Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  Lawrence Simmons Baker, that incorrigible Southern romantic, she reminisced. Merciful heavens, ‘tis good to know the corps of them now dull someone else’s conversation.

  Nellie ran down the gangway to her favorite perch at the bow of the ship. All her life she had chosen to ride at this spot. The allure of the mighty river gripped her. She raised her head, feeling the wind and the spray, riding the rise and the fall of the bow, becoming one with the journey. Her husband, after attending to their luggage, dutifully took a place at her side, smiling indulgently.

  Nellie appreciated anew the familiar beauty of the mountains, forests, and towns that rose on either side of the ship as they made their way north. So familiar, so dear, this precious landscape. Yet, each time I observe this panorama, I discover something new. I shall cherish this scenery my entire life; how ever could one tire of it?

  The clattering of a train suddenly broke the rhythmic swish, swish of the tide swirling beneath them and the soft hissing of the steam engine. Nellie started, eyes straining to see the ship’s competitor for travelers. There’s the culprit—rattling and clanking through the hills on the west side of the river, despoiling the natural beauty and calm of the scenery around me. The noisy locomotive belched a steady, ugly black cloud as it labored and pulled its load through the Hudson Highlands. If this be ‘progress’ we are far better served by suffering less convenience.

  The steamer turned into the first half of the S-curve of the river, signaling Nellie that West Point wharf was just around the next river bend. As the ship churned toward the landing point, Nellie felt a surge of excitement. The noise from ship’s lines thrown by the sailors, then caught and made fast, clanked in Nellie’s ears as she gazed at the all too familiar landing and spied the beautiful woodland path dubbed Flirtation Walk.

  Suddenly, a crimson tide of embarrassment flooded her as she recalled Obadiah’s remark about West Point.

  She saw the antics of her younger self and her behavior through Obadiah’s eyes. ‘Tis mortification in the extreme, to relive my selfish and saucy behavior through the lens of my current principled standards and maturity. Mercy, the sheer number of my courtships deepens my humiliation. Shameless! I shall strive to forever subdue my former outlandish behavior and henceforth only comport myself with the greatest, and gravest, dignity.

  She touched Obadiah on the arm, determined to put her young, selfish past behind her. “Perhaps now is the moment to make a foray below deck and peruse the amenities of the ship,” she said.

  Obadiah smiled at her, reading her acquiescence to his desires on her face. They retraced their steps along the gangway and walked through the hatch.

  “First, we must register with the purser,” said Obadiah, patting her hand as she glided through the passageway into a large room.

  Nellie examined her surroundings, delighting in the architectural details of the luxurious quarterdeck, which sported a grand staircase to the main deck, a baggage room, and the purser’s office. I have perused many a ships’ hull, yet none so pleasing as this truly well-appointed interior. They chatted with other passengers and confirmed that their luggage was safely aboard—their day-case in their stateroom and the rest in the baggage room.

  As soon as they cast off from the West Point quay, Nellie returned to the bow on the main deck. The incoming tide shall speed our journey north. No matter how dignified, elegant, and restrained I become, my sensibilities revel in the sensation of a spritz of spray on a sail up the river.

  It was only after enjoying the fresh air of a still-salty breeze from the brackish water, and the wooded greenery of the shoreline through several more stops that she noticed her stomach rumbling. After a twenty-minute stretch walking the pier at Newburgh, Nellie’s stomach insisted she find the dining room for their midday meal.

  They entered the interior of the large ship once again through the hatch to the quarterdeck. Nellie ascended the grand staircase, remembering her best posture and most dignified bearing, to the boiler deck while Obadiah retrieved something from their luggage in the hold.

  Nellie caught her breath at the sight of the main saloon on the boiler deck. “This most indubitably earns the moniker ‘floating palace’!” she exclaimed. The steamer’s recent renovation produced spectacular results; the main saloon now occupied not one deck, but two.

  “Mercy, regard those majestic Gothic columns,” Nellie instructed as Obadiah again appeared at her side. “They buttress quite the architectural design. Moreover, the two-level grandeur of this main seating area affords both tiers of private day parlors a view of its splendor.”

