High Forest (eBook)

Chapter 2

Ela Township, Lake County, Illinois, 1840

Ever since the loss of his wife in December had made a widower of him, Eunice Gates had been eyeing Mr. Russell as a potential mate for her daughter Charlotte. It was true that Charlotte was only seventeen and given to be flighty. But this just meant the sooner she was married off the better. She had no father or brother as a protector, only her aging grandfather. Eunice’s husband had left them very little money when he died and Alexander Russell was the richest farmer in the township. He owned a full section of fertile land that he made pay handsomely. He had purchased this property piecemeal from the government since arriving from Pennsylvania soon after the area had been opened up for settlement. Mrs. Gates had observed him the three years of her own residence there since moving up from the little village of Chicago after her husband died. Most of their interaction had come at the Methodist Church in the little hamlet of Russell’s Grove, named for the esteemed Mr. Russell. He was a handsome man of medium build in his late 30s or early 40s. He had several qualities Eunice admired in a man. She knew him to be devout, as he’d spearheaded the founding of their church. She found him also to be reserved in both speech and action, and knew him to be a well-respected pillar of the community. He had a number of children, that was to be taken for granted by any potential second wife. His eldest was a head strong girl only slightly younger than Charlotte. The two weren’t close, in fact they rarely talked to each other at the few social opportunities their community provided, as they were of such different temperaments. Charlotte’s youth, inexperience, and flightiness need not be insurmountable obstacles in dealing with the children however. Eunice herself could move onto the Russell place with Charlotte and help out. But could the man’s interest be aroused? Perhaps he was not yet thinking about marrying again. After all, he’d only been a widower a scant two months. But he would be needing a wife eventually. His daughters could only do so much. Most people remarried quickly when they were widowed. Mr. Russell would likely do the same, and why shouldn’t he consider Charlotte? She was nice looking, if not exactly beautiful. But surely someone of his caliber would look for more than that in a wife. He would look for a real partner to help run the farm and raise his children, someone with strong domestic skills as well as someone with a wise head on her shoulders. These were not Charlotte’s strong suits, though such qualities might be developed over time through experience. Clearly, for this plan to succeed though, Charlotte would need considerable help in the wooing. And so the widow Gates, like the spider began to spin her web with the object of catching Mr. Russell for her daughter.

At Church the following Sunday Eunice saw to it that Charlotte was charmingly attired. After services the two of them positioned themselves shoulder to shoulder at the base of the steps leading out of church so that Mr. Russell could not help but notice them as he shook hands with the preacher. Descending the steps, he tipped his hat to mother and daughter.

“Fine weather for this time of year, Mr. Russell,” Eunice offered

“Seasonable, I should think,” he replied, surveying the frozen churchyard.

“But very mild after such a cold January,” threw in Charlotte after a barely perceptible nudge from her mother.

“All is well at your place I trust?” Eunice asked casually.

“We have all been busy with the usual winter chores,” he replied, “There is always more to do than there are hours in the day. But being busy helps keep us from grieving our loss overly much.”

Eunice saw her opening. “Poor dear, the whole community shares in your loss. Mrs. Russell was a fine woman, and an outstanding cook I am told. Besides her company you must miss her good cooking. Perhaps, Mr. Russell, you would care to join us for dinner one evening this week? My Charlotte here is an excellent cook.”

“Is that so?” and here Mr. Russel tipped his hat once again to Charlotte. She smiled and curtseyed in return.

“Are you free on Wednesday evening?”

“Wednesday would suit me fine.”

“Good, we will look forward to your company.”

After they said their good-byes and Eunice and Charlotte headed toward the cutter which Eunice’s father was holding for them, she couldn’t help chiding Charlotte for her reticence.

“Couldn’t you have added more to the conversation? I can’t do this all on my own you know.”

Charlotte frowned. “Really, Mother, what would you have had me say?”

