Faxon Dean (eBook)

XVI.

Mansfield, Connecticut 1752

Fulling work was not to be found, nor could Faxon secure a position as a farrier, cooper, or wheelwright. However, the proprietor of a new gristmill in Mansfield was pleased to offer him work, always willing to add strong men to his employ. Faxon flung himself into the job, happy to be away from the sympathetic eyes of those in Canterbury and to have a new home. Three rivers flowed near the town and Faxon enjoyed spending his days near the water again. His chores at the mill were strenuous, but he went about them quietly, listening to the rush of the river over the rocks.

Adequate lodgings were found and Mehitable slowly settled back into domestic life. Their travels had been difficult for her, adding to her feelings of being unmoored. She found that being a stranger and refusing to share much of their past made the establishment of their new domicile easier, and she eventually made acquaintances at some shops and stalls in town. She and Faxon attended church, making some friends there, though Faxon seemed overly sullen after services.

In the end, leaving Canterbury had been without regrets. Faxon had thought of moving on, hoping to dull the painful memories of that terrible winter. The letter that arrived from Boston in the summer of 1751 was certainly a deciding factor. Addressed to Joseph, it inquired as to whether Faxon was still in his employ and how he could be reached regarding some legal matters. Joseph assumed that this referred to a possible inheritance from the Dean family there, but Faxon explained that his family had no money or property to speak of and returned the missive to Joseph with a pale, drawn face.

After supper, with the candles snuffed and the embers glowing, Faxon shared his decision with Mehitable. They would leave the house on the crest, buy a wagon and a horse, and begin the search for a new town.

“But Faxon, Canterbury has been my home for so long! You would wrest me from this house, so near where my babies rest?” Mehitable’s tears began to trace the lines in her face.

“If we are ever to truly start anew, we must endeavor to leave our sad past behind. How better to do that than in a place where no-one knows us?” Faxon gently swept the tears from Mehitable’s chin, reaching for a handkerchief from his trouser pocket. “There is truly nothing to keep us here except for sorrow. Have you any debts in town?”

“Just one small debt at the dry goods shop. Why?”

“I will pay it tomorrow. We must not owe anything when we go.”

Faxon heard Mehitable sobbing softly as they tried to sleep, but in the morning found her making plans for their journey, deciding what items could be left behind and how to efficiently pack those items of necessity. At the mill and in the town, Faxon made it known that the little house behind the crest was available for rent as a help to Joseph and tried to console Aunt Sarah on the forthcoming loss of her little second family.

Mehitable and Faxon were unprepared for the rapid and overwhelming appearance of other members of the Cleaveland family. Faxon had been aware of aunts and uncles nearby, but had never met a single one other than at the wedding. Now that word had spread of his hopes to move out, a dozen or more relatives tried to claim the homestead as their own.

“How is it that you have so many family members living so near, yet I know nary a one of them?” asked Faxon.

Mehitable was still for a moment, then lifted her defiant chin. “I had a sad and difficult childhood and must admit that my family found me unpleasant. Once orphaned, none wanted me except Uncle Joseph and Aunt Sarah, who graciously took me in. Relieved not to be burdened with me, the rest of the family left us alone.”

Joseph and Sarah affirmed that Mehitable’s story was, sadly, true. Joseph even revealed that he had lost the business of some Cleavelands in the area due to Faxon’s employ. Each heartily agreed that, were the house to pass into the hands of family, it should be done by purchase.

Before long, a cousin of Mehitable’s paid for the house, allowing Faxon and Mehitable to vacate and establish themselves wherever their travels ended. Faxon was anxious to leave without a specific destination, although he promised to contact Joseph when they were settled.

As the couple eased into their new surroundings in Mansfield, Faxon became more proficient in his work and Mehitable’s mood began to brighten. She could often be found humming hymns as she cooked and cleaned, laughing at the squirrels and chipmunks racing each other through the garden and the trees. By the end of the year, Mehitable was expecting again.

