Flirtation on the Hudson

by J. F. Collen

  The girls laughed as Matthias ran away.

  The day of the social dawned fair, crisp, and cold.

  “A picture-perfect setting, right out of a print of Currier and Ives,” said Cornelia, a dreamy look in her eyes. “I will be hard pressed to tolerate the interminable wait for today’s festivities to begin.”

  Anastasia sniffed the air. The sisters discerned the unmistakable aroma of bubbling molasses.

  Matthias ran in. “It’s starting to boil!” he shouted, running out of their room.

  The sisters all clattered down the back stairs behind him.

  “A herd of elephants,” grumbled their mother, but she turned from the hot flame over which she was presiding and smiled at her daughters. Several quarts of molasses were gaining heat in four big cauldrons on the massive potbellied stove.

  “Steam is gathering!” shouted Matthias and scampered away.

  The giggling girls ran back up the stairs to get ready while Mrs. Entwhistle and Cook Hilda monitored and stirred the pots simmering over the low flames.

  Before long the guests arrived. The hallway was filled with a party hubbub until the enticing aroma of bubbling sugar lured everyone into the kitchen. Guests wandered in and out, assessing the progress of the cooking molasses. One group gasped when the boiling dark mass in one of the pots suddenly rose to the top, threatening to erupt from its container. But Gertrude Entwhistle was right there, festively aproned, stirring spoon ready. She modulated the flame, stirred the pot, and prevented disaster.

  Matthias interrupted Nellies’ conversation with Augusta to pull her back into the kitchen to witness the next step in the taffy preparation.

  Mrs. Entwhistle bent over the side table, carefully measuring bicarbonate of soda. Matthias jumped up and down as their mother scurried back and forth to the stove, four times, stirring the stabilizer into each of the pots.

  “That completes the final step!” he shouted. He smacked his lips.

  The crowd ebbed and flowed past the prime pot viewing spots, wandering through the parlor and the sitting room, pausing in front of roaring fire in the each of the magnificent hearths.

  Nellie jittered from one room to the next, greeting all the guests, chattering with her high energy vivacity, with one eye on their massive front doors and their butler who alternated between opening the door and gathering discarded wraps. Nellie could not wait to see George Brandreth again. But will he grace me with his presence? Has my teatime conversation been sufficiently witty to entice his attendance at my taffy social? Nellie fidgeted with a wisp of hair straying from her newly coiffed hair, poised, as if ready for flight, in the archway of their drawing room. Where was he? she worried. A figure reflected in the large mirror temporarily arrested her attention. Hannah Agate stood sideways to the mirror, but from Nellie’s angle it was obvious that Hannah was watching herself. What possesses Hannah? Has she never gazed at her own reflection? No, that is impossible, she is from a founding family in Sparta, living in a veritable palace on Revolutionary Road—there must be rooms full of looking glasses. Mayhap she suffers from extreme vanity? Nellie stifled a nervous giggle. What an odious character flaw.

  Hannah shifted her gaze and caught Nellie looking at her. She sniffed and stalked to Nellie’s side. “I am eager, yet apprehensive, at the thought of the arrival of Mr. George Brandreth. Ostensibly Mr. Brandreth is the only eligible suitor for a woman of my breeding in our entire village! My mother has assured me of his affections. I hope to secure his attentions this afternoon.” Hannah turned back to the mirror and smoothed her flounces, not even polite enough to listen to any reply from Nellie.

  The conceit! Nellie fumed. I am sure she only favored me with her agenda of machinations because I caught her admiring herself. Ha! Mr. Brandreth is my beau. He will pay his attentions to me.

  “Nellie!” Augusta grabbed Cornelia’s hand and drew her toward the kitchen. “Come join Nathaniel and me at the taffy pull.”

  “I am presently occupied,” Nellie said, in a flat voice, with a formal bend of her head. She pulled her hand back.

  Augusta did not take offense, rather she laughed. “Pining at the door is your employment?” she asked.

  Nellie did not answer. She turned her attention back to the ornately carved mahogany front door again, willing it to open.

  Then it did.

  “Lo and behold,” she whispered to herself. “He has arrived!”

