Holiday Break
That evening proved to be an interesting one for Claire who couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the hubbub over her arrival. Truly, as she sat at dinner, she felt as if Beekman Boarding School’s dinner table was far less populated. The conversation was exasperatingly constant, the food hearty, filling and cornucopias and it seemed as if there were a thousand hands holding one another in a tight circle as the food was blessed and then passing dishes around and around throughout the meal. Over a mound of squash, Claire eyed Will Dawson. He had just returned from some distant town where he had an acute job at a small wood mill. He was twenty-four, but looked far elder. He had a full beard and serious eyebrows and seemed a bit restless on his small stool around that crowded table. He was sitting next to Mrs. Dawson and constantly watching her plate as if worried she wouldn’t feed herself enough. Claire wondered for a moment if that was where Mr. Dawson had sat. Emit was seated next to Claire, or had been that is, but as the children seated themselves, one little bench and two little girls were jammed between them. It was Ruth and Anna and they both ate from one plate. However, Ruth was on Claire’s side and Anna was next to Emit, and he had to constantly dodge jogs to the face by her elbow, as “little lefty” Anna took bites. Claire smiled as she watched this small circus act. Emit seemed to be quite used to it, and though he didn’t speak much, he did tell one story about something that had happened in New York (a dangerous encounter with a pick-pocket) and all the time he was talking, casually swung his head out of the way of the sharp elbow as if he never noticed it. Afterwards, large tin tubs were pumped with water and the dishes were all properly scrubbed. Claire was surprised to see Emit and all of his older brothers (even stern-looking Will) kneel down on the back porch, roll up their sleeves and participated in the job. Will, Earnest and Theodore were all in their twenties and six more of the “children” were over twelve, but this ritual was apparently nothing new, they all did their part. Claire offered to help. She didn’t exactly want to, the whole job looked rather painstaking and busy and she was afraid of bleaching her skin in the lye soap, and so her offer didn’t sound as sincere as she was hoping it would. Even if it had, the children would have denied her the pleasure and hurriedly as they did.
“No, no!” Theodore said (who seemed to be quite the talker.) “We don’t need you to worry about this! We’ve got it taken care of and you’re the guest.”
“Besides,” James added. “We’ve sort of got it worked into a system”
And indeed they had. Even little Betsy pitched in. The only one who didn’t participate was Benjamin who Mrs. Dawson was feeding in the other room.
For a terrible second, Claire wondered what would have happened had it been Mrs. Dawson who died…poor Benny not even a year old! But she quickly forgot these thoughts when Emit looked up at her and said:
“You go ahead and get settled into your room…you’re probably tired.”
“Thank you,” Claire said, smiling a weak smile (for in fact, she was just starting to feel very tired indeed.) “I think I will.”
So Emit omitted himself from his duties to show Claire to her room. It was a very brief room, you could say. On the floor sat two, low beds without frames but enough quilts to make up for them, a dresser, a small wardrobe, two windows looking west and a rug. There was also a basket of knitting needles, dolls and various other miscellanies.
“You’ll be on the bed on the left…” Emit informed her.
He pointed to that of which he spoke, and Claire noticed the carefully pressed sheets and ironed pillow case.
“And Harriet and Betsy share that’n.” He said slowly, pointing to the bed on the right. It wasn’t quite so tidy, but it was cosied up to the window and Claire thought it looked nice.
“We thought we’d give you the warmer one,” He said. “As t’other is near the windowpane. And there’s room made up for you in the dresser if you so desire to take advantage of it…” He rubbed his hair as if wondering what else there was to say, before adding. “The floor cleaned up real good.”
“Well thank you very much,” Claire said, looking livelier than she had since her arrival. The room did please her, somehow. “I think this will suit me fine, just fine. And…which ones are Harriet and Elisabeth?”
“Hm?” Emit looked up from the floor suddenly. “Oh, her name isn’t Elisabeth, just Betsy. They’re fourteen and four. Betsy gets spooked if she can’t sleep with Harriet, you see.”
Claire looked as if she did see. She remembered being four.
“Yes, I know which one Betsy is now…the dark pig-tails,” Claire said, business-like. “But Harriet…I simply can’t remember. There are so many of you…”
“Oh I understand!” Emit said kindly. “She’s got the red-ish hair, down real long. She’s nigh as tall as you are, but skinny as a bulrush.”
There was an awkward staring-at-one-another and then Emit spluttered:
“I mean, not that you’re not thin, I mean, not too thin not too fat. I mean, not fat at all!”
At this moment, Betsy whirled in holding a stack of laundry nearly as tall as the girl herself.
“Let me help you, dear.” Claire found herself saying.
This was a wonderful distraction from the previously awkward conversation. Claire opened up the drawers in the little chest as Betsy plopped the nightgowns and stockings into them, and when the drawer was shut and Claire turned around, Emit was gone. So Claire sat herself down on the quilted bedspread. It was strange, she thought, how someplace so unlike her own home could feel so undeniably homey. Little Betsy was whisked away by Harriet for bath time. When Harriet came in, Claire measured her with one eye and wished for a mirror.
The next morning began sooner than Claire expected. She had presumed that the family would rise early, they seemed none too fond of wasting time, but she wasn’t prepared for just quite how early they did rise. The sun wasn’t even glistening before Claire’s eyes fluttered open. She wondered what had awoken her…surely she had only been asleep a few minutes. She rolled over to see Harriet and Betsy on the other side of the room. They were setting a series of small candles on the dresser and pulling their dresses over their heads.
“What’s the matter?” Claire asked, in genuine concern.
“Nothing, ma’am,” Harriet whispered loudly. “Is something the matter for you?”
“No…” Claire rubbed her eyes but did not sit up. “Why are you two up at this time of the night?” Was all she could think to ask.
She thought she heard the girls snickering.
“Pardon me,” Harriet said. “But it’s morning, Miss Claire.”
Claire rolled over and looked at the window.
“What time is it?” She inquired.
“Four-thirty by now.” Betsy answered with surprising intelligence.
Soon Claire learned that Harriet and Betsy were the last to be dressed. The hustle and bustle of fifteen people is noisy, no matter how polite they are. Claire was glad she hadn’t stayed up late, but still she wasn’t ready to get up. But, lo and behold, there she was at four-thirty-five dressing herself. She felt a strange eagerness to start the day despite her exhaustion, and what an interesting day it would prove to be…
