A Gathering of Days

by Joan W. Blos

  Sunday, February 27, 1831

  Teacher Holt sat with the Shipmans at services today.

  Father says that when he is done with the spindled maple wood chair he’ll not make a candle-stand after all, but rather another matching chair to keep it company. “Would not a chair want that,” he jokes, “same as a mortal being?”

  Tuesday, March 1, 1831

  A delegation came ’round to the Shipmans and now the matter of Teacher Holt is as good as settled. Hereafter, in school, we’ll read only such texts as the town approves. The M.’s will receive one half the due board, the rest of it going to Shipmans. As this leaves the Shipmans some dollars short, the teacher has pledged to Cassie’s father that he shall work so and so many days come time for plowing and planting to satisfy the debt.

  The Shipmans are well pleased. What farmer’s household needs not more help, and some cash besides? ’Tis certain they have more chambers than they use despite Aunt Lucy’s visit.

  I had the wish Teacher Holt might come to us. This was not proposed.

  The sun, I think, has acquired some warmth. Now when it filters through trees, still bare, it pits the snow beneath. Cassie says she saw two robins—the very first of the season. Tradition has it that luck will be hers. But Spring, I think, suffices; and Spring comes to us all.

  Wednesday, March 9, 1831

  How welcome is the pretty bird

  Who sits upon the tree;

  Nor would I ask for gold or silver silk

  As Spring is wealth for me.

  C.C H.

  Friday, March 11, 1831

  Joshua Nelson was thrashed again for sleeping over his books. I know that I should die of shame; but he will ever make light of it, and grins when it is over.

  “So what does it serve,” I challenged Cassie. “Those who fear it avoid the lash; while those who mind not, mind not!”

  We some times consider that we will be teachers, if only in the Summer months when females are employed. My mother was a teacher before she married. She used to tell how she met my father, being boarded at a farm near his, and much preferring his company to that of the cruder household at which she was lodged by the town.

  Saturday, March 12, 1831

  Father today completed his chair—a very excellent piece! One can tell it was made with care, and no part of it hurried. We set it in the Northeast window—there it will catch the sun in the morning, yet be at the margin of the light cast by the fire at night.

  Matty begged to be the first person ever to sit in it! This she was allowed. As she placed her foot on the rung—a place where no foot had rested before—it came to me that one day the wood must be worn away from the smooth perfection of its present shape.

  Yesterday I neglected to record what happened when I returned to the school house after the general dismissal. Teacher Holt was at his desk and, sitting at the small scholars’ benches, as if it were quite the usual thing, was a good half dozen of the older boys! Asa and David Shipman were there, and one of the older Prestons. Altho’ one would scarcely know it was he, there I glimpsed Josh Nelson. Now he sat at full attention, his long knees bent to the low front bench, his chin cupped by his hands. Teacher Holt was in mid-discourse, Garrison’s paper open. Catching sight of me he paused, asked if he might be of help, and then without a blush of shame, resumed his exhortation.

  Cassie, when I told her of it, said that every one knows but me, and how had it escaped me? Teacher Holt abides by his promise not to teach, within school hours, texts not approved by the district. But after school is a different case, or so he reasons it out. Thus is the letter of the promise obeyed, while in their spirit the man and his scruples are not compromised! The district mayn’t like it but there’s naught that they can do.

  Thursday, March 17, 1831

  The sap, they say, is running in the better sheltered trees. No sooner had the word come ’round, none of ours being so favoured yet, than we must fetch the buckets out for scalding for new use. I think there was never a gladder sight, or a more certain sign of Spring, than pails uptilted to the sun on the South side of the house.

  Although yard and road are boggy in places, yet in the deeper part of the woods is there a foot of snow. ’Tis there they will take the oxen tomorrow, their very passage with drag-logs behind serving to clear a path to the camp where we’ll have the sugaring off.

  Friday, March 18, 1831

  Today I am fourteen years old!

