by Kris Tualla
February 1st
Adelaide McIntyre is an energetic young woman of twenty-two years, and she insists that we call her Addie. She is attractive enough with her rich brown hair and matching eyes, though she could never be called a beauty.
But she does have the most quick and engaging smile, and the slightest hint of a Scots or Irish accent, which makes her a delight to listen to. And she seems to know exactly what to do.
Most importantly, Remy approves of her. She claims to have some cooking skills, though her duties will lie elsewhere in the house. He has told me he might test those skills someday soon. He stated quite emphatically that, in the event that he was no longer in our employ for some reason, he would not wish Mister Hansen to starve.
I smiled and agreed, and did not express what I was thinking. Though the idea of Remy leaving us makes me very sad indeed, I have known for months that he has culinary skills which far exceed our simple needs. He does belong in a very rich household, or a fancy hotel, not a wilderness land grant.
If he was not a Negro, I believe he would be in such a situation even now. I do not know what his future holds, but if he leaves us, I will give him the most glowing reference I can conjure this side of a fairy tale!
February 23rd
I love Addie! This young woman has slid into our household seamlessly, and is running things as efficiently as any Continental captain. She even has Remy hopping to do her bidding. Addie claims to be the oldest of thirteen children, so our little household is so easy by comparison, that she says she feels as if she is on holiday.
With her taking over so many of my duties, I have been able to help Reid complete the plastering of all of our walls on both levels, and he has finished lacquering all of the floors.
With the chill of winter on us, Reid suggested that we have fires in all of the rooms to aid with the curing and drying of the materials. For that reason, my husband and I always labored in toasty comfort. We also assured that all of the chimneys drew efficiently in the process—an important consideration before furnishing the rooms.
So now, to take stock, these are the rooms in our stone house:
The bottom floor consists of a spacious entry way with a broad wooden staircase leading to the upper floor, a large drawing room, a formal dining room, Reid’s study, two servants’ rooms, and the kitchen.
The upper floor holds our large bedroom with an attached office, two average sized bedrooms, and one small room for storage.
While not nearly as grand as the Athertons’ palatial home, this Hansen house is sturdy and secure, and once the rooms are furnished, will undoubtedly be most comfortable and welcoming. I have told Reid that I plan to take my time and not try to furnish all of the rooms in a rush, so that they may be furnished well.
Our bedroom and the drawing room will be first rooms to receive my attentions, as those are the rooms we shall use the most. Until we start entertaining on a large scale, we will continue to take our meals in the kitchen with Addie and Remy, and wait a few months to order a dining room table and chairs.
I will leave the study and office to Reid’s choices, as those rooms are his domain, and only step in to assist if I am asked.
March 15th
The sheep are lambing and I am smitten. Last summer I believed that the newborn filly was the cutest baby animal I had ever seen, but these precious little puff balls on wobbly legs have completely stolen my heart. I may never be able to eat lamb again.
March 27th
The sheep need shearing, and Reid has no idea how to do it. He has asked our neighbors, and discovered that Manny Johnson has experience, but upon further investigation it seems that the Negro brothers have left Cheltenham and moved somewhere to the west. The next choice is to ride into Saint Louis and post another advertisement.
April 6th
I should not laugh. I really should not. But Addie and I are watching the shearing lesson out the window in the upstairs hallway, and it is the funniest thing I have ever seen.
James has come to learn and help, after Reid pointed out that if the two of them both had flocks, they might be able to sell quite a lot of wool.
I suspect that James agreed to the scheme because, while Beatrice has very expensive tastes to begin with, shipping the multitude of things she desires this far west does add considerably to their cost.
At any rate, the two tall men are sweating through their shirts as they wrestle the sheep to the ground, and use the sharp shears to cut what are supposed to be solid batts of fleece from the squirming animals.
The little Scotsman who is teaching them is shouting, gesturing, and grabbing at flying hooves to keep from being neutered by a misplaced kick.
My stomach hurts from laughing.
April 8th
The sheep are sheared; Reid and James have only sustained minor wounds, mostly to their shins. The wily Scotsman has agreed to return next spring (for double his fee) to continue with their training.
April 27th
I have not bothered to write about the tornadoes after my first terrifying experience for two reasons. First, the experience has never been worse than that original one, and often is much less intense. Second, I do not want the reader to think of me as a scaredy sort. I am not.
I have, in fact, become even more hardy during my tenure in this territory. That said, today’s experience was remarkable, as we witnessed the unusual power of these odd storms.
Addie and I were gathering up the sheep after their frantic storm-prompted actions knocked a gap in their pen. Upon taking a count, we discovered that we were missing one ewe and her little boy.
