by J. F. Collen
Mrs. Entwhistle’s head jerked up and she glared at Nellie. “There was never such a time.”
“I beg to differ. I remember a time when Grandmama offered many criticisms of ‘the Irish boy’.” Nellie smiled.
“Ach, du Liebe, that was such a long time ago....” Mrs. Entwhistle sighed.
“Mutter, I am certain in my heart that Obadiah has the requisite qualities that make a fine husband. My happiness revolves around, nay depends upon, my union with him,” said Nellie. She looked into her mother’s eyes and smiled.
Her mother sighed again. “I can see that you are smitten, but there is still time to reconsider Lieutenant Lawrence Simmons Baker, or....”
Nellie shook her head with a vehemence that sent her hair combs wobbling.
Mrs. Entwhistle permitted herself a small smile. “...You have resolved your mind. While I am ignorant of the charms you attest, I will concede that I have raised you to have good judgment of character. Therefore, I will trust your decision in that regard.” Her mother caught her hands and gave them a squeeze. “I wish you happiness, and more importantly, I hope this matrimony you contemplate will facilitate your journey closer to Our Lord.”
Mrs. Entwhistle pulled her hands away and resumed mending.
I guess this is Mutter’s manner of blessing? Nellie thought.
She shook her head, as if to clear any lingering doubts and negativity and skipped out of the room, determined not to lose her joie de vivre. She almost collided with their butler. He had a silver tray balanced on the tips of his fingers, which spun precariously. The man’s struggle to catch the tray from falling was successful, but the card on the tray fell on the floor.
“Mercy! How clumsy of me, I do apologize for my haste,” she said. “What is it?”
“Miss, you have a gentleman caller,” the butler announced as he bent to retrieve the card.
“Obadiah?” asked Nellie, her heart skipping a beat.
“No miss,” said the man, and turned on his heel leaving her to read the card.
“Lieutenant Lawrence Simmons Baker,” she read. “Why in the world...?”
She ran down the grand staircase.
There he was, handsome as ever, standing in the drawing room, officer’s cap clutched in his hands. His face lit up when she entered the room.
Lawrence cleared his throat. His hands played with his hat. He seemed to make a decision, and cut right to the chase. “I do fully comprehend your words indicating your lack of reciprocation of my feelings, but I wonder if you truly comprehend their precise nature.”
Nellie stifled a giggle. But his feelings are irrelevant now—I have made up my mind.
Baker did not wait for her reply. “I yearn for you, I truly desire you.”
Nellie raised her eyebrows. Desire, nothing else? That’s what I thought.
“Before you embark upon the gravest error of your life, I feel compelled to declare myself. No man will ever love you as much as I do. You are forsaking a lifetime of happiness and adventure.”
Nellie opened her mouth to speak.
Baker held up his hand to silence her. “I am not merely speaking of the ordinary adventures of life. In just a fortnight, just enough time to wed, I might add, I will embark upon an adventure of a lifetime. An adventure I wish to share with you.”
“Of what adventure do you speak?” Nellie was reluctant to ask.
“I won’t ‘draw the longbow’, I’ll just come right out and state the obvious. I will be taming the wild, Wild West! Going out beyond civilization; in fact, bringing civilization to new territory.”
Nellie hesitated, not sure how to reply. There must be some words that will sweetly, but clearly and firmly, reject this suitor....
Baker said, “I’ll be pushing back Savages, Nellie. My unit will clear the land for people to come.”
“Lawrence Simmons Baker that is the most ignorant thing a man could say. Even a West Point class goat, graduating last in his class should know better than to call people by the word ‘savages.’”
Baker blinked, surprised. “People? Those Indians are not people, the same as us.”
“Verily, they are not the same as us, they have different cultures, ways, and traditions. But they are people, nonetheless. Perhaps my opinion is swayed by my favorite literary genre, the noble natives, and the many tales I have read of brave Indian women, but I believe these people to be good, with their own ethical standards and noble ways.”
Baker stood there blinking.
“Mercy! I can understand when some sensational flyer, inciting and enticing the masses to view a theatrical performance calls those people ‘savages’ but I cannot understand you, an educated man, espousing that view.
