All language subtitles for The.Waltons.S03E22.The.Statue.WEBRip.x264-ION10

For as long as I can remember,
I never wanted to be

anything but a writer.

Nor can I remember ever
thinking of giving up writing.

Although, at times, the agonies
of being rejected...

were painful and frustrating.

I recall one
Saturday morning...

when I had gone to pick up my
usual batch of rejection slips.

It was a day which was to
mark the beginning...

of a new plateau in my career.

It's alright. You're married.

Well, I guess we're still
on our honeymoon, you might say.

-How is your family, John-Boy?
-Fine. How's the mail situation?

We haven't quite figured out
the division of labor.

Excuse me.

Now let's see, John-Boy,
you got one back here from...

-Liberty Magazine.
-Yeah.

And then you got another reject
here from Collier's.

-Collier's?
-And...

Saturday Evening Post
sent you one back, too.

Corabeth? What are you doing?

Mr. Godsey, if I am
to be your helpmate...

I must know the paperwork
which that requires.

Please let me
have this, Ike.

This one's from
the Appalachian Journal.

I never heard of.

Yes, I know. It is a very,
very fine publication.

It publishes only the best
in recent Appalachian fiction.

And if you will notice, Ike,
this is not a return envelope.

Oh, hey. So that means they
might have accepted it, huh?

Yes.

-Did they buy it?
-Not quite.

They like it. And they would
like me to lengthen it.

John-Boy, for a young man
about to break in to print...

you don't seem terribly excited.

Cousin Corabeth, I almost broke
in to print once before...

and it was a disaster.

I always fancied
I could write...

had I been given
the time and place.

Corabeth, would you
go fetch me a cup of coffee?

Mr. Godsey, if a gentleman
wanted a lady

to get him a cup of coffee...

I'd think there would be a more
gracious way of requesting it.

Corabeth, would you
please get me a cup of coffee?

Of course, Mr. Godsey.

I will serve it on that small
tray with the small flowers...

that Olivia gave us
for our wedding present.

John-Boy?

No, thank you,
I have to hit the trail.

John-Boy, that story
that they're about to accept...

-It's not about me, is it?
-No.

Who's it about?

Well, it's sort of
about Miss Mamie

and Miss Emily Baldwin.

Come on. What could be
interesting

about the Baldwin sisters?

Just add one Ashley Longworth,
and you've got a good story.

Well, you don't believe
that story about

Miss Emily
and Ashley Longworth.

Maybe, maybe not. But you will
when you read the story.

-If they buy it.
-Okay, alright.

-You going to the church raffle?
-I doubt it.

You're going to miss that first
big prize. It's a doozy!

I'll probably be working.

I'll see you later, Ike.

Okay. Bye.

-Mama.
-John-Boy.

Do you know where
it mentions anything

in the Bible
about raffles?

No, why?

Well, according to Grandma
the Bible says they're sinful...

and I shouldn't
let the children go.

I can't really
see the children

going to hell
for a church raffle.

Anyway, they've been
selling tickets for weeks.

It's a pity to disappoint them.
Listen, Mama.

I think I may have
some good news for you.

-You've had a story accepted.
-Maybe.

Maybe.

It's a story I don't think
you've ever heard.

I sent it in to
the Appalachian Journal

which is a very,
very good magazine...

and this is what they said:

"Dear Mr. Walton,
this is a splendid story

and we would
like to publish it.

"Our requirements
for the short story form...

"necessitates stories
of 5,000 words or more.

"We would be most interested
in publishing your story...

"if you can bring it
up to the appropriate length.

"We suggest that
you approach lengthening it

in the area of the"....

-Etcetera, etcetera.
-Well, what's the story about?

It's about
an old lady who has...

built a fantasy about a man
that she fell in love with...

when they were both very young
and she sort of tries...

to keep him alive
in her imagination.

Sounds like Miss Emily to me.

I sort of did get
the idea from Miss Emily.

Don't you think it might upset
Miss Emily to read a story...

that says Ashley Longworth was
only real in her imagination?

