A Gathering of Days

by Joan W. Blos

  Sarah’s book

  Acknowledgments

  Much of the reading for this book was accomplished at the New York Public Library, the Graduate and William C. Clements Libraries at the University of Michigan, and the town library of Holderness, New Hampshire. Also consulted were town and county records in Holderness and Wolfeboro. I am grateful to these facilities, and for help received.

  I have discussed parts or aspects of the story with past and present members of the Department of History at the University of Michigan. I appreciate their interest and their insights.

  Joan Blos

  Holderness, New Hampshire

  Providence, Rhode Island

  November 20, 1899

  To my namesake, Catherine:

  I give you this book on your fourteenth birthday, as I turned fourteen the year of the journal; the year that was also my last on the farm tho’ I did not know it then. It was also the year that my father remarried, and my best friend, Cassie, died. Cassie lives in my memory still, of all of us the only one never to grow old.

  Once I might have wished for that: never to grow old. But now I know that to stay young always is also not to change. And that is what life’s all about—changes going on every minute, and you never know when something begins where it’s going to take you.

  So one thing I want to say about life is don’t be scared and don’t hang back, and most of all, don’t waste it.

  Your loving great-grandmother,

  Catherine Hall Onesti

  I

  Sunday, October 17, 1830

  I, Catherine Cabot Hall, aged 13 years, 6 months, 29 days, of Meredith in the State of New-Hampshire, do begin this book.

  It was given to me yesterday, my father returning from Boston, Massachusetts, where he had gone to obtain provisions for the months ahead.

  My father’s name is Charles: Charles Hall. I am daughter also of Hannah Cabot Hall, dead of a fever these four long years; and older sister to Mary Martha whose dark, curling hair resembles our mother’s, but I have our mother’s blue eyes.

  My dearest friend is Cassie. The Shipmans’ farm lies South of ours, and is rather larger. Cassie is older than I by a year, but the same in height. We tell each other every thing; and each of us in the other’s dear heart finds secret dreams reflected. Cassie’s brothers are: David Horatio, older by a full two years; Asa Hale, my age exactly; and William Mason, the youngest. He is but a baby and called by every one “Willie.”

  This day being the Sabbath we attended services both morning and afternoon.

  Tuesday, October 19, 1830

  This be the precept the teacher set out today:

  . . . let thy words be plain and true to the thoughts of thy heart.

  These be the thoughts of my heart: that I may remain here for ever and ever; here in this house which my father has built with the labour of his two hands;

  that no harm come to those I love: Father and my sister, Matty; Cassie, and the Shipman family; and Father’s brother, our Uncle Jack, who mills when he needs money, and never took a wife;

  also that I may train myself to want to do what I am asked to do;

  last, and most bitter of all to confess, I wish that my hair were curly, as Matty’s is, and our mother’s.

  Thursday, October 21, 1830

  Teacher Holt commended me for writing with a finer hand than I have displayed before. Still must my capitals be improved, achieving a better flourish.

  This night Father told us a story after the supper hour. A man had lost four hogs in the woods and went there to retrieve them. Before he had gone very far on his way a headless woman rose up before him—spectral, and blocking the path. As might be expected he fled the spot. But thinking on it when he woke to the morrow, and still much the poorer for the loss of the hogs, he ventured back again. There he discovered that his apparition was naught but the rooty tangle of a fallen tree! Animals had gnawed some portions away, thus suggesting the shapes and the shading, and the woman’s arms, as he had supposed, were but a pair of larger roots, bent at an equal angle.

  The lesson, as Father put it to us, is that intelligence must prevail for had the fellow not returned he’d have suffered all his days, victim to an ignorant fear—no better than the meanest man, or least instructed child.

  Friday, October 22, 1830

  We had a visitor today but nearly failed to admit him. No callers, surely, were expected. And peddlars, tinkers, and the like will not come by till Spring. Thus we ignored the rattling latch—at times the wind will mislead us so—until a voice called out.

