Boston Jane

by Jennifer L. Holm

  Papa looked at my face and softened. “Oh Janey,” he said, his voice catching. “I miss my little girl. What’s happened to you? Now all I hear is talk of pouring tea and fashion and embroidery. And the only book you ever read is that useless etiquette book!”

  “But Papa—”

  “Here,” he said in an encouraging voice. “Sit down and talk to me.” He held out his plate. “Have a piece of pie with your dear old pa. It’s Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie. Your favorite.”

  “I can’t eat pie,” I said stiffly, putting my hand to the corset on my waist. While my waist was somewhat slimmer, I had a considerable way to go before I looked on the verge of fainting, as Miss Hepplewhite recommended.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m fat! I’m fat as a pig! And I’ll never have a waist as thin as Sally Biddle’s if I go around eating pie!” I shouted in frustration.

  Papa smiled gently. “Janey,” he said. “My sweet Janey. You’re not fat. You’re lovely. You’re the picture of your beautiful mother.”

  “Then my mother was fat!” I burst out.

  Papa went white.

  I turned and ran from the study.

  “Janey!” he barked.

  But I just closed my bedroom door and cried.

  You can see why I came to depend on William’s encouraging words. He alone seemed to understand the importance of my education. And all my hard work was paying off. The proof of it arrived one warm May afternoon in a heavy, crisp envelope—an invitation to the Midsummer Gala at Cora Fletcher’s house. Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher’s Midsummer Gala was an annual event, and invitations were greatly coveted.

  Mary and I spent all our time finding me the perfect dress and endlessly discussed how she would arrange my hair. She tried out different styles in the evenings. My favorite was a fashionable one that involved a lot of ringlet curls. I thought it was quite charming, if a little complicated.

  “I think it’s lovely,” I said, patting the curls.

  Mary just shook her head. “If ya want to look like a sheep.”

  When the day of the gala arrived, the house was a hive of activity with Mrs. Parker and Mary almost as excited as I was.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” Papa asked.

  “Oh sir, our young miss is going to her first party!” Mrs. Parker said, beaming.

  “Party?”

  “I’ve been invited to Cora Fletcher’s Midsummer Gala!” I said in exasperation. “I told you weeks ago.”

  “Cora who?”

  “Cora Fletcher, Papa!”

  “That Harry Fletcher’s girl?”

  “Yes, Papa. The Fletchers are only one of the most important families in Philadelphia!”

  “Harry Fletcher important?” he asked, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

  “Papa!”

  He sighed wearily and looked at me standing there in my fancy evening dress. “You look lovely,” he said gruffly. “You’ll be the most beautiful girl there.”

  When I arrived at the Fletcher house, the rooms were already full of impeccably dressed girls and handsome young men. I smoothed my pale green skirt self-consciously and checked my hair in the hall mirror.

  “Hello, Jane,” Cora Fletcher said. “What a charming dress.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled nervously. “You have a lovely house.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

  I followed her into the parlor, where a group of girls were in rapt conversation. I felt a moment’s anxiety. But, remembering Miss Hepplewhite’s advice on such situations, I took a deep breath, pasted on a winning smile, and took a step toward them. Almost immediately I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Would you like some punch, Jane?” Sally Biddle asked, her eyes mild, a cup in her hands.

  “That would be lovely,” I said, surprised but pleased, taking the cup.

  Sally Biddle peered across the room. “I do believe I see Horace Fink.”

  And as she brushed past me I felt her arm shove my elbow hard. The glass tipped and punch soaked the bosom of my dress and dripped down my skirts.

  “Oh dear! What a mess,” Cora Fletcher said, shaking her head.

  The other girls eyed me with pity.

  From across the room I saw Sally Biddle’s grin.

  The next morning the letter arrived that would change my life forever. And not a moment too soon. I had not gone to school as my eyes were puffy and swollen from crying all night.

