Sunday Cosmopolitans: Sunday Cosmopolitans, Intimate Friends & Brilliant Minds from Bygone New York

By Lynn Clark Dorr

Intimate Friends & Brilliant Minds from Bygone New York

On Sunday evenings from 1850 to 1871, the poets Alice and Phoebe Cary host New Yorks choicest, most cosmopolitan literary salon--the first American bluestocking of its kind.

The character-driven plot follows the lives of the energetic sisters in their rise to success. It is a portrait of intellectual, independent women, i.e. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mary Louise Booth, Fanny Fern and others, who challenge laws and mindsets, breaking the glass ceiling of their day.
Their intimate story parallels the historic deeds and events involving not only the women, but their extraordinary group of close men friends, including Horace Greeley, P.T. Barnum, Bayard Taylor, and John Greenleaf Whittier. Horace Greeley called Phoebe the wittiest woman in America, and Edgar Allan Poe described Alices poem, Pictures of Memory, one of the most musically perfect lyrics in the English language.
Before, during, and after the Civil War, abolition, suffrage, religion, politics, and social reform are heated issues. There is adventure, discovery, and financial chaos. In the ambiance of Alice and Phoebes cozy home on 20th Street, philosophy, politics, and literature mingle with fortune, rank, and wit. America comes into its own in literature and New York takes on world prominence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543479584

Lynn Clark Dorr

Lynn Clark Dorr has a versatile professional career as a feature writer-turned-novelist, public relations executive, and published author. She was an on-air broadcaster and corporate spokesperson with a background in journalism, fashion, and design. Early on in her career she wrote a best-selling book, How to Enjoy Life Between12 and 20. That came as the result of Lynn Clarks expertise, and guidance of hundreds of Los Angeles teenage girls in their personal grooming, social skills, and self-confidence. Later, in the City of Philadelphia during a civil rights crisis in1968, Lynn Clark successfully created and administered the city-wide Model-Teen Program. It included 8,000 teenage girls of all socio-economic and ethnic backgrounds taught at the grassroots level. For that record-breaking achievement she received a presidential award. A painstakingly accurate researcher with a passion to study the lives and careers of successful business women in American history, it took Lynn twelve years to complete her second book. Sunday Cosmopolitans, Intimate Friends & Brilliant Minds from Bygone New York is a captivating story about what life was like in the mid-nineteenth century, and friendships of early motivators in the American Womens Movement.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by Lynn Clark Dorr.

Author Photo Credit: Harry Langdon

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018900832

ISBN:                  Hardcover                     978-1-5434-7960-7

                            Softcover                       978-1-5434-7959-1

                            eBook                            978-1-5434-7958-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/02/2018

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

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San Francisco, 1915. Four-generations of beach-goers, in front, baby and (later Lynn’s Mom), Lorraine Merrill. Back row from left, ‘Grandmama,’ Edna Fleming Merrill; Great Grandmother, Sadie Curtis Wixom; Great-Great Grandmother, Rachael Carey.

Introduction

Veering off Highway 99 at Williams, California, I headed down the zigzag country road to see Grandmama. A fine storyteller, I relished hearing tales of her early days in San Francisco; the Gay 90s; surviving the violent earthquake in 1906; and attending the Suffrage Convention held in the city that same year. The fight was on to win for California women the right to vote, she said.

"Women had been bitterly defeated previously by the Liquor Dealer’s League in the cities, so we left no stone unturned. For the next few years we were an organized machine going door-to-door passing out suffrage handbills not only throughout the cities, but this time, concentrating on the small towns of California. On Election Day, October 10, 1911, the results appeared grim as city newspapers declared the women’s franchise vote dead. Then, after a dramatic pause, a smile brightened grandmother’s face, We won! she cheered, Two days after the election, exactly as we suffragists planned, it was votes from the small towns and valleys that finally delivered the victory."

You take voting for granted, dear, but you shouldn’t, she reminded me. That right and other freedoms we enjoy today represent a struggle that began back East a century and a half ago with a group of unique cosmopolitan thinkers and doers, suffragists and abolitionists, they risked their lives, limbs, and reputations. Many were close friends and colleagues of the writers, and our relatives, Alice and Phoebe Cary, whose Sunday evening literary gatherings, referred to as ‘bluestockings’, were legendary.

