Flirtation on the Hudson

by J. F. Collen

  Chapter 18 – Tea for Two

  West Point, March 1850

  Augusta clasped her hands in delight. The women, taking off their wraps and hats, looked up expectantly. Augusta turned away from the messenger, closed the front door and announced to the ladies, “Nathaniel has sent word that he, and a veritable posse of willing cadets will be awaiting us at the receiving area of our hotel at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to escort us to services at the Cadet Chapel.”

  The girls’ exclamations of delight resembled the twitter of birds at the first blush of dawn.

  “I am aglow in anticipation. Slumber will be quite impossible,” declared Anastasia.

  “Nein,” stated Mrs. Entwhistle. “No, I have arranged for our concierge to hire us a conveyance. We will egress to the Catholic Church in Buttermilk Falls at half Eight. Anyone found tardy, or deficient in dress can make their own way to join our party, at the Catholic Church.”

  Augusta dropped her hands to her sides and hung her head.

  Nellie rushed to her defense. “Mutter, Augusta at least, must be free to worship in the Church of her desire. If she and her fiancé are accustomed to attending services at the Cadet Chapel....”

  “Conveniently located on the Great Plain across from our hotel rather than in a different town via a bumpy journey through rutted roads....” Anastasia whispered in Nellie’s ear as she paused for a breath.

  Nellie stifled a giggle, continuing her defense of her friend, “...then it is not our duty to change that arrangement.”

  Mrs. Entwhistle looked as if she thought differently on that point, but merely shrugged her shoulders. “Very well. Augusta Van Cortlandt, I presume we can part company in the lobby of the hotel where you will await your escort. We will then recommence companionship at our luncheon in the dining room.

  “Daughters, we will leave promptly.”

  The carriage ride to the Catholic Church was not as long, nor as bumpy as Cornelia Rose had dreaded. The tediousness of the trip was somewhat relieved by catching glimpses of cadets, in full dress uniform, in groups of two and three marching through the woods. The ladies giggled as they saw big black dress caps bobbing up and down with the hurried pace of the cadets. Speculations as to the purpose of the early Sunday morning march, in what appeared to be random spurts, flew around the carriage. How comic they look, wearing those puerile parade hats with the excessive plumage! Nellie thought. When the ladies neared their destination, they delighted to see more cadets trudging out of the woods in those staggered groups, fancy dress hats now in hand, picking twigs and leaves off the plumes, mounting the church steps to attend Mass.

  Walking back from the altar to her pew after Communion, Nellie took a quick inventory of the rest of the congregation, tallying how many cadets attended Mass. She noted the last ten rows were crammed full of cadets. She and her sisters, kneeling with hands folded over their reverently lowered eyes, watched the gleaming line of handsome uniformed men march up to receive the Sacrament.

  Tarnation, Nellie thought, when she caught a glimpse of Elmer P. Otis, lurching with an awkward gait down the aisle after partaking, hands jutting at a strange angle from his wrists and folded in front of him. Anastasia saw him too, and giggled.

  “Maybe he will not detect us.” She tried to reassure Nellie.

  “And maybe a camel will pass through the eye of a needle,” replied Nellie in whisper, and then blushed at her wicked blasphemy of today’s Gospel.

  There are only two groups of ladies here—even Elmer would not be so oblivious and unobservant as to overlook them.

  When they exited the Church after the recessional hymn, sure enough, there was Elmer, standing with two of his company, blinking goofily in the sun. Nellie looked quickly left and then right. There were no other paths to their carriage. There was no way to avoid him.

  No way ‘round it. Better to simply face the demon! She walked right up to him and said, “Good morning Cadet Otis.” She smiled her most charming smile.

  This dazed Elmer so completely he simply stood there, opening, and closing his mouth. Nellie giggled to herself, Mercy, what was he expecting me to do?

  One of the cadets nudged Elmer. “Speak boy,” drawled the other, in a quiet voice.

  Elmer said, “Um...” and closed his mouth.