“I am sorry, Lawrence, I hold you in my heart with not a small amount of affection, but I most certainly will not accompany you to the ‘wild wild west.’”
“But you will marry me?” asked Baker.
Nellie almost stamped her foot with frustration. How many times do I have to do this? “No Lawrence, I am sorry. I will not, cannot be your wife.”
“If you remain intransigent, I might just desist in my efforts to pursue you,” Lawrence said.
He is relentless! Nellie thought in exasperation. Nellie stared at him. Her mouth tightened. A hard, determined look appeared in her eyes.
“I see,” said Lawrence, looking down at the hat in his hands.
Mercy! His look of abject despair is more than I can bear! Cornelia thought. Oh, why must I tell him over and over that my heart is elsewhere? “Lawrence, I will cherish the moments we have shared in my heart, but I fear our association must end.”
“But surely, we can still remain friendly acquaintances?” he asked, reaching out his hands to take hers.
“Why, of course,” Nellie squeezed his hands.
“Then all hope is not lost. Our paths will cross again, and who knows where it will take us?” Lawrence smiled and leaned in to kiss her.
Nellie wrenched herself free, turned, and ran up the stairs, leaving Baker to see himself out.
Chapter 35 – Get Me to the Church on Time
Sing Sing, January 1852
Cornelia Rose threw open the shutters—for the last time from my cozy garret bed? She expected sunshine to pour into her chamber from the wintery sun aloft in its usual position, sparkling on the frost and ice.
“It’s snowing?” she shouted.
“Is that a bad omen?” Anastasia appeared at her side, blinking in the brightened light.
“Not necessarily,” reasoned Nellie, leaning out to catch a flake on her tongue. “It is just a surprise. I had not considered the possibility that it would snow today. I pictured only bright winter sunshine. I do hope none of the guests’ travel will be impeded.”
Anastasia dismissed this thought with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “Everyone readied their sleighs long ago. Moreover, the river is not frozen, so the sloops and the steamers are unrestricted in their scheduled travel.”
A rush of air made them turn from their window gazing. Agnes stood before them, still in her cloak, cheeks rosy from the outside air.
“Come on lazy bones! Today of all days I thought you would be up before the crack of dawn,” Agnes said, positively beaming at them.
Anastasia and Nellie exchanged glances. “I think I see an apparition.’ said Anastasia.
“Yes,” said Nellie, “it has the guise of Agnes but this specter is far too jovial.” They laughed.
“Goodness sisters!” exclaimed Agnes. “How you both still carry on. Come, make haste to get ready and join me for a pre-nuptial breakfast. I have prepared one for you Cornelia, just as you did for me on my wedding day.” Agnes gave Nellie and the amazed Anastasia hugs and bustled back down the stairs.
“Marriage certainly agrees with Agnes,” said Nellie.
“Agrees with her? It has downright transformed her into a different creature!” Anastasia replied.
The girls scrambled into their flannel robes and rushed to the kitchen.
The morning passed in a quick whirl. The sumptuous petit dèjeuner, so lovingly and unexpectedly made by Agnes, was hastily consumed, with Nellie only taking a few bites of her toast in her excitement for the day.
The flurry inside the Entwhistle house was as frantic as the icy one outside. Many fragrant dishes for the feast bubbled and percolated on the stove as the wind howled and snow swirled around the external perimeters of the kitchen. The house teamed with food stacked on tables as high as the snow piles stacked outside its doors. Pies, cakes, and scones, already prepared and waiting, overflowed shelves and nooks in the pantry just as the drifts and mounds of shoveled snow overflowed the lawn edges and nestled against the kitchen’s brick foundation.
Cook was giving orders and hyperventilating over some details of a signature dish, but she paused when she saw Nellie to give her an uncharacteristic hug. “Mine grand lady, zum Feier des Tages,” Hilda whispered, squeezing Nellie tight. “Ach, in English—to the celebration of the day!”
Mr. Entwhistle appeared at the door to mother’s dressing room where the bevy of girls buzzed around making their final preparations. “The carriages are ready! To Saint Paul’s we go!”
