Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  “People’s Line day cruise up the Hudson River, on the New World.” Obadiah moved his finger to the next line.

  “Two nights stay at Albany’s finest: The Mansion House Hotel, en suite breakfast, dinner, and dancing.” He tapped the next line.

  “Item three—sight-seeing in historic Albany—including a tour of the Orange Improvements. At six o’clock on the nose, we set sail, returning south on the most well-appointed and opulent of the Hudson Night Line Ships the Daniel Drew. This is the crown jewel of shipbuilder Thomas Collyer. Anticipate if you will, dining in the finest of restaurants, dancing the evening away to the music of a superlative band, retreating for a moonlit view of the Adirondacks, only to retire in the grandest suite money can buy, as we steam toward New York City.”

  Nellie pressed her lips against Obadiah’s cheek in delight.

  “How is it that our fare is a mere fifty cents for our northward journey, and we travel up the river on the People’s Line and return on the Hudson Night Line, you may ask? Why the now infamous Supreme Court case decided by our scholarly and constitutionally discerning Mr. Justice John Marshall enabled this convenience. Brilliantly argued by the great orator Daniel Webster himself, on behalf of Mr. Gibbons, and of course Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt, Gibbons versus Ogden holds that New York State had no authority to grant a monopoly of shipping rights to Mr. Ogden. Transport, and verily navigation itself, on the mighty Hudson River is interstate commerce, regulated solely by Congress. Therefore, my dear Lady, the free market reigns. The price of our ticket has been reduced, due to the fierce competition for passengers, and we are free to buy one-way tickets without fear of pecuniary penalty.”

  Nellie, bursting with pride over this display of her husband’s acumen and knowledge, exclaimed, “Your facility with the law is as impressive as your perspicacity! For this, my husband, I commend you with a single, laudatory kiss.” Nellie kissed Obadiah on the cheek and jumped up to curtsey low in front of him.

  At his surprised look, she burst out laughing and sat down on his lap. A flurry of excited kisses followed, Nellie sprinkling them all over his face, and finishing with a nibble on his ear.

  “I warned you,” growled Obadiah, kissing her fully and passionately on the mouth.

  Nellie giggled, kissing him back.

  A second later, the precious itinerary thrown carelessly on the floor, Obadiah swept her into his arms and carried her to their bedroom.

  “Mercy! What of the agenda?” whispered Nellie into his neck with a laugh.

  Obadiah, laughing, responded by licking her ear and slowly sliding his tongue down her neck. He whispered, “My humble apologies, Madam. Howsoever, I have just become aware of a situation that takes precedence over any and all outstanding agendas. Protocol simply requires it be elevated to the top of the list.”

  Unwilling to resist the delightful shivers running down her spine at his touch, and the fire flaming in her soul, Nellie reclined on the bed and turned her full attention to the passion welling within her.

  Chapter 2 – No Ordinary Love

  Sing Sing, New York, March 1852

  Nellie removed her boiled wool cloak and tossed it on the Dessoir sofa. Thank the Lord I took my heaviest cape.

  “The wind whipped up the Hudson River, thrilling me with white-capped waves, chilling me to the bone.” The joyful lilt of Nellie’s voice bounced off the ornate stone of their grand fireplace as Obadiah, kneeling in front, worked to ignite the kindling. “It is quite fortuitous that my brother Patrick, captain extraordinaire, commanded the helm, for surely our craft would have tossed and turned in the wind all the more with a lesser sailor steering.”

  “A most chilling temperature for this time in March, I do concur,” responded Obadiah in a chipper tone, as he bent to his task. “Most unusual that we shall require a fire for our evening repast.”

  “Mayhap it is due to the dearth of heat in the house, empty for two nights while we luxuriated at the Astor House and hobnobbed among the elite at the theater. Most gay socialites are we,” said Nellie. Mercy, I am weary! But what an excellent adventure we just concluded.

  “The next time we overnight in The City in March, we shall stay at the Saint Nicholas,” Obadiah said, routing in the kindling by the fireplace for a large log. “I read an advertisement in this morning’s paper touting that fashionable establishment’s central heating. The inventive system’s pipes force warm air from a central boiler into every guest room.”

