death in the woods by sherwood anderson

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DEATH IN THE WOODS
She was an old woman and lived on a farm near the town in which I lived. All
country and small-town people have seen such old women, but no one knows
much about them. Such an old woman comes into town driving an old worn-out
horse or she comes afoot carrying a basket. She may own a few hens and have eggs
to sell. She brings them in a basket and takes them to a grocer. There she trades
them in. She gets some salt pork and some beans. Then she gets a pound or two of
sugar and some flour.
Afterwards she goes to the butcher’s and asks for some dog-meat. She may spend
ten or fifteen cents, but when she does she asks for something. Formerly the
butchers gave liver to any one who wanted to carry it away. In our family we were
always having it. Once one of my brothers got a whole cow’s liver at the slaughterhouse
near the fairgrounds in our town. We had it until we were sick of it. It never
cost a cent. I have hated the thought of it ever since.
The old farm woman got some liver and a soup-bone. She never visited with any
one, and as soon as she got what she wanted she lit out for home. It made quite a
load for such an old body. No one gave her a lift. People drive right down a road
and never notice an old woman like that.
There was such an old woman who used to come into town past our house one
Summer and Fall when I was a young boy and was sick with what was called
inflammatory rheumatism. She went home later carrying a heavy pack on her back.
Two or three large gaunt-looking dogs followed at her heels.
The old woman was nothing special. She was one of the nameless ones that hardly
any one knows, but she got into my thoughts. I have just suddenly now, after all
these years, remembered her and what happened. It is a story. Her name was
Grimes, and she lived with her husband and son in a small unpainted house on the
bank of a small creek four miles from town.
The husband and son were a tough lot. Although the son was but twenty-one, he
had already served a term in jail. It was whispered about that the woman’s husband
stole horses and ran them off to some other county. Now and then, when a horse
turned up missing, the man had also disappeared. No one ever caught him. Once,
when I was loafing at Tom Whitehead’s livery-barn, the man came there and sat on
the bench in front. Two or three other men were there, but no one spoke to him. He
sat for a few minutes and then got up and went away. When he was leaving he
turned around and stared at the men. There was a look of defiance in his eyes.
“Well, I have tried to be friendly. You don’t want to talk to me. It has been so
wherever I have gone in this town. If, some day, one of your fine horses turns up
missing, well, then what?” He did not say anything actually. “I’d like to bust one of
you on the jaw,” was about what his eyes said. I remember how the look in his
eyes made me shiver.
The old man belonged to a family that had had money once. His name was Jake
Grimes. It all comes back clearly now. His father, John Grimes, had owned a
sawmill when the country was new, and had made money. Then he got to drinking
and running after women. When he died there wasn’t much left.
Jake blew in the rest. Pretty soon there wasn’t any more lumber to cut and his land
was nearly all gone.
He got his wife off a German farmer, for whom he went to work one June day in
the wheat harvest. She was a young thing then and scared to death. You see, the
farmer was up to something with the girl–she was, I think, a bound girl and his
wife had her suspicions. She took it out on the girl when the man wasn’t around.
Then, when the wife had to go off to town for supplies, the farmer got after her.
She told young Jake that nothing really ever happened, but he didn’t know whether
to believe it or not.
He got her pretty easy himself, the first time he was out with her. He wouldn’t have
married her if the German farmer hadn’t tried to tell him where to get off. He got
her to go riding with him in his buggy one night when he was threshing on the
place, and then he came for her the next Sunday night.
She managed to get out of the house without her employer’s seeing, but when she
was getting into the buggy he showed up. It was almost dark, and he just popped
up suddenly at the horse’s head. He grabbed the horse by the bridle and Jake got
out his buggy-whip.
They had it out all right! The German was a tough one. Maybe he didn’t care
whether his wife knew or not. Jake hit him over the face and shoulders with the
buggy-whip, but the horse got to acting up and he had to get out.
Then the two men went for it. The girl didn’t see it. The horse started to run away
and went nearly a mile down the road before the girl got him stopped. Then she
managed to tie him to a tree beside the road. (I wonder how I know all this. It must
have stuck in my mind from small-town tales when I was a boy.) Jake found her
there after he got through with the German. She was huddled up in the buggy seat,
crying, scared to death. She told Jake a lot of stuff, how the German had tried to
get her, how he chased her once into the barn, how another time, when they
happened to be alone in the house together, he tore her dress open clear down the
front. The German, she said, might have got her that time if he hadn’t heard his old
woman drive in at the gate. She had been off to town for supplies. Well, she would
be putting the horse in the barn. The German managed to sneak off to the fields
without his wife seeing. He told the girl he would kill her if she told. What could
she do? She told a lie about ripping her dress in the barn when she was feeding the
stock. I remember now that she was a bound girl and did not know where her
father and mother were. Maybe she did not have any father. You know what I
mean.
