by J. F. Collen
“What in tarnation is that?” Nellie asked, surprised to learn some new canal lingo this far into their journey.
Clara frowned. “I am afraid it means there is trouble down the line. The hurry up boat is a thin, narrow needle shaped boat that squeezes between the other boats on the canal to help any boat stopped, grounded, or otherwise distressed. I do hope there are no injuries. I wonder if my medical services will be required.”
Nellie and Clara went to the entry of the ladies’ section. Once again, as if on cue, Obadiah appeared.
“The hurry up boat is bound for trouble behind us. There is naught we can do; no aid we can provide at this time,” Obadiah reported.
“But what is the difficulty?” both Cornelia and Clara asked.
“A boat with bilge water waist high to its helmsman, marooned right in the middle of the canal a few miles back. It’s choking the canal and halting traffic all the way back to Lockport,” he replied.
“Mercy, thank goodness!” exclaimed Clara, breathing in deeply with her hand over her heart.
Nellie and Obadiah looked at her in surprise.
She lifted round apologetic eyes to them. “Pshaw, ‘tis not good there is a distressed boat, truly. But it came to my mind that the worst of all canal disasters occurred—a breach!” She patted herself on her chest and drew a deep breath, as if to calm herself. “I thought land cascaded into the canal, filling it with dirt and grounding every boat in its path. Inhibiting and repairing a breech is dangerous work—all manner of men felling trees to make retaining gates, repack the dirt and rebuild the dam. ‘Twould have ground all the traffic to a halt, mayhap for days, whilst they re-excavated the canal. Mercy, I thank the Lord Mr. Otis was spared a night’s rough work!”
Cornelia and Obadiah looked at each other. Obadiah shrugged. “I do believe the emergency is well in hand here, at least for the time being. We’d best get a bit more shut-eye. We arrive in Towanda with the first light of the morning.”
It was heart wrenching to say goodbye to Clara. They barely had time to finish the sumptuous breakfast, consisting of rashers of bacon with fluffy scrambled eggs, before they heard the announcement of their impending arrival.
“Goose-girl?” asked Elizabeth.
“Are these eggs from the goose-girl?” translated Nellie. Clara laughed and said, “Maybe not the girl you saw but someone’s goose or chicken-girl, anyway.”
After what seemed like mere seconds at the wharf in Towanda, the crew shouted the warning for departure.
Nellie clung to Clara, hugging her one more time. She thrust a bundle of silk into Clara’s hands and jumped back onboard their packet.
“What is this?” called Clara. “‘Tis is no occasion for gifts.”
Nellie laughed. “‘Tis my hoop form, wrapped in a silk nightgown.”
“But I cannot accept this,” protested Clara, making as if to lean across the gap between the boat and the wharf and throw it back.
“I shall not accept your protestations. You simply must,” said Nellie, stepping back and holding up her hands. “Other than at Agnes’ house in Chicago, there shall be no occasion to wear either of them.”
The horses began to pull, and the boat slipped from its mooring.
“Then give it to Agnes,” Clara called, walking alongside the boat, now tugged along the towpath.
“I have yet another for her. As you can see, there is not enough space for hooped skirts, even on this boat. Hoops shall be hopelessly out of place on the plains. I have already shortened the hem on half of my gowns to accommodate the lack of hoops,” Nellie replied. “I have reconciled myself to the loss of civilized fashion for the duration of my time on the Overland Trail. I only hope this loss of style is temporary.”
“I do believe you are correct. I have seen more than a few women headed West pass through wearing bloomer garments. You might contemplate adopting that fashion,” said Clara, continuing to walk alongside the boat.
“Mercy! That is perhaps a bit too much of a nod to the lack of civilization I expect to find west of here. The most I shall concede is a bifurcated skirt.
“Now, wear those niceties in good health. I shall think of you often, and of course, correspond when I can,” said Nellie.
Clara nodded and stopped walking, clutching the silk parcel to her.
Nellie felt as if she were leaving another piece of her heart behind as she waved her handkerchief at Clara’s receding figure.
As if she had heard her thoughts, Clara put the parcel under her arm, made a catching gesture, and placed her hands over her heart. Then she pulled them away again and threw them open, sending a piece of her heart back to Nellie.
