Boston Jane

by Jennifer L. Holm

  William inclined his head. “I shall minister to whatever pioneers are there, but I am interested in the land. And the timber on it. It is my intention to make my fortune in timber.”

  Papa looked taken aback.

  “All that study to become a surgeon and you want to chop down trees?” Papa asked in a shocked voice.

  “There’s more money to be had in chopping down trees than chopping off limbs,” William replied coolly.

  Papa grunted. “You’ll have to move a few Indians to get to the land.”

  “The savages shall be obliged to move,” William said, completely unconcerned.

  “Hard way to make a fortune if you ask me,” Papa said. “Full of danger.”

  William pursed his lips. “I have nothing to lose.”

  “Except life and limb,” Papa said dryly.

  I coughed loudly, trying to get Papa’s attention.

  “You getting sick, Janey?” he asked.

  I stared at Papa mutinously. Why didn’t he say something to make William stay? Why was he letting him leave?

  Papa turned back to William, raising his glass in a toast.

  “Good luck to you, especially with the Indians,” Papa said. “I suspect that’ll be harder than the doctoring and timber.” He sounded amused.

  I put my glass to my lips but could not swallow. Nor could I eat another bite. All I could do was sit silently at my place and glare at Papa and William, furious at both heartless men. They were impossible. Could they not see I was dying inside?

  After supper I went to William’s room. He was packing his leather satchel. I stood watching in the doorway. His maps were already stowed away, as were the books that had littered his desk. There was not a single personal possession in sight. It was as if he had never even been here.

  “Must you go?” I whispered, reaching out to put a hand on his arm.

  He turned around, startled.

  “I’m afraid I must,” he said, regarding me with his gray eyes. When would I see those eyes again? Or those lovely eyelashes, for that matter?

  “But you can’t leave!” I said helplessly. “What will I do?”

  “If you write to me, it will be as if I am still here,” he said easily.

  No it won’t! I wanted to shout. A letter would never listen to me or give me advice on Sally Biddle or bring me ribbons!

  “Will you promise to write me?” he asked.

  “I promise,” I said fervently.

  “You’re a good girl, Jane Peck,” he said, and kissed my hand lightly.

  He was gone the next morning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  or,

  A Woman’s Peculiar Calling

  How I dreamed of William in the months that followed!

  His gray eyes and bright blond hair filled my thoughts. And, of course, his lovely teeth!

  “Girls,” Miss Hepplewhite declared. “Please open your books to Chapter Ten.”

  I looked out the window, daydreaming about William. The summer of 1851 had come and gone in its hot, hazy way, and the crisp scent of autumn was in the air. I was thirteen now, and the girl who had run around eating pies all day and playing with Jebediah Parker was a distant memory.

  “Who would like to read?”

  I raised my hand. Now that I was older, I sat in the middle of the room. I had made a few friends, but Sally Biddle was not one of them.

  “Go on, then, Miss Peck.”

  I cleared my throat. By now we had reviewed each chapter of The Young Lady’s Confidante numerous times. I almost might have recited the text from memory: “‘Chapter Ten or, A Woman’s Peculiar Calling. It is a woman’s peculiar calling to please those around her. Do not put your own desires in the forefront, but rather think first of your good parents, your brothers and sisters, and most especially, one day, your husband.’” I looked up.

  “Well done.” Miss Hepplewhite paused, looking at us with serious eyes. “Girls, you must strive always to please others and do so cheerfully. For this is where your true happiness lies.”

  She toured the room.

  “One means of obtaining this happiness is to make your house a home. By bringing cheerfulness to your home, you express your grace and refinement to those around you.”

  Some of the girls in front of me nodded their heads thoughtfully.

  “Little details should not be overlooked,” Miss Hepplewhite continued. “Fresh flowers or a thoughtfully designed menu that takes into consideration the particular tastes of your guests is a perfect example.”

  Miss Hepplewhite smiled and clasped her hands.

  “A well-ordered home is a miniature of heaven.”