Following a good visit that included a hearty lunch, it was time to go. Grandmama told a joke that made me laugh, then handed me an heirloom she insisted I take with me. Wrapped in silver cloth, it was the Cary’s coin silver flatware that had been passed down in the family. I objected, but she insisted, saying, Let’s have no more fussing. With that, we hugged, and said our goodbyes.

It wasn’t until I returned home in the evening, unrolled the cloth, and actually held the silver spoons in my hand that the compulsion came over me. Subliminally I was transfixed, standing in the corner of the Cary sisters’ brownstone parlor on 20th Street in New York, listening to lively conversations held 150 years ago between Alice, Phoebe, Horace Greeley, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, P.T. Barnum, Harriet Beecher Stowe, John Greenleaf Whittier, and some fifty other close friends of stature, whom I knew had shaped America’s social and political thought of the day.

Call it psychometry, divining information about people or events associated with an object solely by touching it, or a fertile imagination with seeds having been planted by Grandmama’s stories in my youth, I may never know. Whichever it was, there was power in the spoons that transcended time and space, and seemed to contain a pent up energy straight from Alice and Phoebe to me. I knew I was meant to be a conduit, a channel, in order to write Sunday Cosmopolitans and chronicle their notable lives, linking the untold historic significance of their brave and inspiring friends, along with their deeds, lest all be lost and forgotten in the flickering speck of time within the chasm of the mid-1800s.

# # #

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"A woman’s club! The sneers and sarcasm we’ve met from men have acknowledged our power; therefore, we must think for ourselves and give our opinions, not because it’s our right, as because it’s our duty.

We propose to open new avenues of employment to women, to make them less dependent. To lift them out of unwomanly self-distrust and disqualifying diffidence, into womanly self-respect and self-knowledge."

— Alice Cary

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Women getting the right to vote and their rightful say in things is a serious business, especially for working women.

— Phoebe Cary

Chapter 1

The passenger car of the New York Central jostles her about. As she sits watching the familiar scenery around Cincinnati speed by, she’s pensive, because she’s leaving her past behind. Alice Cary fights back tears. When her body gets used to the rhythm of the tracks, she quiets down and begins fortifying her resolve to let go of the sorrow in her past. But, she warns herself not to expect only pleasure in the future, either. Rather, she must trust in her own sensibilities and practical nature. She can write well enough—she knows that—and prolifically too, if need be. And there is a need. With only the money earned from her share of the published book of collective poetry, she has limited funds to support herself. Now, all alone, she is setting out on a journey to New York to create a new life for herself built on a career as a writer.

There is no turning back.

As she closes her eyes, her mind drifts to her childhood … In a picturesque country farmhouse surrounded by fragrant apple and cherry trees, sweet-briar and lush gardens, Alice, seven, and Phoebe, three, began their lives much like a fairy tale. Their adoring parents, Robert and Elizabeth Cary owned a farm in Mount Pleasant, eight miles north of Cincinnati, Ohio, choosing the area for its relatively mild four season climate. The balmy spring-like days commence in early March, with wild flowers everywhere the eye could see. And the fall extends into November, with the hillsides laden with deciduous trees bursting with orange, red, and bright yellow.

As a bridal couple, Robert and Elizabeth (née Jessup), were mindful they would lead a difficult pioneering existence in this remote area. Undaunted by their challenging circumstances, and looking forward to a gratifying life together, they married in 1813, following Robert’s military service in the War of 1812. Happily, the two settled down to raise a family, which, in short order, burgeoned into nine children. There came to be two boys, Warren and Asa, who were out-numbered by seven girls: Rowena, Susan, Rhoda, Alice, Phoebe, Lucy, and Elmina. The eldest, Rowena, was born in 1814, and the youngest, a baby named, Elmina, came along in 1831. In the scheme of things, Alice was fourth in line, born on April 26, 1820, and Phoebe, sixth, was born four years and five months later, on September 24, 1824.

Unlike the rhyme, There was old an woman who lived in a shoe…had so many children, she knew not what to do, Elizabeth Cary knew exactly how to manage a large family. She was an exemplary, well-ordered housewife and a wise and kind mother. Highly intelligent, Elizabeth was beautiful, with brilliant blue eyes and soft golden hair. She liked nothing more than gathering her children around her, comforting them, and reading stories and biographies about the great men and women of history. Her children idolized her and there is little wonder why.

