Dear America: Like the Willow Tree

by Lois Lowry

  I was a little nervous about being with Elder William. He and Eldress Lizzie Noyes are the most important people in our community, and he of course is a man, which makes me shy around him.

  It was Elder William who created the water tower here at Sabbathday Lake. He did it after so much of the Shaker community in Alfred was destroyed by fire. Fortunately no one died in that fire, but their buildings burned, and Elder William determined that it should not happen here. So the water tower was built on top of the hill, and designed with waterworks that spray water all over our buildings. Elder William has tested the system and they say it throws water all the way up to the cupola on the big brick dwelling.

  There was a time when he was in charge of the farming, and he also supervised the construction of the big brick dwelling with its 48 rooms in 1884. Here is a passage in the daily journal that is kept so carefully: “July 19, 1887: Elder William got up at 2 o’clock this morning. Goes to the Stable, feeds the horses, builds fires at the Wash House. Starts the mowing machines at 3:30, mowed ‘til 6 o’clock then starts off to the Depot with Elder John. A hard morning’s work to do before breakfast.”

  Sister Cora let us read some older entries in the Shaker journal because she wanted us to see, and to copy, the beautiful penmanship. One Shaker is assigned the job of “scribe” and writes the entries with a pen. I don’t believe I will ever become scribe. My writing is messy, with ink blots, though I try hard.

  The entry I copied, about Elder William, was written 32 years ago. We are not allowed to see newer entries. I suspect there must be one dated last October 22nd, which says something like, “A new girl was brought to us today. She wore a very dirty dress and was rude to Sister Jennie, but we hope that with guidance her deportment will improve. Her name is Lydia Pierce.”

  Elder William is getting older now and slowing down a bit. Last year he turned over the care of the family garden to Brother Delmer. But he still leads worship, prepares supplies for the sisters’ fancywork, and is a mentor and caretaker of the boys. He must be saddened by my brother’s leave-taking, I think, and I decided that even if we entered into conversation during the sleigh ride, I would not mention Daniel.

  I did wonder if perhaps he would drive the horses past the general store in Oxford Hills and if I might catch a glimpse of my brother. But instead he turned the horses toward Poland Spring and to the Mansion House, four miles distant. The horses were familiar with the road, it was clear. They trotted with their feet high, heads bobbing, and their harness bells ringing. The cold air reddened our cheeks. We sped along on the packed snow and we girls sang one Shaker song after another. To my surprise, Elder William joined in with a rousing, deep voice. I have heard him sing with the others at worship but this was different — this was singing for pure fun.

  We were breathless with singing and laughing when we reached the hotel and Elder William pulled the horses to a stop. He lifted us down one by one and we were invited inside! The hotel owners, the Rickers, are very good friends of the Shakers. In fact, they come to our worship service many Sundays. So we were greeted warmly and given delicious hot chocolate to drink while we stood in the lobby, awed by the furniture and carpets and draperies — so different from our plain, scrubbed life.

  It was already dark when we got back, and the other girls and I were late for our kitchen work, but the sisters had done our chores for us and were glad that we had had such an excursion. Perhaps all of them have been on sleigh rides from time to time.

  Friday, January 24, 1919

  The brethren are cutting ice today, from the lake. It is good clear ice, twelve inches thick. The ice house is almost full.

  Saturday, January 25, 1919

  Brother John Dorrington has passed into the spirit world. He was a devoted worker in the community and will be greatly missed.

  Sunday, February 2, 1919

  Let my name be recorded

  In the book the angels keep

  Where each act is rewarded

  And the seed I have sown I shall reap.

  So when the angel reaper cometh,

  And the harvest time shall be,

  I shall find in my Father’s house,

  There’s a mansion reserved for me.

  I know, I know, once again the song is talking about passing into the spirit life (we prayed for Brother John Dorrington at worship last Sunday). But all I can think about when we sing “there’s a mansion reserved for me” is the Mansion House at Poland Spring, where just two weeks ago I stood in all that splendor and sipped hot chocolate.