  February 14, 1853

  My dearest Jane,

  How time has passed. Has it truly been three years since last I saw your face? When I think of you I picture you in a beautiful green dress with your lovely red hair caught up. I miss you more than words can say.

  By my calculations, you shall be past fifteen as you read this letter, and I imagine you are now an accomplished, lovely young woman.

  Do you recall how you said that you would like to come out to the frontier with me one day? I am now situated in comfortable accommodations on Shoalwater Bay.

  Will you, dearest Jane? Will you come west and be my wife?

  As ever, I remain, your devoted servant,

  William

  The letter shook in my hand. William wanted to marry me? Joy rushed through me. Being his wife was the answer to all my dreams. And after last evening, I knew that there was nothing for me here in Philadelphia. Sally Biddle would always be there, waiting to ruin my happiness.

  I ran to Papa’s study and burst in without even knocking.

  Papa looked up and rubbed his eyes. He took a small bottle of medicine and drank from it.

  “Not green again,” he said, eyeing my dress and rubbing his lips. “Did you make every dress out of the same god-awful bolt of fabric? I never see you in any other color.”

  I was determined not to lose my temper. “William says that green suits me.”

  Papa snorted. “If you like the color of bile.”

  I refused to dignify that remark with a response.

  “Papa, look,” I said urgently, holding out the letter.

  Papa stared at the letter for a long time. When he looked up there was a shuttered expression on his face.

  “No,” he said.

  “But Papa—”

  “You’re too young to be married.”

  “I’m fifteen!”

  He slammed his fist on his desk, upsetting the little bottle.

  “No daughter of mine is going out to the godforsaken frontier! There’s cholera on the trail. You’ll die before you even get there!”

  “Then I shall take a ship!”

  “You will not. You will stay here.”

  “But I love him!”

  The room went silent.

  Papa opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a cough. Soon he was coughing so hard that he was fighting for air, his whole body shaking. I rushed around the desk to help him.

  “Papa!”

  He coughed into his handkerchief and then pushed me away, his eyes watery and red.

  “Don’t you have school today?” he asked harshly, a bleak expression on his face. He turned his back on me and stared out the window.

  Miss Hepplewhite had said that a young lady might employ tears to further her goals, but tears had little effect on my iron-willed papa.

  Papa just shook his head and handed me a handkerchief.

  “Janey,” he said, “you are transfixed with William for the wrong reasons. There’s nothing for you out on that frontier. It’s dangerous. There are plenty of eligible young bachelors right here in Philadelphia. There’s no call to follow one out west, especially one with no sense.”

  I bristled. “You’re mistaken! William is the finest man with whom I have ever been acquainted.”

  “What kind of man throws away an education to chop down trees?” Papa demanded fiercely. “William has chosen a hard and dangerous and lonely life by settling on the frontier, a life that I don’t want my only daughter to share.”

  “I’d rather be dead than be without
William!” I said, my voice rising to a pitch.

  “Janey,” Papa said in a weary voice. “You are being very foolish now.”

  The house was in an uproar. Everyone had an opinion about the situation.

  “Oh miss, it’ll break the doctor’s heart if you go away,” Mrs. Parker said, sounding miserable.

  Even Mary required convincing.

  I sat at the dressing table as Mary brushed my hair with long, smooth strokes. While I had acquaintances at school, Mary was the one to whom I most often told my troubles. She was sweet and wise, and I found her company a great comfort. Not to mention she was the only one who could do anything with my hair.

  “Papa is the most stubborn man in all of Philadelphia,” I said, staring hard at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Well, ya have the most stubborn hair in all of Philadelphia,” Mary said. “It must come from somewhere.”

  I would not be humored out of my mood. “Papa understands nothing. Does he want me to end up a spinster? Can’t he see how wonderful William is?”

  “Dr. Peck seems smart enough to me,” Mary said with a sharp tug to my hair.

  “Ouch! Don’t pull so!”

  “Why would ya want ta leave?” she asked, waving a hand around my bedroom, at the four-poster bed, the quilt, the curtains.

