Trifles by Susan Glaspell

Trifles 

Susan Glaspell

Introduction to writer 

(Susan Glaspell (1876-1948) was an American playwright, novelist, journalist and actress. First known for her short stories (fifty were published), Glaspell is known also to have written nine novels, fifteen plays, and a biography. Her works typically explore contemporary social issues, such as gender, ethics, and dissent, while featuring deep, sympathetic characters. Her first novel The Glory of the Conquered was published in 1909. She wrote three best-selling novels Brook Evans (1928), Fugitive's Return (1929), and Ambrose Holt and Family (1931).

Her first play Trifles (1916) was based on the murder trial she had covered as a young reporter in Des Moines. Her play Alison's House (1930) earned the Pulitzer Prize for drama in 1931. Glaspell is today recognized as a pioneering feminist writer and America's first important modern female playwright.

The play Trifles revolves around murder investigation providing a perspective about the status of women in contemporary American society reflecting the male mentality as the dominant gender.

Trifles chronicles the day after Mrs. Wright is arrested on suspicion of murdering her husband. Though the play is about the Wrights and the circumstances of Mr. Wright’s death, Mrs. Wright never appears onstage. The audience learns about her from the perspective of her neighbours and their reactions to items they find inside the Wrights’ home.)

Casting Characters

GEORGE HENDERSON, County Attorney

HENRY PETERS, Sheriff and husband of Mrs. Peters

LEWIS HALE, a neighbouring farmer of the Wrights

MRS. PETERS, Wife of the sheriff

MRS. HALE, Neighbour to the Wrights and wife of Lewis Hale

(The kitchen in the now abandoned farmhouse of John Wright, a gloomy kitchen, and left

without having been put in order—unwashed pans under the sink, a loaf of bread outside the

bread-box, a dish-towel on the table—other signs of incomplete work. At the rear the outer

door opens and the Sheriff comes in followed by the County Attorney and Hale. The Sheriff

and Hale are men in middle life, the County Attorney is a young man; all are much bundled up

and go at once to the stove. They are followed by the two women—the Sheriff’s wife first; she

is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face. Mrs. Hale is larger and would ordinarily be called

more comfortable looking, but she is disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (at stove rubbing his hands) This feels good. Come up to

the fire, ladies.

MRS. PETERS: (after taking a step forward). I’m not—cold.

SHERIFF: (unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove to right of

table as if to mark the beginning of official business). Now, Mr. Hale, before we move

things about, you explain to Mr. Henderson just what you saw when you came here

yesterday morning.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (crossing down to left of the table) By the way, has anything

been moved? Are things just as you left them yesterday?

SHERIFF: (looking about) It’s just the same. When it dropped below zero last night,

I thought I’d better send Frank out this morning to make a fire for us— (sits right of

centre table) no use getting pneumonia with a big case on, but I told him not to touch

anything except the stove—and you know Frank.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Somebody should have been left here yesterday. 

SHERIFF: Oh—yesterday. When I had to send Frank to Morris Centre for that man

who went crazy—I want you to know I had my hands full yesterday. I knew you could

get back from Omaha by today and as long as I went over everything here myself—

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Well, Mr. Hale, tell just what happened when you came

here yesterday morning.

HALE: (crossing down to above table) Harry and I had started to town with a load

of potatoes. We came along the road from my place and as I got here I said, “I’m

going to see if I can’t get John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone.” I

spoke to Wright about it once before and he put me off, saying folks talked too much

anyway, and all he asked was peace and quiet— I guess you know about how much he

talked himself; but I thought maybe if I went to the house and talked about it before

his wife, though I said to Harry that I didn’t know as what his wife wanted made much

difference to John—

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Let’s talk about that later, Mr. Hale. I do want to

talk about that, but tell now just what happened when you got to the house.

HALE: I didn’t hear or see anything; I knocked at the door, and still it was all

quiet inside. I knew they must be up, it was past eight o’clock. So I knocked again,

and I thought I heard somebody say, “Come in.” I wasn’t sure, I’m not sure yet,

but I opened the door—this door (indicating the door by which the two women

are still standing) and there in that rocker—(pointing to it) sat Mrs. Wright.