  It proved to be our Uncle Jack and tho’ he protested he was just passing by, I thought he meant to visit. He brought some store sweets, wrapped in paper, and consented to have some cyder.

  Tuesday, October 26, 1830

  Winter is coming on! There was ice across the trough this morning, and frost on the upper meadow.

  Uncle Jack to visit again. Father could scarce believe ’twas so, but Uncle Jack had read in the paper where a Mr. Sam’l Newell had raised a white potato to better than 24 inches, taken in girth around! But here comes our uncle with the paper itself, and printed just as he told it. Then nothing would do but down to the cellar to hunt and search for the largest of ours, and carry it up for measure, amidst much speculation.

  When I could wait the supper no longer, having earlier raised the pot from the fire but still was scorching threatened, I ventured to invite our guest and soon set out a pleasant meal, Uncle Jack joining gladly.

  Later Father praised me direct, saying that I was a pride and a comfort, and added directly after that, “There’s many a full grown woman here would not do as well.” I shall not forget his words and am resolved that for all my days I shall assay such tasks and virtues as may sustain his comfort and increase his pride.

  Monday, November 1, 1830

  Only three more weeks remain until Thanksgiving Day! I must attach my new lace collar to my Sabbath dress. Also, it being snug for me, I must take up the patterned frock which I have given to Matty. She can use it nicely, I think, together with her new knit stockings and the red Morocco boots that were mine once also.

  Cassie and I and Mrs. Shipman have already begun the preparations for the Thanksgiving meal. The cakes we make first are those that keep best in the cellar’s cool. Last week we turned out some gingerbread; today we made a Yankee Cake and a firm Plum Pudding. Mrs. Shipman’s sister in Salem had sent a new receipt for this, but as we had no currants here we had to do without.

  Thursday, November 4, 1830

  Returning home from school this day I had a dreadful fright! Clearly I saw presented to me the dark silhouette of a lanky man, his coat all tattered against the sky, his bony hand above his eye as if to give it shade.

  Although I quickly pointed him out, so swiftly did he vanish away that nothing remained when Cassie and Asa obeyed my pointing finger. Then, stumble-tongue’d, I must explain what I had wished them to see.

  Asa remembered the story I told her of a headless woman and that story’s teaching. From this he determined that nothing would do unless we followed after. Cassie, ever more prudent, demurred; therefore must I, as the third of the party, cast the deciding ballot. As it was coming on to dark, and I still had our supper to set, I announced with Cassie. Asa, at this, scowled ruefully. But soon thereafter we all joined hands, & in most perfect companionship resumed the homeward journey.

  Friday, November 5, 1830

  Along the road and in the fields is neither green nor white of snow; all is sere and brown. How much farther one can see, now that the leaves are gone! Only the faithful evergreens guard the margins of our fields and keep the forest secrets.

  “Look, Cath,” Matty calls to me, her small face muffle’d and
cold. “My breath is frosting like Babe and Nelly’s!” Then she lows, as oxen will, till I am quite ashamed.

  Saturday, November 6, 1830

  Mrs. Shipman called on Father. The purpose was to present to him that her sister will visit from Salem. Now she called her “the unmarried one” and said she would stay a while. Of this he assured her he was glad, and hoped they both would enjoy renewal of old and sisterly ties.

  There being nothing further to say, they spoke of other matters. He will build the cupboard she needs. She, exchanging service for service, agrees to provide continued instruction in the diverse household arts to myself and Matty. “ ’Tis hard,” she sighed, “the loss of a mother, and her gentle guidance.”

  “We do all right,” I heard him say. “Now I’ve no wish to offend you, Em. But we do all right,” he repeated.

  November 7, 1830. The Sabbath Day.

  Uncle Jack, and we three also, visited with the Shipmans after morning service. Mr. Shipman and Father remarked how frequent are the instances of bound boys run away. When they were lads, or so they say, it was much less common. Now each week’s Courier displays a greater, and more petulant, number of master’s advertisements. “Will no longer be responsible for,” “any having knowledge of,” “the subscriber wishes to state . . .”

