by Jan Surasky
I asked permission to court her from her father and he hesitatingly gave his consent. Although he was wary of me, he very much wanted to please his only daughter, and Abigail, as she was called, was sweet on me as I was on her.
After a year of courtship, her father gave his consent and we were married in the church outside of town. Josiah and Mary were there dressed in their Sunday best and beaming with happiness for me. Their wedding gift was a sack of flour and one of meal and a beautiful pinewood chair Josiah had turned himself. I was never so happy as when we drove away in the buggy Abigail’s father had lent us for the occasion.
We soon settled down on a parcel of land Abigail’s father gave us outright since he was comfortable and had prospered through the years in his business. It being outside of town and a pretty good sized spread, we were able to farm the land and provide a bounty of food for the little ones who came along after our marriage.
Our family grew and our small farm prospered as did the print shop. We were able to add a large barn on our farm for two cows and a few goats and set up a small creamery. As our sons grew they apprenticed in the print shop to learn the trade. They were even able to attend the school that Abigail set up in a small log building behind our barn.
But, despite our good fortune and the gaiety and happy times we shared, there was something that I felt missing since I landed on the soil of this country. I had every day wondered about my mother and my father and the little ones who came after me since I was the eldest. I was certain that they never would have sold me into servitude.
I felt that if I was to get any rest at all inside of me I must find the truth. I laid my plan before Abigail and she being the loving companion that she was understood my need.
I set sail for England not long after and left my family in the care of Josiah and Mary Alexander. Abigail’s father looked in on them often since although he had in the beginning some objections to me he had grown very fond of his grandchildren and often spoiled them despite our protests.
I arrived in England in what was the cold and rainy season. I embarked in London and traveled to Lowestoft on foot and sometimes by carriage or buggy if I was fortunate enough to find a willing stranger sympathetic to my plight. I arrived in Lowestoft in the span of one month.
My questions to the many villagers I met yielded no information on my parents or my younger brothers or sisters. But, there was an informant who had been wronged by the magistrates of the village who was hasty to tell me what he knew about the trade of selling unsuspecting children into servitude. It was the magistrates, he told me, who had been charged with upholding the law of the village who had collected large sums of money from traders looking for a profit by kidnapping children who had wandered from their homes and were playing about the environs of the village.
I set about to bring suit against the magistrates for the crime of my kidnapping. But, on the day of the court hearing, they brought in as judge one of the very magistrates that had helped to arrange my kidnapping. He ruled against me and of course I lost.
Discouraged, I turned to a constable in the next town over who advised me to take the case and the hearing to the city of Blenheim where a higher court would be disposed to rule more fairly. I won and was compensated with a good deal of money which I used to search for the whereabouts of my parents and sisters and brothers.
A very large bribe brought information from a former magistrate who knew about a letter that concerned me and had been left with the clergyman of the local church. Not knowing who I was when I had arrived, or hearing about my appearance, he had not stepped forward. It took much persuasion and a large donation to retrieve the letter but he finally pulled it from the very dusty archives in the lowest basement of the manor house.
It was an eerie feeling to find such a letter which had yellowed with age but despite my trembling I pulled it from its sealed envelope and began to read.
Dear Thomas,
My dear eldest and loving son.
We have given up hope of ever finding you but we pray for you every day.
You have seven brothers and sisters now and that makes many mouths to feed. Your father has done his best to provide for us but he is saddened that he has no eldest son to help him ply his trade. He can no longer be a smithy since he was put into debtors prison and crushed his hand wielding a pickaxe on the rock pile. He finds metal scraps and sells them, and I take in laundry and sometimes sewing, but it is never enough.
We have survived the last famine but the fever has taken our two littlest ones from us.
We have thought that you might have been taken with the child trade that no one will confess to but we have heard of through the starving and tattered men who live around the docks and forage for the fish that slip through the nets of the fishermen.
If you have been taken, my son, we can only hope that it is a better life you have gone to and that your lot will be better than it could be here.
We have loved you from the day you were born and came into our lives, a happy little baby who knew so much laughter.
If by some good chance you will someday come upon this letter, then know how much we love you and wish for your good fortune.
Your loving mother,
Emmaline Wilkes
I was very distraught that I could not find news of my family’s whereabouts. The clergyman was no help since he had received the letter for safekeeping from a villager who no longer lived there. But, after asking about town in many quarters I finally came upon the letter bearer’s whereabouts and tracked him to a nearby town.
The man was glad to see me and told me all he could. He had been a long time neighbor of my family and as such had been a comfort to them as they were to him. When the fever hit, my family had all been wiped out. This man, whose name was Jonathan Sprigs, cared for them until the end, and was spared the scourge which affected a large number in the village.
Mr. Sprigs told me of my family’s last days. He nursed them as best he could. My mother, who could not read or write, asked him to write a letter for her and made him promise that he would put it in the hands of the church for safekeeping which he faithfully obliged. He then buried my mother and my father and my brothers and sisters who had all been struck down by the fever in the public cemetery.
I thanked him for his care and for relating to me their circumstances. I then left him with a good amount of the sum of money I had left because I could see he could use it. I then set off for the Lowestoft public cemetery.