The girls screamed and scurried about even more furiously.
“Saint’s preserve us!” he said with his customary cheer, and threw up his hands with a big laugh. He spied Nellie, completely ready, sitting in a cozy armchair watching the antics of her sisters and mother with an amused expression on her face.
“Ye be t’ calmest bride the likes o’ which I ever did behold,” said Mr. Entwhistle and he picked her up and crushed her into one of his big, warm hugs.
“Papa, your hugs are one of my favorite things,” she whispered. Nellie hugged him back, and then stepped out of his embrace to right all of the rumpling of her clothing, hair, and veil engendered by his enthusiasm.
“Aye, yer words still warm the cockles o’ me heart,” he said, and Nellie thought she saw the glisten of a tear in his eyes. Papa, crying? Why it isn’t possible. Her father spoke again. “There will always be a hug awaitin’ ye, no matter how old ye get, nor how far ye travel.... Yer a daughter what does her father proud.” He swooped in for another enveloping hug. “If’n ye keep yer heart open continuously yer sure to catch blessings from above,’” he whispered into her ear and squeezed her again. She reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Mr. Entwhistle smiled again, kissed the top of her head, and then turned brusquely to address the room. “Ladies, to t’ carriage entrance, please. We do not want to keep Monsignor Fitzpatrick waitin.’ He’s come all the way from The City to concelebrate the Mass with Father O’Flaherty and a priest from Saint Patrick’s in Verplank. Make haste! It’s half eleven now. We should already be at t’ Church.”
The group of women ignored him, continuing to tie ribbons, button boots, and fuss with their hair.
“Must I remind you—our clergy are waitin’ in enemy territory? The heretics the rest o’ the world call t’ Episcopalians will be tryin’ to convert them as I speak! Have mercy on these men o’ the cloth and ‘make foot’ into t’ carriages!” he shouted.
Mr. Entwhistle let loose another big belly laugh and then ran down the stairs. Mrs. Entwhistle and Nellie followed directly behind him. The rest of the girls finished their final preparations, swapping wraps, and searching for accouterments. They straggled outside long after Nellie boarded the first sled.
Nellie’s head was in the clouds, yet something about the handsome footman who helped her into the carriage caught her attention. What a wonderful smile, she thought, smiling in return. She turned her head to look at the man as the horse departed. Those eyes have a familiar twinkle, she thought. Her mother’s squeeze of her hand pulled Nellie, with a rush of joy, back to the present.
“Mutter, thank you for permitting our Mass of Holy Matrimony to be celebrated at Saint Paul’s Church.” Nellie leaned closer to her mother and gave her a hug. The wind turned her cheeks to rose and blew a strand of hair out of her elaborate wedding coiffeur as she said, “I so truly appreciate your blessing on the Church of my choice.”
Mrs. Entwhistle returned the hug with her reply, “You were most persuasive in overcoming the objections of the pastor at Saint Patrick’s. Even he had to concede that as a Mission Church, with such a large congregation, and weekly Mass held in unconsecrated places, a wedding in a church, albeit the wrong one, is better than one in a home—even if it is the home of blessed Bridget O’Brien!”
They both laughed in accord.
“I well know you are disposed and equipped for this most important step, Cornelia Rose,” her mother said to her. “I believe you have been ready for a long time. I only hope your groom is prepared for the responsibilities of a family. I would feel more assured of his sentiments had you chosen a suitor from the ones your father and I preselected.” Nellie frowned, a rain cloud on this fine day? But Mrs. Entwhistle shook her head, as if to wipe all negative thoughts away. “Es macht nichts. Although I did not approve of many of your methods for finding a husband....” Again the shake of the head. “...I believe in the end you have made a suitable choice.”
A suitable choice? Nellie felt her temper rise. But she considered the source of the words. She looked hard at her mother, who smiled back in return. Why, I suppose she thinks ‘a suitable choice’ is high praise? Nellie chuckled and squeezed her mother’s hand, to compensate for her lack of a suitably worded answer. They slid into the carriage entrance at the St. Paul’s, Nellie so breathless in anticipation of her dream wedding she felt she had run the whole way.