  “You couldn’t possibly understand,” I said.

  The brush tugged my scalp painfully.

  “Mary! That hurt!”

  “Sorry,” Mary said with an innocent grin and a half shrug. “Never learned how to brush hair. We Irish girls don’t understand anything, ya know.”

  “Very amusing.” I studied Mary in the mirror. “What about you, Mary? What do you want?”

  “Well,” Mary said, looking thoughtful. “I’d like something of my own. Where I’d be my own mistress. Free to do as I pleased.”

  She said free with such longing that I was startled.

  “But Mary, you’re as free as any young woman.”

  Mary stared at me and said, “Am I now? Do ya really think so, Miss Jane? I have to make a living, Jane my girl,” she explained patiently. “Ya wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m sure there are a lot of hungry men on the frontier who would appreciate your cooking,” I said.

  Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

  “I could have a boardinghouse. I could make a fortune,” she said, her dark eyes glinting, warming to the idea. She groaned dramatically. “I’d go there just so I wouldn’t have to comb this tangled mess every blessed day!”

  I grabbed Mary’s hand and she smiled at me.

  “Would you come with me if I went out west?”

  Mary grinned, her eyes bright.

  “Jane my girl, what would you do without me?”

  It seemed that my very strength wore on Papa, that as the weeks went by, he grew paler and thinner. Following a warm August, September arrived, and with it a dark chill that seemed to settle in my bones. Everyone was in a bad mood, especially Papa, who glared at me whenever I mentioned William’s name.

  One night after a particularly strained supper, someone knocked on the door. I assumed it was a patient clamoring for my father’s attentions. Mary appeared at the door of the dining room with a distinguished older-looking man carrying a physician’s satchel.

  “Dr. Burns,” she announced, tipping her dark head respectfully.

  Papa stood up and shook the other man’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Stanley.” He turned to me. “You remember my colleague, Dr. Burns?”

  “Yes, of course.” He had been to the house before. Papa was always bringing people home for supper—other physicians, lawyers, bankers. Once, he even brought a judge!

  “Miss Peck.” Dr. Burns nodded his head gravely. He seemed a very somber sort of man.

  “You must excuse us, Jane. Dr. Burns and I have some rather urgent matters that require our attention.”

  They locked themselves in Papa’s study, and when they emerged Papa’s face was gray.

  The next morning he called me into his study. It was icy cold, the fire mere embers, and I wondered how long he had been sitting in the room. He stared into the fireplace, so still that he seemed almost a statue.

  “Papa?”

  “Janey,” he said, looking up at me. His face was pink and his cheeks were rosy. He looked better than he had in weeks. Perhaps Dr. Burns had given him a tonic.

  “You are looking well, Papa,” I said.

  He nodded simply. “You are my dearest daughter and I love you very much.”

  I wanted to laugh and say, “I’m your only daughter,” but I was too old for such nursery games, and besides, I was angry with him for not letting me marry William.

  He paused. “I have made a decision.”

  “A decis—”

  He held up his hand to silence me. “If it means so much to you to go west and marry William, then I find I cannot stand in your way.”

  I could hardly believe it.

  “Is this what you truly want?”

  “Yes, Papa,” I said quickly. “It is what I want more than anything.”

  “Then go,” he said, his voice breaking. His eyes were wet with tears. “If it means that much to you, my dear stubborn girl, then go. You must make your own luck.”

  I posted William a letter accepting his offer the very next day.

  When Mary and I departed two months later on the Lady Luck, Mrs. Parker and Papa came to the docks to bid us farewell. I stood on deck and waved to Papa as we sailed away.

  And watched as he and all that I had ever known slowly disappeared.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  or,

  Helpful Hints on Travel

  I was having the most pleasant dream.

  We were in the parlor on Walnut Street. A cheery fire was blazing, and Papa was reading to me from “Rip Van Winkle.” The delicious aroma of Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie mingled in the air with the familiar smell of Papa’s pipe. It was all so warm and safe.

