by Joan W. Blos
We all did nicely with the spelling matches, saying of pieces, and recitations—even the abcedarians left naught to be ashamed of and made many a parent proud. Over all of this our teacher presided—presided with a flourish I might say, as if he were determined to show that one might challenge his politics but never fault his teaching.
Asa presented his poem to Sophy, along with a ribbon’d lock of hair which she accepted, smiling. I hope that neither one heard, as did I, some grandad in the back row say: “Give the lass a year or two and she’s like to have enough of hair to stuff a fair sized pillow!”
After school, the day being mild, we did not hurry home. Asa proposed we cross through the woods. How different it looked—all dappled and warm—than it had done that Winter’s day when Cassie and I came bearing our quilt to do an act of charity (or folly) for fugitive (or villain).
Thursday, April 14, 1831
Mrs. Shipman considers wasted the day on which there is naught accomplished, and waste the worst of sins. Therefore were we three obliged—Cassie, Matty, and I together—on the loveliest day of Spring to each let down an outgrown frock and re-sew the hem. Cassie and I are held to the rule of twelve full stitches to the inch; Matty, younger, is spared. “Any work worth doing,” recites Mrs. Shipman, “is worth doing well.”
By the time I got up from the table my fingers were cramped, my neck was stiff, and indeed my whole back ached with the prolonged effort of bending over so close!
Saturday, April 16, 1831
Father departs on Monday for Boston. There has been very much to do in that trip’s preparation. Furs must be bundled—both his own and Mr. Shipman’s—for these are principal among the things he will take to trade. Also, cut and packed in blocks, is maple sugar—the work of hours—to sweeten city palates. Topping the load are brooms of straw, still retaining their golden colour and some of Summer’s fragrance.
These things will allow him for cash, or in trade, to obtain the next season’s supplies: such foods and herbs as we can not grow, items for mending tools and the like, and parts for the larger contraptions required by the farm. Yard goods we cannot weave at home he will buy if the price is right, or an odd bolt strikes his fancy. Some times there is a book, or toy, or some pretty thing, or even sweets, if he’s traded well.
Others in the district go to Concord to trade, it being so much nearer. But Father prefers Boston’s greater choice, and claims he finds better trading for the items which he brings. It is all very much to arrange. He drives there Mr. Shipman’s team—horses making better time—but as he must then also trade for them there is more to carry, coming and going back.
He will return in one week’s time, all going well. Matty and I are to stay on here; Cassie’s father will help with the stock as he has done before. As ’change work for this and the use of the team we’re to give two days plowing when it comes time for that.
Monday, April 18, 1831
Father left this morning, long before it was light. This is to put the time to his journey, which is a long, dreary way with a wagon and no relief for the team; even the coach will take more than twenty hours for the usual run.
I packed for him some journey cake, also some pieces of hearty cheese, and the last of the Winter’s apples. Tonight, if he stops at an inn to sleep, he need not spend good money to obtain his food.
Matty and I both waved him off, she standing on the gate-post to follow him with her eyes. However, the darkness obscur’d his form even before the curving road took him from our sight. A few times more we glimpsed the lantern that swung from the wagon seat. After that there were some few sounds—the creak of wheels and the horses’ bells—and when there was only silence we turned back to the house.
This morning I carried over to Shipmans’ a good two baskets of clothes for washing—their kettles will hold both theirs and ours—and Cassie and I can work together, and each have company. The day being fair, with a wind for drying, I included bed sheets & casings that otherwise might have waited.
“But what does he do?” I questioned Cassie, speaking of Teacher Holt. Every one knows he’s stayed on at the Shipmans’; tho’ the term is long since ended.
The task we stood at allowed us to talk—better than on the days we sew—for we have only to tend the kettles and to keep the fires. I always find it quaint to see how shirts and trousers rise to the surface, the former waving their empty sleeves, and presently seeming to vanish beneath the sudsy, steaming waves. Soon we must wring the garments out, turning the heavier pieces between us, and drop them in to a second kettle, there to continue the cleansing. But even while doing this we may talk; and talk, this day, we did!