There were no markers but Mr. Sprigs had identified each plot with a simple iron plate which he had inscribed himself. I commissioned the stonemason in the village to craft markers for each of the graves my family occupied and gave a sum of money to a young maiden in the village to look after them for me when I was gone. She promised to plant white lilies which had been my mother’s favorite flower since she had seen them in church as a girl.
I left Lowestoft with a heavy heart and with the letter my mother had written. But, I was anxious to return to my home since it had been long since I had been gone and I knew by now the crops would need tending and the print shop, though in the capable hands of Josiah, would need that extra hand. And, I feared by now Abigail would find a need to enlist my help to keep the little ones out of mischief.
I returned home to a joyful reunion. I showed Abigail the letter that had been written by my mother and she placed it alongside the family bible for safekeeping.
When I returned to my print shop I started a post office for the merchants in town. It was soon that the merchants in neighboring towns traveled to Lufton to make use of it. Many were now able to ship to the Continent and we became a thriving center for international trade.
Respectfully submitted in the year
1763 by
Thomas Wilkes
I closed the slim journal gently so as not to disrupt the aging papers.
Granny had always been a tower of strength to me. But, now it was clear that she had a long line of forbears to
call on when the going got rough as she bustled about, feather duster in hand, or kept the house cats from getting trampled in the rough housing that was inevitable after a Sunday dinner.
I felt a rush of pride as I realized these were my ancestors too. I would conquer the world and make them proud. They had sacrificed and survived so I could have a better life.
But how could a simple farm girl like me make a difference? I decided to shelve the thought and head toward my pile of unfinished homework. As I went, the aroma of chocolate custard pie baking in the oven wafted up the old stairwell along with a rush of soft spring air drifting in from the open windows.
Chapter Thirteen
Carrie’s graduation fell on a very rainy day. All hopes of an outdoor ceremony disappeared as I peered out the windows in the very early morning to see a dark and cloudy gray sky with buckets of water pouring down and flooding the cistern.
Carrie had been up for hours. She had been practicing the very short acceptance speech she had written for the honor of being chosen the best girl artist in her senior class. Brent Armstrong, an acne-ridden slight boy with thin, brownish hair had been chosen best boy artist.
Carrie had not considered pursuing art. Her main interest in school had been boys. But, she was nevertheless flattered by the award and had spent long hours writing her acceptance speech and begging me to polish it for her.
She looked beautiful as always as she dressed for the very important occasion. But, I couldn’t help sensing a wistful look as she placed her best brooch, a pearl and gem-studded rabbit, on the collar of her simple linen dress that was belted and pleated in the softest lilac hue. Her long dark hair was unbound and hanging free about her shoulders. Carrie would be a stunner as usual, but I could see her mind wasn’t on that.
“What’s up, Squirrel?” I said, bringing her back to the moment.
“I don’t know, Annie May. I should be happy. But, I’m full of worry. I’ll be losing Jamie to Harvard and a bunch of really smart girls to chase after him. I’m not sure how I’ll take to staying on campus. I know I’ll like the girls at Wells. I met some of them at the open house. But, I’ll miss the life we’ve had here. Some of those girls are so sophisticated and I’m not sure I’ll measure up.”
“Carrie, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and one of the most caring. There should be plenty of girls to appreciate that there. And, if they don’t, they don’t belong knowing you.
“As for Jamie, I’ve seen him look at you. I don’t think Jamie’s the type to have his head turned by glitter.
“You won’t be far from here. And, I know Georgie will be begging me to bring him there to visit. He always needs your input for his art projects. And, you know Mama will insist on tucking in some oatmeal raisin cookies because she knows they’re your favorite.”
Carrie gave me a hug. “Annie May, you’re the best.”
I knew I hadn’t completely set Carrie’s mind at ease. But, every now and then I could take the edge off.
As I stood wondering how I would get my own pale lime linen over my head with the zipper set too short a frantic Georgie burst into our room unannounced to stand in front of Carrie. “Carrie, can you tie this tie?”
Carrie looked at the newly purchased string tie all knotted in Georgie’s hand and tried hard not to laugh. I had to hand it to Mama. Hank Peterson down at the dry goods store could talk Mama into anything.
“Georgie, let’s see. I think we can make something really fashionable out of it.”
“Aw, Carrie, I just hope none of the kids laugh at me. I never saw a tie like this.”
“They’re all the rage in New York. The western look has really caught on in the big cities. Why, Georgie, you’re going to be the handsomest brother at the graduation.”
I could see Georgie was unconvinced, but stood patiently while Carrie tried to make sense out of a long, narrow piece of double grosgrain fabric. As she began turning the fabric under the collar of Georgie’s best white shirt, Mama burst into the room, already decked out in a beautiful floral silk. I could see she was about to hurry us along but stopped short of rushing us as she stared at the black grosgrain now being turned into a handsomely tied bow.
“Papa used to favor a tie like that,” she said. “Why, when it was in fashion he was the talk of all the socials for his smart dress.
Papa would be so proud of you, Carolyn Ann. I know he would. But, we’re all proud of you. You will be the first of our family to go to college. It’s quite an achievement. I know that if Granny and Gramps were here they would be so puffed up with pride they could burst.”
