As soon as school was let out, he met with the boys by the lake and jumped into the water and watched the shipbuilders shape wood and bolts to make the “Robert Troop”. It was the largest vessel ever launched on their shore, a 50-foot keel and ready to hold 60 tons.

George Hornell, 41, was adamant that his slaves keep up with the plan. A romantic, he struggled to manage their escaping and his road building. He shared with Valentine how he would become, by default (by his romance) of being in his position: The first to build the road, the first postmaster, first grist mill owner, first sawmill operator, first school builder, first tavern owner, and doing all this while getting back to the New York legislative sessions— first.

Winded and wet, he was finally on solid footing and turned around. When he saw the gash in her forehead, he turned the horses around to a bull’s eye view, alarmed by the catastrophe of her sinking shoulders, bun and bonnet.

Thus began the constant dreaming in her Henry, about six years old now, who made it a practice to crawl into bed with her and listened to her as she explained, for the one hundredth time, what a land surveyor does.

A toast for baby Cornelia, now in the arms of her grandmother, weaving through the tables, rifles, and boots, scattered about the planks.

After the verdict, he addressed the men refusing to leave the room, still debating. He led them over to the tavern, almost without their knowledge. Drinks were on him.

Despite early vigilance to mind the store, Valentine soon tired of the women, the broom, the gossip, and the crying babies. He helped himself to the pantry, even sharing with the customers, allowing their appetites to “window shop” with flexible terms.

While his father went again to Kentucky to sell goods to the new hungry settlers, Valentine was jealous, then, as it usually follows, he was lazy: he allowed customers to take goods on risky terms.

Eleanor swung his bony body around. In German, she ordered him, “Go. Run to the church. Pull those bells. The greatest moment of your father’s life is upon us. Now go!”

Then we’d move to the fireplace and talk some more. I’d write it down.

It is best, I think now, with a view of our Lady, to start with the stories Win batched with twine especially for Stewart. This shows, I think, how she cared for Stewart, before he was sent off to boarding school, when he believed.

Since she is coming to check on my progress this afternoon, I had better close this letter. She is coming to see how I much I have thrown away, mostly, my husband’s papers, and his tools, which I plan to give to the soup kitchen. Theresa tells me, so patiently, “Keep going!” and now I say the same to you, dear Laura, “Keep going!”

On the drive home, the church lady asked me if I would like a ride to church on Sunday. I told her no, that I was Catholic, and that I would wait for Win. She dropped me off at the end of the driveway.

I dug into Julien’s pockets, looking for anything of value. There was a key. Terrific, I thought, a secret key. Just what I needed, another secret to not tell.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, throwing wood. “What did you do wrong? Can we just get to the burning part?”

Was this even Julien’s money? What dice did he cast to hide this? What tyrant knows that it is here?

I gave the pastor all my money, promising to give more, if he could find medicine or a doctor, but I did not know where more money would come from. The little I gave him would leave me stranded, but I assumed Win would have some money or provide me with a way out of there in a few days.

We rushed by the living room. I was pushed into the basement by a strong hand. I plummeted. Had it not been for the railing on which my purse was caught, I would have dropped face down on cement. I backed up to release the strap. I held it close, that purse. The door behind us flew off.

After the announcement of our engagement, in 1904, Julien’ mother took to her bed, with her bell.

I never did witness nothing mortally sinful about him, though certainly for sure I know he was tempted to hate all those criminals he rubbed against and as he pushed and shoved them down and against the walls, tossing them in the transports, but I can only believe in my own fainting heart that he wanted to stay with the Lord and was I afraid when I came home to find him dead, and here you might tell me some made-up ugly truth tell gab that he died all alone, but now, we don’t believe in that.