Nellie caught it, placed her hands on her heart, and stifled a tear.
Chapter 22 – It’s Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas
Sandusky, Ohio to Chicago, Illinois, November 1856
“This is the longest portage in the world,” grumbled Cornelia. “What has addled the abilities of Mr. Armistead Long that he could not fully champion the building of a canal from Toledo to Chicago? He must end his befuddlement and advocate the Corps of Engineers begin construction. This walk shall never end!”
“But Mama, we at last get to ride in our wagon,” said Emma.
“Yes,” seconded Elizabeth. “Wagon fun!”
“My little angels, you are wise to encourage me to higher spirits. I shall abandon this melancholy.” Nellie laughed and looked at Obadiah as they trudged along next to their horses. “After all, our dear brother-in-law, Armistead Long, is simply acting true to form. Waffling and ‘backing and filling’ on an issue have become his forte.”
Obadiah smiled and reached his hand to catch her stray hair and tuck it behind her ear. His hand lingered on her chin. The floodgates of love and good feeling opened once again in Nellie’s heart and she forgot her disgruntlement.
Nellie smiled at her daughters perched atop the wagon bench. Not content to remain distant, she jumped up next to them and sat on the seat, giving Emma a hug and tickling Elizabeth. I believe I shall appreciate this seat anew every time I sit upon it, she thought, wiggling herself in like a kid settling into his parent’s lap. Thank the Lord Obadiah heeded my request and added this feature to our Conestoga.
“The view from this bench is simply grand. We shall enjoy discovering the Overland Trail from this perch.” She hugged both her daughters and continued, “This passage is but a presage of our adventurous journey. Howsoever, before we fully don the mantle of ‘pioneers and explorers’, we shall visit Aunt Agnes in her house in Chicago.”
“Then it will be Christmas!” shouted Emma. Elizabeth echoed, “Kissmiss.”
Obadiah jumped up into the wagon seat with them, shouting, “Steady on now boys,” to the horses.
“My Cornelia Rose, I am happy you abandoned your grousing tone. I for one, have been longing to test our workhorses and set sail on our own prairie schooner.
“And look, little ladies,” he flicked his whip on the team lightly. “These old horses are so strong, they can pull this heavy wagon unaided. Of course, our Conestoga is only three quarters filled with a light load, and this path is packed down like our roads at home—unlike the rough terrain through the plains and the mountains up ahead.”
Nellie smiled, good humor restored. After all, two months frolic and detour with dear sister Agnes begins after completion of just a little more than a day’s journey. “I am mindful of your barely restrained enthusiasm to travel under our own steam. You have been chomping at the bit. I’ll allow, you do not find sailing nearly as charming as I do.” She laughed. “Howsoever, we shall rely on this point of agreement—the definition of sailing, or even boating for that matter, cannot possibly encompass floating down a muddy canal behind three trudging horses!”
Obadiah joined in her merriment. “I, for my part shall confess, I did rather enjoy the sail across vast Lake Erie after we abandoned that abysmal canal barge in Buffalo. In fact, you are correct, the ‘sailing’ was positively charming
.”
As their wagon rolled into the town of Chicago, Nellie and her family observed the familiar signs of civilization. Civilized, but still raw, rustic, and rough around the edges, Cornelia thought, observing the swinging doors on the tavern and the wooden façades of the stores. Pshaw, every commercial establishment in New York City, and most fine houses, are built of brick these days. Even in our little village of Sing Sing, we construct new buildings of brick. The only wood structure I can recall still extant is the old Buckout livery. But I shall not sound a sour note by voicing my disparagement of the architecture.
“Mama, why are some streets way up high and some down low?” asked Emma, demonstrating with her hands.
“Room for air underneath?” asked Elizabeth.
“These are excellent questions, the answers to which I am sure shall be provided, posthaste, by your Uncle Armistead,” replied Obadiah.
Nellie laughed. “Yes, I am sure Mr. Long and his Corps of Engineers had a hand in this undertaking.” They turned a corner, and Nellie spotted a numbered house. “We are just a few houses away!”
