Eliza Jane's Birthday

{c}Eliza Jane's Birthday

Winter slammed into the coastal town of Duxbury Massachusetts and with a vengeance in 1847, the early hard frost overcoming the brief Indian summer with startling alacrity. The snow had fallen thickly throughout November and December, melting in the day, returning nearly every night. There had been a week in early January when the snow stopped falling and turned to rain, which froze into slippery, icy puddles on the dirt roads, treacherous for the horse-drawn wagons, which traversed them.

It snowed last night again, snowflakes so soft and light they melted the minute they hit Eliza Jane’s pink little tongue as she stood in the doorway of her family’s home on Franklin Street on the eve of her twelfth birthday. She had been allowed to stay up a bit later for the occasion of her birthday.

Her mother stood behind her there in the doorway, stroking her hair. “Eliza Jane, I remember your birth as if it were yesterday. You were such a beautiful baby, little pink cheeks and your little mouth looked like a little pink bow. You were the sweetest baby of all. You rarely cried.” Eliza’s voice was soft and dreamy, a tear in the corner of her eye revealed the depth of emotion she experienced. “ I remember how thrilled I was when the doctor said you were a girl. Sunday’s child.”

“Yes Mama. Tell me the verse again, please?”

Eliza Perkins Dorr began reciting quietly, “Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child must work for a living” She paused and took young Eliza’s shining face into her hands, “But the child that is born on the Sabbath day is fair and wise and good and gay.” She kissed her forehead. “And that is you, my daughter dearest. Born on a Sunday, an easy baby.”

Eliza had been nearby for the births of her younger brothers and sisters and remembered the bustle of activity in the house on each of those occasions, the whispers among the women when they thought she was out of earshot. She knew, or suspected, that childbirth was painful. “Mama, did it hurt awful much?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“No dear. You came very quickly. Toward the end the pains had been exquisite, for about the last hour, but I had forgotten all about them when I heard your first little cry. You have always been a sweet girl, a good girl. You are what every mother dreams of.”

“May I look at the Bible one more time?” Eliza Jane asks. She enjoys daydreaming about what her life will be like when she is a grown lady like Mama with a husband and a family. She likes to think about what names she might choose for her children and about how she shall list the names in her own family Bible alongside their birth dates. She would choose the names of her babies with great care, knowing once someone or something is named, it sticks with them forever. She was called Eliza Jane to distinguish her from her Mama was Elizabeth. And her older brother Rufus Henry would always be Henry to her. It only made sense, since her father was Rufus too.
“Yes dearest. I’ll get it down and open while you wash your hands.”

“Then will you tell me the ‘begats’?”

“Now dear girl, you have school tomorrow. You know them almost as well as I, anyway. Furthermore it is time you got to bed. One look at the Bible and off to bed you go! I shall come and tuck you in.”

Eliza Jane climbed the carpeted stairs to her second story bedroom shared with her baby sister. She was quiet to keep from waking little Joanna. She glanced into her sister’s little bed, noticed she could use the quilt pulled up around her shoulders and gently did so, admiring her mother’s needlework all the while. She dutifully poured water from the pitcher into the china basin on their dresser and washed her hands carefully. Then she returned to her mother’s side where the Perkins family Bible lay on a table open to the page where her birth was listed along with all of the dates of the births of her siblings.

“Eliza Jane, I think you are just like I was at your age. Already thinking about what you may name your babies. Is that right?”

“Yes Mama. I do think about that! How did you know?”

“Dear girl, a mother knows. Now you know you shall have to consult your future husband about his preferences, and you must honor his wishes. When all is said and done, after you have named your children to honor his father and grandfather, what names would you choose?”

“I like the names from the Old Testament best, Mama, like Gamaliel.”

“Gamaliel is a lovely name. It means Recompenser or gift from G-d. What about for a girl” Eliza asked her daughter.

“I might choose Mehitable, or Rebecca or maybe Rachel.” Eliza answered. Wouldn’t that be lovely , she thought, Rachel Weston.

There in the family Bible, first was her father, Rufus Babcock Dorr, born October 5, 1809. Below, in her mother’s beautiful hand was written Elizabeth Perkins born November 14, 1813. Then, below her mother’s name was listed her brother Rufus Henry born July 24, 1833. Then there was her name, Elizabeth Jane Dorr, January 25, 1835. Followed by the names and dates of her little brothers and sisters, George, Nathan, Levi, Francis; whom they called Frank and baby Joanna.

There was another page in the Bible for recording the marriages and deaths. Eliza read the listings of the dates of death of her great grandparents and their parents.