  Sally Biddle leaned forward. “What a shame, Jane,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t think any man will consider that house on Walnut Street a miniature of heaven. Although it is small.”

  My eyes started to sting. I bit my lip to keep from crying.

  “Miss Biddle,” Miss Hepplewhite called in a firm voice.

  “Yes, Miss Hepplewhite?” Sally Biddle said politely.

  “The size of one’s house does not determine the nature of one’s character, Miss Biddle.”

  Sally Biddle flushed in embarrassment.

  “And Miss Biddle,” Miss Hepplewhite said sternly. “A person who says unkind things is not a proper young lady.”

  I looked gratefully at Miss Hepplewhite.

  She nodded almost imperceptibly and turned back to the lesson.

  I went home inspired to prepare a meal that would please Papa. Mrs. Parker and I were discussing my idea in the kitchen when there was a knock at the front door.

  “Oh dear,” she said. She was covered in flour.

  “I’ll get it,” I offered. A lady should always be cheerful and helpful!

  I opened the front door and bright light flooded in. I blinked and for a brief moment my heart leaped. William? Then I blinked again. It wasn’t William after all. It was just a delivery-man from Blood’s Penny Post.

  “Letter, miss,” the man said, holding out the packet.

  I gave him a coin and took the envelope, turning it over in my hands. It was rumpled and thin and a little dirty, as if it had passed through many hands to arrive at Walnut Street.

  It was from William!

  I ran upstairs to my bedroom and closed the door. My hand shook in excitement as I imagined what he had written. I could practically hear his words. No doubt he would say how much he missed me and our little talks and how he couldn’t wait to return to Philadelphia to be with me. I tore open the envelope carefully and went to a window to read the single sheet of paper.

  Dear Miss Peck,

  Having arrived in relative safety at Shoalwater Bay, I am now undertaking to become better situated with my surroundings.

  It is a rich countryside. Game and fish are plentiful. The local band of savages is called Chinooks. They are very skilled at trading and have been trading for many years with the British. I am told that their numbers have been much reduced by disease, but there are still many in the area.

  My regards to your father.

  As ever, I remain,

  William Baldt

  I nearly cried with disappointment.

  He hadn’t even inquired about me! Had I meant so little to him? The letter seemed almost impersonal. Did this mean he was actually going to stay out there? Would I never see his lovely eyes again? I stared hard at the letter and felt my throat go tight at the very thought.

  “Jane, do you think I should make a plum pudding?” Mrs. Parker called up the stairs.

  I swallowed hard and put the letter on my desk and hurried down to help her.

  I threw myself into my studies to take my mind off William’s disappointing letter.

  While I enjoyed the Embroidery and Watercolors and Drawing and Music classes, Etiquette was still my favorite subject.

  There was The Importance of Punctuality (Chapter Nine): “Young ladies who are not punctual when traveling think up any manner of excuses. The truth is the unpunc
tual do not allow themselves sufficient time,” Miss Hepplewhite said, pointing to the ever-present pocket watch that hung from the chain on her skirt.

  Being a Good Guest (Chapter Eleven): “A gracious guest should not interfere with the domestic routine of the house. Be as little trouble as possible. Never,” Miss Hepplewhite stressed, “never be in the way.”

  And, of course, Pouring Tea and Coffee (Chapter Three): “A young lady who can preside over pouring tea and coffee shall always be admired,” Miss Hepplewhite promised.

  We also reviewed Rules of Conversation (Chapter Two), Receiving and Returning Calls (Chapter Four), Deportment on the Street (Chapter Thirteen), Care of Odd Minutes (Chapter Fourteen), and The Particulars of Domestic Economy (Chapter Fifteen).

  Then came the fateful day when we learned about the Great Mistake.

  Strangely enough, there was no chapter in The Young Lady’s Confidante with this title.

  Miss Hepplewhite looked very grave as she stood at the front of the classroom, leaning next to her elegantly carved desk, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Dear girls,” she said, her voice catching. “If you learn no other lesson from me, learn this.” She lowered her eyes.

