Flirtation on the Hudson

by J. F. Collen

  Light danced and reflected off the wall sconces and the unlit chandelier with the same electric energy Nellie felt dancing inside her. She tapped her foot and then twisted to look at the clock. She still could not see it.

  Tonight! I encamp tonight! I wonder if I will be able to meet him again.

  She looked at the tangled mess in front of her and threw down her work.

  “I must verify I have included clean handkerchiefs in my valise,” she said, rising from her seat so fast the chair wobbled and threatened to topple over.

  “Cornelia Rose, you are as jittery as a Mexican jumping bean. Now sit up straight and settle back to your handiwork,” said Mother.

  Nellie obediently sat down again, but only because she had seen the clock in the hallway. The time remains half past noon! Proof positive that time indeed stands still.

  Nellie sighed. Her mother’s gaze softened. “I understand how arduous it seems to await the advent of an exciting expedition,” her mother began. Nellie sighed again. Will Mutter make the wait even more interminable by dispensing another lecture? she thought, her rebellious streak rearing its ugly head.

  Her mother’s next words surprised and chastened her.

  “I recall well my own impatient anticipation of many momentous occasions in my life.” Her mother smiled, almost dreamily. Amazement made Nellie stop fidgeting in her chair. “Furthermore, I concede it is thrice as difficult for you, since you lack even a modicum of patience.” Nellie hung her head. Mrs. Entwhistle laughed. “I speak not to chastise you, but only to acknowledge the fact that patience has never been your forte.” Nellie’s jaw dropped and now even her sisters looked surprised. Nellie opened her mouth further to object, but her mother held up her hand. “We all have our gifts, and simply put, patience is not one of yours. But to the point: I was fortunate enough to have many wonderful opportunities in my life, opportunities for fun and glamour for which I awaited in eager anticipation.” The sisters looked at each other uncertainly.

  “I am merely suggesting that we try to maintain an equilibrium. We must smile through adversity and not unduly elevate the wonder and importance of a single outing in our lives, lest we be cruelly disappointed.

  “I will allow it is exciting to attend social events such as these. I would simply counsel that building your hopes and dreams upon the import of one outing might lead to disappointment.”

  Nellie kicked at the floor below her chair. “Even if I so desired, how could I possibly not dream of this event?”

  “Perhaps you can find some diversion and joy in your crewel work,” her mother said with a wide but understanding smile.

  “Ugh,” mumbled Nellie. Was the entirety of this sympathetic speech merely a tactic to employ me more gainfully? “This trivial, trying task is merely a waste of time,” she declared.

  “Cornelia Rose,” her mother said. Nellie heard the old familiar voice of steel that had been strangely absent from her mother’s prior speech. “This task is your employment. Thanks to your father’s hard work and industry we most assuredly could purchase the finest stockings money can buy. But knitting and sewing are labors of love. You young ladies must learn these skills and must always endeavor to keep yourselves employed in the running of your households. Your father understands that ‘time is money’ and runs his business accordingly. If I may quote Mrs. Child’s counsel in her seminal work on frugality and husbandry, ‘...every member of the household should be employed, either in earning or saving money.’ We ladies leave the earning to the men, and we endeavor to perfect the art of saving money.”

  “I repeat, of what use is crewel work?” Nellie asked, daring to be impertinent.

  Mrs. Entwhistle said with a sigh, “It is an indispensable skill. The ability to make beautiful things is one of life’s joys! Consider your finely stitched handkerchiefs.” Nellie rose and Mrs. Entwhistle waved her back to her chair. “We have shown great economy in rending those very necessary items from larger sheets and linens that have worn in places. Now, with a little creative handiwork, we have made the old into something beautiful and new. An excellent example is your new handkerchief....”

  Nellie jumped up again. “I must make certain I have packed my handkerchiefs!”

  “Cornelia, have you not been listening?” Mrs. Entwhistle said.

