Flirtation on the Hudson

by J. F. Collen

  It was the excitement and anticipation of the next day.

  Her parents were in the room next door. Perhaps if she tiptoed in, her father would give her a hug or tell her a story? No, more likely she would wake her baby brothers and her mother would be furious. She stayed put, in her small section of bed, in the mansion packed with her grandparents, her immediate family, and her aunts, uncles, and cousins. All of the Pffernuss family nestled in for the night—in close proximity to the start of tomorrow’s grand celebration.

  Crystal clear water will spew from the Croton Aqueduct tomorrow.

  Papa promised!

  The whole grand city of New York will turn out in magnificent ceremony to honor the completion of the new reservoirs and tunnels of the Croton Aqueduct.

  Papa invented the new water system for the entire city of New York, she thought, pride swelling in her heart. Sixteen tunnels. The High Bridge. Two reservoirs. And tomorrow we are to be honored guests at the glorious Croton Water Celebration. She fidgeted with anticipation.

  Excitement got the better of reason. She lifted the comforter, slid a cautious toe onto the icy floor, and crept to the bedroom door. The handle made a surprising click when she turned it. She jumped, then blinked, blinded by the refracting light filling the room as she opened the door. Frightened, she slammed it shut.

  No one stirred.

  Her feet felt frozen.

  With a deep breath, she calmed down, opened the door the width of her finger and cautiously leaned one eye and one ear out into the crack of light.

  “...even you, Mutter, must agree,” Cornelia’s mother was saying to her Grandmama.

  Nellie drew in her breath and pulled back. She thought of closing the door again, but curiosity froze her in place.

  “Mein Mädchen, nein,” said Grandmama. “No, my daughter, I will agree to nothing. I still rue the day that you met that Entwhistle.”

  “But, Mutter, Er ist mein Mann now! Ach! We must speak English. He is my husband now. That was so long ago! James is a good provider. And tomorrow mein Mann will be honored.”

  “Ja, Ja, ja, du hast recht. You are right, he is a good man, I will concede.” Grandmama drew herself up to her full five-foot height and practically warbled with self-righteousness. “But you are my only daughter. Is he good enough for the Pffernuss family? Nein. No. My only daughter marrying an Irishman? Ach, du Liebe—meine Herz ist immer leiden.”

  Nellie’s mother threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, my love, your heart suffers, Mutter? What about mine? Will you never be happy with me?” She tugged Grandmama’s arm, dropped her voice to a whisper, and walked down the hall. The ladies took the candlelight with them.

  Dazed from the light and puzzled by the scene she witnessed, Nellie shut the door. Grandmama does not like Papa? How could this be?

  Sniffling tears, she stumbled over shoes and toys, feeling her way around the footboard, back to her side of the bed. She lifted the comforter. Oh no! Anastasia had worked her way over to the edge of the bed. Nellie gave Anastasia a shove, trying to push her back, but her sister was too heavy. She stood there, toes numb now, shivering in her nightgown, tears on her cheeks, overwhelmed, confused, and suddenly exhausted. At last, she crawled over the sleeping Anastasia and burrowed into the blankets, finding a space perpendicular to her sisters at the foot of the bed.

  It seemed that as soon as Nelly finally closed her eyes, Agnes, her older sister, was shouting in her ear. “Cornelia, rouse your lazy bones. We will not be delayed by your sloth! If you are not ready, we will leave you all alone in this huge house while we enjoy the festivities.”

  Frightened out of her sleep Cornelia jumped out of bed into complete alertness, eyes wide open. It was pitch black. She could not even see Agnes, the annoying. She closed them again in confusion. If it is time to wake up, why is it so dark? Sleepy little Anastasia cried, “It is too dark to be morning!” echoing her own thoughts. “It is not yet time to wake.”

  “Listen brainless.” Agnes leaned over from the far side of the bed to shake her youngest sister. “The one-hundred-gun salute begins at sunrise. Do you want to miss the most exciting day of your life?”

  Anastasia’s chubby baby face crumbled into misery. She screwed her eyes closed. Tears flowed and she let out a big bawl. It was unclear whether it was a reaction to the harsh words and the shaking, or the prospect of missing the best day of her life.

