LIZZY Page 7

  Martin held firm to Lizzy’s hand and provided her with his own handkerchief so she could wipe her tears. He looked over at her with concern. A priest stood up stiffly at the pulpit to address the crowd. Martin wasn’t the least bit interested in what the man was saying. He was too worried about his Lizzy.

  To him, she was just as lovely as the first time he’d laid eyes on her. Today on this day of reverence, she was more beautiful than ever. He couldn’t decide if he loved her more because of the sparkle in her eyes, which had never faded over the years. Then again, he thought, it must be because of the fine laugh lines forming at the corner of her eyes or the softness of her skin, now gracefully showing her age. He gazed over her attire and marveled how well she’d kept her figure over the years, especially after delivering four children. Yes, Martin, you are a very lucky man.

  Lizzy looked over at him again and scowled, which only made him smile. His staring annoyed her. As the young boys’ choir finished singing the last stanza of “Amazing Grace,” Lizzy wiped her tears and thought long and affectionately about the man they were there to pay their respects to, but she thought even more affectionately about what that man had once meant to her own father.

  John C. Fremont was known to many as a war hero, an explorer, a politician and even a rebel in his own right. But to Lizzy, he was the man who had been her father’s best friend and the best man at his wedding.

  As Lizzy held on to Martin’s arm, they walked quietly out the side door and through the garden just a few feet from where they exited the church, neither one saying a word. She looked up at the tall steeple and thought of her father’s church in Wheeling. Her eyes circled the grounds and she noticed a small graveyard. She guided Martin towards the rows of tombstones to avoid the reception line forming on the back side of the church hall.

  “I’ve always had a thing about looking at old cemeteries,” she whispered.

  “Didn’t know that about you, dear.” Martin laughed. “Should I be alarmed?”

  “Oh, come on, silly; it really is a lot of fun, if you can read them that is.” Lizzy tugged on Martin’s arm to follow her.

  Lizzy had always been intrigued with the writing on tombstones. Just recently she’d learned of the due diligence that her great-grandfather, Jacob, had when it came to visiting cemeteries.

  It was through her ongoing reading of Hannah’s diary that she learned that Jacob had lost his first wife, Anne and his three children to yellow fever in 1789. Hannah had written that he would visit their gravesites every Saturday, never missing a one. On those visits, Jacob would read from a note tucked under a rock near Anne’s marker. He’d written the note the day he’d buried them and it had the simple words, “I’m so very sorry and I will always love you” written on it. It wasn’t until Hannah came into his life and helped him to accept their deaths that he’d finally been able to lose the need to read from his note every week. Lizzy felt a connection with her great-grandfather. She too would have visited her family’s gravesite every week, if she was closer, that is.

  Lizzy shook off a chill that swept over her, though it was warm and balmy in the church yard. She squeezed Martin’s arm tightly as they continued to the next few tombstones. They frowned at the condition of the cemetery grounds. Weeds surrounded many of the tombstones and rain from the recent storm had splattered mud on half of them. The path was uneven which caused Lizzy to frequently miss her step causing her to step into one of the many potholes in the soft ground.

  “Now there’s an odd one,” Lizzy said as she leaned in closer to read. The name was but a smear in the marble, but what Lizzy could read was:

  Richard Churcher

  1676-1681

  “Oh, dear Lord, he’s but a child,” Lizzy remarked. “Must be one of the first ones ever laid to rest here.”

  “Either that or his mother’s cooking didn’t agree with him,” Martin replied dryly.

  “Martin, this is not a place to try your impertinent jokes out on me. Thank God there’s no one around to hear you. Please, if you will, be civil and have some respect for the child.”

  Martin suppressed the urge to follow up with another joke. He patted Lizzy’s hand as he followed her to the next stone.

  Horatio Gates

  1727-1806

  “My word, now that’s a name I’ve heard in my school days back in Independence. A general, but by all accounts, not a well-respected one, at least not from what Mrs. Abercrombie used to teach us.”