Such bound children were often enough cruelly treated. They were children who
had no parents, slaves really. There were very few orphan homes then. They were
legally bound into some home. It was a matter of pure luck how it came out.
II
She married Jake and had a son and daughter, but the daughter died.
Then she settled down to feed stock. That was her job. At the German’s place she
had cooked the food for the German and his wife. The wife was a strong woman
with big hips and worked most of the time in the fields with her husband. She fed
them and fed the cows in the barn, fed the pigs, the horses and the chickens. Every
moment of every day, as a young girl, was spent feeding something.
Then she married Jake Grimes and he had to be fed. She was a slight thing, and
when she had been married for three or four years, and after the two children were
born, her slender shoulders became stooped.
Jake always had a lot of big dogs around the house, that stood near the unused
sawmill near the creek. He was always trading horses when he wasn’t stealing
something and had a lot of poor bony ones about. Also he kept three or four pigs
and a cow. They were all pastured in the few acres left of the Grimes place and
Jake did little enough work.
He went into debt for a threshing outfit and ran it for several years, but it did not
pay. People did not trust him. They were afraid he would steal the grain at night.
He had to go a long way off to get work and it cost too much to get there. In the
Winter he hunted and cut a little firewood, to be sold in some nearby town. When
the son grew up he was just like the father. They got drunk together. If there wasn’t
anything to eat in the house when they came home the old man gave his old
woman a cut over the head. She had a few chickens of her own and had to kill one
of them in a hurry. When they were all killed she wouldn’t have any eggs to sell
when she went to town, and then what would she do?
She had to scheme all her life about getting things fed, getting the pigs fed so they
would grow fat and could be butchered in the Fall. When they were butchered her
husband took most of the meat off to town and sold it. If he did not do it first the
boy did. They fought sometimes and when they fought the old woman stood aside
trembling.
She had got the habit of silence anyway–that was fixed. Sometimes, when she
began to look old–she wasn’t forty yet–and when the husband and son were both
off, trading horses or drinking or hunting or stealing, she went around the house
and the barnyard muttering to herself.
How was she going to get everything fed?–that was her problem. The dogs had to
be fed. There wasn’t enough hay in the barn for the horses and the cow. If she
didn’t feed the chickens how could they lay eggs? Without eggs to sell how could
she get things in town, things she had to have to keep the life of the farm going?
Thank heaven, she did not have to feed her husband–in a certain way. That hadn’t
lasted long after their marriage and after the babies came. Where he went on his
long trips she did not know. Sometimes he was gone from home for weeks, and
after the boy grew up they went off together.
They left everything at home for her to manage and she had no money. She knew
no one. No one ever talked to her in town. When it was Winter she had to gather
sticks of wood for her fire, had to try to keep the stock fed with very little grain.
The stock in the barn cried to her hungrily, the dogs followed her about. In the
Winter the hens laid few enough eggs. They huddled in the corners of the barn and
she kept watching them. If a hen lays an egg in the barn in the Winter and you do
not find it, it freezes and breaks.
One day in Winter the old woman went off to town with a few eggs and the dogs
followed her. She did not get started until nearly three o’clock and the snow was
heavy. She hadn’t been feeling very well for several days and so she went
muttering along, scantily clad, her shoulders stooped. She had an old grain bag in
which she carried her eggs, tucked away down in the bottom. There weren’t many
of them, but in Winter the price of eggs is up. She would get a little meat in
exchange for the eggs, some salt pork, a little sugar, and some coffee perhaps. It
might be the butcher would give her a piece of liver.
When she had got to town and was trading in her eggs the dogs lay by the door
outside. She did pretty well, got the things she needed, more than she had hoped.
Then she went to the butcher and he gave her some liver and some dog-meat.
It was the first time any one had spoken to her in a friendly way for a long time.