(They all look at the rocker downstage left.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: What—was she doing?

HALE: She was rock in’ back and forth. She had her apron in her hand and was kind

of—pleating it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: And how did she—look?

HALE: Well, she looked queer.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: How do you mean—queer?

HALE: Well, as if she didn’t know what she was going to do next. And kind of done up.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (takes out notebook and pencil and sits left of center table)

How did she seem to feel about your coming?

HALE: Why, I don’t think she minded—one way or other. She didn’t pay much attention.

I said, “How do, Mrs. Wright, it’s cold, ain’t it?” And she said, “Is it?”—and went on kind of pleating at her apron. Well, I was surprised; she didn’t ask me to come up to the

stove, or to set down, but just sat there, not even looking at me, so I said, “I want to see

John.” And then she— laughed. I guess you would call it a laugh. I thought of Harry and

the team outside, so I said a little sharp: “Can’t I see John?” “No,” she says, kind o’ dull

like. “Ain’t he home?” says I. “Yes,” says she, “he’s home.” “Then why can’t I see him?” I

asked her, out of patience. “Cause he’s dead,” says she. “Dead?” says I. She just nodded

her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin’ back and forth. “Why—where is he?”

says I, not knowing what to say. She just pointed upstairs—like that (himself pointing

to the room above). I started for the stairs, with the idea of going up there. I walked

from there to here—then I says “Why, what did he die of?” “He died of a rope round

his neck,” says she, and just went on pleatin’ at her apron. Well, I went out and called

Harry. I thought I might— need help. We went upstairs and there he was lyin’—

COUNTY ATTORNEY: I think I’d rather have you go into that upstairs, where you

can point it all out. Just go on now with the rest of the story.

HALE: Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It looked . . . (Stops. His

facetwitches.) . . . but Harry, he went up to him, and he said, “No, he’s dead all

right, and we’d better not touch anything.” So we went back downstairs. She was

still sitting that same way. “Has anybody been notified?” I asked. “No,” says she,

unconcerned. “Who did this, Mrs. Wright?” said Harry. He said it business like—

and she stopped pleatin’ of her apron. “I don’t know,” she says. “You don’t know?”

says Harry. “No,” says she. “Weren’t you sleepin’ in the bed with him?” says Harry.

“Yes,” says she, “but I was on the inside.” “Somebody slipped a rope round his neck

and strangled him and you didn’t wake up?” says Harry. “I didn’t wake up,” she

said after him. We must ’a’ looked as if we didn’t see how that could be, for after a

minute she said, “I sleep sound.” Harry was going to ask her more questions but I said

maybe we ought to let her tell her story first to the coroner, or the sheriff, so Harry

went fast as he could to Rivers’ place, where there’s a telephone.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: And what did Mrs. Wright do when she knew that you had

gone for the coroner?

HALE: She moved from the rocker to that chair over there (pointing to a small chair

in the downstage right corner) and just sat there with her hands held together and

looking down. I got a feeling that I ought to make some conversation, so I said I had

come in to see if John wanted to put in a telephone, and at that she started to laugh, and

then she stopped and looked at me— scared. (The County Attorney, who has had his notebook out, makes a note.) I dunno, maybe it wasn’t scared. I wouldn’t like to say

it was. Soon Harry got back, and then Dr. Lloyd came, and you, Mr. Peters, and so I

guess that’s all I know that you don’t.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (rising and looking around) I guess we’ll go upstairs

first—and then out to the barn and around there. (To the Sheriff) You’re convinced

that there was nothing important here—nothing that would point to any motive?

SHERIFF: Nothing here but kitchen things. (The County Attorney, after again looking

around the kitchen, opens the door of a cupboard closet in right wall. He brings a

small chair from right—gets up on it and looks on a shelf. Pulls his hand away, sticky.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Here’s a nice mess. (The women draw nearer upstage canter.)

MRS. PETERS: (to the other woman) Oh, her fruit; it did freeze. (To the Lawyer)

She worried about that when it turned so cold. She said the fire’d go out and her jars

would break.

