by Kris Tualla
Addie said that it was normal for the wool to float at first, but as the heat boiled the oils out, the oil floated and the wool sank. Addie ladled the oil into another pot, saying that once she rendered it again, it would be good for salves and soap.
I must say, this was hard work, but we both felt a sense of accomplishment when we spread the boiled wool out in the afternoon sun to dry. Tomorrow, we will begin to card it, so that all the fibers in the fleece will be going the same direction.
April 18th
Reid, Addie, Remy, and I all stood around the new spinning wheel and wondered what to do next, after looping the strings from the big wheel to the tiny one.
Addie sat down on a chair and pressed her foot on a squared rail and the downward motion made the big wheel start to turn. When the rail came back up, Addie pushed it down again. One mystery solved—we now know how to make the wheel turn.
Reid leaned over and pointed at a bobbin with handles, perpendicular to the big wheel and attached to the tiny one, which was also turning.
He said, “The yarn is collected here, I think.”
I said, “So the wool must go through this little hole.”
Addie went to her room to get a skein of yarn, suggesting that we use it to experiment with. We stuck the end through the hole, and then wrapped it around the bobbin. Addie spun the wheel slowly with her hand while we all watched to see what would happen, which turned out to be nothing.
Reid said, “We are missing something. What are these brass nails on the handles for, do you suppose?”
Remy said, “They must grab the wool to pull it through.”
Addie looped the yarn over the nails, and spun the wheel again. The yarn was twisting now but it was not being pulled onto the bobbin.
I said, “It needs to be tied on the bobbin so it catches. Then when it turns, it will wind the yarn onto it.”
Addie tied a tight knot around the spindle of the bobbin. Once more, she turned the wheel slowly. Now her yarn was being pulled toward the bobbin, and being twisted by the handles. I believe we have figured it out. I picked up one of our carded sections of wool, and handed it to Addie.
I said, “Do you know what to do next?”
Addie fiddled with the wool, trying to twist a piece of it to a point to stick through the little brass hole. Remy reached down and took the piece she was twisting, and pulled it thinner.
He said, “Try wrapping this around the end of your yarn that is already in place.”
Reid said, “Yes. Like priming a pump.”
Addie did so, and I turned the wheel slowly with my hand. We watched as the yarn twisted and caught the wool. Addie pulled the wool to stretch it out and make it thinner. After a few spins of success, I let go of the wheel and let Addie take over with the foot piece.
Reid and Remy and I stood, transfixed, and watched Addie—whose skill was increasing by the minute—pull wool from the carded batt, stretch it thin, and let it be twisted and wound onto the bobbin. When she neared the end of the batt, Addie stopped the wheel and grinned up at all of us.
We all laughed like giddy children. We had made our own yarn.
July 5th
I chose yesterday as the day to hold my fundraising gathering, because it was the ninth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. What better time, I reasoned, than to encourage our expanding number of neighbors to make Cheltenham more independent as well?
As wives and children have come to Missouri to join the men who settled these land grants, the lack of a school is becoming a clear issue. Reid and I are both well educated, as are James and Beatrice, and we know that in order to succeed in life, a child must know how to read, how to write, and how to work numbers at the very least.
Tom Smith-Peddington has agreed to rent the church building to the town in order to hold classes during the week, and at a very minimal cost. (As an aside, he is an intriguing and quite solitary man. Reid and I believe he must have something very dark and painful in his past that caused him to build the church at his own expense.
And, though the services are Protestant, Mister Smith-Peddington always kneels and crosses himself in the manor of a Papist. Reid wonders if he was a priest who fell out with the Catholic church, and is trying to find his way back into Heaven’s good graces.)
I approached Bea about helping me with the event. She was ecstatic about the idea and insisted we have the soiree at her home. Though I have ample experience from my years in Philadelphia, I allowed Bea to take over the entertaining part of the day, while I applied my skills to the actual raising of funds.
First, I visited every household within five miles—a task which required a full month of riding out in the mornings on horseback, with Remy at my side for protection. At every home I visited, I made a list of each child’s name and age, before asking the land owner what he could donate to our most worthy cause.
I collected everything from livestock, to house and kitchen furnishings, to fabric goods and sacks of grain. Some men and women gave me cash and asked me to buy a specific item with it. I did so when Reid and I went into Saint Louis.
So when all of the items were put on display in the Athertons’ yard yesterday, I must say it was quite a sight to behold. If every item that was auctioned off was purchased for only half of its value, we would be able to pay a teacher for a year.