  Mrs. Entwhistle bustled into the room, baby Matthias clinging to her neck, brother Jonas trailing behind, wearing only one boot. “What is all this fuss and bother? Raus mit du, Get out with you! We must get ready! Cornelia, shame on you for keeping your father waiting on his important day.”

  Nellie grabbed her stockings and began the struggle to tame them enough to transfer them to her legs.

  Removing his thumb from his mouth, Jonas asked, “Why is it such an important day, Mama?”

  “Baby,” taunted Agnes, pointing at Jonas. “Baby! I was far too mature to have sucked my thumb at five years of age.”

  “But you were still a wee little babe, wee-weeing just like all the other babies then, don’t you know?” said older brother Jerome, bouncing into the room. He tousled Agnes’ hair while he put her in her place. “The parade of cousins leaves from the front door in twenty minutes,” he announced, and bounded back out the bedroom door.

  Nellie’s mother ignored Agnes’ rude teasing and said, “Jonas, your father is to be honored as one of the premier engineers, instrumental in the innovative, and early completion of the construction of the Croton Aqueduct. Through his endeavors, the thousands of residents of the city of New York will have a ready supply of fresh drinking water, straight from the Croton Dam. We must all be very proud of Papa.”

  Nellie smiled with pride, which turned to joy when she viewed the new, pretty pink party dress her mother had sewn just for this special day.

  “The President of our whole Nation will be there, brainless.” Agnes, already in her dress, tying her bow, did not even look to see the cruel effect of her words on her younger brother. “I’m all a-tremble to hear the speeches. I do hope Governor William H. Seward himself calls Papa to the podium to present him the medal.... Perhaps we will sit near Mr. President John Tyler! Or maybe even near former-president Mr. John Quincy Adams....”

  “I want to see the water shoot out of the fountain at the big reservoir,” said Jonas. “I wager it will go this high!” he shouted, jumping off the bed into the air.

  “Technically, the water will not ‘shoot out of the fountain,’” corrected Agnes smugly.

  “It certainly must,” Nellie interjected. “How else would it be possible to have the water works reach the height of 50 feet into the air?”

  “You always exaggerate,” said Agnes.

  “I most certainly do not! Papa and I read it in the newspaper together last night,” Nellie retorted.

  Agnes shut her mouth, knowing that she could not argue once the highest authority, Papa, was inserted into the discussion.

  “As if it would make a difference to us!” Agnes finally said, hands on her hips. Changing tack, Agnes used her superior knowledge of New York City geography to brandish a sword at Jonas. “We might not see the shooting fountain. The water works display of the celebration is at the Distributing Reservoir at Murray Hill which, from here, is the opposite direction from City Hall.”

  “But Patrick is marching around the fountain! He promised we would see him. Maaa,” wailed Jonas. “Can’t I see the shooting water?”

  “Do not fret now Jonas,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. “Our entire family group will egress to the reservoir for a picnic supper. Our picnic will occur precisely during the interval your brother Patrick and his company of cadets will parade at Murray Hill. I am sure we will have a fine view of the fountain and the marching men. After supper, Patrick will join us for our promenade around the reservoir perimeter. This will transpire long after Papa has received his award.”

  Nellie smiled, thinking of her wonderful oldest brother P
atrick, already adult enough at fourteen to march with The Mount Pleasant Military Academy. Head in the clouds, she gathered the flounces of her dress in bunches in her hand, and poked her head into the skirt.

  “Not without your petticoats!” Mrs. Entwhistle rumbled like thunder, yet she did not even raise her eyes from the britches she was buttoning over Matthias’ behind.

  Nellie’s eyes stung with tears. I did not purposefully forget those dreaded, itchy, petticoats, she fumed. Where could they be? She searched through the bedclothes, tossing blankets and pillows every which way. She crawled on top of the bed, looked over the headboard, and then in desperation hung herself upside down over the edge, thrusting her head into the dark space underneath the bed. Tucked in the gloom, the petticoats lay in a little swirl of dust. Agnes! That’s her handiwork, she thought.

  She righted herself and glared at her eight-year-old sister.

  Agnes smirked with satisfaction and looked back at Nell in the mirror, raising one eyebrow and calmly arranging her bows on her dress.