Robert, too, was a devoted, guiding parent who believed in raising his family on sound principles to build character. He took great pride in farming and considered springtime and harvests a miracle. The animals responded to the kind, gentle pats he gave them by following him around as he did his chores. A tall, dark-haired handsome man with a radiant smile and pearly white teeth, he had what Alice would describe many years later as the poet’s eyes to see and the poet’s heart to feel. Alice resembled her father in looks. The two had been kindred spirits since her early childhood, thriving on times they could spend together.

Both parents set an example for their children, teaching them to work hard, play when possible, but read, think and develop their minds. Family dinners were fun and lively, with all members taking turns expressing their opinions during discussions of moral essays, politics of the day, and religion, especially their own open-minded Universalism.

As Universalists, they were given a set of beliefs built around God, as the loving Parent of all people; and, Jesus Christ, who reveals the nature and character of God, as the spiritual leader on earth. A liberal Christian denomination, Universalism reaches beyond national, cultural, and religious boundaries, accepting most other religions with the understanding that a search for truth and meaning in life is innate in each individual; and one’s spiritual growth and theology is a result of that search. Furthermore, human beings are created with eternal souls.

The children received a basic education in the district schoolhouse down the road, but growing up on a self-sustaining farm that barely made ends meet, they had little time to read beyond doing their schoolwork. The boys had to do farm chores, while the girls were made to knit, sew, spin yarn, and were taught to cook, and churn butter. After dark, and having put in a long day of chores, all the members of the family were ready to crawl into their beds and sleep soundly. There was an exception. Two girls with lively imaginations who struggled nightly to stay awake and study books from the sparse family library. Aspiring writers, Alice, and Phoebe, realized that in the literary world their limited knowledge would find them lacking, so they read the dozen volumes from cover to cover: a Bible, History of the Jews, Lewis and Clark’s Travels, Pope’s Essays, and Charlotte Temple. The latter was a romance written by the eighteenth century British-American novelist, poet, playwright, and actress, Susanna Rowson. They had read this book so often they could recite whole paragraphs by heart. Still, there was another book in the library that was by far their favorite. A tattered and torn edition of, Black Penitents, a gothic romance. The last chapter and many pages were missing. Each girl practiced writing new endings and, with glee, read them aloud to the other to test her reaction.

Robert, an avid reader himself when time allowed, thrived on novels and the classics, and, as he could afford them, added used copies of Shakespeare’s sonnets and books by the Romantic English poets, William Blake, Lord Byron, Keats, and Shelley. He felt these books gave his children, especially Alice and Phoebe, insight with which to experience a broader world than they knew, as well as develop their creative talent.

By the time Alice was fourteen, and Phoebe, ten, the girls were beginning to hone their writing styles. Most of their stories and poems embraced the old, brown farmhouse they loved with its treasured memories, elaborating on the beautiful landscape surrounding it.

A few years earlier, in the spring of 1831, the family had celebrated paying off the mortgage on the farm. It had taken eighteen years of perseverance and frugality, but, it was with joy and excitement that Robert and Elizabeth announced their new plan. It was to build a pretty, spacious two-story white house to take the place of the old unpretentious one.

Years later Alice was to say, It was during this four-year transition period, from the old house being torn down to the new one being constructed, where events took place that eventually dampened the sweet and nostalgic feelings Phoebe and I have forever. Alice’s face saddened as she described what began as foreshadowing in the form of an apparition that was seen by the family. The new house was just finished, but we had not moved into it. There had been a violent shower. Father came home from the field, and everybody had come in out of the rain. I think it was about four in the afternoon when the storm ceased. The new house stood on the edge of a ravine with the sun shining full on it when someone in the family called out and asked how Rhoda and Lucy came to be over in the new house. Upon this, all the rest of the family rushed to the front door, and there, across the ravine, in the open door of the new house, stood Rhoda with Lucy in her arms. Someone suggested she must have come from the sugar camp and taken shelter there, with Lucy, from the rain. One of us called out to Rhoda but she did not answer. Father went directly over to the house and out into the road but there was no human being, and not even a track could be seen.

Alice continued: While we were gazing and talking and calling, Rhoda herself came downstairs, where she had left Lucy fast asleep. And, she stood with us while we all saw, in the full blaze of the sun, the woman with the child in her arms slowly sink, sink, sink into the ground, until she disappeared from sight. Then a great silence fell upon us. In our hearts we believed it to be a warning of sorrow. When Rhoda died the next autumn, on November 22, 1833 and Lucy, a month later, on December 10, we experienced the grief the apparition had foretold. Lucy, who was five, had been seen many times since by different members of the family, in the same house, and always in a red frock like one she was very fond of wearing. Lucy’s hauntings have continued. Recently she appeared to my brother Warren’s little boy who had never heard the story. He came running in, saying that he had seen ‘a little girl upstairs in a red dress’.