The butcher was alone in his shop when she came in and was annoyed by the
thought of such a sick-looking old woman out on such a day. It was bitter cold and
the snow, that had let up during the afternoon, was falling again. The butcher said
something about her husband and her son, swore at them, and the old woman
stared at him, a look of mild surprise in her eyes as he talked. He said that if either
the husband or the son were going to get any of the liver or the heavy bones with
scraps of meat hanging to them that he had put into the grain bag, he’d see him
starve first.
Starve, eh? Well, things had to be fed. Men had to be fed, and the horses that
weren’t any good but maybe could be traded off, and the poor thin cow that hadn’t
given any milk for three months.
Horses, cows, pigs, dogs, men.
III
The old woman had to get back before darkness came if she could. The dogs
followed at her heels, sniffing at the heavy grain bag she had fastened on her back.
When she got to the edge of town she stopped by a fence and tied the bag on her
back with a piece of rope she had carried in her dress-pocket for just that purpose.
That was an easier way to carry it. Her arms ached. It was hard when she had to
crawl over fences and once she fell over and landed in the snow. The dogs went
frisking about. She had to struggle to get to her feet again, but she made it. The
point of climbing over the fences was that there was a short cut over a hill and
through a woods. She might have gone around by the road, but it was a mile farther
that way. She was afraid she couldn’t make it. And then, besides, the stock had to
be fed. There was a little hay left and a little corn. Perhaps her husband and son
would bring some home when they came. They had driven off in the only buggy
the Grimes family had, a rickety thing, a rickety horse hitched to the buggy, two
other rickety horses led by halters. They were going to trade horses, get a little
money if they could. They might come home drunk. It would be well to have
something in the house when they came back.
The son had an affair on with a woman at the county seat, fifteen miles away. She
was a rough enough woman, a tough one. Once, in the Summer, the son had
brought her to the house. Both she and the son had been drinking. Jake Grimes was
away and the son and his woman ordered the old woman about like a servant. She
didn’t mind much; she was used to it. Whatever happened she never said anything.
That was her way of getting along. She had managed that way when she was a
young girl at the German’s and ever since she had married Jake. That time her son
brought his woman to the house they stayed all night, sleeping together just as
though they were married. It hadn’t shocked the old woman, not much. She had got
past being shocked early in life.
With the pack on her back she went painfully along across an open field, wading in
the deep snow, and got into the woods.
There was a path, but it was hard to follow. Just beyond the top of the hill, where
the woods was thickest, there was a small clearing. Had some one once thought of
building a house there? The clearing was as large as a building lot in town, large
enough for a house and a garden. The path ran along the side of the clearing, and
when she got there the old woman sat down to rest at the foot of a tree.
It was a foolish thing to do. When she got herself placed, the pack against the tree’s
trunk, it was nice, but what about getting up again? She worried about that for a
moment and then quietly closed her eyes.
She must have slept for a time. When you are about so cold you can’t get any
colder. The afternoon grew a little warmer and the snow came thicker than ever.
Then after a time the weather cleared. The moon even came out.
There were four Grimes dogs that had followed Mrs. Grimes into town, all tall
gaunt fellows. Such men as Jake Grimes and his son always keep just such dogs.
They kick and abuse them, but they stay. The Grimes dogs, in order to keep from
starving, had to do a lot of foraging for themselves, and they had been at it while
the old woman slept with her back to the tree at the side of the clearing. They had
been chasing rabbits in the woods and in adjoining fields and in their ranging had
picked up three other farm dogs.
After a time all the dogs came back to the clearing. They were excited about
something. Such nights, cold and clear and with a moon, do things to dogs. It may
be that some old instinct, come down from the time when they were wolves and
ranged the woods in packs on Winter nights, comes back into them.
The dogs in the clearing, before the old woman, had caught two or three rabbits
and their immediate hunger had been satisfied. They began to play, running in
circles in the clearing. Round and round they ran, each dog’s nose at the tail of the
next dog. In the clearing, under the snow-laden trees and under the wintry moon
they made a strange picture, running thus silently, in a circle their running had
beaten in the soft snow. The dogs made no sound. They ran around and around in
the circle.
It may have been that the old woman saw them doing that before she died. She
may have awakened once or twice and looked at the strange sight with dim old
eyes.
She wouldn’t be very cold now, just drowsy. Life hangs on a long time. Perhaps the
old woman was out of her head. She may have dreamed of her girlhood, at the
German’s, and before that, when she was a child and before her mother lit out and
left her.
