Ethan went out into the passage to hang up his wet garments. He listened
for Zeena's step and, not hearing it, called her name up the stairs. She
did not answer, and after a moment's hesitation he went up and opened
her door. The room was almost dark, but in the obscurity he saw her
sitting by the window, bolt upright, and knew by the rigidity of the
outline projected against the pane that she had not taken off her
travelling dress.

"Well, Zeena," he ventured from the threshold.

She did not move, and he continued: "Supper's about ready. Ain't you
coming?"

She replied: "I don't feel as if I could touch a morsel."

It was the consecrated formula, and he expected it to be followed, as
usual, by her rising and going down to supper. But she remained seated,
and he could think of nothing more felicitous than: "I presume you're
tired after the long ride."

Turning her head at this, she answered solemnly: "I'm a great deal
sicker than you think."

Her words fell on his ear with a strange shock of wonder. He had often
heard her pronounce them before--what if at last they were true?

He advanced a step or two into the dim room. "I hope that's not so,
Zeena," he said.

She continued to gaze at him through the twilight with a mien of wan
authority, as of one consciously singled out for a great fate. "I've got
complications," she said.

Ethan knew the word for one of exceptional import. Almost everybody in
the neighbourhood had "troubles," frankly localized and specified;
but only the chosen had "complications." To have them was in itself a
distinction, though it was also, in most cases, a death-warrant. People
struggled on for years with "troubles," but they almost always succumbed
to "complications."

Ethan's heart was jerking to and fro between two extremities of feeling,
but for the moment compassion prevailed. His wife looked so hard and
lonely, sitting there in the darkness with such thoughts.

"Is that what the new doctor told you?" he asked, instinctively lowering
his voice.

"Yes. He says any regular doctor would want me to have an operation."

Ethan was aware that, in regard to the important question of surgical
intervention, the female opinion of the neighbourhood was divided, some
glorying in the prestige conferred by operations while others shunned
them as indelicate. Ethan, from motives of economy, had always been glad
that Zeena was of the latter faction.

In the agitation caused by the gravity of her announcement he sought
a consolatory short cut. "What do you know about this doctor anyway?
Nobody ever told you that before."

He saw his blunder before she could take it up: she wanted sympathy, not
consolation.

"I didn't need to have anybody tell me I was losing ground every day.
Everybody but you could see it. And everybody in Bettsbridge knows
about Dr. Buck. He has his office in Worcester, and comes over once
a fortnight to Shadd's Falls and Bettsbridge for consultations. Eliza
Spears was wasting away with kidney trouble before she went to him, and
now she's up and around, and singing in the choir."

"Well, I'm glad of that. You must do just what he tells you," Ethan
answered sympathetically.

She was still looking at him. "I mean to," she said. He was struck by a
new note in her voice. It was neither whining nor reproachful, but drily
resolute.

"What does he want you should do?" he asked, with a mounting vision of
fresh expenses.

"He wants I should have a hired girl. He says I oughtn't to have to do a
single thing around the house."

"A hired girl?" Ethan stood transfixed.

"Yes. And Aunt Martha found me one right off. Everybody said I was lucky
to get a girl to come away out here, and I agreed to give her a dollar
extry to make sure. She'll be over to-morrow afternoon."

Wrath and dismay contended in Ethan. He had foreseen an immediate demand
for money, but not a permanent drain on his scant resources. He no
longer believed what Zeena had told him of the supposed seriousness of
her state: he saw in her expedition to Bettsbridge only a plot hatched
between herself and her Pierce relations to foist on him the cost of a
servant; and for the moment wrath predominated.

"If you meant to engage a girl you ought to have told me before you
started," he said.

"How could I tell you before I started? How did I know what Dr. Buck
would say?"

"Oh, Dr. Buck--" Ethan's incredulity escaped in a short laugh. "Did Dr.
Buck tell you how I was to pay her wages?"

Her voice rose furiously with his. "No, he didn't. For I'd 'a' been
ashamed to tell him that you grudged me the money to get back my health,
when I lost it nursing your own mother!"

"You lost your health nursing mother?"

"Yes; and my folks all told me at the time you couldn't do no less than
marry me after--"

"Zeena!"

Through the obscurity which hid their faces their thoughts seemed to
dart at each other like serpents shooting venom. Ethan was seized
with horror of the scene and shame at his own share in it. It was as
senseless and savage as a physical fight between two enemies in the
darkness.

He turned to the shelf above the chimney, groped for matches and lit the
one candle in the room. At first its weak flame made no impression on
the shadows; then Zeena's face stood grimly out against the uncurtained
pane, which had turned from grey to black.

It was the first scene of open anger between the couple in their sad
seven years together, and Ethan felt as if he had lost an irretrievable
advantage in descending to the level of recrimination. But the practical
problem was there and had to be dealt with.

"You know I haven't got the money to pay for a girl, Zeena. You'll have
to send her back: I can't do it."

"The doctor says it'll be my death if I go on slaving the way I've had
to. He doesn't understand how I've stood it as long as I have."

"Slaving!--" He checked himself again, "You sha'n't lift a hand, if he
says so. I'll do everything round the house myself--"

She broke in: "You're neglecting the farm enough already," and this
being true, he found no answer, and left her time to add ironically:
"Better send me over to the almshouse and done with it... I guess
there's been Fromes there afore now."

The taunt burned into him, but he let it pass. "I haven't got the money.
That settles it."

There was a moment's pause in the struggle, as though the combatants
were testing their weapons. Then Zeena said in a level voice: "I thought
you were to get fifty dollars from Andrew Hale for that lumber."

"Andrew Hale never pays under three months." He had hardly spoken when
he remembered the excuse he had made for not accompanying his wife to
the station the day before; and the blood rose to his frowning brows.

"Why, you told me yesterday you'd fixed it up with him to pay cash down.
You said that was why you couldn't drive me over to the Flats."

Ethan had no suppleness in deceiving. He had never before been convicted
of a lie, and all the resources of evasion failed him. "I guess that was
a misunderstanding," he stammered.

"You ain't got the money?"

"No."

"And you ain't going to get it?"

"No."

"Well, I couldn't know that when I engaged the girl, could I?"

"No." He paused to control his voice. "But you know it now. I'm sorry,
but it can't be helped. You're a poor man's wife, Zeena; but I'll do the
best I can for you."

For a while she sat motionless, as if reflecting, her arms stretched
along the arms of her chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy. "Oh, I guess
we'll make out," she said mildly.

The change in her tone reassured him. "Of course we will! There's a
whole lot more I can do for you, and Mattie--"

Zeena, while he spoke, seemed to be following out some elaborate mental
calculation. She emerged from it to say: "There'll be Mattie's board
less, any how--"

Ethan, supposing the discussion to be over, had turned to go down to
supper. He stopped short, not grasping what he heard. "Mattie's board
less--?" he began.

Zeena laughed. It was on odd unfamiliar sound--he did not remember ever
having heard her laugh before. "You didn't suppose I was going to keep
two girls, did you? No wonder you were scared at the expense!"

He still had but a confused sense of what she was saying. From the
beginning of the discussion he had instinctively avoided the mention of
Mattie's name, fearing he hardly knew what: criticism, complaints, or
vague allusions to the imminent probability of her marrying. But the
thought of a definite rupture had never come to him, and even now could
not lodge itself in his mind.

"I don't know what you mean," he said. "Mattie Silver's not a hired
girl. She's your relation."

"She's a pauper that's hung onto us all after her father'd done his best
to ruin us. I've kep' her here a whole year: it's somebody else's turn
now."

As the shrill words shot out Ethan heard a tap on the door, which he had
drawn shut when he turned back from the threshold.

"Ethan--Zeena!" Mattie's voice sounded gaily from the landing, "do you
know what time it is? Supper's been ready half an hour."

Inside the room there was a moment's silence; then Zeena called out from
her seat: "I'm not coming down to supper."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Aren't you well? Sha'n't I bring you up a bite of
something?"

Ethan roused himself with an effort and opened the door. "Go along down,
Matt. Zeena's just a little tired. I'm coming."

He heard her "All right!" and her quick step on the stairs; then he
shut the door and turned back into the room. His wife's attitude was
unchanged, her face inexorable, and he was seized with the despairing
sense of his helplessness.

"You ain't going to do it, Zeena?"

"Do what?" she emitted between flattened lips.

"Send Mattie away--like this?"

"I never bargained to take her for life!"

He continued with rising vehemence: "You can't put her out of the house
like a thief--a poor girl without friends or money. She's done her best
for you and she's got no place to go to. You may forget she's your kin
but everybody else'll remember it. If you do a thing like that what do
you suppose folks'll say of you?"

