A Gathering of Days

by Joan W. Blos

  I had not thought to see again those square, crude, awkward letters. Yet in an instant I sensed, I knew, the signer and the source. Hastily I undid the seals. The opened package disclosed to me two matched pieces of crocheted lace; and once again that writing.

  SISTERS BLESS YOU.

  FREE NOW. CURTIS.

  IN CANADA

  Thus all doubts were settled.

  The man we had helped had indeed been a slave; and having been neither fugitive nor phantom, was now in Canada. Free!

  But: Sisters? I puzzled. And two bits of lace? Then how bitterly did I weep. One was meant for Cassie.

  Wednesday, October 12, 1831!

  The start of Winter school. I walked with Matty, Dan’l, and Asa—but far more mindful of those now gone than my present companions.

  Mammann gave me a shawl of her own. “That colour becomes you well,” she said, and placed it across my shoulders, knotting it in front. For just a moment her eyes caught mine, yet neither of us could speak aloud the thoughts so deeply felt.

  This year some scholars are smaller than Matty! She, so proudly promoted, sits on the second bench!

  Concerning the teacher, I like him not. His face is triangular, small, and pinched. He sniffs and coughs for emphasis, and to conclude each statement. ’Tis painful to think of dear Teacher Orpha, also of Uncle Edward Holt, who occupied this place.

  The older boys are wary already, and who could fail to observe the switches leaning in the corner? Seven new ones, all freshly cut. And he made plain (sniff) that he meant (hm-hm) to use them (hm-hm) to keep order.

  Joshua was there whom I have not seen since Cassie’s funeral.

  Thursday, October 13, 1831

  Sophie’s father intends them all to remove to Ohio in the early Spring! He is told there’s good land to be had by those who’d try homesteading. Also he is weary with the ragged, pick-stone farm he has; and the cruel climate. As for Sophy’s wages, says he, let them be spent where there is hope; here he finds no encouragement and small return for his labours. Sophy’s mother, and her brother, will not go with him directly. Rather they’ll stay till a homestead is reached, and a cabin built.

  I try to suppose what I would do were we to announce such a plan. But there is little danger thereof; Father being so very attached, Mammann so lately arrived.

  Friday, October 14, 1831

  The stencillers were here today, having completed their Northerly circuit—all the way to North Parsonfield, in the State of Maine! Now, with the geese, they make their way to a warmer clime.

  They had stopped at the Shipmans’ first, where, as they said, they were greatly saddened to learn of the recent loss. “She was a lovely bit of a thing; sad, how they go,” the older one said, “and so often taken in Summer.”

  Tho’ Father said plain he’d no money for murals they shewed no intention to leave. After a time the bearded one spoke. “Got you a wife since we’ve been here.” “And a son besides,” adds Father.

  “A full-grown son,” the elder revised, and after a moment’s contemplation winked at Father to elaborate the thought that lay at the heart of the jest. “A few months married and a full-grown son!” he pronounced with evident glee, evoking general laughter.

  One way and another it came about that the painter himself would attempt a likeness of the new Mistress Hall. Using the new camera obscura would so greatly speed the process, a dollar only would he charge; and Father at no extra cost might, himself, employ the device for portraits of “the children.”

  So it was bargained and so it was done. Laughing, we each of us took our turn at sitting before this strange device—a large black box whose inner workings deploy the light by a careful arrangement of a series of mirrors. Then, as he showed us, a special lens, directs the image upon a paper—which has been placed, or so arranged, that the image may be traced, and then coloured in.

  This last, it appears, is greatly dependent on the skills of the portrait maker. Tho’ Mammann’s likeness is good indeed, the ones of us that Father made are difficult to admire. Mine, I think, is the worst of all! My brow appears unnaturally broad, my chin is but a nubbin!

  Sunday, October 16, 1831

  Fallen leaves are every where, and every where, too, the spicy scent of newly gathered apples. Soon they shall be milled into cyder, for the Winter’s pleasure.