The winter of 1751 to 1752 had been typical, with periods of snow and ice followed by welcome thaws, and the spring had arrived on time. Not so for the winter of 1752 to 1753, which punished them much like that fateful winter in Canterbury. Faxon and Mehitable spent many a day huddled by the fire, only venturing outside to tend to the animals, fetch firewood, or empty the chamber pot. Mehitable was thankful to have brought an old bed warmer with them, filling it with coals from the fire each evening to warm the linens before they climbed abed. Faxon worked at the mill when he could, but the millstones were often stilled due to the frozen river below. Although there were still minor tasks to perform, the business was, for the most part, in hibernation.

March 25, 1753, was cold and lonely. Even though it was Easter Sunday, the churches were half empty, as the roads and the weather remained treacherous. Fortunately, the weather broke two weeks later and the mud-soaked warmth of spring enlivened the markets and the townsfolk.

Faxon was delighted to be back to work at the mill, arriving early in the morning and staying as late into the evening as necessary. Mehitable, too, was enjoying the soft breezes through the doors and windows as she prepared their home for the baby arriving soon.

“Faxon!”

No, Thomas. I will not marry Abigail Fife. I understand that it is right in the eyes of the community. But how can I make you understand that I cannot? It may be “right”, but it is not right for me.

“Faxon, please!”

There was a change in Thomas’ voice. Why was there pain, why was he groaning? Faxon stirred. Where was he?

“Faxon, please wake! The baby is to be born!”

Mehitable shook his shoulder again, ending his dream. Opening his eyes, he finally grasped the urgency in her voice. The baby!

Faxon had not wished to leave her in the throes of labor, obviously very close to delivery, but the local midwife was not far. Still, by the time he returned with Goody Smith, the baby’s head had crowned and they had a new daughter, red and angry, within ten minutes. Mehitable wished to name her Hannah, to which Faxon had no objection. He was just relieved to have a healthy child with strong lungs in the house again.

Yes, Hannah’s lungs were strong and she gave proof without fail. Colicky and uncomfortable, this child strained the patience of the couple; there was nothing to be done to soothe her, nor to coax more than an hour’s sleep from her. Mehitable learned to catnap when the baby slept and to perform all of her household chores with the child in her arms or slung in a wrapped shawl. Although Hannah often fussed and howled while Mehitable worked, it mattered not. She was going to fuss and howl, regardless.

Faxon savored the relative quiet at the mill, with the sounds of the water rushing below and the machinery clanking at a regular beat above. Though tempted to arrive earlier and stay later, Faxon worked more modest hours to help at home, knowing that Mehitable was feeling sorely challenged.

Spring gradually gave way to an unremarkable summer. Given the severity of the recent winter, crops were carefully tended and meals were modest, increasing the amount of food that could be preserved for the cold months to come.

Faxon and Mehitable had found church attendance to be difficult, as Hannah’s incessant fussing interrupted the solemn proceedings of the service and caused numerous forays to the fresh air outdoors to restore calm. When September arrived with continued pleasant days, relief was finally found as Hannah’s colic eased and a more regular, and quiet, pattern returned to the household.

On a Sunday in mid-September, the little family attended church services and left only once, to feed and rock Hannah. Pleased to reconnect with some of their few friends in Mansfield, they approached a small group standing under a maple that was just starting to display its autumn colors early.

“Good Sunday to ye!” said Faxon. “We are well satisfied to join you at services once again.”

“And a good Sunday to you as well,” answered the oldest man of the group. “What do you think of the French?”

Faxon was taken aback. “What of the French?” he asked.

“Ah, my friend, you must have heard the concerns of our neighbors and countrymen. You see a number of men weekly at the mill.”

“Yes, I do. But the noise of the mill and the nature of my duties do not lend themselves to conversation. Is there a problem with France?”

The ladies moved away, cooing over the babies and discussing methods of food preservation and their current stores. The men continued on with the topic of the French.

It seemed that an increasing number of French were gathering, including troops, and were quite friendly with displaced natives. The Mohegans, friendly to the colonists, warned of the continuing displeasure...