No. 33
Mrs. Lafayette to Mrs. Quinn—That Lafayette in 1825
Mrs. Quinn
908 E Jefferson
Louisville, Kentucky
Dear Mrs. Quinn,
Thursday, August 1, 1940
One of Minnie's stories that set me down and shut me down for the evening was one about General Marquis de Lafayette and Stewart's elders.
It moved me because the General was someone that Julien spoke of, because the General was his ancestor.
General Marquis de Lafayette, who crossed paths with the elders of Charles Brother. After this telling, I felt spooked. It was still daytime when I was reading this letter and Minnie was still at the hospital. I went looking around for some liquor. Minnie had told me where she thought Julien hid the wine. Keep in mind that I still did not make it known that I was married to Julien Lafayette, or, as she would have known him, Henri Gautier.
Before I was able to get to the wine, or to where I thought it was, I had to remove piles of roof and timber fragments in the kitchen. I was careful not to step on a nail, for by this time I was daily wearing Julien’s old boots. Because they were too big, I took his socks and stuffed them into the toes but was thankful for to have something sturdy for this venture. Even more so I was thankful for the wine. I felt badly for drinking it without Win, but believed I could make it up to her and find some upon knowing that she was healed, without pain.
I thought of Julien's pride in that surname, the decisions he made that forced him to drop it, his interest in playing in the theatres of Lafayette, Indiana, and the pride in all of us to want to move things and force color into us, upon us, around us. And drinking it into us.
I made a nice toast to the General. Here is what Win wanted Stewart to know.
Dear Stewart,
That thing that Henry Brother said about wanting to avoid girls with buck teeth, that one time he used Mary Ann Pratt to avoid the ugly girls, do you remember? Well, he regretted it, years later, as a man. This was because of his beloved sister, Belinda, who was the aunt of Civil War Marine Charles Brother.
Belinda was not an ugly girl at all, but she felt that way, kept her head down that way, and carried herself that way, for she never had suitors. Her sisters, both more extroverted and strategic about when they applied ever-improving posture and blushing powder, felt that way about it.
Belinda was bookish, thinking she might have a chance with the young soldiers if she studied war or military advancements. Perhaps she might find a schoolmaster to marry, or at least tutor his children, and if that approach was a bust, she’d settle for a preacher. Either way she’d get access to a fine library.
When Henry was 24 years old in 1825, he watched with terrific pride as Belinda was one of the 13 girls from Geneva’s William Plum school selected to represent the 13 original states when Gen. Lafayette visited.
The girls arranged flowers in his pathway when he stepped out of his carriage, which arrived on June 8th, pulled by six horses. A signal gun’s firing announced his arrival and nearly a dozen military companies marched to the tree up on a hill, the light infantry and artillery troops all in full uniform. He admired Seneca Lake and stood there on the shore a long time with his traveling party, happy to be off his horse, even resting his back on a quilt along the shore.
Afterwards Belinda ran up to Henry and jumped in his arms. She didn’t need any powder or pink at all and he spun her around, caught up in the colors himself.
She shouted, “All those handsome soldiers! I shall swoon for the rest of the year!”
Years later when her drop-dead gorgeous sister died, quickly followed by her husband, Belinda found herself facing no less than six sleep deprived and terrified young children, all looking up to her and her older sister. Both ladies set aside all romance and set down to educate and rear these young people, all who became very successful and loyal admirers of their aunts, but especially Belinda, who told wonderful stories of military battles, beautiful horses, and dramatic entrances.
—Miss Minnie
2025 Copyright Christine Friesel
