Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby: Part Two Of Two

In this witty and observant story from American journalist and writer Kathleen Norris, find out what happened to the Kirbys and whether or not their marriage survived their dramatic change of circumstances.

Music by Geoff Harvey.

Transcript

Hello,

It's Mandy here.

Welcome to the second and final part of Poor Dear Margaret Kirby by Kathleen Norris.

Please feel free to go ahead and make yourself really comfortable on whatever surface you happen to be sitting or lying on.

And I'll begin.

A few weeks later,

John came to the boarding house,

Nervous,

Discouraged,

Still weak.

Despite Margaret's bravery,

They both felt the position a strained and uncomfortable one.

As day after day proved his utter unfitness for a fresh business start in the cruel,

Jarring competition of the big city,

John's spirits nagged pitifully.

He hated the boarding house.

It's only the bridge that takes us over the river,

His wife reminded him.

But when a little factory in a little town,

Half a day's journey away,

Offered John a manager's position at a salary that made them both smile,

She let him accept it without a murmur.

Her courage lasted until he was on the train,

Travelling toward the new town and the new position.

But as she walked back to her own business,

A sort of nausea seized her.

John's life was saved and the debt reduced to a reasonable burden.

But the deadly monotony was ahead,

The drudgery of days and days of hateful labour,

The struggle for what?

When could they ever take their place again in the world that they knew?

Who could ever work up again from debts like these?

Would John always be the weak,

Helpless convalescent?

Or would he go back to the old type,

The bored,

Silent man of clubs and business?

Margaret turned a grimy corner and was joined by one of her boarders,

A cheerful little army wife.

Well,

We'll miss Mr Kirby,

I'm sure,

Said little Mrs Camp,

As they mounted the steps.

And by the way,

Mrs Kirby,

You won't mind if I ask if we may just now and then have some of the new towels on our floor,

Will you?

We never get anything but the old thin towels.

Of course,

It's Alma's fault,

But I think everyone ought to take a turn at the new towels as well as the old,

Don't you?

I'll speak to Alma,

Said Margaret,

Turning her key.

A lonely,

Busy autumn followed and a winter of hard and thankless work.

I feel like a plumber's wife,

Smiled Margaret to Mrs Kippen,

When in November John wrote her of a raise.

But when he came down for two days at Christmas time,

She noticed that he was brown,

Cheerful and amazingly strong.

They were as shy as lovers on this little holiday,

Margaret finding that her old,

Maternal,

Half-patronising attitude towards her husband didn't fit the case at all,

And John almost as much at a loss.

In April she went up to Applebridge and they spent a whole day roaming about in the fresh spring fields together.

It's really a delicious little place,

She confided to Mrs Kippen when she returned,

The sort of place where kiddies carry their lunches to school and their mothers put up preserves,

And everyone has a sorry and an old horse.

John's quite a big man up there.

After the April visit came a long break,

For John went to Chicago in the July fortnight they'd planned to spend together,

And when he at last came to New York for another Christmas,

Margaret was in bed with a bad throat and could only whisper her questions.

So another winter struggled by and another spring,

And when summer came Margaret found it was almost impossible to break away from her increasing responsibilities.

But on a fragrant,

Soft October day she found herself getting off the early train in the little station,

And as a big man waved his hat to her and they turned to walk down the road together,

They smiled into each other's eyes like two children.

Were you surprised at the letter?

Said John.

Not so much surprised as glad,

Said Margaret,

Colouring like a girl.

They presently turned off the main road and entered a certain gate.

Beyond the gate was an old overgrown garden,

And beyond that a house,

A broad shabby house,

And beyond that again an orchard and barns and outhouses.

John took a key from his pocket and they opened the front door.

Roses,

Looking in the back door across a bare,

Wide stretch of hall,

Smiled at them.

The sunlight fell everywhere in clear squares on the bare floors.

It brightened the big kitchen and glinted in the pantry,

Still faintly redolent of apples stored on shelves.

It crept into the attic and touched the scored casement where years ago a dozen children had recorded their heights and ages.

Margaret and John came out on the porch again and she turned to him with brimming eyes.

It suddenly swept over her that this would be her world.

She would sit on this wide porch,

Waiting for him in the summer afternoons.

She would go about from room to room on the happy commonplace journeys of housekeeping,

Would keep the fire blazing against John's return.

And in the years to come,

Perhaps there would be other voices about the old house.

There would be little shining heads to keep the sunlight always there.

Well,

Margaret,

Do you like it?

Said John,

His arm about her,

His face radiant with pride and happiness.

Like it?

Said Margaret.

Why,

It's home.

So the Kirbys disappeared from the world.