  On occasion Elder William or Brother Delmer drives some sisters to the Mansion House to set up a sale of fancy goods in the lobby. I hope one day I will be allowed to go and help. The wealthy guests all buy our goods enthusiastically and comment on the fine quality of the work. (The sisters do not include my terrible knitting in the sale!)

  One of our biggest sellers is our poplar boxes. And now (though I had hoped my next stint would be candy-making!) I am learning to weave poplar.

  I miss the kitchen. But all of our work is important to the community, so I am trying hard to do a good job of weaving. All of the girls except the smallest ones must learn, and then we must each turn out six inches or more a day in winter, to keep the supply of poplar cloth adequate for the many, many boxes. Each one requires a great deal of work. The hardest part of the job is for the brethren and boys, for they are the ones who must cut down the poplar trees, freeze the wood, and then cut it into thin, thin strips, a number of them held together at the top by an uncut section. Then the strips are to be woven.

  The looms are in the sisters’ shop, near the laundry, in the weaving room. Two girls sit side by side on stools at huge wooden looms, and weave together. We work the pedals with our feet, separating the warp thread that Sister Mamie has already set for us. Then, carefully, we take one thin strip of damp poplar — it is waiting, rolled in a wet towel, because if it is dry it will snap and break — hold it by wooden tongs, and work it through, then bring the batten down against it to tighten it, then use the foot pedal again, throw a wooden bobbin, and bring the batten against it one more time. We do this again and again until we have woven our six inches. If we don’t finish before school, we must go back after.

  I am sitting beside Lila McCool, Eliza’s sister, to work. She is faster than I am because she has been doing it longer. But she is patient and waits for me to get it right.

  The poplar cloth is used for the boxes, which are made in all sizes. Satin or velvet lines the heavy cardboard frame, and then the poplar cloth is wired to it on the outside, with fine wire. We cover the wires with kidskin, and then use ribbon to attach the lid in a pretty way, and to decorate the elastic, which goes around a button to make a catch.

  Many sisters work on these, and sometimes Elder William loads the buggy with such wares and travels great distances to sell them. The most elegant ladies use the poplar boxes to hold their sewing, and if they ever chance to turn their sewing box upside down, they will see “USS Sabbathday Lake, Me.” stamped on the bottom. USS means “United Society of Shakers.” I suggested to Sister Mamie that we could add our own initials in a corner — very small — so if a society lady saw, for example, “LAP” in pretty penmanship, she would know that Lydia Amelia Pierce had decorated her poplar box. But Sister Mamie was shocked at the thought. She reminded me that Shakers never seek admiration for our work, only the approval of the Lord for our industriousness.

  Well, she seeks admiration for her new false teeth! She displays them all the time, she is so proud. But of course I did not say that to her.

  There is rarely a moment of the day when we — the sisters, and the girls — are not working: sewing, knitting, raveling, weaving, cleaning, cooking, packaging herbs, or attending school or Sunday School or worship services. We are always, always busy! I barely have time to write in this journal, but Sister Jennie sometimes allows me to go early to the retiring room for that purpose.

  Right now it is Sunday afternoon, our
time of leisure. The other girls are downstairs reading Little Women aloud, passing the book from girl to girl (and trying to be very patient and helpful when Pearl and Lillian struggle with the long words). I have read it before, many times, and in the past, thinking about the March family, I always wished I had a house full of sisters. Now I feel as if I do. Grace would be Beth, I think, so sweet and dear. Polly, studious and spectacled, would be Meg. We don’t, at Sabbathday Lake, have anyone like Amy, so vain! But I will put Rebecca in that role, because she is artistic, like Amy. And me — of course I am Jo.

  Wednesday, February 12, 1919

  Finally, finally, today was a day when all of the girls who are weaving poplar had finished the required amount before school. Polly, who has an ironing stint now, had done all of her handkerchiefs, and for the first time in a long while we had time to play after school. All of us girls from the girls’ shop! Sister Jennie shooed us outdoors for exercise because our energy, she said, was becoming noisy in the house.