  Mrs. Entwhistle, the exchange of pleasantries with the pastor completed, swept with grand grace towards the group. “Cadet Otis, how very pleasing to see that you, quite literally, will go the extra mile to attend Mass, rather than compromise with an obliquely named ‘Christian Service.’ Your mother will be exceptionally proud of you when I report that I not only found you in excellent health, in tip top form, but also operating on the highest of moral grounds.”

  For some reason, rather than flummoxing Elmer further, this excessive praise helped him find his tongue. “Madam Entwhistle, good morning.” He took off his tall dress uniform hat and bent forward in a bow. “I am delighted to see you and the ladies in such fine form this morning and relieved that you were able to find a conveyance to Church.”

  “Might I offer you a return ride to the Military Academy?” asked Mrs. Entwhistle. “I believe my daughters will be willing to squeeze on one side of the hackney, if you will be so kind as to sit with me.” She looked at the two other cadets, who both looked hopeful. “Your fine companions can ride with the driver.”

  Anastasia gave a surprised squeal of delight. Nellie had been too engrossed handling Elmer to realize that Otis’s companions were none other than Zetus Searle and Armistead Long. This certainly cannot be a coincidence! Nellie thought. They are both Southern men, not likely to be Catholic. How in tarnation did those two glean we would be attending Mass here today?

  Elmer took Mrs. Entwhistle’s arm and escorted her to the carriage. Cornelia moved behind her sisters toward the carriage but Cadet Long stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

  “Never mind,” Long said, leaning close to her ear as the others continued to walk. “I have chosen.”

  Startled, Nellie looked at him. “But of course. You have chosen Agnes,” she stated.

  Now Long looked startled. “Why no, I have chosen the dark haired one. You are mistaken, she is called Anastasia.”

  Nellie repressed a giggle. “Cadet Long, I hesitate to overstep my bounds, especially now that you have relieved me of my duty. But surely you can see, Anastasia seems to have made the choice for you.” Nellie turned the cadet around so he could see that Zetus Searle held on to Anastasia’s elbow as if it were an anchor. Both Anastasia and Zetus blushed and giggled as they conducted an intimate conversation. Long opened and closed his mouth, indecisive as to his next move.

  Agnes, spying them from the seat she had already claimed in the carriage, ran back over.

  “Armistead, here you are! I was so pleased to see you attend Mass this morning. You dance like a dream, and I dreamed of our dancing all night. I do believe you have swept me off my feet....” Agnes slipped her hand through Long’s elbow and steered him to the carriage. He grinned down at her, relieved that his choice was clear.

  Nellie threw up her hands and followed the party alone. ‘Tis for the better, she tried to tell herself when suddenly, she felt her own elbow gripped.

  She looked up in surprise.

  “I simply could not abide an outrageous beauty such as yourself walking unescorted to her carriage,” a cadet drawled with a smile. “Whilst I have not had the pleasure of a formal introduction, I take the liberty to provide this here gentlemanly service of properly seeing you into your surrey. Indeed, I await the further opportunity to become so acquainted.”

  Nellie had to remind herself to close her mouth, while she listened to this courtly speech in amazement. Before she had a chance to reply, or remember where she had seen this man before, the cadet handed her into the carriage, tipped his plumage-waving hat to her mother and her sisters, closed the door and the carriage rolled away.

  “Cadet Otis,” Mrs. Entwhistle interrupted him in mid-sentence. “Who
was that most courteous cadet?”

  Elmer looked irritated at the interruption and muttered, “Second class Cadet Lawrence S. Baker.”

  He swatted at the cuff of his uniform as if to shake off crumbs of ill effect from Baker and turned to Nellie as if no interruption of conversation or time had lapsed since they last spoke on the dance floor. “I will arrive after luncheon to escort you to the glee club concert, which will be held in the Academic Building.” He turned back to her mother. “If I may then have your permission Madam, to accompany Cornelia Rose on a walking tour of the old embattlements and some of the more scenic vistas of the campus?”

  “We would all appreciate the opportunity to survey the highlights of the Academy grounds, both historic and scenic,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. Was she being intentionally oblivious to the import of Otis’s request, Nellie wondered, or is she protecting me?

  Otis’s plea received aide from an unexpected source. “No, we would not, Mutter,” disagreed Agnes. “Armistead Lindsey Long invited me to promenade down ‘Professor’s Row’ after the Superintendent’s Tea.”