“Tell me again about Miles Standish, Mama.”

“Eliza Jane, how many times do you want to hear that story! Myles Standish was your fifth great grandfather. Miles Standish and his wife Barbara had a son, Alexander. Alexander Standish married Sarah Alden, who was the daughter of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins.”

“And they lived in the house on the Blue Fish River, near St. George Street, didn’t they Mama. All the houses on St. George Street are grand. Aren’t they Papa!”

“Yes dear, John Alden and Priscilla built the house on St. George Street with land they were given when they left Plymouth. John Alden and Priscilla Mullins were perhaps the third marriage in Plymouth Colony. They called their daughter Sarah Standish. Sarah Standish married Benjamin Soule and they had a child named Benjamin Soule Junior. Benjamin Soule Junior married Hannah Whitman and they had a child whom they named Abigail. Abigail married Luke Perkins. They had a son, your grandfather - my father, whom they named Levi. Your grandfather married your grandmother, Jane Sturtevant and they had a daughter, your mother whom they named Elizabeth Jane Perkins. Eliza, your Mama, married Rufus Babcock Dorr, your father, and had Elizabeth Jane Dorr twelve years ago tomorrow. Now. Is that enough of the ‘begats’ for you tonight, young lady?”

“But tell me about Miles Standish and the Mayflower, please?”

“Tomorrow, little one, tomorrow. Now off to bed you go. I will be in to kiss you goodnight. Tell your father goodnight.”

Her father Rufus was seated in his easy chair nearby, still reading. He looked up at his eldest daughter and smiled.

“Goodnight little lady. Sleep well and dream of what you might be given as a birthday gift!” He kissed his eldest daughter on the forehead and she turned to go up the carpeted stairs to her bedroom, which she shared with baby sister Joanna.

Rufus Babcock Dorr was born in Boston. He left Boston when he was a young boy of seventeen and he moved to Bridgewater. There he learned the blacksmith trade. It was in Bridgewater that he met Eliza Perkins of Plympton and they married soon after. Eliza Jane’s father said her mother was the prettiest girl in all of Massachusetts. Her mother told her that her father used to sing to her, and that was what made her fall in love with him. Eliza knew from hearing her father’s wonderful singing voice in church that her mother must be telling the gospel truth.

Rufus was a handsome man and well liked among the community. He was always cheerful and jolly and expected his children to be of cheerful countenance as well. He has done well for his family here in Duxbury. There is plenty of work for a blacksmith. The shipbuilding in the area had made him a relatively wealthy man.

Her mother frequently tells Eliza and her brothers and sisters stories of the early Duxbury settlers who were given land as part of the Second Land Division of the original Plymouth Colony. She is proud to know her family descended from those who came across the ocean on that difficult sixty-five day journey aboard the Mayflower. She is thrilled to hear the stories of the first years over and over again. She can look, under supervision, at the family Bible where all of the names and dates are recorded carefully in her mother’s graceful script.

The following morning Eliza awakens early to find the world outside her bedroom covered in snow. She remembered it was her birthday and hurried to get dressed for school before going downstairs to eat breakfast. She was sure her birthday gift would be waiting for her there by her plate. Perhaps she might be given a doll or maybe a tea set. Surely there would be a practical gift as well. Maybe Mama might have knit her a new hat or mittens.

She tumbled down the stairs and into the dining room. There, beside her place setting is a new sock doll and a brand new pair of red mittens with matching hat! Oh yes!

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday Eliza Jane!” Her brother Henry calls out. George, Nathan, Levi, Frank and little Joanna joined in greeting their sister.

“We are having a special breakfast of pancakes and sausages today, Eliza!” Nathan said. “Mama made a special breakfast for you!”

“Oh thank you Mama! They are wonderful mittens! Thank you for the doll! I shall call her Priscilla, after Priscilla Mullins.”

“Now all of you need to hurry. School begins soon. Here are your lunch pails. Eliza Jane, your lunch has a special treat!”

“Eliza Jane, will you please share your treat? I hope it is a candy!” Her little brother George exclaimed. “ May I be excused from the table Mama?”

“Yes George. Have a wonderful day.” Mama bent to kiss George’s freckled forehead. “Be a good boy and study your primer. Go on now.”

Moments later the five eldest children leave for the mile walk to school. Little Frank will begin school in the fall and for now stays home with his mother and younger sister.