  And then, all at once, the ship gave a sickening lurch and I awoke with a start, banging my head on the low ceiling of the cabin.

  “Blast!” I shouted, rubbing my head.

  “Had a pleasant nap, then, Jane my girl?” Mary asked brightly.

  I scowled at her.

  With a huff of frustration, I pushed back the sheets and dangled my feet over the edge of the bunk and rested them on the floor. My stockings were immedi ately soaked through. I looked down in dismay. The bucket of seawater Samuel had brought in that morning had sloshed all over the floor.

  We had been making do with cold seawater for bathing for the entire trip, and my skin was dreadfully itchy. “I do believe I’d give almost anything for a proper bath,” I said fervently, scratching at my ankle in a most indelicate way.

  “Ya ain’t getting any argument from me on that count, Jane my girl,” Mary said with a sniff.

  I poured some of the dreaded seawater into the basin and stripped down to my chemise for yet another cold, salty scrubbing. My hipbones jutted sharply against the thin cotton fabric. This voyage had done more good to my waist than four years of avoiding pies. I had lost so much weight that my cheeks were sunken, and what bosoms I’d possessed had shrunk to mere bumps. I had little trouble lacing up my corset these days.

  “Ya look like a scrawny lad,” Mary said, disapproval clear in her voice.

  “I look like a real young lady now,” I countered. “Being slender and pale and having cheeks white as snow is all the fashion.”

  “If ya’ve got the consumption.” Mary snorted.

  “Oh Mary!”

  “Are ya sure yer not contagious, Jane my girl?” she teased.

  I dug through my trunk for a passably clean dress, which I was altogether unlikely to find as almost every stitch of clothing I owned was by now soiled. The very first thing I intended to do when we landed at Shoalwater Bay was launder my clothes.

  As Miss Hepplewhite advised, I had packed lightly, being careful to bring only plain, neat dresses,
bonnets, stockings, gloves, and plenty of handkerchiefs. But my most precious possession lay on the bottom of the trunk.

  My wedding dress.

  We had copied a design from Godey’s Lady’s Book. The dress was made of ivory velvet and yards and yards of lace. It had taken Mrs. Parker, Mary, and me nearly two months to make it. And when it became clear that we would miss the first ship to San Francisco I had posted William a second letter informing him of our delay. I hoped he would not be too disappointed but knew he would approve once he saw the dress. It was the most beautiful dress in the entire world. I held it to my chest and smiled.

  “I surely hope this lad’s worth crossing two oceans,” Mary said, eyeing the dress skeptically.

  I forced myself to remember William’s beautiful gray eyes and his chiseled chin. “Oh Mary, he is,” I replied in a steady voice.

  But I felt a tingle of unease, remembering Sally Biddle’s reaction.

  Sally Biddle had laughed out loud when I announced my engagement.

  “Engaged?” she’d mocked, her lip curling. “Dr. Baldt is clearly deluded. What lies have you been telling him in your letters? The moment he catches sight of that hair of yours he’ll come to his senses.” She’d smiled at me triumphantly. “And you’ll wind up a spinster living among the savages!”

  With a sigh I packed away my wedding finery and pulled out a plain green walking dress of cashmere edged with corded velvet ribbon. It had a rather awful stain on the bosom from where a plate with gravy had fallen on it during a particularly rough night at sea, but it was the most presentable of all my clothes.

  “You know what I miss most, Mary?” I said. We often passed the time debating what we missed most. It was usually food, as the fare on board the Lady Luck was generally dreadful and the chief reason I had lost so much weight. We had stopped briefly to drop our cargo in San Francisco, and it was rumored we had taken on fresh provisions, but if we had, none had appeared in our cabin.

  “What?”

  “I would give anything for a slice of Mrs. Parker’s cherry pie,” I said with real longing.

  “Or her biscuits and gravy,” Mary said, her eyes shining.

  “Or her roast pork and apples.”