by J. F. Collen
Agnes looked as if she would object, but she said, “My truest love, you ever elicit amorous feelings and ones of good humor in me, for which I am eternally grateful.”
Agnes must have a full stomach and a light head indeed to play along.
The families talked, laughed, and played until the two youngest, Elizabeth and Dagobert, rubbed their eyes and yawned. Nellie and Agnes noticed, but the men kept laughing and dipping into the wassail bowl.
“You are right,” Nellie murmured to Agnes. “This old English recipe for wassail is every bit as good as our Yankee pineapple one.” Nellie stared at the fire, wishing this cozy evening would never end.
“Time for bed,” announced Agnes suddenly. Nellie jumped, feeling guilty. Mercy, surely Agnes does not mean to chastise me? Like a drill sergeant, Agnes rousted the children from their comfy cushions and Nellie breathed a sigh of relief. And then laughed at herself. Old habits die hard....
“No!” shouted Egbert, jumping up, glaring with defiance. “It is Christmas Eve and we have not sung a single carol.”
Agnes softened and glanced at Nellie, who nodded her agreement at the implicit question. “Egbert, you are correct, ‘tis truly a time for rejoicing and caroling. We must treasure each moment together with our cousins.”
My word, once again Agnes reveals her soft side. I’ll be a cocked hat! Before her sister began to cry, she opened her mouth and sang, “O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining....”
The sweet voices of the children warbled right in, more or less in tune, in a middle range between Nellie’s alto and Agnes’s soprano. The men raised their own voices, rounding the melody with Obadiah’s strong tenor and Armistead’s baritone.
Our choir is nicely balanced. Nellie smiled at her sister, and squeezed her hand, tears of joy springing to her eyes.
Before the last notes faded away, Obadiah sprinted to the door. Dagobert and Emma began, “O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum, wie tru sind deiner Blättern....”
Obadiah reappeared with his fiddle, and the choir enjoyed some melodious accompaniment. Nellie looked at the fire in the huge hearth, casting a gleam on the children’s happy faces. She settled into the cozy chaise and gazed around the room, noting all the beautifully designed comforts of the Long’s home. Her heart glowed at the features of Obadiah as he coaxed music from the instrument’s strings, and she smiled at her sister and brother-in-law holding hands and singing. I shall treasure the peace and joy of this moment in my heart always, made all the more precious by my cognizance of its transience.
The song ended with the children clapping and running around the room, shouting suggestions for the next musical number.
A line from Shakespeare popped into Nellie’s head as she blissfully recalled the new treasure Obadiah just bestowed upon her. She leaned toward her sister, Armistead and her husband and quoted, “‘What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy....’ How apt these lines, how fittingly they resonate with my sentiment tonight. So blessed are we that we share this holiest of all holidays together. We must cherish our ‘froths of fleeting joy’ in each other’s companionship....”
She and Obadiah exchanged a smile. He knows I shall cherish his magnanimous gift.
“Cornelia!” exclaimed Agnes with a sharp edge to her voice.
Nellie’s eyes startled at the reproof in her tone. “Mercy, a thousand pardons, Agnes, I only meant....”
“I know well what you meant,” Agnes said in an angry voice. Then her voice broke. “I wish your words did not provoke the tears of bittersweet joy I labor so desperately to control.”
Nellie scrambled out of the chaise and rushed to hug her sister. “Forgive me....”
“Hush Nellie,” whispered Agnes. “My darling sister with the silver tongue and the penchant for drama! I cherish your company, your knowledge, and your sisterly warm love. Always. Even if my own sharp tongue shall never again acknowledge....” Agnes burst into a fresh shower of tears.
Nellie hugged her sister harder and whispered into her hair. “I love you dear sister, sharp tongue notwithstanding.” ‘Tis quite the evening for joyous surprises.
After a blissful concert of ten more carols, all the children rubbed their eyes, the older ones hiding yawns behind their hands. Agnes pulled herself out of her chair and said, “Now children....”
“No, no,” protested the children. A thunderous look stormed over Agnes’ face. Great shakes! She surely shall lose her temper now, fatigue running high and patience wearing thin.