SHERIFF: (rises) Well, can you beat the women! Held for murder and worryin’ about

her preserves.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (getting down from chair) I guess before we’re through she

may have something more serious than preserves to worry about. (crosses down right

centre)

HALE: Well, women are used to worrying over trifles. (The two women move a little

closer together.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (with the gallantry of a young politician) And yet, for all

their worries, what would we do without the ladies? (The women do not unbend. He

goes below the centre table to the sink, takes a dipper full of water from the pail and,

pouring it into a basin, washes his hands. While he is doing this, the Sheriff and Hale

cross to cupboard, which they inspect. The County Attorney starts to wipe his hands on

the roller towel, turns it fora cleaner place.) Dirty towels! (Kicks his foot against the

pans under the sink.) Not much of a housekeeper, would you say, ladies?

MRS. HALE: (stiffly) There’s a great deal of work to be done on a farm.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: To be sure. And yet (with a little bow to her) I know there

are some Dickson County farmhouses which do not have such roller towels. (He gives

it a pull to expose its full length again.)

MRS. HALE: Those towels get dirty awful quick. Men’s hands aren’t always as clean as they might be.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Ah, loyal to your sex, I see. But you and Mrs. Wright were

neighbours. I suppose you were friends, too.

MRS. HALE: (shaking her head) I’ve not seen much of her of late years. I’ve not

been in this house—it’s more than a year.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (crossing to women upstage centre) And why was that?

You didn’t like her?

MRS. HALE: I liked her all well enough. Farmers’ wives have their hands full, Mr.

Henderson. And then—

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Yes—?

MRS. HALE: (looking about) It never seemed a very cheerful place.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: No—it’s not cheerful. I shouldn’t say she had the

homemaking instinct.

MRS. HALE: Well, I don’t know as Wright had, either.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: You mean that they didn’t get on very well?

MRS. HALE: No, I don’t mean anything. But I don’t think a place’d be any cheerfuller

for John Wright’s being in it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: I’d like to talk more of that a little later. I want to get the

lay of things upstairs now. (He goes past the women to upstage right where steps lead

to a stair door.)

SHERIFF: I suppose anything Mrs. Peters does will be all right. She was to take

in some clothes for her, you know, and a few little things. We left in such a hurry

yesterday.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Yes, but I would like to see what you take, Mrs. Peters, and

keep an eye out for anything that might be of use to us.

MRS. PETERS: Yes, Mr. Henderson. (The men leave by upstage right door to stairs.

The women listen to the men’s steps on the stairs, then look about the kitchen.)

MRS. HALE: (crossing left to sink) I’d hate to have men coming into my kitchen,

snooping around and criticizing. (She arranges the pans under sink which the lawyer

had shoved out of place.) 

MRS. PETERS: Of course it’s no more than their duty. (crosses to cupboard upstage right)

MRS. HALE: Duty’s all right, but I guess that deputy sheriff that came out to make the

fire might have got a little of this on. (Gives the roller towel a pull.) Wish I’d thought

of that sooner. Seems mean to talk about her for not having things slicked up when she

had to come away in such a hurry. (Crosses right to Mrs. Peters at cupboard.)

MRS. PETERS: (who has been looking through cupboard, lifts one end of a towel

that covers a pan) She had bread set. (Stands still.)

MRS. HALE: (eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the breadbox, which is

on a low shelf of the cupboard) She was going to put this in there. (Picks up

loaf, then abruptly drops it. In a manner of returning to familiar things.) It’s a

shame about her fruit. I wonder if it’s all gone. (Gets up on the chair and looks.)

I think there’s some here that’s all right, Mrs. Peters. Yes—here; (holding it toward the

window) this is cherries, too. (looking again) I declare I believe that’s the only one.

(Gets down, jar in her hand. Goes to the sink and wipes it off on the outside.) She’ll feel

awful bad after all her hard work in the hot weather. I remember the afternoon I put up

my cherries last summer. (She puts the jar on the big kitchen table, centre of the room.

With a sigh, is about to sit down in the rocking chair. Before she is seated realizes

what chair it is; with a slow look at it, steps back. The chair which she has touched

rocks back and forth. Mrs. Peters moves to centre table and they both watch the chair

rock for a moment or two.)