  Further vexed by Agnes’s eyebrow skill, Nellie made one quick, feeble attempt to lift only one of her eyebrows in reply, and then snorted in disgust. There was no time for revenge. Her mother glared at them. Nellie thought better of trying Mrs. Entwhistle’s patience.

  Nellie pulled on the hated petticoats as quickly as she could, and turned to help her sleepy little sister into her stockings. Five-year-old Anastasia was crying with frustration at the twisted mess. Nellie pulled them off in one motion, stuck her arm all the way into one of the legs and inside-outed them, and then gathered the leg all the way up to the toes. Anastasia watched with her mouth open, and obediently thrust her toes in on Nellie’s command.

  “Oh, sank you, Nellie,” Anastasia whispered in a lisp. “Agnes told me everyone was going to leave without me because I was too dumb to put on my thtockings.”

  “I would never go without you. We sisters stick together, right?” Nellie smiled, gathered up the other leg of the stocking and put it over Anastasia’s other toes.

  “Then where did Agnes come from?” Anastasia wanted to know.

  Nellie rolled her eyes. “The Lord only knows!” she whispered.

  They both giggled.

  Agnes scowled in their direction. “Mutter, I am completely clad and Cornelia and Anastasia are simply playing. Furthermore, they have not found their boots, much less than buttoned them.”

  Mother turned an evil eye on the two youngest girls as she pulled cardigans on both boys. “Young ladies, you should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Anastasia hung her head and said, “I am thorry, Mother.”

  Rebelliousness rose in Nellie’s throat and choked her apology. She stooped to find her other boot. Why should I apologize? I did nothing wrong, she thought. Surreptitiously she shot a glance at her mother with her head still bent. Mrs. Entwhistle bustled around, her beautiful silk dress rustling with efficiency, assembling a bag with some diapers. Nellie felt an apology would not be necessary, or noticed.

  “We must leave at once if we are to see our brave armed forces fresh from t’ United States Military Academy at West Point deliver the one-hundred-gun salute!” Mr. Entwhistle’s cheerful brogue boomed from the hallway below.

  Jonas shot toward the door in a surprisingly smooth move, in spite of tumbling over Anastasia still seated on the floor.

  “We can’t miss the guns and the cannons, Papa,” Jonas shouted. Nellie and her sisters rushed out behind him.

  The Entwhistle family, joined by the Pffernuss cousins and grandparents, flowed down the grand stairs, out the gate of the stately home, and into the stream of people already hurrying down Fifth Avenue to City Hall to see the historic celebration. Look at the rainbow of colorful ladies! Nellie thought, her heart surging with joy at the kaleidoscope of colors blooming in the hats, dresses, parasols, tassels, and ribbons of the ladies in the crowd.

  “It’th like being in a parade,” whispered Anastasia as they hurried along.

  “Indubitably! But as splendid as this is, we will see a gen-u-ine parade after sunrise,” promised Nellie, unable to tear her eyes from the bright spectacle before her. As they tried to keep pace with the long strides of the grown-ups, Nellie watched the colors bob and weave through the moving crowd and panted, “The parade will surely be grand! There will be multitudes of marching bands with big brass horns, and ra-ta-tat drums. And handsome soldiers in impressive uniforms and splendid ladies carrying banners, and....”

  Anastasia was having trouble keeping up with Mrs. Entwhistle and the perambulator. Nellie tugged her along as best she could, but Anastasia was running as fast as her short legs would carry her. Nellie looked up at the street sign, we’ve only come seven blocks since leaving Grandmama’s house on 13th Street! At the rate Anastasia was going, they would never make it as far as City Hall. The bells of a church chimed as they passed, igniting a string of pealing bells in church after church along the route heading downtown that quickened the pace of the crowd. Just as tears threatened and Nellie feared abandonment for the second time that day, her father turned around to locate them.

  In one bound, he was at Nellie’s side, scooping Anastasia into his arms. “No colleen o’ mine’ll be left lagging behind today!” he exclaimed, as if reading her thoughts. “Not my angel with the little legs, nor my good lass who assists her!” He smiled down at Nellie and tousled her hair. All Nellie’s worries evaporated. She stuck her hand in his giant one, and skipped along next to him.

  Soon they caught up with Jerome, who was at the lead, carrying Jonas.