Cornelia sighed and roused herself from her own comfortable position, nestled deep in the overstuffed chaise. It is rather more difficult to extract oneself from this state of recline. ‘Tis no wonder protocol demands I sit erect in a hard-backed chair. She cleared her throat and stepped to the plate. “If everyone scrubs their hands and faces and dons their nightshirts within five minutes, I shall recite ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas from the foot of the boy’s big bed.” Nellie pulled her beautiful Swiss pendant watch from her waistband and looked at the time.
The children shrieked with excitement, scrambled out of their chairs, and bolted away. Their footsteps audible, they clattered across the large parlor.
“But everyone must be ready or Aunt Cornelia shan’t perform the story,” warned Agnes, shouting at their retreating backs. Cuthbert’s biggest feet scurried faster. Emma giggled, scampering behind the boys. Elizabeth screamed, running last. She caught up to the rest at the stairs. They stampeded upstairs, and in seconds the rafters shook overhead with the energy of their footsteps.
Agnes turned to Nellie, “Have you forgotten your grudge against the Knickerbockers? Have you forgiven Clement C. More for changing Papa’s Daidí na Nollag and Mutter’s das Christkind into the jolly Dutch burger Saint Nick?”
“Ach du Liebe!” said Nellie. “I no longer allow myself to associate Santa Nicklaus with that Knickerbocker gang of fable thieves. I confess you have accurately recalled my reaction when I made the connection between the Knickerbockers and the re-imagined figure so loosely derived from Mutter and Papa’s traditions from the old country. Howsoever, I long ago experienced a change of heart. The poem is a treasure from our childhood, written by a man from our own hometown of Sing Sing. Papa himself read us that story every Christmas Eve.”
Nellie hugged Agnes as tears again dampened Agnes’ face. “How are the Moores?” Agnes asked. “How is Mr. Clement C.? And his lovely wife? Are they keeping well?”
Nellie smiled. “When last I saw Mr. Moore, at a splendid tea Mrs. Moore hosted at Moorehaven, the estate looked well-maintained and the couple seemed in good health. Although Mrs. Moore still pines for word from her adult children and Mr. Moore complains of the gout, they are in good spirits, enjoying their daily constitutionals through their garden along the Hudson River.”
“What news of Bishop Benjamin Moore, Mr. Clement’s father? Is he still president at Columbia College?”
“Mercy, no! Agnes, I believe he retired before you even left Sing Sing,” Nellie replied.
Agnes caught Nellie’s hand, and they walked up the stairs to the bedrooms. “It is a good thing we have interminable winters in this God-forsaken one-cow town,” Agnes said.
Nellie drew back in surprise. “Why ever for?”
“It will ensure we have months to visit before you can continue this ill-advised migration to parts unknown, and I shall have leisure to inquire after the welfare of each and every friend and neighbor I forsook in Sing Sing,” Agnes replied.
Nellie laughed. Lost in the midst of a plethora of criticism and disapproval is a request for gossip from home and a warmhearted welcome for me to linger here an indefinite period of time.
“This shall prove an exquisite Yuletide season,” Nellie said aloud and squeezed her sister’s hand.
At the top of the stairs, they entered the boy’s room. There was a mad scramble of legs and arms as the children all jumped into the big bed.
Nellie and Agnes giggled. The children
pulled the patchwork quilt over their bodies and froze, as if their petrified cessation of motion could be mistaken for sleeping.
Still giggling, Nellie began, in a dramatic whisper, “‘Twas the night before Christmas....’”
She tiptoed closer to the bed.
“...When all through the house, not a creature was stirring’,” Nellie paused, holding her hand to her ear, as if listening. She sat on the coverlet and leaned forward. “‘Not even a mouse.’”
Agnes followed, grabbed her elbow, and whispered directly in her ear. “I sorely missed your penchant for drama,” she said.
Hence your adoption of the technique yourself? My, she truly is homesick. A fresh wave of sympathy for her ornery sister flooded her with compassion.
“‘The stockings were hung, by the chimney with care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas’....”
Agnes pulled out her fine, embroidered handkerchief, dabbed her eyes and settled into the rocking chair, joining Nellie’s audience.