Her dreams couldn’t have been very pleasant. Not many pleasant things had
happened to her. Now and then one of the Grimes dogs left the running circle and
came to stand before her. The dog thrust his face close to her face. His red tongue
was hanging out.
The running of the dogs may have been a kind of death ceremony. It may have
been that the primitive instinct of the wolf, having been aroused in the dogs by the
night and the running, made them somehow afraid.
“Now we are no longer wolves. We are dogs, the servants of men. Keep alive,
man! When man dies we becomes wolves again.”
When one of the dogs came to where the old woman sat with her back against the
tree and thrust his nose close to her face he seemed satisfied and went back to run
with the pack. All the Grimes dogs did it at some time during the evening, before
she died. I knew all about it afterward, when I grew to be a man, because once in a
woods in Illinois, on another Winter night, I saw a pack of dogs act just like that.
The dogs were waiting for me to die as they had waited for the old woman that
night when I was a child, but when it happened to me I was a young man and had
no intention whatever of dying.
The old woman died softly and quietly. When she was dead and when one of the
Grimes dogs had come to her and had found her dead all the dogs stopped running.
They gathered about her.
Well, she was dead now. She had fed the Grimes dogs when she was alive, what
about now?
There was the pack on her back, the grain bag containing the piece of salt pork, the
liver the butcher had given her, the dog-meat, the soup bones. The butcher in town,
having been suddenly overcome with a feeling of pity, had loaded her grain bag
heavily. It had been a big haul for the old woman.
It was a big haul for the dogs now.
IV
One of the Grimes dogs sprang suddenly out from among the others and began
worrying the pack on the old woman’s back. Had the dogs really been wolves that
one would have been the leader of the pack. What he did, all the others did.
All of them sank their teeth into the grain bag the old woman had fastened with
ropes to her back.
They dragged the old woman’s body out into the open clearing. The worn-out dress
was quickly torn from her shoulders. When she was found, a day or two later, the
dress had been torn from her body clear to the hips, but the dogs had not touched
her body. They had got the meat out of the grain bag, that was all. Her body was
frozen stiff when it was found, and the shoulders were so narrow and the body so
slight that in death it looked like the body of some charming young girl.
Such things happened in towns of the Middle West, on farms near town, when I
was a boy. A hunter out after rabbits found the old woman’s body and did not touch
it. Something, the beaten round path in the little snow-covered clearing, the silence
of the place, the place where the dogs had worried the body trying to pull the grain
bag away or tear it open–something startled the man and he hurried off to town.
I was in Main street with one of my brothers who was town newsboy and who was
taking the afternoon papers to the stores. It was almost night.
The hunter came into a grocery and told his story. Then he went to a hardwareshop
and into a drugstore. Men began to gather on the sidewalks. Then they started
out along the road to the place in the woods.
My brother should have gone on about his business of distributing papers but he
didn’t. Every one was going to the woods. The undertaker went and the town
marshal. Several men got on a dray and rode out to where the path left the road and
went into the woods, but the horses weren’t very sharply shod and slid about on the
slippery roads. They made no better time than those of us who walked.
The town marshal was a large man whose leg had been injured in the Civil War.
He carried a heavy cane and limped rapidly along the road. My brother and I
followed at his heels, and as we went other men and boys joined the crowd.
It had grown dark by the time we got to where the old woman had left the road but
the moon had come out. The marshal was thinking there might have been a
murder. He kept asking the hunter questions. The hunter went along with his gun
across his shoulders, a dog following at his heels. It isn’t often a rabbit hunter has a
chance to be so conspicuous. He was taking full advantage of it, leading the
procession with the town marshal. “I didn’t see any wounds. She was a beautiful
young girl. Her face was buried in the snow. No, I didn’t know her.” As a matter of
fact, the hunter had not looked closely at the body. He had been frightened. She
might have been murdered and some one might spring out from behind a tree and
murder him. In a woods, in the late afternoon, when the trees are all bare and there
is white snow on the ground, when all is silent, something creepy steals over the
mind and body. If something strange or uncanny has happened in the neighborhood
all you think about is getting away from there as fast as you can.
The crowd of men and boys had got to where the old woman had crossed the field
and went, following the marshal and the hunter, up the slight incline and into the
woods.
My brother and I were silent. He had his bundle of papers in a bag slung across his
shoulder. When he got back to town he would have to go on distributing his papers
before he went home to supper. If I went along, as he had no doubt already
determined I should, we would both be late. Either mother or our older sister
would have to warm our supper.
