Four

 

Captain Clement’s 21 January 1831

I am concerned I rarely feel the baby move within me. He or she must sleep a lot. Hopefully, this is not an indication that anything is wrong. Perhaps it is instead indicative of the fact I, too, slumber excessively. As a result, I am losing the desire to journal often. Maybe I can do longer entries when I have the strength and not worry about the frequency.

John visited our place in Perry County yesterday, leaving early morning but returning just before supper. He plans to check on our property once a week or so. He seems to enjoy staying here with me in Greensborough, so much so it feels as though we have moved here permanently. We are within a hundred yards of his shops (blacksmith and carpentry) and remaining here at night allows him to always be available if need be.

John says the boys are being well cared-for. Mother told him, however, that she is concerned about how listless Sam is. He is running a fever and wants to sleep a lot. Out of concern for me and a risk of any contagion, John saw Sam from a distance. I hope his exposure to Mother was limited, for she might catch whatever Sam has.

John was delighted to pick up and carry Rufus about per usual. The two visited all three residences and the barn, John shifting the lad from his shoulders to one hip or the other. “You observed the womenly technique, but you lack the proper anatomy,” said I, pointing to how my hips broadly protrude even with a swollen belly. Parting from the boy was such sweet sorrow, indeed, as the Bard once wrote.

#

I have the run of Captain Clement’s fine library. I returned with Hannah More’s “Christian Morals,” recommended to me by Mrs. Clement. I shall set about reading it upon the conclusion of writing.

It is a pleasure to have the freedom to write almost whenever I wish. Thus, I may be able to complete my short story. Perhaps, even, a collection!

I inquired of Mrs. Clement if we could eat in the common dining hall here at the inn, my condition notwithstanding. In other words, I wonder if I shall offend anyone by being as big as a house?

She replied, “Oh heavens, Mrs. LeBois! You would not wish to dine there with some who come in off the street. Please indulge me by allowing my girl to always bring you meals to your chambers.” She added an afterthought: “It would be my joy if you could sup with us from time to time in our private residence.” I agreed, although I wonder if she will set specific times and days for doing the same.

There is a celebration occurring all week long, marking the French Revolution. There will be a ball, and even people dressing as knights and ladies, the knights participating in jousts. They will be setting off the main street on Friday for such a thing. The celebrants are Huguenots who grow and process grapes for the making of wine. These are more recently immigrated from France than John’s forebears, arriving here just forty years ago. Their views on the consumption of alcohol, gambling, and dancing differ from our own. Perhaps they are influenced by the papists among them who fled France for reasons other than religious persecution. Their foreign language and customs and a shared hatred of the French aristocracy bind them all together.

Most of these French families are from the surrounding countryside. There are, however, some who reside in Greensborough who are both Catholic and well-to-do. Because of their wealth, Mrs. Clement tells me, they are influential in local society.

It annoys me that anyone in this village believe my husband and his family are Catholic because we have a French surname. John says a gentleman assumed as much when he happened into the carpentry shop and mentioned attending mass. My husband states he politely informed the man he is Methodist and a Huguenot descendant. I advised my dearest that perhaps he should remain mute on the subject and not risk offending potential customers, especially those well-placed.

“On the other hand, my sweet,” he replied, “it can only help my business for people to know I am a Protestant, for the great majority here are such. Indeed, outside of perhaps Mobile, such is the case everywhere in Alabama as you well know.”

Goodness me! I just witnessed the lady whom I believe was identified once as Mrs. Gayle coming out of Dr. Shaw’s office. She seemed much disturbed. My window was open just a bit to catch some breeze, so I was able to hear part of the conversation she had with her female companion. “I simply wished to pay him for the items already delivered to me! He rudely accepted but said he would supply me no more!” The two sped off in her rig. I wonder if the item she desired was laudanum.

It occurs to me every time I write or say “goodness me,” I might be implying I embrace that quality. The same would be true for “my goodness,” would it not? But are there really so many unthinking immodest people repeating the phrase who would interpret the phrases thus? Just a thought.

#

Mrs. Clement’s girl, whose name is Phoebe, brought up luncheon a while ago. The fried chicken was passable, certainly not as good as Mother’s, and nowhere near that which Susie used to cook for us. But I was hungry. Patsy thereafter went off with Tommy, paying a visit to the graded school nearby with the purpose of enrolling the lad. It should be a wonderful experience for the boy to have others nearer his age than to whom he is accustomed.

Upon her return, Patsy told me Tommy is now enrolled, commencing next Monday. She says she inquired about teaching positions but was informed there are none for ladies of her qualifications. It was left ambiguous what that means. I hope to think she is merely over-qualified and they believe it would be beneath her to be employed there. Certainly, I am delusional in such a thought.

On their way back, Patsy encountered a Reverend Hillhouse who was passing out notices of a three-day camp meeting. John has mentioned this man as a gifted Presbyterian preacher who sometimes invites the Methodists to expound as well. Patsy says she declined the notice, and I am appalled. Surely, she could have accepted and kept her opinions to herself.

“Patsy, dearest, please fetch such a notice for me. Whatever you feel about religion, please keep in mind my incessant curiosity on the subject.”

“I shall not, sweet, swollen sister. Oh! An alliteration!” She giggled at herself, amused at being clever after the fact. “Anyway, such would be an embarrassment. I have already declined, and admitting I am on a mission to secure the notice for another would spark a conversation I wish not to have.”

I decided the notices—along with Mr. Hillhouse—shall find their way up the street to the smithy and carpentry shops. Perhaps my husband will engage in a lively discussion.

“Ah, me.” I delight in using that Shakespearean phrase, simple though it be. “Ah, me.” I “say” (write) it now, sighing that I shall quit my voyeurism and lie down for my ever-increasing naps. My legs are swelling again, painfully so, and now that relative quiet has resumed on the street below, my attention is called to my own person.

Oh! I just realized there is another office across the street which previously escaped my notice. “Mr. John Gayle, Esquire, Attorney At Law.” I do not believe I have witnessed anyone coming or going there, so it is likely he is not present today. I wonder at his wife going about town, exclaiming. If he is of the character my husband ascribes to him, would he be amused or would he have a different reaction?

I must quit now and resign myself to the nap my legs and feet demand.