Kirsten's Journal: Book 3: Reidar & Kirsten in Missouri (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  I am blessed enough to be able to order a copper bathing tub large enough for my very tall husband, sheets of the smoothest cotton for our bed, and blankets and pillows stuffed with goose down.

  Dear reader, please understand that I am not boasting—I am more grateful to God than I can express in mere words. As much as my birthright has caused me pain, at this moment I will state that my troubles were worth the result.

  Through everything, I have gained a loved and loving husband, and will soon move into a solid home of our own design. And we shall not need to worry about money ever again. Between my invested inheritance income, and Reid’s industry with the sheep’s wool and hunting game for James, we shall be quite comfortable.

  At supper on the second night, Reid surprised me with a beautiful ring consisting of a cornflower blue ceramic oval, set in a delicate twisted gold bevel. In the center of the oval was a female Greek figure, a muse, in white relief. He called the style Wedgewood, and said it was from England.

  When I asked him why he bought this for me, he explained that he never gave me a wedding ring, and that fact had been bothering him since the day we were suddenly married.

  So, he wrote to his mother over six months ago and asked her to find him a Wedgewood ring, describing one he had seen in Philadelphia. I slipped the ring on my finger and it fit perfectly. And then I kissed him, right in the middle of the hotel dining room.

  And, of course, we ordered our windows. Twenty in all. Ten tall ones for the bottom floor— including one for the kitchen, and a double window for the dining room. Nine for the second floor.

  They will be delivered in batches, with the first floor windows to arrive in about three weeks. The nine for the upper floor will follow three weeks after that.

  Reid installed the shutters soon after the roof was added, to keep rain from damaging the as-yet-to-be-lacquered floors. Once the windows are in place, we can move into the house and begin the interior finishes. I am giddy once more.

  August 18th

  My flow has begun. My heart breaks a bit more painfully than usual, because I had hoped our lusty nights in Saint Louis would have produced a child. If they did not, then I cannot see that we will ever have children.

  Reid has not noticed because the draft mare has begun her labor. The foal will go to James once it is weaned, because James gave Reid a horse to ride to Philadelphia when he came to finally make me marry him.

  It was a fair exchange and the men are, even now, kneeling in the grassy clearing with the mare to assist the birth if needed. The stallion has been placed in the pen with Posy and the sheep to keep him from accidently hurting the mother or baby.

  I watched the scene through watery eyes. Even the damned horse can conceive. Why can’t I?

  August 19th

  Reid has gone back to building the barn. He finished the foundation, and now believes that he has enough leftover stone to go about seven feet up the first floor walls, if he has calculated correctly.

  After that, he will use the drying logs for the walls of the loft, and possibly slate shingles for the roof. He wants to get the stone walls and loft floor completed by November so our livestock can shelter there in the winter months.

  Speaking of livestock, I could spend my entire day watching the new little filly with her mother. Newborn animals are cute to a fault, but a spindly-legged foal with big brown eyes and a wildly flicking tale is almost painfully adorable.

  James has named her Chelsea, after a place in England which his grandparents hailed from. I will teach her to respond to her name.

  August 29th

  The first batch of windows has arrived! Ashton Caldecott and James are here, helping Reid install them in the stone house. Reid says they can install two windows a day, perhaps three, so I should expect this task to fill almost a week.

  I have been carrying my sewing basket and a stool into the house, so that I may sit inside and watch the men as they work. As soon as one window is installed, I use linens and vinegar to wash the glass.

  As I do this, I am struck by the beautiful landscape views which we will enjoy. Remy got his apple trees—three of them, in the end.

  The red maple sapling he also asked for has been planted in front of the house, near the road, so it can be seen from the drawing room. That little tree will be quite glorious someday in its maturity. I can well imagine it flaming burgundy in the autumn sunshine.

  Other windows look out onto the clearing and the barn, or toward the forest.

  This land may be wild, but in that wildness is profound beauty, which I am only just now beginning to appreciate.

  September 10th

  One of the Atherton’s slave girls came for me early this morning, saying Beatrice needed me and to come straightaway. Reid saddled the mare, and I rode the mile-and-a-half to the Atherton house at a brisk pace.

  When I arrived, I was quickly ushered upstairs to Beatrice’s bedroom to discover her white housekeeper, her Negro cook, and another slave girl, who was half white by the light color of her skin and her green eyes. Not one of them was happy.

  Beatrice, it seems, had miscarried a child.

  I went to her side, and took hold of her outstretched hand. I knew that I must not acknowledge my own stunned and scrambling feelings at that moment, but concentrate on what I could do for my friend. I accepted a damp linen towel from the housekeeper, Nellie, and gave it to Beatrice to wipe her red-rimmed eyes.