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Cary family ‘new’ white brick house, built in 1832, in Mt. Pleasant, eight miles north of Cincinnati, Ohio.

Alice went on to say, The sadness in our family wasn’t to end there. Soon after, our mother’s health declined and she passed away in July, 1835. She had been the bright light in our family and, without her, we knew our family life would dim, never to be the same.

Alice was inconsolable, and her writing at this point in her young life reflected the heartbreak and sorrow she felt. Without her mother and sisters, she and Phoebe felt lost and abandoned. Phoebe’s solace was to visit the family graveyard on the nearby grassy hilltop where she talked quietly with her mother, and was comforted by a presence she sensed.

Now, more than ever, both girls clung to their dream of becoming writers. They practiced more fervently than ever; but, following the tragedies of the previous few years, coupled with a decided difference in their personalities, the sister’s literary styles took a dissimilar turn. Over time, Alice was able to distance herself from the sorrowful past, however, her prose and poetry were more soulful than before, showing more humanity. The vibrantly spirited Phoebe was on another page altogether. She had been blessed with a ‘funny bone,’ wrote poetry on a brighter plane, often ending them with a twist.

In 1837, Robert Cary, a lonely widower, felt he needed a life partner, and so, married a childless widow near his same age. She was a sweet-faced Danish woman, perhaps well-meaning, but a simple farm woman who was practical to a fault. Their union brought on a miserably unhappy new era for the Cary children who, heretofore, had been nurtured and encouraged with open-minded idealism. Now, they were under the thumb of this dictatorial woman whose aim in life was endless hard work, with no leniency whatsoever. Alice, in particular, clashed with her stepmother because she wanted to study at night, having worked all day. They argued incessantly. Darning socks and baking bread are important, said the women, reading and writing are not. You get this through your head, Alice, and for the last time, you may not use our precious candles for such foolishness!

There are always two sides of a story, and to this inexperienced stepmother’s point, she was intent on doing justice to her new husband; and, in her mind, there is no waste of time so absolutely without excuse as time spent upon reading, unless it be of a religious character.

Tormented with angst, Alice and Phoebe were not to be dissuaded, so instead of the forbidden candles to light the darkness, they persistently and begrudgingly made do with a saucer of lard and a bit of rag for a wick.

Phoebe was published first. At fourteen, she sent a poem to a Boston newspaper and to her astonishment it was copied in the local Cincinnati newspaper. She laughed and cried over it, and years later expressed to a friend the thrill of that moment: I did not care anymore if I were poor, or my clothes plain. Somebody cared enough for my verses to print them and I was happy. I looked with compassion on my schoolmates. You may know more than I do, I thought, but you can’t write verses that are printed in a newspaper; but I kept my joy and triumph to myself.

Alice caught up to Phoebe and began to publish mainly in the journals of the Unitarian Church and in Cincinnati weeklies, then in the Boston Ladies’ Repository and Graham’s Magazine. Her first paid work was for the National Era for which she had written both prose and poetry. The editor, Dr. Bailey, paid her ten dollars for several months work, but from then on her good business sense came to the fore. She made an arrangement for contributions in exchange for a regular sum and from that time on she built a loyal readership. Phoebe’s ballads and lyrics were also becoming known all over the country, however, neither sister knew anything about their elevated stature until 1849. Published, yes, but they hadn’t imagined themselves being famous.

Success finally began to come when Edgar Allan Poe, the noted author and critic, pronounced Pictures of Memory, Alice’s poem, one of the most musically perfect lyrics in the English language.

American editors were looking for American literature to be published abroad. The conscientious country poets, Alice and Phoebe Cary, were encouraged by noted editor, Rufus W. Griswold, to collect and revise all their published poems and send them to New York. They responded, and the volume, published by Moss and Brother of Philadelphia, represented the culmination of twelve years of aspiration, study, and labor. Griswold paid them 400 dollars for the lot.

Their works caught the attention of writers of stature, educated grammarians of depth and experience. The renowned Quaker poet, John Greenleaf Whittier, wrote Alice and Phoebe several times from Amesbury, Massachusetts, expressing his appreciation and offering encouragement. Horace Greeley, the legendary editor of The New York Tribune was impressed enough to visit them in their family home on his first trip to Cincinnati early in the summer of 1849. Hearing of their passion for writing, which he judged much like his own, he extended his hand in friendship. Reluctantly, he encouraged the talented, yet green in their experience, young women to come east to New York City and seek their fortune in the raw, bustling place he described as the ‘American commercial emporium.’