  The younger girls, like Pearl and Lillian, who don’t have to weave, have been working on building a snow cave behind the girls’ shop, near the lilacs, which form a playhouse in summer. But the snow is thick and heavy. It is hard work for them, and they were glad when we bigger girls offered to help.

  We dug and piled and scooped and carved and shaped. At first we called it our fort. But Sister Ada happened by on her way to the sisters’ shop, where she works on candy-making. Sister Ada is a gentle soul, mild-mannered and quiet. But when she asked about our structure and Lillian called out, “It’s a fort!” I could see the look on her face. She was quite shocked. So I corrected Lillian and said, “Nay, it’s an igloo! We’ve been learning in school about Eskimos!” Sister Ada smiled then, and nodded in approval.

  When she had gone on, I whispered to the other girls, “Fort is what the army has. We mustn’t build a fort!”

  “Why not?” asked Lillian, as she smoothed snow on the rounded side of the igloo.

  “It’s military,” Polly explained. “Don’t you pay attention in Sunday School? We’re pacifists. We can’t even play at war.

  “It’s Mother Ann’s teachings,” she added.

  “Oh,” Lillian said matter-of-factly. “Yea. I forgot. Well, I like Eskimos. Look! The door to the igloo’s ready!”

  We took turns going inside. Three people could fit at a time, so three would be Eskimo wives, cooking blubber in the igloo, and the others were the hunters and fishermen, out roaming the yard, looking for prey. Polly dragged back a piece of wood and called it a seal.

  The light was pale blue inside. When it was my turn, I crawled in after Grace, and after me came Rebecca. We crouched on the snow in a circle.

  “We are the three wives of Ukluk!” Grace intoned. “He has gone to capture a whale!”

  Rebecca collapsed in giggles. “Three wives!”

  “Yea,” Grace whispered, “and we will bear him many babies! I’m going to have one very soon!” With her mittened hands she pushed the front of her thick jacket forward to make a round belly. “It will be a son and I will name him ‘Owa Tagoo Siam.’ Say it after me.”

  Rebecca and I chanted the words. “Owa Tagoo Siam …”

  “Faster!” Grace ordered. “Louder!”

  “Owa Tagoo Siam! OWA TAGOO SIAM!”

  Grace shrieked with laughter and finally we realized what we were saying — Oh, what a goose I am! — and collapsed in giggles.

  Elvira’s head appeared in the doorway to the igloo. “Our turn now!” she said loudly.

  We stopped laughing and scrambled out of the igloo to give the other girls a turn.

  In the waiting room before supper, where we are always supposed to be so quiet and to prepare ourselves for the meal, we glanced at each other and formed the words silently with our mouths: owa tagoo. … Then we had to bite our lips to keep from laughing aloud.

  When the bell finally rang for us to enter the dining room, Sister Jennie rearranged our seating so that the three of us, Rebecca, Grace, and me, would not be together. When we knelt, I said the usual prayer silently: “I pray God bless me, and give me grace, and make me a good child.”

  Then I was able to turn my attention away from the foolishness. I felt my face become solemn and calm. Sister Jennie looked at me understandingly and smiled. I somehow think that there was a time in her life when she, too, was a silly young girl.

  Sunday, February 16, 1919

  Give me a name that all can bless,

  A name that God can love;

  One that will brightly shine on earth,

  And brighter glow above.

  I sort the little stones that I keep now in the box that Daniel made for me. My little family. It has grown larger, actually. First Grace begged me to add her little purple stone, and then when I showed the collection to the other girls, they all went and found stones as well. There is a place by the corner of the barn where the snow blows away and leaves the ground exposed. They found stones there, and so now I have two small ones that are Lillian and Pearl, and larger ones for Eliza, Lila, Rebecca, and Polly. Names that God can love, as this morning’s song said.