  Nellie smiled her agreement. “Although,” she said, with a coy expression on her face and moony, love-filled eyes. “There is no warmer or cozier feeling than two people under an eiderdown in a chilly room watching the last embers of a fire dwindle.”

  Obadiah laughed, with a low, masculine sound that made Nellie’s knees wobble. He turned to her and winked. “Come to think of it, you are correct, our passion generates a fair amount of its own heat.”

  Nellie blushed, the knee wobble turning into a toe tingle. Giggling, she changed the subject. “It tickles me when I contemplate our last night’s evening entertainment. The Niblo Opera House! How grand.” Nellie waltzed over to her husband and practically sang her effusive praise. “My handsome Mr. Wright hosts a sumptuous meal, at an intimate table for two, in the fine dining refreshment hall of the Niblo Saloon. After a most tasty and satisfying repast, I am treated to the theater’s finest entertainment.”

  Parading around the room, Nellie paused and lowered her voice to a whisper for better dramatic effect. “Is this fine lady seen at an Italian opera? No. Mayhap an evening of song with famous singer Jenny Lind, or perhaps the more conventional tones of the Hutchinson Family Singers? No. Only the highest society has the sophistication and taste required to appreciate the entertainment we viewed: A vaudeville act!” Nellie laughed out loud, and plopped down on the couch in a most unsophisticated, vaudevillian manner.

  “Shhhhh!” Nellie picked her head up off the couch, put her finger to her lips and leaned forward to again whisper. “Do not tell Mutter the grand Niblo Opera proffered a vaudeville act instead of an Italian Opera!” She sank back down, the merry melody of her laugh overlaying the crackling of the now roaring fire. “We were party to a vaudeville act, in all its bawdy grandeur.” She shook her head. “Mutter will deem it a most inappropriate form of evening entertainment.”

  Obadiah rose and in one long step, pulled her up from the couch and folded her into his arms. “I must make one fact certain in your mind.” He drew his eyebrows together and assumed a very serious expression.

  “Whatever troubles you?” questioned Nellie, pulling back from his embrace.

  “Comedy and humor are never inappropriate!” He threw back his head and laughed. His arms tightened around her. “Cornelia Rose, life is full of joy and mirth with you, my fair Lady.” He kissed her with such ardor Nellie felt the now familiar tingles and thrills running from her lips to her nether regions. Obadiah looked her in the eyes. “Wherever in the world we are, I find my refuge in you,” he said, tucking her stray hair behind her ear and sliding his fingers tantalizingly down her neck.

  “We are right here....” Nellie smiled back up at him. “...in our cozy new home.”

  Obadiah leaned in, planted a kiss on her nose, scooped her into his arms, and carried her into their bedroom.

  “What of the fire?” whispered Nellie. “All your hard work for naught.”

  “Later,” Obadiah whispered in her ear. “We shall return to its dying embers. The fire, having done its duty, will have warmed the room, making the perfect venue for you to appear, wearing naught but your green velvet robe....”

  “I could wear my gingham dress,” offered Nellie. Her sisters, Anastasia and Agnes, her friend Augusta, and even her mother shrieked in alarm.

  “Gingham is never appropriate on a honeymoon tour, neither day, nor especially, night,” counseled Augusta, her fashionable friend.

  “Especially in June,” seconded Anastasia, with a frown. The ladies sat in Nellie’s parlor, working on their emb
roidery.

  Cornelia’s mother voiced her opinion. “You simply must have the dressmaker concoct two new dresses for your honeymoon trip. You’ll need a more fashionable day dress for travel. I cannot abide the thought of my daughter traveling on the People’s Line dressed in gingham, much less the thought of being observed in a theater box in The City in a reworked gown.

  “Furthermore, for the ship’s evening of dining and dancing, as well as for the dancing at Coney Island House, you must have new apparel, wrought in silk,” Mrs. Entwhistle decreed.

  “Pshaw, such extravagance. New silk is far too costly. I must learn the art of husbandry, commencing immediately. I can make do with re-trimming my organdy,” Nellie stated.

  “Tsk, tsk, these are not the standards I raised you to uphold. Your sister’s husband has managed to keep her finely and stylishly dressed, in spite of the strain on the pocketbook engendered by their new baby.” Mrs. Entwhistle’s speech strayed from direct to hurtful.