  “Truly imposing,” agreed Obadiah. “In addition, the engineering is quite clever. The columns encase the masts of the ship, running from the bottom of the hull though the superstructure. The construction is a feat of modern ingenuity as well as a thing of architectural beauty.”

  Nellie located their private parlor on the lower level, noticing it was the balcony’s width larger than the ones above. “Mercy, Obadiah, such extravagance from the gentleman who deigned not expend money on a matching Dessoir étagère to compliment our settee,” she teased. “I fail to comprehend the rationale for this expenditure. The ship’s parlor provides only fleeting comfort, whereas the Julius Dessoir étagère would grace our home forevermore. Moreover, I am quite sure, in such an elegant ship, reposing in the main saloon should be quite satisfactory.”

  “Cornelia, we shall sail approximately twelve hours on this leg of our journey.” Obadiah drew her into their private day parlor. He slid his hand from her elbow to her shoulder and then slowly walked his fingers along her bare skin up to her neck. The fingers left a trail of electric tingles that shot into her heart. She blushed. Obadiah leaned his lips closer and whispered, “This voyage is our honeymoon. There is a certain amount of affection I wish to express to you, which society dictates shall not be displayed in public....”

  Nellie barely registered the meaning of his words; she was so heady from the sensation of his seductive whispering in her ear. Obadiah kissed her and she grasped the necessity of a private parlor.

  Afterwards, as she inspected all the amenities of the room, Obadiah said, “Come, I have reserved us a table at the window for luncheon in the upper saloon.”

  Right in the middle of enjoying her fine dish of mutton, Obadiah leaned across the table and picked up her hand. Surprised, she put down her fork and met his gaze.

  “Cornelia Rose, my sweetest of hearts, I present you with just a small token of my love and esteem.” He smiled at her, opened his other hand and revealed a small blue box.

  “Mercy, Obadiah! As if this trip was not pampering enough. Honestly, you shall spoil me yet,” laughed Nellie. She took the box and lifted the lid. A beautiful mother-of-pearl inlaid pendant on a necklace of gold gleamed at her. She looked at Obadiah, speechless, with tears in her eyes.

  “The finest charm the renowned jewelry store of Tiffany, Young & Ellis offers,” he said, taking the box, and pulling out the necklace. She leaned forward, and he wrapped it around her neck. It hung just above the beautiful silver brooch of intertwined flowers he had given her last Christmas. She fingered the charm in wonder as he grinned at her. “Your silver brooch shall no longer be lonely!” he teased.

  A quartet of musicians strummed their instruments in the far corner of the elegant room. The music filled the saloon. Nellie, smile beaming, feet tapping, thought her joy would overflow and spill from her eyes.

  Their voyage was filled with strolls on the promenade deck as singing quartets and wandering musicians provided a musical backdrop for their sightseeing from the ship’s rail.

  Almost before she was ready, the steamboat nudged the dock in Albany. In a flurry of activity, passengers scampered to and fro, assembling their baggage and hand luggage, readying to disembark. The sailors threw the ship’s lines to the deckhands, who held firm, and tied them fast to the shore-side chocks.

  The crew extended the gangplank. It nosed out and landed ashore with a bang as the e
ngines cut and the steamboat heaved up and down in the water it had made choppy.

  “Last stop, all ashore,” sang out the First Mate and the passengers scurried toward the gangways.

  It was a far greater scramble to assemble luggage than Nellie anticipated. She was relieved when all of their cases were collected and entrusted to a bellman from their hotel.

  “Come,” said Obadiah, extending his elbow to Nellie. “‘Tis far too fine an evening to take a carriage the short distance to our historic Mansion House Hotel.”

  “I would enjoy a moment to adjust my gait back to the unnerving stillness of terra firma,” agreed Nellie.

  Obadiah nodded. “If you don’t mind a slight uphill incline, ‘tis just a short walk to the center of town.”

  Nellie gazed around, up and down the streets, orienting herself. “I located the State House, finely situated on the brow of the hill. It seems to afford a fine destiny for an evening’s perambulation. Howsoever, I do confess, after being spoiled by the majestic and imposing architecture of buildings in New York City, my first glimpse of the capitol reveals a building of some extent, but no grandeur.”

