ENC 1102

His voice trails off as he looks around, a bewildered expression on his face. He sees the jar of Mrs. Wright's fresh cherry preserves, once frozen but now slightly thawed. He smiles.

MR. HENDERSON: Worried about her preserves! How to explain women? A man's been choked to death, and they're worried about—

He stops, suddenly alert. He stands quickly and stares at the jar. He walks to it, grabs it off the shelf, and glares at it.

MR. HENDERSON (speaking faster and more intensely): They cleaned it! It was a mess, and they cleaned it!

His eyes dart to the broken bird cage. He picks it up with his other hand and stares at it for a moment. He looks around the room.

MR. HENDERSON: What else did they tamper with?

His eyes fall on the box in which Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Hale had found the dead bird. He puts the jar and the cage on the table, picks up the box, and opens it quickly. The action causes a single, tiny bird feather to flutter out of the box and waft slowly back and forth in front of his face. Mouth gaping, he slowly puts down the box, captures the feather in his hands, and stares at it.

MR. HENDERSON (his voice sounding nearly dazed): They said a cat ate it. (Realization crosses his face. He sounds stunned.) She’s the sheriff’s wife!

He gently places the feather back in the box, picks up the jar and the cage, and purposefully strides toward the door.

MR. HENDERSON (angry now): They said she knotted it! Hell yes, she knotted it, right around his neck! I’ll get to the bottom of this!

He slams the door behind him, and horse’s hooves are heard galloping off into the distance.

Trifles: Act Three

The sun is setting. It’s very cold on the open prairie. Sheriff Peters, his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Hale are riding along slowly in a wagon pulled by one horse. The men are in the front, talking about the events of the day. Mr. Hale is driving. The women are in the back, quiet but listening.

SHERIFF PETERS: Well, it’s good weather to choke the life out of a man . . . cold enough.

MR. HALE: If it’s gotta be cold for chokin’ a man, then yeah, I reckon it’s right cold enough.

They hear hoof beats and shouting. Mr. Hale stops the wagon, and they look back.

SHERIFF PETERS: It’s Mr. Henderson. He’s riding like a damned fool.

MR. HALE: He sure is.

SHERIFF PETERS: What’s he got in his hands? He’ll fall and kill himself riding like that, sure as we’re sitting here.

The two women look at each other. Mrs. Hale opens her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Peters grabs her arm, and they say nothing. All four watch as Mr. Henderson rides up holding the bird cage in one hand and the jar in the other. He dismounts and walks to the wagon, clearly agitated.

MR. HENDERSON: Ladies, I’ll take another look at the things you’ve packed for Mrs. Wright.

MRS. HALE: Right here, Mr. Henderson? Can’t it wait until we get to town? It’s so cold.

MR. HENDERSON (sharply): Right here, right now. Let’s see what you’ve packed, please.

SHERRIF PETERS: What’s . . .

Mrs. Peters grabs Sheriff Peters’ gun from its holster and stands up, holding the gun ready.

MRS. PETERS (all friendliness gone from her voice): None of you move. Unhitch the horse from the wagon, Mrs. Hale.

SHERIFF PETERS: What the . . .?

MRS. PETERS: Shutup!

MRS. HALE: Mrs. Peters!

MRS. PETERS: He’s found us out! Mrs. Wright’s gonna hang, and we are too if we don’t get the hell out of here! Unhitch the horse! (She motions with the gun toward the men.) You three, keep your hands where I can see them and get over behind the wagon! Put the cage and the preserves on the wagon, Henderson.

Mrs. Hale climbs out of the wagon and goes to unhitch the horse from it. The men raise their hands and move to the back of the wagon. Mrs. Peters watches them closely.

MRS. PETERS (still standing in the back of the wagon): Hale, I know you ain’t armed. How ‘bout you Henderson? You packin’?

MR. HENDERSON: I don’t have a gun.

MRS. PETERS (sarcastically): Sure you don’t. Take your coat off. Let’s see.

MR. HENDERSON: I’m not carrying a gun!

SHERIFF PETERS (to Mrs. Peters): Have you lost your mind? Put down that gun this instant!

Mrs. Peters shoots the ground between Mr. Henderson’s feet. All three men and Mrs. Hale jump.

MRS. PETERS: Take off your damned coat, or I’ll shoot it off!

Mr. Henderson buttons his coat and shows he’s not carrying a gun.

MR. HALE (to Mrs. Hale): Honey, what did you do?

Mrs. Peters fires another shot between his feet.

MRS. HALE: Mrs. Peters!

MRS. PETERS (to Mr. Hale): Shut up! (to Mrs. Hale) Unhitch the damned horse!

Mrs. Peters jumps from the wagon as Mrs. Hale leads the horse up. Mrs. Peters takes its halter.

MRS. PETERS (to Mrs. Hale): Henderson’s horse is saddled. You ride it. I’ll ride bareback.

MRS. HALE (nodding toward the men): We can’t leave them here! They’ll freeze!

The three men, realizing they’ll be abandoned in the cold, all protest in alarm.

MRS. PETERS (to the men): Shut up or you’ll sure as hell die, and not from the cold! (to Mrs. Hale) It’s them or us, Mrs. Hale. Mount up, and let’s ride.

The two ladies hitch up their ankle-length dresses get on the horses.

MR. HENDERSON (a statement, not a question): You’d leave us here to freeze to death.

MRS. PETERS: Yeah, well, near as I can tell–(She rears the horse on its hind legs and spins it around.)—you son’s of bitches got it comin’.

She shoots the jar of preserves, shattering it, and knocks the cage to the ground, breaking it into many pieces, and then both women ride off. The three men watch and then look at each other.

MR. HALE: You fellas reckon we can put our hands down now?

THE END