Flirtation on the Hudson

by J. F. Collen

  Chapter 32 – Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?

  Sing Sing, June 1851

  The curtain came down on the last scene.

  “Dress rehearsal is successfully concluded!” announced Nellie through a speaking horn. “Stage hands please report three hours before show time tomorrow. Actors, before you change out of costume, come to the front row orchestra seats for notes. I will review your sketches as quickly as possible. I know we all want to retire home for our suppers.”

  Cornelia, flushed with the success of the evening, swung down from the stage in a happy twirl and almost bumped into her father.

  “Cornelia Rose Entwhistle, I am completely disappointed in you,” Mr. Entwhistle said.

  Nellie burst into tears.

  “Now, colleen, I didn’t mean ‘completely.’ I am extremely proud of ye for organizing this fine show. It has all the markings of being a success, both financially and artistically. Tomorrow, ‘opening night’ is sold out. Sunday’s ‘closing night’ only has a few seats left. Ye have made your parish proud, putting both your literary and dramatic talent and your organizational skills to work for our common goal.”

  Eyes red, Cornelia snuffled into her handkerchief in confusion.

  Her father looked at her with a stern expression on his face. “Ye a’ course can surmise, I am not pleased with t’ sticky romantic situations you perpetually find for yerself. ‘Tis a bit of a farce here,” said Mr. Entwhistle, gesturing to the stage.

  “Mercy! What a relief! I was afraid no one would think our minstrel show was funny,” quipped Cornelia through her tears.

  Her father looked at her and suddenly they both burst out laughing.

  Cornelia’s laugh changed to a loud guffaw, which got stuck in her throat and turned into a sob. She burst into tears anew, laughing and crying at the same time. Finally, her father wiped a tear from his own eye and said, “Ye may be t’ belle o’ the ball, but ye canna toy with these men’s affections. Baker has fine prospects—he will soon receive his commission as an officer. He has all t’ markings of a fine husband—a gentleman from the South with a fine practical education in engineering, earned while commanding a salary from our United States Army. Mr. Wright on t’ other hand studied who knows what, and aims to become an attorney-at-law. Lord knows we don’t need any more o’ those helping to run this country amuck.”

  “Papa, you have stacked the deck! Do you mean to say you have chosen for me?” asked Cornelia, lifting her horrified face out of her handkerchief and staring at her father.

  “Only wi’ yer best interests in mind,” said her father. “Interests that you may lack t’ knowledge to discern.”

  Cornelia shook her head. “How can you know me, better than I know myself? How can you know, better than I, what type of man will suit my nature?”

  “Would that it were that simple! Many men could suit yer nature, and sure yer fancy too. But it takes wisdom, experience, and an emotional detachment to discern who will be best fer ye in t’ long run,” said her father, running his hand over his hair and down the back of his head in his ‘deep thought’ gesture.

  “Truly, Papa, you think I am incapable of making the correct choice?” Cornelia demanded.

  “Not incapable, no, but perhaps swayed by transient or superficial trappings,” her father replied. “Listen to me, it is simple. ‘Tis simply a question of faith.”

  Cornelia looked confused.

  “Obadiah is t’ wrong faith,” said Mr. Entwhistle.

  “Whatever do you mean? He was baptized Catholic, just like we Entwhistles were.”

  Her father shook his head. “Always negotiating and twisting yer words. Yer Mutter has discovered that while he may have been baptized Catholic, in fact his mother was Episcopalian, and therefore his faith orientation is suspect.”

  “Mutter discovered?” Cornelia almost shouted. “Mutter discovered? Mutter discovered his mother was Episcopalian because I told her.”

  “Well, true enough, Nell, but yer Mutter suspects that his father, Silas Wright was Episcopalian as well.”

  Nellie was flabbergasted. She shook her head. “That would, of course, make Obadiah simply Episcopal.”

  Her father shook his head. “That’s what she thinks.”

  Nellie threw up her hands. There was no point in arguing this with her father. She tried a different tack. “Obadiah has truer, less tempestuous, intentions than Lawrence, even if Lawrence is completely Catholic.”

  Her father looked surprised. “‘Tis true. I’m a mite surprised at your accurate assessment. T’ heart is oft not a reliable judge.”

