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Tom’s Mother

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jul 13, 1916

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 93, No. 35.

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Tom’s Mother

By Bertha Gerneaux Woods

‘Yes, of course, I really love Amy.’ Mrs. Garrett’s voice quavered sadly, however, as she made the statement. ‘And I’ve never regretted that Tom married. I wanted him to have a home of his own. But there’s no use pretending that I feel as if he were just as much mine as he was before, for I don’t. He belongs to Amy, and she rubs it in. When they come over in the evenings, I can’t half enjoy him. When he starts to take off his overcoat, Amy’s just as likely as not to say, ‘O Tom, I wouldn’t take it off; you know we’ve only come over for a few minutes.’ And, sure enough, Tom’s coat stays on. Then time and again he has started for the pantry, just as he used to do evenings when he was a boy at home; and, no matter how hard I try to keep Amy’s attention off from him, she is sure to see where he’s headed for, and, ‘O Tom,’ she says, ‘where are you going?’ ‘Out to the pantry to get some of mother’s pie,’ he’ll say. ‘O, don’t! You’ve had plenty to eat at home. I wouldn’t eat pie at this hour, anyway,’ Amy tells him. And so Tom comes lumbering back to his chair.
There were real tears, half of vexation, half of some tenderer feeling, as she finished.
‘But probably,’ said her sister, ‘Amy doesn’t mean the least thing that you could mind if you knew what was in her heart. She’s fond of you, I know; and as for the pie — she’s sensitive, I suspect, for fear you may think that Tom’s prowling around your pantry means she doesn’t feed him well herself. Young wives are sometimes awfully sensitive.’
‘Well, perhaps I don’t always quite understand Amy,’ conceded Mrs. Garrett; ‘but anyway I’ve been having some plain talks with Grace while we’ve been working together over her wedding things. I’ve told her to remember how Amy had sort of made us feel as if we’d lost Tom, and that she must be sure to start in right with Lewis’s family. ‘When you go to see them, don’t act as if you hardly had time to spare for a real visit,’ I’ve told her. ‘Let Lewis take his overcoat off every time; tell him to, if necessary; and, if he feels like eating his mother’s baked beans at eleven o’clock at night, for pity’s sake let him do it.’” — Bertha Gerneaux Woods.