  But Nellie had already disappeared down the hall. She flew to her room and pulled everything from her valise. There on the bottom were two lace hankies. Nellie glanced at one, flawlessly embroidered by her mother. Beautiful! Lace in all my favorite colors, she thought. Nellie picked up the other, examining the mistakes in the hand crocheted border. She smiled, remembering six-year-old Anastasia laboring at the task. Nellie had taken pity on her little sister’s struggles. Together, she and her sister had added colorful flowers, but Anastasia still tussled with crocheting the lace border. One evening Nellie gave up ‘play time’ to finish it for her sister, adding a whole row of lace. Her reward –Anastasia gave it to her for Christmas later that year. It was Nellie’s favorite handkerchief—a talisman of good feeling and fortune. She would take no journey without it.

  She snapped the valise shut and sat on it. She looked at her pocket watch.

  Now what shall distract me?

  At last the carriage arrived.

  Augusta Van Cortlandt bounded out of the carriage the second Nellie’s butler touched its door. Her friend sprang into Nellie’s arms, excitement frothing and spewing into a giant hug. Huge puffy sleeves enveloped Cornelia; unruly crinoline petticoats bunched and wrapped heavily around two pairs of ankles. Jumbled together, the butler handed both young ladies into the carriage as one package, and they were off.

  The chatter flew between the two girls as fast as the carriage wheels turned. Augusta’s brothers wiggled and squirmed and Mr. and Mrs. Van Cortlandt looked at both camps in benevolent amusement.

  “Twenty conversions just yesterday!” exclaimed Augusta.

  “Surely that is merely exaggerated scuttlebutt,” Nellie replied.

  “No, with mine own eyes I have read it in today’s New York Daily Tribune. But staggering numbers of conversions are hardly newsworthy, these days. They are a daily occurrence. Far more dramatic—fifteen hundred encamped this week. A veritable city has sprung up in our midst in scarcely a fortnight. I thrill to think of the multitudes of attendees!”

  The girls giggled in anticipation. The thrill for Nellie was not in viewing the multitudes, but rather something a little harder to articulate. She rummaged in her brain to pinpoint the object of her anticipation. Was it anticipation of excitement? Not precisely. Based on her experience of one night at the revival last year, it seemed more an anticipation of participation, even if vicariously, in the emotional highs of the revival. The wonder she felt when she watched people, filled with the Spirit, gyrate, and testify to the Lord overwhelmed her with an emotion like no other.

  Her friend had yet another thrill in mind. “I delight to think of the fashionable high society coming in from The City to observe the event, rather at arms-length, evaluating the other participants. We will be mingling with the high muck-a-mucks!”

  Nellie did have to concede she rather liked this aspect as well.

  “Thus, your luxurious sleeves contrived with yards of fabric,” Nellie said, touching the soft folds of Augusta’s ruffles.

  Augusta giggled. “Yes, my first attempt to dress to the nines. Yet, I am not quite sure I have achieved a desirable fashion effect.”

  “Indubitably you have!” Nellie cried, hugging her friend. “None of the high society ladies will have a superior claim for better dressed sleeves. Moreover, the blue of the cambric matches the hue of your eyes and highlights the blush of your high cheek bones.”

  On that wonderful note, Augusta’s blush deepened with appreciation and they rolled into the Campwoods’ entrance.

  In stark contrast to the slow crawl of time throughout the endless day, the carriage ride felt like the blink of an eye. The coachman handed the group out of the carriage
. Nellie stood for a moment taking in the scene before their entourage joined the throng of evening arrivals, streaming through the gates down the wide path.

  Nellie giggled when she caught herself staring, mouth agape, at the spectacle before her. There was so much to see; merchants hawked all manner of commodities. Yummmm! The aroma from roasted chestnuts and hot sweet potatoes immediately set her mouth to watering. General stores had bloomed overnight, their porches spilling enticing goods onto the pathway. Bulging stacks of camping supplies, barrels of pickles, and bolts of fabrics stood on display, begging to be eaten or fingered. Peddlers brandished carts stuffed with bric-a-brac, fans, blankets, pans, and firewood. Nellie had never seen so many goods or so much food assembled in the same place. Everything from soup to nuts! she thought. This is not just a religious meeting—it is a festival.