Whooping and hollering, three boys emerged from a large house and ran towards their wagon. Two adults appeared in the doorway and watched them pull the wagon up the drive.
The Wright ensemble hesitated before disembarking. Even our horses look uncertain as to how to interpret this reception.
“Uncle Armistead Long, why dirt here?” called Elizabeth, pointing to a pile of sticks, stones, and mud.
The adults all laughed. Emboldened, Emma asked, “Why is your house suspended in the air on big blocks?”
“They are raising the streets,” said Agnes as she ran forward. “Literally elevating them directly from this God-forsaken swamp on the edge of Lake Michigan.”
Nellie jumped out of the wagon, ran to her sister, and swung her around in a big embrace. Her sister returned the hug.
“Mercy, you are a bright young thing, ain’t ya? And right purdy too!” drawled Armistead Long. “Now consider yourselves at home and run off and play with your cousins.”
Emma and Elizabeth looked at each other uncertainly. Emma said, “If it is acceptable to you, Uncle Armistead, I do believe my sister and I would feel far more at home having tea with the adults.”
Nellie gasped. Agnes will dispense a tongue lashing for that, no doubt! Tarnation! We have not put our best foot forward.
But Agnes looked extremely pleased for some reason. And Armistead threw back his head and laughed.
“In point of fact,” said Agnes, arms crossed in front of her chest, looking like a drill sergeant. Nellie cringed, awaiting a lecture. “It plumb tickles me pink, having some fine young ladies from the East join us at a proper tea.” Agnes gave a huge, uncharacteristic smile that lit up her face and increased her beauty one hundredfold. Nellie stood stock-still, dumbfounded. Agnes took Nellie’s arm and gave her another hug. “I have long held the sentiment our home would feel more civilized if I had a little angel of a daughter to keep me company. Now two such angels arrive at my doorstep. No longer am I the lone female tackling the herculean task of instilling the civility I was bred to practice into a family of rough and tumble men. I have been given a reprieve!”
Relief broke over Nellie’s face like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud. “Perhaps this situation is a foretaste of your life to come.” She squeezed her sister’s arm.
“If it please the Lord, Amen,” said Agnes. “Sakes alive, it does my heart good to see you.”
Nellie laughed. Loneliness certainly blunted that sharp tongue of my sister’s.
But she praised her sister too soon.
“The deprivations and the trials I have had to endure in this God-forsaken swamp they have the audacity to call a ‘city’, are more than a decent soul should bear!” Agnes’ face resumed its usual dour expression and she wrung her hands.
“Yet, you call me dramatic,” said Nellie with a laugh. At the thunderous look on her sister’s face, Nellie gave Agnes another hug.
“Now, my little short-sweetenin’,” said Armistead in a soothing voice. “As I just explained to our nieces, Chicago shall soon be, quite literally, lifted from this swamp and constructed into a great city.”
I’ll wager Armistead’s soothing tone grows more and more polished through daily use, Nellie smiled to herself.
A loud whoop whoop cough caught Nellie’s ear.
The three boys ran to the far side of the garden. The distress of Agnes’ youngest son’s loud whooping cough distracted Nellie. She held up her hand and interrupted further conversation.
“Yes, I know,” Agnes wrung her hands again. “Dagobert had the whooping cough.”
“Had?” asked Cornelia. “He still sounds afflicted to me.”
“He is much restored. Observe—he is out of bed and running around.” Agnes defended her diagnosis.
“The sound of that wracking cough disturbs me,” said Cornelia. “We must address this lingering symptom. I shall concoct several diverse elixirs, each addressing a different one of the myriad causes of the persistent cough. We must not allow this illness to fester into a relapse. Or, far worse, in his weakened condition, allow it to degenerate into consumption.”
Agnes led her up the stairs of their grand entrance. “Your mere arrival restores me to better humor straightaway. The joy of my relief at no longer functioning as the sole guardian of the health of my brood is quite euphoric. ‘Tis unfathomable, the burden I alone shoulder, to maintain and ensure the vigor and well-being of this motley clutch of heathens.”