Unable to resist the lure of such temptation, the sisters soon plan a trip to New York and Boston to meet face-to-face these illustrious strangers who give them praise and hope. In New York they reacquaint themselves with Mr. Greeley, now their trusted friend, whose relationship they interpret as being between an elder brother and a father figure. The influential editor offers to introduce them to publishers he deems respectable and who might be receptive to their writing styles.

While there, Alice and Phoebe strike up promising friendships with two young career women: Miss Julia Dean, a beautiful actress making a name for herself in legitimate theater; and a teacher, aspiring writer, and gracious, down-to-earth person, Miss Jane Cunningham.

The sisters then travel out of their way to Amesbury, and, a little nervous, knock on Mr. Whittier’s door. He, too, welcomes them and extends his generous hospitality. He makes it evident he likes them. Their pleasing dispositions, sincerity, and manners evoke respect and admiration. They find him very likable, too, not at all intimidating.

Phoebe’s a charmer. Her unerring style and feminine qualities appeal to all manner of people. On the other hand, she possesses an innate perception in judging character, choosing friends wisely. Few things go by Phoebe unnoticed. She can respond with lightening wit, or the flash of a glance, leaving her audience smiling in amusement or flat out laughing. She is petite, while Alice is statuesque. They have different physical characteristics altogether, but are aligned in spirit, totally devoted to one another.

Alice radiates warmth and sweetness. Very gracious and trusting, she magnetizes men, women, and children with her beautiful eyes, out of which reflect her caring, gentle soul. Although both writers are blessed with a natural ability to write, creating word pictures and inspiration for their readers, it’s pure gumption, sacrifice and faith, together with a mutual desire to uplift humanity, that put the odds for success in their favor.

So elated are Alice and Phoebe by their newfound friendships and buoyed confidence, they talk very little during their long arduous trip home. Both are deep in thought, pondering their past and supposing their future. As the stagecoach bumps and sways, Alice shivers at the frightening thought of earning a living solely by her wit and pen, particularly with no security, no safety net, on which to rely. And, Alice has yet another consideration, the man with whom she’s fallen deeply in love. Although it hadn’t occurred to her before, at this moment her personal life and her literary life seem in conflict.

A week later destiny makes her decision easier with the unexpected breakup of her engagement to the beguiling sophisticated man she considered to be her future husband. An eminent editor, he came to the Cincinnati area on business, professed his love for this fine-tempered, bright, lovely young woman, and asked her to marry him.

Cultured, kind and educated, even well off, he appeared to be everything Alice could hope for in a future mate. Following a brief courtship, the two became engaged. In shock, this country-bred girl discovers he has violated her trust. While regaling his personal history, he neglected the part about the other women and his tangled past.

Betrayed by her first love, the falling leaves of 1849 find the poet’s soul utterly crushed. She had given her heart with a promise of marriage to an idyllic suitor, a gentleman she’s gotten to know over many months, having worked together with him publishing the collected work of hers and her sister Phoebe’s poems. Her fiancé, seemingly widely respected in the American literary community, was well-liked and trusted by her family. With no inkling, a few months into what Alice felt to be a blissful betrothal, and following her trip to New York and Boston, a scandal emerged involving a wife, another lover, and business misrepresentations. When these accusations prove true, Alice chokes back tears of disbelief. Although her book contract is honored, the would-be fiancé was a fraud, having lied and cheated his way into Alice’s innocence.

Devoid of spirit, she is embarrassed and lonely. The bitterly cold Cincinnati winter brings on dark clouds of self-pity and storms of doubt. Alice gradually revives with the flourishes of spring, energized and committed to building a literary career. Choosing a fresh new path, she abandons the fantasy of married life, decides to leave her father, brothers, sisters, and Ohio farm countryside so dear to her heart. In 1850, Alice Cary moves to New York City determined to plant fresh roots.

# # #

Chapter 2

When the engine gives forth its final belch, the train screeches to a resounding halt, slamming her against her seat. Looking out the window Alice searches nervously until she sees her newfound friends, Jane Cunningham and Julia Dean, waving madly at her, all smiles, with bouquets in their hands. She breathes a deep sigh of relief, waves, and smiles back. Thankfully, Jane invited Alice to be her houseguest while she looks for a suitable flat. She and Phoebe became acquainted with Julia and Jane through a happenstance meeting in the waiting room of a Park Row publishing house on their recent visit to the city. The four of them took an immediate liking to one another.

