A WESTERN CHRISTMAS IN THE OLD DAYS: A story from late 1800’s America
BY MRS. W. H. CORNING
Edited by Jane Mouttet
Christmas week, there was no school but such a succession of dining days, visiting days, day parties, and night parties that Fanny, who looked forward to the week as a season of rest, thought that the regular routine of school duties would be less fatiguing.
Christmas at La Belle Prairie was the one jubilee of the year, something to be talked about for six months beforehand and to be remembered as long after. It was a time of feasting and recreation for both master and servant. Days before, preparations commenced in the kitchen. Various smells issued from thence—savory smells of boiled, baked, roasted meats and sweet, delicious smells of warm pastry and steaming cakes. Aunt Tibby was rolling pie crust or stirring cake all day, and the chopping of sausage meat, the pounding of spices, and the beating of eggs were constantly heard. Everything was carried on with the greatest secrecy. The children were all kept out of the kitchen, and when “something good” was to be transferred to Miss Car’line’s storeroom, Aunt Tibby came sailing in, holding it high above the reach of the curious little heads.
“I don’t care,” said Cal. “There are six pound cakes on the store-room shelf in a row. I see ’em when ma opened the door. Marthy says one of ’em got currants in it, and there’s a little shoat thar roasted whole. O! how I wish Christmas was here.”
Coming suddenly upon Maud one day, Fanny found her with her apron half full of bran while her fingers were busily at work upon a few pieces of faded silk. Maud tried to hide them at first, but finding by Fanny’s question of “What is it, Maud?” that it was too late, she had looked up with a tired, flushed face and said:
“Miss Fanny, don’t you tell now! Will you? I’m makin’ a pin-cushion for Aunt Phœbe, but it won’t come square, all I can do. It acts awfully.”
“Let me see what the trouble is,” said Fanny, sitting down to examine the poor cushion, which, indeed, under Maud’s hands was not soon likely to come into shape.
“You see,” said Maud, “I want to give Aunty a Christmas gift, and I thought a cushion would be so nice ’cause her old one that she wears pinned to her waist, you know, has burst a great hole, and the bran keeps tumbling out. I’m going to make her a nice one, only I wish ’twas brighter ’cause Aunty likes red, yellow, and all them so bad.”
Fanny searched her piece bag and brought forth bits of bright ribbon, the sight of which threw Maud into ecstasies of delight. Then, giving up the morning to the job, she cut, planned, fitted, and basted together, getting everything in order so that Maud could do the sewing herself.
“Aunty wouldn’t think half so much of it if I didn’t,” said the child.
Well and faithfully, Maud performed her labor of love, giving up her much-prized runs on the prairie and resisting all the children’s requests to play with them till the Christmas gift was finished. It was no small task, for Maud most heartily hated to sew, and her fingers were anything but nimble in the operation. “I always did despise to sew, Miss Fanny,” she said, “but I’m going to make this cushion for Aunty anyhow.”
It was finished at last and, as Maud expressed it, “was just as beautiful as it could be.” There never was a prouder, happier child. She did not thank Fanny in words for her assistance, but that night, she came softly behind her and, putting her arms around her neck, gave her an earnest kiss, a proceeding that called forth an exclamation of surprise from Mrs. Catlett, for Maud was very chary of her caresses.
Christmas morning came, and long before daylight, every child upon the place, both black and white, was up, ready to “march in Christmas.” The night before, there had been mysterious preparations, such as hiding tin pans and glass bottles under the bed. The faint tooting of an old horn was heard at the quarters as though someone was rehearsing a part. Fanny was also astonished by little Tom’s request for permission to use her school bell, the cowbell not having a sweet sound.
“O, yes, Tom, you may take it, but what do you want with it?”
“Couldn’t tell no ways, Miss Fanny,” said Tom, with a grin. “Mebbe Miss Fanny know in de mornin’.”
The morning did indeed bring an explanation of the mystery. Assembling in the yard, the children marshaled themselves into marching order. As captain and taking the lead, Maud bears an old tin horn, and little Tom brings up the rear with Fanny’s unfortunate cowbell.