Zeena waited a moment, as if giving him time to feel the full force
of the contrast between his own excitement and her composure. Then she
replied in the same smooth voice: "I know well enough what they say of
my having kep' her here as long as I have."

Ethan's hand dropped from the door-knob, which he had held clenched
since he had drawn the door shut on Mattie. His wife's retort was like a
knife-cut across the sinews and he felt suddenly weak and powerless.
He had meant to humble himself, to argue that Mattie's keep didn't cost
much, after all, that he could make out to buy a stove and fix up a
place in the attic for the hired girl--but Zeena's words revealed the
peril of such pleadings.

"You mean to tell her she's got to go--at once?" he faltered out, in
terror of letting his wife complete her sentence.

As if trying to make him see reason she replied impartially: "The girl
will be over from Bettsbridge to-morrow, and I presume she's got to have
somewheres to sleep."

Ethan looked at her with loathing. She was no longer the listless
creature who had lived at his side in a state of sullen self-absorption,
but a mysterious alien presence, an evil energy secreted from the long
years of silent brooding. It was the sense of his helplessness that
sharpened his antipathy. There had never been anything in her that
one could appeal to; but as long as he could ignore and command he had
remained indifferent. Now she had mastered him and he abhorred her.
Mattie was her relation, not his: there were no means by which he could
compel her to keep the girl under her roof. All the long misery of his
baffled past, of his youth of failure, hardship and vain effort, rose
up in his soul in bitterness and seemed to take shape before him in the
woman who at every turn had barred his way. She had taken everything
else from him; and now she meant to take the one thing that made up for
all the others. For a moment such a flame of hate rose in him that it
ran down his arm and clenched his fist against her. He took a wild step
forward and then stopped.

"You're--you're not coming down?" he said in a bewildered voice.

"No. I guess I'll lay down on the bed a little while," she answered
mildly; and he turned and walked out of the room.

In the kitchen Mattie was sitting by the stove, the cat curled up on her
knees. She sprang to her feet as Ethan entered and carried the covered
dish of meat-pie to the table.

"I hope Zeena isn't sick?" she asked.

"No."

She shone at him across the table. "Well, sit right down then. You must
be starving." She uncovered the pie and pushed it over to him. So they
were to have one more evening together, her happy eyes seemed to say!

He helped himself mechanically and began to eat; then disgust took him
by the throat and he laid down his fork.

Mattie's tender gaze was on him and she marked the gesture.

"Why, Ethan, what's the matter? Don't it taste right?"

"Yes--it's first-rate. Only I--" He pushed his plate away, rose from his
chair, and walked around the table to her side. She started up with
frightened eyes.

"Ethan, there's something wrong! I knew there was!"

She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his
arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted
butterflies.

"What is it--what is it?" she stammered; but he had found her lips at
last and was drinking unconsciousness of everything but the joy they
gave him.

She lingered a moment, caught in the same strong current; then she
slipped from him and drew back a step or two, pale and troubled. Her
look smote him with compunction, and he cried out, as if he saw her
drowning in a dream: "You can't go, Matt! I'll never let you!"

"Go--go?" she stammered. "Must I go?"

The words went on sounding between them as though a torch of warning
flew from hand to hand through a black landscape.

Ethan was overcome with shame at his lack of self-control in flinging
the news at her so brutally. His head reeled and he had to support
himself against the table. All the while he felt as if he were still
kissing her, and yet dying of thirst for her lips.

"Ethan, what has happened? Is Zeena mad with me?"

Her cry steadied him, though it deepened his wrath and pity. "No, no,"
he assured her, "it's not that. But this new doctor has scared her about
herself. You know she believes all they say the first time she sees
them. And this one's told her she won't get well unless she lays up and
don't do a thing about the house--not for months--"

He paused, his eyes wandering from her miserably. She stood silent a
moment, drooping before him like a broken branch. She was so small and
weak-looking that it wrung his heart; but suddenly she lifted her head
and looked straight at him. "And she wants somebody handier in my place?
Is that it?"

"That's what she says to-night."

"If she says it to-night she'll say it to-morrow."

Both bowed to the inexorable truth: they knew that Zeena never changed
her mind, and that in her case a resolve once taken was equivalent to an
act performed.

There was a long silence between them; then Mattie said in a low voice:
"Don't be too sorry, Ethan."

"Oh, God--oh, God," he groaned. The glow of passion he had felt for her
had melted to an aching tenderness. He saw her quick lids beating back
the tears, and longed to take her in his arms and soothe her.

"You're letting your supper get cold," she admonished him with a pale
gleam of gaiety.

"Oh, Matt--Matt--where'll you go to?"

Her lids sank and a tremor crossed her face. He saw that for the first
time the thought of the future came to her distinctly. "I might get
something to do over at Stamford," she faltered, as if knowing that he
knew she had no hope.

He dropped back into his seat and hid his face in his hands. Despair
seized him at the thought of her setting out alone to renew the weary
quest for work. In the only place where she was known she was surrounded
by indifference or animosity; and what chance had she, inexperienced
and untrained, among the million bread-seekers of the cities? There came
back to him miserable tales he had heard at Worcester, and the faces
of girls whose lives had begun as hopefully as Mattie's.... It was not
possible to think of such things without a revolt of his whole being. He
sprang up suddenly.

"You can't go, Matt! I won't let you! She's always had her way, but I
mean to have mine now--"

Mattie lifted her hand with a quick gesture, and he heard his wife's
step behind him.

Zeena came into the room with her dragging down-at-the-heel step, and
quietly took her accustomed seat between them.

"I felt a little mite better, and Dr. Buck says I ought to eat all I can
to keep my strength up, even if I ain't got any appetite," she said in
her flat whine, reaching across Mattie for the teapot. Her "good" dress
had been replaced by the black calico and brown knitted shawl which
formed her daily wear, and with them she had put on her usual face and
manner. She poured out her tea, added a great deal of milk to it, helped
herself largely to pie and pickles, and made the familiar gesture of
adjusting her false teeth before she began to eat. The cat rubbed itself
ingratiatingly against her, and she said "Good Pussy," stooped to stroke
it and gave it a scrap of meat from her plate.

Ethan sat speechless, not pretending to eat, but Mattie nibbled
valiantly at her food and asked Zeena one or two questions about her
visit to Bettsbridge. Zeena answered in her every-day tone and, warming
to the theme, regaled them with several vivid descriptions of intestinal
disturbances among her friends and relatives. She looked straight at
Mattie as she spoke, a faint smile deepening the vertical lines between
her nose and chin.

When supper was over she rose from her seat and pressed her hand to the
flat surface over the region of her heart. "That pie of yours always
sets a mite heavy, Matt," she said, not ill-naturedly. She seldom
abbreviated the girl's name, and when she did so it was always a sign of
affability.

"I've a good mind to go and hunt up those stomach powders I got last
year over in Springfield," she continued. "I ain't tried them for quite
a while, and maybe they'll help the heartburn."

Mattie lifted her eyes. "Can't I get them for you, Zeena?" she ventured.

"No. They're in a place you don't know about," Zeena answered darkly,
with one of her secret looks.

She went out of the kitchen and Mattie, rising, began to clear the
dishes from the table. As she passed Ethan's chair their eyes met and
clung together desolately. The warm still kitchen looked as peaceful as
the night before. The cat had sprung to Zeena's rocking-chair, and the
heat of the fire was beginning to draw out the faint sharp scent of the
geraniums. Ethan dragged himself wearily to his feet.

"I'll go out and take a look around," he said, going toward the passage
to get his lantern.

As he reached the door he met Zeena coming back into the room, her lips
twitching with anger, a flush of excitement on her sallow face.
The shawl had slipped from her shoulders and was dragging at her
down-trodden heels, and in her hands she carried the fragments of the
red glass pickle-dish.

"I'd like to know who done this," she said, looking sternly from Ethan
to Mattie.

There was no answer, and she continued in a trembling voice: "I went to
get those powders I'd put away in father's old spectacle-case, top of
the china-closet, where I keep the things I set store by, so's folks
shan't meddle with them--" Her voice broke, and two small tears hung
on her lashless lids and ran slowly down her cheeks. "It takes the
stepladder to get at the top shelf, and I put Aunt Philura Maple's
pickle-dish up there o' purpose when we was married, and it's never been
down since, 'cept for the spring cleaning, and then I always lifted it
with my own hands, so's 't it shouldn't get broke." She laid the fragments
reverently on the table. "I want to know who done this," she quavered.

At the challenge Ethan turned back into the room and faced her. "I can
tell you, then. The cat done it."

"The cat?"

"That's what I said."

She looked at him hard, and then turned her eyes to Mattie, who was
carrying the dish-pan to the table.

"I'd like to know how the cat got into my china-closet"' she said.