  “How do you gauge the veracity of that statement?” Cornelia replied.

  “By t’ fact that Obadiah has already asked my permission to marry you,” replied Mr. Entwhistle.

  Cornelia drew in her breath. She thought for a moment. “When did this transpire?”

  “At our Twelfth Night cotillion,” answered Mr. Entwhistle. So long ago, thought Cornelia. Whatever could be cause for his delay in approaching me?

  “Has Lawrence made the same request of you?” she asked.

  “No, t’ man has not declared his intentions to me, come to think on it,” Mr. Entwhistle scratched the back of his neck again.

  “Merciful heavens!” Nellie wagged her finger at her father. “Perhaps I might be better able to make sound decisions for myself, if I were in command of the same facts as you.”

  “I’ll allow, ‘tis a fair point. What say ye to yer Mutter, ye and I all sitting down an assessing the information together, after ye finish here tonight?”

  “That might be a good start,” conceded Cornelia. However, there is some pertinent information I cannot divulge to you. Furthermore, it is my future, therefore, I will decide, she promised herself.

  By the time Cornelia finished reviewing her director’s notes with the actors, it was long past nine in the evening. Nevertheless, Gertrude Entwhistle had a warm supper waiting for her family.

  “At last, the hard-working thespian troupe has come home for some nourishment.” Mrs. Entwhistle smiled, rosy-cheeked from her hours at the stove. Matthias stretched a grimy hand to the table and stuffed a still-warm piece of cornbread in his mouth. “Stage hands must, at very least, wash the poster paint from their hands before joining us at the supper table,” she objected.

  Matthias ran off. Loud splashes were heard from the kitchen.

  The stew was consumed in minutes, everyone too hungry and tired to eat slowly and make conversation. In less than half an hour, the table was empty of food and all family members, save Cornelia and her parents.

  Cornelia was scraping the last bits of creamy butterscotch pudding from her bowl when Mrs. Entwhistle said, “I heard there were one too many stagehands today.”

  Cornelia looked up in surprise.

  “Gossip like this takes only minutes to travel throughout the entire town,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. Nellie scrutinized her mother’s face, trying to ascertain her level of upset.

  “Gertrude, I have already told our daughter ‘tis time for her to choose a horse and finish t’ race,” said Mr. Entwhistle.

  “I do not wish her to choose just any suitor,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. “He must be a Catholic, approved by us.”

  Nellie’s heart plunged to the floor. She snorted, in frustration. Mutter’s face never betrays her position. Her words however leave little doubt as to which camp commands her loyalty. What hope is there I will even have opportunity to voice my opinion, much less persuade these two intractable authoritarians to respect my preferences? It is two against one, she thought.

  Each of her parents spoke in favor of Baker’s candidacy, extoling his virtues, but mostly his Catholicism.

  “But what of other concerns, for example, each gentleman’s integrity and intelligence? Lawrence is almost dimwitted compared to Obadiah. Who is to say his judgment will not be clouded and limited by his lack of mental acumen?” Cornelia asked.

  Her parents looked at each other.


  “‘Tis a fair point, colleen,” her father conceded.

  “Mutter, Papa, I have listened in virtual silence, and with uncharacteristic patience....”

  Both her parents burst out laughing.

  “Aye,” said her father between guffaws. Her mother smiled.

  “Aber. But, Cornelia, you must confide in us with utter veracity, was Obadiah’s father, the Governor, Episcopal?” her mother asked.

  Cornelia stamped her foot in impatience. “That would defy common logic—to only divulge that his mother was Episcopalian—if his father were too, making Obadiah entirely Episcopal, and thus the fact that his mother also was, irrelevant.”

  “A partial truth, which leads to a particular conclusion, rolls off the tongue with far more alacrity than a lie,” stated her mother, looking away.

  Mutter has just accused me of lying about Obadiah’s faith! Nellie grit her teeth. She repressed her anger so she could speak rationally. “Please understand, I value your opinion and give great deference to your view on the merits and considerations of each suitor. I credit your judgment great weight.” Cornelia paused as her parents nodded their agreement.