  “And what would you do,” our Uncle Jack asks, “were such a fellow hereabouts, and known, by chance, to you?”

  “Turn him out and turn him in,” is Father’s prompt reply.

  “But Charlie,” Uncle Jack pursues, “supposing the boy were right to run off—”

  “He couldn’t be that, to my way of thinking; bound being bound to stay. Besides, I’d not want to intermeddle—no, you’d have to do it, and do it clean; send the vagrant, whatever his claim, back where he belonged.”

  Father believes, as he’s often said, that man’s intelligence is given to him that he may distinguish right from wrong, and knowing right, may do so. Some think him too severe in this. It is not that, but honour.

  II

  Wednesday, November 10, 1830

  I saw my phantom again today—this time it stayed a longer while, peering and peering into the dusk, and in the same location, over by Piper’s Woods.

  I am resolved to examine the spot, and prove myself to A. and Cassie, both inclined to teaze me still, about my apparition. “Now, Cath,” they’ll say, “what headless being will you find today?” Or: “Have you stray’d hogs, Catherine Hall, to take you in to the woods?”

  Sophy told us today in school her father says when she turns fifteen she’s to be sent to Lowell, Massachusetts, there to work in the mills. The Perkinses are badly off, and as she’s strong she could make good money; being also healthy and well used to hard work.

  But Sophy to go to Lowell? I should be quite terrified to be thus torn from all I love—people, place, and ways.

  Sophy says the recruiter said the houses there have parlours for the girls, and are very well kept. Some of them even have pianos! Sophy is musical—like all of the Perkinses—and oft will sing so prettily when her father fiddles. I dare say she will learn to play and soon delight them all.

  Friday, November 12, 1830

  Why are a scolding woman’s hands and a fur cap alike?

  (Both will warm your ears.)

  Tuesday, November 16, 1830

  Joshua Nelson was thrashed in school. What he had done was not half so bad, or so Teacher Holt explained, as that he sought to put the blame on another scholar. After the thrashing he had to write, “To thine own self be true” on foolscap one hundred times. (It is from a play by Mr. William Shakespeare who, Teacher Holt explained, lived and wrote in England, 1564–1616.) “To thine own self be true.” Teacher Holt believes that very much; and so do I, I think.

  Saturday, November 20, 1830

  Mrs. Shipman’s sister arrived last night—very late but in good spirit despite her lengthy journey. It was nearly mid-night when the coach reached the bridge where, her arrival being expected, Mr. Shipman met her and fetched her belongings home. She left Boston at three in the morning, having travelled there from Salem.

  How odd a sight, in the Shipmans’ yard, so stylish a figure from bonnet to boots, waving & chatting from the wagon seat, and all by flaring torches of pitch to ward off the mid-night dark. She strongly resembles Mrs. Shipman, although much younger in years.

  I and Cassie were allowed to await her actual arrival. Thus I saw the large trunks she brought, each of them capacious. Also of hat boxes more than a few; I know as I carried them in!

  Today she showed us the gifts she brought: lengths of sattinett and cassimere, and several of Godey’s Lady’s Books that Cassie’s mother may sew a best dress in the style of her choosing. Trims of lace and braid there were too, and a set of real jet buttons . . .

  Cassie and I simply fell on the Books and, tucking under our school girl collars, quickly pretended to cloaks and gowns of the latest fashion!

  Monday, November 22, 1830

  The weather appearing very severe, we were early dismissed from school. Afterwards Cassie called on me, bringing along the stockings she’s knitting, and wrapped so well in her mother’s shawl I almost mistook her figure! We sat pleasantly, side by side and scarcely noted the gathering dark, so busy were tongues and fingers.

  Cassie showed me, as she’d recently learned, to knit a long hair with the yarn when one turns the heel. This will give it added strength, and so prolong the wear.