  “Mutter!” exclaimed both Agnes and Anastasia.

  Agnes said, “My husband, Mr. Long, has been employed by the United States Army as a civil engineer. Mr. Wright should aspire to such a skilled profession.”

  Leave it to Agnes’ acid tongue to worsen the affront!

  Anastasia attempted to salvage Nellie’s feelings. “My fiancé, Professor Searle, is an exceptional scholar. He has long been established at West Point, where we shall be standard bearers of polite society for the young minds we help shape. You must not hold Nellie to this same standard.”

  Further insult? Nellie sat stock still, in the middle of her well-appointed but small sitting room, spirit crushed. This poor defense has cut even more deeply than Mutter’s original slight. Through tightened lips she said, “My husband is currently a prodigious provider, with boundless expectations for his future potential. Furthermore, I shall be stylishly dressed, in my organdy russet gown, with reworked sleeves. And I shall thank you all to say no more about it.”

  Nellie glared at them defiantly. Mrs. Entwhistle leaned over and gave Nellie a hug. “I meant no disrespect to Mr. Wright. I am merely trying to ensure your attire reflects our family’s criteria for proper apparel. When I was young, I permitted meines Mutter to assist me in presenting myself to the world in a well-tailored manner, and I do wish you would permit me the same pleasure.”

  Her three companions nodded and exclaimed in agreement.

  Nellie softened. “Goodness, of course,” said Nellie, hugging her back. “I would welcome your aid.”

  Her mother beamed.

  “But there must be no further barbed insults, or I shall simply wear my organdy with its old sleeves!”

  All the ladies laughed.

  “Do not deceive yourselves that a solitary moment of laughter provides a facile and full resolution,” said Nellie, glaring at her sisters.

  “Prithee forgive me, Nellie,” said Anastasia, wringing her hands. “I do get quite flustered when Mutter makes an imperious command. I lack the facility with our language you possess! I must confess I often blurt words I do not quite mean in the heat of a moment, only to find they are quite un-retractable.”

  Nellie laughed at this sister’s display of remorse. She jumped out of her rocking chair, embraced Anastasia, and stared at Agnes.

  Agnes just sniffed, and bent over her mending. “You must concede I remain exceptionally well dressed, in spite of having only recently ended my confinement.”

  “Ach du Liebe,” said Nellie. “Your baby is over two months old.”

  “You will soon see how difficult it is,” said Agnes, wagging a finger at her. Nellie let the subject drop, knowing full well Agnes had deliberately diverted the conversation to avoid apologizing for her dig at Nellie’s husband.

  Her friend Augusta spoke up. “Tsk, tsk. A re-worked dress? Of organdy? It must be silk! Organdy may suffice for the theater, but at the Coney Island House resort, you will need an appropriate silk evening dress for dinner and dancing.”

  Mrs. Entwhistle agreed, “Donning organdy reveals a lack of comprehension of convenances.”

  A thundercloud rose on Nellie’s face. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, all three of her companions and her mother offered her their own silk dresses. Nellie looked confused.

  “Cornelia,” said Agnes. “Do not be prideful. Augusta has had her honeymoon, wearing fine gowns specially made for the purpose, gifts of her relatives and friends. I have several silk gowns from my trousseau I shall not wear now that I am a mother. Anastasia is working on her hope chest as we speak; yet her wedding date is not yet set. Allow us to share our bounty and rework these treasures for you. We happily extend the kindnesses performed for us.”

  “Do not be so wasteful!” Augusta appealed to Nellie’s practical side. “But for you, these fine silks could languish in a dark wardrobe awaiting an occasion which may never present itself.”

  “The moths shall be the only ones to enjoy them,” seconded Anastasia.

  Nellie’s hand, plying a needle, arrested its path.

  She sighed and looked out the window, contemplating the Hudson River while she automatically resumed stitching the hem of her new sleeve. Her small, but well-built, house on lower Broadway in Sing Sing offered her a different perspective from her childhood view out her garret window in the Entwhistle’s large house on Main Street. From her sitting room, her panorama swept past the trees on Colonel McAlph’s estate to the Upper Dock, across Miss Van Wyck’s more modest home, all the way to the side of the massive, architecturally intricate Brandreth factory building.