  Mrs. Entwhistle tried a different tack. “Mercy, we have quite a full schedule. I am not sure time will permit these last-minute additions.”

  Elmer blushed and opened and closed his mouth several times again. “If you please Madam, there are a few spots on the campus that the cadets are permitted to walk their ladies and I wonder if you would allow me to....”

  Good Lord! Nellie thought, for once in complete accord with the maneuver her mother was executing. Does he think he can corner me into accompanying him on Flirtation Walk? Is it not sacrifice enough for me to be in his company? Must he deprive me the small grace of having my chaperone attend me?

  She had plenty of time to devise strategies for maintaining her distance from Elmer while she listened to the rapturous music of the cadet glee club concert. Unexpected guard duty prevented Elmer from escorting her. I am mercifully unaccompanied and can enjoy this fine performance unencumbered by the inept Elmer, she thought, her heart and spirits soaring with the music.

  Nellie stopped her tapping feet at a scowl from her mother. Composing her dignity, she murmured to her mother, and Anastasia, who sat beside her, “The discipline of practice is quite evident in the excellence of these skilled musicians and vocalists.”

  Zetus leaned over Anastasia in his enthusiasm to inform Nellie, “We have the best band, and the most melodious voices in the United States.”

  “It certainly does keep a fellow’s spirits up,” agreed Nathaniel from his seat on the other side of their row.

  “Not only are they talented,” whispered Augusta to Nellie from behind her fan, “they cut quite fine figures in their white band uniforms.”

  Nellie, giddy feelings whooshing back with that lighthearted remark, whispered her agreement, “My breath was clean taken away at the sight of the grand Drum Major when they marched through the auditorium on to the stage.”

  The day flowed sweetly, the events sugar-spun together into one honeyed confectionary treat. The concert ended in a triumphant march as the band processed back to Center Barracks. The audience dispersed, some to stroll along the Hudson paths, others to the mess hall or the hotel for dinner or tea. Nellie and her group, by special invitation, made a beeline to the late afternoon tea at the Superintendent’s Quarters.

  At first Nellie was rather at a loss as to how to join a conversation. She and Anastasia stood awkwardly next to the cucumber sandwiches, trying to figure out the proper way to snag and eat a delicacy. As they eyed the serving platters, their mother swooped over and selected a sandwich. In one graceful and dainty motion, she secured the tasty tidbit on a plate and tucked a napkin underneath. Cornelia made an attempt, but was not as successful. She chased a butter and egg sandwich all over the serving tray and then settled on a cucumber one that broke as she lifted it. Luckily no one but Anastasia was watching when it plopped back on the tray.

  It is far too difficult to eat under such circumstances, she thought, and stopped trying. Anastasia giggled and looked uncertain. In the end she, too, turned from the table without sampling anything.

  “Superintendent Thayer was avant-garde in his promotion of the Military Academy. Thayer established the Academy as the quintessence of a superior education and a benchmark for our nation,” said their mother in a sotto voice. “Once he tightened this operation into a smooth sailing ship, he showcased the Corps of Cadets to the world by dispatching envoys of marching men, choral singers, and bands of musicians around the country to allow our citizens to observe firsthand the fine quality of soldiers in training here.” Anastasia and Cornelia listened as they observed the guests in the room.

  “Allowing our compatriots to visit the Academy and experience the fashioning of our future leaders is another tradition set by Thayer and continued by our current Superintendent and host, Brevet General Brewerton. Cornelia Rose, you must take advantage of this opportunity, use your wit and best conversation to hobnob with these esteemed visitors and forge some social connections.”

  Instructions completed, Mrs. Entwhistle went off to join a conversation with a distinguished looking gentleman, an officer with many medals and a lady with one of the most elaborate tulle and feather hats Nellie had ever seen. In spite of a second of self-doubt while she adjusted her own comparatively plain millinery concoction, she dutifully perused the crowd in the large drawing room. She spied Superintendent Brewerton’s wife, and realized a sincere ‘thank you’ for the opportunity to attend the tea would do as an opening for conversation. Anastasia joined her, bolstering her confidence.

