Flirtation on the Hudson

by J. F. Collen

  Mercy! I am 12 years and 10 months. In just 2 months, I will be 13. Mother is utterly unreasonable in complying with Mrs. Warden’s rules.

  As the ladies of the Entwhistle family bustled about making their final toilette for the fancy dress ball, Cornelia pestered her mother one last time.

  “It remains unjust that I was not permitted to debut with Agnes,” she complained.

  “My dear child, why think you that life is fair? Is it fair that you are well-to-do, on the basis of your father’s hard work, enviable intelligence, and my substantial dowry, whilst some of your former classmates are working girls in Brandreth’s Pill Factory? Natürlich nicht! Of course not.” Mrs. Entwhistle applied a bit of powder to Nellie’s face, and scrutinized her hair and her dress, for anything in need of correction. “To task then, please turn around. Mach schnell, quickly now!” As Nellie turned a complete rotation, Mrs. Entwhistle tugged at the dress’s bodice and pulled a thread from its embroidered trimming, finely appliquéd by Cornelia herself.

  “Next!” she said to Anastasia, with a wave of her hand to dismiss Nellie.

  Nell knew any further mention of the subject would be fruitless. Agnes took her turn pirouetting in twirls of colorful taffeta and creamy lace before Mrs. Entwhistle. Nellie consoled herself with admiring her own eye-catching magenta silk dress. Its tight bodice, embellished with beautiful embroidery, if I may compliment myself, fit her waist snuggly, and accentuated her newly curved figure. She picked up two handfuls of the soft material from the beautifully swirling full skirt, and poured them back down. Liquid silk, she thought, as it shimmered into place. I am a blessed child to have such a grand gown!

  No, she corrected herself. I am a blessed young lady.

  Nellie’s excitement escalated when she heard the Entwhistles’ best carriage pull around to the front of the house. The horses’ whinny and pawing of the ground echoed her own impatience to leave. She hopped from the bottom step of their grand porch stairs directly to the mounting stone carved with their family name. A smiling Patrick bowed over her hand. He placed her into the carriage. I am a grand lady! She smiled. The rest of her family settled themselves around her, nestling into the plush velvet seats.

  The horses made their way up the Main Street hill, and took a right on State Street. The Warden’s house was in nearby Sparta. “Papa, why do we use the carriage when our journey is less than a mile?” shouted Jonas from his perch next to the carriage driver.

  “For yer Mutter’s fancy ball, we travel only in t’ finest style,” Mr. Entwhistle replied with a wink of his eye.

  Nellie closed her eyes, inhaling and savoring the excitement of the moment.

  With all eyes on the lovely debutantes, more or less gracefully performing the minuet, Nellie had a moment to watch the young men attending them. Some looked younger than she was! How unfair, Nellie grumped. The dancers wove back and forth, performing the beautiful French dance in time to the rhythm, some of the young men attentive and graceful, some awkward and inept. Pride swelled in her eyes as she watched Patrick, resplendent in tails, and Jerome, wearing his Military Academy uniform, looking exceptionally handsome, dancing with agile steps. They gallantly twirled their partners and deftly guided them through the complicated turns.

  Nellie put her fan over her mouth to hide her smile when a gangly youth stepped on Agnes’s toe. Nellie watched her sister fight the urge to slap him. The youth was gawky from the top of his angular head, to the thrust of his jaw, to the elbows jutting awkwardly from his body. Something about his total gracelessness is rather endearing though, Nellie thought.

  In the same quartet, moving beside the angular youth was his total opposite—a tall graceful young man, impeccably groomed and polished, whose slick mannerisms made him positively slither as he danced. She caught her breath in repulsion. Ugh! Nellie shuddered to herself as she watched him fawn over his partner and pull the poor girl much too close to himself. He exuded charm; but the sly, knowing manner with which he appraised each of his partners bordered on the unsavory, obliterating any appeal that charm might have had over Nellie.

  Cornelia Rose jumped.

  “Mademoiselle,” a scheming, oily voice said behind her. Nellie turned and immediately flushed. The Romeo was suddenly at her elbow, bowing over her hand, the copious ruffles of his sleeve almost slapping her bosom as he moved in on her, confident of his right to judge her assets.