"Chasin' mice, I guess," Ethan rejoined. "There was a mouse round the
kitchen all last evening."

Zeena continued to look from one to the other; then she emitted her
small strange laugh. "I knew the cat was a smart cat," she said in a
high voice, "but I didn't know he was smart enough to pick up the pieces
of my pickle-dish and lay 'em edge to edge on the very shelf he knocked
'em off of."

Mattie suddenly drew her arms out of the steaming water. "It wasn't
Ethan's fault, Zeena! The cat did break the dish; but I got it down from
the china-closet, and I'm the one to blame for its getting broken."

Zeena stood beside the ruin of her treasure, stiffening into a stony
image of resentment, "You got down my pickle-dish-what for?"

A bright flush flew to Mattie's cheeks. "I wanted to make the
supper-table pretty," she said.

"You wanted to make the supper-table pretty; and you waited till my back
was turned, and took the thing I set most store by of anything I've got,
and wouldn't never use it, not even when the minister come to dinner,
or Aunt Martha Pierce come over from Bettsbridge--" Zeena paused with a
gasp, as if terrified by her own evocation of the sacrilege. "You're a
bad girl, Mattie Silver, and I always known it. It's the way your father
begun, and I was warned of it when I took you, and I tried to keep my
things where you couldn't get at 'em--and now you've took from me the one
I cared for most of all--" She broke off in a short spasm of sobs that
passed and left her more than ever like a shape of stone.

"If I'd 'a' listened to folks, you'd 'a' gone before now, and this
wouldn't 'a' happened," she said; and gathering up the bits of broken
glass she went out of the room as if she carried a dead body...

Ethan goes up to ask Zeena down to supper. Zeena tells him, ominously, that she's sicker than he realizes. She has "complications. Ethan is torn between hoping for her death and feeling pity for her, but his compassion is stronger than his selfishness. The conversation is tense, full of blunders; Zeena is picky and irritable. She tells him that the doctor thinks she should rest for months, without doing any work whatsoever. The doctor has recommended a hired girl, and Zeena has already contracted one to come. Ethan becomes angry; he simply doesn't have the money for it. Zeena lashes back, saying that she became ill tending Ethan's own mother. The fight is open, aggressive; it is the only time in their marriage that Zeena and Ethan have shown so much open anger. They bicker over costs, and Zeena brings up the promised money for the lumber delivery. Ethan is caught in his lie, and he lacks the skill to evade it. Zeena also points out that their expenses will be less now that Mattie will be leaving. Ethan is horrified; he had not even considered that Mattie would be sent away. Mattie comes up to call them down for dinner, but Zeena responds that she won't be having dinner; clueless, Mattie goes back downstairs. Ethan tries to persuade Zeena to let Mattie stay, but Zeena is adamant. Ethan goes down to eat, but he has no appetite. Mattie keeps asking what's wrong. Instead of answering, Ethan pulls her to him and kisses her. She returns the kiss, but after a moment withdraws. Ethan blurts out clumsily, "You can't go, Matt. I'll never let you. He tells her about the doctor's orders and Zeena's decision, and both of them know that Zeena never changes her mind. Matt faces an uncertain future. Zeena comes downstairs, having decided to eat dinner after all. She speaks in her flat whine, eating and telling them stories about the intestinal problems of her friends and relatives in Bettsbridge. After dinner, she has heartburn and goes to get some special stomach powders; she returns furious, tears in her eyes, the broken bits of the pickle-dish in her hands. Ethan tries to blame it on the cat, but Mattie admits that she brought down the pickle-dish to try and make the table look pretty. Zeena has never used it, even when company has come over, and she is mad with grief and rage: "You're a bad girl, Mattie Silver, and I always known it. It's the way your father begun, and I was warned of it when I took you,k and I tried to keep my things where you couldn't get at 'em and now you've took from me the one I cared for most of all". She leaves the room with the pickle-dish's shattered remains, acting as if she "carried a dead body".

Wharton is able to flesh out characters with a minimal number of strokes. Zeena, reclusive and withdrawn and therefore difficult for the reader to know, emerges from this chapter as a much fuller character. We see how she uses her illness as a weapon: Wharton writes with humor that although many people around town have health problems, "only the chosen had complications'". In a small town where people's intestinal disorders rank as a favorite topic of conversation, being ill makes a person something of a celebrity; being truly ill makes one into a star. Zeena uses her sickliness as a weapon against Ethan. It's the safest way to control him. We also see that Zeena harbors resentment against him: she blames her current illness on her time tending to Ethan's mother. Whether the claim is true or not, and it probably is not, Zeena has decided to see her sickness as the result of some sacrifice she made on Ethan's behalf. Clinging to this belief allows Zeena to feel that Ethan is indebted to her; it also makes her resent him. The argument between Ethan and Zeena is worth a close study, because every statement gives vital clues to the character's psychology and the workings of small town society. Zeena constantly refers to the opinions of friends and relatives as if they were taken from Scripture. Her arguments are usually supported by something someone in her family has said. The difficulty of rural life is an important theme, but here we move beyond the physical difficulties and see the psychological pitfalls of Starkfield living. The community is so small that it is stifling. The opinions of a few biased relatives stand as the voice of the whole world, and Ethan crumbles under Zeena's arguments. We also learn of Zeena's insecurity. Some of her comments hint that she feels Ethan married her out of obligation. And here we see the tragedy of Zeena's character. She wants Ethan to feel obligated to her. She uses her illness as a weapon, and she was content to let him marry her out of a sense of loneliness and obligation. But after winning him as her husband in this way, she is tortured by the fact that Ethan married her out of obligation and loneliness rather than passion. She has won her victory in the way that she wanted to win it, but she must then live with the knowledge that her husband has been cornered into being with her. She is not a generous woman by nature. Her attitude toward her pickle dish is indicative of her personality. Her most precious possession has been horded, hidden, never used even when beloved company has been over. Zeena was satisfied keeping the dish tucked away and never used, hidden from the world. Control of the dish was important to her: she makes sure that no one else touches it. The theme of poverty is here: Zeena's fussiness is a function of being poor, but it is only one possible reaction to being poor. In a similar way, she has contented herself with possessing Ethan without doing anything to make him happy. She has used her sickliness to make him feel obligated to her, and has clung to him since. But her hypochondria and her whining have made Ethan miserable. There are definite parallels between Ethan and the red dish. When Zeena lashes out at Mattie, she seems to be speaking about Ethan as much as she is talking about the destroyed pickle-dish. She accuses Mattie of taking "the one I cared for most of all" , and the language is specifically chosen for its double meaning. Took" rather than "destroyed," and "the one" rather than "the thing": every key word is chosen so that it can refer to both the dish and Ethan. Whether Zeena knows about Ethan and Mattie is never revealed: the pickle-dish speech can be read as an accusation or as a moment of dramatic irony

