by J. F. Collen
Obadiah hesitated, as if still making up his mind what he wanted to say. Nellie tapped her foot. I must practice forbearance, she thought, and forced herself to give a little smile.
Obadiah seemed to reach a decision. “Perchance, I happened to be strolling past this establishment several hours ago, just at the very moment a certain odious Mr. George Brandreth had the audacity to belittle your very noble pursuit of knowledge of healing skills.”
Nellie smiled, pleased at the almost hidden compliment.
“I must also confess the earwigged incident gave me pause to reconsider a perhaps hasty decision on my part to abandon all hope of courting you after witnessing the inappropriate comportment you displayed at the taffy social in your own home,” Obadiah said.
That was too much for Nellie. Her smiled disappeared and she twisted her mouth to defend herself.
Obadiah held up his hand. “No need to refute my judgment. I am here not to foist it upon you but rather to formally apologize for my hasty departure. Your handling of Mr. Brandreth today leads me to suppose that perhaps I have misjudged your character, yea, your very principled temperament.”
These words acted as an incendiary on Nellie. She began to sputter, “By the horn spoons, what gobbledy gook is this? I have a notion to....”
“I see my words have the very opposite effect to the one I desire to achieve.”
Obadiah closed his mouth and stepped away from Nellie. “Mademoiselle,” he said, pointing his toe forward and bowing very low in an old fashioned courtly gesture. “I would like to apologize for any behavior heretofore, which I may have exhibited, which may have transgressed your delicate emotions or trespassed on your very fine humor. I beg leave to seek an audience with you. To that end, I beg the honor of accompanying you on a promenade across Sing Sing’s finest architectural feat, the grand arch of the Croton water supply system.”
Recovering her good humor, intrigued by Obadiah’s interest in ‘courting her,’ Nellie had the grace to smile her consent to a walk. “‘Tis a lovely afternoon for a walk. It would be a pity to let such an opportunity pass, unheeded. Have you strolled the aqueduct trail before? Are you familiar with its history?” she asked.
“I have viewed the magnificent arch, spanning the wide Sing Sing Kill from many an angle—the mill on the bank, the haberdashery window, the path beneath it. I confess however, I have never walked across it.”
Mercy, so many confessions in one short conversation, Nellie giggled to herself.
Obadiah took her arm. They crossed the street, Obadiah deftly shielding her from a stray dog and an errant hay cart driver, walking towards the entrance of the wide promenade that led across the arch.
“Verily, this promenade is one of my favorite strolls, any time of year. Nonetheless in spring, festooned with luscious blossoms....” Nellie gestured to the wisteria that hung over the entrance and the morning glory wrapped around the post. “...The perambulation is transformed into a journey through heaven.”
Obadiah glanced down at her, an amused smile peeking out from under his mustache. That was all the encouragement Nellie needed.
“This juncture in the conversation demands presentation of the element of man-made ingenuity. The span of the arch is eighty-eight feet—and every heady foot affords spectacular views both up the kill and down toward and across the mighty Hudson River. Why, did you know that the centering of the arch was based on the architectural design adopted for the famous Waterloo Bridge at London?” she asked.
Surprise halted Obadiah. “Man alive! Through what course of education have you acquired this depth of knowledge of the properties of the arch?”
Nellie smiled, proud of her expertise. “As you will recall, my father engineered the Aqueduct project.”
“Yes.” Obadiah rubbed his mustache with a rueful gesture. “I was schooled in great detail in his workplace education, as I recall.”
Nellie gave him a funny look. By whom, I wonder? she thought. “Yes, well, for a quick dispatch of the matter, let me advise that through an inquisitive mind, a photographic memory and hard work, my father went from a common laborer to an assistant to the chief engineer, Mr. John Jervis.”
“Verily, you remember Mr. Jervis discussing the mechanics of the construction of the bridge?” Obadiah smiled down at her as they walked. “You were a mere child at the time of its construction. Surely you were not that precocious, even if as a little pitcher you had big ears.”