  We leaned forward.

  “Beware the Great Mistake.”

  Some older girls near the back giggled.

  Miss Hepplewhite looked up sharply, and the room went quiet. The only sound was a bird singing outside the window.

  “A kiss may seem innocent, but it is the greatest mistake a young woman can make, for it leads to other intimacies, and that is the path to destruction.”

  I remembered William’s kiss on my hand. How it had tingled and felt warm for days after. How I had resolved not to wash it but had in the end, as it had become sticky with jam.

  There were more giggles from the back of the room.

  “Modesty, girls, that is your watchword. Do not allow a handsome face to lead you astray.”

  Her voice was nearly a whisper.

  “Beware the Great Mistake.”

  After school I heard some of the older girls talking.

  “The Great Mistake!” Sally Biddle mimicked. “I shouldn’t mind making a few mistakes with that nice Horace Fink.”

  The girls giggled.

  “Or Godfrey Hale,” Cora Fletcher suggested in a hushed voice. “He has a very agreeable face.”

  And while it was true that Horace Fink and Godfrey Hale had grown up, all I could remember was Horace’s big ears and Godfrey’s finger up his nose.

  Sally Biddle caught sight of me.

  “Jane Peck,” Sally Biddle said in a satisfied voice. “My, what an unusual hairstyle. Wouldn’t you agree, Cora?”

  “Very interesting, indeed,” Cora murmured.

  “Yes.” Sally looked at me, an innocent expression on her face. “It reminds me of a—a —”

  She paused, searching for the right words.

  A squirrel scampered up a nearby oak tree.

  “A squirrel’s nest!” she finished, a bland expression on her face.

  The girls laughed.

  I touched my hair self-consciously, noticing the stray strands coming free from the knot I had arranged that morning. It wasn’t my fault my hair was curly and prone to looking wild. I was doing the best I could.

  And I was good enough. I had studied faithfully and knew how to pour tea and embroider handkerchiefs and listen well. Even Miss Hepplewhite said that I would make a fine wife, that I was pious and meek and modest in all respects.

  I thought of William’s letter waiting on my desk, unanswered.

  “As a matter of fact, I am corresponding with a most agreeable gentleman, Dr. William Baldt,” I said in a steady voice, amazing myself. “And he thinks my hair is most becoming.”

  “William Baldt?” Cora Fletcher asked curiously. Her eyes lit up. “I remember him! He is indeed a most agreeable young man.”

  I smiled triumphantly at Sally.

  But she just narrowed her eyes.

  When I returned home, I hastily penned William a reply.

  October 2, 1851

  Dear Dr. Baldt,

  I was ever so pleased to receive your letter. Did you know that it took nearly four months to reach my hands?

  This day Miss Hepplewhite discussed how to avoid draggled petticoats. The recommended way is to hold one’s skirts at the back so as not to reveal one’s ankles when strolling. It is very scandalous to reveal one’s ankles, although Papa says there is nothing particularly scandalous about mine.

  Mrs. Parker has hired a new girl. Her name is Mary Hearn, and she is Irish. Mary is two years older than I and says she doesn’t care a whit if some man sees her ankle; she isn’t about to kill herself tripping considering the number of times she goes up and down the stairs every blessed day.

  I like her very much, even if she is a bit crude.

  Could you please write me some interesting things about the wild frontier?

  Yours truly,

  Miss Jane Peck

  Many months later I received his next letter. I ripped it open, eagerly looking for any sign of his affection for me. To my dismay, none was to be found.

  January 12, 1852

  Dear Miss Peck,

  Thank you for your letter. I hope your studies at Miss Hepplewhite’s are going well. You know my opinion on these matters.

  The Donation Law grants a man 640 acres if he improves the tract. As you know, I am intent on acquiring land, so this is a very good proposition. The first thing I did upon my arrival was to choose a fine piece of land and duly stake my claim.

  Regarding your request for stories of the wild frontier, truly this part of the frontier is not so very wild.