Ethan finds Zeena in the bedroom and asks if she wants to come eat. She says she isn't hungry. Ethan knows that she always says this, and then always gets up and eats shortly thereafter. Now Zeena tells him that she is very sick. Ethan says he hopes she isn't. She implies that she might be dying. Ethan pities her in her seeming loneliness, but is rather shocked and begins to call into question the credibility of the doctor she must have consulted with. Zeena defends Dr Buck. Apparently Dr Buck thinks Zeena needs to have a housekeeper, so that she can do nothing but rest all the time. Apparently she has already found one. Aha, thinks Ethan. The doctor thing is all a cheap plot to tear Mattie away from him. He asks Zeena if the doctor also told her how they would pay for this new employee. She tells him that she was too embarrassed to tell the doctor that Ethan didn't care about her health, even though she lost her own health taking care of Ethan's mother. This is a new one on Ethan. Zeena then suggests that Ethan owed it to her to marry her after she helped with his mother. Ethan is shocked by the gruesome scene, and ashamed of his own role in it. He lights the candle. This is his first real fight with Zeena. Ethan reminds Zeena that he doesn't have money to hire anyone else, and tells her she'll have to unhire the new hire. Zeena tells Ethan that the doctor told her that if she doesn't stop working so hard she will die. Appalled, Ethan almost blurts out what he thinks of that idea. Instead, he checks himself and promises to do the extra work himself, and she can be free of all such duties. Now Zeena reminds him that he already has more work than he can take. She makes a crack about his Fromes being poor, and then goes in for the kill - where's the fifty bucks from Andrew Hale? Ethan tells her the truth; Andrew will pay him in three months. Zeena reminds him of his lie from the day before. Not being a good liar, Ethan basically abandons the ruse, and tells Zeena to forget the fifty for the time being. Zeena says she had the fifty in mind when she employed the new maid. Ethan apologizes for being poor, and promises to care for her, with Mattie's help of course. This isn't quite what Zeena has in mind for Mattie. She tells Ethan that things will be less tight without the expense of having Mattie around. Ethan is completely caught off guard at this last comment. Tickled, Zeena begins to laugh at him. She says that now she understands why Ethan was worried about the money - he must have thought she planned to have the new maid in addition to Mattie. Confused, Ethan reminds Zeena that Mattie isn't an employee. She's family. Zeena begs to differ. She explains that Mattie is just a burden, and that she is now done with her share of the charity. She wants to pass the burden on to someone else. Then, Mattie knocks on the door and in a happy voice reminds them that dinner is ready. Through the door Zeena tells her she won't be dining. Panicking, Mattie asks if she's OK, if there's anything she needs. Ethan speaks up, and asks Mattie to wait downstairs. He tries to get Zeena to change her mind about Mattie, but Zeena's mind is set. Mattie is supposed to leave the very next day, to make room for the new person. Now Ethan hates Zeena. She's not the sick, weak, miserable person he thought. No, Zeena is evil, sucking him dry, robbing him of all the good in life. He is on the verge of punching, but instead asks her weirdly if she's not coming down to eat. Zeena says she'll have a little rest instead. Back in the kitchen Ethan and Mattie are trying to enjoy their last dinner. But Ethan can't eat. Mattie begs him to tell her what the matter is, He blurts it out. Mattie can't believe she's to be booted out. She wants to know if Zeena is upset with her about something. Oh no, Ethan tells her. It's like this every time she gets a new doctor. Mattie knows that Zeena is a person who means what she says. She tries to console Ethan. Desperately, he asks her if she has someplace to go. Mattie's future is grim. None of her relatives like her and he knows what happens to women who try to make their ways alone in the cities. Ethan jumps up and tells Mattie that she can't go, and that he's not going to let Zeena have her way this time. Zeena is in the kitchen now, whining that the doctor said she should eat well. She fixes her false teeth and digs in, petting the cat and feeding it scraps. Ethan is in shock, but Mattie tries to make small talk with Zeena, who criticizes her cooking. Now Zeena needs some medicine for the heartburn it has given her. Concerned, Mattie offers to get some. Zeena says the medicines are in a secret place that Mattie doesn't have access to. Ethan decides to step out for a bit of mountain air, but before he gets outside Zeena comes back from looking for the medicine. She doesn't look like a happy camper. She found the broken pickle dish, and wants to know how this came happened. Zeena has never used the pickle dish - their wedding gift. Ethan blames the cat. Zeena says that cat must be pretty smart to try to cover up its crime. Mattie rushes to Ethan's defense, admitting that she had wanted to make the table look nice for dinner the night before. This makes things even worse. Zeena says Mattie purposely took from her most prized possession - the pickle dish - from her. Then she begins to cry, but quickly hardens again. If only she had listened to the people in town, things wouldn't have gone this far. Zeena exits, carrying out the glass pieces like "a dead body" .

Ethan slowly makes his way upstairs to Zeena, who sits rigidly in the half dark and still wears her traveling clothes. He asks her if she would like some supper, but she says she couldn't possibly eat. Ethan knows the formula; they will have this discussion, and then Zeena will go downstairs and eat her supper heartily. He asks her if she is tired. As before, she replies that she is a good deal sicker than Ethan thinks. He says that he hopes not and wonders if this time the words are true. Zeena tells him that she has "complications," and Ethan knows that this means her illness is serious, for people hardly ever survive complications. Ethan's heart is torn by pity for her and love for Mattie. She continues by explaining that any "regular doctor" would want her to have an operation. Ethan is relieved to know that Zeena is opposed to operations. Ethan questions her about the new doctor, and Zeena takes his interest as criticism. She responds by whining about her condition and how this doctor has solved hopeless cases before. Ethan says that he is glad and tells his wife she must do what the doctor says. Zeena says she means to--with a strange new resolution in her voice. Ethan asks what the doctor wants her to do. "He wants I should have a hired girl," is Zeena's reply. Zeena's aunt Martha has found an appropriate girl, who must be given an extra dollar for coming to such a remote spot. She will arrive tomorrow. Ethan, angry and confused, feels that the whole point of the trip to the doctor was to make him pay for a servant. He asks Zeena if the doctor also proposed how Ethan would pay the girl's wages. She replies that she would be ashamed to tell the doctor that her husband would refuse the expense, considering that she lost her health nursing his mother. Ethan doubts this aloud. In Ethan's estimation, the discussion has turned to a fight between two serpents shooting venom in the dark, and he is horrified. As he lights the lamp, he notes that this is their first openly angry fight ever. He feels the baseness of it, but he knows the issues must be dealt with. Ethan again says he does not have the money to pay for the girl. Zeena says she cannot go on "slaving." Ethan assures her that he will do the housework himself, and says again "I haven't got the money. That settles it." There is a brief pause in the fight. Zeena asks about the cash Ethan was supposed to get from Hale the day before. He tells her that Hale has not paid, and Zeena remarks that she had no way of knowing that. He then reminds her that she is a poor man's wife. Zeena sits motionless. Ethan perks up and starts to list some other options. Zeena adds that also there will no longer be the expense of having Mattie live with them. Ethan stops short. Zeena laughs, for the first time in their entire marriage, and says surely they would not keep two girls! Ethan points out that Mattie is a relative, not just a girl. Zeena points out that Mattie, a pauper, has been with them for a year, and now somebody else in the family should take her. Mattie taps on the door and calls to them, for supper has been ready for half an hour. She asks Zeena if she can do anything for her. Ethan sends her back downstairs, while Zeena remains sitting--inexorable and defiant. They argue about Mattie, with Ethan saying that everyone will think Zeena is heartless to push her own kin out of the house. Zeena pauses and replies that everyone knows how very generous she has been to Mattie already. Now Zeena wants Mattie gone tomorrow, so the new girl can have her room. Ethan's hand drops from the doorknob; he feels entirely powerless. He knows that any pleading he could do for Mattie would be hopeless. Ethan looks at his wife with loathing. His sudden helplessness causes him to see her as an evil energy. "As long as he could ignore her. . .he had remained indifferent. Now she had mastered him, and he abhorred her." All his life's vain efforts and disappointment rise up inside him. For a moment he blames it all on Zeena and takes a wild step toward her, then stops. Zeena lies down, and Ethan goes downstairs to Mattie, who is bright and shiny and offers him some food. She senses that Ethan is upset and begs him to tell her what is wrong. He holds her in his arms and kisses her. As she he slips from him, he cries out that he will never let her go. "Go," she stammers. Ethan is ashamed at the way he has delivered the bad news. His head reels, but he explains the situation. Mattie stands silently before him, weak and drooping. They both know the strength of Zeena's resolve. Mattie tries to soothe Ethan, though she obviously fights back tears. Ethan hides his face in his hands. He thinks of terrible stories he has heard of unfortunate girls in the city. Just as he jumps up to say that he won't allow it, Zeena comes into the room. She feels better and has decided to have something to eat. She appears normal, perfectly well. Ethan is speechless as Zeena, smiling, makes small-talk with Mattie about her trip and various ailments she encountered in her friends and relatives. After dinner she decides that Mattie's pie has given her heartburn, so she goes to get a powder. As Mattie and Ethan look at each other, Zeena returns in a state of agitation. She has found the broken pickle dish and demands to know what has happened. She is entirely broken by the breaking of her dish. She cries and demands an explanation. Ethan tells her the cat did it, but she doesn't believe him. Mattie admits that she herself took the dish from the closet and deserves the blame. Zeena wants to know why, and Mattie admits that she wanted the table to look pretty. Zeena is horrified and upbraids her, saying, "You're a bad girl, Mattie Silver." She then breaks down into sobbing spasms. Once in control again, she tells Mattie that she should have listened to other folks and not taken her in. Finally, Zeena walks away with the broken dish.