“Something, anything. Mr. Russell is not a boy. You can’t win a man like that by just making doe eyes at him. Your conversational skills will need some polishing before Wednesday, especially on topics that might be of interest to Mr. Russell.”

Charlotte frowned. “Can’t you just brew up some kind of love potion or throw a spell over him?”

Eunice stopped in her tracks and planted her fists on her hips and gave Charlotte the look. Charlotte knew immediately that she had stepped over the line.

“Sorry, Mother. It was said only in jest.”

The look on her mother’s face showed Charlotte that her mother did not take kindly to this form of joke. Eunice’s family originally hailed from Salem, Massachusetts. An ancestor had been convicted of witchcraft at the time of the troubles there and had been executed. The stigma hung over her family still, and there were those who looked on Eunice’s raven-black hair as proof that the blood line lived on in her. Her own grandmother had taught her the healing function of various plants and herbs, as well as when and how to harvest them, and Eunice used these skills to help the sick in her new home as she had in the old, which only set the wags to gossiping all the more. It was a topic she did not take lightly as her stern visage now clearly showed.

“What shall we serve him for dinner?” Charlotte asked by way of changing the subject.

“I thought we might have goose,” her mother replied.

“But Mother, we have no goose, only Martha…”

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to pull up short. “Oh, Mother you wouldn’t! She’s a pet.”

“Don’t dawdle, Charlotte, you keep your grandfather waiting.”

Despite Charlotte’s protest that she could no more eat her pet goose than she could the dog, it was nonetheless dispatched, plucked, and roasted by Eunice with vegetables and potatoes she hand picked from the root cellar. She baked two varieties of pie, sweet potato and apple. She attended to every detail of the meal personally but did allow Charlotte to peel the potatoes. Once the meal was well along it was time to tend to Charlotte herself.

“Not the blue dress dear, the gold brocade surely.”

“But the blue brings out the color of my eyes,” Charlotte protested.

“But the brocade flatters your waistline more. And men are more interested in a girl’s figure than in her eyes, however long they may stare into them.”

“Mother!”

“Well, it’s true, and high time you learned the truth of it. When he appreciates your domestic skills in the meal, notices the slender lines of your waist in that dress, and finds you able to converse on a number of different topics you’ll have won him. Come, let’s go over those topics again while I do your hair. Then after you’re dressed you can practice your conversational skills on your grandfather.”

Mr. Russell arrived on horseback as the warm weather had melted most of the snow and rendered the roads a thick mire of mud. Eunice’s father took his horse and made excuses about work in the barn he had to attend to to explain why he would not be joining them for dinner. But he assured their guest that his portion would be kept warm for him.

“The ladies have not been idle I can assure you,” he added as he led Mr. Russell’s horse to the barn.

“Come in, come in,” Eunice called from the porch as Charlotte bounded into the room.

“Something smells wonderful,” he remarked as he gave his hat and scarf to Charlotte.

“Roast goose,” said Eunice, “Charlotte has done most of the work. As I told you at church, she’s an excellent cook.”

“So I recall,” he replied taking the proffered seat in the parlor.

“Would you care for a glass of elderberry wine?” Eunice inquired, “Father put it up last summer.”

“I’d be delighted,” he answered.

“Charlotte, bring the wine in from the kitchen will you, dear?”

Once they were all seated in the horsehair chairs in the parlor and the wine was served, Eunice commented, “Charlotte and I began to despair if you would be able to come. The roads look impassable.”

“It was no problem for Jack. He’s a high stepper. I just hope he has not thrown up any mud on my clothes which I might have inadvertently tracked into your parlor.” And here he inspected his boots and pant legs for any sign of the offending mud.

“Don’t worry about that. Charlotte is an excellent housekeeper as well. She does the lion’s share of the cleaning and keeps an immaculate house.”

“I’m not sure I can say the same for my girls,” he replied with a laugh. “My compliments to your father, by the way. The wine is excellent.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Eunice replied, “We will have to send a bottle home with you,” and then she excused...