MRS. PETERS: (shaking off the mood which the empty rocking chair has evoked;

now in a business-like manner she speaks). Well, I must get those things from

the front room closet. (She goes to the door at the right, but, after looking into

the other room, steps back.) You coming with me, Mrs. Hale? You could help me

carry them. (They go in the other room; reappear, Mrs. Peters carrying a dress,

petticoat and skirt, Mrs. Hale following with a pair of shoes.) My, it’s cold in there.

(She puts the clothes on the big table, and hurries to the stove.)

MRS. HALE: (right of centre table examining the skirt). Wright was close. I

think maybe that’s why she kept so much to herself. She didn’t even belong to

the Ladies’ Aid. I suppose she felt she couldn’t do her part, and then you don’t

enjoy things when you feel shabby. I heard she used to wear pretty clothes and be

lively, when she was Minnie Foster, one of the town girls singing in the

choir. But that— oh, that was thirty years ago. This all you was to take in?

MRS. PETERS: She said she wanted an apron. Funny thing to want, for there isn’t much to get you dirty in jail, goodness knows. But I suppose just to make her feel more

natural. (crosses to cupboard) She said they was in the top drawer in this cupboard.

Yes, here. And then her little shawl that always hung behind the door. (Opens stair

door and looks.) Yes, here it is. (Quickly shuts door leading upstairs.)

MRS. HALE: (abruptly moving toward her). Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS: Yes, Mrs. Hale? (At up stage right door.)

MRS. HALE: Do you think she did it?

MRS. PETERS: (in a frightened voice). Oh, I don’t know.

MRS. HALE: Well, I don’t think she did. Asking for an apron and her little shawl.

Worrying about her fruit.

MRS. PETERS: (Starts to speak, glances up, where footsteps are heard in the room

above. In a low voice). Mr. Peters says it looks bad for her. Mr. Henderson is awful

sarcastic in a speech and he’ll make fun of her sayin’ she didn’t wake up.

MRS. HALE: Well, I guess John Wright didn’t wake when they was slipping that rope

under his neck.

MRS. PETERS: (crossing slowly to table and placing shawl and apron on table with

other clothing). No, it’s strange. It must have been done awful crafty and still. They

say it was such a—funny way to kill a man, rigging it all up like that.

MRS. HALE: (crossing to left of Mrs. Peters table). That’s just what Mr. Hale said.

There was a gun in the house. He says that’s what he can’t understand.

MRS. PETERS: Mr. Henderson said coming out that what was needed for the case

was a motive; something to show anger, or— sudden feeling.

MRS. HALE: (who is standing by the table). Well, I don’t see any signs of anger around here.

(She puts her hand on the dishtowel which lies on the table, stands looking down at

table, one half of which is clean, the other half messy.) It’s wiped to here. (Makes a

move as if to finish work, then turns and looks at loaf of bread outside the breadbox.

Drops towel. In that voice of coming back to familiar things.) Wonder how they are

finding things upstairs. (crossing below table to downstage right) I hope she had it a

little more readied-up up there. You know, it seems kind of sneaking. Locking her up

in town and then coming out here and trying to get her own house to turn against her!

MRS. PETERS: But, Mrs. Hale, the law is the law.

MRS. HALE: I s'pose' tis. (unbuttoning her coat) Better loosen up your things, Mrs.

Peters. You won’t feel them when you go out. (MRS. PETERS takes off her fur tippet,

goes to hang it on chair back left of table, stands looking at the work basket on floor

near downstage left window.)

MRS. PETERS: She was piecing a quilt. (She brings the large sewing basket to the

centre table and they look at the bright pieces, Mrs. Hale above the table and Mrs.

Peters left of it.)

MRS. HALE: It’s a log cabin pattern. Pretty, isn’t it? I wonder if she was goin’ to

quilt it or just knot it? (Footsteps have been heard coming down the stairs. The Sheriff

enters followed by Hale and the County Attorney.)

SHERIFF: They wonder if she was going to quilt it or just knot it! (The men laugh,

the women look abashed.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (rubbing his hands over the stove). Frank’s fire didn’t do

much up there, did it? Well, let’s go out to the barn and get that cleared up. (The men

go outside by upstage left door.)

