For Lydia---Ending of the play

(There is a long silence as what GEORGE has said, sinks in)

JACOB: Er—well, I-I…I mean, it’s nice to know that you think of me as family, George. I’ve become rather fond of you, as well. And, just think, if you marry Susan, you truly will be a member of our family. Wouldn’t that be nice?

(GEORGE balls his fists, searching for words, his frustration and confusion plainly evident, even to the distant women. The lights dim on the pair of men, and come up slightly on the two women.)

SUSAN: What’s he saying, mama?
MARY: I’m not sure. Hush now, daughter, I won’t be able to hear anything if you go on yammering in my ear.

SUSAN: Mama, I won’t marry him! I’ll…I’ll run away to Lowell first, take a job at one of the mills, if I have to. I’d rather die than marry George!

MARY: (Turning around in surprise and staring at SUSAN.) You’ll do no such thing, and I’ll tell you why; you haven’t the courage. (SUSAN opens her mouth to protest, but MARY puts her hand up to stop her.) No, don’t deny it, Susan. You’ve had half a lifetime to leave this farm and go elsewhere, half a lifetime to find a man and settle down with a family of your own, but instead, here you are, still living on the very spot on which you were born. If you’d had the druthers to leave, you would have done that long ago. So don’t threaten me, daughter, I’m not buyin’ any of your backtalk today. Now be quiet, and let me see what’s happening over there.

(SUSAN backs away, and turns her back on her mother, in a defeated posture. The lights dim on the two women again, and come up on the two men.)

JACOB: I said, wouldn’t that be nice, George? Bein’ a member of the family? I know you don’t always feel comfortable around Mary and Susan, but you’ll get used to it, over time. I think you’d make a fine husband, ‘cause you’re a good boy, George.

GEORGE: (Shouts) I’m not a boy!

JACOB: Wh-why, of course not. No offense meant, son.

GEORGE: (Angry.) I’m not a boy, and I’m not your son. My dad’s name was Arnold. He was a farmer, just like you. I don’t need a family. I had a family, until the sickness took him and mama away from me. I’m a man, Jacob! I may be a…a…dummy, but I got feelings, Jacob. Stop treating me like a child. I am a man! I know right from wrong. I know the difference between love and hate. And, I do know what this (He grabs his crotch) is for!

(An audible gasp is heard from MARY. JACOB is rooted to the spot, his face registering genuine shock. GEORGE begins pacing agitatedly.)

I don’t love Mary, Jacob. I’m in love with you. I want to be with you, not those two…two… crows, over there, in their black dresses and their pinched faces, and their short tempers.

(JACOB is not taking this well. His face goes from shocked to thunderous He flings out an arm towards state left.)

JACOB: Get out! Get off this farm and never come back. You are an abomination! A sinner in the eyes of God!

GEORGE: What about you? You lust after your own daughter! What does that make you, Jacob?

(JACOB bends down and retrieves a stick of the kindling wood that GEORGE had placed on the ground earlier, and waves it threateningly.)

JACOB: Get out of here, George, before I do something we’d both regret.

(Suddenly, JACOB grabs his chest, and starts to stagger, calling out.)

Susan!

(JACOB is dead of a massive coronary, before he even hits the ground. The lights come up somewhat, as the two women scream and run to JACOB, kneeling beside his body. GEORGE backs away, horrified.)

GEORGE: Jacob? Oh God, what have I done? (He stops and stares at the body.) I love you! I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said, Jacob. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.

MARY: (Looks up at GEORGE with a glowering face.) Get out of here, you dumb animal. Get off this farm, out of this township, and never come back. Get out of here before I get Jacob’s shotgun and kill you where you stand. You’ve ruined everything. We’ll lose the farm, and it’ll be all your fault.! Get out of here, D’you hear me? Go on, get!

(With one last heartbroken look at the dead man, GEORGE flees offstage.)

SUSAN: You shouldn’t have done that, mama.

MARY: Done what? Don’t you understand girl? (Weeping.) That boy just killed my husband, with his senseless talk. Killed the remaining years of my life. Without the farm, what am I? Just a useless old woman, that’s what.

SUSAN: (Handing her mother a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress.) Here, stop crying, mama. It’ll be alright. We’re not going to lose the farm, mama. Stop talking nonsense. We’ll just have to hire some hands—we can sell off some of the stock and excess feed to help pay for them, until the harvest comes in.

(Both women almost seem to forget that JACOB’S still warm corpse is lying there between them.)

MARY: Yes, I suppose we could do that. And I’m sure some of the neighbours would help us, as well. Do you think we can keep things going long enough to see a profit next year, though?