Cross Creek Page #4

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out of Tim's breakfast.

Why didn't anyone say anything to me?

I had no idea. I'll see to it.

Don't matter.

We'll make out.

That's a nice baby.

The other didn't last till spring.

This one might fare better.

Till winter, maybe.

I was wondering if your wife

might help me at the house.

Just a bit of light washing.

[Stammering]

W-white woman

don't ask another w-white woman

to do her washin'.

Carry her slops, neither.

Us'll be leavin' here now.

I didn't mean to offend you.

I was trying to be neighborly.

[Harmonica playing]

[Birds cawing]

[Thunder]

Mail for you, Miss Rawlings.

Thank you.

Max:
"My dear Marjorie,

"please, believe me when I say

"it disappoints me as much as you

"to have to return your manuscript.

"Marjorie, your writing

is technically perfect,

"yet it is still an imitation

"of other authors' work.

"Your letters to me about

your life in Cross Creek

"are alive with emotion,

"and I read them with such pleasure.

"They are the most

revealing bits of life

"that tells not trivial facts,

"but human motives

"and the secrets of human hearts.

"That child who wants a dear,

"the young couple who chose

to live in the woods

"rather than conform to civilization.

"Write me those stories,

"not these English tea parties

and Gothic tales

you know nothing about."

[Thunder]

[Car horn honks]

Afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Sticky, isn't it?

You know, I always did admire a woman

without curiosity.

Most women'd rip their mail open

as soon as they got their hands on it.

But you...

there's no need for me to be curious.

This is for Geechee,

and this is a rejected story,

and I don't want

to talk about it anymore.

Well, I got a feeling

it's a mighty fine story.

I doubt that.

Good stories get published.

[Engine starts]

Marjorie, I don't know

anything about writing,

but I do know that

you're the kind of woman

that's gonna be good at whatever it is

she decides to do.

Now you been through so much

since you came here,

maybe you just need a little time

for things to settle out.

Thank you.

Suppose I drop by later on?

[Pigs snorting]

What you doin'?

Put that thing down!

Leave me alone!

It's just Mr. Turner's pigs!

I intend to shoot them.

Aah!

[Thunder]

[Pigs squealing]

Aah! Get on up!

Come in the house!

[Both talking at once]

Where's my gun?

Come on in.

- Here it is.

- Where's my gun?

Miss, come in the house!

You're gonna be sick!

[Sobbing]

Whoa! Aah!

Miss Rawlings!

I think I got one!

Get on in the house!

[Car engine revving]

[Brakes squeal]

[Engine stops]

Miss Rawlings not home.

Would you tell her

I'd like to talk to her

for a minute, please.

I mean, she busy workin'.

You can't see her.

Better tell her I'm here.

Thought just for a minute,

I'd speak to her.

Geechee?

Who is it?

It's Mr. Turner,

and he got that fresh fellow with him.

Send them in.

No, ma'am, you can't be entertainin'

in your bedroom!

[Knocks]

You may come in, Mr. Turner.

Debt to you, ma'am.

Good morning.

I'd like a cup of coffee, please.

It was stormin' last night,

Miss Rawlings.

Remember?

What can I do for you, Mr. Turner?

Somebody shot my pig.

This is serious, Marjorie.

I'd just like to know who.

I shot your pig.

It tormented me, and I shot it.

That was my pig, Miss Rawlings.

No, that was my pig.

You gave that pig to me

when you said that if they trespassed,

they were mine.

What kind of woman shoot a hog

in the middle of a storm?

Was it a good shot?

No, ma'am, it was not,

I had to finish it off myself.

Mr. Turner, would you

lower your voice, please.

Won't you join me?

Thank you, ma'am.

Won't get no writing done

if you're entertainin' all mornin'.

Well, thank you, kindly.

You're certainly welcome.

I'll pay for your pig.

But it was an outlaw.

It was practically a pet.

You could catch it with your bare hands.

Well, I wouldn't have had the pleasure

of shooting it.

Miss Rawlings,

I didn't want to disturb you, ma'am.

I went around and talked

to a lot of your friends.

Even Norton, here, assured me

you're not the kind of woman

that would have shot my hog.

That is just the way I am.

I go along quietly for a while,

and then out of the clear blue sky,

I don't know what happens to me,

I just pick up a gun,

I shoot whatever makes me angry.

I'm so afraid one day

it just might be a person.

I'm afraid whatever it is I owe you

will have to wait until I'm...

Solvent. I'm flat broke.

My last story was rejected.

Miss Rawlings,

seem if I do remember that was your hog.

Good day to you now, ma'am.

Good day.

See you now.

Mr. Turner, I'd like

to have that hog back.

Say what?

I'd like to have that hog

and it eat it, too, for dinner.

Perhaps you and

Mr. Baskin would join me?

Be a shame to waste all them ribs.

Miss Rawlings,

you're gonna have that hog

before sundown, ribs and all.

Won't we have a lovely barbecue?

Do it proud.

This Miss Marjorie's work time,

you have to be goin'.

Marjorie, I would like to read

what you write today.

You won't read what I write today

or any other day.

What I write is none

of your damn business.

Now why don't you just get out of here?

I think I'll do just that.

Norton!

I'm sorry.

[Sighs]

You got quite a temper, Marjorie.

Shootin' pigs and choppin' my head off.

I know...

[Sighs]

I'm scared stiff.

I can't imagine you scared of anything.

I'm writing a story

about Tim and his wife.

It's called Jacob's ladder.

It's something I care very much about.

It wouldn't be like anybody else's work.

It'll come straight outta me.

Do you understand that?

If this gets turned down,

I have to face the fact

that I wasn't meant to be a writer.

That sounds a little drastic, Marjorie.

No...

This is my world... Cross Creek.

The people here...

Are richer than

my imaginary governesses.

If I can't write

my own honest thoughts and feelings,

then I'm no author.

You're gonna do just fine, Marjorie.

Believe you're holding my hand again,

Mr. Baskin.

Seems I am.

I suppose you'll be insisting

on staying for supper.

My thoughts exactly.

Nothing's gonna happen between us.

Marjorie:
The Yearling was growing up.

And so was Ellie.

The land we toiled over

responded to our care.

My grove was thriving.

Thank you, Paul.

[Chickens clucking]

[Typewriter clacking]

[Birds chirping]

Leroy!

[Laughing]

This is him! This is him!

[Laughing]

Leroy!

Marjorie:
It seemed

nothing could go wrong.

Geechee had her Leroy home,

and I had settled into writing

10 to 12 hours a day.

But as time went on, I saw that Leroy

made no effort to lend the grove work.

He was content to languish comfortably

into Geechee's care.

As for me, my divorce had become final,

and I was busy

working on Jacob's ladder.

I sensed it was more honest and alive

than anything I'd ever written.

But I couldn't bring myself

to send it to Maxwell Perkins.

I couldn't face rejection...

Not with Jacob's ladder.

Put that back.

That belong to Miss Marjorie.

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