Sometimes a newcomer at Margaret's Club would ask about the great portrait that hung over the library fireplace,

The portrait of a cold-eyed woman with beautiful pearls about her beautiful throat.

Then the history of poor dear Margaret Kirby would be reviewed.

Its triumphs,

Its glories,

Margaret's brilliant marriage,

Her beauty,

Her wit.

These only led to the final tragic scenes that had ended it all.

And now she is grubbing away,

Dear knows where,

Her biographer would say carelessly.

Absolutely,

They might as well be buried.

But about seven years after the Kirbys' disappearance,

It happened that four of Margaret's old intimates,

The T.

Ellington Fraries and the Josiah Dunnings,

Were taking a little motor trip in the Dunnings' big car through the northern part of the state.

Just outside the little village of Applebridge,

Something mysterious and annoying happened.

Something mysterious and annoying happened to the car which stopped short,

And after some discussion it was decided that the ladies should wait therein while the men walked back in search of help.

Mrs.

Dunning and Mrs.

Frary,

Settling themselves comfortably in the tonneau for a long wait,

Puzzled themselves a little over the name of Applebridge.

I can just remember hearing of it,

Said Mrs.

Dunnings sleepily,

When or where or how,

I don't know.

They opened their books.

A brilliant May afternoon throbbed,

Hummed,

Sparkled all about them.

The big wheels of the motor were deep in grass and blossoms.

On either side of the road fields were gay with bees and butterflies.

Larks looped the blackberry vines with quick flights.

Mustard tops showed their pale gold under the apple blossoms.

Here and there a white cloud drifted in the deep clear blue of the sky.

There had been rains a day or two before,

And in the fragrant air still hung a little chill,

A haunting suggestion of wet earth and refreshed blossoms.

Somewhere near,

But out of sight,

A flooded creek was tumbling noisily over its shallows.

Suddenly the Sunday stillness was broken by voices.

The two women in the motor looked at each other,

Listening.

They heard a woman's voice singing,

Then a small boyish voice,

Then a man's voice.

The speakers,

Whoever they were,

Apparently settled down in the meadow,

Not more than a dozen yards away,

For a breathing space.

A tangle of vines and bushes screened them from the motor car.

Mother,

Are me and Billy going to turn the freezer?

Said a child's voice.

And a man asked,

Tired old lady?

No,

Not at all.

It's been a delicious walk,

Said the woman.

The two,

Sitting in the motor car,

Gasped.

Yes,

Yes,

Yes,

Lovey,

The woman's voice went on.

You and Bill may turn,

If Mary doesn't mind.

Be careful of my fern,

Jack.

And then,

In German,

Aren't they lovely in all the grass and flowers,

John?

Margaret,

Breathed Mrs.

Frary.

Poor,

Dear Margaret Kirby.

I hope they don't go by this way,

Whispered Mrs.

Dunning,

After an astounded second.

One's been so rude,

Don't you know,

For getting her.

She probably won't know us,

Mrs.

Frary whispered back,

Adjusting her veil in a stealthy way.

Mrs.

Frary was right.

The Kirbys presently passed with only a cursory glance at the swathed occupants of the motor car.

They were laughing like a lot of children as they scrambled through the hedge.

John,

A big,

Broad John,

As strong and brisk as a boy,

Carried a tiny barefoot girl on his shoulder.

Margaret,

Her beauty more startling than ever,

Under the sweep of a gypsy hat,

A splendid figure,

A little broader,

But still magnificent,

Under the cotton gown,

Her arms full of flowers and ferns,

Was escorted by two more children,

Sturdy little boys,

Who doubled and redoubled on their tracks like puppies.

The tiny barefoot girl in her father's arms was only a tangle of blue gingham and drifting strands of silky hair.

But the boys were splendidly alert little lads,

And their high voices loitered in the air,

After the radiant,

Chattering little caravan had quite disappeared.

Well,

Said Mrs.

Dunning then.

Poor dear Margaret Kirby was on Mrs.

Frary's lips,

But she didn't say it.

She and Mrs.

Dunning stared at each other a long minute,

Utterly at a loss.

Then they reopened their books.

Reviews

Such a good story. My favorite one so far. Norris gets to the main theme with such economy of language. Love how Margaret rose above the superficial and material and really started to live fully when she felt things rather than possessing them. Thanks Mandy 🙏🏻

Quite surprising! A great choice, as always.

Lucky lucky Mrs Kirby, it seems!💐 I think the music is darling— I’m sure it would be a pain but you could always do a with music and without music version🤷‍♀️❤️
I love the music, I just saw someone else didn’t— but you do you, either way!❤️

What great development and ending to the story! Thank you. (May I say that I prefer your readings without music - it distracts rather than adding to the presentation; but that’s just my opinion.)