At a prearranged meeting the following morning in the executive office of The New York Tribune, Horace Greeley greets Alice warmly. Within a day they locate a three-room flat on Pearl Street he thinks will be suitable for her. He apologizes for its run-down condition, but assures her that, given mindful precautions, the neighborhood will be safe enough for a woman living alone. Greeley has taken on the responsibility of a self-appointed guardian. Having visited the Cary family multiple times in Ohio as a result of Alice’s many literary submissions to the Tribune, he considers himself not only Alice’s friend, but a family friend as well. Alice appreciates Greeley’s protection and is relieved, knowing she can meet the monthly rental obligations, at least for the time being. In secret, she likes the romantic notion that Pearl Street’s original buildings date from 1633, and that she is about to reside on the most historic street in New York.

The next morning, with Julia’s help, she unpacks her things and goes to buy enough staples to last her for the better part of a week. Fortunately a grocery store, bakery, and a mercantile store are within brisk walking distance. She needs laundry soap and cleaning supplies to scrub down the flat, but candles, from which she had been so cruelly deprived by her stepmother, tops her list. Before tackling the cobwebs and grimy windows, she steadies her nerves with a cup of hot tea and a wedge of fresh cornbread from the bakery. Tired from a long day of housekeeping drudgery, she sits down and begins handwriting a lengthy invitation to Phoebe, hoping to convince her to come to New York.

Within a month, Alice receives word that Phoebe will indeed come. The news bolsters Alice’s spirits immeasurably. As a writer she knows she will face rejection. Her sister’s coming will provide mutual moral support and much more. The sisters are companionable, know each other’s moods, and Phoebe’s zesty good nature will be a proven source of strength. A smile and a laugh is just what the doctor ordered.

Back in Ohio, Phoebe packs everything she owns and leaves to join Alice without even a hint to her family. Since her mother’s death, her father’s remarriage, and with Alice having left, her life in Ohio has become miserable. She has no regrets. In addition to her personal belongings, and their brothers’ gift of handmade picture frames decorated with wooden oak leaves, she gingerly wraps the handmade linen she had made around her mother’s treasured Wedgwood Flow Blue tea set, Alice and Phoebe’s only inheritance. She knows that the transferware teapot and cups will cheer her sister because no one loves china the way Alice does. Collecting and owning fine china teacups and saucers had always been Alice’s dream, even if it means going without food, Alice had once said.

Elizabeth Cary’s spirit appears to her daughter as she travels Northeast through Columbus, over the Pennsylvania foothills and across the Hudson River. It seems as though her mother is sitting right beside her. In silence, Phoebe holds a conversation with her mother and feels, beyond any shadow of a doubt, she is proud that her daughters have the courage of their convictions. Upon arrival in the big city, Phoebe and Alice are thrilled to be united again and each throw her arms around the other. When Phoebe describes in detail the presence of their mother all during the long trip, Alice doesn’t question it. Instead, both agree it’s a good omen.

The next day, the new and excited arrivals make a walking tour of New York. As they turn the corner to Broad Street, the noise is deafening. The cobblestones produces the piercing clickity-clack of hoofs and wheels, and shrill human voices can be heard through the canyons of buildings. A somewhat startled Phoebe stops, winces, covers both sides of her head with her gloved hands, and frowns, looking down at her feet.

Alice, will you help me find my ears? she asks. I think they’ve dropped off. Wrinkling her nose in an impish smile, Alice quips back loudly, It’s too late, Phoebe, you’ll need to get used to living without them. Welcome to New York. It’s noisy. The two sisters hug and bend over with laughter, sharing the same thought between them, ‘the old farm in Ohio was nothing like this.’

Alice and Phoebe stand frozen with fascination amidst the flurry of activity on the busy street, eyes wide. Decorated horse-drawn phaetons parade up and down, carrying people who speak an assortment of languages. Hawkers are everywhere. In front of a tenement there are half a dozen splintered wooden handcarts being pushed along by baritone vendors loudly yelling out their edible wares of oysters, ears of corn, and the mainstays, hash and beans. Groups of youngsters squeal with delight as they play with twirling hoops in front of their apartment building, while their mothers shake out rugs over windowsills high above. Horns blare here and there. Church bells ring from all directions.