  George Brandreth stepped into the foyer with that easy grace men his size and stature seem born with. Nellie could not take her eyes off him. He greeted the butler with courtesy, his mouth smiling, his eyes traveling the room. Nellie saw with relief his eyes passed right over Hannah Agate without a pause. When they landed on Nellie, his eyes lit up. Nellie responded with her own glow.

  Brandreth was at her side in a heartbeat. My own, quite audible, heartbeat! Nellie thought.

  “How dashing you look in your casual cut afternoon jacket,” she said, her lightheartedness and happiness spilling into her declaration. Hannah turned her head at the sound of Nellie’s voice and gave a look that could kill. Nellie did not even notice.

  “I do cut a most romantic figure, do I not?” said George, in such teasing, happy-go-lucky tone it did not sound like boasting.

  “Indeed,” agreed Nellie. She hesitated. What is our next course of action? Next conversation? She panicked, hearing Hannah rustling toward them.

  She need not have feared. Brandreth bowed over her hand. “May I escort you to the taffy pulling area, so we might choose the best candy for the prettiest hostess?”

  A shade lighter than pink colored Nellie’s cheeks, and she brushed that stray strand of hair off her forehead. Brandreth tucked her hand under his elbow and steered her toward the kitchen, right past the foiled Hannah.

  Conversation flowed easily between them as Nellie floated in happiness through her own front parlor. In the kitchen, they stopped beside the great cauldron on the stove, watching Mrs. Entwhistle continue to preside over the percolating, fragrant mass.

  “Time for testing!” announced Mrs. Entwhistle. Some of the guests pressed closer.

  “I am unfamiliar with the taffy testing protocol,” whispered George in her ear. The whisper sent delightful tickles through Nellie’s ear and down her back.

  Nellie said in a conversational volume, “Watch the taffy as my mother extracts it—it will make threads when dipped in cold water, which means the treat is one step closer to ready!”

  “Yes,” said Anastasia at Nellie’s other elbow. “Next, the taffy will form a soft ball when immersed in the cold water.”

  Augusta took up the instruction from across the room, saying, “Finally, when the tested lump turns from a soft ball to a stiff ball of taffy—the candy is ready to pull!”

  The group waited expectantly, as the batch boiled for a few more minutes.

  At last, Mrs. Entwhistle pulled one pot from the flame and ladled large scoops of the sticky mass directly onto the marble kitchen table.

  “Steam rising,” squealed Matthias, eyes level to the table top, pointing.

  The whole group laughed.

  Cook returned the cauldron to the stove as Nellie and Agnes reached for the already-buttered pans. After only a few minutes of cooling, Mrs. Entwhistle scraped the boiled molasses off the table plopping little portions into pan after pan. The girls ferried them to the great dining room table to cool further.

  Groups gathered around the pans, and began to spread butter on their hands. Agnes buttered Matthias’ hands. He promptly scooted under the massive table, and licked all the butter off. “Delicious,” he giggled.

  “If you like the butter, wait until you taste the taffy,” said Augusta, with a merry, conspiratorial wink.

  “It couldn’t be better!” said Matthias.

  “You will soon see, you are mistaken,” said Nellie. “Taffy is a naughty food—blobs of butter, lashings of sugar and syrup and Mutter even put some chocolate in one group’s batch!”

  Matthias’s
eyes grew round. “I will join the chocolate group,” he promised.

  Brandreth and Nellie finally took a turn at the big tub of butter Mother had filled to the brim in preparation for the party. Mercy, Nellie thought, peering down into its depths. It is already half depleted! Nellie took a scant scoop, hoping there was still enough for all the guests, and delicately rubbed it into the palms of her hands. She held them aloft like a surgeon, careful not to put her hands anywhere near her lace bodice.

  Brandreth dug into the pot and gave himself a generous scoop, lathering it all over his hands, both the palms and the backs. “I confess I have been a tad too generous with my portion,” he said. He winked at Nellie and stepped in closer. “However, I have devised a remedy for my greed.” He reached out and grabbed both of Nellie’s hands in his large ones, coating hers with gobs of butter. Laughing, and before Nellie could think of a polite way to protest, Brandreth began massaging her hands and then each individual finger, “I assure you this is the only cure. I must smother these delicate dainties in butter!”