I didn’t want to mention that if I hadn’t done most of Carrie’s homework while she was busy mooning over boys she might not have gotten into Wells. But, I thought it best to let Carrie have her day since she did try to bring a certain amount of sunlight into what might have otherwise been a pretty ordinary existence.
“Okay, let’s get hurrying,” Mama cautioned, as she swished out of the room, the silk of her calf-length flounces rustling as she walked. “Uncle John and Aunt Mabel will be here soon. And, you know how Aunt Mabel doesn’t like to wait.”
My lime green linen gave me a certain amount of trouble but Carrie saved the day by finally getting it over my head and letting gravity do the rest. As she stood back to survey the final result, she shook her head and reached into her special scarf drawer, a small drawer neatly lined with floral scented paper and filled with color coded squares and rectangles, florals which Carrie favored, some geometrics and solids. She quickly pulled out a long rectangular silk with every shade of green inked into its pattern of leaves, trees, and imaginary elves. She tied it around my waist and stood back, admiring her work and satisfied that I was now complete.
“Annie May, you are going to be the hit of the outgoing junior class.”
Since I wasn’t the preening type, I was quite taken with the assessment. I only hoped that Jason Harper, a boy I had had my eye on since third grade, would notice.
Uncle John and Aunt Mabel arrived all spruced up with Uncle John’s pickup newly washed and waxed. Aunt Mabel’s freshly permed hair was rinsed with the henna she favored, and her navy linen with matching jacket would be sure to get notice from her garden club associates who passed for society in these parts and who showed up in full force every year at graduation to accept their certificate for spending every spring and fall planting and cultivating, tulips and daffodils in the spring, chrysanthemums and asters in the fall, to beautify the school grounds.
We arrived at the school without incident. The heavy rains had let up and were replaced with a beautiful mist and a rainbow up above us, its pale hues against the brightening sky unnoticed by the crowd bent on making haste to secure the more favored center seating in the newly refurbished auditorium. I silently placed it on my list of so far unused omens and tried to keep up with Mama and Aunt Mabel who were nodding to all their acquaintances as they rushed.
Carrie left us to seat herself in the special section reserved for graduates and the rest of us settled in the rows of attached faux leather seats which still smelled new and that replaced the familiar, old wooden folding chairs purchased years ago with the proceeds of a particularly successful bake sale. The auditorium had been transformed, the school banner hung behind a microphone and lectern up on the stage, and the spot behind it where our principal Mr. Andrews would hand out the diplomas was flanked by two large urns filled with the most beautiful flowers, both vivid and pale, arranged to bring out the hues of the summer so nearly upon us.
I scanned the graduates for Will. His blond good looks stood out and I spotted him seated next to Carrie. As I tried to get his attention without success Mr. Andrews strode to the podium and a collective hush took over.
“Good morning graduates, parents, relatives, and friends. I am happy to be presiding over the 45th Baldwinsville Central School District commencement ceremony. I know we all share a collective pride in our graduates. We will begin the formal part of our progra
m with the pledge of allegiance followed by our alma mater led by Mrs. Regina Carter, our notable music liaison who took the chorus to the semi-finals this year. Please all rise.”
Chapter Fourteen
The alma mater, its words penned to a popular ballad of the day by a former Baldwinsville student now long gone from these beige and whitewashed halls, rang from the rafters of the auditorium with the gusto of the former students now singing it. We sat as one as the final chorus came to a rousing end.
Mr. Andrews rose to announce the awards and bring the recipients to the stage. The first was Ida Harper, the president of the Mayberry Garden Club, who would be presented with a plaque by Mrs. Alma Hutchinson, our perennially grim but excellent biology teacher, who appeared from the wings of the stage with a beautifully carved wooden plaque made by the shop class and lettered in gold.
As we waited for Mrs. Harper, flushed with excitement and dressed in a deep purple linen suit with an American Beauty rosebud attached securely to her lapel, to pass by the people she was seated with and make her way up the stairs to the podium I realized that not only Carrie would be giving a speech, Will would be giving one too. In a surprise upset, Will had surpassed Jackson Monroe III who was known mostly as “Junior”, and the odds on favorite to become valedictorian, by a mere two tenths of a point, throwing the Monroe family into a snit to have their star pupil knocked out by someone they considered an immigrant upstart. The Monroe family, the only family we could claim in these parts had come from “wealth,” had refrained from sending their only child to a private school in Syracuse, or away to boarding school where the competition was truly stiff, so that he could excel in a school they were certain was populated only by country bumpkins.
Mrs. Harper made it to the stage without incident and Mrs. Hutchinson presented the plaque as ceremoniously as she could, giving a partial history of the garden club and regaling the audience with their contributions to the school and to the town. The yearbook photographer knelt as quietly as he could on the auditorium floor at the foot of the stage to commemorate the presentation. Mr. Harper rushed to the aisle of his row to snap a photograph, catching Mrs. Harper as she grasped the plaque and held it, exchanging a handshake with Mrs. Hutchinson who seemed anxious to end the presentation and exit the stage.