  We have all the comforts of home. The pioneers are engaged in a number of industries, chiefly oystering and timber.

  Your letter reminded me of the lovely meals at Walnut Street. I’m sorry to say that not one of the men on Shoalwater Bay can produce meals as satisfying as Mrs. Parker’s. I miss her cherry pie very much.

  As ever, I remain,

  William Baldt

  I would have given anything for him to have written that he missed me and not Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie. It was so disheartening. Even so, I faithfully wrote back that very day.

  May 18, 1852

  Dear Dr. Baldt,

  I assure you that I am working very hard at Miss Hepplewhite’s.

  In fact, I shall relate to you the lesson I learned this very day.

  Did you know that when calling on acquaintances, the visit should last no longer than ten minutes? Miss Hepplewhite related to us that a lengthy unwelcome visit is, above all, A Snare to Be Avoided. It is also vital that a return call be made no longer than a week following the first call so as not to offend. But as much visiting occurs, and in order to avoid forgetting who has visited when and whom one is obliged to visit, Miss Hepplewhite recommended keeping a list of all visitors. It is a clever idea and I have begun a list.

  Miss Hepplewhite has announced an embroidery contest in school. I am going to sew a small pocket-handkerchief.

  I think of you often and hope that you are thinking of me.

  Yours truly,

  Miss Jane Peck

  Christmas arrived and with it another letter from William. It was, without question, the best of gifts!

  September 1, 1852

  My dearest Jane,

  The arrival of a letter from Philadelphia and Miss Jane Peck is a very happy occasion on Shoalwater Bay. I’m afraid no one on the Bay possesses your wit and charm.

  As it takes so long for the mail to make a round trip from Philadelphia to Shoalwater Bay, there is no need for you to wait for my letters before penning me one of your own. Therefore, I dearly hope you will be encouraged to write me whenever the fancy takes you, and I shall do the same.

  It is quite apparent from your correspondence that you are becoming a most accomplished young lady. No one out here keeps with such good etiquette, but perhaps I shall recommend it.<
br />
  I miss the wonderful suppers at Walnut Street. Most of all, I miss your delightful company. Do you still wear green? Please consider this ribbon a token of my special affection for you. I eagerly await your next correspondence.

  You are in my thoughts and heart always.

  As ever, I remain,

  William Baldt

  I held the slender pale green ribbon to my lips and smiled. If I had doubted that William returned my affections, I did so no longer. His most recent letter made his warm feelings clear.

  William’s sweet letters sustained me through the hard months of winter and rainy days of spring when it seemed that everything I accomplished at Miss Hepplewhite’s disappointed Papa.

  Like the day I won the embroidery contest.

  It had been exciting beyond words. I had drawn top marks for my embroidery of a small violet on a pocket-handkerchief. I had even bested Sally Biddle, who had sewn a dove—a rather lopsided dove, in my opinion. Miss Hepplewhite declared that I had the neatest small stitch of any girl ever to attend the academy.

  Her praise rang in my ears all the way home. I could hardly wait to tell Papa the good news.

  He was sitting in his study reading a book and eating a piece of Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie when I rushed in the door.

  “Papa, look,” I said, waving the prize handkerchief in the air. “I won! I won first prize!”

  “Hmmph,” he said, sounding unimpressed. “I’ll be sure to have you stitch some flowers on the forehead of my next patient.”

  Disappointment rushed through me. Didn’t he understand how important this was? I stomped my foot. “Papa!”

  Papa sighed, his face gray. He was very tired of late, and I knew it was because of the yellow fever. Mothers and fathers had been banging on our door at all hours, bringing their sick children. Papa forbade me to come downstairs when patients called.

  “There’s no vaccination for yellow fever, Janey. I don’t want you endangered.”

  He had kept me trapped upstairs last year too, when smallpox had raged through the slums. And there was a vaccination for smallpox. His excuse then had been, “Janey, the vaccination is generally effective, but there have been cases reported of vaccinated persons getting the pox, and I don’t want you endangered.”