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Tuesday 11 September 1753
CHARLOTTE ELLIS EYED the stranger in their midst. Everyone in town had gathered for this day to celebrate the opening of the new public house Robert Hastings had built. She knew everyone around her, of course. How could she not, for they had traveled together for four long years, and few newcomers—or rather naught but two, that Gilman woman and her son—had appeared in all this time they had been settled in the valley. Then there was that one-armed fellow who had fallen to his death. Charlotte doubted not that he deserved it. For spying on the town from up above.
All these years of relative peace and solitude, but this very morning, a man had ridden in from the north and now stood among the crowd, asking of Robert Hastings if he would have a room for him in the inn.
As soon as the man spoke, everyone turned to stare at him. Charlotte thought his question ridiculous. It was so obvious that Robert Hastings had overbuilt the place. How could he possibly have expected that Martin’s Village, at the very foot of a closed off valley like this would attract enough travelers to fill this pathetic inn of his? Even should he install his entire extensive family above stairs, all those rooms would never be filled.
Jane Elizabeth, Robert’s wife, asked the question Charlotte knew a number of other people wanted to ask.
“Are there any who follow you?”
Charlotte could feel the stirrings in the crowd as each person realized the import of those words. What Jane Elizabeth had really wanted to discover was whether or not there were any Brandts on the man’s trail. What a ridiculous notion. If any of the Brandts had intended to follow them, they would have done so long before this. By now, the trail would be overgrown and harder than ever to find.
The stranger, naturally enough, was oblivious to the reasons for Mistress Hastings’ question. He replied that he had a brother who was a cooper. Charlotte could see Hastings heave a great sigh of relief. They had great need of a cooper, as old Mister Cyrus Fiske was getting far too feeble to maintain his trade.
Charlotte for one would welcome some new folk in the valley. She had learned all the information she possibly could—all the secrets, all the sins—of everyone in this town. There were many people who were beholden to her. Now, it seemed, there would be new fodder for her copious notes.
This stranger looked a bit shifty. Surely he had a scurrilous secret or two. It was simply up to Charlotte to discover them.
~ ~ ~
“YOU KNOW WHAT?” IDA wandered back toward her chair. "We’re so close to the end of this volume, how about if we go ahead and finish it?”
Nobody had any objections, of course, except Pat. "I thought you didn’t want to read them too fast."
"Just these last few pages."
Pat harrumphed, but settled down along with the rest of us.
Tuesday 11 September 1753
There has been much excitement in town for the past six months as the men all helped with the building of the new public house.
"That’s here," Glaze said. "This house, I mean."
I thought about the sign we’d found. "We knew it was 1753," I said, "but it’ll be nice to hear details." I couldn’t contain my excitement. Bob was going to love reading this part. I hoped he and I would have time to pore over these diary entries a number of times. Would the museum be sort of like a library, where people could check out the items?
I asked Maddy, and she squashed my hopes. "You can read them inside the museum. Wearing gloves, of course. We’ll have to have some sort of research room, I guess."
Good enough. I could see her reasoning. It wouldn’t be safe to have the fragile books wandering all over the town.
Ida cleared her throat. "If I may continue?" When we nodded, she repeated, "the new public house."
Although I will never make use of it myself, I am delighted with the thought of it, for it means that on evenings when the weather is inclement, Mister Homer Martin will have a place to go to gather with the other men of the town, and young John and I will have our evenings to ourselves. He grows so tall, and his near-dozen years sit upon him with great ease, although I am sure there are those who would say he is at that gawky stage—all knees and elbows. Still, I love him, for he is a constant reminder of his dear father.
He seems to be learning a certain intransigence from the man he thinks is his father, though, and I can but pray that he will not become hardened. Fortunately, Silas Martin has, for the past six or seven years, taken even more of an interest in the boy, and I am careful always to be most accommodating when Silas asks for young John’s company when Silas and Brand go into the surrounding forests to hunt. Brand is a fine young man himself and very ready to serve almost as an older brother to my John.
Ida looked up and smiled at Melissa. “Nice to know your ancestor was a good guy, isn’t it?”
Melissa grinned and fingered the Tarkington bear claw she still wore. I wondered if she would ever again be without it around her neck.
“This sounds,” I said, “like Silas has been trying to counteract Homer’s influence on Hubbard’s son, wouldn’t you say? I wonder if he was doing it on purpose.”
"Of course he was," Maddy said with finality.
Today marked the final fruition of the Hastings dream, for the entire town celebrated the opening of Beechnut House Public House and Inn, and it was a merry celebration indeed. I would have doubted that Robert Hastings could ever fill the guest rooms, unless Jane Elizabeth consented to move from their house on the corner next door, and—
“Next door,” I interrupted. “Do you think she means Matthew Olsen’s house?”
“That’s the only next door you’ve got,” Pat said.
She was right. Our property extended all the way from Third Street down to Second. In fact, we owned the entire block, due to a legal agreement that dated back to the founding of the town. Technically, Matthew rented from us. “I didn’t know his house was that old.”
Sadie nodded. “It’s not. Well, part of it is. It’s been remodeled a number of times over the years, but it’s a lot smaller now than it was when it started out.”