  I wonder if an Eskimo really could be named Ukluk, and whether God loves that name as well. Sister Jennie would say yes.

  But Sister Jennie would also hope that Ukluk would become a Shaker!

  Gloria, at school (I think I will add a stone for her as well), tells me that she has seen Daniel. He was unloading a wagon that had brought goods to the Oxford Hills store. Gloria was there with her mother to buy lamp oil and sugar. Mr. Melby at the store sold them those things, and she could see Daniel at work in back, lifting the crates.

  “How did he look?” I asked.

  Gloria shrugged. “He looked all right.”

  I meant Did he look happy? Did he look healthy? But Gloria is a very simple girl. I don’t think she would be able to say those things. So I had to settle for “He looked all right.”

  Yesterday I went to Sister Jennie for confession, to open my mind to her. I have such small things to confess. I did not finish my full six inches of poplar cloth weaving on Tuesday (but I made up for it the next day). Grace and Polly and I were mean to Rebecca and went off without her instead of waiting after school one afternoon, and her feelings were hurt.

  We talked about responsibility and kindness.

  I have not confessed to Sister Jennie that Gloria tells me about Daniel. I don’t think it is sinful, worrying about my brother. But having secrets, I know, is not a good thing. Secrets gnaw at your insides. If I feel the gnawing, I will talk about it to Sister Jennie. But not yet.

  I did tell her one thing that troubles me greatly — that I cannot really remember my baby sister. I can no longer see Lucy’s face or smell the sweet powdery smell of her after Mother gave her a bath. All of that seems to have drifted away.

  We talked about spirits, and the spirit world. Sister Jennie told me that Lucy lives on there. Sometimes one can even see spirits! Sister Jennie never has. But she told me that after Brother Eben entered the spirit life — not long after — one of the sisters saw him standing in a doorway. Then he drifted away, through a wall. And some years ago, when Elder John Vance was very ill in the Alfred community, his spirit was seen on the stairs here at Chosen Land. Later, word came that he had passed on.

  “Is it frightening, do you think?” I asked her. “To see a spirit?”

  She laughed. “Oh, nay. They are part of us.” So if I can’t remember Lucy’s face or her sweet smell, it doesn’t matter. She is part of me for always.

  Thursday, February 20, 1919

  This afternoon, after school, I was sent to help with the making of applesauce. Although many sisters help, Eldress Lizzie Noyes is the one who is in charge of applesauce, which is made using the dried apples combined with cider. Applesauce is another way of making money for the community. Usually Eldress Lizzie and her helpers make 50 gallons at a time. Being there, helping, reminded me of the many times I helped in the kitchen with pies: the wo
nderful smell of apples and cinnamon.

  I confess, though, I did not really help very much. Eldress Lizzie was suffering from a severe earache. So she was seated in a rocker, supervising, and I went and sat beside her to keep her company. The other sisters suggested it. She and I talked quietly together.

  Eldress Lizzie told me that her mother’s name was Lydia, like me! After her mother died, her father and uncle became Shakers, and she came to the community with them. She was 16. But she did not stay, when she was grown. She went away to school and became a teacher out in the world. She taught school in Missouri for a time, but after a visit back to Sabbathday Lake, she decided to join the community. She returned to Missouri one more time, and then came back and “put on the Shaker dress,” as she described. She was almost 30 when she signed the covenant, along with Mary Grant, Sirena Douglas, Sarah Fletcher, and Amanda Stickney. She has been here ever since.

  When she came, she told me, there were 68 Shakers at Sabbathday Lake. Now there are many fewer. But Eldress Lizzie believes that there will be a new spurt of growth in the Shaker population. Mother Ann prophesied that the numbers would grow small but then there would be a resurgence of believers. Eldress Lizzie and Elder William Dumont (they govern the community jointly, for Mother Ann’s teachings declare equality of the sexes in all departments) pray for that resurgence every day.

  Her health is a little frail now that she is elderly. With her heart problems, she no longer drives the horses.