The Lilac Bush Is Blooming Page 9

  “What color do you want the book bags for Carrie and Will to be?”

  “Gee, Annie May, what color do you think they’ll like?”

  “I just saw a new bolt of leather come in at the dry goods store. Mr. Peterson says it’s the latest shade. He says it’s the color of a chestnut horse, all reddish-brown. It should remind Carrie of the beautiful chestnut roan she used to ride down at the Taylor farm and the chestnuts we roast together on Christmas eve.”

  “Maybe it’ll get her to think what she’s going to make me for Christmas.”

  “She won’t forget, Georgie. Even though she’s away for a while, she won’t be forgetting us.”

  Georgie pulled from his drawer every tool he had to fashion the bag with. An awl for the grommet holes, a sharp blade to scroll the initials, a cutting tool for the pattern pieces which he would make, and a large heavy needle that would take a fine leather.

  “I think we’ll make this a project for tomorrow. Right now it’s time for bed.”

  “Okay, Annie May. Sometimes, when Carrie had time she would draw me a picture.”

  “Well, I don’t think I could do that. But, maybe we could make up a story together.

  “I’ll go down and put away the dishes while you get ready for bed.”

  “I’ll be ready in no time. Almost as fast as Superman can fly.”

  “Okay, I’ll be counting the seconds.”

  Mama was still fussing at Bessie as I put away the old flowered crockery that she had refused to part with because it had been Papa’s favorite. As I climbed the stairs to Georgie’s room, I contemplated my own nightly fate. My own room now that Carrie was at Wells. But, there was no one to share the gossip with. And, despite Carrie’s petulant ways, there was no one who could create drama and speculation with so little to go on except the insistent rumors flying about over classmates and townsfolk.

  Georgie was in bed with his favorite cowboy pajamas glad to be away from the math. I began my story which I was forced to make up on the spot.

  “Once upon a time.”

  “Gee, Annie May, that’s kid stuff.”

  “Not really, Georgie. There always will be a once upon a time.”

  “Okay, what’s next.”

  “Well, once there was a boy who hated math but loved to farm. He had a mop of thick brown hair and a pair of heavy overalls which he wore when he helped to sow the seed that would grow his crops. What happens next?”

  “He grows cabbages and sells them at the market. He sells more than every other farmer and he wins a prize for his cabbages at the New York State Fair.”

  “Well, that sounds like a good ending. Maybe we could add that he grows up and meets a beautiful girl who is like a fairy queen and together they plant crops that outgrow all the other farms in the county.”

  “I don’t think a girl could do that. Girls are too different. They wear bows in their hair and giggle a lot.”

  “Carrie and I are girls, and I can outfarm any boy I choose to.”

  “You’re different from the other girls, Annie May. And, Carrie is too. She’s smart.”

  “I bet you have a lot of smart girls in your class but they’re probably too shy to show it.”

  “I don’t know, Annie May. Patty Masefield sits across from me and she’s not so shy. She bothers me all the time. She’s always throwing things at me and asking me questions.”

  “Well, maybe she likes you, Georgie.

  “Maybe when you get to high school you’ll think differently about it.”

  “I don’t think so. Girls can’t do much.”

  “Well, it’s time to put the lights out. I’ll tuck you in.”

  As I turned the lights out and tucked Georgie in I bent down to kiss him goodnight but he was already asleep. I tiptoed out, bent on having a good heart to heart with Mama. Mr. Peterson had been begging me to come in on Saturdays to his dry goods store and I was anxious to see if Mama could spare me. It was a good way to save money for college and a good way to turn the talk to my own future.

  As I walked softly down the old, creaky stairs the open window above the stairwell let in the starlight that streamed in to light up the old, worn carpet that barely covered the treads and the crocheted cover of the three-legged stool forever perched on the landing, its faded hues no longer drab but beautiful in the moonlight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As I climbed the attic stairs to rummage about for Carrie’s beautiful clay Dutch girl, a Christmas gift from Aunt Maybelle that Carrie had preserved in special paper and stored away to keep it from our occasional rough housing, and which she had now decided she could not live without because it was a perfect model for her sculpture class, I thought of the best route to take to Wells. The thruway was boring with Georgie constantly asking when we would get there, but the back roads seemed to take forever and only increased his anxiety. I decided on the thruway with more games that I could find by rummaging through the dusty piles of discarded and forgotten items nearly in front of me.

  Georgie looked forward to the trips we were able to take to visit Carrie. Our old truck often barely made it, but Mama promised a new one as soon as her knit goods took off which Hank Peterson had gladly taken on commission to please Mama since he had taken a shine to her a number of years ago.

  I rummaged around and found Carrie’s Dutch girl easily. But, as I did the pile of journals still bound by its beautiful red bow and lying so neatly under Mama’s wedding dress called to me as if they had a voice I knew they didn’t possess. I settled next to them cross-legged on the old attic floor, untied the bow, and pulled out the fourth volume blowing hard to clear its dusty cover, uncovering a label that read “Papa’s great-great uncle Jeremiah Reed.” Inside was a note in Granny’s unmistakable hand.