Ethan calls Zeena's name up the stairs but receives no answer. He enters the bedroom and sees her sitting by the window, in the dark, still in her traveling dress. Ethan tells her that supper is ready, but she says she is not hungry. Then she informs Ethan, "I'm a great deal sicker than you think. " Ethan wonders hopefully if her words, which he has heard before, might this time be true. She says that the doctor told her she should not do anything around the house and that she should hire a girl. Her Aunt Martha, with whom she stayed while in Bettsbridge, has found her one, and she is due to arrive the following afternoon. Ethan is angry. He no longer believes Zeena's claims about how sick she is, and he cannot afford to pay a servant. Zeena says it is the least he can do for her after she lost her own health looking after his mother, a claim which rouses Ethan's indignation. This is the first time that they have openly expressed their anger in seven years of marriage. Zeena reminds Ethan of the fifty dollars he claimed he was going to get from Andrew Hale before her departure. Ethan replies that Hale never pays in less than three months. As soon as the words are out, Ethan realizes that he has been caught out in his own lie. He had told Zeena that the reason he could not drive her to the station was because he had to collect this payment. Ethan is wrongfooted and Zeena forces home her advantage, pointing out that when Mattie has left they will not need to pay for her board and can use the money to pay the hired girl. Then she laughs - for the first time, insofar as Ethan can remember. She says that they have suppported Mattie for long enough. Ethan is shocked and attempts to defend Mattie, saying that they cannot simply put her out onto the street. He realizes that Zeena has mastered him, and he abhors her. He is about to hit her, but stops himself, and merely asks if she is coming down to supper. She says she is not, and that she will lie down for a while. Ethan goes downstairs to eat with Mattie, but has no appetite. She anxiously asks what is wrong. He leaves his chair and walks around the table to stand by her. As she leans towards him, he catches her in his arms and kisses her. In an outburst of emotion, he tells her that he will never let her go. Mattie is confused at first, but soon understands from Ethan that Zeena means to replace her. They begin to discuss her prospects of getting another job, but he feels that there is little chance of this, due to her inexperience and lack of training. Ethan tells her that he means to have his way with Zeena at last, but Mattie silences him with a warning gesture as Zeena enters the room. She says she will eat to keep her strength up, though she has no appetite. The cat rubs against her. She pets it and feeds it a piece of meat from her plate. While Ethan sits silently, Mattie tries to engage Zeena in polite conversation. Zeena has a faint smile on her face. Having finished her meal, she goes off to hunt for her stomach powders. Ethan gets up to go out and take a look around. At the door, he meets Zeena who has come back in bearing the broken pieces of the pickle dish, which she found while looking for her stomach powders. She demands to know who broke it. Ethan tells her the cat did it. Zeena is not satisfied: she wants to know who laid the pieces together. Mattie defends Ethan by saying that while the cat did break the dish, she took it down from the closet, and so she is to blame. Zeena is furious that Mattie "took the thing I most set store by of anything I've got. " She calls Mattie a bad girl and says she should have turned her out long ago. In tears, Zeena gathers up the broken pieces as if she were carrying a dead body, and leaves the room.

. Wharton treats Zeena's supposed illnesses with savage irony. Zeena says that she is sicker than Ethan thinks, and that she has "complications." On this basis, she claims the authority of one "chosen" and "singled out for a great fate": to have "troubles" was common, but to have "complications" "was in itself a distinction, though it was also, in most cases, a death-warrant. " She is conferring upon herself the special status of a martyr. No longer whiny and reproachful, Zeena is now resolute. Her illness becomes a weapon that she uses to take control of her household. She means to get rid of her rival, Mattie, and instal a hired girl in her place. Zeena comes over as a sort of parasite, who grows stronger from the suffering of Ethan and Mattie. She laughs, for the first time, as far as Ethan is aware, just after she has told him that they will pay for the hired girl by getting rid of Mattie. This is the worst thing that Ethan can imagine, and it would certainly ruin Mattie too - but Zeena is happy, in her fashion. This, in turn, follows Zeena's effortless exposure of Ethan's lie that he could not drive her to the station because he was collecting the payment from Hale. Zeena has triumphed over her husband, who, as the narrator comments, is no good at lying. The cat is confirmed as Zeena's 'agent,' rubbing himself "ingratiatingly" against her and receiving praise and the payment of a piece of meat from her plate. So unsympathetic is the character of Zeena that readers may regret that Ethan conquers his impulse to hit her - or at least, that he fails to stand up for Mattie and himself. But Ethan is a past master at suppressing his impulses. Mattie appears the more courageous one, taking the blame for the broken dish upon herself in an attempt to defend Ethan from Zeena's wrath. Zeena's response to her discovery of the broken pickle dish is laden with symbolism and psychological import. She describes the dish as "the thing I most set store by of anything I've got. " It is both ludicrous and tragic that above her husband, home, cousin Mattie, farm, and animals, she prizes. a pickle dish. Her tears over the dish represent her first and only display of real emotion. But though she prized the dish, she never used it, but kept it in a place that ensured it could never be used. As noted before, this denotes the sterility of her life and marriage. However, there is another meaning behind her response. The dish is symbolic of her marriage to Ethan, and Mattie, by taking it down from the closet, enabled it to be broken. So Zeena's tears can be taken as genuine grief over the destruction of her marriage by Mattie. But beyond even this level of meaning is that which arises from the symbolism that has been built up around the cat and the pickle dish. The cat is Zeena's 'agent,' and the pickle dish is Zeena's marriage, so ultimately, Zeena herself is responsible for breaking both dish and marriage! The cat delivered the conscious expression of a truth that both Zeena and Ethan knew - that the marriage was dead. This is reinforced by the image at the end of the chapter of Zeena carrying out the broken dish "as if she carried a dead body." . To blame Zeena for the pickle dish incident is the 'verdict of the heart' at which many readers arrive, though it is the opposite of the moral verdict, which must condemn Mattie and Ethan for their disloyalty to Zeena.


When Ethan was called back to the farm by his father's illness his
mother gave him, for his own use, a small room behind the untenanted
"best parlour." Here he had nailed up shelves for his books, built
himself a box-sofa out of boards and a mattress, laid out his papers on
a kitchen-table, hung on the rough plaster wall an engraving of Abraham
Lincoln and a calendar with "Thoughts from the Poets," and tried, with
these meagre properties, to produce some likeness to the study of a
"minister" who had been kind to him and lent him books when he was at
Worcester. He still took refuge there in summer, but when Mattie came to
live at the farm he had to give her his stove, and consequently the room
was uninhabitable for several months of the year.

To this retreat he descended as soon as the house was quiet, and Zeena's
steady breathing from the bed had assured him that there was to be
no sequel to the scene in the kitchen. After Zeena's departure he and
Mattie had stood speechless, neither seeking to approach the other. Then
the girl had returned to her task of clearing up the kitchen for the
night and he had taken his lantern and gone on his usual round outside
the house. The kitchen was empty when he came back to it; but his
tobacco-pouch and pipe had been laid on the table, and under them was
a scrap of paper torn from the back of a seedsman's catalogue, on which
three words were written: "Don't trouble, Ethan."

Going into his cold dark "study" he placed the lantern on the table
and, stooping to its light, read the message again and again. It was the
first time that Mattie had ever written to him, and the possession of
the paper gave him a strange new sense of her nearness; yet it deepened
his anguish by reminding him that henceforth they would have no other
way of communicating with each other. For the life of her smile, the
warmth of her voice, only cold paper and dead words!

Confused motions of rebellion stormed in him. He was too young, too
strong, too full of the sap of living, to submit so easily to the
destruction of his hopes. Must he wear out all his years at the side
of a bitter querulous woman? Other possibilities had been in him,
possibilities sacrificed, one by one, to Zeena's narrow-mindedness
and ignorance. And what good had come of it? She was a hundred times
bitterer and more discontented than when he had married her: the one
pleasure left her was to inflict pain on him. All the healthy instincts
of self-defence rose up in him against such waste...

He bundled himself into his old coon-skin coat and lay down on the
box-sofa to think. Under his cheek he felt a hard object with strange
protuberances. It was a cushion which Zeena had made for him when they
were engaged--the only piece of needlework he had ever seen her do. He
flung it across the floor and propped his head against the wall...

He knew a case of a man over the mountain--a young fellow of about his
own age--who had escaped from just such a life of misery by going West
with the girl he cared for. His wife had divorced him, and he had
married the girl and prospered. Ethan had seen the couple the summer
before at Shadd's Falls, where they had come to visit relatives. They
had a little girl with fair curls, who wore a gold locket and was
dressed like a princess. The deserted wife had not done badly either.
Her husband had given her the farm and she had managed to sell it, and
with that and the alimony she had started a lunch-room at Bettsbridge
and bloomed into activity and importance. Ethan was fired by the
thought. Why should he not leave with Mattie the next day, instead of
letting her go alone? He would hide his valise under the seat of the
sleigh, and Zeena would suspect nothing till she went upstairs for her
afternoon nap and found a letter on the bed...

His impulses were still near the surface, and he sprang up, re-lit the
lantern, and sat down at the table. He rummaged in the drawer for a
sheet of paper, found one, and began to write.