  The crowd swelled around her as she and Augusta paused, magnetically drawn to the opulent array of wares. A hand on her elbow brought her abruptly to her senses. It was Augusta’s mother.

  “You girls swarm like bees to honey!” Mrs. Van Cortlandt exclaimed. Then she laughed. ‘I cannot fault you for your youth, nor your enthusiasm. No matter! Enjoy the event at your own leisure.” Nellie was pleasantly shocked at this unexpected freedom. Both girls thanked Mrs. Van Cortlandt profusely.

  She held up her hand. “Keep your heads and your wits about you in this boodle. And, remember at all times your ladylike demeanor. Of course, verily, it is unnecessary for me to utter those words. My one direction is that our tent is near the main dining hall—and may be difficult to spot in the dark. Therefore, I encourage you to locate it, and ascertain your bearings before you lose yourselves in the drama of the events.” She gave the girls each a hug, and hurried off after her husband.

  Nellie and Augusta could not believe their good fortune. Unrestricted? Unencumbered? Permitted to wander on our own? We have been given both independence and autonomy? What a novelty—freedom! Nellie thought.

  They succumbed to the attraction of the brightly displayed wares and wandered into the closest store.

  Chapter 6 – Out of the Frying Pan

  Campwoods, August 1848

  The events of the evening unfolded with a compelling energy that Cornelia Rose Entwhistle did not resist. She flowed from one store to the next, pausing in between at the many peddler’s carts. Even’song would begin promptly at eight o’clock, after all sittings of dinner ended. Already at six, bursts of song erupted from the crowd and funneled its way down the long path, through the trees that surrounded the open platform and benches of the main preaching area.

  The girls wandered from shop to cart, pooling their meager funds to sample some of the delectable culinary offerings. They bypassed the items they ate daily in the summer—fresh corn on the cob and ripe red tomatoes. They sniffed in derision at the city folks gobbling the plebian farm fare. They honed in on the rarities in their own diet, and finally settled for—honey glazed nuts roasted over an open fire, and a shared glass of fresh squeezed lemonade, a treat reserved for special occasions only, like a grand Independence Day celebration.

  The crowd waxed and waned around them as they imbibed not only their delicacies, but the sights and smells as well.

  With a jolt of one awakening from sleep, Nellie pulled out her pocket watch and fumbled for the time. “Hurry, Augusta! We have not even journeyed to the main preaching area, much less located our camping site, and it is only five minutes till Even’song.”

  She placed one hand on her skirts to elevate them to running height, and the other on Augusta’s arm. Together, they dashed towards the main area, startling groups of fellow spiritual travelers, leaving some laughing at their unbridled enthusiasm as they passed.

  “Plenty o’ Spirit to go ‘round, young ladies, no need to run,” called someone from behind them.

  “Save a bit o’ grace for me,” shouted a bawdy looking woman shambling along.

  Nellie looked at Augusta and they slowed to a more decorous trot. “I guess my furious canter is not exactly ladylike behavior,” Nellie said ruefully, and they both burst out laughing.

  They could hear the first strains of music from the organ long before the path gave way before them and opened up to the main preaching area. They arrived, breathless, just as the choir burst into the first song of the program.

  Not an empty square inch of bench visible!

  Nellie and Augusta walked away from the platform, along the perimeter, peering through the crowd looking for a space large enough to accommodate two young ladies and their voluminous petticoats.

  Finally, in the middle of a bench between two families with many squirming children, they located a space in the farthest recesses of the large natural amphitheater. Stepping over bags, children, and toes, they inched their way along the row, and settled in just as the final chords of the song drifted into the night air.

  Dusk was falling softly all around them.

  The first preacher made his way up the stairs and the crowd hushed in anticipation of his words.

  Firefly time is the most magic part of the day! Here I am in the middle of a magical dream. While the rest of the assembly kept their eyes on the preacher, Nellie’s drifted toward the meadow in the shadow of the woods beside her to watch the tiny bugs flash their secret messages. I wonder if he is at Even’song? Mercy, that fine young gentleman from Louisiana, with that dreamy drawl.... She tried to scan the crowd, but save a few seats to her left, across the center aisle, and a few seats to her right, the blinders of her bonnet prevented her from seeing anything but the back of men’s heads, and the elaborate bonnets and hats of the women in front of her.