  As she wiped her tears, she said, “I am so glad you are here.”

  I said, “I did not know you were expecting a child. I am sorry.”

  She shook her head, and said, “I was not certain myself. Not until the cramps were so painful and Nellie called for the midwife.”

  I assumed that the Mulatto girl was the midwife, so I turned and asked her, “Is Mistress Atherton going to recover?”

  She said, “Yes, ma’am. All the pieces came out fine.”

  I was confused by her choice of words, so I looked at Nellie and said, “Pieces?”

  Nellie said, “The babe, the sac, and the placenta.”

  I only understood these words because I had watched the mare give birth to James’ filly. I have never seen a human birth, but I guessed it would be similar. Only smaller.

  The Negro cook motioned to the Mulatto girl, and they gathered up dirty towels and left the room. Nellie patted Beatrice’s hand and said that she would bring tea. Then we were alone in the room.

  I said, “Where is James?”

  Though she was still crying, Beatrice said, “He is burying the baby. It was a boy. We named him Thomas.”

  I said, “How big was he?”

  She held out her hand and said, “He was so tiny, that he fit in my hand.”

  I truly wanted to be strong for Beatrice, but the idea of such a tiny baby never having a chance at life hit me so hard that I could not breathe. My vision blurred with tears, and I could not stop myself from crying with her.

  We hugged each other, then, as two childless women grieving over the same loss. A loss which we had never talked about. At that moment, all of our differences fell away.

  I said, “At least you conceived, Bea.”

  She spoke in my ear, “Have you not? Ever?”

  I shook my head because my throat was too tight to make any sound. She leaned away from me, and her expression was different now.

  She said, “You and Reid are so healthy, that I assumed you had miscarried and that was why you do not have a baby yet.”

  I said, “Is that why you sent for me?”

  She said, “Yes. In part. And because you are my only friend and I needed you.”

  I said, “We do not have our mothers to help us.”

  Her lip quivered, and she said, “No. We shall need to do this by ourselves.”

  On my way home later, I stopped the mare in the woods, leaned over her neck, and sobbed until I believed that all of my tears were spent. I knew that I would need to tell Reid what had happened with Beatrice and James, but I did no
t wish to be pitiful as I did so.

  If he grieved every month that I bled, he would not allow me to see that. Instead, he was always additionally kind to me, assuring me that I worried about our childless state far more than he ever did.

  When I believed that my tears were finally finished, I dismounted and washed my face in the cold creek before returning to our cabin.

  When Reid came to greet me, however, the concerned look on his face destroyed my carefully bolstered composure. I completely fell apart in his arms, and he held me close for a very long time, dampening my hair with his own tears.

  September 21st

  The rest of the windows were delivered today, but we have to wait two or three days until Ashton and James can come again and help Reid install them. And so, my husband will continue to work on the barn in the meantime, and I will help Remy dry herbs from our garden. I will try not to let the disappointment of the delay ruin this otherwise beautiful afternoon.

  I want to mention that having this garden has been an interesting sort of endeavor. When we have squash, for example, we have too much of it, and there is no way to preserve it. Once we have had our fill of carrots, the draft horses eagerly dispose of the excess.

  But peas can be dried, and Remy says we will make soup with them over the winter. Potatoes will be stored under the house, and should last us for a while. Remy is already planning what we will plant next year, and plans a garden twice the size of this one.

  October 1st

  The windows are finished! We can now lacquer the floor on the bottom level. Once the lacquer is dry, we will move into the stone house.

  As the weather has grown chilly once more, I am looking forward greatly to spending this winter inside a snug house with so many windows.

  No dark winter for me!

  October 10th

  We are fully moved into the stone house, even though the house is not actually finished. Through the coming winter months Reid will plaster the walls, with me acting as his assistant. We have set up our bed in what will eventually be Reid’s study on the first floor, and Remy has been given the servant’s room closest to the kitchen.

  It is nice for us to have more space to move around in, even in this rough condition. Especially in the kitchen, which is quite spacious, and has ample room for both Remy and his excruciatingly slow pupil to change their positions without injuring each other.

  As I look back, I am surprised to realize that in nine days I will have been living here, on this land grant, for one full year.

  Can it only have been a year? How is that possible?

  I am no longer the same woman who left Philadelphia behind. How my sewing circle would be shocked to see me now.

  No longer in silks and satins, I spend my days in wools and cottons—and beaver fur, not ermine. My fancy slippers have been replaced with sturdy boots, impervious to mud and snow. I eat meals from crockery, not china.