  The following diary was sent to Patience Reed Jogger, a poor farmer’s wife in Pelham, Massachusetts, from her brother Jeremiah for safe-keeping which she had kept in hiding, its whereabouts known only to her brothers and sisters and to be passed on to her eldest daughter Mary of whom Papa is a direct descendant.

  I sit here gazing at the stars and writing by the moonlight. I have little time to add to this diary except at night when it is hard to labor without light to steady the way.

  I write this account so my children will know what came before them. We have great fortune here but it was not always thus.

  I am grateful for what has been bestowed upon us for I am a fugitive from the state of Massachusetts with a price still on my head and have narrowly escaped hanging leaving in the dark of night for I did not know where but crossed the Massachusetts state line to Vermont and then to this vast wilderness which is part of the state of New York.

  I am considered to have committed treason by a country I fought for and love.

  I was a poor farmer in Massachusetts when the call for liberty came in 1776. I joined the Continental Army to fight the British and free these colonies from their steady oppression. I left our small farm where my wife Phoebe and I had barely been able to scratch out a living for ourselves and our young family, Josiah who was seven, Mary who was four and Patience who was an infant. But, we were happy and spent many an evening while Phoebe rocked our infant to sleep and we listened to the crickets in the still of a summer evening as the moonlight came through the open windows.

  I fought the British and many times went without the pay we were promised but I fought because I believed in the cause of freedom from oppression. I sent whatever I could to Phoebe to keep her and the children warm and provide the means for seeds to farm our small plot of land.

  Ma and Pa and especially Luke his being the eldest brother looked after Phoebe and our small family and it gave me quite a bit of security knowing they were as well cared for as could be. Phoebe is a plucky woman and vowed to survive for the sake of the children and for my poor life as well.

  I distinguished myself well as a soldier and was wounded only twice in the seven years I participated in the conflict. I was wounded once when General Howe
’s army routed us out of New York and once when General Washington marched us into Philadelphia and the British again were superior and wounded many and took 3,000 prisoners from which I was lucky to escape.

  I fought alongside many men who were conscripted to the cause and believed in it or were fighting for promises of pay or freedom. I fought alongside trained French soldiers and Indians and slaves who were as untrained as I.

  When the war was over I returned home to find our land well-tended by Luke and by Phoebe but our circumstances very depleted and without the promised pay from the Continental Army I proceeded to apply for a bank loan and was turned down by every bank because I could not repay the bank in hard currency. Hard currency was scarce and the government refused to print more paper money. Instead the state of Massachusetts decided to tax heavily the poor farmers to fatten up their coffers which were in sad disrepair due to the war. If a farmer could not pay his taxes or get a loan to farm his land the state of Massachusetts took his land. If there was not enough land to satisfy his tax bill, the state of Massachusetts imprisoned the farmer leaving his family destitute.

  Massachusetts Governor John Hancock was sympathetic to the farmers and refused to collect the unpaid taxes which were unfairly burdening so many poor farmers but he left his term early and his former opponent James Bowdoin who had run unsuccessfully for so many years against him took over. Bowdoin, a former merchant, was merciless in taking land and stock from farmers and jailing them to satisfy the debts of Europe merchants who were now demanding hard currency due to their own depletion after the war.

  Job Shattuck, a professional soldier and large landowner in Groton who once fought for the British but joined the Continental Army when it was raised by General Washington took pity on the farmers’ plight and led a large number of farmers to close the courts and stop prosecution of those who could not pay the unfair taxes. He was chased down by the Massachusetts militia for his troubles, wounded severely, jailed, sentenced to be hanged, and pardoned at the last minute by Governor Hancock.

  I joined Daniel Shays, a poor farmhand before the war who because of his bravery was made a captain in the Continental Army but returned home to find debts mounted up in his absence and no way to collect pay promised him during the war. We protested in Boston but were turned away there so we gathered a ragtag bunch of farmers to close the courts and break out the jailed farmers so they could take care of their families.

  Our numbers swelled to four thousand with a lot of sympathizers but the state of Massachusetts raised a militia against us and beat us by might and by cunning. Most were later pardoned but a few of us with prices still on our heads escaped over the state line to Vermont and I went on to the wilderness of New York to escape hanging and seek my fortune whatever it turned out to be.

  I came upon a place where a big lake the Indians called Ontario met with a river they called the Genesee. I figured it was a good spot to build a structure on with the abundance of water all around and plenty of farmland once it was cleared.

  I set about to build a hut and sent for Josiah who was by now a strong sturdy lad and able to work alongside me to thatch a roof and clear some land. At night, to pass the time, I whittled him a crude instrument with holes for him to blow into and play a tune. We shared stories to catch up and he told me of all the doings of Ma and Pa and my brothers and sisters. I was heartened to hear that Pa had fashioned him a top when he was a younger lad because before I had left he had begged me for one but due to my absence I was unable to complete the task. I also learned that Pa had whittled a doll for both Mary and Patience and told them that I would have fashioned it myself had I been there so they could remember me.

  The hut took shape rather quickly and I sent for Phoebe and the two girls. Phoebe brought with her some seeds to plant a garden and with my rifle I was able to provide a good deal of game for our larder. We never lacked for water with the beautiful blue waters of both the lake and river a few paces from our newly thatched hut. The land was fertile and with the fish Josiah brought in from our waters we thrived.