Henry noted with surprise how pretty his younger sister was becoming as she grew up to be a young lady. Eliza Jane is rather pretty, a little chubby girl wrapped up against the cold in so much winter clothing, she is just about as wide as she is tall. She is mostly warm, with her heavy wool coat buttoned up tight over a thick wool dress to her ankles. Her leather boots cover stockings knitted by her mother. Eliza Jane is wearing her new red mittens, her face enveloped by the matching scarf, a lone auburn curl defiantly escaping along her temple. Only long luxurious eyelashes fringe hazel eyes flecked with gold, her little freckled nose and plump cheeks pink from the cold peek out.

Slush spatters and ice crunches beneath her boots as Eliza Jane meanders down the street in her own private world. Even in the midst of her brothers, she daydreamed as they walked along, nearly breathless under the weight of her coat. Every step she takes is cautious. She lifts each heavy boot cautiously placing it down again as far forward as she dared to prevent the embarrassment of another fall. There is the sound of their heavy breathing and the crunch, crunch, crunch of the snow with each step.

“Look everyone!” Levi called. “Each time I blow out I make a cloud!”

“Of course, Levi. It is always like that in winter. Papa says that winters may be harsh here in Duxbury but in Boston, where he grew up they were bone chilling.” The children shudder to consider how cold it must be to chill one’s very bones.

With every exhalation of her warm breath, there appears a small puffy cloud of condensation before her. With every intake, her nostrils detect the scent of the nearby sea.

Eliza Jane likes that her birthday is in winter, her favorite season, when everything is cast in such contrast, the sea gray and white-capped waves dashing against the coast so quieted and cast in whiteness. She is grateful they live near the ocean so close to where the Plymouth Pilgrims landed in 1620, where the very first Thanksgiving feast took place.

The town of Duxbury is quite noisy, even at this early morning hour. A canopy of seagulls call out to each other in lonely shrill pleas as they circle above the bustling shipyards. By the wharves, the lines and sheets flap in the breeze with sharp cracks. The tall ships creak at anchor, groaning like weary old men. Shouts in many languages and strange accents carry across the water of Cape Cod Bay as the men work to build the ships in the many shipyards of Duxbury.

As the children walk along, Eliza Jane holds her hands out in front of her and admires the mittens her Mama knit for her. Bright red mittens would be easily seen if they were to fall into a snow bank. Eliza is always careful to tuck her mittens down deep in her coat pockets when she gets to school. She lost a mitten once and felt terribly sorry telling Mama she could not find it. But she was only seven then and learned from her mistake. Mama had understood. With five children, another on the way, and a husband to knit gloves, scarves and mittens for, she was sorely pressed to keep a kind tone to her voice as she encouraged Eliza Jane to be more careful about her things. But she also took some of the blame for knitting the girl mittens from leftover gray wool. From that day forward Eliza Jane took it to heart and was methodical about her mittens and hats.

The children saw Mr. Paine’s wagon, loaded high with barrels and piles of rope pulled by huge brown horses in harnesses with bells on them approaching from behind. The horses harness bells jingle with each tandem step. Eliza Jane looks at the harness, proud to think her grandfather made it with his own two hands.

“Good morning Dorr children! How are all of you this bright winter day?” Mr. Paine asked as he halted his team of horses. When the horses stop, they paw at the road and snort and blow. The vapor hangs in the air in front of them looking like teakettles at full boil.

“Just fine Mr. Paine. Just fine. How are you and Missus Paine?” Henry remembers his manners to ask after the wife of their neighbor.

Eliza Jane knows the horseshoes the horses wear on their enormous hooves are the result of her own father’s hard work. Mr. Paine is one of Rufus Dorr’s regular customers. He has many horses and they need their shoes replaced regularly. He counts on his neighbor to do the job right.

“Mrs. Paine is quite well, thank you Henry.”

“Are you going down to the wharves?” Levi asked.

“Yes Levi. Yes I am. I am bringing this load of barrels for the ship Arab. She sails for delivery to Fairhaven. She’s a beauty I am told. You children have a long walk ahead of you to get to school on time, do you not? I would be happy to give you a lift if only I had left you some room. Sorry about that!”

“That is alright, Mr. Paine. We like to walk just fine!” Nathan said.

“Have yourselves a good day of learning!” With that, Mr. Paine lightly touched the reins to the backs of the horses. “Now go on Wills, go on Betsy!” The two horses leaned into the collars and moved forward as a unit. Soon the bells were back to jingling merrily as they moved down the road.