  But she almost never dwelt on the landscape. Her gaze was, more often than not, drawn to the river. Today, the storm that helped push her brother’s sloop on their return from The City still gusted, churning the river into choppy little waves. White caps atop brown muddy waters; not the most alluring look of this vista, she giggled. But ‘tis far cozier than the frozen palate of icy blues and greys visible just over a fortnight ago. Further, the gay colors of the many ships’ brunt of flags brighten the dreariness of the day and the pre-spring landscape. Is there a more picturesque view in all the world? The retreating late afternoon sun warms a golden swath across the breadth of the river, and emblazons its beauty in my heart, she mused as she blinked in its bright, shimmering light.

  “Tarnation! Again?” She pricked her finger and searched in her sewing basket again for her missing silver thimble. It was stuck inside a knot of thread. She slipped it on. Eureka! Even if I do close the barn door after the horse has left its stable, she thought. My silver thimble shall protect me from the tiny clouds in a life full of silver linings.

  What a marvel to be Mrs. Obadiah Wright, honeymooning with my sweetest of hearts, in the bosom of my hometown surrounded and supported by my loving family. Life is grand! Just as I always dreamed, working together for our common good by day... passionate kissing and wedded bliss at night. She finished her thought with a blush, a tingle of desire rising from her toes, even though, with his varying schedule, Obadiah might not be home for several hours.

  Wedded bliss. She sighed again, and bent over her stitching, adjusting the new gas light sconce near her chair, to better see the tiny stitches in the final rays of the pale March sunlight.

  The front door opened, introducing a gust of wind. In two steps, Obadiah was at her side, scooping her into his arms, burying his head in her neck, whispering, “My longing for your sweet lips edged me to despair!”

  Nellie giggled, trying to keep her needle from jabbing him in the ear. “Do tell! You tasted them at luncheon.”

  “Too long ago,” said Obadiah. Nellie let her stitching drop as he carried her to the fancy sofa and covered her lips with kisses.

  Chapter 3 – Sailing

  Hudson River, New York, June 1852

  The day dawned grand and glorious.

  It seemed the whole town assembled to send them off on their honeymoon. When the New World docked, Nellie had both family and friends embrace her, wishing her a bon voyage,
and congratulating Obadiah again on their marriage. ‘Tis our wedding day revisited. Some dear friends and relatives even folded bills into her hand saying ‘for a souvenir’ or ‘enjoy a luncheon at a riverside café’.

  The three long blasts sounded, warning that the steamer would set sail in ten minutes.

  “All ashore that’s going ashore,” called the First Mate. Straggling passengers intending to disembark now scrambled to the gangway, juggling luggage and parcels.

  In a whirl of suitcases and confetti streamers, the happy couple boarded the gangplank and waved their way on board.

  VOOT! VOOT! VOOT! Three short blasts foretold their impending departure. The crew onboard retracted the gangplank as dockhands on the pier cast off the lines. Nellie and Obadiah watched from the main deck rail as their waving family and friends grew smaller and smaller.

  The ship swung north. They steamed ahead, easily overtaking some smaller boats. The nautical reds, blues, and yellows of the small crafts’ flags waved cheerfully as they passed, and some captains even dipped their colors or the burgee in a quick salute.

  “West Point, Newburg, Poughkeepsie, Kingston Point, Catskill, Hudson and Albany! We shall visit every picturesque pier and village lining the shore on the river route. The stops shall be a quick tour down memory lane—revisiting my many childhood trips up and down this watercourse,” said Nellie. Wearing a big smile, she leaned over the rail and felt the water’s spray kiss her face.

  “We shall not disembark at West Point,” growled Obadiah.

  Nellie turned a pleasant pink at the remembrance of her various courtships and forays to the Military Academy. Especially the perambulations on Flirtation Walk. Mercy! My band of beaus: Otis, Magruder, Baker. Heavens! The cadre of cadets! Now my sisters’ unions with two more cadets, Searle and Long add to my memories of this place, strung together like little pearls of bliss over my heart. Nellie sighed, the picture of happiness.