No. Well, I never
really thought about it.

She'll probably never recognize
herself. People never do...

when they read
something that they're in.

I mean, that's what
a writer does.

He takes the raw materials
of a character or something...

and he molds it
in his own way...

from his own imagination,
into a different form.

Something original
and different.

All the same, it'd be a shame
to hurt Miss Emily's feelings.

Mama, I would not do anything
to hurt Miss Emily's feelings.

And besides,
she'll never even read it.

There's not more than
five or six people

subscribe to this magazine.

-She'll never know.
-I hope not.

Look, Mama,
I would appreciate it...

if you would not
tell anybody about this story.

You can tell Daddy,
but don't tell the children...

because after that
vanity press business...

I don't want anyone to know
until I've sold it for sure.

Not a word.

Even as a young woman,
she was always addressed

as Miss Charlotte.

And it was not so much
out of respect...

but rather from a sense
of her obvious destiny.

Her friends whispered
how unfortunate it was...

that Miss Charlotte
had been born to be a spinster.

Miss Charlotte
had no such image of herself.

She dreamt of a suitor
who would love her...

and whom she would
love in return.

-John-Boy, where are you?
-What? I'm here.

I am in need of a friend
and companion, John-Boy.

Wait, just a minute. I'm coming.

-John-Boy?
-Yes?

I want you to
take a stroll with me

over to Ike's
for the church raffle.

I'm a little busy, Grandpa.

I'm doing something
that's kind of important here.

You're too busy to take a look
at the mysterious first prize?

They got it all covered over
with something...

so you can't see.

-What's so mysterious about it?
-As near as I can make out...

the Baldwin ladies
have donated it...

and they don't want to unveil it
until the last minute.

I wonder if it's....

Come on, it won't take more than
a half-hour, 45 minutes maybe.

-The Baldwin ladies, you say?
-Yeah.

Come on.

Well, it's a funny thing.

I'm just, sort of,
working on a story...

that's, sort of,
based on the Baldwin sisters.

-What's that?
-I said I'm, writing a story...

that's loosely based on the
Baldwin ladies.

What do you know?

You want to be careful what you
write about them, you know...

if you want to sell it.

They're delicate ladies,
if you know what I mean.

I know.

-Come on.
-Sure. Okay, I'll come with you.

-Come on.
-Let's go.

Okay, Elizabeth, take out the
ticket for the big prize.

I know this is the one
you've all been waiting for.

You've been wondering
what it is.

And you'll find out
in a minute.

That prize, by the way,
was donated

by Miss Emily
and Miss Mamie Baldwin.

It's a doozy. Now.

That number is number 17.
Who's got lucky number 17?

Seventeen? Come on,
somebody out there has got it.

Who's got 17?
Look in your pockets. Number 17?

Zeb Walton.
Come on up here, Zeb.

It's me!

Hey, Zeb Walton. He's the
winner. Come on up here, Zeb.

Oh, that's wonderful.

-Congratulations, Grandpa.
-Congrats on your good fortune.

Okay, Zeb, come on up here.
Come on up here, Zeb...

and take the top off of that
so we can see what you won.

Won't you say something,
Mr. Walton?

I'm overwhelmed.
I just don't know what to say.

Her beauty is extraordinary.

-Tell him her history, sister.
-You tell him, Emily.

Well, as you know,
Mr. Walton, in 1901...

Papa took us on the grand tour.

We traveled through
the stately homes of England...

the fjords of Norway...

the cathedrals of Paris...

the canals of Venice...

coming at last to
Florence, Italy.

You've neglected to mention
that Papa was enraptured...

with Mr. Edgar Allan Poe's
poem Annabel Lee.

Oh, yes. That's
very important, because

it was in Florence, Italy...

that we met a young sculptor,
quite talented...

and Papa commissioned him
to sculpt this statue...

based on the poem
composed by Mr. Poe.

Annabel Lee.

It's a lovely statue, ladies...

but I wouldn't want to
deprive you

of such
a beautiful objet d'art.

-Well.
-Well...

we must confess, Mr. Walton.