  Our Uncle Jack, whom we saw after church, speaks with approval of Mr. Perkins, and says he might do the same. We can not tell if he jests or not; but Uncle Jack says he’s just found out he has a hankering for Ohio or some place to the West.

  Once, a while ago, he said, “You’ve got Daniel now for help.” Another time, as I recall: “At times I think the best I grow is granite stones for fences.”

  Since Mammann’s arrival here, he visits us less often. It seems he’s often ill at ease, and like as not her influence with Father must diminish his own.

  I have determined to read from the Bible; some lines every day.

  Monday, October 17, 1831

  They say the Jew was in Meredith lately; however, we did not see him. Perhaps he’s in haste for the homeward journey, it being now late in the season and the nights already cold.

  From our speller: Zeno, hearing a young man very loquacious, told him that men have two ears but one tongue; therefore ought they hear twice as much as they intend to speak.

  Thursday, October 20, 1831

  Father down to the cyder mill today, also to Holderness. Mammann’s book of remedies is come; also the bookseller calls to her notice a volume intended as the “poor man’s friend” and prepared especially for those who’ve settled in the Western regions and other lands and territories where doctors are not to be had. Gunn’s Domestic Medicine was only published a year ago and claims “the latest and most approved” treatments for every domestic need. Mammann says she’ll consider the purchase, although ’tis priced quite dear.

  Father has learned that it is being said we’ve the best kept school in the district. Therefore are the committee pleased; who would be less so, I stoutly maintain, were theirs the scholar’s place.

  Each day, it seems, new rules are announced; and punishments for their flouting. David, Josh, Dan’l, & Asa—nearly all of the older boys—seem determined to try him. They smirk and murmur with insolence, sprawling their legs when his back is turned & noisily rocking the benches if they’ve got uneven legs. Thus do they fairly invite a whipping, which he threatens but does not perform. I swear I know not where all will end, but do not like the flavour.

  Sunday, October 23, 1831

  This year’s harvest being done this day, Father gave Daniel the Barlow knife that was his as a boy. Much did he say concerning its use, and that there is nothing like a Barlow knife to turn an idle hour to a worthwhile cause. But I, remembering the infant Nathaniel, & my father’s words to him, knew there was more unspoken: now does the present re-pay the past and flow on towards the future.

  Some times, long before Dan’l came, I used to wonder if I might have Father’s knife . . .

  Monday, October 24, 1831

  O, I do think, as has been said, that if getting in the com and potatoes are the prose of a farm child’s life, then nutting’s the poetry!

  Chestnuts and beechnuts are plentiful now, and some hickories. Also, happily in good supply, are those which are my especial delight, the rich, round butternuts.

  The woods these days are glorious and gold, but there still hover over meadow grasses small bright butterflies. Could these sweet hours but stay & stay, cruel Winter never come nigh! No, it cannot be. Already we draw to the evening fire—first for its warmth and then for its light on these shorten’d days.

  Close by the hearth I work on my quilt; Matty some times assisting me—her long wool stockings being newly completed—and Mammann says she may.

  “My three girls,” says Father, smiling. And Mammann colours, and quick goes on about the rug she plans to hook to her own design. She says the house needs waking to colour, and more warmth unde
rfoot. The rug is to show a wreath of flowers, each being one that she has seen, or plucked, since coming here.

  Tuesday, October 25, 1831

  How shall I begin to tell it—all my forecasts answered and more—concerning the teacher’s rage! Joshua was at the centre of it, for he provoked the punishment by rising from his place & desk before he was given dismissal. Add to this that he showed no shame when he was reprimanded.

  “Well, then, sirrah!” &c, &c and, as Josh is taller than the teacher, he made him seem a strutting bantam, squawking out his indignation’ to an indifferent rooster. The hush in the room was as never before; even the littlest scholars in the room stayed their pens from paper, their chalk bits from their slates. Then, unhappily, a giggle burst forth—

  Now was the teacher beside himself, and tho’ this last was not Joshua’s doing, Josh was called to the front of the room while, with elaborate display, the teacher chose several switches and laid them on his desk.