“But what does he do?” I asked again, as the subject of my question walked across the yard.
“I hadn’t noticed that he does much,” Cassie said, sounding quite like her mother, “unless you count the time at courting—bundling with Aunt Lucy by night & mooning around by day!”
Sabbath-day, April 24, 1831
The week is wearisome and long. The house, without Father, is empty and still and Matty shadows my every step as an infant will.
Went to services both times with Shipmans; walked home with Cassie and Asa in the afternoon.
Monday, April 25, 1831
This being the day we expected Father we have not left the house. However, it is evening now and he has not come. I earnestly pray no harm has befallen the one on whom we so depend, and whom we hold so dear.
Tuesday, April 26, 1831
When again, today, we must tell ourselves that he would not come, I carried down to the cellar to keep the mince that I had made. (I used Mrs. Shipman’s receipt, making only half the amount, as I had used it once before and Father pronounced it tasty.)
’Twill be as good tomorrow,” I said.
“Better,” said Matty loyally, which was good of her.
Thursday, April 28, 1831
With what joy we sighted the wagon, and sped down the road to meet him before he reached the yard. I and Matty had much to say, whereat he called us “Magpies, both!” and claimed to have the best news of all would we but let him tell it.
He is going to marry, he said! She is widowed, a Mistress Ann Higham, and has a son my age!
Letter to me from Mistress Higham
(It was tucked in a bonnet for me which she had selected.)
My very dear Catherine,
May I call you so? I feel that I care for you very much, can only love you more.
The bonnet is blue, because of your eyes, of which your father told me.
I know I shall have much to learn; and pray you will be my help & friend, as I hope to be yours,
Ann Higham
Saturday, April 30, 1831
On Thursday evening the Shipmans were here; yesterday Uncle Jack. Mrs. Shipman is over-joyed that she’ll soon have a neighbour woman, while Uncle Jack too roughly jokes he’ll be the next to fall.
Father keeps telling the story over—”Went in to a shop to buy me some goods and found, instead, a wife!” Then he explains that the boy is named Daniel, and never had a father. The young husband died a scant two weeks before the son was born. In these difficult circumstances, and having herself and the babe to feed, Mistress Higham had taken up her brother’s offer to board with him and help out in his shop. Her labour being exchanged for the lodging she hadn’t felt beholden to him; and there she had stayed these twelve, thirteen, years; and there she had met my father.
Monday, May 2, 1831
A letter which Father received today confirms that they shall marry in Boston at the end of the month.
Is not late May an odd time for a wedding, with so much here that has to be done, and with Spring plowing and planting?
Joy and sorrow, says our father, each makes its own season.
XI
Friday, May 6, 1831
A Jew, a peddlar, came by today, the first Jew I have seen. His hair was long and his beard was scant, but it hung uncut. We did not ask him in to the hous
e, but offered food and cyder to him, of which he took only the latter.
I bought of him some needles and buttons, also sewing silk. He had scissors for sale at 12¢ each and some for twice that amount. When I inquired the difference between, such amusement came in to his eyes his whole face was transformed!
“Well now, I’ll tell you,” he said with a smile, “and my compliments, miss!” Then he explained that when first on the road he sold his wares as cheap as he might so to increase his trade. But customers told of his prices believed he carried tawdry stuff. To put the principle to the test he made two packets of the self-same scissors, calling some “fine” and the others “good buys,” and found that people preferred the more costly, supposing them to be better. Since then his goods are more dearly priced. “Except,” he concluded merrily, “for someone with sharp eyes, like yourself!” And leaving me to ponder this statement he climbed up to his seat.
Such a curious fellow, and likeable in his candor. I hope when he comes by again he’ll not neglect to call.
Saturday, May 7, 1831
I told Asa about the Jew. He was sorry he had not seen him.