  “And she’d have the finest knowledge on the subject fifteen hundred miles from where the esteemed general presided, I guess?”

  “Oh Martin, do you have to chime in on every comment I make?”

  Lizzy thought of who this general actually was and what he did or didn’t do to cause him to go down in history as he did. She thought of the cruelty of war and what history tells about it. Her face softened as she thought of her favorite brother, Daniel. She could still remember the day that they placed him in the ground. Fredericksburg, 1862.

  “It was right after we first met, you and me.”

  “The what?” Martin replied, caught off guard.

  “This tombstone. It reminds me of when we laid Daniel to rest after the battle at Fredericksburg. We had met earlier that month and I can still remember coming home from meeting you and hearing how Papa had chased after Daniel. He’d raced through the town and up the hill, just below the Sunken Road. He never said much, but I know he always blamed himself for not getting to him soon enough. Oh, dear Lord, that was a dreadful day, Martin, so dreadful indeed.”

  “I like to remember Fredericksburg in a way that has me arriving at your house and being nearly toppled over by your little brother. I had to wait on the porch forever until you made it home.” Martin chuckled, then added, “You know? I like my version better. It brought you to me.”

  Lizzy looked up and met Martin’s eyes with a smile. “Yes, my love, it is a bittersweet memory, isn’t it? I have you and our family, but I also have a tombstone in Fredericksburg with the name Daniel Monroe on it that will always carry a pain in my heart. Please don’t think ill of me. I do love our moment on that porch along with that wild young rascal that beat me home, though I’d swear he cheated.”

  They shared a laugh and continued to stroll slowly through the cemetery, arm in arm. The voices from the distant crowd were growing quiet; most had paid their respects and moved on but a few remained behind. Lizzy and Martin, though they glanced towards the reception line from time to time, never had a desire to walk that way and neither one felt the least bit of guilt.

  “It would be the right thing to do,” Martin said, nodding towards the last of the reception line. Lizzy just squeezed Martin’s arm and nudged him forward in response.

  Robert Fulton

  1765-1815

  “I know this one, he’s the inventor of the—”

  “Oh my God!” Lizzy exclaimed, loudly interrupting Martin’s attempt at remembering history.

  Martin looked over to see what Lizzy had discovered. Stretching his neck and squinting, he asked, “What? All I can see is 1803. Who is it?”

  This is so very odd,” Lizzy spoke, her voice lost in the moment. “It’s so strangely odd,” she said again as she began to read the etchings in the stone.

  Alexander Hamilton

  1755-1803

  Martin looked at the tombstone with the old patriot’s name on it and tried to understand her meaning.

  “Martin, here we are on the grounds of the Old Trinity Church, paying our respects to my father’s best friend John C. Fremont and at the same time, we are standing in front of where a man lies in rest who my great-grandmother called ‘Satan himself.’ Now you tell me that isn’t the least bit strange to you.”

  “Satan himself? Dear, are you feeling all right? I know this has all been a bit troublesome, but. . . .”

  “Dear Lord, Martin, I’m just fine, but don’t you see the irony of it all?” Lizzy nudged him towards the back gate. “Here in this cemetery lay pe
ople who were tied to several of my family’s generations. First, with my great-grandmother Hannah who couldn’t stand Alexander Hamilton and then, on the other side of the property, a man who was so dear to my father lying in wait, waiting for his final resting spot farther up the Hudson. It’s just oddly ironic to have them both right here, don’t you see? It’s almost like I can see my father and my great-grandmother’s hand in all of this, like they’re right here with us.”

  “I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Martin replied. “You’ve got me all tied up in knots and I’m sorry but I just don’t get the irony.”

  Lizzy squeezed his arm as they crossed the street towards the Hudson River. “Oh, never mind; just forget it. No need to get your knickers in a twist about it. Just think of it as a woman’s intuition or a burst of craziness that we women are known to have from time to time.”