We could hear them bleating to each other farther into the woods, so we followed the sound. We came upon the ewe fairly soon, calling to her baby and scampering about in confusion. Addie and I heard the lamb’s reply, but could not find him anywhere.
And then Addie shook my sleeve and pointed upward. In a solid oak tree, at about ten yard’s distance, we spotted a wiggly white shape in the branches.
I said, “That cannot be the lamb, can it?”
Addie said, “I think it is! But how did he get up there?”
We hurried to the base of the tree, the ewe following us closely. Sure enough, the little lamb rested on its belly, hanging over a branch about eight feet up. His front legs were on one side, his back legs on the other.
I said, “Could the tornado have deposited him there?”
Addie said, “I cannot think of any other explanation.”
When he spied his mother, the little fellow began to squirm and I was afraid he might fall and be injured. I sent Addie to run and fetch Reid and a ladder, while I talked soothingly to mother and baby. I hoped to quell their panic until help arrived.
The look on Reid’s face was nothing short of comical, and I smothered a giggle rather than startle the ewe which at last stood still while bleating her distress.
He said, “Addie told me there was a lamb in a tree, but…”
Then he leaned the ladder against the trunk of the oak and climbed up to reach the lamb. My husband is a strong man, but the panicked baby did nothing to aid in his own rescue.
Even so, Reid was able to grip the little boy securely under one arm and keep him there until he his feet rested once more upon the ground. The moment the lamb was reunited with his mother, he tried to nurse, but she would have none of it. Instead, she scampered back toward the safety of the pen with him running in pursuit, bleating all the way.
I said, “If I write to my parents and tell them about this, they will believe I have taken to strong drink.”
Reid laughed and said, “In that case, please do not inform mine!”
Addie said, “That little ram is special. He needs a name.”
The three of us walked back to the stone house, Reid carrying the ladder, and all of us thinking of what to call the little fellow.
Dove, because he is white, and Raven because he is not black, were suggested and dismissed. Icarus (who flew too close to the sun) wa
s too grand and that story ended unhappily, unlike this one. And while a horse can be a Pegasus, this little hero was only a sheep.
And then I said, “What about Hero?”
Reid said, “If we name him, we may have to keep him.”
I said, “He can be another stud. And we will always get wool from him.”
Reid said, “You are right, Prinsesse. It does not seem right to butcher him after this. From now on he shall be our Hero.”
Addie and I exchanged happy grins. Reid just rolled his eyes and hugged me with his free arm.
May 12th
Beatrice has miscarried again, and once more she called me to her side. After sitting with her and sharing her grief, I am beginning to be glad that I never conceive.
Her pain and disappointment are far worse than mine, as she watches her newest hope die. It is better, I think, to never hope at all.
May 13th
Reid was working on the barn today, when an unexpected visitor rode into the yard. My husband came to the house and called me to the front door.
When I came down the stairs, my husband stood in the doorway with the oddest look on his face, not unlike a pleased cat with a canary in its jaw. Then he stepped aside and opened the door fully.
I cried out, “Pappa!” and ran into my father’s open arms.
May 14th
I am now over the initial shock of seeing my dearest father, Henrik Sven, standing in the doorway of the stone house here in the Missouri Territory, nine hundred miles from home, but I still cannot fully believe that he is sitting across the table from me at breakfast.
I asked him yesterday why he had come, and he said he was curious to see what sort of life I had chosen, because all of my letters sounded impossibly happy. He was afraid I was lying to him and Mamma, to cover up the true horrors into which I had found myself plunged.
But he said that once he saw me, he said, he knew without a doubt that I was well. And as we showed him around the stone house which Reid has built, he was duly impressed, in spite of its still unfurnished state.
He said, “There is plenty of time for that. This will be a grand manor someday.”
I said, “Not so grand as our home in Philadelphia.”
Pappa shook his head, and said, “No Kirsten, it will be a palace fit for a prinsesse. Because you will have made it so.”
Then I asked, “Do you think Mamma would approve?”
Pappa said, “How could she not? Look at you. You are glowing with health and happiness.”
My father understands me better than Mamma ever could, I think, because I am more like him. I love my father very much.
And then we went to the drawing room to unpack the several crates he brought with him. It would seem that my mother has been shopping since I left.
In the first crate, there were six new gowns, four of the sort that I used to wear in my previous life. Satin and velvet, silk and lace. Not very practical, but undeniably beautiful. I ran my hand over the exotic fabrics and, for a moment, allowed myself to remember the pleasurable bits of my former city life.
Reid said, “When you hold your fundraisers, those gowns will be perfect.”
