Never the Same Again...

Today, Nancy and I walked down French Road to the long stone wall dam for Job Carpenter’s grist mill. We stopped a while and listened to the water of Great Brook turn the creaking waterwheel. There’s something solid and beautiful about a stone wall, even if it has a few leaks, as Mr. Carpenter’s dam did. And something calming about a brook and waterfall. This was the way we had walked for Mother’s burial, and also the way we had started out on our way to the Independence Day celebration last July. Mother was wearing the same dress both days, I mused. After sitting in silence awhile, we turned off French Road, following the brook, and walked the half mile more to the little hillside cemetery where Mother, Father, and Silence were buried. We hadn’t talked about walking there, but I guess we both wanted to and seemed naturally to turn in that direction. It was cold, and a few snowflakes were beginning to fall. We sat on the frosty grass near Father’s and Silences’ tombstones and Mother’s fresh grave and looked over the meadow below. I know Mother doesn’t sit here looking out on it, but it is a lovely place to be laid to rest. I wonder if she can see it—the wild strawberry plants growing everywhere with every vein outlined with white frost, the geese flying overhead trying to decide whether to fly South or not, the sound of the brook flowing through the meadow, and the occasional sea gull gliding by. “We’re making it,” I said with a sigh, little puffs of steam forming with every word I spoke. “I couldn’t believe how soon they came to make an inventory of the house. The government has to make sure it gets its taxes.” “I know. They wrote down every pot, pan, blanket, and spoon we owned,” Nancy added. “I admit, though, it made me realize how much we have to be thankful for. I’m so glad harvest is over, and we have so much laid up for winter. The barn is full of hay and oats for the cows and oxen. And we have about twenty bushels of potatoes, lots of beans, a tub of meat, and some fresh cider. William is bringing in the last of the corn.” “We have plenty of cash, too,” I added, “since all the neighbors who owed Mother money came and paid instead of waiting until New Years as usual. God is so good to us.” “Of course, we need to get Judge Whipple or someone to help us determine who Mother was indebted to so we can pay them back,” Nancy reminded me. “I know we have a lot to be thankful for, but losing a father and then a mother is hard to bear, and you never get to stop a minute to think,” I said. “The sun comes up, the cows need to be milked, meals need to be cooked, and Harriet’s at that age when she’s getting into everything. I drew my knees up to my chin, wrapped my long dress around them, and sat in silence awhile, breathing deeply and trying not to cry. A distant crow “cawed” and a dove landed in front of a nearby tombstone and strutted past, mourning softly. Just being quiet and breathing the cool air with Nancy beside me soon had me calm again. “In no time, Thanksgiving will be over, and you will be teaching in your first District School,” I said, putting my arm around her. “I dread your leaving, but I am happy for you. The first year will not be easy. You’re hardly older than some of your scholars, Miss Carpenter.” “It will be hard to get used to being called Miss Carpenter,” Nancy replied. “I’m glad Dr. Crane introduced me to Rebecca Bradford. She had so much advice to give about first-year teaching since she is new to it herself, and it was good I went with her to the special meeting at Mr. Bennet’s house.” “Why? What was it like?” “I wish you could have heard the Methodist preacher, Rev. Osgood. He is from Providence, Rhode Island, and was the one to get the Northbridge church organized here this summer. They have two nice preachers assigned to them, a Mr. Lovejoy and Mr. Iveson. The church people are all very delightful and so excited about their faith. “They have just had a revival, and several men were converted and were talking about it. I’ve been reading my Bible and praying more since I attended the meeting, not because I feel I should, but because I want to know God better. They talk a lot about being holy in your heart and life. It is wonderful. I have so much more faith in God now, too, and I am even more sure that He will help us.” I stood up and began walking around through the cemetery, breathing deeply and trying to stay calm. “Nancy, you know I believe God will help us, but I am going to miss you so.” I traced the outline of the willow tree on one of the tombstones with my finger, took a deep breath and continued. “I don't think I could bear it if you don’t come home on Sabbath, so please don't get too interested in those Methodists. I don’t think they could be so different from the Baptists; we read our Bible and pray, too, after all. The church people have been so kind to us since…well…you know. I even heard a rumor that the Thanksgiving offering this year is going to be given to us,” I told her. “Sarah and I will have more room in bed now, though, which I shan’t mind too much except that it will be colder in the winter with just the two of us.”