  While I prepared our mid-day dinner Father came to talk about the day that I was born. He remembers well it had snowed nine inches just the night before my birth, and ten the day preceding. Most of the previous snow had melted and they’d had flooding on River Street down in Holderness. The sun’s first rays came in to the room as I came in to the world. They’d wrapped me well and there, with my mother, I lay in the room which they’d planned for the purpose and called the borning room.

  (Later my mother died in that room, but none ever called it a dying room that I heard tell about. I do not like to think of it—her face that had gone on a sudden old, and all its colour gone.)

  Father, this morning, was full of good cheer & told how proud and happy they’d been, the house being newly completed and now graced with a child.

  He had three acres mowing, he says, and half a one arable. One each of horse, & cow, and ox—the latter my mother had nursed to health when no one else was able. (The horse died just before she did. Was injured, sickened, up & died. We never got another.)

  The whole first year they had only a table, some benches my mother had brought from her home, and a pot for cooking.

  Saturday, March 19, 1831

  Today the men went in to the woods to tap the trees and hang the buckets which we had readied by sunning and scalding and then had loaded on to the cart for transport to the camp.

  We, Matty and I and the Shipman children, assisted as we might. (Little Willie was excluded from this being still too small to go to the woods, to his great disappointment.) Even as the taps were placed—the men doing this throughout the grove—the boys cut pine boughs which we then used to re-cover the shanty. They expect to start the fires tomorrow when the Sabbath ends. (’Tis is a well-known New-England tradition, sprung from a mountainous land: start the Sabbath by the almanac, but end it when the Western hills first lay claim to the sun. Thus are the Saturday hours prolonged while the desired reverse effect is applied to the Sabbath’s duration.)

  IX

  Monday, March 21, 1831

  Although, in memory, sap runs fast the actual accumulation is drop by drop, and slow. Hardly any attended school; all help is needed that can be had to feed the fires and stir the kettles and join the speculation: will it soon turn sirup?

  Tonight our father will stay at the camp to keep the fires going.

  Tuesday, March 22, 1831

  Father says ’twas grand! Many friends and neighbours came out, and Sophy’s father, Mr. Perkins, was there, and had brought his fiddle! For nourishment there was the sirup itself. One tastes it carefully with sipping spoon, or ladles some off—preserving the boil—to pour on the clean white snow. The sudden chilling brings a thick waxy sugar, which is every one’s treat.

  Father says Cassie’s brother, David, gave his dog a great thick lump which sealed the poor dog’s jaws. So he could neither chew nor bark—both of which he now longed to do—till it had dissolved away.

  A rather bad accident has befallen Joshua Nelson’s mother. He tells that her cow raised its head up quick, thereby sticking a horn through her cheek & knocking her out completely. No one else was there at the time. So she took care of herself. Joshua says she’s mending nicely. Mrs. Shipman, on hearing what happened, sent ’round some new baked loaves of bread, and the last Thanksgiving pie.

  Thursday, March 24, 1831

  Warm, cold, and once again warm. There is consternation here lest the warmer weather bring an early end to the sap.

  Concerning the seasons Father observes ’tis very nearly the same as with the
seasons of men’s lives. The baby not only crawls and creeps, but walks a step or two—and falls—and then ’tis many weeks or months before the true achievement. The aging grandad sinks so low the family think him gone. Then is the oldster up and about, spry and bright as you please. But this time is his time well run. So when the next decline occurs, it carries him to the grave. “And you, my girl,” says Father to me, pressing his hands against his knees and rising from his chair, “you’ve been a woman while yet a child . . . Well, we shall see if Time or contrivance restore sweet youth to you.”

  A chill passed over me at that. I yearned to protest that I was happy, would have it no other way. Something in his manner bade me hold my tongue.

  Friday, March 25, 1831

  Let thy speech be better than silence, or be silent.

  Dionysius, the Elder

  Mrs. Shipman’s Receipt for Mince Meat:

  A pound of meat, suet, sugar, raisins, currents, each—6 large pippin apples, 1/4 lb. citron, l oz. of cinnamon, l oz. of cloves, the same of nutmeg—a quart of brandy and a quart of wine.

