{"product_id":"2940012299529","title":"ETHAN FROME","description":"I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally\u003cbr\u003ehappens in such cases, each time it was a different story.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf you know Starkfield, Massachusetts, you know the post-office. If you\u003cbr\u003eknow the post-office you must have seen Ethan Frome drive up to it, drop\u003cbr\u003ethe reins on his hollow-backed bay and drag himself across the brick\u003cbr\u003epavement to the white colonnade: and you must have asked who he was.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was there that, several years ago, I saw him for the first time; and\u003cbr\u003ethe sight pulled me up sharp. Even then he was the most striking figure\u003cbr\u003ein Starkfield, though he was but the ruin of a man. It was not so much\u003cbr\u003ehis great height that marked him, for the \"natives\" were easily singled\u003cbr\u003eout by their lank longitude from the stockier foreign breed: it was the\u003cbr\u003ecareless powerful look he had, in spite of a lameness checking each step\u003cbr\u003elike the jerk of a chain. There was something bleak and unapproachable\u003cbr\u003ein his face, and he was so stiffened and grizzled that I took him for an\u003cbr\u003eold man and was surprised to hear that he was not more than fifty-two.\u003cbr\u003eI had this from Harmon Gow, who had driven the stage from Bettsbridge\u003cbr\u003eto Starkfield in pre-trolley days and knew the chronicle of all the\u003cbr\u003efamilies on his line.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He's looked that way ever since he had his smash-up; and that's\u003cbr\u003etwenty-four years ago come next February,\" Harmon threw out between\u003cbr\u003ereminiscent pauses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe \"smash-up\" it was--I gathered from the same informant--which, besides\u003cbr\u003edrawing the red gash across Ethan Frome's forehead, had so shortened and\u003cbr\u003ewarped his right side that it cost him a visible effort to take the few\u003cbr\u003esteps from his buggy to the post-office window. He used to drive in\u003cbr\u003efrom his farm every day at about noon, and as that was my own hour for\u003cbr\u003efetching my mail I often passed him in the porch or stood beside him\u003cbr\u003ewhile we waited on the motions of the distributing hand behind the\u003cbr\u003egrating. I noticed that, though he came so punctually, he seldom\u003cbr\u003ereceived anything but a copy of the Bettsbridge Eagle, which he put\u003cbr\u003ewithout a glance into his sagging pocket. At intervals, however, the\u003cbr\u003epost-master would hand him an envelope addressed to Mrs. Zenobia--or Mrs.\u003cbr\u003eZeena-Frome, and usually bearing conspicuously in the upper left-hand\u003cbr\u003ecorner the address of some manufacturer of patent medicine and the name\u003cbr\u003eof his specific. These documents my neighbour would also pocket without\u003cbr\u003ea glance, as if too much used to them to wonder at their number and\u003cbr\u003evariety, and would then turn away with a silent nod to the post-master.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvery one in Starkfield knew him and gave him a greeting tempered to\u003cbr\u003ehis own grave mien; but his taciturnity was respected and it was only on\u003cbr\u003erare occasions that one of the older men of the place detained him for\u003cbr\u003ea word. When this happened he would listen quietly, his blue eyes on the\u003cbr\u003espeaker's face, and answer in so low a tone that his words never reached\u003cbr\u003eme; then he would climb stiffly into his buggy, gather up the reins in\u003cbr\u003ehis left hand and drive slowly away in the direction of his farm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It was a pretty bad smash-up?\" I questioned Harmon, looking after\u003cbr\u003eFrome's retreating figure, and thinking how gallantly his lean brown\u003cbr\u003ehead, with its shock of light hair, must have sat on his strong\u003cbr\u003eshoulders before they were bent out of shape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Wust kind,\" my informant assented. \"More'n enough to kill most men. But\u003cbr\u003ethe Fromes are tough. Ethan'll likely touch a hundred.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Good God!\" I exclaimed. At the moment Ethan Frome, after climbing to\u003cbr\u003ehis seat, had leaned over to assure himself of the security of a wooden\u003cbr\u003ebox--also with a druggist's label on it--which he had placed in the back\u003cbr\u003eof the buggy, and I saw his face as it probably looked when he thought\u003cbr\u003ehimself alone. \"That man touch a hundred? He looks as if he was dead and\u003cbr\u003ein hell now!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarmon drew a slab of tobacco from his pocket, cut off a wedge and\u003cbr\u003epressed it into the leather pouch of his cheek. \"Guess he's been in\u003cbr\u003eStarkfield too many winters. Most of the smart ones get away.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Why didn't he?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Somebody had to stay and care for the folks. There warn't ever anybody\u003cbr\u003ebut Ethan. Fust his father--then his mother--then his wife.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And then the smash-up?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarmon chuckled sardonically. \"That's so. He had to stay then.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I see. And since then they've had to care for him?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHarmon thoughtfully passed his tobacco to the other cheek. \"Oh, as to\u003cbr\u003ethat: I guess it's always Ethan done the caring.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThough Harmon Gow developed the tale as far as his mental and moral\u003cbr\u003ereach permitted there were perceptible gaps between his facts, and I had\u003cbr\u003ethe sense that the deeper meaning of the story was in the gaps.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47078738624752,"sku":"2940012299529","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012299529_p0.jpg?v=1763554812","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012299529","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}