She laughed, shaking her head. Mutter has such a propensity to be negative, even when she is positively disposed toward the events of the day! she thought. ‘Tis immaterial my mind is devoid of a fitting reply; in mere minutes, I will profess my wedding vows!
As Nellie stepped out of her sleigh, her bridesmaids’ bobsled swooshed into the lane behind her. The last of the guests scurried past them into the church and the organ began to play.
“Here we go!” Anastasia cried, squeezing Nellie’s hand. Nellie’s niece, Theodora Entwhistle, still precocious, but now a demure four-year old, with doll-like with curls clustered around her face and protruding from under her pretty hat, began the march. Carefully, the little girl scattered rose petals, dried and preserved this fall for just this occasion, as she led the bridal party down the aisle.
Agnes handed Nellie her bouquet. She stuck her nose in the hothouse flowers from New York City’s finest botanical gardens—freesia, carnation, and snowdrop, all white as dictated by her mother—and inhaled their sweet perfume.
The ceremony was a happy blur of a solemn Mass peppered with beautiful singing. Nellie was glad that the ceremony included a Mass; it gave her time to reflect on this momentous step and cherish the details of the day. She basked in the sunlight, now streaming through the stained-glass windows, just as she had dreamed it should, blessing her wedding. She contemplated her parents, dignified and grand, praying in their pew, her sisters, resplendent in their finery, her brothers, all polished and posh, standing next to her groom. My groom! She smiled, her whole face alight. Tender, amorous, Obadiah... I can no longer imagine living my life without him.
The entire scene was picture perfect, just as she had always fantasized her wedding Mass should be.
As a special wedding present, Obadiah arranged for the choir from his former Academy, located right behind Saint Paul’s Church, to lead the congregation in song. Nellie and her mother chose all their favorite hymns. It was an added blessing to have the double prayer of choir song and organ music.
In an instant, Nellie felt, the ceremony was over and they were sledding back to the house.
“I may not see you alone again until later in the evening. Now that you are officially mine, I am loath to share you,” Obadiah said, with mock anger in his voice. Nellie laughed, so happy, so excited, yet so at peace. He continued speaking, “I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for wedding
me.” Nellie’s laugh changed to a giggle. “But it is vital you comprehend the depth of my love. I know that with you at my side, nothing can conquer me.” He leaned in, wrapping Nellie tightly in his arms. His lips found hers. The warmth and love Obadiah’s kiss communicated fanned the flame of desire smoldering deep inside Nellie. She kissed him back and floated on the wave of passion surging inside her.
Suddenly, she heard laughing.
“Let my sister breathe!” shouted a voice. Nellie pulled out of the embrace to see her brother Patrick, with his daughter Theodora clutching his pant leg, holding on to the reins of their horse, waiting for them to disembark.
“Not on your life!” said Obadiah, and wrapped her back in his arms.
Nellie resurfaced from the bear hug clutching her veil, and looked wildly about. “No, we must ready ourselves to receive our guests.”
Patrick said, “The guests will not arrive for several minutes. Mutter will warm them with some hot apple cider and mulled wine. You have just sufficient time for a quick spin.
“Driver, take them around the block,” Patrick commanded. He slapped the horse on its rump and the animal started forward. “They are in no condition for public display.”
Patrick laughed. Theodora giggled and threw a rose petal at them.
The driver gave a nod and a smile, and flicked the reins. The horses broke into a trot.
“Ten precious minutes more, alone with my bride!” Obadiah said, even his voice smiling. “I am beginning to develop an insatiable appetite for time in her presence alone.” He kissed Nellie again. With a giggle, Nellie gratefully succumbed to the delight of kissing him back. “I have long awaited the opportunity to surrender to the charms of this alluring neck,” Obadiah whispered into her warm, tender flesh.
“Where to, sir?” The driver looked down at them. Nellie looked up and he turned quickly away. “Right, I’ll think on it.”
Heaven, thought Nellie, is a glide on the snow in our finest sleigh, ‘spooning’ with my husband...with a wedding feast and celebration complete with dancing as our ultimate destination.... Her heart soared in delight.