I looked at my husband through sudden tears. He could not have said anything more perfect for that very moment. I gave him the sort of smile which promised a reward later, and he blushed a little.
Then I lifted out the dark green woolen gown, and the blue one made of linsey-woolsey. They were exquisitely made, and in spite of their common stuff, the colors and tailoring would make them stand out. I told Pappa to thank Mamma very kindly for her thoughtfulness.
We moved to the next crate, which I discovered was filled with coarse sawdust. Reid and my father carried it outside so as not to make a mess inside the house. As I scooped out the packing, I uncovered a beautiful set of china.
The pieces were ivory in color, with a gold outer edge, and a pattern of green ivy leaves on the raised rim. The simple design was clearly a nod to my very masculine husband’s sensibilities, and I greatly appreciated my mother’s obvious restraint.
Twelve full place-settings were buried in the rubble, each consisting of a dinner plate, salad plate, bread plate, dessert plate, soup bowl, soup cup, tea cup and saucer, and a larger coffee cup and saucer. Further digging revealed three large serving platters, three large serving bowls, a cream and sugar set, two pitchers of differing size, and a cake plate.
Next was a smaller wooden box which I recognized. Even though inside it was the set of silverware as I expected, the pieces were not engraved with the “C” of Christiansen, but thoughtfully marked with the “H” of Hansen.
I was thoroughly amazed above any other reaction—the gifts were so unexpected and so very generous. I thanked my father profusely as we repacked the silver and dishware, and promised that a china hutch would be the next piece of furniture that I ordered.
Reid looked at me then, and said that, with such a glorious set of china, we should order all of the dining room furnishings at one time.
My father said, “That reminds me!”
He disappeared into the house while Reid and I finished packing the china. When he reappeared, he handed Reid a leather wallet.
He said, “I thought I would bring this with me. It is safer that way.”
Inside the wallet were the earnings from my invested inheritance, and the amount was double the last payment. I stared at my father and asked what was happening. He shrugged and explained that the end of the war had freed up a lot of funds, and that our young country’s economy was on the rise.
I looked at my husband and said I thought cherry wood would be perfect for the dining room set. Reid laughed and agreed.
We unpacked the next crates after lunch. A variety of iron pots and pans made Remy giddy, and the braided rugs, and bolts of upholstery fabric, had Addie making all sorts of plans.
Of course, knowing my mother well, there were jars of creams and salves the likes of which I had not seen for nearly two years—and would use sparingly to make them last.
A nice addition, made with Reid in mind as well as myself, were the books, dozens of them, ranging from novels to a set of encyclopedias. There was also a map of the United States of America, and one of the world. And, of course, a large Bible.
I felt as though I had just experienced ten years’ worth of Christmases in one day. I never expected my father to appear on my doorstep, first of all. And for him to arrive with a wagon laden with a household’s worth of gifts simply staggered me.
Reid and Addie had finished making up a bed for my father (on his first night he slept on a couch in the drawing room) and we put him in one of the otherwise empty bedrooms on the upper floor across the hall from our room.
He says he has plans to stay for at least a month, in order to make his journey across Pennsylvania, down the Ohio River to Cairo, Illinois, and then north on the Mississippi River to Saint Louis worth the weeks it took to complete.
My mother may miss him, but I will not wish to let him leave any time soon.
May 15th
My father was surprised to see the size of the little cabin where his royal daughter spent her first winter in the territory, but he acknowledged Reid’s thoughtfulness and wisdom in raising the floor. Though my husband made that decision initially for cleanliness and comfort, the space under the floor proved quite useful in the face of the tornadoes.
Reid and I tried to explain those unique occurrences to Pappa, but he was as skeptical as I had been. On one hand, I would hope he could experience a tornado while he is with us, so he could see what we are talking about with his own eyes.
Yet on the other hand, wishing for such a thing is like wishing for a visit from the devil himself.
Of course, Reid is now pulling down the walls of the cabin to build the upper walls of the barn. And he will pull up the milled floorboards to finish building the stalls and tack room on the ground floor.
The foundation and fireplace will remain for now, he says. In the even
t we find a need for another outbuilding in the future. Pappa did not watch my husband for long before rolling up his own sleeves and lending a hand.
I have never, in my entire lifetime, ever seen my father put his back to physical labor, and I was quite frankly worried for him. He assured me he would not over-exert himself, and that steadying a ladder, or working the draft horses as they dragged and then lifted the logs in place, were easily within his realm of capabilities.
Reid shot me a look, warning me not to interfere. At first I was greatly angered by that, but as I watched and stewed from a distance, I saw how much my father was enjoying the chance to labor—and how carefully my husband was ensuring that Pappa was never asked to do too much.