Having taken in enough exploratory sightseeing for the day, the two excited young women hurry back to Pearl Street and their newly rented, albeit shabby, flat. With a sweet smile and a sudden flood of tears welling in her velvety eyes, Alice tugs at Phoebe’s sleeve and looks at her gently: Thank the good Lord you got up your courage to join me, Phoebe. Putting aside the obstacles that lay at our doorstep, let’s remember that we’re standing on the stepping stone to our dreams.

After dark, the sisters enjoy a pleasant evening tea of jelly and watercress sandwiches. Her eyelids heavy, Phoebe dozes off but Alice continues writing on her manuscript until well past midnight. Before Phoebe had seen fit to leave the family home and move to New York, Alice had already begun the project, Clovernook Stories. As the street lamp flickers beneath her window and a cool breeze brushes her cheek, she’s reminded of sweet briar and the beautiful flower garden of her childhood home.

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Broadway and Duane Street, c. 1859- Stagecoaches, phaetons and horse-drawn carts crowd busy stone-paved Broadway in the 1850s. Looking south is Trinity Church spire. Courtesy of the New York Historical Society.

descriptions of the apple and cherry trees surrounding the old farmhouse, a few miles north of Cincinnati. Then, as she pictures her wonderful mother Elizabeth, her thoughts grow bittersweet. She remembers how patient and beautiful she was, and the heartbreak her whole family suffered when she died so young.

Alice breathes heavily recalling how hard her mother worked raising nine children, doing endless chores, and caring for a husband and a farm. There were many happy times, yes, many of those, Alice writes. Aloud, she speaks to her mother’s picture on the shelf of her desk, How different our lives would have been if you had lived, dearest mother in Heaven. About to nod off, Alice blots her paper, puts the pen and ink back in their holders, and carefully places the pages she’s written in the top drawer.

Ever the early bird, Phoebe tiptoes into Alice’s room greeting her with, Good morning, sister dear. Oh, your eyes look tired. You worked late again, didn’t you Alice? Are you sure you’re feeling up to redecorating today? Alice’s reply is positive, I’ll be fine, Phoebe, I can’t wait to see this old flat when we finish our handiwork.

Following their toilette, the women go to the kitchen, prepare eggs, toast, and a large pot of breakfast tea. After two cups, and a few good-humored puns from Phoebe, Alice reads her sister’s tea leaves, as had been their custom since childhood.

With a measure of apprehension, the two exchange ideas concerning a small literary gathering they are planning for the following Sunday. Then, not to waste another minute, they agreeably divide up who would do which cleaning and decorating chores. Alice and Phoebe button up their cotton working smocks and set to work readying their modest three-room flat for the important occasion.

Alice papers the walls in the new Victorian style, a large floral pattern of dark reds and rich greens. The owner of the wallpaper store recommended it as fashionable and gave her a discounted price as a gesture of good will. Phoebe chose the paint, selecting an eggplant tone for the doors, window frames, molding, and plate rack. While the color enhances the wallpaper and warms up the room, its real purpose is to hide the wood’s nicks and scars.

Phoebe’s brush deftly whisks through the arduous task of painting. The paint needs a day to dry. Her next project then, is to frame their pictures with the hand-carved frames she brought with her. There are two farm scenes and the finely-sewn sampler that had won her the highest mark at school.

As a surprise and an inspiration to spur on their ambition as writers, she takes Alice aside and presents her with one of the handmade frames decorated with the delicate wooden oak leaves. Mounted inside is Alice’s original lettering of her now famous poem, Pictures of Memory. The one inscribed by the noted author and critic Edgar Allan Poe as one of the most musically perfect lyrics in the English language. Alice beams with pride:

PICTURES OF MEMORY

Among the beautiful pictures

That hang on Memory’s wall

Is one of a dim old forest,

That seemeth best of all;

Not for its gnarled oaks olden,

Dark with the mistletoe;

Nor for the violets golden

That sprinkle the vale below;

Not for the milk-white lilies

That lean from the fragrant ledge,

Coquetting all day with the sunbeams,

And stealing their golden edge;

Nor for the vines on the upland,

Where the bright red berries rest,

Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip,

It seemeth to me the best.

I once had a little brother,

With eyes that were dark and deep;

In the lap of that old dim forest

He lieth in peace asleep

Light as the down of the thistle,

Free as the winds that blow,

We roved there the beautiful summers,

The summers of long ago.