In this order, they commenced “marching in Christmas” to the music of the horn, the beating of tin pans, the rattling of bits of iron and pieces of wood, the jingling of bells, and the clapping of hands. They all marched into the house and upstairs to the doors of the sleeping rooms with their horrid din. It was received with tolerable good humor by all but Nanny, who, deprived of her morning nap by the tumult, raved at the juvenile disturbers of the peace and finally threw her shoes at them as they stood on the stairway. These were directly seized upon as trophies and carried off triumphally to the quarters, where the young performers performed the same operations.
“Christmas gift! Christmas gift!” was the first salutation from the servants this morning, and it was worthwhile to give them some trifling present, were it only to hear their extravagant expressions of gratitude and delight. It was impossible to forget for a moment that it was Christmas. One could see it in the faces of the servants, released for a whole week from their daily tasks and rejoicing in the prospect of dances, parties, and visits to friends and kindred on distant plantations. The children, with their boisterous merriment and constant talk about the holidays, seemed determined to bear it in mind. The excellent dinner—the one dinner of the year—in the preparation of which Aunt Tibby had exercised all her skill; this seemed to proclaim that it was Christmas.
“Oh, Miss Fanny,” said little Joy, “don’t you wish Christmas lasted the whole year round?”
The short December day was fast drawing to a close as a party of four rode leisurely along the road crossing La Belle Prairie. The ladies, though scarcely recognizable in their close hoods, long blue cotton riding skirts, and thick gloves, were none other than Miss Nancy Catlett and our friend Fanny. At the same time, their attendants were Mr. Chester, the town gentleman, and Massa Dave Catlett, who had come over from his new home in Kansas on purpose to enjoy the Christmas festivities on the prairie. One of those night parties, of which Nanny had talked so much, was to come off at Col. Turner’s, and this was the place of their destination. Following the customs of society in these parts, they were to remain until the next day, and, accordingly, Viny rode a little in the rear, mounted upon old “Poke Neck,” and bearing sundry carpet bags and valises containing the ladies’ party dresses.
Just at dusk, our party reached their journey’s end, and dismounting one by one from the horse block in front of the house, they walked up the road and were met on the porch by Miss Bell Turner, Nanny’s particular friend. This young lady, with long curls and a very slender waist, performed the hostess duties in a free and easy manner, ushering the gentlemen into the parlor, where a fire was blazing on the hearth. The ladies, with their attendants, were conducted upstairs to the dressing room.
Here, a dozen or more were engaged in the mysteries of grooming, braiding, twisting, and curling, while many servants were flying about, stumbling over each other and creating confusion in their efforts to supply the wants of their respective mistresses. The beds and chairs were covered with dresses, capes, ribbons, curling irons, flowers, combs, brushes, and all the grooming paraphernalia. At the same time, the ladies themselves kept up a continual stream of conversation with each other and their attendants.
In this scene, Nanny enters with great spirit. Shaking hands with everyone and introducing Fanny, she hastily throws off her bonnet and shawl. Bidding Viny to unpack the things, she sets about dressing in good earnest.
“How nice to get here so early,” she said. “Now we can have a chance at the glass and plenty of room to move about in.”
Fanny wondered what she called plenty of room but had yet to learn the signification of the term when applied to the dressing room of a Western party. Thicker and faster came the arrivals, and each lady needed to undergo a thorough dress transformation before appearing downstairs. The labor and confusion necessary to bring this about can be imagined. Such hurryings to and fro, such knockings down and pickings up, such scolding and laughing, in short, such a Babel of sounds as filled the room for an hour or two, Fanny had never heard before. Completing her grooming as soon as possible, she seated herself on one of the beds and watched the proceedings with great interest.
“You, Suke, bring me some more pins directly.” “O please, Miss Ellen, mind my wreath!” “Jule, how much longer are you goin’ to keep the wash bowl?” “Dar now, Miss Eveline did get her coat all wet.” “Did you know Tom Walton was here? I see him in the passage.” “Miss Belle, that’s my starch bag.” “There, now! don’t those slippers fit beautifully?” “Why don’t that girl come back?” “O, Liza, just fasten up my dress, that’s a dear girl!” “Come, girls, do hurry; we shan’t be dressed tonight.”