  Sophy has told me she admires A.; but Cassie, when I told her of it, observed that Sophy need hardly confess what anyone could see. As for Asa he cares for her not, and mocks her little simper and nose-that-wrinkles ways.

  Cassie and I are quite agreed: we’ll not reveal affection until certain of its return.

  (Apples are excellent this year. We enjoyed several to-day.)

  Tuesday, November 23, 1830

  As the snow continued we did not go to school. Later, when it had abated, I cleared the pathway to the barn as a help to Father. It is quite uncommon to have snow so deep so early.

  Thanksgiving Day, 1830!

  Such a feast as we had at the Shipmans, with food till we could eat no more, and divers pies aplenty! Also the pudding, and the Yankee Cake, and the gingerbread!

  Uncle Jack set us all to laughing, pretending he simply could not decide which of these sweet cakes he liked the best, & tasting of each repeatedly “to know where to place my approval.” Still at the table Willie fell asleep, then was carried off to bed, with his stockings on.

  Aunt Lucy—we are to call her that, same as the Shipman children—Aunt Lucy wore her dark green silk, the one she wore the day she came, and laughed and chatted with every one, of a merry crowd the gayest. Cassie’s mother wore her old dress but brightened it with lace at the cuff from Aunt Lucy’s supply. Also were the jet buttons used, which sparkled from Cassie’s Sabbath-day best and made it look quite new. My collar received good admiration, and Matty would hike up her gown and skirts the better to show the boots.

  Father seemed not lost in thought, as is often his manner. He added many a witty remark and, with Matty upon his lap as the evening drew to a close, oft held the party’s eye.

  Then is it wrong to wish we might, one day at our house and table, exchange the parts of hosts and guests as we have so long played them?

  III

  Sabbath

  Weather was inclement. However we went twice to church where, as he will ever do, Priest Fowle’s dog barked noisily at the late arrivals. ’Twas odd to see the dog at this office for the cold was so severe it rendered each breath into puffs—bark! puff! bark!

  Monday, November 29, 1830

  I have searched just every where! Today I carried my writing book home—Father had said he wished to see it, and Teacher Holt had granted permission exactly on that account. Now neither I nor M. can find it, looking with care throughout the house and in unlikely places.

  I do recall that I set it down next to my cap and muffler and mittens as we
started home. We only paused but once on the way, and that to pick some pods and grasses close by the side of the road.

  I have not yet told Father of this: and how will I tell Teacher Holt how I’ve misused his trust. I pray the book be safe where it is and that I find it tomorrow!

  Tuesday, November 30, 1830

  Aunt Lucy hurried ’round today—we were so newly returned from school she must have noted the very moment when Cassie and Asa reached the house and then set out for ours! It was not me she wished to see, nor Matty for that matter. But here she came, all bundled up, and asking Father as he’d harness to mend—or so she’d heard from Mr. Shipman—would he, and so forth, be so kind as to repair the leather strap which she now put forward? It had somehow rent apart, and came from one of her trunks. Father queried as he took it if she’d soon be leaving?

  “O my no!” she answered him, her voice gone high and not her own and both hands vaguely waving.

  “Well, it’s no trouble either way. I’ll have it right in a moment.”

  But she’d already removed her cloak and fanned her fingers to the fire, lightly moving the kettle aside with a practiced gesture. Aunt Lucy knows her way at a hearth and, as I’ve observed at the Shipmans’, cooks most tastefully. But in our house there was naught to do, nor would Father engage her in talk but sternly attended to his needle and its linen thread. Matty stared quite openly; but I made a show of inspecting closely some trousers of Father’s that he’d put by as being in want of mending.

  Now did Aunt Lucy, speaking too brightly, wish aloud she’d brought handwork along with which she might join the party. None of us more than nodded at that, and Father soon presented to her the firmly over-stitched strap. Aunt Lucy thanked him prettily and then she had—or so she said—truly to be leaving. Father spoke lightly as he fastened the door behind our departing guest.