  “I have discerned some characteristics and behavior of these suitors unknown, unnoticed, or perhaps even not presented to you, that inclines me in favor of Obadiah.”

  Her parents started to speak, but Nellie held up her hand. “But be that as it may, my most compelling concern remains—in matters of my own heart, if my reasons are valid and my thought process not flighty or ill-considered, should I not be permitted to exercise my own judgment, a skill, I might add, that you have helped me cultivate?” she asked.

  Her parents looked at each other again. Her mother said, “I do trust that judgment we have so carefully nurtured. While at times, some of your actions seem to have sprung from thoughts devoid of any cognitive process—we see that your reasoning here, while swayed by your expansive heart, is sound. Howsoever, you are minimizing the only thing that matters.”

  “Our investigations have confirmed—t’ late Mrs. Wright was Episcopalian. His father is a Jacksonian. I will no’ have it,“ declared her father.

  Tears sprang to Cornelia’s eyes. “Do you not even care what I have decided?”

  “I am t’ man. I am t’ father. I decide,” said her father.

  Her mother sighed again. “We know this is difficult.”

  “I’ll disinherit ye before I’ll allow ye t’ marry a man who is not Catholic.”

  “But Papa,” Cornelia pleaded, then turned to her mother in a separate appeal, “Mutter, I have told you, Obadiah was baptized Catholic.”

  “To borrow one of his own phrases, I fear t’ jury is still out as to whether that gentleman is t’ soundest choice.

  “We will see what transpires,” said her father.

  There is hope I can yet persuade them, she thought. Once, of course, I have persuaded myself.

  Her father gathered her in his arms and hugged her, taking the sting away from his harsh words. His hug held promise of a tiny window remaining open in spite of his door-shutting words.

  “We both hope ye will reconsider yer evaluations—but we do acknowledge yer desire to be t’ final judge,” her father whispered into the top of her head.

  Chapter 33 – At the Least Suggestion, I’ll Pop the Question

  Sing Sing, July 1851

  Cornelia Rose and Obadiah watched the sun’s golden orb, radiating light and color, sink over the Highland cliffs on the other side of the river. The last vestiges of its rays suffused the water with Nellie’s favorite colors—magenta pink and aquamarine blue.

  “Mercy, the mystical beauty of the thinly diffused vapors comprising western sunshine!” she said. “Sunset from the famed Brandreth gazebo. The best viewing spot in the entire world.”

  “The whole vast world?” teased Obadiah. “I am quite certain there could be finer views say from the California cliffs overlooking the mighty Pacific Ocean, or perhaps from the riverbanks observing the Danube or the Rhine...?” He smiled and tucked her stray strand of hair behind her ear, sending tingles of delight along her neck. She giggled in gladness. Her eyes skittered across his eyes and looked away. She was taken aback by the naked feelings his eyes revealed.

  Mercy, we are both wearing our hearts in our eyes, rather than on our sleeves, she thought.

  “My opinion does not merely rest on my own experience alone....” Nellie tried to mentally gather herself by resuming their light banter. “All the Knickerbocker poets and writers, well-traveled throughout this wide world, claim these vistas and views are rivaled nowhere.” Nellie gave a pretty, merry toss of her head. It is most fortuitous that I am an avid reader, so I can carry my weight in this scintillating conversation, whilst grappling with my own deep feelings.

  “I concede the point to my lady—a well-read woman with a learned opinion,” said Obadiah, and he leaned down and kissed her, teasingly at first. His lips lingered, and Nellie melted into his embrace as his kisses came faster and grew in ardor.

  “Mercy!” said Nellie at last, inwardly singing with joy. “Your passion quite takes my breath away.”

  Obadiah grinned at her. “I ardently desire to hold you breathless your entire life. What say you to a lifetime of kisses and happiness, spent in my arms as we face this world together?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” said Nellie, blushing with joy.

  Just then, George Brandreth charged into the gazebo with Hannah Agate on his arm.

  What dreadful timing! This situation is entirely too awkward. Nellie tucked her strand of hair under her hat, as if she were tucking her feelings away. Once again, she would have to contain any outpouring of her heart.