  Meanwhile he was harangueing us: “Mark you this!” and “Mock not that!” and never was heard a sniff or cough, so fast the epithets flew!

  At last a switch was taken to hand, and the teacher’s sleeve rolled up. Then J. was told to remove his shirt, and present his back to the room. He was far from grinning now but seemed to me rather grimly determined to see the punishment through. Every breath was held, I believe—mine for a certainty!

  “Are you contrite?” the teacher roared, and lifted up his arm.

  Whereat, and so fast we were all amazed, David & Asa bounded forth and seized the teacher, one to each side!, while Dan’l leap’d from the back of the room and opened wide the door. At which, in an instant, all the boys pelted to the front of the room, bodily lifted the teacher up, and pitched, him in to the yard!

  Nothing was said of this at home, yet surely the news reached Father. Dan’l, I swear, suffers more with Father’s silence than all the teacher’s wrath.

  XVIII

  Wednesday, October 26, 1831

  With what amazement did Dan’l and I hear our father describe as a prank Monday’s happening. Meanwhile, Mammann has firmly decided that neither Matty nor I, her daughters(!), shall continue to be exposed to such “common cruelty” on a teacher’s part. Consequent to all of which, Matty and I are withdrawn from school, starting this very day!

  So we were told on arriving home, Mammann & Father awaiting our return with news of their decision. Mammann says she will continue our instruction. “ ’Tis not for naught I’m a teacher,” she says, and has already written to Boston for the needed book. (Dear Mammann, with her faith in books and ever ready pen!) Dan’l was to have studied with us; however, pleading his loyalty to Asa, David, and other boys, he has gained reluctant consent to continue at school. Matty thinks it a holiday, for all I heard her “splain” to Asa about “our Mammann” who was once a “real teacher and not just for Summer term.”

  Thursday

  One would think it a school house-ful instead of just two girls. Mammann announced, when breakfast was cleared, that she will set the lessons for us every morning early. Then we are to have two hours to study. After that she will hear us, and provide correction. Today’s attempt—perhaps being the first—was surely comical. “At what age (Catherine, my scissors, please!) was Pocahontas when Captain John Smith fell into the Indians’ hands?” And scarcely had I answered “Twelve,” but that she turned to Matty with the Moral Catechism. “What is justice?” (It is giving every man his due.) “What is generosity?” (It is some act of kindness performed for another which strict justice does not demand.) “What is gratitude?” (Gratitude is a thankfulness of heart for favours received.) Today, however, the familiar words were mixed with exclamations. “Dear child, do raise up the pot!” “Matty, that sauce is going to scorch!” “Catherine, watch your stitches!”

  Friday, October 28, 1831

  Aunt Lucy Holt is going to have a baby in early Spring! Mrs. Shipman told Mammann this very afternoon.

  Saturday, October 29, 1831

  Nearly the whole of my quilt is pieced. Mammann says we must hold a quilting, and that she will speak to Father soon, whether the quilting frame will serve, or does it need repair.

  Sunday, October 30, 1831

  Father sat down near me today, just as the Sabbath ended. I had spread my quilt blocks out, assessing them for joining. After a bit he looked at me, clear. “Your mother would be glad of this.” I knew not how to answer. Presently, thoughtful, he commenced again. This time he had more to say, and which I must try to record exact for what came afterwards.

  “It was an apt choice,” he began, “for are we not, all of us, wand’rers and strangers; and do we not, all of us, travel in danger or voyage uncharted seas?”

  At once I saw he meant my stranger—who was safe, all hazards survived. And Cassie, too, who had been called on a greater journey, to rest on the opposite shore.

  Do I blaspheme to join them thus—the one so fair, the other so dark? one dear, and one a stranger? I do now believe we all are joined, where ever we are, what ever we do—and be we quick, or be we dead; fair, dark, dear, or stranger.

  Monday, October 31, 1831

  Today, at last, was I prepared to attend to the freeman’s lace—at once a sad remembrance and happy messenger.