Nellie grinned, glad to her core that she had insisted on including a visit to Agnes on their journey’s route. She had been unsure until just this moment whether Agnes’s acid tongue and critical nature would make her regret this detour. At this compliment to my heretofore-unrecognized medical knowledge, and her endearing terms for my daughters, my heart rejoices! My bond with my sister strengthens tenfold. We are kindred spirits—both lonely walkers through this new world.
“I am pleased as punch to hear my midwifery can aid you, rather than continue to be a thorn in your side,” she replied with a mischievous smile.
Agnes snatched her arm from Nellie’s and puckered her face in preparation for an unkind retort. Nellie laughed and folded her sister’s arm back under her own. “Hush! My midwifery skills shall be entirely at your disposal for my entire stay. I look forward to a new chapter in our relationship.” They walked through the front double doors into a grandiose foyer.
“Mercy!” Nellie exclaimed, pulling away. “I forgot. We must unload the wagon.”
This time Agnes pulled Nellie’s arm back. “The wagon and its contents shall remain unharmed where they landed until after we have tea and you have refreshed yourself.”
But Nellie evaded her grasp and ran back to the wagon. “There is just one thing I simply must retrieve. I’ll be back in a thrice,” she called. Before Agnes could shout any reply, Nellie climbed into the back opening of the wagon and practically dove inside.
Her head reappeared an instant later, followed by the rest of her as she jumped back down, cradling something in her arms. She ran across the garden, and up the front steps.
“What in all the world is....” began Agnes.
Breathless, Nellie, already back at Agnes’s side panted, “This would... not wait... one millisecond longer... I must present it to you now.” She thrust the parcel at her sister.
Untying the string, Agnes muttered, “Sakes alive,” as she tore off the paper, revealing a large pineapple, slightly browned on one side. She held it up to her nose and sniffed it.
“You see... it could... barely wait to get here,” Nellie said, still panting. “I worried constantly it would ripen too rapidly, or that someone....” She glared at Obadiah and her girls. “...would purloin and devour it, as every time they approached the wagon they claimed they could smell its enticing sweetness.”
Agnes inhaled deeply, smelling it again. “Visions of the mighty Hudson River swim before my
eyes. I can hear the beat of the seagulls’ wings. I can feel my own sticky fingers.” But she raised troubled eyes to her sister. “By the horn spoon, no! According to the New England shipping communities, I am required to set out the pineapple to welcome you,” she fretted.
Nellie put her arm around Agnes’s shoulders, saying, “No, no. Now that we have arrived from afar, the pineapple can be placed at your door, so that all your friends and neighbors know your ‘sea captain’....” Nellie winked, “...or, in this case, your ‘ship’ of loved ones, has arrived. Local visitors are now welcome.” Agnes did not react. Nellie tried further explanation. “Thus, you no longer await, anxiously, adverse to callers. That is the old New England tradition.”
Agnes stood speechless, holding the pineapple to her nose, sniffling.
Nellie tensed and took her arm off her sister’s stiff shoulders. Has this gift somehow offended my sister? “I am aware that a good many years must still pass before your husband’s Corps of Engineers can construct a canal between Chicago and Toledo,” she offered “...if at all. It felt unchristian to deprive you of pineapple fresh shipped from the West Indies until then.”
Agnes remained still, eyes and nose on the pineapple, looking cross-eyed.
Maybe she perceives the brown spot as distasteful? Mayhap the extreme ripeness of the fruit is offensive to her sensibilities? Nellie gulped and said, “I had hoped the pineapple would keep until it was time to make the Yuletide wassail, but I am afraid it is rather past its peak ripeness.”
Agnes opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She burst into tears.
“I fear I have deeply offended you!” Nellie cried in alarm.
“Nooooo,” wailed Agnes, cradling the pineapple in her arms. “I ache for our hometown and my family so severely I do believe I have a physical pain in my heart.” Nellie put her arm back around her sister. Agnes shook her head and took one more sniff of the pineapple. Her voice, albeit just a bit shaky, took on its familiar, authoritarian tone. “Mark my words, this coarse, uncivilized existence is simply untenable and unsustainable. I daily resist the urge to pack up and journey back to Sing Sing.”