Our dear late mother
didn't care for her...

and she has been hidden away
all these years.

And we just felt that
the time had come

for her to see
the light of day.

In that case, I gladly accept.

Congratulations, again.
I hope you enjoy it.

Indeed. Indeed, yes.

-John-Boy?
-Miss Emily, Miss Mamie.

That's a beautiful statue.

-We're pleased to hear the news.
-What news?

Mr. Godsey told us all about the
story you're writing...

about Ashley Longworth and me.

Indeed, yes,
and we are deeply moved--

-At the prospect--
-The story finally being told.

Well.... Good, I'm glad. But....

Excuse me just a minute, ladies,
I have to speak to somebody.

Excuse me.

-Ike Godsey.
-Yeah?

What did you go
and ruin everything for?

What did I ruin?

You told Miss Mamie
and Miss Emily

about that story I was writing.

You didn't tell
not to tell them.

Why, are they unhappy
that you are writing about them?

That's not the point, Ike.
Of course they love the idea.

It's just that I don't want
the whole county knowing...

that I might get published.
Suppose something happens again.

I'd just appreciate it
if you'd be more private

about my business in the future.
If you don't mind.

I was happy for you...

-I wanted to tell somebody.
-Okay.

Just try to contain yourself
next time, alright?

Okay.

John-Boy. I need
your help here.

What are you gonna do
with this thing?

This is the spitting image,
the very image of Moselle Lewis.

-Who is Moselle Lewis?
-The woman that I was courting.

before your grandma
come down the track.

Really? What is Grandma
gonna say about that?

I hope she don't remember
Moselle as well as I did.

-Come on, give me a hand.
-Wait a minute.

-That's too heavy. Let me.
-We need a wheelbarrow.

-No, Grandpa.
-Let it go.

Steady, John-Boy, here we go.

-Need a hand, Pa?
-Can I make her....

No, I want you
all to stand back...

and be prepared to gaze
upon a thing of beauty.

I can't see what all the
mystery's about.

You'll like it, Grandma.

Yeah, I'll make up
my own mind after I see it.

Alright, folks, gaze upon this
glorious first prize.

-My Lord!
-What's the matter, old woman?

Don't you recognize a work of
art when you see one?

If that's the first prize,
how bad are the others?

-Livie?
-It's very interesting, Grandpa.

John, you have
not expressed an opinion.

Congratulations, Pa.

Now, she looks
like somebody

but for the life of me
I don't know who.

Where are you planning
on putting her, Grandpa?

Why, she'll sit right here,
so I can be up there

on the porch in my rocker, gaze
at her to my heart's content.

Wouldn't the meadow
be a little bit better?

Then you could enjoy her while
you're working in the mill.

No. I wouldn't think so. That'd
take my mind from my work.

You know it's dangerous
working around a wood saw.

There's something about that
face I don't like.

She reminds me of somebody.

This statue was inspired by
Annabel Lee.

She's disgraceful with--

Well, put her in
the vegetable garden

and use her as a scarecrow.

-No, keep her here.
-Grandma, I think she's pretty.

She stays right here.

Well, wherever she stays,
supper's getting cold.

-Come on inside, everybody.
-Well, I think she's pretty.

-Goodbye, Annabel.
-I think she's real pretty.

John-Boy? You going to
stay up all night?

I may have to.
It's pretty slow going.

You running out of inspiration?

Ike blabbed to
the Baldwin ladies

that I was writing
this story about them.

And now knowing that they know
that I'm writing this story...

makes it impossible to write it.

Why don't you give it a rest
and start fresh in the morning?

-Yeah, you're probably right.
-Goodnight.

Goodnight.

I know what I've to do.
I just have to write it my way.

I've to put it down
as it comes to me.

Just something
is stopping the flow.

Company, Mamie?
Were we expecting company?

No, but I'll see
who it is just the same.

What a treat!
Sister, it's John-Boy.

John-Boy. Just in time for tea.

-Do come in and sit down.
-Thank you very much.

Will you have some tea,
John-Boy?