  The touch turned from flippant to firm. Nellie felt a thrill of intimacy at the change. She looked down at her fingers. Tingles from the contact traveled up her arms to tantalize her thoughts. A decidedly romantic figure, pulling on my heartstrings via my digits! Simply heavenly.

  Forgetting where she was, Nellie looked up into Brandreth’s eyes and flashed a big smile. He seems smitten too!

  “Ahem!” a voice said loudly in her ear. The sound broke the spell and Brandreth removed his hands. Annoyed, Nellie wheeled around to give a quiet tongue lashing to the fool who had caused this folly. She looked up into the angry eyes of Obadiah Wright.

  “Mercy! Mr. Wright. You have materialized out of thin air!” Totally flustered Nellie spoke in a voice two octaves higher than a cat screech. “A distinct pleasure to see you again, sir.”

  “Verily?” Obadiah’s voice was as angry as his eyes. “I intended to surprise you with attentions and a visit, but I see the surprise is my own.”

  Brandreth inserted himself into the conversation, in an effort to be gallant. “Wright, good to see you old boy. I would shake your hand, but I see you are not in the proper form to participate in this frolicsome taffy social.”

  Obadiah turned those angry eyes on Brandreth. “If I may have a moment of conversation with this young lady?” he asked. The frost on the windows was less icy than his voice.

  Brandreth stepped closer. “I am not quite sure the occasion affords it. You see, the taffy pulling is about to begin and we’ll not miss it. We’re buttoned and buttered in fact. I am afraid we must postpone indefinitely any tête-à-tête between you and my candy girl.”

  Undeterred from his pursuit of Nellie by an apparent rival, Brandreth grabbed Nellies’ buttered hand with his own slippery one and steered her to the pans of molasses waiting to be pulled.

  A terse “Good day” grated from Obadiah’s throat. He turned on his heel and marched out the door.

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish. What bee was in his bonnet? A most disagreeable chap,” proclaimed Brandreth. His hands grabbed hers again, hardly touching the taffy.

  Nellie blushed and stammered, “I... he is....”

  “It makes no never mind.” Brandreth waved his hand in dismissal. “He is gone now and we can resume our merrymaking.”

  Nellie viewed the groups gathered together around their allotted portions, laughing, and talking while they pulled and stretched the warm sticky masses. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She pulled at that stray hair, the strand again dangling this time over her eye, leaving a streak of butter on the offending clump.

  Brandreth leaned down toward her. “Come, come, that fellow can get in line. Is he a farmer? Does he not know the proper protocol, to obtain permission before coming to call? ‘Tis of no consequence, I tell you.” He reached out and brushed that sticky strand off her brow with the tips of his buttery fingers. Now her hair was so full of butter it stuck to her forehead. In spite of the unpleasantness of the situation and the tackiness of his fingers, Nellie giggled, for the tingles came back with that light, intimate touch.

  I will wrestle with the devil and my conscience later, she decided. This is an entertainment I look forward to with great anticipation each year. Furthermore, this year, I am this social’s hostess. I will not let one disgruntled suitor dissuade me from my enjoyment.

  Nellie joined in the merriment with all her guests and admired the various shapes that emerged as the product of the gathering’s labor. Some groups lay single sticks of taffy, twisted, or curled with a knot on the end. Others braided their sticks, making sure they had enough for each member of their group to take a piece home. Still other groups consumed the candy as they pulled, having little to show for their efforts except full stomachs and happy affects.

  Nellie felt a tug on her sleeve as she admired Nathanial and Augusta’s neat rows of pulled taffy sticks. She turned to find Brandreth grinning down at her, now hiding his hands behind his back.

  “Pray tell, for what have you summoned my attention?” she asked, smiling with a mock stern expression on her face.

  “You heartless flirt!” said Brandreth. “I wish to give you my heart.”

  Nellie drew her breath in sharply, astounded at the boldness of his proclamation. But when Brandreth pulled his hands around and opened them before her she laughed with delight. In his hand was a small pull of taffy, twisted and shaped into a heart. With a flourish, Brandreth bowed and presented the candy to Nellie.

  “Take good care of my heart now,” teased George.