  Nellie’s father, standing smiling beside her, turned his head in her direction at the sound of the ‘gentleman’s’ voice. But her father gave her no comfort, nor could he protect her against this socially acceptable attack.

  “You unfortunate wallflower, I have watched you waiting in the wings, your lovely feet tapping to the music,” the Romeo announced with a disturbing, confident ring to his voice. He stepped in even closer. She could smell his over-scented body, and see a fine mist of perspiration on his thin mustache as his full sensuous lips moved. “I will rescue you from spinsterhood by selecting you for this dance.”

  Further taken aback by his presumptive and familiar attitude...did she not even rate the formal ‘May I have this dance’? Nellie blurted “No!” She turned on her heel and fled to the other side of the room.

  In the panic of her flight, Nellie very nearly collided with a waiter balancing flutes filled with champagne. Nimbly, the waiter stabilized the tray and simultaneously stepped aside. Grateful to avoid a further gaffe, she tried to rush past, but he addressed her. “M’ lady, a bit o’ refreshment?” he asked kindly, removing one glass from his tray and touching her hand lightly with it.

  Out of habit more than gratitude, Nellie stopped and took the glass. The waiter smiled reassuringly at her. Something about him is familiar, Nellie thought, grateful to have a distraction from her social gaffe.

  “A bit o’ the bubbly makes the world sparkle, me Pap was known to say.” The young man winked at her. Nellie flushed, and wondered where she had seen this young man before. “A course when imbibed regular, as was his habit, the sparkle fades into a fuzzy blur....” Comforted by his humorous distraction, Nellie smiled her thanks into the beam of his twinkling eyes. Those blue eyes! I believe they have twinkled at me before!

  But she had no further time to puzzle as she took a cautious sip, and tried to compose herself. A young gentleman in the uniform of Saint John’s Military Academy on Eastern Avenue appeared before her. He, too, took a glass from the waiter, saying, “There’s a good chap.”

  “Clayton!” the head steward summoned in a low voice, and the helpful server moved on.

  Nellie took another tentative sip of champagne. The bubbles tickled her nose. Mayhap Mutter is correct. I am not ready to debut. At least not in a society filled with slick Casanovas like the ladies’ man that asked me to dance.

  “I beg pardon?” she asked demurely. The young gentlemen with the sword said something to her, and while she did not hear the words, the sound broke her reverie. He has a fine handsome face, she decided, rousing herself from her miserable social disgrace.

  “I said: I see the harvest this year is most abundant,” the young man repeated. He pointed to a group of matrons clustered by the buffet all wearing hats festooned with dried fruit. Clusters of grapes and piles of pears dangled and shook precariously as the women gossiped.

  Nellie burst out laughing. A sense of humor! She liked him instantly.

  The young man smiled and gripped his sword hilt. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with a bow. “I am Obadiah Weber Wright, upperclassman at The Churchill School. I believe you town folk know it as ‘Saint John’s Military’? I hail from this fine state.”

  “Are you any relation to Senator Silas Wright?” Nellie asked, with another touching of her lips to the champagne glass. She did not drink, since she realized she did not find the slightly bitter beverage at all appealing.

  “I see you are astute in the affairs of our government,” said the young man with a grin. “In fact, he is my father.”

  Nellie smiled and tried to loo
k knowing. He thinks I am politically astute. Hardly! Thank the Lord I overheard Papa discussing the morass Mr. Wright, now our state’s governor, created during his time in the Senate.... Nellie pulled at the perpetually loose strand of golden hair tickling her eyes. I had better not say that! Scrambling to think of something worldly and witty, Nellie managed to say, “It hardly takes much education to know of the illustrious political career of our venerable Governor of New York.” Mercy, mayhap Governor Wright is no longer the governor? Who won the last election? In confusion again, Nellie took a gulp of champagne and then made a face, as she tasted it on its way down.

  Obadiah grinned at her.

  Nellie squirmed.

  He cleared his throat. “May I compliment you on your obvious good sense! Your superior powers of discernment are evident in your ability to avoid that Casanova,” he said and grinned again.

  All of Nellie’s mortification and chagrin came rushing back. “Goodness me, was my faux pas obvious to everyone?” she blurted in embarrassment.