Chapter 24 – I Try to Say Goodbye and I Choke
Chicago, Illinois, March 1857
“I am reluctant to advise you.” Armistead actually looked nervous as he spoke.
“Why, whatever ails you?” Nellie reached out a reassuring hand.
“Not a single matter, I am quite the picture of health.”
“Mercy, then whatever is amiss?” Nellie’s hand shot up to her heart.
“‘This shall stick in your throat like a hair in a biscuit,” said Armistead, shaking his head.
Nellie shook her own head in confusion. “What in tarnation is wrong?”
“This announcement gives me a case of the jibblies,” Armistead fretted. “I feel as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Armistead Lindsey Long, I doubt any announcement shall make me as irritated as your ‘backing and filling’!” Nellie put her hands on her hips.
Armistead hung his head. “I simply fear you shall not take kindly to my news.”
“Cease toying with my curiosity, and further testing my patience.” Nellie frowned, her foot tapping impatiently, her hand straying upwards to tug on her recalcitrant forelock.
Armistead took a deep breath and blurted, “The Illinois / Michigan canal no longer takes passengers on its barges. Only freight now, since the railroad’s been completed.” He took a step away from her.
“But the canal still functions,” Nellie sputtered. “Why, I read just last week in your fine Tribune newspaper—the quantity of goods shipped North on the canal from towns and farms along the Mississippi increases exponentially each week.”
“Goods.” Obadiah stepped into the fray. “Not passengers.”
Nellie grabbed Armistead’s hand and gave it a tug. “Surely, you can use your influence as one of the chief engineers in the prestigious Army Corps of Engineers to secure us an exception, and a passage?” Nellie wrung her hands, every bit as overwrought as Armistead predicted.
“We must accompany our wagon,” Nellie pleaded. “We require only the meanest of accommodations—why, we can sleep inside the wagon! They shall hardly notice we are there.”
“Why should we not send our wagon by freight barge and ride in comfort on the locomotive?” Obadiah reasoned.
“Firstly, the appellation ‘comfortable’ shall never be an apt descriptor for travel in a smoky, belching railroad car. Secondly, after the tribulations we endured, painstakingly ascertaining, procuring, and packing only the precise provisions essential for the onerous journey ahead, the thought of trusting the safe passage of all our worldly possessions, our only remaining valuables, and our sole conveyance, which, dare I mention, shall be our only home for the next several months, to the good will of common barge hands is most disquieting. Moreover, the thought further heightens my trepidation for the actual journey itself....”
Obadiah held up his hand to stem the flow of Cornelia’s outburst.
“Armistead,” he said, clamping his brother-in-law on the back. “Let us explore the possibilities for circumventing this situation. After all, ‘tis a mere 300-mile trip, just a short three-night duration.”
“‘Tis a subject left to discussion for another time,” said Agnes, practically shooing Nellie back into the kitchen to prevent the conversation from continuing. “Lake Michigan remains far too frozen to even contemplate travel.”
The others stared at her blankly. She stared back with defiance in her eyes. “I am quite certain if the vast lake of Michigan is frozen, the small river Illinois is also un-navigable. Why, last year we had snowstorms and blizzards well into April.”
Obadiah and Nellie exchanged looks. Obadiah has expressed his desire to depart in April. Mayhap the weather shall not cooperate. If I had my druthers, I suppose I would choose to delay this trip indefinitely. But she could tell from Obadiah’s look that he would not be deterred from travel much longer.
The weeks spun by quickly as Obadiah made arrangements for the next leg of their journey. He traded one of their horses for two sturdy oxen, and took charge of inventorying and then procuring any hardware staples missing from their provisions. Nellie and Agnes giggled at Armistead and Obadiah deep in discussion over whether tin or gutta percha made the best type of water bucket and where to purchase the best king-bolts and extra links for repairing chain. Cornelia made daily forays to the markets, gathering sugar, flour, tea and other perishables.
“How much longer shall you be staying?” Agnes asked, one afternoon, as the March wind howled outside and gusted into the room through the fireplace flue. Nellie looked up from plucking feathers from their dinner fowl, startled at the mention of imminent departure.
“Do not take offense, Cornelia,” Agnes said quickly. “I have treasured this time together.” She sighed. “The Lord only knows when I can again expect to see another familiar face.”