MRS. HALE: (resentfully). I don’t know as there’s anything so strange, our takin’ up

our time with little things while we’re waiting for them to get the evidence. (She sits

in chair right of table smoothing out a block with decision.) I don’t see as it’s anything

to laugh about.

MRS. PETERS: (apologetically). Of course they’ve got awful important things on

their minds. (Pulls up a chair and joins Mrs. Hale at the left of the table.)

MRS. HALE: (examining another block). Mrs. Peters, look at this one. Here, this

is the one she was working on, and look at the sewing! All the rest of it has been so

nice and even. And look at this! It’s all over the place! Why, it looks as if she didn’t

know what she was about! (After she has said this they look at each other, then start

to glance back at the door. After an instant Mrs. Hale has pulled at a knot and ripped

the sewing.)

MRS. PETERS: Oh, what are you doing, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE: (mildly). Just pulling out a stitch or two that’s not sewed very good.

(threading a needle) Bad sewing always made me fidgety.

MRS. PETERS: (with a glance at door, nervously). I don’t think we ought to touch MRS. HALE: I’ll just finish up this end. (suddenly stopping and leaning forward)

Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS: Yes, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE: What do you suppose she was so nervous about?

MRS. PETERS: Oh—I don’t know, I don’t know as she was nervous. I sometimes

sew awful queer when I’m just tired. (Mrs. Hale starts to say something, looks at Mrs.

Peters, then goes on sewing.) Well, I must get these things wrapped up. They may

be through sooner than we think. (putting apron and other things together) I wonder

where I can find a piece of paper, and string. (Rises.)

MRS. HALE: In that cupboard, maybe.

MRS. PETERS: (crosses right looking in cupboard). Why, here’s a birdcage. (Holds

it up.) Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale?

MRS. HALE: Why, I don’t know whether she did or not—I’ve not been here for so

long. There was a man around last year selling canaries cheap, but I don’t know as she

took one; maybe she did. She used to sing real pretty herself.

MRS. PETERS: (glancing around). Seems funny to think of a bird here. But she must

have had one, or why would she have a cage? I wonder what happened to it?

MRS. HALE: I s’pose maybe the cat got it.

MRS. PETERS: No, she didn’t have a cat. She’s got that feeling some people have

about cats—being afraid of them. My cat got in her room and she was real upset and

asked me to take it out.

MRS. HALE: My sister Bessie was like that. Queer, ain’t it?

MRS. PETERS: (examining the cage). Why, look at this door. It’s broke. One hinge

is pulled apart. (Takes a step down to Mrs. Hale’s right.)

MRS. HALE: (looking too). Looks as if someone must have been rough with it.

MRS. PETERS: Why, yes. (She brings the cage forward and puts it on the table.)

MRS. HALE: (glancing toward upstage left door). I wish if they’re going to find any

evidence they’d be about it. I don’t like this place.

MRS. PETERS: But I’m awful glad you came with me, Mrs. Hale. It would be

lonesome for me sitting here alone.

MRS. HALE: It would, wouldn’t it? (dropping her sewing) But I tell you what I do

wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish I had come over sometimes when she was here. I—(looking

around the room)—wish I had.

MRS. PETERS: But of course you were awful busy, Mrs. Hale—your house and your

children.

MRS. HALE: (rises and crosses left). I could’ve come. I stayed away because it

weren’t cheerful—and that’s why I ought to have come. I (looking out left window)—

I’ve never liked this place. Maybe because it’s down in a hollow and you don’t see the

road. I dunno what it is, but it’s a lonesome place and always was. I wish I had come

over to see Minnie Foster sometimes. I can see now—(shakes her head)

MRS. PETERS: (left of table and above it). Well, you mustn’t reproach yourself, Mrs.

Hale. Somehow we just don’t see how it is with other folks until—something turns up.

MRS. HALE: Not having children makes less work—but it makes a quiet house,

and Wright out to work all day, and no company when he did come in. (turning from

window) Did you know John Wright, Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS: Not to know him; I’ve seen him in town. They say he was a good man.