"Zeena, I've done all I could for you, and I don't see as it's been any
use. I don't blame you, nor I don't blame myself. Maybe both of us will
do better separate. I'm going to try my luck West, and you can sell the
farm and mill, and keep the money--"

His pen paused on the word, which brought home to him the relentless
conditions of his lot. If he gave the farm and mill to Zeena what would
be left him to start his own life with? Once in the West he was sure of
picking up work--he would not have feared to try his chance alone. But
with Mattie depending on him the case was different. And what of Zeena's
fate? Farm and mill were mortgaged to the limit of their value, and even
if she found a purchaser--in itself an unlikely chance--it was doubtful if
she could clear a thousand dollars on the sale. Meanwhile, how could
she keep the farm going? It was only by incessant labour and personal
supervision that Ethan drew a meagre living from his land, and his wife,
even if she were in better health than she imagined, could never carry
such a burden alone.

Well, she could go back to her people, then, and see what they would do
for her. It was the fate she was forcing on Mattie--why not let her try
it herself? By the time she had discovered his whereabouts, and brought
suit for divorce, he would probably--wherever he was--be earning enough to
pay her a sufficient alimony. And the alternative was to let Mattie go
forth alone, with far less hope of ultimate provision...

He had scattered the contents of the table-drawer in his search for a
sheet of paper, and as he took up his pen his eye fell on an old copy of
the Bettsbridge Eagle. The advertising sheet was folded uppermost, and
he read the seductive words: "Trips to the West: Reduced Rates."

He drew the lantern nearer and eagerly scanned the fares; then the paper
fell from his hand and he pushed aside his unfinished letter. A moment
ago he had wondered what he and Mattie were to live on when they reached
the West; now he saw that he had not even the money to take her there.
Borrowing was out of the question: six months before he had given his
only security to raise funds for necessary repairs to the mill, and
he knew that without security no one at Starkfield would lend him ten
dollars. The inexorable facts closed in on him like prison-warders
handcuffing a convict. There was no way out--none. He was a prisoner for
life, and now his one ray of light was to be extinguished.

He crept back heavily to the sofa, stretching himself out with limbs so
leaden that he felt as if they would never move again. Tears rose in his
throat and slowly burned their way to his lids.

As he lay there, the window-pane that faced him, growing gradually
lighter, inlaid upon the darkness a square of moon-suffused sky. A
crooked tree-branch crossed it, a branch of the apple-tree under which,
on summer evenings, he had sometimes found Mattie sitting when he came
up from the mill. Slowly the rim of the rainy vapours caught fire and
burnt away, and a pure moon swung into the blue. Ethan, rising on his
elbow, watched the landscape whiten and shape itself under the sculpture
of the moon. This was the night on which he was to have taken Mattie
coasting, and there hung the lamp to light them! He looked out at the
slopes bathed in lustre, the silver-edged darkness of the woods, the
spectral purple of the hills against the sky, and it seemed as
though all the beauty of the night had been poured out to mock his
wretchedness...

He fell asleep, and when he woke the chill of the winter dawn was in the
room. He felt cold and stiff and hungry, and ashamed of being hungry.
He rubbed his eyes and went to the window. A red sun stood over the grey
rim of the fields, behind trees that looked black and brittle. He said
to himself: "This is Matt's last day," and tried to think what the place
would be without her.

As he stood there he heard a step behind him and she entered.

"Oh, Ethan--were you here all night?"

She looked so small and pinched, in her poor dress, with the red scarf
wound about her, and the cold light turning her paleness sallow, that
Ethan stood before her without speaking.

"You must be frozen," she went on, fixing lustreless eyes on him.

He drew a step nearer. "How did you know I was here?"

"Because I heard you go down stairs again after I went to bed, and I
listened all night, and you didn't come up."

All his tenderness rushed to his lips. He looked at her and said: "I'll
come right along and make up the kitchen fire."

They went back to the kitchen, and he fetched the coal and kindlings
and cleared out the stove for her, while she brought in the milk and
the cold remains of the meat-pie. When warmth began to radiate from the
stove, and the first ray of sunlight lay on the kitchen floor, Ethan's
dark thoughts melted in the mellower air. The sight of Mattie going
about her work as he had seen her on so many mornings made it seem
impossible that she should ever cease to be a part of the scene. He said
to himself that he had doubtless exaggerated the significance of Zeena's
threats, and that she too, with the return of daylight, would come to a
saner mood.

He went up to Mattie as she bent above the stove, and laid his hand on
her arm. "I don't want you should trouble either," he said, looking down
into her eyes with a smile.

She flushed up warmly and whispered back: "No, Ethan, I ain't going to
trouble."

"I guess things'll straighten out," he added.

There was no answer but a quick throb of her lids, and he went on: "She
ain't said anything this morning?"

"No. I haven't seen her yet."

"Don't you take any notice when you do."

With this injunction he left her and went out to the cow-barn. He saw
Jotham Powell walking up the hill through the morning mist, and the
familiar sight added to his growing conviction of security.

As the two men were clearing out the stalls Jotham rested on his
pitch-fork to say: "Dan'l Byrne's goin' over to the Flats to-day noon,
an' he c'd take Mattie's trunk along, and make it easier ridin' when I
take her over in the sleigh."

Ethan looked at him blankly, and he continued: "Mis' Frome said the new
girl'd be at the Flats at five, and I was to take Mattie then, so's 't
she could ketch the six o'clock train for Stamford."

Ethan felt the blood drumming in his temples. He had to wait a moment
before he could find voice to say: "Oh, it ain't so sure about Mattie's
going--"

"That so?" said Jotham indifferently; and they went on with their work.

When they returned to the kitchen the two women were already at
breakfast. Zeena had an air of unusual alertness and activity. She drank
two cups of coffee and fed the cat with the scraps left in the pie-dish;
then she rose from her seat and, walking over to the window, snipped two
or three yellow leaves from the geraniums. "Aunt Martha's ain't got a
faded leaf on 'em; but they pine away when they ain't cared for," she
said reflectively. Then she turned to Jotham and asked: "What time'd you
say Dan'l Byrne'd be along?"

The hired man threw a hesitating glance at Ethan. "Round about noon," he
said.

Zeena turned to Mattie. "That trunk of yours is too heavy for the
sleigh, and Dan'l Byrne'll be round to take it over to the Flats," she
said.

"I'm much obliged to you, Zeena," said Mattie.

"I'd like to go over things with you first," Zeena continued in an
unperturbed voice. "I know there's a huckabuck towel missing; and I
can't make out what you done with that match-safe 't used to stand
behind the stuffed owl in the parlour."

She went out, followed by Mattie, and when the men were alone Jotham
said to his employer: "I guess I better let Dan'l come round, then."

Ethan finished his usual morning tasks about the house and barn; then
he said to Jotham: "I'm going down to Starkfield. Tell them not to wait
dinner."

The passion of rebellion had broken out in him again. That which had
seemed incredible in the sober light of day had really come to pass,
and he was to assist as a helpless spectator at Mattie's banishment.
His manhood was humbled by the part he was compelled to play and by the
thought of what Mattie must think of him. Confused impulses struggled
in him as he strode along to the village. He had made up his mind to do
something, but he did not know what it would be.

The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield
under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines
through a pale haze of spring. Every yard of the road was alive with
Mattie's presence, and there was hardly a branch against the sky or a
tangle of brambles on the bank in which some bright shred of memory was
not caught. Once, in the stillness, the call of a bird in a mountain ash
was so like her laughter that his heart tightened and then grew large;
and all these things made him see that something must be done at once.

Suddenly it occurred to him that Andrew Hale, who was a kind-hearted
man, might be induced to reconsider his refusal and advance a small sum
on the lumber if he were told that Zeena's ill-health made it necessary
to hire a servant. Hale, after all, knew enough of Ethan's situation
to make it possible for the latter to renew his appeal without too much
loss of pride; and, moreover, how much did pride count in the ebullition
of passions in his breast?

The more he considered his plan the more hopeful it seemed. If he could
get Mrs. Hale's ear he felt certain of success, and with fifty dollars
in his pocket nothing could keep him from Mattie...

His first object was to reach Starkfield before Hale had started for
his work; he knew the carpenter had a job down the Corbury road and was
likely to leave his house early. Ethan's long strides grew more rapid
with the accelerated beat of his thoughts, and as he reached the foot of
School House Hill he caught sight of Hale's sleigh in the distance. He
hurried forward to meet it, but as it drew nearer he saw that it was
driven by the carpenter's youngest boy and that the figure at his side,
looking like a large upright cocoon in spectacles, was that of Mrs.
Hale. Ethan signed to them to stop, and Mrs. Hale leaned forward, her
pink wrinkles twinkling with benevolence.

"Mr. Hale? Why, yes, you'll find him down home now. He ain't going to
his work this forenoon. He woke up with a touch o' lumbago, and I just
made him put on one of old Dr. Kidder's plasters and set right up into
the fire."