How it was all brought about, Fanny could not tell, but at last the ladies were dressed, the last sash pinned, and the last curl adjusted. Dresses of thin material, cut low in the neck, with short sleeves, seemed to be the order of the night, which, with wreaths and bunches of artificial flowers in the hair, gave the ladies a handsome appearance. With Miss Belle at the head, they all descended to the parlor and found the gentlemen strolling about, employing themselves as they could, till the night’s amusements commenced; and, indeed, both ladies and gentlemen manifested such eagerness to adjourn to the play-room, that the signal was soon given. They immediately proceeded to a log building in the yard, formerly a schoolroom.
Games soon commenced and were carried on with great vigor. The young people made up in activity what was lacking in gracefulness of motion. Game after game was played, the ladies vying with each other to see who should laugh the most, while those who were left chatted gayly together in groups or tried their powers of fascination upon some long-limbed specimen of humanity.
“What calls the gentlemen upstairs so frequently?” inquired Fanny innocently as groups of two and three disappeared up the steps leading to the room above.
“You are not aware, then, what a formidable rival the ladies have up in the loft?” said Mr. Chester gravely. However, there was a comical expression about the corners of his mouth.
“No, indeed.”
“Well, I only hope you may not witness the overpowering influence sometimes exerted by this same rival,” said Mr. Chester, “but honestly, Miss Hunter, there is serious danger that some of these light-footed young gentlemen may, ere long, be obliged to relinquish their places in our party, all through the attractions presented to them up yonder.”
“I don’t in the least know what you mean.”
“In plain words, they are talking about horses up there; men are crazy over horses you know.”
“Are you in earnest, Mr. Chester?”
“Certainly I am. It would not answer, I suppose, for ladies to intrude upon their modest retirement, or I could convince you in a moment.”
“How can you joke about it, Mr. Chester? I think it is perfectly scandalous.”
“Well, it is bad enough,” said her companion, more gravely. “One living in the West becomes accustomed to such things.”
“I never will,” said Fanny. “If I had known these Christmas parties countenanced such impoliteness, I would have stayed home.”
“A set supper,” Nanny had several times expressed hope that Mrs. Turner would provide it and was not disappointed. The long table was bountifully spread with the substantials of this life. Though not in the style of entertainment on Fifth Avenue, it was admirably suited to the guests who partook of it. A roasted “shoat” graced each end of the board, a side of bacon in the center, while salted beef, cut in thin slices, with pickles and cheese, constituted the side dishes. Hot coffee, cornbread, and biscuits were passed to each guest, and a piece of pound cake and a little preserved fruit were for dessert.
There was plenty of laughter and hearty joking at the table, and the gentlemen’s flushed faces and increased volubility evidenced the truth of Mr. Chester’s assertions.
“The langest day maun hae an end,” says the old Scotch proverb. With a sigh of relief, Fanny finally saw Uncle Jake lay down the tortured fiddle, and the guests, with lingering steps and wishful eyes, retired to seek the few hours of repose left of the night. “Confusion worse confounded” reigned for a time in the apartment appropriated to the ladies’ use, and the numerous couches spread upon the floor increased the difficulty of navigation. At last, when quiet seemed restored, and Fanny was sinking into a peaceful sleep, she was aroused by her neighbors in an adjoining bed, three young ladies who declared that they were “all but starved, and must have something to eat before they could go to sleep.” One of the women was despatched to the storeroom for some slices of cold bacon, and sitting up in bed with the candle before them, they made a hearty repast.
“Of course, you can’t eat half as much as you want at the table,” said one of the young ladies apologetically; “one always wants to appear delicate-like before the gentlemen.”
“What in goodness’ name, Nan, made breakfast so late?” said Dave the next morning, or rather noon, as they were returning home; “I thought we weren’t goin’ to get any.” “Why, you see, they hadn’t any wheat flour in the house for the biscuit,” said Nanny, “and they had to send three miles over the prairie to Mr. John Turner’s to borrow some.”
“Twenty people invited to stay overnight, and no flour in the house?” said Fanny in amazement.
“It rather shocks your Yankee ideas of looking out ahead, Miss Hunter,” said Mr. Chester, laughing. “We are used to such things out this way.”
“Oh! Miss Fanny, people can’t remember everything, you know,” said Nanny; “Belle says they never thought a word about it till this morning.”
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Tags: A Western Christmas in the Old Days, Christmas