"The Front Porch"
By Beth Nolan
Old Mrs. Withersby was the most unique woman in town. She wasn't really old, probably in her late 50's, but to a young girl she seemed as ancient as the sun. Mrs. Withersby was widowed at a young age; she married at twenty and after just five years her husband passed on. But then again, he was much older than she was. He was an important figure in the town in addition to being a respected doctor. Mrs. Withersby was born in the town and the stories of her growing up were like legends to me. She was a tomboy and got into quite a lot of trouble, at least in her days' standards. She wasn't expected to marry by most of the townspeople. She was too intelligent and outspoken in her youth and most of the men in town steered away from her because of these qualities, although she was pretty in her own way. Dr. Withersby must have been a very brave man to go after her anyway, I think.
I first met Mrs. Withersby at my Christening, but of course I don't remember that. She was just another townsperson to me until I turned 12 and moved in to town myself, right next door to her. My father had gotten a better job and so we decided it would be best for all concerned if we just gave in and moved to town. My mother was thrilled to be "back with civilization" but my father felt like he was giving up a part of himself. It was closer to the school, which I guess was supposed to be an added benefit for myself, but I didn't like school so it didn't matter to me. And so, I lived in town next door to Mrs. Withersby and did errands for her. Being an only child it gave me something to do so I was not underfoot the livelong day for my mother at home.
Mrs. Withersby was just the friend for me; she had a beautiful front porch to her little old house, with an excellent view of what was going on in town. She loved books, and knitting, and painting and other "odd things" as my mother would call them. She fancied herself an artist and her home was like a sanctuary for my imagination. Mrs. Withersby knew just what little girls like, and I don't believe she ever really grew up herself. To a young girl her little house was paradise, and I reveled in helping her and then being treated to tea and cookies on her front porch.
Mrs. Withersby's front porch had a bluish gray painted floor and two rocking chairs on opposite sides of the door. There was a small bench on the left side of the porch and a medium sized table used for tea. Two smaller tables, where Mrs. Withersby would put her current knitting project or a book that she was reading, were by the rocking chairs. The porch also had a couple of fine braided rugs, which her mother made long ago. There were two windows on the front face of the house, one that looked into Mrs. Withersby's tidy kitchen and another looking into her parlor. The beams holding the porch roof up had been carved and made the house look very charming. Mrs. Withersby's porch was the place where she centered her life.
The yard was small, but sheltered, so that the birds, chipmunks, and squirrels were all at home. I would fill up the bird feeder, watch the chickadees one by one, and watch the squirrels as they attempted climbing up the pole to steal the food for themselves. Mrs. Withersby's cat, Maple, was fascinated at watching this process. In the springtime the flowers blossomed and made the whole yard vibrant and colorful. There were many trees around, so it was a lovely play area. Round, gray stones made the path leading to the porch entrance. It was fun trying to hop from one to the other because they were spread out just the right amount to make it challenging. Many times I climbed the big oak tree with one of Mrs. Withersby's books and would spend hot summer afternoons reading and spying on the town, and then when I came down there was always lemonade or sweet tea.
From the porch, or better yet the oak tree, you could see what everyone was up to. Each day had its share of exciting events. Tuesdays were the Ladies Aid Society meetings, or as Mrs. Withersby called it the Gossip Group. She hated them because they picked on unfortunate people and would spread the most awful rumors. A wooded area surrounded Mrs. Withersby's house and it was right on the corner looking strait down on the main street. We could see the church, the other homes, the town hall, the General Store, the town newspaper office, and the school at the end of the street.
The people of the town generally liked Mrs. Withersby, but talked about her just like they talked about everyone else behind their backs. Mrs. Withersby was thought to be too outspoken and people said that she should not be putting ideas into young peoples' heads. Most of the time I didn't pick up juicy conversations because little pitchers have big ears. However, little pitchers aren't stupid and can understand the point anyway.
All towns have their characters, but I do believe that the town that I lived in had more characters than most. From what I heard, Mrs. Withersby was "the worst of all" because she lived by herself, read things that the school board disapproved of, and encouraged young people to be different and helped them with their artistic and musical ventures. She was always helping someone and there were always complaints, like when Johnny Ford played the violin for Mrs. Withersby's social and then he happened to change his mind about becoming a preacher and move to the city to play music for a living. Something like that was always going on and there were many disagreements with Mrs. Withersby's ways of life. I don’t see why people would be upset with her, because Johnny was very good at the violin and, from the stories I've heard, has been quite successful in an orchestra in the city.
I asked my father why the gossips talk about people so much and he said that he couldn't figure that one out either. Mrs. Witherby's grandfather had founded the town and she was looked up to by all of the citizens, but people were ridiculing her because of her different beliefs. I knew that she was involved in activities that took up much of her time and energy, but I didn't comprehend the meaning of them at that time.
One day after returning from school I ran up the porch stairs to Mrs. Witherby's front door and no one was there. There was a letter, accompanied by a little money and some seeds in an envelope. She wrote to me:
I never did see Mrs. Withersby again. I received word one day that she had died. By that time, I was in my early twenties, living in another small town and teaching. Watching the minds of my students grow was more rewarding to me than anything I ever did before. I had my own little garden, born of her seeds, and would feed the birds and watched the squirrels fight each other. It was then that I truly realized the meaning of her note, and the meaning of her friendship. Maybe I will see Mrs. Withersby again, someday.
I want you to know that you are a very special young lady and have a lot to offer the world. Know that whatever you decide to do, you can succeed. The money is for your education; it will open up a world of opportunities for you if you take advantage of it. The seeds are for you to plant your own garden, when you see the flowers growing out of their tiny shells and blossoming, that is what life is all about. I don't know why people judge one another. Maybe that is why I had to leave, to escape from it and to help other people as much as I can. During times like these, any bit of help a body can give is important. Take care & someday I will see you again. Sincerely,
Agnes Withersby"