  “If this doesn’t sour my milk!” exclaimed George. “I see you have taken advantage of your familiarity with my Glyndon Estate to sneak off to the best spot in town for a romantic view of the sunset.” Brandreth stuck his hands in his waistcoat pockets, the grudge he still held against Nellie apparent. He seems most unreasonably cross, even for George. But why? He most definitely rejected me before I had the sense to reject him. Nellie laughed to herself.

  “‘Tis a great joy to view this sunset unimpeded,” George continued, addressing no one in particular.

  “Your comportment smacks of ill-breeding,” growled Obadiah.

  Nellie decided the best course of action was to overlook Brandreth’s rudeness and the implied request for them to leave this cozy spot. “Hannah, how very lovely to see you again. Why it has been at least a fortnight since we enjoyed each other’s company at Clara Rafferty’s quilting bee.”

  Hannah had the grace to smile. While she may be self-absorbed and uppity, at least she knows her manners and is always pleasant company, Nellie thought.

  “It was such a very special day, helping the bride-to-be prepare her trousseau. She has many patches of good wishes sewn into that quilt,” Hannah said, as she gave Nellie a quick but sincere hug.

  “Speaking of brides-to-be....” Both George and Obadiah said almost at the same time. Nellie and Hannah exchanged knowing glances.

  An awkward tension hung in the air.

  “Enough with the fimble-famble. I believe it is time for you to vacate the premises,” George said with an imperious waive of his hand.

  Obadiah glared and advanced toward him wearing a menacing face. Brandreth change his tack. “I am sure there are still plenty of cakes and tea remaining at the party,” he said.

  Obadiah kept advancing. George caught him by the elbow and spun him around, walking him back the other way. “Look old boy,” he whispered, “I have no desire to affect you injuriously. However, I have an important matter to which I must attend.”

  The ladies once again exchanged glances.

  Nellie said, “Obadiah, ‘tis the perfect time of day to stroll along the wharf and watch the sloops moor for the evening. The fading sunset will frame the prettiest of pictures.”

  Nellie held out her hand.

  Obadiah gallantly took it and they waved goodbye
.

  “They deserve each other,” Obadiah muttered as they made their way down the steep trellised steps toward the dock below. “A bully and a hussy: the perfect match!”

  Nellie said, “Now, now, let us not judge harshly—lest we be judged. Although I do agree—they deserve each other.”

  They emerged onto the street from the shelter of the stairway and were hit with a sudden blast of wind from an incoming train that blew half of Nellie’s hat straight into the air.

  “I thought I had this adequately secured with my hatpins!” Nellie said, but her words were drowned by the nearly deafening toot of the train’s whistle.

  “...Quite a comic sight!” Obadiah said. Laughing, he reached over and teasingly squished the pretty feathered cap down on Nellie’s head while she fished the pins out of her hair and re-secured it. The levity left Obadiah’s face as his hand strayed down her hair, along her ear, and lingered on her chin. Nellie forgot about her hat when he cupped her chin and drew her in for a kiss.

  “‘Tis quite a heady elixir, that magical kiss,” said Nellie smiling up at him, eyes brimming with love. He smiled into her eyes, the same love reflected there.

  “Come, let us find another cozy spot to nest, now that we have been uprooted from our roost,” said Obadiah with a happy lilt to his voice.

  They walked north along Water Street toward the Brandreth factory.

  “Fiddlesticks, I once knew the perfect destination for such a walk as this, but now the railroads have ruined that favorite summer haunt—Crawbuckie Beach. The tracks cut off bays and coves from the river causing the water supply to dwindle down to one culvert. The resulting silt and stagnation of the water under the tracks has irreparably damaged the beach terrain.”

  “I used to fish there during my days at Saint John’s. The shad and striped bass were copious,” said Obadiah. “It was quite a splendid spot.”

  “We dug for oysters. I fear the industrialization of the river has reduced the plentitude of both the oysters and the fish. I spent many a happy afternoon, after chores had been completed, of course....” Nellie smiled and winked at Obadiah, who grinned back. “My siblings and I cavorted at the beach or dove in the river, floating in the water. Why, when the tide came in, with its brackish, salty water, we all pretended we were once again at the seaside resort, Coney Island, bobbing in the real ocean, looking for pirates!