  I am only now gaining a stove, having cooked (well, I tried to) over a fire since arriving. I only fully bathe once a month in the winter, but twice a month when it is hot and I have not had a chance to dip in the creek.

  But the biggest change, as well as surprise I think, is that I am truly happy for the first time in my adult life. I feel that I am finally living a life that has meaning.

  And even if I can never give Reid children, we can still be founders in this community.

  I believe I might bring some of my skills and experiences with fund raising, and see that a teacher is hired for the children who will soon be populating all the other land grant homes. There is much to be done, once the house is finished. And I am quite optimistic.

  The time has come to plan our house-warming party!

  November 5th

  Dearest reader, the party was a huge success and I am suitably exhausted. I could try to list the names of everyone who came, but that would be futile.

  At least fifty people arrived, each carrying a pound of something which we might need for the house: flour, sugar, salt, lard, dried beans, dried fruits, nails, candles, beeswax, cotton fabric for shirts and shifts, and other things I cannot even remember, the bounty was so overwhelming. In exchange, we served up Remy’s famous barbecued chicken and venison, cases of wine, kegs of ale, and pies made from squashes and nuts.

  Several men brought musical instruments, and we danced on the lacquered floor in the drawing room, after taking down the tables made of wood planks covered in sheets. What a lively crowd! I have not smiled and laughed so much in longer than I can remember—probably since before I visited Norway.

  Reid was absolutely glorious. He dressed in his best officer’s uniform and cut a very impressive figure, indeed. The ladies in attendance kept tossing admiring looks his way, and I generously gave my husband permission to dance with any or all of them.

  After all, I knew without a doubt in whose bed he would sleep that night.

  In exchange, Reid encouraged me to dance with the overabundance of men (there are more women in Cheltenham than six months ago, but the community still owns a preponderance of male citizens). My feet were swollen by the end of the night, and my legs so tired that they wobbled, but when the last guest either left, or bedded down on the floor, I stretched out next to my husband in a state of complete bliss.

  November 12th

  Remy is such a dear! So many men asked him how he prepared the venison for the barbecue that he has agreed to teach them.

  So today, seven of our neighbors, including Tom Smith-Peddington, John McGovern, Ashton Caldecott, and Stephen Smith, have all convened in our large clearing. Remy has constructed a plank table and is, even now, showing the men how to make his special ‘glaze’ as he calls it.

  Once they finish preparing the meat, the venison will be roasted over a smoky fire on the iron rack, and turned constantly until it is finished. After that, each man will take a portion home—except for John McGovern, whose wife Beth will be joining us for supper.

  Though the weather is cold and overcast, it is quite dry and the clouds are still high. Reid suspects that snow is more likely than rain. In either case, the barbecue shall go on, as the men warm themselves around the fire, talking constantly in a very congenial manner.

  Though my husband has other tasks needing his attention, he has provided a small cask of ale and joined the conversation. I do not begrudge him the time at all, as there is something to be said for men gathering together in comradeship. As much as women need other women, men need other men.

  Humans were never meant to live solitary lives, even in the wilds of Missouri.

  December 21st

  We celebrated Christmas last night, as the Christmas service was held in the afternoon. The traveling preacher covers a route over one hundred miles in length, so he cannot be with every one of his flocks on December twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth.

  His churches, then, must celebrate the Nativity on the day he which can be present—while Mister Witherspoon himself celebrates five times!

  James and Beatrice invited us for supper, and we spent a lovely evening with them exchanging gifts. We are not exchanging gifts with other Cheltenham residents, but the Athertons are such special friends that we wanted to express our gratitude for all the ways they have helped us.

  Reid gifted them with three beautiful beaver pelts, and I gave Beatrice a tin of her favorite English tea from Saint Louis (and convinced Jedidiah Brown that if he stocks it, she will buy very large amounts of it) plus two embroidered decorative pillows stuffed with feathers. I know that the gifts are not elegant, but they are given from the heart. James and Beatrice accepted them as such, and we toasted our friendship with an excellent brandy.

  Of all the blessings Reid and I have found here, these two dear friends stand the tallest.

  ~ 1784 ~

  January 10th

  Reid has declared that it is time to hire a housekeeper. Remy runs the kitchen beautifully, and I have tried to keep up with the cleaning, sewing, and caring for the animals, but because I have
spent so many hours helping Reid plaster walls and lacquer floors, I am falling behind.

  My course started yesterday, and Reid says I look tired. Perhaps he fears that my physical labors are preventing a pregnancy, but I do not believe that is the case. I am otherwise in very fine fettle.

  Even so, I will not argue with his decision. As soon as the latest snowfall is passable, we will ride into Saint Louis and he will post the advertisement.

  I look forward to having another woman living here.