No, thank you.
No tea for me.

I wanted to speak with you
about something.

I do hope you
and your grandfather

got his prize home safely.

Yes, we did.
It's sitting in the front yard.

Did the rest of the family
enjoy his good fortune?

They had different opinions
about it.

I wanted to speak with you
about that story

that Ike told you
I was writing.

Oh, John-Boy.

You can't know the joy
that the knowledge

that you've written
a story about us...

-And Ashley Longworth.
-has given to my sister and me.

Yes.

I want to be completely honest
in this story. So--

Now, we wouldn't have it
any other way.

Now, we will,
of course, supply you...

with any and all information
you may need.

You know, of course,
that Ashley Longworth...

was a student
at the University of Virginia?

Well, of course
he knows that, sister.

And how would
he know that?

You've told
the story often enough.

Sister, I do believe
you're jealous.

By what right would I be
jealous? I had beaus of my own.

Name one.

Octavius Fairweather.

Papa could never have allowed
you to marry a Fairweather.

Why, the family have only been
in Virginia for about 100 years.

Practically newcomers.

After all, as I recall,
he only came to see you once.

But he would have called again.
But Papa intimidated him.

Yes, and I never did
understand why.

After all, Octavius
never kissed you.

You see, John-Boy,
Ashley did kiss me.

Yes.

Miss Emily--

It was out there
under the maple tree.

And a shower of golden leaves...

was swirling about
in the autumn wind.

Yes.

Miss Emily...

every writer has...

a different version, his own
version, of a familiar story...

which may or
may not coincide

with the versions
of other people.

I wouldn't want
the story to offend you.

Offend me?

You see, I, as a writer...

when I transliterate
or fictionalize an event...

which has actually
taken place....

The way it appears
on the printed page...

might not necessarily
coincide...

with the way a person who had
experienced the event...

would think about
the event. Do you see?

I don't understand.

What I mean is...

that the story as I tell it may
not be the way you remember it.

It's my interpretation
of a character.

In other words, you might
not even recognize

your own character at all.

I'm disappointed.

I'd hoped Ashley might read the
story wherever he is...

and it might prompt him
to come this way in his travels.

For old times' sake,
don't you know?

He'll never see it. And you'll
probably never even read it.

It's gonna be published in a
very obscure literary magazine.

called the Appalachian Journal,
and hardly anybody ever

subscribes to it.

-We do.
-We do.

You subscribe
to the Appalachian Journal?

Papa subscribed to it years ago
and we get our copy every month.

-It's an excellent publication.
-It certainly is.

John-Boy...

perhaps we could
help in this way.

Perhaps you could let us read it
before it appears...

and then if there are
any details

that are incorrect,
we could tell you.

-No. I--
-That's an excellent idea.

I think it is.

-John-Boy.
-Ike.

I want you to know that I am
very calm at this moment.

I've thought this over very
carefully in my mind...

and I am in complete control
over my own emotions.

John-Boy, there are
some people who could profit

by your example.

Corabeth, I would like to speak
with Ike privately, please.

John-Boy, whatever's
Mr. Godsey's business

is my business.

You were present
when we were joined

in the holy state
of matrimony.

Corabeth. Please.

Ike, I want you to know...

that I have never been as angry
at anyone in my whole life...

as I am with you right now.

-You seem pretty upset.
-Upset is not the word for it.

I told you the other day
that I was writing a story

about the Baldwin ladies.

This story is not
literally a biography

about the Baldwin ladies.

I got
the idea from them.

You blabbed to them
and now they think...

-that the story is about them.
-It is, isn't it?

No, it's not literally
about them.

The story is my
interpretation...

of an event, which is suggested
by an event in their lives.

It does not necessarily coincide
with their own interpretation.

And because you cannot keep
your mouth shut about something.

which is not your business,
I can't get my story published.

I can't even
write it correctly.

I'll not have you
hollering at me.

What?

Look, first you were mad
because you were afraid...

that everyone would find out
that you're being published.

Now you're mad
because the Baldwin ladies...

think that you're going
to be writing about them.