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said, Pat. The remodeling made it smaller."
That didn’t make sense to me. "Doesn’t remodeling usually involve adding on?"
Sadie gave one of those maybe-maybe-not wiggles to her hand. "I think there was something structural that was falling apart on the back of the house. It was back when I was just a child, and I remember seeing workmen there, but I doubt I understood what was going on. I do recall, though, that afterwards the house wasn’t as deep as it had been."
Dee pointed at Maddy. “Something else for your history book.”
"I’d need more details first."
"Interviewing Matthew might be a place to start."
“Mind if I continue?”
We all shut up so Ida could keep reading.
... next door, and fill half the upper rooms with their extensive family, but it appears at least one room will be used this night, for a stranger rode into town this morning and arranged to stay at the new Inn. He even had ready money, a thing we have not seen much of in this valley from the very beginning.
“What does she mean,” Amanda said, “by ready money?”
I was glad she asked. I had no idea.
“There was very little cash money available to most people back then,” Carol explained. “The families must have had a fair amount of it when they left Brandtburg, but I doubt it lasted them the whole length of the journey. Much of the commerce was carried on in barter, trading goods or services when coins were not an option.”
“I can’t imagine traveling that far without a lot of dollars,” Amanda said.
“It would have been English shillings and pence,” Carol said, “but I know what you mean.” She looked back at Ida who took up where she’d left off.
He brought the welcome news that his family—many brothers and sisters—will follow. Not only are two of them coopers, but the other brothers are men of useful trades as well and will bring much needed skills into our valley. Our store of young bachelors is somewhat slim, and I could see the interest of a number of the young unmarried women. He is a fine-looking man, with an alert, intelligent face, and I look forward to the increase of our town family. His name, he said, is Edwin Hoskins.
“Perry’s ancestor, I’d imagine.” Ida had a question in her voice.
Amanda nodded thoughtfully. “So the Hoskins family lived in this house at one point.”
“We knew that already,” I said. “Not just because of Perry and Elizabeth, but it goes back at least to that veterinarian’s casebook that Doc was so excited about. He was a Hoskins. Gideon, I think his name was.”
“Right,” Ida said. “So this Edwin fellow is where Gideon and Perry came from.”
One of his sisters, the eldest I believe he said, is a widow who is skilled as a milliner, and I could sense the interest of all the women of the town when he imparted this information. Mistress Farner—Prunella is her given name, I believe—will be welcome indeed, for our bonnets and caps are dull beyond measure.
"Prunella?" Melissa said. "Whoever would name a girl Prunella?"
"I wouldn’t scoff if I were you," Dee said. "Someday somebody’s going to think Melissa’s a pretty weird name."
"Hush up," Ida told them both.
A younger sister is married to a Nicholas Foley. The Foleys, along with their two sons and a daughter will come here with the Hoskins group, so we will have many fine additions to our small town.
"Foley," Rebecca Jo said. "Nicholas Foley. Do you suppose he’s Nick’s ancestor?"
"Nick’s the town dentist," I explained to Carol.
"I know," she said. "You told me about him earlier."
"I did?" I didn’t remember mentioning him.
"Makes sense," Pat said. "We probably ought to tell Anita and Nick about this once the storm is over."
"We can even show it to them," Maddy said. "Let them read it for themselves."
"As long as they wear white gloves," Carol intoned.
"Biscuit," Glaze said, "remember that letter you found? The short one from Nicholas somebody or other? That was Foley, wasn’t it?"
"Yeah. It was. We talked about it." At least now I recalled how Carol had heard about Nick the dentist.
"You think it might have been this Nicholas?"
Carol raised both eyebrows.
Before she could say There’s no way to know that for sure, I tried to calm the waters.
What waters?
"Could be," I said, "or possibly not. We’ll have to see if we come across another Nicholas up here. Or some definite dates."
Ida cleared her throat, which effectively shut us up.
While we waited for the dedication to commence, some of the girls jumped rope in the middle of the lane, reciting the travel song that has been so popular with the youngsters of this town. I could not help but be reminded of the aptness of it, particularly the line that said We well nigh stopped in ’43 / That year was such a misery. I most certainly agree that entire year of 1743 was a misery, for it was filled with wretched occurrences. I wonder if some years are cursed?
“I remember those entries,” Maddy said. “Wasn’t 1743 the year their smoking shed burned down?”
“Yeah,” Dee said, “and the broken fiddle string.”
“Don’t forget about the goats the mountain lion killed,” Rebecca Jo reminded us. I shivered to think of it. At the same time I was faintly surprised that anybody remembered what year Mary Frances had written about those things. I could barely recall what year we were in right now. Or rather, what year the diary was in. Thank goodness Mary Frances dated each entry.
"And 1743 was the year Silas didn’t do any sketches," Carol said.
"Or didn’t save them," Maddy corrected. "It must have been a truly horrible year."
Although I never jumped rope to that particular song, for my jump-rope days were long over by the time I came to this town, I will record it here. It resounds so through my head that perhaps writing it down will relieve me of the singsong repetition.