  Obadiah smiled and squeezed her hand. “My experience of the lack of stateliness of the state building forces me to agree with your astute observation. Howsoever, let us stroll down the streets of our eminent state’s brilliant capital and appreciate the proffered amenities.

  “Lest you think I expect you share my tremulous excitement at the thought of walking the same paths as our most luminous statesmen, Benjamin Franklin, Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr, and John Jay, just to name a few, our sightseeing lens shall consider far more breadth than merely the political realm.”

  Mr. Wright’s extensive list of statesmen alone belies that statement. Nellie giggled to herself, but she smiled her thanks.

  “I do hope I can infect you with a modicum of the thrill I feel, as a man qualifying to stand before the bar and practice law, upon walking these hallowed streets.” Obadiah’s excitement was palpable. “Through the city of Albany, one of the oldest cities in our nation, we shall encounter the very origins of our law. Its 1686 charter confers it seniority to even New York City. Ambulating here, I step with reverence. In these august streets ‘I tread in the footsteps of illustrious men in receiving from the people the sacred trust confided to my illustrious predecessors.’”

  “My word, you quote the inaugural address of our Eighth President and fellow New Yorker, Martin Van Buren. Brilliantly done!” exclaimed Nellie.

  “Cornelia, how is that speech known to you?” asked Obadiah, eyebrows raised in astonishment.

  “A harsh and demanding teacher at Sing Sing’s Mount Pleasant Military Academy tasked my brother Jerome with reciting that great oration. While he struggled for weeks committing it to memory, laboring in my presence, I inadvertently took it to heart along with him,” she answered, looking up into his eyes.

  “My learned beauty,” he whispered into her neck, kissing it gently.

  Nellie blushed and tingled. How truly seductive: to be admired and appreciated for both my God-given comeliness, and my knowledge.

  Obadiah cleared his throat and stepped back a half step. “Somehow in your presence I lose my sense of public decorum.” He paused, visibly trying to remember what they had been discussing.

  “Hopping horsefeathers... yes. Let us not forget another native son—our sitting President, Mr. Millard Fillmore. His footsteps I shall follow exactly, as I fulfill my last requirements to join other New York attorneys at the bar.”

  With a demure tone to her voice, Nellie replied, “May I be as worthy an aide in the completion of your studies as Abigail Powers Fillmore was to her law-learning husband. What great heights she helped that ‘farm boy’ attain!”

  Obadiah grinned.

  The grin encouraged Nellie to continue. “I would be remiss if I did not apprise you: you have already walked the same streets as President Fillmore. Are you acquainted with the intelligence that, at the age of fourteen, Mr. Fillmore’s father apprenticed him to Benjamin Hungerford, a cloth maker and miller in Sing Sing’s neighboring town of Sparta? Many a Sing Sing resident swears that, unhappy with his lot there, the future Mr. President frequented the cemetery where you and I picnicked last year. Rather than applying himself to making cloth, Mr. Fillmore lounged in that calm bucolic setting, reading and learning far more than he did at his apprenticeship.”

  Nellie interrupted herself with a merry laugh. “Although, Doctor Brandreth, first citizen of Sing Sing and our current New York State Senator, swears President Fillmore actually spent his free time across the road from the cemetery at Jug Tavern.” Nellie covered her mouth with her gloved hand and her laugh changed to a giggle.

  “You are a veritable font of knowledge, my love.” Obadiah squeezed her hand.

  He stopped walking and turned Nellie around to face himself. “On a more serious note, my list of statesmen and luminaries promenading these streets also includes my own father, Silas Wright, Jr. Fourteenth Governor of our fair state, United States Senator, state comptroller, Congressman, nominee for the vice-presidency of James K. Polk.... By the sword, his list of accomplishments stretches almost endlessly.” Obadiah bowed his head and paused for a breath. “A herculean legacy for a son to emulate. Howsoever, his most important one, revered father, may someday soon be attainable.”

  Nellie blushed furiously at the innuendo.

  “Cornelia Rose, I am your husband.” Laughed Obadiah. “No need for maidenly modesty with me!”