  Chapter 13 – Downtown

  Sing Sing, May 1849

  “I did not know you were a shop girl.” George Brandreth’s frowning face separated itself from the bunch of young men hanging out in front of Hart’s Apothecary as Nellie dug her apron out of her bag and closed her parasol to enter the shop.

  “A shop girl? Of course not,” said Nellie with a small laugh as she continued through the door.

  “I beg to differ. You are employed by a shopkeeper,” said Brandreth, following her into the drugstore and talking to her as if instructing a person of meager intelligence. “Therefore, you are a shop girl.”

  Mercy! Mutter warned me that working here would give suitors the wrong impression of my social status. Nellie shrugged. What of it? A ‘shop girl’ is not worthy of his time? I’ll not enlighten him.

  Nellie decided to turn the tables. She gave a flirty little laugh. “I might ask you, kind sir, why you were loitering outside the premises of this fine and noble establishment like a truant schoolboy?” Nellie gave what she hoped was her most engaging smile.

  Brandreth hesitated.

  “It does not seem worthy of Doctor....” Nellie paused dramatically, “No! Senator Brandreth’s son to be seen about town, idling and dallying, not gainfully employed.”

  “I am inventorying Hart’s stock of Brandreth’s Pills, of course. Just monitoring the marketplace for our locally manufactured wonder cure.” Brandreth’s face relaxed, but his eyes were still hard.

  “From outside the establishment?” asked Nellie, laughing aloud.

  Perhaps her laugh was a bit too taunting, or perhaps young Mr. Brandreth just did not have a sense of humor about himself. He stiffened and said through clenched teeth, “A shop girl is not acceptable company for a Brandreth!”

  Nellie refused embarrassment, drawing her shoulders’ back and standing ramrod straight. “First of all, I am not a ‘shop girl,’ I am studying herbology and apprenticing to be an apothecist, and secondly...” she said, tossing her head, stray hair whipping into her eyes. “...Your stepmother would have little forbearance for the hoity-toity vagary you just communicated to me! As a former factory-worker, her social status was several echelons below ‘shop girl.’”

  She turned on her heel and walked to the back of the store. She slipped behind the counter and put on her work jacket. Brandreth hesitated for a second, but then turned on his heel and stalked out of t
he store. Nellie shook her head. What did Brandreth say when Obadiah Wright executed that same maneuver? ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish.’

  Straightening her apron, she hurried to Dr. Hart, all smiles, in anticipation of her two hours of mixing tinctures and studying medicines.

  The time flew by, as Dr. Hart was not only knowledgeable about medicinal remedies unknown to Midwife Rafferty, but was also a great talker, with a dry, droll sense of humor. Nellie absorbed information as fast as it was offered. When Doctor Hart’s chin-wagging gets dry, Nellie thought to herself, I can find just as much amusement from the schoolboys hovering over the penny candy, peppering me with questions about the items for sale in the shop.

  In what seemed like only a few minutes, Nellie’s lesson ended. Blinking from the late afternoon sun as she stepped out of the apothecary, Nellie almost bumped into Obadiah Wright.

  “Good afternoon, Mistress Entwhistle,” Obadiah said, giving a stiff bow. “I thought I might just find you here.”

  “Mercy, you startled me, and very nearly trampled me!” Nellie hoped her focus on the physical near miss would cover her confusion over the fact that he was seeking her company in the first place. Did he not march out of my house mere months ago? Has he been hiding under a rock? I never expected him to resurface or pursue my favor again.

  “Perhaps you are surprised to see me? I must confess I am a tad abashed at my behavior during our last meeting. I was unaware of your family’s taffy social and had presented myself at your dwelling to advise you of my plans to attend Yale University, beginning that very week. If I could have kept but longer away, I might have waxed this speech more poetically. However, some embrocation did assuage my bruised ego during my absence, and now, as the academic term has ended, I find myself back in Sing Sing. I am still uncertain myself as to why I have waited for you to finish your intellectual pursuit at the apothecary to gain an audience with you.”

  Nellie looked at Obadiah, a frown creasing her forehead. She was unsure whether she wished to continue their conversation. After that long, waffling, dissertation the import of his desires still remains obtuse, she thought.