“She had an earworm,” Maddy said.
“A what?” I wasn’t the only one asking.
“An earworm. That’s what it’s called when a song keeps repeating itself over and over in your head.” She looked at us incredulously. “You must have had it happen to you. Everybody does.”
“Not everybody,” Pat said.
I thought about that ridiculous Easter Bonnet song and how many times I’d tried to put it out of my mind. I just never knew there was a name for the phenomenon.
Ida cleared her throat yet again.
We left in 1741 / Our travels then were just begun.
We plodded on in ’42 / At times, our leaving did we rue.
We well nigh stopped in ’43 / That year was such a misery.
We journeyed on in ’44 / Not knowing we had one year more.
We came to rest in ’45 / For that was when we did arrive.
“How well that sums up the whole journey,” Rebecca Jo said. “Except for all the interesting details,” she added with a laugh.
Ida read for a while longer, but I found my mind drifting. Everything Mary Frances was writing about seemed kind of ordinary. I guess I’d gotten used to the rhythms of daily life in the seventeen hundreds.
Eventually, Ida held the book aloft and I came back from wherever my mind had been lollygagging. “I hate to be the one to tell you this,” she said, “but the next entry is the last one in this volume.”
“Thank goodness we have another volume still to go,” Rebecca Jo said. “I love long stories.”
Wednesday 3 July 1754
I am so near the end of my precious journal, but I am delighted to use these last pages to record the joyous wedding of Lucius Hastings to Fionella Surratt. She and Lucius are the last of the ‘children of the trail’ to get married, except of course for my brother Wilbur, who is ever the great child he was at eighteen when we left our former homes behind. He seems content to reside unwed with our sister Constance. Her children all set great store by their amiable uncle, and his tenderness to them warms my heart to see. Fionella was but eight when we left, and Lucius nine. Even though I was distraught at the time, I still recall how proud Lucius was to be able to drive Homer Martin’s wagon, despite the fact that his broken arm had not yet healed completely. Had Mister Martin’s horses not been so well-used to the traces, Lucius might have had considerable more trouble.
"Remember how you wanted to know more about Lucius," Glaze said. "And here he is."
"You think he’s the one in that letter from Nicholas Foley about the barn raising in Hastings?" I could tell why Maddy sounded so excited. One more fact for her book of Martinsville history.
"I’m wondering how he broke his arm," Glaze said.
All the other children who left the north at the beginning of our trek, all but Wilbur, now have spouses of their own. Most of them appear to be well contented in their lot. I alone am—oh, I need not write of it. It is hard for me to recall that at the time we left I was considered one of those children, even though at the age of seventeen I had been married for one day and was already with child, though I knew it not.
Most of the young women at the wedding wore bonnets crafted by Mistress Prunella Farner who has lived up to her brother’s recommendations of a year ago. Her millinery work is most clever, and I am glad she followed her brother here, even though I stick to my dull caps, unwilling to risk Mister Martin’s wrath should I spend any money on myself.
Lucius spoke briefly at the feasting after his wedding and said he and his childhood friends Willy Breeton, Able Garner, and Abner Russell had determined to leave this town within two years to found settlements of their own. ‘Garner Creek and Russell’s Gap are already named,’ he told us, at which we all laughed, for we well recalled the thick growths of forest between here and the parting of the cliffs where we first entered this valley. I dare say many of us remembered, too, that day Able fell in the creek we forded, lost his shirt, and christened the swift-flowing water with his name. They are embarking on a significant undertaking and will have many months, perhaps many years of hard work ahead of them, but their faces as they and their young wives accepted the congratulations of the company were filled with assurance. The assurance of the young, who feel the world is completely open to satisfy their desires.
"So Willy Breeton is the one who founded Braetonburg," Melissa said. "And of course Lucius and Fionella founded Hastings."
"It would seem so," Carol said with the caution of a professional historian.
"Of course they did," Sadie said.
I had to agree with her.
"Hastings is where that Nicholas Foley said he was traveling to, to help Lucius," Maddy said. "This just makes it that much more sure."
Lord, she had a good memory for details.
My sister Constance was not surprised at the announcement, for our brother Able has often spoken to us about his plans to establish Garner Creek, but the look on Sarah Russell’s face when she learned in such a public setting that her son Abner would leave this end of the valley did not bode well for the peace of their home this evening. I do wonder what text Reverend Russell will preach about next Sunday.
"I wonder if they had a church signboard," Pat said with a chuckle.
"Not unless they had a Roger Johnson to get it started," Sadie said.
Ida just kept reading, barely pausing to let Sadie slip in her comment.
Fionella Surratt—now Fionella Russell—has always been such a quiet child. She is but nine years my junior, and yet I have always thought of her as a little girl, with her soft high-pitched voice and her demure ways. Imagine my delight, then, at seeing how she glowed throughout the ceremony. I am sure that I glowed in just that same way when I married my Hubbard thirteen years ago. Miss Julia and I will visit his grave tomorrow and sit upon the wall.
“That last line is squeezed onto the bottom of this last page,” Ida said, holding the journal up so we could see the squished-up writing.
“She sure has been through a lot,” Dee said.