  “Only to me,” Obadiah reassured her hastily. Nellie tried to raise one eyebrow, the way Agnes always did, in that taunting, teasing manner, but no luck! They both went up and instead of looking flirtatious, she looked surprised. Nervously she tucked back her unruly strand of hair. Why should it have been obvious to him?

  He read her look accurately and answered her unspoken question. “I invariably notice when the sensibilities of the prettiest young lady in the room are affronted.”

  Another compliment! Delighted, Nellie’s mind went blank. There was another pause as she searched for something to say.

  Once again Obadiah’s sense of humor rescued her from her embarrassment. “Every dry-goods store in town is surely devoid of an inch of fabric! Sing Sing’s fair maidens are resplendently dressed to the nines. There are more flounces here than on a chorus line of Can-Can Girls,” he observed.

  Nellie gasped at the racy simile, while he nodded toward a group of girls clustered in the corner fanning themselves, talking to potential suitors. The skirts’ circumferences ensured that the young men couldn’t get closer than arm’s length away from their conquests.

  Mercy, I must devise a reply! “Parsimony in attire is not a foible of the evening,” Nellie said, with a grave air about her, nervously tucking the strand of hair behind her ear again.

  Unfazed by Nellie’s serious reaction to his joking banter, Obadiah continued, “Tsk, tsk, the fire engine red blush of certain flounced young debutantes makes their cheeks visible across the room. They are in stark contrast to the lads materializing as rumpled and down-at-heel, as if they never darkened the doorway of a haberdashery.”

  Nellie giggled gratefully. They passed the next few moments engaged in lively conversation. Nellie, composure regained, enjoyed her opportunity to exercise her wit and conversational skills.

  The debutantes regrouped and performed another dance. Obadiah stayed at Nellie’s side, smiling, and making bright witticisms. Nellie laughed and smiled, her replies flowing easily. Her sense of good feeling flooded back with the flattering attention of the young cadet. Even the pauses in their conversation began to feel convivial. This fine gentleman is splendid company, she thought.

  Nellie tapped her feet to the music. Every muscle in her body wanted to dance, but her companion for the evening was oblivious to her desire.

  All too soon the candles burned low and the punch evaporated. Only two exotic orange slices were left, floating forlornly on some soggy spices. Their host signaled the orchestra for the last dance.

  Obadiah turned to Nellie and took her hand. For a second she thought he would at last ask her to dance and her stomach did a nervous flip-flop in anticipation. He smiled, looked her in the eye, and bowed low over her hand.

  Nellie felt her face flush and her heart stand still.

  “I thank you for spending lo these few moments with me,” he said, his eyes searching hers. Nellie dropped her eyes to prevent him from seeing the surge of disappointment that rushed over her.

  He paused. She squirmed, searching for a reply.

  Obadiah continued, “The usual tedium of these events was dissipated entirely by your charm and splendid conversation, peppered with your bon mots. It is not often that the comeliest lady at the ball is also the one possessed of the superior wit!” Obadiah’s courtly and sweet words mollified her acute disappointment at his failure to ask her to dance. She again attempted a reply but there were no words on her tongue. He grinned and bowed again. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he walked back to a unit of his classmates.

  Nellie, wordless for the third time in the night, smiled at his retreating figure.

  “Nellie, do you have a beau?” Anastasia whispered excitedly in her ear, bringing her thoughts back into the room.

  Do I? she wondered as she twisted her strand of recalcitrant hair and smiled at her pretty little sister.

  Chapter 4 – What a Day for a Daydream

  Sing Sing, March 1848

  “Sakes alive lazy bones, which knight in shining armor captured your heart today?” Agnes’s grating voice burst through Nellie’s reverie. Cornelia was at her favorite perch, leaning out their bedroom window, gazing over the Hudson River. She kept her eyes on the blue gray green water flowing north from New York City harbor with the incoming tide, while she searched for an answer.

  “Ivanhoe... I was merely....” she stammered.

  Anastasia appeared at her elbow, turned her toward the room and gave her a hug around her waist. “Do not favor Agnes’s rude words with a reply,” she said with a laugh. “Agnes is cross because Mutter finally made her do a chore!”

