 onemortification to another."
When I was seven, an earthquakeknocked down our house and barn.
Did I tell you?
Never.
- An earthquake?- Yes.
I remember something woke mebefore dawn.
I don't know what.
My father was calling out.
But I couldn't tear myselfaway from the window.
I saw birds flutteringin the air, afraid to set down.
The river was roiling,and I couldn't move.
And then...
Finally, I jumped downto our collapsed stairwell,
as all my brothershad done before me.
And we all huddled togetherin the dark on the porch.
Later, my mother said
that the dread never fullywent away after that.
She said, "What was safe ifthe 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 snowfrom their dead open mouths
in an attempt to revive them.
Hobnails...
For better traction.
The Widow Weldon'sson, on his rounds,
reported that Talliehad gotten home safely,
with, he thought,only a bit of frostbite.
We haven't seen your frienddown the lane for a while.
Finney took her to Oneonta.
So everything is tediousand lonesome?
Thursday, April 10th.
Biscuits and dried mackerelfor breakfast.
Dyer has augmentedthe padding in the cattle pens
with his hoardingsof maple leaves and old straw.
It always seemsthat Tallie will never appear.
But I remind myself that timeand the needle wear
through the longest morning.
And I have notedthat when she does arrive,
my heart is like a leafborne 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 forestis somewhere on fire.
Your nose is being gracious.
Monday, April 14th.
A terribly bad spring so far,
but the cloverhas come up through it,
and is all right.
And how's Finney?
The soul of patience.
He's mentioning again the ideaof migrating west.
You're planning on moving west?
Perhaps.
I had an uncle who moved to Ohioand came to a desperate end.
Which is what onemight expect from Ohio.
- Tomorrow?- Hm.
Thursday, April 17th.
Rain in torrentsnearly all night.
The lane is floodedand the ditches brim full.
This morning,only a slight shower.
Tallie came laterthan her usual time today.
She offered no explanation.
I'm sorry that your childhoodwas anything less than joyous.
Joyous it was not.
But I made my own happinesses.
My husband says, "Godputs heavy stones in your path,
it's up to usto step over them."
Stones are whatthe fortunate receive.
My mother's mother was bornin 1780
right here in Schoharie County.
I often wonder at the courage
and the resourcefulnessof those women.
Imagine faring forthinto a wilderness,
hoping to build the foundationsof a home.
Maybe they had a certain highhopefulness 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 werein full sail on a flood tide,
while I bobbedalong down backwards.
And yet,
I never say on her countenancethe indifference
of fortunatetowards 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 neverwant 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 cultivatemy intellect
and do something for the world.
But my life has surprised meby being far more ordinary.
You're talking about that moment
that I have dreamed about,when we're carried in triumph
for having done somethingwonderful or received at home
with tears and shouts of joy.
Do you know what I wonder?
Is it possible...
that such a moment hasn'tyet 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 howto put it into words.
Well, try.
- I have tried.- Well, try again.
What do you imagine?
I imagine that I love
how our encircling feelingsleave nothing out...
for us to want or seek.
I've presumed too much.
It's been my experiencethat it's not always those
who show the leastwho actually feel the least.
Just my dog's toenailson the wood.
Why didn't you dowhat 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 accomplishedany of your responsibilities.
- Do you need assistance?- No, I don't think so.
So it's a cold platefor supper tonight?
I'll milk the cows.
Friday, May 30th.
The sunshine streamingthrough the branches
makes a tremendous farragoof light and shade.
We hold our friendshipbetween us and study it,
as if it were the incompletemap 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 buttonsand 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 learnedconsideration of others.
I've learned the needfor human sympathy
and the unfulfilled want of it.
I feel I've provided youwith sympathy.
I suppose that's so.
The smile returns.
Good day.
Oh.
I believe that intimacyincreases goodwill.
And if that's the case,
then every minutewe spend together
will make usmore cheerful workers.
Won't our farms benefitfrom that?
Won't our husbands?
All our burdenswill be lightened.
When she left,I was like a skiff at sea
with neither hand nor helmto guide it.
They're cleaning out the drainunder the street along the fork.
And several peopleare down with fever.
Holt came by to hang the bacon.
He still hasn't recovered frombeing beaten by two strangers.
He had to be hauled to his homein his cart.
He said the men who did itwere gonna kill him,
and then realized they weremistaken as to who he was.
Lately, it seems likeall you talk about
are highwaymenand house breakers.
On the contrary,
I often deferto your sensitivities.
And I haven't eventold you about
all the reportsin the county of men
who've poisonedand killed their wives
because I haven't found ita 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 opposedto it, that I was not willing.
And he accepted that?
Well, he hasn'ttouched me since, so...
But I made myselffeel better...
by composing a poem.
Can I readyou the opening stanza?
You can read me the entire poem.
No, I'll start withthe 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 cansupport the rhyme.
You see why I didn'tread the whole thing?
I'm sorry.
I've always been contraryand maladroit.