Remy and the Athertons’ chief cook oversaw the food preparation. Bea had her girls baking for days. The food was set on tables inside the house, and the guests encouraged to gather their meals, and then take their plates out of doors to eat. Bea had placed blankets and chairs in the shade of the trees for that purpose.
The residents began arriving about three o’clock in the afternoon. Kegs of ale were tapped while children played, and adults perused the vast array of auction items.
The food was set out at four, and the auction began as soon as everyone was served. By six o’clock, two hours before dark with time for everyone to get home safely, all of the auction items had been sold, raising almost double what I had hoped.
Cheltenham will be guaranteed a teacher for two years. Now we must create a hiring committee and begin the search for the intrepid gentleman willing to take us on.
October 7th
Reid and I were not surprised when Remy told us he was leaving. We knew he had sent letters to various establishments, enquiring about employment, and had given him a letter of recommendation. He says he is going to Saint Louis, to work at a new hotel which will be in competition with the Saint Louis Auberge.
The owner is making Remy the second chef, under a white man who trained in France. As sad as we are to see him go, we told him that once the hotel is operating, Reid and I will want to stay there and sample his new creations.
Addie will now take over the kitchen, and I will lend a hand if I am needed. My cooking has improved by increments, and Addie is very patient. If needed, we assured her we could hire a maid to help her, but she just laughed.
She says that seeing after the two of us is the easiest task she’s ever had.
Meanwhile, I have become quite good at spinning yarn and Addie and I have begun to experiment with various plant dyes. Perhaps next spring I will be able to make enough pretty yarn to sell a few skeins in Jedidiah’s store.
Before winter sets in, Reid has been busy digging a new outhouse. This is after he dug a new well closer to the stone house. Sometimes I think my husband just likes the smell of dirt.
~ 1786 ~
March 29th
Reid and James hired a teacher today. School will begin as soon as he is able to settle in Cheltenham, and it is now apparent that a house needs to be built close to the church for the purpose of sheltering the educator.
My husband will apply his considerable skills to the task, and says we should plan on the two-room cabin being finished by the end of June. If that proves true, Mister Johnson will move to Cheltenham in July to prepare, and classes will begin on August first.
By my cou
nt, he will begin with eleven pupils, ranging in age from seven years to twelve.
April 30th
Another successful shearing season has past, and I have ample wool to work with. My dyeing techniques have improved, as has my spinning, so I have asked Reid for a small loom to begin weaving. We can set it up in the little room across from his office on the upper floor.
He says that is a fine idea, and if we cannot find one in Saint Louis, we will order one from an eastern city.
I should mention that we have stayed at the hotel at which Remy is now employed, but found the accommodations less luxurious than the Saint Louis Auberge. The food, however, is an experience of its own, and one which we cannot pass up.
So now, though we abide at the Auberge, we dine at the River Inn.
May 21st
I have fallen ill. I have to admit that the idea shocks me, because I own such a sturdy constitution that, other than a stuffy head, occasionally with a small fever, I have not been unwell since I arrived in Missouri.
I do hope to feel better soon, as my queasiness has left me unable to eat more than toasted bread and tea, and as a result I haven’t the strength to do anything but sit.
I am bored enough to lose my mind, but I have no energy to apply to any form of industry.
May 28th
I forced myself to visit Beatrice today, hoping the change in my daily scene and substance might improve my mood. I admit that it did, and I was able to successfully hide my distress from her.
I enjoyed her company and her food immensely, and managed to keep every morsel where it belonged, and not splattered on the ground. I do hope this is finally the beginning of my recovery.
June 2nd
The weather has changed and the current heat is debilitating. I have taken to long soaks in the cool creek running through our property, and Reid joins me there when his labors around the estate are finished.
We have played quite lustily in the privacy of the woods and water, and I have found my desires for my husband have increased of a sudden. Though my overall health is not as robust as it was previous to my odd affliction, after loving and being loved by my husband, my appetite does give Addie’s fine cooking its due.
June 15th
Addie stared at me this morning as we had breakfast in the kitchen, her brow pinched in the strangest way. She served my porridge with honey (Reid found a bee hive while he was hunting) without a word, as well as Reid’s hefty plate of eggs, sausage, toast, and beans. I asked my husband how the little house for the teacher was coming along, and he said it was right on schedule. Then he kissed me warmly, and left. Addie sat down in his seat, and gave me an intent look.