Beaming maternally on Ethan, she bent over to add: "I on'y just heard
from Mr. Hale 'bout Zeena's going over to Bettsbridge to see that new
doctor. I'm real sorry she's feeling so bad again! I hope he thinks he
can do something for her. I don't know anybody round here's had more
sickness than Zeena. I always tell Mr. Hale I don't know what she'd 'a'
done if she hadn't 'a' had you to look after her; and I used to say
the same thing 'bout your mother. You've had an awful mean time, Ethan
Frome."

She gave him a last nod of sympathy while her son chirped to the horse;
and Ethan, as she drove off, stood in the middle of the road and stared
after the retreating sleigh.

It was a long time since any one had spoken to him as kindly as Mrs.
Hale. Most people were either indifferent to his troubles, or disposed
to think it natural that a young fellow of his age should have carried
without repining the burden of three crippled lives. But Mrs. Hale had
said, "You've had an awful mean time, Ethan Frome," and he felt less
alone with his misery. If the Hales were sorry for him they would surely
respond to his appeal...

He started down the road toward their house, but at the end of a few
yards he pulled up sharply, the blood in his face. For the first time,
in the light of the words he had just heard, he saw what he was about to
do. He was planning to take advantage of the Hales' sympathy to obtain
money from them on false pretences. That was a plain statement of the
cloudy purpose which had driven him in headlong to Starkfield.

With the sudden perception of the point to which his madness had carried
him, the madness fell and he saw his life before him as it was. He was a
poor man, the husband of a sickly woman, whom his desertion would leave
alone and destitute; and even if he had had the heart to desert her he
could have done so only by deceiving two kindly people who had pitied
him.

He turned and walked slowly back to the farm.

Ethan has a tiny study on the first floor, done up in humble imitation of the study of a minister who was kind to him in Worcester. Since Mattie came and he moved the stove up to her room, it has been uninhabitable during the winter. But he goes there now, trying to figure out a way to take his life back. He carries with him a tiny note written by Mattie and left for him on the kitchen table: "Don't trouble, Ethan". He remembers meeting a couple who had faced a similar situation. The man had divorced his wife and fled west with his new girl, and everyone had prospered. The ex-wife sold the farm and started her own business, and the man and his new wife fared well out west. He begins a farewell letter to Zeena. But as he tries to plan a course of action for himself, he realizes that escape is impossible. Zeena will not be able to sell the farm for any considerable sum, and she has no means to survive in the mean time. And as for him and Mattie, they don't even have enough money to get out West. Ethan falls asleep in the study despite the cold. The next morning, Jotham Powell is there. A coach is going to come later in the day to pick up Mattie's heavy trunk, and Jotham is going to take Mattie to the station when he goes to pick up the new hired girl. Ethan heads toward town, humiliated by his own powerlessness. He suddenly considers a new plan: if he tells Andrew Hale that he needs money to hire a girl to help Zeena, he could use the cash advance to flee west with Mattie. He goes to the Hale mill, running into their sleigh on the weigh. Mrs. Hale is the rider, and she talks to Ethan sympathetically about Zeena's latest health problems. She admires Ethan for taking care of Zeena and before her, his mother. The sleigh takes off, and Ethan keeps on toward the Hales': if they feel sorry for him, they're sure to loan him the money. But then Ethan realizes that he is planning to use the compassion of the Hales' to get money dishonestly. He realizes the truth of his situation: Zeena cannot fend for herself, and Ethan's flight with Mattie would depend on deceiving the Hales. He turns and goes back to his own farm.

Ethan is completely boxed in, and Wharton's determinism becomes oppressive. He has no options: as he sits in his study planning an escape, he realizes that what worked for another man will not work for him. He simply does not have the resources. The reality of his situation continues to torment him. Ethan can't find an honorable way to save his happiness. And he is, whether he likes it or not, an honorable man. He does not have it in him to abandon Zeena, or deceive the Hales. His choice to live honestly rather than pursue his passion for Mattie is admirable, but it should not be taken as evidence of human agency. Ethan's decency is part of what makes him so sympathetic, but in Wharton's universe goodness and morals limit options rather than multiply them. His decision to remain honest is one of the few choices he is allowed in the novel, and it lends his character tragic dignity. It is not a sign of man's power over his own life; rather, it is an example of a man behaving honorably within the constraints that life has given him

Ethan has a little make-shift study that he hadn't used in a while be because the heater that previously heated it was given to Mattie for her room. When Zeena was safely sleeping, Ethan headed to that room. He and Mattie hadn't talked after the scene, but when he'd come in from doing his final chores he found a note left by Mattie before she went to bed. It said, "Don't trouble, Ethan." This was his first note ever from Mattie. The note makes him feel closer to her. Wrestling with his mind, Ethan decides he can have happiness. He doesn't have to live this way. There was this guy who left his wife for a younger woman. By leaving her the farm, the man had made sure the left wife would have something to live on, and moved West. Ethan had met the couple and seen their cute little baby. He decides to write Zeena a letter and then leave with Mattie the next day. As he writes he begins to have doubts. The farm isn't worth anything to sell, and there is no way Zeena could do any of the work on it. Oh well, he thinks. She can go live with her relatives and he will eventually pay her alimony. He finds a newspaper so he can look at the cost of a trip West. Crushed, Ethan learns that he can't even afford the cheapest ticket, and nobody would loan him any money. He cries and falls asleep thinking of how he and Mattie were supposed to sled tonight. When he wakes up, he realizes it's Mattie's final day on the farm. Mattie is waiting for him. She'd heard him leave the house last night and had not heard him return. They move to the kitchen. Ethan touches Mattie and says, "I don't want you should trouble either" . She agrees not to. Ethan warns her not to let Zeena get to her today. When Jotham comes in he tells Ethan that Zeena asked him to drive Mattie away. Ethan says that he will be the one to drive Mattie. When Zeena comes in she tells Mattie she's arranged for her trunk to be transported. Mattie thanks her. Determined to give it another shot, Ethan decides to use Zeena's illness as an excuse to get Andrew Hale to loan him some money. Mrs. Hale is very sweet to him, and tells him she feels bad that he's had such a hard life. He hadn't experienced that level of kindness in some time. This increased his confidence in getting the loan. But he can't go through with it. He sees himself as a man about to swindle two elderly people who believe in him, and then abandon a sick woman. Ethan walks back home.

After Ethan's father died and Ethan returned to the farm from school, his mother gave him a room at the back of the house to serve as his "study," a place for his desk and books. He has always taken refuge there; now that he has given Mattie the stove from the room, it is uninhabitable for most of the year. After everyone has gone to bed, Ethan goes to his study. Just before he himself goes to bed, he finds a note from Mattie on the kitchen table. It simply says, "Don't trouble, Ethan;" but it is the first time she has ever written anything to him. He rereads the note and thinks that such a cold, dead piece of paper represents his future with Mattie. He despises the thought of living out his years with Zeena. He goes to lie down on his couch, and throws away a cushion that Zeena made for him when they were engaged. Even the cushion is hard and uncomfortable. Ethan remembers the story of a man, a young fellow his own age, who ran away from a life of misery by going west with another young woman. The wife divorced him, he prospered, and the couple came back to visit. The deserted wife had done well too, running a successful restaurant in town. Ethan springs up and goes to his desk to start a letter to Zeena. He tells her she can sell the farm and keep the money. Here he stops, for he remembers that the farm and mill are mortgaged. Even if there were not, Zeena could never run the place. She would have to go back to her people, the same fate Zeena was forcing on Mattie. In addition, he would have trouble supporting Mattie. He looks at a newspaper sitting nearby with trips to the west advertised. Ethan knows he does not have the money to pay for he and Mattie to go. He feels he is a prisoner for life. Ethan returns to the sofa, and tears well up in him. He watches the moon dawn on the landscape and contemplates everything in life in terms of Mattie. He remembers that they were supposed to go coasting tonight; now they will probably never be able to go. As he nurses his misery, the beauty of the landscape mocks him until he falls asleep. Ethan wakes with the realization it will be Mattie's last day with him. She appears in the room and knows he has been there all night. She looks lusterless, even with the red scarf wound around her. Ethan stirs, and they go together to start the kitchen fire. As the sun comes up and Mattie goes about her work, Ethan feels better. He feels that with the return of daylight, Zeena, too, will see that it is insane to let Mattie go. Ethan and Mattie try to reassure each other, but they are not bolstered. Ethan goes out to the barn to clean stalls with Jotham. The hired hand says that he knows a fellow, Daniel Byrne, who can take Mattie's trunk over to the train station. Ethan is floored and wonders how Jotham knows about Mattie's leaving. Ethan says he is not sure Mattie is going. The blood pounds in his temples. The two men go into breakfast. Zeena, alert and active, remarks that the geraniums have been neglected. She then turns to Jotham and asks when Mattie's trunk will be picked up. Jotham glances at Ethan and says "about noon." Zeena says that she would like to go over the contents with Mattie before the trunk is picked up, implying that Mattie has stolen something. The two women leave the kitchen, and Jotham remarks that he guesses he better tell Daniel to come around after all. Ethan feels rebellious and walks into town for no purpose. Everything he sees reminds him of Mattie, and he decides he must do something to prevent her from leaving. He decides to again ask Hale for some cash and proceeds towards his house. He meets Mrs. Hale on the road, and she says that Mr. Hale is home sick. She adds that she has heard of Zeena's recent trip to the new doctor and sympathizes with Ethan about all the trouble he has had in his life. Although he is grateful for her rare understanding of his problems, he is more concerned about gaining Mr. Hale's sympathy in order to obtain money. Then he suddenly sees himself as he is -- a poor man and the husband of a sickly woman. He decides he has no right to ask the Hales for money to serve his selfish purposes. Ethan walks back to his farm without seeing Hale.