John-Boy, what's really
bothering you?

What is bothering me?

I don't know.

"I was a child
and she was a child

"In our kingdom by the sea

"But we loved with a love
that was more than love

"I and my Annabel Lee

"With a love that the wing'd
seraphs of heaven

"Coveted her and me

"Oh, Annabel,
Annabel, Annabel Lee!"

Old man, you'll catch
your death sitting out here

in the chill of the evening.

Just taking
the night air, Esther.

And admiring that....

Contemplation is a harmless
sport, Esther.

I know who she looks like.

Who is that, old darling?

That loose woman that you were
having such a fine time with...

when you met me.
That's Moselle Lewis!

No. No, Esther. You're mistaken.

Moselle Lewis
I remember very well.

She's a fine high-stepping lady.

And I regarded her very
favorably, but no...

this isn't Moselle,
this is Poe's Annabel Lee.

Don't you come complaining to me
when the rheumatism hits you...

for sitting out here
in the night air with her.

I best be getting in. Esther's
feathers appear to be ruffled.

Yeah, Pa, I guess
you could say that.

It's ridiculous.

Do you think he's planning on
letting that thing

sit there forever?

I don't know, Liv.
Maybe it'll start a trend.

People will start trying
to keep up with the Waltons...

and soon everybody
will have a statue

in their front yard.

That is no joke. We'll be the
laughingstock of the county.

I'll have him move it
if you want me to.

I'd hate to do that.
Seems to get such pleasure.

He just sat there all afternoon
looking at that silly thing.

You're a cheerful
looking sight, Son.

Don't make fun
of me tonight, Daddy.

You should
see yourself, Son.

I came pretty close
to hitting Ike Godsey

and I think I insulted Corabeth.

Are you still mad at Ike...

for telling Miss Mamie
and Miss Emily about your story?

Liv, remember what it was
like being young?

-What an awful thing to say.
-It happens, Liv.

It's not gonna happen to me.

-How're you going to stop it?
-Getting old?

I don't know. But that's some
place I don't want to go.

Ma and Pa seem to manage.

You call that managing? Her
bickering at him day and night

and him sitting there looking
at that silly statue all day?

I wonder what we're gonna be
like when we're their age.

Just don't you dare
call me "old woman."

You like "old darling"
any better?

You sleepy?

I can hardly
keep my eyes open.

I'll probably be asleep
by the time you come up.

Sweet dreams.

You, too.

Zeb.

What's the trouble? What's the
matter? Somebody breaking in?

Will you wake up?
I want to talk to you.

Esther, sometimes you are
the most exasperating woman.

Why have you awakened me?

I want that statue
out of the front yard.

Why?

Why?

Well, I just don't like
where it is.

Oh, dear, I suppose I will not
be able to get any sleep...

until I promise to remove
Annabel in the morning.

That's right.

I promise,
but only under protest.

-Night, Zeb.
-You're welcome, Esther.

John, did you hear strange
noises during the night?

I thought I heard Pa
moving around.

John.

How did that thing
get in the house?

I don't know,
it sure didn't fly in.

Good morning.

The hat's alright. But
Grandma's apron doesn't work.

How did it get in here?

I don't know,
but it's not staying.

You two get that thing
out of here.

-Who's your friend?
-Don't be funny.

Come here and help us,
will you?

We can carry this thing
if you'll give us a hand.

Come on, Son.

Where can I grab
a hold of this?

Just take it
to the corner.

Grandpa won't like you putting
his lady in the corner.

He'll have to find
some other place.

Your mother won't let him
keep it in the house.

What's the matter with you,
Chance?

Ain't you ever seen
a thing of beauty before?

Careful, Son, doesn't look like
he likes that thing.

Watch out, watch out!

Chance, come back here.

Chance! Watch it!

Darn thing
kicked over the milk.

Well, there's no use
crying over it.

Grandpa, did you bring
that statue in here last night?

I did not.

It was in
the middle of the floor

first thing this morning.

Where is she now?

John and John-Boy
took her off somewhere.

I don't know
what they did with her.