  Sunday, March 27, 1831

  As feared, the sugaring was halted early by the quirky weather. That is ever the farmer’s lot, who must be grateful when Fortune smiles, resigned when she turns away.

  It is good that a new & lively topic is offered for conversation! Indeed I think it fair to say that no one talks of any thing else. Truly is Priest Fowle’s sermon forgotten in this occurrence! This Tuesday past as we have learned, an elegantly appointed coach appeared in Meredith. It bore but a single passenger, a gentleman in foreign dress who asked in perfect English, whether a Mr. Jeremy Preston still lived thereabouts; that is Sophy’s grandad’s brother on her mother’s side. On being told Mr. Preston’s location, the stranger said he had business with him, but would not reveal its nature.

  By nightfall every one knew!

  It happened that many years ago a Reverend Williams bound out his youngest son to the merchant Preston. One night the boy returned late to his lodging, he having spent the evening in the company of girls. For this offense he was whipped next day, as was to be expected.

  Nevertheless, the next night he ran off, taking with him some three hundred dollars from his employer’s desk! The theft was discovered with the boy’s escape, & he was traced to Portsmouth. There his pursuers were utterly foiled; he had signed on with a Russian ship and she had sailed that morning. Two dockside lads who’d helped put her out remembered the farm boy well.

  As has now been learned hereabouts, pirates attacked when the ship was mid-ocean and the youth became a hero! For but for his wit, and courage too, the frigate would have been over-run and all its men taken captive, Upon arrival in St. Petersburg, the boy was made very much of indeed, and soon presented—his grace and charm exceeding!—to the Czar himself! In time he was made a nobleman, and not too long thereafter, an admiral in the navy.

  Through all these years he kept his secret, it pricking him from time to time as a thorn or sliver will if it be not removed. So when, in connection with his business affairs, a Boston visit must be arranged, the one-time runaway lad resolved he would seek out the place of his indenture, his unhappy origins, and his youthful offense.

  Thus did he travel to Meredith in the hired coach. When, resplendent, he stood before the humble man whose service he’d escaped, the stranger announced most ringingly, “I, sir, am Count Zincheroff, of St. Petersburg.”

  “Beg pardon, and I know you not,” the bewildered merchant replied.

  “Then do you remember a boy named Williams to whom you gave a thrashing and who then disappeared? He took three hundred dollars too. No doubt you remember that!”

  At this the old man remembered him well, but could make no sense of it all. But now the Count took out his purse, and asked the extent of the debt.

  “The extent of the debt, sir? Why, as you’ve said! ’Tis but the three hundred dollars that you took from me.”

  But remarking that had it lain in a bank the money would have increased in time, he payed it all in golden coin—how it glinted in the sun according to those who were there! Then he addressed the curious crowd: “Now, my countrymen, for so you are still, I go back to Russia, as an honest man!”

  Having thus fulfilled his obligation he had no desire to tarry. He quickly stepped in to the waiting coach & soon was out of sight.

  I scarce can believe this marvellous tale! Today the words are on every tongue: The Count of Meredith!

  Monday, March 28, 1831

  Joshua saw it, and he told Asa, and Asa told Cassie and me: Teacher Holt and Aunt Lucy kissed, sitting together, ’round the fire, at the sugaring off.

  Wednesday, March 30, 1831

  I was the winner at spelling today bringing down Joshua Nelson with ac-com-pan-y. I think his mind was not on it tho’—his error was such a foolish one, to neglect to double the “c.”

  He took his defeat in excellent humour and even told me, “Fairly won!” when we met after school.

  April Fool’s Day, 1831!

  Matty and I played a great prank on our father this morning. Yesterday, on conceiving the trick, I pared down a firm white turnip to resemble the end of a candle. After we all had retired last night, and making sure he preceded us in sleep, we tiptoed down and, with our “candle,” replaced the one he uses daily to start the morning fire.

  As soon as we heard a noise below—-we’d scarcely slept a wink all night for fear that we should miss it—Matty and I wrapped up in quilts and crept to the foot of the stair.