But his feet on the hills grew weary,

And, one of the autumn eves,

I made for my little brother

A bed of the yellow leaves.

Sweetly his pale arms folded

My neck in a meek embrace,

As the light of immortal beauty

Silently covered his face;

And when the arrows of sunset

Lodged in the tree-tops bright,

He fell, in his saint-like beauty,

Asleep by the gates of light.

Therefore, of all the pictures

That hang on Memory’s wall,

The one of the dim old forest

Seemeth the best of all.

–––

Arduously, Alice struggles to complete the wallpapering. She grows impatient trying to smooth wrinkles out of the wet paper, and discouraged because the paste is either too wet or too dry. Fast and efficient, Phoebe has long since finished painting, and sets about unpacking her secret cache of handmade needlework. She hums while she puts the finishing touches on their flat: Hand-tatted doilies she’d made are placed just so, here and there; her lace tablecloth covers the wobbly, scratched dinner table just enough to hide the imperfections. An embroidered dresser scarf gives a lift to the dreary chest-of-drawers in their over-crowded bedroom. She weaves greenery on the mantle and arranges roses for the centerpiece. Phoebe’s, pièce de résistance, however, is the Wedgwood china which she displays so elegantly alongside the roses on the soon to be tea table.

Standing back, the diminutive 5 foot 2 inch Phoebe sighs, puts her hands on her shapely hips, looks around and, with a grin of the sly Cheshire cat, muses, Uh huh, we did it, Alice. Yes, we performed a miracle.

Alice looks up, sees the Wedgwood and immediately feels her mother’s presence. Yes, we did, she glows. Now it’s home.

# # #

Chapter 3

It is Sunday morning, the day of the evening tea. Normally, the sisters go to church but today they need to get their bearings without being rushed, wanting everything to be just right for their gathering. Though neither will admit it, both are recuperating from sore aching muscles due to the two full days of labor they put into decorating the flat.

Phoebe dresses quickly and volunteers to do the food preparation by herself because she knows Alice is intent on getting more work done on her book. It is a blustery day so Alice decides to curl up in the parlor’s easy chair and write by the window where she can soak up the dramatic atmosphere from outside. She calls out, I’m here if you need me, Phoebe.

In the kitchen Phoebe familiarizes herself with the layout, which seems awkward; plus, she has to make do with limited space and few utensils. She knows outfitting the kitchen properly will take time and money, so that has to wait. She manages to stew a chicken, hard-boil some eggs, and chop celery in readiness for making a plate of chicken tea sandwiches. To keep them fresh, at the last minute, she plans to trim the crusts, cut the sandwiches into triangles and serve them together with a bowl of gherkins and another bowl of nuts.

For guests with a sweet tooth she decides to make Meringues. They are simple enough to make by whipping egg whites with sugar and vanilla, but the trick is to be sure they are dry enough to be crunchy, not sticky. After the cookies are baked, she cleverly leaves them in the oven for an hour with no heat on. Gazing at the tempting sweets, she is pleased, thinking their guests will be, too. Phoebe smiles, remembering a story she’d read about French royalty liking them so well that Marie Antoinette was said to have baked Meringues herself. Hanging up her apron she calls out to Alice, but there is no reply.

As Phoebe enters the small parlor she finds Alice napping with a pen in her hand and sheets of freshly written poetry strewn at her feet. Alice is still in her smocked flannel nightgown with a cap on her head. Whispering softly, Phoebe lightly pinches Alice’s arm, Wake up, Alice. Alice is startled, looks around and sits up, What time is it?

Phoebe pauses and kneels down next to her; It’s high time to gather our thoughts for this evening’s discussion and get dressed. Mr. Greeley promised to bring three interesting guests at seven o’clock. Jane and Julia vowed to be here at the same time, which leaves us two hours. We still need to set the table and arrange the food. By the way, Alice, I made a mental note about Mr. Greeley’s fondness for warm milk with sugar in it and bought extra milk for him. And, remember, neither you nor I can drink tea this evening because there will be seven of us and we only have five tea cups left because three got broken in the shipment.

With a burst of excitement and hearts pounding, the sisters hurry into the bedroom to put on their Sunday best. Alice laces up her corset loosely, slips into lace-trimmed pantalets, then layers on three petticoats. She pulls her simple tailored dark green dress over her head. It has jet buttons that fasten up into a high collar. Looking tall and majestic, she then wraps her prized Kashmir India shawl with the fringe around