MRS. HALE: Yes—good; he didn’t drink, and kept his word as well as most, I guess,

and paid his debts. But he was a hard man, Mrs. Peters. Just to pass the time of day

with him—(shivers). Like a raw wind that gets to the bone. (pauses, her eye falling on

the cage) I should think she would’ a’ wanted a bird. But what do you suppose went

with it?

MRS. PETERS: I don’t know, unless it got sick and died. (She reaches over and

swings the broken door, swings it again, both women watch it.)

MRS. HALE: You weren’t raised round here, were you? (Mrs. Peters shakes her

head.) You didn’t know—her?

MRS. PETERS: Not till they brought her yesterday.

MRS. HALE: She—come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird herself—real sweet

and pretty, but kind of timid and—fluttery. How—she—did—change. (Silence; then

as if struck by a happy thought and relieved to get back to everyday things, crosses

right above Mrs. Peters to cupboard, replaces small chair used to stand on to its

original place downstage right.) Tell you what, Mrs. Peters, why don’t you take the

quilt in with you? It might take up her mind.

MRS. PETERS: Why, I think that’s a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale. There couldn’t

possibly be any objection to it, could there? Now, just what would I take? I wonder if

her patches are in here—and her things. (They look in the sewing basket.)

MRS. HALE: (crosses to right of table). Here’s some red. I expect this has got

sewing things in it. (Brings out a fancy box.) What a pretty box. Looks like something

somebody would give you. Maybe her scissors are in here. (Opens box. Suddenly puts

her hand to her nose.) Why— (Mrs. Peters bends nearer, then turns her face away.

There’s something wrapped up in this piece of silk.

MRS. PETERS: Why, this isn’t her scissors.

MRS. HALE: (lifting the silk). Oh, Mrs. Peters— it’s—(Mrs. Peters bends closer.)

MRS. PETERS: It’s the bird.

MRS. HALE: But, Mrs. Peters—look at it! Its neck! Look at its neck! It’s all—other

side to.

MRS. PETERS: Somebody—wrung—its—neck. (Their eyes meet. A look of growing

comprehension, of horror. Steps are heard outside, Mrs. Hale slips box under quilt

pieces, and sinks into her chair. Enter Sheriff and County Attorney. Mrs. Peters steps

downstage left and stands looking out of window.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (as one turning from serious things to little pleasantries).

Well, ladies, have you decided whether she was going to quilt it or knot it? (Crosses

to centre above table.)

MRS. PETERS: We think she was going to— knot it. (Sheriff crosses to right of

stove, lifts stove lid and glances at fire, then stands warming hands at stove.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Well, that’s interesting, I’m sure. (Seeing the birdcage.)

Has the bird flown?

MRS. HALE: (putting more quilt pieces over the box). We think the—cat got it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (preoccupied). Is there a cat? (Mrs. Hale glances in a quick

covert way at Mrs. Peters.)

MRS. PETERS: (turning from window takes a step in). Well, not now. They’re

superstitious, you know. They leave.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (to Sheriff Peters, continuing an interrupted conversation).

No sign at all of anyone having come from the outside. Their own rope. Now let’s go up again and go over it piece by piece. (They start upstairs.) It would have to have been

someone who knew just the— (Mrs. Peters sits down left of table. The two women sit

there not looking at one another, but as if peering into something and at the same time

holding back. When they talk now it is in the manner of feeling their way over strange

ground, as if afraid of what they are saying, but as if they cannot help saying it.)

MRS. HALE: (hesitantly and in hushed voice) She liked the bird. She was going to

bury it in that pretty box.

MRS. PETERS: (in a whisper). When I was a girl—my kitten—there was a boy took

a hatchet, and before my eyes—and before I could get there— (covers her face an

instant) If they hadn’t held me back I would have—(catches herself, looks upstairs

where steps are heard, falters weakly)—hurt him.

MRS. HALE: (with a slow look around her). I wonder how it would seem never to

have had any children around. (pause) No, Wright wouldn’t like the bird—a thing that

sang. She used to sing. He killed that, too.

MRS. PETERS: (moving uneasily). We don’t know who killed the bird.

MRS. HALE: I knew John Wright.

MRS. PETERS: It was an awful thing was done in this house that night, Mrs. Hale.

Killing a man while he slept, slipping a rope around his neck that choked the life out

of him.