She said, “I told you that I am the oldest of thirteen children, did I not?”
I said, “Yes.”
She said, “But you are the only child your parents had.”
I said, “Yes.”
Addie nodded, and her mouth twisted. She seemed to be deciding what to say, so I told her to just come out with whatever was on her mind and stop being so mysterious.
She said, “You have not bled for two months.”
My hand shakes even now as I write this. I felt as if a knife had been jammed into my chest and I couldn’t breathe. The edges of my vision swarmed with tiny black dots. Addie pushed my head down onto the table and told me to stay there.
A moment later, she laid a cool damp cloth on the back of my neck.
I said, “Tell me, Addie.”
She said, “A lot of women become sick and unable to eat when they conceive a child.”
I sat up too quickly and nearly swooned again, but I gripped the edges of the table to steady myself.
I said, “Do you think I am pregnant?”
Addie said, “Do your breasts feel heavy?”
I said, “Yes.”
She said, “Are your nipples tender?”
I felt my cheeks grow hot, because the conversation was uncomfortably intimate.
I said, “Yes.”
Addie rinsed the cloth and put it back on my neck.
She said, “I do not want to raise your hopes, my lady. But I believe that you might be.”
I said, “How can I know for certain?”
She said, “Time.”
June 16th
I kept the secret to myself, and swore Addie to silence as well. I did not dare said anything to Reid, in the event that Addie is wrong.
If I have conceived, I will be thirty-one years of age when the child is born, and that is quite an old age for a first birth. I try not to think about it or worry about it, and apply myself to my weaving.
But I do not generally succeed at either.
July 15th
Mister Johnson is settled into his cabin, and Bea and I have helped to make it homey. Reid did an excellent job leading the construction of this snug abode, and the young teacher is very pleased.
He is not much of a cook, by his own admission, but the tavern now offers prepared meals so we are assured that the lanky man will not starve.
I have become quite adept at presenting a calm countenance to the world, and as my previous queasiness has eased, I have gained more energy.
But I cannot help but think that today is three months since my last course, and I examine every twinge in my body with apprehension.
Reid has not said anything, but I do catch a glint in his eye when we are naked together. His hand seems to rest on my belly more often than before. I think he suspects, but is just as afraid to ask, as I am to speak.
July 29th
My course still did not start. Even though it has ever been perfectly regular, it also has never been more than five or six days delayed. I believe I truly am with child. I will tell Reid on our anniversary.
This will be my fourth anniversary gift to him.
August 5th
Reid cried. Right in the middle of supper, and right in the middle of the River Inn’s dining room. His shoulders shook, and he covered his face with his linen napkin to muffle his sobs. Finally, he sniffed and wiped his eyes, and set the napkin aside.
Then he slid from his chair and kneeled beside mine, wrapped his arms around my waist, and soundly kissed my belly.
I put my hands on his head and said, “Everyone is staring.”
He looked into my eyes and said, “I do not care.”
Remy came out from the kitchen to congratulate us, and made the owner give us a bottle of his best wine at no charge. Reid and I stayed up half of the night talking about becoming parents for the first time at thirty-one and thirty-six years of age, and wondered what our lives will be like.
Reid said that he had a confession to make, and then he said he had two.
The first confession was that, when he asked for an office attached to our bedroom, he was secretly hoping it might become a nursery someday. I punched him the arm, but I was laughing—that thought had occurred to me, but I did not believe it occurred to him.
The second confession was that when he realized I had not bled for months, he began to wonder, even though I am still too young, if I was reaching that stage in my life when my course will cease forever. So I punched him in the arm again, and I was still laughing.
I said, “I hope it is a boy.”
My husband grinned and said, “I hope it is a girl.”
August 10th
Today I posted a letter to my parents with our happy news, and invited them both to come to Missouri for the birth. Addie and I believe the child will arrive in mid-February, but because travel in the winter is so hard, I urged them to come before Christmas.
While I am excited to see my father again, I particularly want my mother at my side. I have not seen her since I left Philadelphia right after my wedding four years ago. I do hope she is fit enough to make the journey.
December 9th
Mamma and Pappa arrived in Saint Louis by keelboat three days ago. We settled them into the Auberge, and took them to supper at the River Inn. The next day, we showed them around Saint
Louis, and the day after that brought them to our home.
I cannot describe in words how happy I am that they are finally here, that my mother was willing to make the journey. I am sad to say, however, that she looks much older than she did when I left Philadelphia.