What have you fellows done
with Annabel?

We put her in the barn, Pa.

First, I am falsely accused...

of doing mischievous acts
in the middle of the night...

then I come out
to find you two making merry...

with my own personal
and private property.

Now I'm worked up over this
affair, make no bones about it.

Can you think of
a better place?

Indeed I can,
and I will.

Zeb, what did you do with
that.... That thing!

Esther, just what have you got
against Annabel?

She doesn't belong here.

Not in the yard, not in the
barn, and not in the house.

Just where do you think
she does belong then?

In a graveyard.
That is a tombstone.

Esther, you're right.

Zebulon.

John-Boy, have you seen
your grandpa around?

-John-Boy, you answer me.
-Grandma, I'm busy writing.

-Why couldn't you just tell me?
-I did just tell you that.

There's no respect
from young people anymore.

Grandma, I'm not being
disrespectful, I'm working.

-You just said you were writing.
-Grandma, writing is work.

It's as backbreaking
as digging a ditch.

It's as exhausting as plowing a
field from sunup to sundown.

And if you don't get
your work published...

nobody in
the world cares about

what you write
except you yourself.

Then what did
you take it up for?

Because I love it.

-Here, here.
-Come on, Erin.

-Come on, Erin.
-Oh, I can get you.

Oh, he missed. Come on.

Any of you children
seen your grandpa?

Come on, get him.

Now, have any of you
seen your grandpa?

No, Grandma, we haven't.

Not since breakfast, Grandma.

Alright. Now I've got it,
so you better answer me.

Maybe he's lost, Grandma.

-Come on, throw it harder.
-Get him, Ben!

Alright, now.
You give me that.

If you want to play ball,
you better answer me.

Grandma, he's probably
where he was yesterday

and the day before that.

And where was that?
Where was he yesterday?

At the graveyard.

-Grandma, the ball.
-Grandma, the ball.

Come on. I'm in the middle.

Esther, what on earth
are you doing here?

This was to be
a surprise for you.

-It is.
-Well, how do you like it?

Is it for keeping things in
or keeping things out?

It's just a little
old picket fence

for our final resting place.

You always did say
you liked white picket fences.

-There's no gate.
-What do you need a gate for?

I don't know. But a gate would
give it a sense of freedom.

You don't need a gate.

You step right over a little old
picket fence like this.

Couldn't you put
a gate there?

I'll not
give you a gate.

Next thing, you'll be wanting a
padlock and a hasp...

and heaven knows what else.

Besides, once we are
in here for keeps...

where would you put the key?

Couldn't you put a gate
with a slide bolt on it?

No, I am not going to
put a gate here.

On a cold, windy night,
why, the gate would be

flapping back and forth like
a chicken with one wing off.

Besides, there is something
much more important...

that I want to talk to you
about, Esther.

-Are you listening to me?
-I'm listening.

Esther, we've got to make a
decision right here and now.

-Who'll be on the left--
-On the right.

On the right. That is what
I want to talk to you about.

I want to tell you right here
now. Esther, listen to me.

I'm listening.

I have never been completely
comfortable sleeping

on the left side of our bed.

I only let you sleep
on the right side of the bed...

because you seem to prefer it.

You mean that
all these years you....

I have never spent a completely
restful night. No, Esther.

It's true.

Well, it's only
the Christian way.

One good sacrifice
deserves another.

-Then you don't mind?
-You can be on the right.

Then it's all settled.

And the little gate
can go right there.

And the tombstone
will sit right up there.

What tombstone is that?

That statue I won at the church
raffle. You yourself said that.

that'd be the most appropriate
place to make use of it.

If you put that statue
anywhere near me...

I am going to be buried
someplace else.

That's alright, Moselle.
Don't you worry about a thing.

Although it was
totally imaginary

she could see his face clearly.

She knew the curve of his lips,
the slant of his nose...

each wave of his
corn-colored hair.

He had been more fantasy than
flesh from the very beginning.

And as the years passed,
the unreal became real.

Come in.

Didn't you hear me
calling you to supper?