Earlier, I... I felt that...
whenever I would draw closeto 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 farmyardand 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 meread "Cordelia"
to an older boy's "King Lear."
Near the end of the play,
the king and his daughterare imprisoned,
but he views itin a positive way.
"Come, let's away to prison,"he says.
"We two alone shall singlike birds in a cage."
Imprisoned...
In a positive way?
Well, maybe that one has to readthe entire play.
It may be only in playswhere people
are imprisonedin a positive way.
You don't think there's a cagethat could work to our benefit?
I just...
I only know that...
I've never liked cages.
I hope you had a good afternoonin 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 anythingI liked.
Then I stopped by the tinkerfor a sack of coffee,
but he's now asking 60 cents,and I only had 50.
Then I thought I would buy youa treat of some kind,
but Mr. Arnolds reminded me
that I still owedfor my last transactions so...
I was forcedto close up my purse.
Tell me everythingabout your day.
Don't hold anything back.
You're not interested inhow your wife spends her time.
I don't feel I have a wife.
I feel I have a selfish whorewho...
who'd rather wander offto another man's house
than contribute any labor.
Well, Dyer was offin the fields,
and her houseis on the way back home, so...
So it's just Abigail and you
tittering and gossipingaway the hours?
Enjoying each other's company.
I have certain expectations,and you have certain duties.
We've talked all night and dayabout your expectations.
I will not stay with a woman
if it continually requirescontention.
Well, then you shouldn't staywith me, should you?
Don't ask for morethan you can handle.
Sunday, June 8th.
All afternoon, a hawk has beenusing a single cloud above us
as its own parasol.
To ward off others of its kind.
Our whole house nowseems both angry and repentant.
God help us.
When three days went bywithout a word from her,
I stole over to her houseto look on her
from what I imagined to be
a vantage pointof perfect safety.
By turning the lens piece,I could draw her face nearer,
and hold it thereuntil she turned away.
Her image provokeda sensation in me
like the violencethat sends a floating branch
far out overa waterfall's precipice
before it plummets.
"For the wife does not havethe authority over her own body,
but the husband does.
Do not deprive one another,
so that Satan may not tempt you
because of your lackof self-control."
Ephesians 5:33. "Submit to yourown 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 leftin 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 dinneragain 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 mein a fury
when I was a little girl
that my fatherasked nothing of her
except thatshe 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 fieldswhen needed.
She said she appearedin his ledger
only when she purchased a dress.
Am I anywhere in there?
I'm recording spring expenses.
And how havethings changed?
Daughters are married offso young
that everywhere you looka slender and unwilling girl
is being forced to stema sea of tribulations
before she is even full-grownin 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' oldestdaughter 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 trappedin the upper loft.
Get her out of there.
Cassie!
Get her out!
Get her out!
Your wife is to be commendedon her hospitality and cooking.
I can recall the day...
No, thank you.
...when every family was fed,clothed, shot, sheltered,
and warmed from the productsa good wife
gathered withinher own fence line.
I heard down by the loggersthat Mrs. Mannings' oldest
got fiercely burnedin the house fire.
- Cassie.- And died.
Yes, she did.
Well, as my father used to say,
"The supreme disposerof all events
does sometimes disappointour earthly hopes."
What a marvelous hanging lamp.
Finney purchased it sothat everyone could read
with equal ease around the room.
I wasn't brought up to readover much,
but I do believe a fathershould give his children
every chance to improve.
Children being a sore pointin this household.
And yours, I'd expect.
You'll have to forgivemy husband.
Even so,
whatever misfortunesarrive at my doorstep,
I seek to improve my lotwith my own industry.
I...
I study my options closely,
and just attend to everythingwith more vehemence.
Well, then you should becommended for that.
I'll give you an example.
When I first began farming,
I was so vexedat my own inability
to stop my dogs barking
that one January,during a storm,
I held the dog aroundthe 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 outsidethat you use an old shovel plow?
Well, since you're interestedin my machinery,
I have a hinged harrowthat's been giving me trouble.
The spikes catch the rocksand roots, and they break off.
Well, our harrowhas upright discs.
Work better?
Yeah, it seems to.
Bring the desserts.
I think we're stuffed.
My husband insistson 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 fallover a fence.
I hadn't heard.
There are many things aboutwhich you haven't heard.
Back at the table,
Tallie kept strict custodyof her eyes.
Her husband's moodseemed to have darkened.
He served the pastriesand creams himself,
leaving only her plate empty.
Saturday, June 21st.
My heart a maelstrom.
My head a bedlam.
A whole weekand no visit from Tallie.
No word.
My anxieties often force meto stop my work
and pace the houselike 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 roundsof the neighbors.
And if we are not satisfied,
we can take your fearsto the sheriff.
Thank you.
Monday, June 23rd.
Dyer said Mrs. Nottowayrecalled spotting their caravan
on the country road in thelate evening, heading northwest.
Mrs. Nottoway?
She believed she spiedTallie's figure
alongside her husband'sbut was unsure.
A hired hand, she thought,was driving the second wagon.