Well, we would have something to tell. A boy did not get such a chance very often.
It was lucky we just happened to go into the grocery when the hunter came in. The
hunter was a country fellow. Neither of us had ever seen him before.
Now the crowd of men and boys had got to the clearing. Darkness comes quickly
on such Winter nights, but the full moon made everything clear. My brother and I
stood near the tree, beneath which the old woman had died.
She did not look old, lying there in that light, frozen and still. One of the men
turned her over in the snow and I saw everything. My body trembled with some
strange mystical feeling and so did my brother’s. It might have been the cold.
Neither of us had ever seen a woman’s body before. It may have been the snow,
clinging to the frozen flesh, that made it look so white and lovely, so like marble.
No woman had come with the party from town; but one of the men, he was the
town blacksmith, took off his overcoat and spread it over her. Then he gathered her
into his arms and started off to town, all the others following silently. At that time
no one knew who she was.
V
I had seen everything, had seen the oval in the snow, like a miniature race-track,
where the dogs had run, had seen how the men were mystified, had seen the white
bare young-looking shoulders, had heard the whispered comments of the men.
The men were simply mystified. They took the body to the undertaker’s, and when
the blacksmith, the hunter, the marshal and several others had got inside they
closed the door. If father had been there perhaps he could have got in, but we boys
couldn’t.
I went with my brother to distribute the rest of his papers and when we got home it
was my brother who told the story.
I kept silent and went to bed early. It may have been I was not satisfied with the
way he told it.
Later, in the town, I must have heard other fragments of the old woman’s story. She
was recognized the next day and there was an investigation.
The husband and son were found somewhere and brought to town and there was an
attempt to connect them with the woman’s death, but it did not work. They had
perfect enough alibis.
However, the town was against them. They had to get out. Where they went I
never heard.
I remember only the picture there in the forest, the men standing about, the naked
girlish-looking figure, face down in the snow, the tracks made by the running dogs
and the clear cold Winter sky above. White fragments of clouds were drifting
across the sky. They went racing across the little open space among the trees.
The scene in the forest had become for me, without my knowing it, the foundation
for the real story I am now trying to tell. The fragments, you see, had to be picked
up slowly, long afterwards.
Things happened. When I was a young man I worked on the farm of a German.
The hired-girl was afraid of her employer. The farmer’s wife hated her.
I saw things at that place. Once later, I had a half-uncanny, mystical adventure with
dogs in an Illinois forest on a clear, moon-lit Winter night. When I was a
schoolboy, and on a Summer day, I went with a boy friend out along a creek some
miles from town and came to the house where the old woman had lived. No one
had lived in the house since her death. The doors were broken from the hinges; the
window lights were all broken. As the boy and I stood in the road outside, two
dogs, just roving farm dogs no doubt, came running around the corner of the house.
The dogs were tall, gaunt fellows and came down to the fence and glared through
at us, standing in the road.
The whole thing, the story of the old woman’s death, was to me as I grew older like
music heard from far off. The notes had to be picked up slowly one at a time.
Something had to be understood.
The woman who died was one destined to feed animal life. Anyway, that is all she
ever did. She was feeding animal life before she was born, as a child, as a young
woman working on the farm of the German, after she married, when she grew old
and when she died. She fed animal life in cows, in chickens, in pigs, in horses, in
dogs, in men. Her daughter had died in childhood and with her one son she had no
articulate relations. On the night when she died she was hurrying homeward,
bearing on her body food for animal life.
She died in the clearing in the woods and even after her death continued feeding
animal life.
You see it is likely that, when my brother told the story, that night when we got
home and my mother and sister sat listening, I did not think he got the point. He
was too young and so was I. A thing so complete has its own beauty.
I shall not try to emphasize the point. I am only explaining why I was dissatisfied
then and have been ever since. I speak of that only that you may understand why I
have been impelled to try to tell the simple story over again.
Literary Analysis Questions
1/ What is the significance of the title?
2/ What is the main theme/claim of the story?
3/ What passage best represents the main theme/claim?
4/ What is the secondary theme/claim in the story?
5/ What passage best represents the secondary theme/claim?
6/ What symbols are used in the story and what do they represent?
7/ What is the tone of the story?
8/ Who is the intended audience?
9/ What do you like best about the story?
10/ What do you like least about the story?

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