No. 24

The Elders in 1799

Dear Stewart,

When Henry saw his father coming home at the top of the hill he dropped his pail and stormed upwards to greet him properly, taking his share of the load, what little he could manage. Valentine burst into song straight away, as was his practice, and together they traded riddles, rhymes, and notes too high for an old man but not a boy. Reporting the birth of a calf and chores undone while embedding it in a silly song was a sharp contrast to the dragging meetings Valentine had with his boss. Because it was just between them, with no ladies around, they used the hymns as a foundation, adding their own color and pace.

Henry asked, still keeping a tune, “How far did you get this time? Did you see Indians? What did you bring me? What’s an arrowhead?”

They seemed to float back home but Henry knew that when his father made it to his featherbed, he would sleep for several days. Henry figured out that the longer he slept, the longer the next sprint away would last. On the third day Henry carefully opened the door to his parent’s bedroom, trying to find evidence of movement or packing. He was surprised to find his father awake, pulling on his vest. Seeing his son, he waved him in and told him to sit down for a serious talk.

Henry prepared that compartment of his brain for a list of things he would have to do while his father was away, each chore always too ambitious for someone his size. He would agree to do the task, doubting it was possible, knowing his father’s dream life, but not doubting it would be lonely. 

Then it happened, Henry could not believe the day had come. They were to be a family again. His father’s instructions were clear, even though he asked him to repeat it three whole times: we are all moving to a place called New York. The road is ready, but they will with the first families to settle. Most important would be to say goodbye to friends and convince the best ones to go with us. Man needed friends and brothers more than ever where they were going. Not fair-weather types but the hearty ones, thick, thin, wet, and dry friends, the ones you lay down your life for.  The sort where material things – even food – was not important.

Henry never would forget his father’s instructions to hold fast to true friends. In that moment he aimed to be a good companion to those he would want to share that sacrifice with. It was not lost on him—that moment in 1799— when he saw the connection: his surname held his life motto.

— Miss Minnie

2025 Copyright Christine Friesel