  Agnes drew herself up to her full five-foot height, angry look on her face, and shouted, “I perform a plethora of chores and never am I favored with a word of gratitude or appreciation.” She flounced out of the room.

  Anastasia and Cornelia looked at each other and giggled. Anastasia picked up her skirts and flounced away from Nellie. “Sakes alive! Never am I favored with a word of gratitude!” she mimicked.

  Nellie shook her head. “Agnes never completes even her fair share of chores. Moreover, what simpleton expects gratitude for merely performing the tasks necessary to keep us clean and fed?” she asked.

  Anastasia moved to Nellie’s side and they both gazed out the window. The water rolled swiftly north, bringing salt water from the Atlantic. Shattemuc, Nellie thought, recalling the Mohican Tribe’s name for the Hudson meaning ‘the river that flows both ways.’ Sailboats, punctuating the gray green landscape with their brave white sails, struggled to make headway. The 9 a.m. steamboat blew its whistle as it left the dock, coming within inches of a clipper battling the wind and the tide. Nellie could watch all day, dreaming, projecting her emotions onto the weather conditions of the river, if she were allowed such leisure.

  “For what pines thy heart dearest sister?” Anastasia asked, with an affectionate tweak of Nellie’s curls.

  “The Methodist Campwoods Meeting,” said Nellie. “I so look forward to it. ‘Tis my favorite part of the year.”

  Anastasia shook her head in disbelief. “You could not find the Campwoods Meeting superior to our favorite outing—ice skating on the Hudson. It proffers no convivial, toasty hot chocolate party after invigorating exercise.”

  “Au contraire! Last year’s romantic outing permeates my dreams.”

  Anastasia looked skeptical. “But last year you said your favorite time of year was winter. Cornelia Rose, winter is now! Verily, the Hudson’s ice has broken, the ice cutter dry docked for the year, but we still have a sleigh party this Sunday. I’ll wear my new fur cap with the matching muff, and you can wear your beautiful black shawl with the scarlet flowers. I can see us now. Rosy cheeks, wind whipping our faces, hair flowing behind, all the young men unable to avert their eyes! Who would you like to sit next to, and cuddle, under the big blanket?”

  Nellie blushed. They both giggled.

  “In truth, you are correct,” said Nellie. “Yea, truly we will ha
ve one more grand winter frolic, complete with bonfire, hot chocolate, and roasted chestnuts.” She gazed at the white clouds scuttling across the sky racing, and then surpassing, the sailboats on the river. Her thoughts raced along with them. “Then I will skip right over the spring mud that follows on the heels of the snow’s disappearance, and catapult into summer. Last year’s meeting at Campwoods was as thrilling as the white-capped river on a stormy day! It upended my presuppositions of romance. Now the length and breadth of all my ruminations turn to the exhilaration of attending another assembly there.”

  Beginning in 1831, the Methodists gathered each August to revive their religious vigor in Locust Grove, just east of Sing Sing’s village. The faithful encamped with a roster of preachers exhorting the flock to accept salvation. The meeting’s fame spread quickly; people came from The City and all over the United States to spend a week in the aptly christened Campwoods. What started as an uplifting and reaffirming religious experience for a few grew to a gathering of thousands, attracting both the faithful and those merely curious. This meeting provided yet another reason for the rich and the elite to flock to Sing Sing to enjoy to the bucolic countryside. The Campwoods Meetings became a social phenomenon.

  “It was thrice more scintillating than a three-ring circus.” Nellie said, wistful visions of scenes from last year playing before her half-closed eyes.

  Not that her Roman Catholic parents approved of her heretical visit to the infidel’s camp. Of course, Nellie’s family never attended the camp.

  “How clever of you to persuade Mutter to allow you to go,” said Anastasia and frowned. “I am not permitted.”

  “I merely observed that both our older brothers have been allowed many unfettered visits to the camp, without any scrutiny regarding their plans. It is patently unfair to deny me permission to stay overnight,” Cornelia said.

  “That observation would hardly have convinced Papa, let alone Mutter! I do believe her favorite saying is ‘Thinkest Thou Life is Fair?’ Moreover, I can hear Papa now, saying, ‘Yer brothers are boys, different rules apply’.”