  Augusta caught her wriggling. Behind her fan she whispered, “Is he here?”

  “Alas, I see naught but families with well-scrubbed ears,” Nellie said.

  “Merely because it is the first day of the camp—wait until later in the week, there will be nary a well-scrubbed anything! I have packed some fine Parisian perfume to wear on my wrist. It will form a barrier preventing the barnyard smells, emanating from the gentlemen, from reaching my nose.” They giggled.

  Of course, Augusta, her only confidante besides Anastasia, would remember, and know full well what really fueled Nellie’s anticipation. Hannibal Rufus Calhoun. Nellie sighed every time she thought about the romantic young gentleman she encountered last year. His last missive advised he intended to find me at Camp this week. How fortuitous for a rendezvous, she thought again—Rufus, traveling from Louisiana, is attending The Methodist Revival Camp the very week I am permitted to stay overnight with my dearest friend’s family.

  She could not prevent her eyes from searching the back of the heads of the crowd again.

  The preaching reached a crescendo. One audience member after another rose, shouting and gyrating. Some rushed the platform, some stood up in their place. The crowd gasped and cheered as people shouted in tongues, some temporarily drowning out Preacher Stowe. Undeterred, he simply paused, facilitating the rising frenzy. To further orchestrate the response, he rushed down from the platform among the crowd, embracing those moved to testify, shouting Alleluia with them. A man stood, proclaimed God’s glory, and ran half way down the aisle toward the preacher. Everyone in Nellie’s section stood to watch the drama. The man writhed and yelled and the preacher pronounced:

  “Wrestle with that Devil! Amen to your struggle.” Laying his hands on the now prone man wriggling in the aisle, he cried, “Away evil. Satan be Gone! Release this man. Holy Spirit, Save Him! Turn us all from the many paths of evil. Keep our eyes trained on you Lord.”

  Everyone in the crowd joined the preacher in a loud series of Amens. The choir broke into song. Nellie too raised her voice and sang Marching to Jerusalem as the choir egressed from the stage. The arena emptied, row after row, as people, and their baggage, poured down the center aisle singing every verse of the hymn. Next came a round of Alleluias from Handle’s Messiah.

  Suddenly Nellie felt a tremendous energy surge through her. It was
electrifying! It must be the Holy Spirit! she thought. A vibration, almost a shock, starting in her feet, tingled all the way up her legs.

  “Alleluia!” She shouted raising her hands and trembling. Augusta looked at her in surprise. Consumed by the thrill of the electric tingle coursing through her body, Nellie did not even notice her companion’s reaction. The energy moved her across the emptying row of seats and out into the aisle, right under the waving arms of Preacher Stowe.

  “Do you feel the Almighty?” he shouted at her. “Do you feel His healing power? You, Sinner, you have been saved.”

  The shock of being the center of the preacher’s attention, and thus the focus of the charged crowd permeated her energized state and froze Nellie in her place. The Reverend Stowe took this as a cue for more preaching.

  “Look on this woman! Young though she be, she knows her sin, she knows her depravity. She...knows...she must escape the clutches of the DEVIL and mend her evil ways. It is the only conduit, the only true path to circumvent the Fire and Brimstone that surely would be her destiny if she continues her wicked ways!”

  Mortified, her embarrassment freed her feet. Nellie turned and ran down the aisle away from the preacher, around the marchers, into a sea of gaping mouths, knocking a small child over and jostling many an elbow.

  “YES, run from the Devil, do not permit him to wrassle with your soul. YES! Run to the Lord, embrace your new path. Go forth, young woman, your faith has saved you!” Reverend Stowe shouted at her retreating back, and the crowd swelled with Amens and Alleluias.

  Nellie now knew what it felt like to wish the ground would open and consume her, right then and there, even if it be into the fires of hell.