MRS. HALE: His neck. Choked the life out of him. (Her hand goes out and rests on

the birdcage.)

MRS. PETERS: (with rising voice). We don’t know who killed him. We don’t know.

MRS. HALE: (her own feeling not interrupted). If there’d been years and years of

nothing, then a bird to sing to you, it would be awful—still, after the bird was still.

MRS. PETERS: (something within her speaking). I know what stillness is. When we

homesteaded in Dakota, and my first baby died—after he was two years old, and me

with no other then—

MRS. HALE: (moving). How soon do you suppose they’ll be through looking for the

evidence?

MRS. PETERS: I know what stillness is. (pulling herself back) The law has got to

punish crime, Mrs. Hale.

MRS. HALE: (not as if answering that). I wish you’d seen Minnie Foster when she

wore a white dress with blue ribbons and stood up there in the choir and sang. (a look

around the room) Oh, I wish I’d come over here once in a while! That was a crime!

That was a crime! Who’s going to punish that?

MRS. PETERS: (looking upstairs). We mustn’t— take on.

MRS. HALE: I might have known she needed help! I know how things can be—

for women. I tell you, it’s queer, Mrs. Peters. We live close together and we live far

apart. We all go through the same things— it’s all just a different kind of the same

thing. (Brushes her eyes. Noticing the jar of fruit, reaches out for it.) If I was you

I wouldn’t tell her fruit was gone. Tell her it ain’t. Tell her it’s all right. Take this

in to prove it to her. She—she may never know whether it was broke or not.

MRS. PETERS: (takes the jar, looks about for something to wrap it in; takes

petticoat from the clothes brought from the other room, very nervously begins

winding this around the jar; in a false voice). My, it’s a good thing the men

couldn’t hear us. Wouldn’t they just laugh! Getting all stirred up over a little

thing like a—dead canary. As if that could have anything to do with—with— wouldn’t

they laugh! (The men are heard coming downstairs.)

MRS. HALE: (under her breath). Maybe they would—maybe they wouldn’t.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: No, Peters, it’s all perfectly clear except a reason for doing

it. But you know juries when it comes to women. If there was some definite thing.

(Crosses slowly to above table. Sheriff crosses downstage right. Mrs. Hale and Mrs.

Peters remain seated at either side of table.) Something to show—something to make

a story about—a thing that would connect up with this strange way of doing it— (The

women’s eyes meet for an instant. Enter Hale from outer door.)

HALE: (remaining upstage left by door). Well, I’ve got the team around. Pretty cold

out there.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: I’m going to stay awhile by myself. (To the Sheriff) You

can send Frank out for me, can’t you? I want to go over everything. I’m not satisfied

that we can’t do better.

SHERIFF: Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to take in? (The Lawyer

picks up the apron, laughs.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Oh, I guess they’re not very dangerous things the ladies

have picked out. (Moves a few things about, disturbing the quilt pieces which cover the box. Steps back.) No, Mrs. Peters doesn’t need supervising. For that matter a sheriff’s

wife is married to the law. Ever think of it that way, Mrs. Peters?

MRS. PETERS: Not—just that way.

SHERIFF: (chuckling). Married to the law. (Moves to downstage right door to the

other room.) I just want you to come in here a minute, George. We ought to take a look

at these windows.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (scoffingly). Oh, windows!

SHERIFF: We’ll be right out, Mr. Hale. (Hale goes outside. The Sheriff follows the

County Attorney into the other room. Then Mrs. Hale rises, hands tight together,

looking intensely at Mrs. Peters, whose eyes make a slow turn, finally meeting Mrs.

Hale’s. A moment Mrs. Hale holds her, then her own eyes point the way to where the

box is concealed. Suddenly Mrs. Peters throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the

box in the bag she is carrying. It is too big. She opens box, starts to take bird out,

cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the

other room, Mrs. Hale snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. Enter

County Attorney and Sheriff, who remains downstage right.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (crosses to upstage left door facetiously). Well, Henry, at

least we found out that she was not going to quilt it. She was going to—what is it you

call it, ladies?

MRS. HALE: (standing centre below table facing front, her hand against her pocket).

We call it—knot it, Mr. Henderson.