Notes The rather deserted study at the start of the chapter represents an abandoned part of Ethan's life when he was active and challenged by learning. Now the room is cold, just like his own life; and Ethan knows without Mattie it will grow colder and more lifeless. Mattie's note only makes things worse, and he begins to grasp at straws as he tries to plan an escape. At first, Ethan fantasizes about going to the west with Mattie, but he knows that the west is too far and too expensive. He cannot go there because he is too poor, and Zeena is too sickly to abandon. Ethan's imagination can no longer carry him out of his predicament. By the end of the chapter, Ethan is totally despondent, for he sees his life as it really is. When Ethan wakes he tries to ignore all of what he has heard and thought the night before. Then Jotham tells him that Daniel Bryne can deliver Mattie's trunk to the train, and he is brought back to the reality of the situation. His refusal to accept that Mattie is really going to leave shows Ethan at his most pathetic. Again, as Ethan walks confusedly towards the Hale's house, he is a pathetic picture. Mrs. Hale's pity is attractive to Ethan, and he feels "less alone with his misery" after his conversation with her. But her pity takes away all his resolve. He suddenly feels poor and selfish; as a result, Ethan returns home without asking Hale for the money. Although Ethan Frome is not a "psychological novel" per se, Edith Wharton effectively charts the wanderings of Ethan's mind throughout the book. In this chapter, she successfully captures his mental frustrations. Ethan desperately wants to act, but he cannot seem focus on an appropriate action due to Mattie's impending departure from the farm. He is emotionally crippled by the thought of having to spend the rest of his life in silence, with no relief from his hard and cold wife.

After Zeena retires upstairs, Mattie clears up the kitchen and Ethan makes his usual rounds outside. The kitchen is empty when he gets back, but Mattie has left a note for him, saying, "Don't trouble, Ethan. " Ethan feels he cannot give up the "life" and "warmth" that Mattie gives him. A storm of rebellion rises within him: why should he waste his life in service of the bitter, querulous Zeena, wose only pleasure is to inflict pain on him? He flings aside a cushion that Zeena had made and reflects on the case of a local man who had escaped from a similar life of misery by going West with the girl he loved. They had a child and prospered, and even the deserted wife had done well. Encouraged by this example, Ethan decides to go West with Mattie, leaving a note for Zeena. He plans to leave her the farm and mill so that she can sell it and live off the money. Then Ethan begins to reflect. He was sure of finding work and could manage if he were alone, but with Mattie depending on him, the case was different. And the farm and mill were mortgaged to the hilt; Zeena would only clear a thousand dollars on the sale. She could return to her family, the fate she was forcing on Mattie. But then he notices an advertisement in the paper offering trips West, and realizes he cannot even afford the reduced rate. He cannot borrow money, as he has no security. He is "a prisoner for life," he decides, and will lose his "one ray of light," Mattie. He collapses on the sofa in tears. Then he notices that the moon is up, and remembers his promise to take Mattie sledding that evening. He falls asleep. Ethan wakes cold, stiff and hungry, and recalls that it is Mattie's last day. Mattie comes in, aware that he has not been to bed, since she was listening all night for him to come upstairs. He is touched by her concern and makes up the fire for her. He comforts himself that Zeena may relent and allow Mattie to stay. When he goes out to the cow-barn he meets Jotham, who tells Ethan of the arrangements that Zeena has already made with him to take Mattie and her trunk to the station. Ethan replies that the question of Mattie's leaving is not settled. The two men go into the house to join the women for breakfast. Zeena is unusually alert and is feeding the cat. She asks Jotham about the travel arrangements for Mattie. Then she says that there are some things she wants to clear up with Mattie before she leaves - namely, she believes that certain household items are missing. She and Mattie leave the room, and Jotham tells Ethan that he will go ahead with the travel arrangements. Ethan views these proceedings without a word. After Ethan finishes his morning tasks, he becomes fired with rebellion once more. He feels appalled that he has assisted "as a helpless spectator at Mattie's banishment." He makes up his mind to do something, but he does not know what. The sun has come out and a "pale haze" of spring can be seen. Mattie's presence seems to infuse the entire scene. He thinks of an idea. He will ask Andrew Hale once more to advance him a payment on the wood, using the excuse that Zeena's ill health makes it necessary to hire a servant. Catching sight of Hale's sleigh, he hurries to meet it, but sees it is Mrs Hale in the sleigh. Mrs Hale tells him that she has heard about Zeena's going to see the new doctor. She expresses regret that Zeena is not feeling well and says that she does not know what she would have done if Ethan had not been around to take care of her. She commiserates with Ethan: "You've had an awful mean time, Ethan Frome." . Ethan is moved by Mrs Hale's kindness and at first is strengthened in his purpose, thinking that the Hales may look sympathetically on his request for payment. He begins to walk to their house to see Mr Hale, but draws up short at the realization that he is about to take advantage of their sympathy to obtain money on false pretences. He cannot find the heart to leave Zeena alone and destitute, particularly if it means deceiving two kind people.

. This chapter begins with Ethan forging a plan to leave Zeena and go West with Mattie - and then the plan collapsing as Ethan considers the practicalities and rejects them as unfeasible. Imagery of prisons is used to express the seeming impossibility of escape: "The inexorable facts closed in on him like prison-warders handcuffing a convict." . The emotion that governs Ethan in this chapter is inaction. He looks on wordlessly as Zeena efficiently arranges Mattie's departure. After he does his morning's work, he becomes fired with rebellion once more and makes up his mind to do something, though "he did not know what it would be. " His positive mood is reflected in the first glimmer of spring shining through. Once again, Mattie is linked with warmth and life, as contrasted with Zeena's winter: "Every yard of the road was alive with Mattie's presence. " When he hears a bird call, it sounds like her laughter - one of several instances in which Mattie is likened to a bird. He comes up with a plan that seems to have a strong chance of succeeding. He will ask Andrew Hale again to advance him part of the payment he is owed for the wood, telling him  that Zeena's ill health makes it necessary to hire a servant. Then by chance, he meets Mrs Hale, and her kindness and sympathy at first give him hope that his plan will work, but subsequently overcome him with moral paralysis. He decides that he must not fulfil his plan by deceiving two kind people, leaving Zeena destitute into the bargain. Wharton makes it clear that there are two possible and opposite responses to Mrs Hale's kindness, by showing us Ethan progressing through both in succession. There is the one dictated by love: get the money he is owed by telling a lie, and escape with Mattie; and there is the one dictated by the moral high ground: accept that he should not lie or take advantage of the Hales' goodwill, even to get money that he is owed, and resign himself to his fate on the farm with Zeena. Ethan chooses the second. However, while Ethan undoubtedly has a strong sense of ethics and duty, he also has a decided tendency to inaction in favor of dreams. This is the man who prefers not to touch Mattie on their evening alone together so that he can retain intact his vision of what it could be like to be with her. It so happens that the moral decision coincides with the path of least action: it gives him a convenient reason to stay with the familiar and not to pursue the unknown path of a life with Mattie. Some critics have noted Ethan's moral absolutism. In reality, there are many shades of grey to be explored among the options of staying with Zeena or going with Mattie, but he sees only moral black  or white . A modern reader will think of other possibilities, and it is hard to believe that Wharton, with her complex marital history, did not think of them too. For example, Ethan could attempt a rational discussion with Zeena and her family about what she really wanted. He could be firm with the Hales and demand full payment for the wood, giving him more options. He could be firm with Zeena and insist that Mattie stay at the farm. He could leave with Mattie and ensure that between them, they earn enough money to help out Zeena. But he only sees two options: one seems impossible and the other intolerable. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that Ethan has become as frozen, sterile and rigid as the Starkfield winter landscape.