Monday, May 9, 1831
Again a letter for Father from her! And Father makes no secret of it; he is as eager as a boy, and specially goes to the bridge on Mondays so as to be there when the mail’s handed down from the Boston coach.
Her letters are neatly sealed and folded, and with a well-schooled hand. Beside them my own look poor and untidy, hard tho’ I may try.
Cassie, known to be delicate, is this week indisposed.
Tuesday, May 10, 1831
A new pine dresser was installed today, a large and handsome piece.
Using salt and vinegar, we rubbed the pewterware till it shone, then set it out on the dresser. If we’ll not use it until she comes, it will retain its lustre, and such is my intent.
Father goes in two weeks’ time. He is very hard pressed these days to put all in order. It came to me ’tis the very last time that this, our house, will be ours alone, not also hers, and Daniel’s.
Friday, May 13, 1831
A cold rain, with grey skies, and chilly underfoot. Not much pleasure in bare feet today, especially as they are unaccustomed, after the leathern housing of Winter, to go about unprotected.
Matty hops from stone to stone, rubs one foot ’gainst the other one’s leg, looking very like a cricket—and very streaked besides!
“I have to do it,” she explains, sensing my disapproval. “That’s the way I get them warm, and—honest!—I’ll wash myself!” . . .
Father, at least, is pleased with the rain, well-timed before Spring planting.
Saturday, May 14, 1831
Father has had a jacket made lest he appear too rude a sort in city company.
“Will not your old one do,” I asked, “the one you wore at Closing Day, and still put on for church?”
“Now, miss,” he said, “we’ll have none of your sulks, and none of your savings either. I tell you we are fortunate that Mistress Higham has accepted to make her home with us.”
So the new jacket—sewn for a fee!—by a seamstress-woman in town. It is grey, as a sheep’s wool is. The colour becomes him nicely. The stuff should wear very well, I think, it being closely woven.
Tuesday, May 17, 1831
“Shall I have need of this or that? Please ask Catherine if . . . . ?” Yesterday’s letter abounded with questions which Father read aloud. He seems not to think it odd that she should be so unknowing and so unashamed. “ ’Tis good,” he approves, “that she thinks to ask. How many others would? Come then, Catherine, what shall I say? Or do you prefer to prepare a reply that I may carry with me, it being of women’s work?”
Even Cassie who is my friend is wont to take her side! “After all, Catherine,” she enjoins. “It must be ever so diff’rent for her, living in Boston till now.”
Wednesday, May 18, 1831
. . . Father departed this morning. Again he drove the Shipmans’ team, both to hasten the journey and better present himself. The wagon itself we washed with care and have recovered the seat. The case in which Father packed his clothes bulged with the new-made woolen jacket, a fine linen shirt (of Mr. Shipman’s), and other items, his own and borrowed, that he will wear for the wedding itself or in the course of his stay.
Also in the back of the wagon were some brooms to be traded. “Might as well” and “No reason not!” They fetched an excellent price last month; he hopes they will do so again. Also he took more maple sugar, and for the same reason. (We do not generally trade two times. But Father’s determined to make a fair impression on Mistress Higham’s family, and will not appear before them without his pockets lined.)
He gave us each a kiss on parting. “Look after your sister,” were his words to me; then quickly he mounted the wagon seat and adjusted the reins. I did my best to return his smile, and waved till he was gone.
Sunday, May 22, 1831
On this day, in Boston, they married. I will not call her Mother.
Thursday, May 26, 1831
She is less tall than I expected—smaller, even, than Mrs. Shipman; and plainer than Aunt Lucy.
Daniel, too, is plain. He, however, is rather tall, with a sprinkling of freckles, and none too large a jaw. Just below the crown of his head his hair sticks out in a little tuft. D. brushes it often, in nervous gesture, but this avails him not.
“Yes, sir,” “No sir,” and “Thank you, sir” were all he said today. ’Tis quite a different brother we’ve got than I had expected, knowing the Shipman boys.