Nellie looked around the cozy kitchen. The children sprawled on the floor, playing with the boys’ tin figures. Early spring rain beat drowsily upon the roof. Agnes ground coffee to brew another pot, and Cornelia alternated between preparing the partridge and rolling dough for the biscuits for their dinner. The fire crackled, the stove emulated warmth, and the clock atop the fine china hutch ticked reassuringly.
Determined not to sound melancholy, Nellie said, “We are waiting for the grass to grow.”
Agnes looked hurt.
“Tarnation, I apologize for my flippant reply,” Nellie said and scuttled over to her sister to give her a hug. “You know I am loath to leave... for more reasons than I can adequately express.” Nellie forced a smile. “I must at least continue our visit long enough to ensure my prescriptives cure your sons’ various ailments completely.”
Agnes had tears in her eyes. Nellie blinked rapidly and tried to joke again. “But mostly I am waiting for the grass to grow.”
Nellie laughed at Agnes’ confused look. “Grass shall be the only available feed for our livestock, after crossing to the west side of the Missouri River.”
Agnes brushed her tears away and spoke of practicalities, too. “Sakes alive, I never considered all the comestibles you must transport. After all, not only are you leaving civilization, you are also leaving vegetable gardens behind.”
“I have not lain idle during our delightful visit. Slowly and steadily I accumulate the necessities. I have cured bacon, packed in boxes with bran surrounding to prevent the fat from melting away. I have sugar well secured in India-rubber sacks and butter boiled, placed in tin canisters and soldered up. The flour is well sewn into double canvas sacks, and it is all stored in the bottom of the wagon, ensuring it is kept cool and dry.
“Why do you think I concoct this hard tack alongside our supper biscuits?” Nellie lifted her hands from the flour, salt, and water she had started mixing as soon as the biscuits went into the polished black oven. “Crackers dried to the consistency of fired bricks certainly pale in comparison to any of the fine biscuits or breads we have baked together and enjoyed here. Yet they are a necessity.” She sighed.
“Unlike our fine biscuits, my technique for kneading this mixture shall hardly aid its appeal. Be forewarned: I shall purloin one of your tins and stuff it with some real biscuits, rationing them, savoring them. With every bite, I shall picture and relive our precious moments here.” Nellie winked.
Agnes smiled. “This entire visit elicits bittersweet sentiments in my heart. To aid your remembrances, I offer you one of my treasured tins. I have several beautiful ones from our Grandmama’s collection.”
How did Agnes get ‘several’ of Grandmama’s beautiful tins from Austria? No one offered any to me. Nellie’s envious thoughts rose before she could staunch them. Stubbs of candles and broken candlesticks were all I received. She shook her head. Revisiting petty jealousies? One would hope I had matured beyond this feminine foible. Furthermore, Agnes just offered me a keepsake for my own.
She forced a smile of gratitude. Putting her enmity aside, Nellie said, “I accept your most generous gift. I shall treasure it always, especially since scarcity of space prevented my transport of many of my treasures on this journey.
Nellie shook her head. “Mercy! I’ve placed a huckleberry above a persimmon and failed to provide an answer to your question. We shall leave within the week. Therefore, the little time remaining I shall utilize in preparing more staples and purchasing the necessary supplies we dared not carry all the way from Sing Sing.”
“If I can be of any assistance?” Agnes asked. “Although I doubt....”
“Fear not! As you know I pickled my own cucumbers and potatoes last week, and preserved a batch for you as well. All I request is your aide in determining the best market or source for the remaining perishables that I have been to date unable to procure.”
“Such as?”
“In addition to the actual vegetables I have prepared, I shall require more salt, vinegar, horseradish....”
Agnes just looked at her.
“The bottom fact—I have scribed quite a comprehensive list. It helped me pass the time floating through the muddy puddle commonly known as the Erie Canal. I have not mindlessly frittered my time away, dilly-dallying and delaying my crucial preparations. As I said, I have already procured most items and organized them securely and neatly in the Conestoga. Under your tutelage, I am certain I can quickly secure the remaining ingredients from your ‘big city’ marketplace,” said Nellie with a smile.