“I did rather enjoy Papa regaling us at the dinner table with the trials and tribulations of the construction project. However, I do confess the chief engineer himself gave a fine lecture right here at Town Hall last month, presenting the intricacies of the considerations of construction in anticipation of the tenth anniversary of the project’s completion.”
Obadiah had steered them towards the perimeter, and now Nellie paused at the wall protecting sightseers from toppling down the chasm into the kill. “The most spectacular aspect of this engineering wonder of course, is not the engineering at all.”
Obadiah’s smile turned into a quizzical expression, his interest again piqued. “Is that so?”
“Most decidedly. The most spectacular quality of this arch is the view it affords of God’s engineering—the glorious Hudson River and its surrounding mountains.”
“Well spoken,” Obadiah confirmed. He tucked her hand back into the crook of his elbow. Both smiling, they continued their walk across the span.
Chapter 14 – School Days
Sing Sing, October 1849
An invitation to a Soiree at The United States Military Academy at West Point! Nellie smiled from ear to ear at the thought.
But, with Elmer P. Otis? She sighed. Could any alliance be more repugnant? How ever did Mutter manage to place me in this predicament? Mutter says I must entertain this most eligible suitor, but truly Elmer? The mere thought makes me bilious.
“Mutter, can I accompany Cornelia on her trip to West Point Academy? After all, I have also made my debut, and seem to have a dearth of qualified suitors,” Anastasia said. Her lips twisted with self-doubt and uncertainty as to the cause of the lull in suitors. She shook her head, and jumped back into selling her plan to their mother. “I would ensure that she had good companionship, whilst assessing the eligible suitors residing there myself.”
“I would ensure that both Cornelia and her suitor were properly chaperoned,” said Agnes. The women turned to her in surprise.
Agnes interested in West Point society? Unimaginable! But thank you, Agnes, thought Nellie, for her mother immediately rose to the bait and charged forward.
“It is lovely to see my daughters championing each other’s welfare,” her mother declared. “You young ladies have banded together in such a pragmatic fashion. Yes! Of course, we should all go. We will make a grand foray into West Point society! I will correspond with the Superintendent’s wife, and the wives of other officers responsible for arranging the social activities and advise them that you three lovely un-betrothed women will be attending all of the festivities, appropriately chaperoned, of course, by your mother.”
There’s the sticky wicket. Mutter will chaperone. Mercy, what am I thinking. The sticky wicket is of course suitor Elmer P. Otis. No! No! I will never even consider Elmer an eligible suitor.
Within minutes Mrs. Entwhistle had outlined all the details necessitated by this adventure from new dresses to a stay at the West Point Hotel. In spite of her dread of the actual person responsible for the outing, Nellie could not resist anticipating the exciting excursion to the famed Military Academy. The new dresses alone may well be worth suffering through an intolerable interaction with old Elmer.
How vilely shallow, she thought. Surely, I have sufficient social graces to competently handle even this most troublesome companion.
“Since you have such a fine outing all arranged, Mutter, I will be off to practice my midwifery skills with Mrs. Rafferty,” said Nellie. “Then I will be joining Augusta and Mrs. Van Cortlandt for tea.”
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“No, your tea time and afternoon will be spent learning the history of West Point. Along with your sisters, you will familiarize yourselves with the names of some of its professors and leaders, and all its illustrious graduates. We only have six short months.” Her mother shook her head to affirm her better-not-argue-with-me tone.
Nellie threw back her head and raised the back of her hand to her forehead. “Mercy, if I must labor under such stress, I propose that we include my dear companion Augusta in our merry group.” Her sisters giggled.
Mrs. Entwhistle looked as if she was about to object, but Nellie elaborated on her argument. She said, “After all, Nathaniel Foster entered the Military Academy along with Elmer. Since he and Augusta are betrothed, it stands to reason that by the time of our outing, Augusta will already be an authority on the etiquette and protocol demanded during a West Point visit.”