  By the time Cadet Searle appeared at Anastasia’s side, and drew her into their own tête-à-tête, Nellie had hit her stride. She was chatting with Mrs. Brewerton, and former Superintendent Richard Delafield. “I believe the Gothic architecture with its slate-gray granite, turrets, serrated rooflines, and sally ports is not only pleasing to the eye, but well suited to the scenery. It is one ‘great stone castle’ becomingly nestled in the famed Hudson River Highlands, so romanticized by the Knickerbocker movement.”

  “I take that compliment to heart, young lady,” Delafield replied. “In fact, it warms me to my toes to hear those words, as that was the very effect desired when I instructed their design.”

  “Did I hear mention of that famed and world-renowned group of brilliant writers?” A white-haired gentleman joined their conversation. “If not for the Knickerbockers, few would know of the sublime, yet picturesque nature of these Highlands.”

  “I most heartily agree,” said Nellie warmly. “Although I do dispute some of their methods, they have served our country well. I recall when the famous British actress Fanny Kemble viewed the ruins of old Fort Putnam in 1832 she lamented that we Americans had named our glorious mountains and vistas such uninspired names as ‘Butter Hill’ and ‘Anthony’s Nose.’ We needed writers and poets such as these great men to take up their pens and their paint brushes to showcase this transcendent, bucolic scenery to the world.”

  The gentleman threw her an appreciative, appraising look. “I know exactly the passage of her memoirs to which you refer. I believe she wrote, ‘Even the heathen Dutch, among us the very antipodes of all poetry, have found names such as Donder Berg—thunder mountain—for the hills.... How very grateful I am to the Knickerbocker’s Nathaniel Parker Willis for getting ‘Butter Hill’ changed to ‘Storm King’.’

  “Yet you dispute some of their methods?” The gentleman waggled a questioning bushy eyebrow at her.

  “You must concede, in their haste to cast a spell of legend and history over the mountains and valleys of the Hudson, some of the authors did more than ‘borrow’ ideas from old European literary forms,” stated Nellie.

  The gentleman bellowed a loud guffaw. Mrs. Brewerton looked around the gathering with nervous, furtive darts of her eyes, as if checking to see whom the man had offended. As none of the other guests interrupted their own conversations, or even glanced their way, the hostess took a nibble
on her petite four.

  Nellie blushed. “I believe in my desire to be an interesting conversationalist and share my passion for this beautiful scenery I am privileged to call ‘home,’ I have overstated my views to someone to whom I have not yet been properly introduced.” Nellie paused for a breath, and then dropped a curtsey with the words, “I am Cornelia Rose Entwhistle, of Sing Sing, New York.”

  The gentleman laughed again. “I wish you had been present for tea last week, when my friend Washington Irving and I passed many pleasurable hours, hobnobbing with the Superintendent and other fellow Knickerbockers, followed by an evening of overindulging large quantities of food and drink across the river at Gouverneur Kemble’s summer cottage in Cold Spring.”

  Nellie’s heart sank to the bottom of her toes. “Mercy, I am dreadfully sorry! I meant no offense!”

  “Nonsense, young lady, no offense was taken. It’s all capital fun. My sole regret is that the other boys are not here—we would be unanimous in our desire to have you converse with us all evening,” the man replied, bushy white eyebrows raising and lowering as if to emphasize his words.

  “Good sir, I fear I am still at a disadvantage.” Nellie was blushing now from frustration. “I still do not know to whom I have the pleasure....”

  The woman accompanying the white-haired gentleman interrupted, “Mercy child, forgive his rudeness. Allow me to introduce my husband, Mr. William Cullen Bryant. A learned poet, writer, and editor, to be sure, but his social skills apparently still leave much to be desired.”

  Nellie heard none of the pleasantries offered by the woman after she said the name ‘Bryant.’ How positively mortifying! Her eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. Nellie spied Elmer P. Otis loping toward her from the dining room, precariously balancing two cups of tea.

  William Cullen Bryant, still smiling broadly, said, “I must speak to your chaperone to arrange for you to join me and my group for an evening of conversation. Gouvenor Kemble’s house, our usual haunt, is just a short row across our mutually admired river.”