Viola Factor (eBook)

2 Arlington, Vermont

November 1829

“Angels sent on errands full of love.”

Night Thoughts, Edward Young

We all stood frozen over the huge hole now reserved for our mother. It seems like Thanksgiving was all but forgotten this year, just taking place for everyone else three days earlier when mother had been dying. Oh, how she wished they had been able to enjoy the smells and sounds of Thanksgiving together as a family one last time: Mother’s pumpkin custard, the grandmothers with their breads and pies, Elvira’s newly concocted cranberry cornbread. Father would even carve wooden turkeys for the little children to play back and forth while gobbling and giggling.

Standing graveside, Viola’s lips were in a cold, terse, straight line. There was a crease just above her left brow. Her violet-colored eyes were clear but moist. Her skin, the color of Vermont snows and her long blond hair topped the aristocratic and statuesque figure, just like the female Viola in Shakespeare’s TWELFTH NIGHT. The strength of her character shown through all the others gathered. She realized the success of this family depended upon her ability to support and defend them. She watched Father shovel dirt over the beautifully crafted coffin he had made with care for Mother. As a local mechanic in the wood shop, he had spent days measuring, hammering, and gluing the white oak taken from the Green Mountain forests to envelop the body of his late wife as she transitioned into heaven.

Father assigned the scripting of mother’s tombstone to older sister Elvira and me. We studied Mother’s books for hours and finally chose lines from Reverend Edward Young’s poetry.

Smitten friends are angels sent on errands full of love. 

For us they languish and for us they die,

And shall they languish, shall they die, in vain?

Ungrateful shall we grieve their hovering shades

Which wait the revolution in our hearts.

It would be a beautiful headstone once we can afford to pay for it and place it in the St. James Church cemetery to mark Mother’s space for eternity. She quietly said, “Heaven will be where you paint you own stars dear Mother.”

Both Grandmother Hannahs, dressed in ankle length black dresses, stood with us sniffling and weeping. I wondered if Grandmother Hannah Hawley could now rest knowing that the daughter, she had named Urania (Rany for short), heavenly patron of astronomy, could float among the stars and planets. Such a worldly name for such an extraordinarily bright and poetic woman. Grandmother said Rany was reading at an early age and was always begging to go to the local book groups when she became a young woman. It was at one of those groups that she had met Father, Silas Knapp, and shared her passion for stories and characters with him. She recalled Mother always said Father was much happier with a chisel and smooth piece of oak or white birch in his hands than a book. “But he hung onto each of my words intently and had the kindest smile!” she reminisced.

Rany and Silas, both descended from Vermont lineage and identified with all the people in the town. Poor Father had only twenty-two years with her. Now at age 42, Rany’s strength had declined with the seventh child. The new-born baby, Juelma, was motherless and in the care of neighbors as they gathered here.

Baby brother Orpheus, age two, began to wiggle in Elvira’s arms. She set him down and knelt with him to throw star-shaped dahlias into the hole. His dark and narrow eyes widened and starred back at her as if to ask, “Why are we throwing away flowers?” Viola was gripping the hand of curly-haired Florina, age 4, while a long-faced Uretta, 12, knelt with solemn Salina, 9, to whisper to her that mother was in the stars with God and would not be there when they returned to their house. They all moved back to stand beside Father as the service began.

Viola felt a shiver skitter through her as she struggled not to cry and listened to the words of Reverend Perkins. Mother would have loved his choice of words. She thought about the meaning of his eulogy and terms of endearment he communicated now with all of them. He praised Urania for being a fine wife and mother, a scholar of literature, and her passion for poetry and writing. All Viola could remember were the plays they performed for each other and the stories they crafted all day long to share with Father after dinner in the evenings.