  Lizzy stopped once they’d made it across the street. She turned and looked up to Martin, he on the sidewalk and her still in the street. “I still think it was ironic; let’s just leave it at that and not get all uppity about it, shall we?

  As she turned towards the sidewalk, Martin grabbed Lizzy’s arm and pulled her up and out of the street just as a wagon full of rotten-smelling fish raced by. The driver, clearly at fault, screamed obscenities at them as he pulled sharply to avoid hitting Lizzy. The wagon’s cargo, noticeably overloaded and loosely tied down, sped by them, splattering parts of its foul contents into the street and onto Lizzy’s clothes.

  Lizzy bent over and placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath and nearly vomited from the smell of fish. She glanced at her clothing, her eyes wide with anger. She began to yell out, but stopped herself. Realizing that they were in clear view of the church, Lizzy grabbed Martin’s hand and hurried down 14th Street, the Hudson River only a few blocks in front of them. Arriving at the boardwalk, they found a bench and sat.

  “Well, I have to admit it,” Martin said between breaths. “We did end up making a scene back there, even if we didn’t intend to.”

  “I guess you’re right and by God, look at the sight of us!”

  Martin looked at Lizzy and then eyed his own now-bedraggled clothing and burst into a raucous laugh.

  “I do hope that your humor is not intended on my behalf; you look just as atrocious as I, but I do have to admit, you smell a heap worse,” Lizzy said in her defense. “At least I don’t smell like a dead fish!

  “You don’t?”

  *  *  *  *

  Martin focused his eyes on the half-set sun reflecting off the surface of the Hudson. The two had enjoyed their time together, although there had been a minor hiccup with a fish truck and ruined clothing. They realized that with one child somewhere out west and three still at home, they hadn’t spent enough time together, just the two of them. They talked about William and his whereabouts, about Martin losing his election bid, and of moving the family to New York, which Martin still felt a twinge of guilt over.

  “James says he loves it here. Says he wants to join me at the Exchange on Wall Street.” Lizzy reached for Martin’s hand and held it tight. They watched the colors change in the reflection of the water as the sun finally dipped out of view. Lizzy sensed a contentment in Martin that she’d not seen in so long.

  Martin and James working together. Now that would be awfully nice. If that will keep this peace about him, I’m all for it.

  *  *  *  *

  Lizzy looked out her kitchen window and chuckled. A bit different here. It’s a river again, a much bigger river, dear Lizzy, but a river none the less.

  Lizzy inhaled sharply and exhaled with a slight moan. She had to admit that it was still hard to get used to, but looking out the window at the Hudson River was not like looking down from the porch in Wheeling at the little Ohio.

  It had been over two years since they made the trip east. To Lizzy, as she sat at her table, sipping her morning cup of coffee, the past two years seemed like a blink of an eye. First there was the selling of the house in Charleston, then the packing, then getting their belongings delivered by freight and wagon. Once she had all the logistics in ink, she only had the family to move.

  The thought of the events of the trip made her gulp down that last of her coffee in one swig. That should have been the easy part; her alone with three children, right? Still think Martin had the easy part, coming out beforehand and getting settled at the Exchange and all, but Lordy me, maybe he could’ve come back to help. Ya think?

  Lizzy faded into her memories of that fateful trip from Charleston to New York City.

  The first train they were to leave on was delayed. The second train only took them as far as Philadelphia. After begging for a night’s lodging from a hotel manager who frowned on sole mothers traveling with children—young adult children, but in his mind still children—she secured a night’s stay. Once back on the train, they had arrived in Lower Manhattan by noon. There, they were met by Martin, a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a sheepish look on his face.

  *  *  *  *

  Martin entered the kitchen and startled Lizzy away from her thoughts. She broke herself away from her traveling memories and brought herself back to reality.

  “You going to tell me that Hamilton is still alive, or John C. Fremont is walking down the Hudson with Papa or. . . .”