  Nellie smiled, still blushing, and decided to side-step the subject. She slipped her small, gloved hand into his, and squeezed it tight. “What a fitting tribute you offer him, my loving husband. A fine son, bringing joy and honor to his father.”

  Obadiah pinched his nose, coughed and straightened. “Now, I remind you, I do not intend to limit our purview of the capital to exploration of its political hot bed roots. I shall allow that passion of yours for history to percolate through our sightseeing. We shall explore the historic Dutch district, view the sights of the Old City, and discover buildings harking back several centuries to the time the town was named Beverwyck or even before, to its birth, begotten from Fort Orange.”

  Nellie clapped quietly, eyes shining. “Politics, history, entertainment; it does make a girl’s head spin fast and furious, like a spinster working a spinning jenny!”

  “But no spinster shall you be for the prevailing occupation surrounding and predominating all of these daily events shall be our tender and amorous romance.” Obadiah smiled down upon her. At that moment, Nellie’s foot caught a crack in the cobblestone, and she lurched into Obadiah’s chest. “Exactly, my love,” he said into her hair. “Never stray any farther from my arms.”

  Chapter 4 – I’m in Heaven When You Smile

  Coney Island, New York, June 1852

  The rays of the early morning sun over the eastern shore lit her familiar hometown shoreline with a rosy glow.

  “Just breathtaking,” Nellie said to Obadiah. They both waved as they sailed past their home docks of Sing Sing. Nellie heard the familiar blast of her father’s tugboat, the Gertrude, sound a muffled greeting.

  “Goodness, could that whistle be intentional? I wonder if my brothers Patrick or Jerome, or even Papa, saw our ship? They have surely seen our itinerary and realize we are due to steam by at this exact moment!” exclaimed Nellie.

  “That dedication to their kinfolk’s well-being is the very warmth, the very essence of familial love,” agreed Obadiah. Nellie slipped her hand into Obadiah’s and he squeezed it. She smiled, basking in the glow of her family’s love. Thank you, Lord, for this blessing, she prayed.

  “The thought never occurred to me before, but I wonder if, with all the ships my father and his company built, Mutter took umbrage that the only one he named after her was a work barge?” she asked Obadiah.

  He raised his eyebrow and said, “I’ll be a cocked hat if your mother didn’t crow like a rooster with pride at that hon
or. Yessir, I’d wager if your mother were truly vexed, she would rumble like thunder until the church bells rang out the news.”

  Nellie giggled in appreciation of his wordplay. “A beautifully aired double entendre. I so value your adroit tongue! To proffer a sentence where both the literal meaning of ‘church bells’ and the figurative—gossiping women—make sense to the ear. How droll.” She squeezed his arm, charmed by his cleverness.

  They strolled in happy harmony for a moment, and then she changed the subject. “After dancing the night away, and luxuriating in our stateroom during its waning hours....” She counted the indulgences on her gloved fingers. “...This glorious morning, punctuated by the call of the tugboat is the pièce de résistance to this adventure,” Nellie said, leaning her head on his arm.

  “The day is only beginning, my Rose,” said Obadiah leaning his lips into her hair and kissing it. “Many new adventures await.”

  Nellie smiled in anticipation.

  “Duck!” shouted Obadiah. Nellie bobbed her head down, shrinking into her shoulders, waiting for a blow.

  Obadiah laughed.

  Nellie looked up, and her laughter joined his. To her relief, Obadiah just teased. High above her head, the iron cast lining of one of the great arches of the Croton Aqueduct Bridge sailed over them. They were almost in Manhattan.

  “I am still rather inordinately proud of this aqueduct, lo these many years later,” said Nellie, looking up at the arches of the great bridge as the boat steamed under one with a larger span, specifically engineered for easy passage of the largest steamships. “Furthermore, I am grateful to be sailing under the conduit, rather than through it as did those six men on the Croton Maid, testing the original flow of the reservoir’s water.”

  Obadiah beamed at her. “Once again, your command of a subject is inspiring. I expect to be dazzled with your further knowledge of this engineering feat later, during our land journey across Manhattan Island. I planned our agenda to include a visit to one of your favorite spots: the Murray Hill Reservoir and Distributing Tank.”