Would it be alright
if I didn't eat now, Mama?

No, it would not be alright.

But I can put
a plate in the oven.

It won't taste the same,
but I can do it.

Thank you.

Looks like you've got your
problem with the story solved.

I do.

The opportunity of being
published in this magazine...

is just too important
for me to pass up.

And I have to submit
that story the way I

as a writer, see it...

or else I don't deserve
to be published at all.

I'm glad you got it settled
one way or another.

It's okay if I don't go
downstairs now?

As long as you don't make
a habit of it.

Okay. Thank you.

You're welcome, John-Boy.

Liv.

-We're gonna start without you.
-John-Boy will be down later.

Alright, Pa, will you say
grace tonight, please?

No, thank you, John.

I do not feel like
saying grace this evening.

-Ma?
-Maybe one of the children.

Ben?

Gracious Lord, we thank thee
for thy blessings

and for this food.

We pray that we may live
to see another day...

and whatever's wrong
between Grandma and Grandpa...

gets cleared up so this house
can get back to normal. Amen.

-Amen.
-Amen.

Amen.

What is wrong between
Grandma and Grandpa?

They aren't speaking
to each other.

Grandpa, why are you and Grandma
not speaking to each other?

Pass the potatoes please,
Jim-Bob.

Why won't you
let the boy speak out?

Thought maybe you and Ma would
like to settle your differences.

somewhere besides the table, Pa.

I haven't got any difference.

Your mother's the one
that's clammed up...

like a cat that won't say boo,
if we had one.

John, I would appreciate
it very much...

if you would give your father
a message for me.

Alright, Ma.

Alright.
You tell him for me

that I don't plan
to spend eternity

with that stone likeness
of that fancy woman...

that he sowed
his wild oats with...

looking down
on my final resting place.

And you tell him...

that before I will let
that statue of his

ruin my final
resting place...

I will put it
in my will that

I will be buried out
in the cow pasture.

Pa.

Ma said that she's gonna....

Will you two settle this
between yourselves, please?

Esther, may I speak
to you alone?

We'll settle this in private.

I am tired to death....

Alright, everybody, it's
getting cold. Eat up.

I kind of like that
statue anyway.

You would.

Turn blue, Mary Ellen.

Alright, that's enough.

Old woman, you're simply jealous
because you think....

-I saw an oriole today.
-What's that, Liv?

-I said I saw an oriole today.
-You did, huh?

I heard plenty of talk....

What was the oriole doing?

...you've a mind of your own.

It was eating a worm.

...50 years being
married to you....

Where was this?

I warn you, Esther....

In the garden.

Well, I didn't say I would....

-Lot of worms this year.
-Lots of orioles, too.

There's not room in this house
for the both of us.

Sometimes, Esther, I don't think
you've got sense enough....

What in the name of the Lord
is going on?

Well, we were
talking about orioles.

-Mama saw one in the garden.
-It was eating a worm.

-Lots of worms this year.
-Lots of orioles, too.

That's very good news. I mean,
what is that going on in there?

Your grandparents
are trying to settle

a difference of opinion.

Why doesn't he
just listen to her?

Why doesn't
she listen to him?

Then you won't
have to any longer.

If anybody wants me, I'll be
in the barn in the haymow.

John-Boy, bring me a blanket.

That old fool will catch his
death out there in the barn.

Well, you men, do something.

Yeah as soon as
we finish eating, Ma.

-Pa.
-I'm up here.

-What are you doing up there?
-Bleeding.

You hurt yourself, Pa?

I skunked the skin off my leg
climbing up the ladder.

Pa, we got to talk to you.

You better make it quick

before I pass out
from bleeding to death.

That's what we want to
talk to you about, Pa.

John, I know you'll indulge
in the whims of an old man.

I would like
a real nice funeral.

A big one
with a lot of people.

A homemade coffin
and wild flowers

strewn around
everywhere.

That's fine with me, Pa. When?

When what?

When are you planning
on passing over

as they say
down at the church?

Excuse me.