  “Now don’t you go and get me all worried about you again, wife,” Martin said with another squeeze.

  Lizzy smiled. “No worries, dear husband, just grand memories, that’s all.”

  “Memories are always grand when it comes to you and me.”

  Lizzy sighed and turned slightly towards Martin’s soft hold on her. She tilted her head and frowned when she looked at the expression on his face.

  “Wha . . . what is it, Martin?”

  “It’s about William.”

  “William? Our William?”

  “Yes, love, but it’s—”

  “Don’t tell me it’s just. . . .”

  “Lizzy, now come on, I’m serious; it’s just news that’s all, just news.”

  Lizzy breathed in deeply as she listened to Martin’s news of the whereabouts of their oldest child. Even though the lure of the Oklahoma Territory was inviting and William had stayed in the area for several months, he had finally decided to pull up stakes and head farther west.

  “And where did you say he ended up? Southern or Northern California?”

  “San Francisco,” Martin said as he looked out towards the Hudson. “Don’t know much about it, but the way William described the area, it kind of makes me envious in a way. He says that the bay is as large as an ocean and you can taste the salt in the air on the tip of your tongue. He describes the seagulls as large eagles with long beaks and the squawking of their calls can drive any sane man into the depths of drinking.”

  “No, you don’t, Mister!” Lizzy stood up and yelled out. “I’ve seen that look on your face before, Martin McKeever. I’m not moving again!”

  Martin smiled mischievously. “Now it’s time for me to tell you not to get your knickers in a twist! Even though the thought of it sounds a might interesting, to say the least.”

  Lizzy slapped his arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter, husband. What else does William have to say?”

  “Not much, it was a short letter; but he said he’d write again soon to tell us, the ‘big news.’”

  “Big news? What’s bigger than moving three thousand miles away from his mother, pray tell?”

  Martin laughed again then continued. “Something about writing to tell us about. . . .”

  Lizzy furrowed her brow and tilted her head with skeptical anticipation.

  “About . . . ?”

  “Oh, nothing special. Just something about a girl.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Letter from California

  1891

  To my dearest Mother and Father,

  I am in hopes and prayers that you are doing well and comfortable in you
r new home in New York City. I do apologize for the length of my previous correspondence, but if you remember, I’ve never been the literate of the family, always left that for James.”

  “Oh, so now he finally realizes what a horrible writer he is. You’d think he’d know how much his mother worries about him; how much his mother lays in bed on sleepless nights not knowing the whereabouts or health of her first born. You’d think. . . .”

  “Dear God, woman, would you mind if I continue reading?” Martin teased with a laugh.

  William’s letter had arrived earlier in the day, but Lizzy couldn’t bear opening it until Martin came home from work. She always felt it was easier to hear news from Martin rather than reading it herself.

  “Yes, please, do continue. Sorry.” Lizzy shrugged her shoulders meekly and smiled.

  I know my last letter referenced my latest move, though I never really elaborated on it. Oklahoma was far better than I had ever imagined. I would have been quite happy to stay there but I happened to meet a very nice family who befriended me. As you can imagine, finding friends in this part of the country is rather cumbersome to say the least. This family brought me in as one of their own, though I still maintained my own quarters. They were originally heading to the Alaska Territory in search of whatever riches are there. It wasn’t until we began to discuss the golden coast of California that my heart skipped a beat and my eyes opened wide.

  “Opened his eyes to what?” Lizzy asked, causing Martin to pause. She looked out the window of her cozy parlor, with its leather couches and overstuffed pillows that created a warm sanctuary for congregating on this late afternoon. “What has our son gotten himself into, Martin?”

  “Let’s find out, dear. Can I get you anything before I continue?”

  Martin rose and took a second look back at Lizzy sitting in her favorite spot in the room. She had two oversized pillows nestled against her side, her arms clutching them both as if she’d never let them go.