      Being of old stock Yankee beginnings, an unwavering reaction to helplessness prevented Viola from succumbing to tears. She gazed over at mother’s youngest brother, Uncle Norman. He was more like a big brother to her than an uncle and one of her best friends. He could cajole her into laughter with his witty sense of humor like telling her “You look right ripsniptious today!” But not now. Grandfather Hawley stood long faced and tall at the elbow of his wife. Urania, the eldest Hawley child, the verbose and vibrant daughter, was now gone.

She glanced around at who was in attendance. Inside this graveyard marked with Hawley predecessors and family reminded Viola of just how important the Episcopal faith and Yankee Protestant roots had been in forming her life and beliefs. She thought back to the early stories her grandparents had shared with her about this deep devotion that forged their town.

    The Charter for Arlington as a town, 6 miles square, was issued July 26, 1761. The first settlers, all Episcopalians, arrived in 1764, fifteen years before Vermont entered the Union. Among these people was the first Lay Reader of the church, Viola’s great grandfather Captain Jehiel Hawley. After these predecessors had settled in their new homes and began to conduct Episcopal services, the Revolution served to isolate them further as “Tories” - those loyal to the King of England. During the Revolution Captain Hawley left Arlington and served on the staff of General John Burgoyne until Burgoyne’s defeat at the Battle of Saratoga, when he started for Canada. Great Grandfather died en route in Shelburne in 1777 and was buried at sea. Captain Hawley had built the first framed house in Arlington. This was where the services of the Church were first held and the birthplace of the Episcopal Church in Vermont. It is where her Grandmother Hannah Hawley continued to live to this day and where many important family celebrations had taken place.

In 1803 two wooden churches were established in Arlington - one, a Free Church where attendees did not have to buy their pews where Viola was christened in 1812, and the other where today’s church stood. Just this year, 1829, the cornerstone of this new stone church was laid on the foundation of the old wooden church and called St. James where the family now gathered.

The Churchman Magazine published in Connecticut in 1805 stated:

“Although much encumbered with many things, Captain Hawley did not forget ‘the one thing needful,’ but with unrelenting zeal for his Master’s glory and the salvation of his fellowmen, he commenced the worship of the Church at Arlington upon settling there, and with the blessing of God upon his unrelenting and pious labors he so spread the doctrines of the Church that until the time of the Revolutionary war almost the whole town consisted of Episcopalians.”

Viola lost in historical thought, whispered a rhyme in Florina’s ears to help her stay still. Mother had cherished words, the flow of words, the placement of words in sentences, the rise and rhythmic falls of verses, the poems of Reverend Edward Young, the characters in Shakespeare’s plays, the sermons of the Rectors of the church, and the hymns of their faith. Her favorite memories were of Mother telling how she chose a special name for each child! She whispered this rhyme to Florina but stopped short at a line for the new baby.

Elvira, Spanish Queen.

Viola, resourceful King.

Uretta, spiritual glow,

Salina, like the moon on snow.

Florina, Mama’s little flower, 

Orpheus, boy of word power,

and now Juelma…

Viola stopped. “Wonder what Mother might say about her?”

She could tell Reverend Perkins was ending the service with prayers and blessings. The assembled group turned to head back to their homes and hearths to get warm again and continue with their lives. With mud on their shoes and skirt edges, all colors blended of the Vermont soil would be tracked into the dwellings. A cold and empty place awaited this Knapp family without Mother. Viola wondered how they would ever manage with Father working all day with seven children to feed and dress. Who would teach all of them now? Who would sing songs and dance near the fireplace? Who would gather vegetables to preserve and flowers to dry? Viola could not imagine her home without Mother.

“There is one secret that I alone have.” Viola whispered to herself and lifted her chin a little higher. Right before Mother lost consciousness and passed away, she motioned Viola closer and uttered to her their secret.

“It is you, my precious Vi, who shall be the one to go on to bigger and better things in this world. You understand words like me. You know their power and sway they can have when used correctly. Under the sycamore tree by the creek, I buried silver coins in a little purple bag several years ago. This should be enough to get you over to Bennington to enroll in the...