  After a while settlers slowly joined us and we became a bustling settlement of sorts. What we lacked in armaments and numbers we made up in cunning and plainly much good sense. We turned the British from our shores twice when they attempted invasion during a war waged by our country to stop them from stealing the sailors from our newly formed navy and all they got were stores of grain which we surrendered gladly as we marched few around in circles to make them think we were many. We cleared the swamps when swamp fever threatened our small settlement.

  During these years Josiah, Mary and Patience grew and Phoebe formed a small school to teach the children now arriving in our settlement. The government which had formed in Washington made our small settlement a U.S. port and I was appointed the first lighthouse keeper guiding ships to our shores and sending them off with goods to trade as far away as Europe. As the years passed lands were purchased near here by wealthy men from Massachusetts, New Jersey and the state of Maryland and named Rochesterville after Colonel Nathanial Rochester who purchased the most land which became a county seat and grew to a large trading center from a settlement of twelve to a settlement of seven hundred turning out nails and rope and woolens and milled grain and sending it by our great lake Ontario north and out to Europe with talk of bringing in the new railroad lines to send their goods out west.

  I am happy for the growth here for it insures the future of Josiah and Mary and Patience. But, I long for the beautiful nights under the stars when we were first here and sat outside our newly-built hut in peace and silence except for the noisy chirping of the crickets who swarmed about us while we swapped stories or played a tune on our crudely fashioned instruments and the smaller children played tag and run or spun a top under the moonlight.

  I miss my brothers and sisters but know that they have been safe and thriving as I am able to get a letter to them now and then and hear from them as they send one back. I wish only for their safety and comforts which I know they have. I have survived and thrived here only by the grace of Ma and Pa’s early teachings and guidance and remember them in my prayers every night.

  As I complete this record I wish only for the good fortune of my children and the success of this new country which we built out of a wilderness and has given us a home that gives us a reason to be thankful every day.

  Respectfully Completed by Jeremiah Reed

  Farmer, Soldier, and Lighthouse Keeper

  in the Year 1820

  I closed the journal and felt the silence of the house. Georgie was asleep and perhaps Mama as well. But, the energy of those who had gone before me and who I knew only through a pile of ragged and worn journals seemed still to fill the emptiness. I tugged on the string that hung from the bulb in the attic ceiling and shut off its light, leaving only the moonbeams making their way through the tiny attic window to light my way.

  I crept softly down the winding attic stairway, Carrie’s Dutch girl held tightly in my one hand, my other clutching the knotted and gnarled old pineywood railing. I headed for my room just as a heavy gust of wind blew in through the open windows, setting the lace curtains to fluttering wildly and my small lampshade hurtling to the floor. I slammed shut the windows and rescued the lampshade. A great clap of thunder sounded in the distance and lightening crackled in the darkened skies above. I drifted off to sleep with the sound of heavy rains pelting the newly patched roof and visions of Mama’s marshmallow cocoa steaming to warm the chill of an early autumn morning.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Saturday morning Georgie and I set out to visit both Carrie and Will was a beautiful autumn morning. The leaves were turning their scarlet reds and golden yellows and the brightest orange hues that stood out from among the rest. The sun beat down upon us as we loaded up the truck with the jams and jellies that Mama insisted on sending and the oatmeal raisin cookies for Carrie and a special walnut cake for Will that Mama had just learned to make especially for him from an old recipe
she found in the tattered family cookbook she kept in her special kitchen drawer.

  I soaked up the warmth of the Indian summer day as I helped Georgie carefully place the two boxes that held the leather bags wrapped in a soft blue-green tissue paper that Georgie and I had tooled and sewn for Carrie and Will over many an evening and a Sunday afternoon. We hugged Mama goodbye and promised to call when we got to Carrie’s school.

  The back country roads were covered with the soft tar that the town and the county used to patch the potholes but Mama’s old truck, despite its worn treads, managed to take us to the newly paved state highway which led to the Wells college campus. Georgie and I sang to pass the time and played guess the animal that put us into gales of laughter with the silly clues we both thought up. We stopped just once to revive ourselves with a box of animal crackers and a couple of sodas Mama never allowed in the house.

  “Annie May, are we going to see where Carrie goes to school?”

  “Of course, Georgie. Carrie’s probably planning a tour for us already.”

  “Do you think when we get to Will’s school he’ll show me what he’s learning about farming?”

  “I think he can’t wait to show you around the Ag campus. He wrote to Mama about how big the campus is and how many buildings they have devoted to agriculture. He wrote that there is so much for him to learn.”

  “Do you think I can learn about farming there too?”

  “I think you can see everything they have if we have enough time. But, Uncle John says you’re already a good farmer. He says you’re a really good learner and lots of help when it comes to planting and harvesting.”

  “I can’t wait till we pull in the cabbages, the feed corn, and the bush beans. Then, we can get to the haying. Uncle John says he’s going to let me help with the baling this year.”

  “Well, that was always Will’s job. And, Uncle John says you’ll be a natural at that.”