“Very well. But be advised, you must include ‘paying attention’ in your afternoon agenda of whispering secrets, giggling, and over-all merry making,” said her mother. “I will be testing your knowledge before our voyage, to ensure you have retained the proper information and can conduct a well-educated conversation with the Superintendent, his wife, and the other dignitaries.” Her mother nodded her head to emphasize her point.
“An examination of all that I have retained? Surely you jest!” exclaimed Nellie.
“I kiddeth not. An ability to converse with intelligence and wit on a subject dear to the listener’s heart must be sedulously cultivated.
“You ladies have a very fine example of excellent social skills in our recently replaced First Lady, Julia Tyler. The ‘Rose of Long Island’ is an exemplar of the behavior I wish you to emulate.” Nellie’s mother was already in instruction mode.
“Mrs. Tyler is definitely gay, charming, and fashionable,” agreed Anastasia, with the clasped hands and dreamy sigh of a lady trying to imitate a princess.
“Sakes alive! Mutter, how very shallow. I shall choose to emulate our current First Lady Sarah Polk. It is behind her skirts that President Polk rose to power. She is his personal secretary and confidante. I believe Mrs. Polk is the intellect that actually writes the president’s speeches. She is the epitome of a modern, accomplished woman,” said Agnes, with a single raised eyebrow to emphasize her point.
Land sakes! thought Nellie. Agnes lavishing praise on a prominent lady? Who knew she valued articulate, educated women so?
Nellie’s rebellious streak reared its ugly head as she decided to correct Agnes and establish her independent thinking in one dramatic proclamation. “Agnes, you are incorrect. Our current First Lady is Margaret Smith Taylor, a First Lady I will emulate! Since her husband’s inauguration this March she visibly remains the pistol carrying, soldier nursing, bold frontier woman she always was, leaving the frivolity of the high falutin’ entertaining of the nation to her youngest daughter.”
“Ach du Liebe! Must you insist on accolades and admiration for a backwoods frontier gal? Cornelia Rose, I expect more educated aspirations and emulations from my daughters, especially my historian turned midwife,” reproached her mother.
“If compelled to be the rendezvous of Elmer P. Otis for the length of an entire escapade at West Point, eschewing other romantic liaisons, making it possible for my sisters to meet the men of their dreams, while I am at the beck and call of a dolt of a boy, then I must be allowed to express my true feelings elsewhere,” Nellie replied, trying once again in vain, to raise only one eyebrow.
“You have charted a course to endure all this pain of apprehension although the offense may never occur. Tsk, tsk.” Mrs. Entwhistle shook her head. “Now, raus mit du! Be industrious in your pursuits until teatime. We will take tea in the library, as it provides a fitting ambiance for our lessons.”
Mrs. Entwhistle drew on her own vast intellect and store of knowledge to devise engaging sessions of study. Not only did they explore the history of West Point, but also the current affairs, policy, and politics in and surrounding the Academy. While Nellie most enjoyed the week they studied the various authors and dignitaries who were frequent guests at the campus, even she had to admit learning the illustrious history of West Point with her sisters and her friend Augusta was scintillating.
One evening during dinner preparation, apropos of nothing, Mrs. Entwhistle asked, “Did you read in the morning’s paper of the death of Edgar Allen Poe—that macabre poet who attended West Point?”
“Why should I learn about him? He was expelled from the Military Academy in 1838,” replied Nellie.
“Well done, Cornelia Rose,” approved Mrs. Entwhistle, smiling and turning back to her leg of lamb.
“I would not award her response such swift sanction,” said Anastasia. “That answer hardly merits a ‘fair reply’.” Nellie looked up from fetching the pickled beets, surprised that Anastasia sought to discredit her knowledge.
“Warum? Why would you be miserly with your praise?” asked Mrs. Entwhistle, her back turned to them, leaning into the oven, sprinkling pinches of salt and garlic over the lamb.
“Because Nellie did not mention that Poe’s dismissal sprang from a nefarious incident,” said Anastasia with a smirk.
“Now Anastasia, please remember your manners. Is it absolutely necessary to delve into those tawdry particulars?” Mrs. Entwhistle’s disapproval was evident.