  He applied the flint for the longest time. But the “candle” would not burn. It happened that the early dark helped preserve our secret. Altho’ he peered at it several times he did not detect the replacement! Now indeed did he lose his temper, calling on spirits of every sort, and cursing the damp of a Spring-time morning which made the wick—or so he thought—so stubborn and refractory to the flint’s persuasion.

  Of course, in time, he took hold of the thing and then the sport was out. We were helpless before our laughter; and tho’, at first, he pretended wrath he quite soon joined in.

  “The best prank ever,” he then pronounced and added with mock severity, “But next time thrashing awaits such sisters as make the father the fool!”

  Monday, April 4, 1831

  This morning I had Matt put on a dress she’s not worn for a season. Her poor little hands and wrists stuck out, and Father said he guessed he got two young ladies now.

  Now nothing will do but we have new clothes, and I suppose we must. Father will fetch the yard goods home when he goes back to Boston. Already in the Concord paper the local merchants advertize dress goods of summer weight.

  I faithfully mend whatever I can; nor am I ashamed to wear a garment when the patch is neatly done, the collar nicely turned.

  Yet now that he’s put the thought in my head I think of nothing else! I’ve been so long without a new frock! I suppose Cassie’s mother will say of the cloth, “Remember, Charles, that blue shows soil and would not homespun do?” But O! I would love a darling blue dress all cut to the latest fashion.

  X

  Tuesday, April 5, 1831

  Scarcely a dozen of good apples left, and fewer still of cabbage! The larger potatoes are sprouting again! However, as this is the third time around, it will be the last time if I catch them quick enough. Parsnips, of course, are now at their best. I use them often, mashed and plain, or cook them into soup.

  Thursday, April 7, 1831

  “Cath,” says Asa, “will you help me out? And promise you’ll not tell Cassie? I’m bound to give this verse to Sophy, and blamed if I can do it—”

  He means it for the last day of school when custom dictates the exchange of keepsakes—verses, love knots, locks of hair—that the receivers may know, and preserve, the tender emotions of the donors over the Summer months.

  The verse as he’d attempted it was crammed on a scrap of paper. Folded and overwritten it was, as. if its author had mightily striven ov
er the lines he shewed me:

  Summer’s but a season,

  October’s gold a leaf;

  Prayer quickly vanishes

  Heavenward and brief.

  Random are the gestures

  O’er Towards me you have flung

  “All I can think of is stung, and sung. And neither fits,” he finished.

  “Wrung?” I offered, “as wrung out a shirt? Or rung—as for bells? Or the rung of a chair—”

  At this he warned me not to teaze, threatened he’d never speak to me more if I persisted in it.

  Said I quickly, “I teaze you not,” tho’ of course I did. Then I thought a moment, and offered him new lines:

  Random are the little words

  To me you have spoken;

  But the promise I make you now

  Never shall be broken.

  “What promise, Cath?” he asked me, vexed. “I swear you’re making no sense at all. Come now, you can do it.”

  So then I knew how it was with him, and set to rhyming one line and another, none of which wholly pleased him. Then back we came ’round to where we’d begun, as so often happens.

  Random are the gestures

  With which you’ve won my heart;

  Yet for all the days to come

  May we never part.

  He copied it down and hurried off, the paper shoved firmly into a pocket, which threatened to reduce it to shreds, as its predecessor. Just at the rise he shouted his thanks. Then he vaulted the wall at the property line, and struck out through the meadow, and by that means, to home.

  Sophy’s mother advises this receipt. She says it makes a successful cake, and easily prepared:

  One cup of butter, two cups of sugar, three cups of flour, and four eggs well beat together. It may be baked in pans or cups, no more than twenty minutes.

  I intend to try it.

  Wednesday, April 13, 1831

  The closing day of school. Joshua gave me forget-me-nots. Where he found them I cannot think, it being very early. Attached by a ribbon was a small square of paper on which he had neatly written: “I pray you accompany me.”