The ice was patchy beneath the snow-covered road and Eliza Jane walked carefully, slipping from time to time. Each time, she managed to catch her balance back, assisted by her brothers catching her elbows. Last week she had not been so fortunate. She had slipped in the schoolyard and fallen on her backside right in front of Will and Nathaniel Weston and one of the Sprague boys at recess. They had laughed, except Will, who helped her to her feet. She was so embarrassed she could hardly speak. William Weston was the one boy she was especially sweet on. He was three years older than she, devilishly handsome and quite charming.

The children walked on Tremont Street past the First Parish Church; the yellow ochre paint seemed to glow in the snowfall. The cemetery and the town hall flanked the church on either side. Eliza Jane kept her eyes on the church steeple as she passed, rather than think about looking at the cemetery. She scanned past the steeple and looked up toward the Town Hall clock tower. They still had time to get to school if she didn’t dawdle, and she had no intention of dawdling this close to the cemetery.

“Come on boys! Let’s hurry!” Eliza Jane called out to her brothers.

“Awww! Eliza Jane is in a hurry to see her sweetheart!” Henry teased.

“I am not! I do not have a sweetheart! Mama says I am not old enough to even think about courting.”

“Courting and thinking about courting are two different things is what Papa says.” Henry winked at her. “We want to be sure to get to school in time to see Wills Weston come in, now don’t we Eliza Jane.”

“It does not matter. He does not even know my name. I might as well be a bug. He doesn’t even know I am alive.” She sniffed.

Eliza Jane tried to stop thinking about the embarrassing fall and Wills fingers on hers by recalling the sermon about the Tower of Babel of Sunday past. She had listened carefully to most of it, allowing herself to read the massive tablets on either side of the pulpit only for a short while. The tablets contain passages from both the Old and the New Testament and were a gift from the church treasurer, Captain Gershom Bradford.

The Westons, who donated the clock in the First Parish Church were one of the biggest shipbuilding families in Duxbury. Ezra Weston Junior was so powerful; so wealthy, he was called King Caesar.

All along Washington Street, St. George Street, and Powder Point Avenue, all you saw were the homes of Duxbury shipwrights, sailors, master mariners and merchants. The largest, most elegant homes belonged to the big four shipbuilding families; the Weston’s, the Drew family, the Winsors, and the Spragues.

The shipbuilding families like the Westons, all occupied the center pews, right close to the pulpit. Eliza Jane sat to the left and two rows behind Will Weston every Sunday and dreamed of the day they would purchase their own pew closer to the front of the church when they were married. She imagined serving Will breakfast and then imagined him saying, “Well now Eliza Jane, I have spoken with our good friend Mr. Standish who agreed to sell me their pew in the church. We will be meeting at the town clerk’s office at nine this very day to record the sale and the deed. By this Sunday, we shall have a family pew, which, by the grace of G-d will be filled with sons in the not too distant future! Then, when it is time, I shall pass the Weston family pew on to my son for his family.
Eliza Jane thought it might be splendid to marry Will Weston or Nathaniel and get to sit in one of the pews right at the front of the church. What a wedding that would be! But he did not even know she existed. She was sure of it. Eliza Jane knew full well Will Weston would probably marry one of the Sprague girls or maybe one of the Delano girls.

She thought it best to put the whole subject of who Will Weston would marry out of her mind and concentrate on the reality that she would marry someone much like her father. He might not be one of the wealthiest men in Duxbury, but her future husband would be just as fine a man as her father. Most likely, like nearly every man in Duxbury, her future husband would work with ships. Nearly everyone she knew was involved with shipbuilding or making things for the shipbuilders, like the barrels Mr. Paine made.

“We are almost there. Just in time. Cannot have Eliza Jane being late for school and be scolded by the teacher on her birthday now can we Levi!” Henry chided.

They were crossing the schoolyard. The snow trampled down to slush by dozens of booted feet. Children poured into the door of the schoolhouse, beside which Miss Whitman, beautiful slim blonde Miss Whitman stood smiling radiantly. Both Henry and Eliza Jane sighed at the very sight of their teacher. Both were smitten with her sweet demeanor, her tender ministrations to the education of her charges.

Eliza Jane knew Miss Whitman was engaged to be married; her betrothed one very tall gentleman named Ichabod Soule. He would tower over Miss Whitman, who was only slightly taller than Eliza Jane.

She was so lost in her daydreaming she didn’t hear him calling her name.

“Eliza! Eliza Jane!”

“Oh!”

“Happy birthday Eliza. Here. I brought you this.” Will Weston said as he handed her a lovely molasses stick wrapped in paper and tied with a pink ribbon.