No. 46
The Elders in 1839 & A Star is Born
Dear Stewart,
Two years after Henry Brother was elected sheriff of Steuben County, New York, his wife, your grandmother, introduced another baby girl. They called her Mary.
It was November 1839. Now, who does not get tired of that name Mary, which means bitter? But we should, dear Stewart, know her more as Our Blessed Mother as our sweetness and our hope!
Because it was Advent, your mother, as an infant, was to play her first of many theatrical performances in the Nativity pageant.
Those who knew the sheriff and how conscientious he was for dates and times, teased him that he was the one who planned her arrival so that she could have celebrity. But this time it was his wife, Mary Ann, who determined that the older children needed something extra special this Christmas, because the pathetic presents were going to be on the low-down this year, such as a story while looking up at the sky and finding that star of wonder, star of beauty bright. Intuition was now the new law of the land for this growing family, and your mother picked up on how to be the most charming, most bright, when the family most needed it.
Your grandmother asked her best friend, Polly Metcalf, who was now Mrs. Ralph Knickerbocker Finch, to direct the play. As the headmaster for the Bath Classical School, Mr. Finch, said they should use the larger Presbyterian Church in Bath because it held more receptacles for the sperm-oiled lamps. Despite Polly having her own infant, born just two months prior, Mr. Finch didn't like the idea of using his child and so Polly had to obey and switched her focus to the script and the scenery.
The pastor there had a shy girl, who was the right age of the Virgin Mother. Because Finch wanted to give her little confidence boost, she was chosen to play the part of the virgin without having to say words. If she would play the part, holding the one-month-old Mary Brother, then the pastor said that he would buy her a new dress at the Brother store, at a discount. Of course, years later, your mother would play the part of the Virgin Mary, not once but twice, improving on her dress, preserving it and making alternations for other community plays that would come, only for your mother's burst of sparkling ideas and fundraising.
But this night of your mother's first performance, in 1839, Mary Ann handed off the infant to their servant Jane, right after the nursing. Now Jane knew she had three hours to ride over to the church, lay the infant down, and sing with the children.
While the babe was gone, Mary Ann slept in a silent house for what seemed like the first time in months. The night felt holy. She later said, in her version of this night, that she thought of the shepherds visiting the manger that night, and how, with that start, were to spread the wonder in burst of light. She wanted her children to be part of that light, so she must set things up well, not only for them to shine, but for them to want to shine, for them to know when to shine.
When she heard the footsteps on the stairs back to Mary Ann, she was refreshed and propped herself back up in bed, and quickly said a prayer thanking God for Jane, who held her newest daughter, who was not frozen as she feared. Jane reported that the red-cheeked children played their parts, that the props held up, that Polly did a marvelous job, and that now everyone was at the table having their second dinner.
With the star of the pageant, your mother, was back at your grandmother's breast and still all was peaceful. Even the jail was empty, and Mr. Brother was now pulling off his vest and ready to crawl in with the star.
The babe's elder siblings never let Mary forget that this was their best Christmas ever, for its simplicity and for the starry night, and from then on it became your mother's preferred entrance: “Encore!! Encore!! Encore!”
—Miss Minnie
2025 Copyright Christine Friesel