“Stasia, are you referring to Poe disobeying orders to wear white gloves at muster for roll call?” asked Nellie.
Agnes interrupted with her too-ready opinion. “That is hardly tawdry, Mutter!”
“Goodness no,” Anastasia agreed, innocuously enough. “In fact, Poe obeyed that order.”
Agnes and Nellie looked at each other, shrugging.
“He reported to roll call wearing only white gloves!” said Anastasia.
Agnes gasped aloud.
So did their mother, which was shocking since none of her daughters had ever heard her emit such an unladylike noise before.
Nellie tried to stifle a giggle, but failed. Only Stasia possessed the audacity and impertinence to convey that anecdote to Mutter!
“Anastasia—Penelope—Entwhistle! What a shockingly insolent fact to recount! Was ist los mit du?” Mrs. Entwhistle wiped her hands on her apron in agitation, as if she were trying to wipe out the obscene image of the unclothed Poe.
“Mutter, I am merely complying, and in accord, with your desires,” Anastasia said. Her eyes danced in glee. “I agree that to appear well informed we must be able to discourse on a variety of subjects, but to be truly interesting and witty conversationalists we must propose many different points of view!”
Chapter 15 – Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat
From Sing Sing to West Point, March 1850
Cornelia shivered and pulled her cape tighter around her shoulders.
Goodness this wind earns March its reputation for bluster. Would that it was April. One would never contemplate such gales in April. But Mercy! April could saddle us with rain showers. Far worse. Oh, I should never curse the weather—each season has its beauty.
She scanned the sky from her perch at the bow of the Hudson Day Line steamboat, making its way toward the final loop in the ‘S’ curve of the river which signaled the imminent appearance of the West Point quay.
Nary a cloud visible, she thought with satisfaction. I shall wear my orchid organdy to the parade. Thank the Lord I added that to my valise at the last moment before closing my cases.
Lifting her head as if to match the full force of the stiff breeze with an energy of her own, Nellie squeezed her companion Augusta’s hand and whispered, “We have almost arrived at this long-anticipated destination.”
“Ladies, ready your parasols, but do not open them until we land,” Mrs. Entwhistle commanded. “Lord knows your complexions have already suffered from the overexposure to wind and sun afforded by your insistence in riding above deck rather than in the ladies’ sitting room below.”
“I am sorry to be such the contrarian,” A
ugusta offered. “I suffer horribly from seasickness. I could not stomach the ride in the compartment—I would fret and sweat so below.”
“Goodness! Ladies never sweat! Horses sweat. Men perspire. A lady merely glows.” Nell’s mother was perturbed by Augusta’s vulgarity and mercifully thrown off the subject of their exhilarating ride at the bow of the ship. “Cornelia. I instructed you to never remove your gloves in public!”
“But Mutter, they itched so horribly. Determining the source of the irritation necessitated their removal,” Nellie defended herself.
“Never in public. You will see, that small faux pas will have large repercussions,” her mother warned.
The boat nudged the dock and the girls lost their footing, falling against each other and the rail. Their possessions spilled from their hands and tumbled around the wet deck.
Praise the Lord! Naught fell overboard. Nellie and Augusta scrambled to retrieve their dropped items. Mother remained erect, with perfect posture. She raised one eyebrow in reproof, but turned to gather her own hand luggage, and her other daughters.
Diving down to the deck to retrieve her glove, Nellie noticed men loitering about the dock, waiting for the arrival of the ships bearing weekend guests.
“I am all a-titter with eagerness,” she exclaimed.
“As am I,” Augusta confessed.
The girls rushed to the gangway to disembark.
PART TWO – NEW YORK
Chapter 16 – Before the Parade Passes By
West Point, March 1850
“I was rather overheated hiking up the hill to our hotel. Perhaps it was the indignity of following the handcart like a common bar maid,” Augusta admitted. She puffed another application of powder on her round shoulders, peeking out of the tops of the sleeves of her gown.
“But of course, you did not perspire!” Nellie giggled.