  The day was a grand blur of amazing activities. The excitement in the children generated by the ear splitting, one hundred-gun salute at sunrise was enough to carry them to their spot on the parade route. Just in time for the first carriage of officials, eyes riveted on the dancing girls, they picnicked on Grandmama’s feast of pickles, ham, and biscuits for breakfast.

  The rousing band music, the smell of roasting chestnuts and the attire of the marchers piqued Cornelia’s senses. The predawn parade of ladies in their rainbow of finery paled in comparison to the colorfully costumed clowns. Deftly dancing acrobats were resplendent in stripes and polka dots. Carriages of dignitaries displaying elegantly coiffed heads interrupted herds of elephants and exotic animals. Waves of music approached from afar and then engulfed them, carrying them along on drumbeats and melodies, leaving toes tapping in their wake. Peddlers pushed carts exuding tempting aromas: baking potatoes, roasting spicy peanuts, and the tangy citrus of fresh squeezed lemonade.

  “The very gall of some people,” Grandmother Pffernuss said behind her fan to Nellie’s mother. “Observe the thirty-one-year-old humbug from your village, Doctor Brandreth, parading before us with that floosy in his carriage! She’s nothing but a guttersnipe from the packing department of his factory. Ach du Liebe! Why he is blaspheming this important occasion?”

  “Oh, Mutter, say ‘oh my goodness’ like an American! Moreover, they are married now,” said Gertrude Entwhistle. She patted her mother’s hand in a reassuring gesture.

  Nellie’s grandmother sniffed. “First wife barely cold in the grave. Putting a bandage on a disfigurement does not make it disappear.”

  Nellie’s mouth dropped open as she tried to make sense of this snippet of conversation.

  “Look, Nellie, a flock of peacocks!” shouted Jonas. Tucking the eavesdropped tidbit away in her memory for further study, Nellie gawked at the birds. Two young boys with sticks and a trainer kept the proudly strutting flock headed in the correct direction. “When I am a debutante I shall have a fan made of peacocks’ brilliant blue feathers, arrayed just like their tails,” she whispered.

  The children teased their parents and grandparents for tastes of sweet and savory alike. Fruits from all over the world! They shared a banana, Cornelia trying to take the smallest bites possible, so the sweetness would linger on her tongue. The rarities she sampled made her eyes round. But her favorite was the little button of butterscotch candy her f
ather allowed her to eat all by herself without having to share with anyone. It was far superior even to the nibble of licorice she shared with Agnes, or the lick of Jerome’s lemon-flavored ice.

  The marching bands are my favorite entertainment, Nellie decided, responding with her whole body. She and her sisters stood, with rapt attention and dancing legs as the rows of uniformed players marched past. Cornelia could not stop moving when the music filled the air. Familiar songs had the whole family singing. Bagpipes had her siblings joining her in dance, Jerome forgetting his superior position as the eldest attending son. A familiar Irish jig even had her father on his feet, stomping along with her. When the last notes of the disappearing band faded from hearing, they turned their heads forward and strained their ears to listen for the next hint of song.

  Mile after mile of bands, clowns, acrobats, animals, firemen, and town officials marched before them. Nellie no sooner caught her breath from viewing an amazing spectacle before another marvel flaunted itself before her, snatching her breath away again. The continuous stream of sights strutted and paraded for hours. “In actuality,” her mother informed them after consulting her program and her own mother, “the parade is five miles long and will continue until approximately four o’clock.”

  Agnes jumped up and down, and shouted, “Truly, the duration is almost an entire day!”

  In spite of her best efforts, Cornelia had to take a seat. She snuggled herself next to Grandmama’s feet, head leaning on the soft volume of skirt, eyes still glued to the wonders marching before her. She felt her eyes closing and tried to pay attention. The colors swirled and blurred before her.

  She jerked herself awake as an Oompah Band’s tuba wailed close to her ear. “Mutter, I cannot stay awake,” she cried. “I cannot keep my eyes open—the light is too bright. They hurt!”

  “Hush now, Schatzy, my little love,” chided her mother. But then, with sympathy, she leaned over and gave Cornelia a hug. “The parade lasts all day. You can still hear the fun and the music if you rest your eyes a bit. That way, you will be wide awake when Papa receives his accolades.”