You know, I've always
told you, John...

that I have every intention
of living to be 101.

-How old are you?
-I am 73. You know that.

What do you want to bring a
thing like that up at this time?

That leaves you
over 28 years, Pa.

You mean I've got over a quarter
of a century left?

Twenty-eight years.

That's a long time
to leave that poor statue

out there waiting on you.

Getting all worn out
and weather-beaten

while you keep on living.

Tell you the truth, boys,
just between the three of us...

I have been looking for a way
to dispose of that first prize.

I've had nothing
but hard luck...

ever since I first laid eyes
on that statue of Annabel Lee.

John-Boy and me
have been talking about it, Pa.

We've got an idea.
You wanna hear?

Yeah, I'll listen to most
anything now.

The old woman didn't send you
out here, did she?

Kind of.

Alright, start talking.

Right here where you had
in mind, Grandpa?

I think this is
the appropriate spot.

Lift her up there now.
Easy. Easy does it.

There we go.

-Ready, Grandpa?
-No, Ben.

Give me a few more moments
to admire her beauty.

"Oh the moon never beams

"without seeing her dreams

"Of the beautiful Annabel Lee

"And the stars never rise,
but I feel the bright eyes

"Of my beautiful Annabel Lee"

Well, Ben, I think
you better get it over with.

Yeah. Let's go.

"In her sepulcher by the sea

"In her tomb
by the sounding sea"

I'm here to read you the story
just as I promised I would.

-Do read it, John-Boy.
-Oh, please do.

Alright.

Now, you remember that this
is not meant to be

a story literally about you.

Okay.

"Miss Charlotte Ransom's
family was an old

and respected one in the town.

"Even as a young woman,
she was known

and addressed
as Miss Charlotte.

"And it was not so much
out of respect

but rather out of
her obvious destiny.

"Her friends whispered
how sad it was...

"that Miss Charlotte
had been born to be a spinster.

"She walked from
quiet room to quiet room...

"and the only sounds
that came to her

were the ticking of clocks...

"and the beating
of her own heart.

"The realization that
she was to be alone...

"loveless, for the rest of her
life crowded into her mind.

"She felt the rise of panic.

"She stood trembling at the
window, which overlooked....

"She stood trembling
at the window

which overlooked
a maple tree.

"And there came
to her mind a memory...

"of a day when she had met
someone there.

"He was a young university
student...

"handsome and debonair.

"And he and Miss Charlotte
had loved one another...

"from the moment they first met.

"And as she stood there
at the window in memory...

"she was once more the young
girl that she had been...

"held in the arms of her
one true love...

"while he kissed her...

"amid the swirling
gold and russet autumn leaves.

"Cruel fate was to stand
between their union.

"But she knew that wherever
he traveled in the world...

"he cherished her memory,
as she cherished his...

"and that someday
in the future...

"they would be together again."

John-Boy, you've
touched me very deeply.

Miss Emily?

Miss Emily.

I do not know why...

you ever thought your story
would not please me, John-Boy.

You've captured the very essence
of my feeling for Ashley...

and his for me.

I was always certain that
a person of your sensitivity...

would realize
the depths of our love.

I think of him often.

Sometimes I fancy him walking
along a bridge in Venice...

with the sun setting
across the scarlet canal...

and him remembering
a maple tree.

My decision not
to submit my story

about Miss Emily
was difficult to make.

But later, I was glad I didn't
send it to the magazine.

I did send them a new story
calledThe Statue.

It was published
and just about everybody

who read it
enjoyed it very much.

Goodnight, Grandma.

Goodnight, Grandpa.

Mama.

Mama, goodnight.

Everybody asleep already?

No, Son, but no one
has much to say to you...

since they read that story
about the statue.

Telling everyone I was jealous
over Moselle Lewis.

It's nobody's business but mine
what color my nightshirt is.

I have never said
a swear word in my life.

And I do not practice kissing on
the mirror over my dresser.

And you didn't
even mention me at all.

Is there any chance
we can talk this over?

I think we ought to
sleep on it, Son.

-Goodnight.
-Goodnight.