Later
Soon, for the first time, when we go up to sleep, D. will go up with us. He will use the farther quarter, towards the Western side. Mr. Shipman and David this week helped carry up a new straw mattress and a roped bed frame. There is space alongside for a box of possessions such as D. may have thought to bring, Father, now that he is returned, says hell gladly drive some pegs for Daniel to hang his clothes upon—as many as he’ll need,
Matty stares and stares. Meeting up with me she whispered, “Did you see, Cath, did you see? He’s got freckles inside his ears!”
Friday, May 27, 1831
Tho’ I know full well they gawked at the windows when Father’s wagon came up the road, the Shipmans waited until today before they made a call.
“We thought you might be tired a bit, from the exhaustion of the journey—and here, you see, we’ve brought you some pudding—’tis simple fare, but we’re farmers here, but my sister, who is from Salem, enjoys it when she’s here.”
Alas for Mrs. Shipman! I know she’d awaited with eagerness her new neighbour’s arrival. Yet she, on this occasion of meeting, was awkward and out of grace. Perhaps she feared the Boston woman would scorn her country ways.
But the Boston woman had worries of her own. “So very kind of you,” she smiled. “The pudding will be delicious, I’m sure! Won’t you please sit down? Here, let me draw up a chair for you; unless, of course, I didn’t mean—well, perhaps, it ought to stay by the window’s light?”
Our Father stood there, quite dispossess’d till, arriving later than the others, Aunt Lucy saved the day!
“I hear you’ve come from Boston,” she said—as if they’d talked of anything else for the past two weeks! “Tell me,” she said, “is it true about . . .” And all at once there were bursts of chatter; the ladies, at least, at ease.
Sabbath-day, May 29, 1831
All eyes turned when we entered the church. Father looked careful and very proud—again wore his new grey jacket. She seemed shy—as well she might—and kept her eyes cast down.
Daniel walked between me and Matty, looking straight ahead. People were curious, mostly kind. But when my ears caught someone’s whisper—“She’s hardly got the first one’s looks”—I quickly hoped it escaped her hearing, although I think it true.
The day being mild we walked home slowly; Father talked gently all the while, as if to ease the awkwardness at being so much on view.
XII
Monday, May 30, 1831
Around us all is fresh new green; new grass, small flowers, new leaf. On such a day it is hard to recall the recent bogginess under foot, the heavy mud on the roads.
This morning we carried down armloads of bedding, Matty and I at her direction, to air in the fresh Spring sun. Some, not having been used of late, gave off a musty smell.
Once she paused, looking out at the hills, and spoke so softly as to make me think I was not meant to hear: “Let me remember this thankful moment later, when I’ve doubts.” Certainly it was a curious thing for a new wife to say. Another time, as she folded a quilt: “Such fine work here; and made for use! May I be proven worthy to carry on the task.”
Tuesday, May 31, 1831
Talk started up about the Jew—who had seen him and who had not and from whence he came. Uncle Jack, who chanced to be here, said it put him in mind of a story which he then put to Father.
“A man there was who held that Italian was his favourite tongue. In argument with a Bible scholar, the latter preferring the Hebrew Language, the former was heard to remark:
“ ‘You can’t deny that when God Almighty thrust poor Adam out of Eden he spake Hebrew to him.’
“ ‘That may be,’ the scholar replied, ‘But I take it as certainty that if God spake Hebrew when Adam was ejected, Eve was speaking Italian when Adam was seduced.’ ”
Father slapped his knee at this and, as if to recall his pleasure, repeated the final line.
Pleased by his story’s great success Uncle Jack chuckled, winked, and said: “And they waste pupils’ good time these days on the study of Greek?”
“Please,” she said, compressing her lips, “there are children here.”
She said no more, nor had to. Uncle Jack left soon thereafter, saying that he had “much to do,” and firmly refusing our Father’s entreaties to reconsider and stay. Afterwards Father fussed about, finally bursting forth to say, “You know he meant no offense!”