Sunday, June 29th
I spotted the sheriffon his way to church.
I conveyed my accusations,to no response.
Dyer said that no one wouldinvestigate a crime
without evidence that a crimehad been committed.
Calm myself?
I refused to calm myself,
so he tied me to a chairand administered laudanum.
Monday, June 30th.
Bleary and short of breathfrom 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 wehave for which to be grateful.
I sit violently consciousof the ticking clock
while he weepsat what he imagines
to be his own poor,forgotten self.
Wednesday, July 9th.
Despite some hourswithout the laudanum,
I was so befoggedand wild with grief
that Dyer left mefor the afternoon,
unsettled and wary of my state.
Tuesday, July 22nd.
- Weldon?- Good day.
The renters at Zebrun's farmare gone.
Did they leavea 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 haveto send you is this letter,
and I'm sorry for allthat a letter cannot be.
Even the best letteris just a little bit of someone.
I'm sorry I never gotto say goodbye,
and I'm sorry that we seemto have traded
one sort of misery for another.
It turns out that houses deepin the backwoods
always seem to be awful andunnatural in their loneliness.
If there were onlya ruined abbey
around here with bats in it,the view would be perfect.
Our roof is ramshackle and shedswater nicely in dry weather
but we have to spread milk pansaround the floor when it rains.
Still, outside the kitchen,
there are already anemonesand heart's-ease,
and even prettier flowerswhich my stupidity
keeps me from naming for you.
I believe I've enjoyed myselfless these last few weeks
than any other femalewho ever lived.
During what little timeI have to myself,
Finney reads aloudinstructions for wives
from the Old Testament.
But when it comes to the Bible,
I have to say thatthere are a lot of passages
he may know word for word,
but which haven't touchedhis heart.
I can't account for his stateof mind except to say
that my company must beintensely 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 becomeof the thousands of our sex
scattered out in the wilderness
and obligedto tax our strengths?
I feel as if,at that selfsame hour
when our prospectswere brightest,
that in the dim distancea black shadow approached.
And yet still,
imagine the happiest of unionsfor us of the sort
in which two families previouslyat daggers drawn
are miraculously broughttogether on love's account.
It is your faceI bear through the night.
It is to you I devotea dreaming space
before I turn myself to sleep,but there is no sleep.
It's as if within me everythingclamors for air,
and I thinkif it's like this now,
what will it be like later?
I send you what loveand support I can.
I send you all my heart's hopes.Abigail."
Please knowthat force alone
couldn't have gotten me hereto a place like this.
I was told I had to actin support of interest,
happiness and the reputationof someone I once loved.
As far as I can figure,
we're now still only about85 miles apart.
But of course,
people like usdon't go on long visits.
Dyer refused firstto permit my departure,
and then to accompany me,
and only caught up to the cart
at the end of our propertyand climbed aboard.
We were the very pictureof anguish,
rattling along side by side.
The night was fair and warm withthe appearance of a coming rain.
A shower.
It's so hardto write about
how much I want to thank you,
but I have to start somewhere.
Abigail...
I want to tell you that beingwith you, even alone,
has been like being a partof the biggest
and most spacious communityI could ever imagine.
I feel closer to youthan I would a sister since
everything amazing that I feel,
I chose to feel.
And do you know what memoryit is that I most cherish?
It's of you turning to mewith that smile you gave me
once you realizedthat you were loved.
I have no way of knowingwhat is to come,
but I do knowthat 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 askyour 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 leavingwithout seeing her.
I'm not concerned with what youwill or will not leave without.
Keep a civil tongue,friend.
Where is she?
I treated her with tea of soot
and pine-tree rootto good effect,
but sickness always testsour willingness
to bow beforethe greatest authority.
My guess isthat it was diphtheria.
No!
There is somealienation 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 rustyand dusty rubbish,
washed the windows,
and preserved applesfor the winter.
Fourteen dollars from the saleof our milk and butter.
I have cut my handwith a paring knife.
I console myselfwith the conviction
that someday in the futurewhen Dyer
is forced to travel to Syracusefor feed or supplies,
I will join him,
and take his rifleand go to Skaneateles
and kill Finney where he sits.
Dyer has been at workon the barn.
Each day,we enact our separation.
Sometimes after it gets dark,
we walk over the hillsacross our upper fields
for the wide, wide view.
And Dyer tries to imagine usas we were,
while I try to imagine Tallie
and that cordialand accepting home
that existed solelyin our dreams.
I imagine Tallie and Nelliesomewhere together,
and Nellie running her brushthrough Tallie's hair.
I imagine banishing foreverthose sentiments of my own
that she chastened and refined.
I imagine resolving to dowhat I can for Dyer.
And I imagine continuingto write in this ledger,
here,
as though this was my life.
As though my lifewas not elsewhere.
I've always fearedthat I would bring misfortune
to those I loved.
Are you really saying nothingto that?
I don't know where to start.
I can't imagine what morewe 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 rememberthat our imaginations
can always be cultivated.
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