  While my tears ran freely down I laid his gift beside her grave, wrapping with it scented flowers which we’d dried at Summer’s close—lavender and petals of rose and spiced geranium.

  I have told no one what I have done; nor need to, knowing it right.

  Tuesday, November 8, 1831

  Sophy, once so flibbertigibbet, sends good earnings home. All of the mill girls protested their pay, and as ’tis known no girl in New-England would take a place till the issue’s resolved, the owners knuckled under rather than stop the mill.

  Perhaps when I attain fifteen—younger than that I may not go—I shall join Sophy in Lowell. Unless, by then, she is in Ohio! Which may be the case.

  Thursday, November 10

  She is helping me to knit a cap for Aunt Lucy’s baby! All the stitches must be just so, and as we are using the finest of threads this is woeful hard.

  I wonder, when the baby is born, if they’ll name her for Cassie, if it is a girl?

  Wednesday, November 23, 1831

  Because they are so lately bereaved, we did not engage the Shipmans in Thanksgiving Day. Neither, therefore, did we feast. But going to church I wore my blue bonnet—its colour a complement to my blue collar and, as was intended, to the blue of my eyes.

  Monday, December 12, 1831

  Father says he must be certain to purchase our Leavitt’s Almanac for 1832! Others have spoken with favour of others. But we buy Mr. Leavitt’s, he being of this county and a some-time acquaintance besides.

  Monday, December 19, 1831

  Portion of a Letter Received by Mrs. Shipman

  (It is from Aunt Lucy Holt and, because it concerns me so greatly, Mrs. Shipman has given it to me and I, for its safekeeping, thought to attach it here.)—and would you please inquire of her parents whether Catherine might come to us after the baby is born? I believe her help will be very much needed. I am greatly alone (no friends) and we think her qualified.

  The Academy admits no females as you know; the District School is poor. But Edward remembers that C. is quite clever, & would give her private instruction in the usual courses of study. This we propose to regard as exchange for the services she provides. We would assure her attendance to church, and good attention to health.

  She will find this a studious house. Edw. reads so beautifully! Every evening, from eight o’clock till ten, he engages us in study! I know I can not begin to tell you the bliss of these short hours! We have already read much in French, and some philosophy.

  We beg the favour of an early reply concerning Catherine’s coming. You can provide our address to her parents. And do encourage them!

  At the start of this journal I wrote of my wish to stay here for ever and ever; also that I wished
to become better and more gladly able to do what I am asked. Today, reflecting on Aunt Lucy’s letter, I know I shall find good consequence in what ever is decided by Father and Mammann. Thus it now appears to me that trust, and not submission, defines obedience.

  Tuesday, December 20, 1831

  I, who’ve not travelled past Concord and Keene, am to take up residence hours and hours away! It is the wish of Father and Mammann that I accept Aunt Lucy’s post and they will inform her by letter.

  I will have ample time to prepare, the baby’s not due to be born until Spring. Father says I am fortunate; I need not travel till snow and ice—and mud!—will have left the road.

  Friday, December 23, 1831

  Mrs. Shipman confided to us she’s put away for ever the clothes that Cassie wore. She worries that some might consider this wasteful, there being good wear in them yet. But Mammann spoke right out and said that what she’d done was right.

  New Year’s Day, 1832

  How swiftly the year has turned. Winter found Spring and Spring became Summer and, as Priest Fowle reminded us:

  To every thing there is a season,

  And a time to every purpose under the heaven; . . .

  A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

  A time to mourn, and a time to dance—

  This year, more than others, has been a lengthy gathering of days wherein we lived, we loved, were moved; learned how to accept.

  Saturday, January 14, 1832

  Today I stood in the Shipmans’ house, my eye admiring the painted scene which Cassie herself had shown me not many months ago. There were the elms in tiny leaf, making it Spring for ever, she’d said. And so it was and so it is. For tho’ the wind is bitter outside, for Cassie it is Spring for ever, nor shall she leave that season.

  Later some words neither sought nor remembered presented themselves to mind:

  Now let ev’ry occasion fill,

  Command thy heart to joy.