The Rebellion of Miss Lucy Ann Lobdell (13 page)

I thought everything, and it spilled out of me. “Lydia, I know that here I’m just the music teacher, but I have lived the plain life. I know horses. I ride well. And I can track and hunt. I’m a crack shot with a rifle.”

Lydia clapped her hands and gave a little jump. “Oh, Joseph! We shall marry and go west.” Then she caught herself and became still. “Will you marry me, my dear, dear Joseph? You must.”

At that moment, a dropped book might have fallen to the ceiling. The earth stopped turning, and wishes became logic. I could give Lydia the freedom she wanted, and our union, born as it was out of love, would be blessed by God. And what she had yet to learn was small next to what we now knew—that we wanted to be with each other. And I had found more pleasure in her embrace than anything in my marriage bed. Why couldn’t the same be true for her with me? We could make a life for ourselves in the wilds of Minnesota.

“Oh dearest Lydia,” I said, with my last ounce of reason, “I think we should talk about this.”

“But, Joseph, you do want to be with me?”

“I do. Yes. Very much.”

“And would you go with me to Minnesota?”

“I would, but this is sudden. As a gentleman, I should allow you time to think it over.”

“I’ve thought it over.”

“And what about your father?”

“I will see to my father.”

“But, Lydia, there are things you should know.”

“Such as?”

I took a breath. Did I have the courage? “Such as, all I have in this world is one hundred and fifty dollars and a rifle back in New York.”

“I have money,” she said. “My grandfather left us each a thousand dollars. Once I am married, it’s mine. Then we can decide when we want to go west. Anything else?”

“Yes. I am descended from wolves. And you have to leave within the minute, so we should talk about all this when we can do so without hurry. I think we should take another walk up the Dyberry. Can you come on Saturday?”

Lydia thought for a moment and said she’d come at noon. Then, to seal the agreement, she gave me a peck on the cheek. “I can’t wait to tell Evelyn,” she said as she pulled away.

“Don’t!” I warned.

“Evelyn and Dorothy are my friends,” she said, looking offended. “I know their secrets and they know mine.” And before I could caution her further, she hopped down the stairs like it were any other day.

I set off for Honesdale, my worries dragging close behind—Reverend Albright had my soul roasting in Hell; Damon was looking at me strange; Burton was hoping for heaven-knows-what; and Lydia wanted to marry me and go west. All of it seemed beyond my control, except, perhaps, the last. Lydia and I would meet on Saturday. We would walk up the Dyberry, but this time I would set things right. I would tell her about my hand already promised, or I would tell her the truth—one or the other.

After a late breakfast the next morning, I walked to the canal and took the towpath east, wishing to think about things without the distractions of the tavern. But once I was out of town and imagining our planned walk up the Dyberry, the choices that had seemed so clear the night before made no sense. After all that had happened, I couldn’t very well say that I had just remembered my betrothed back in Westerlo. That was no choice at all. And as difficult as the truth would be, if Lydia knew my true nature, there was a chance that she would still want to go with me—go to Minnesota and live a life that would be ours. I came to a stop and decided to do what I already knew I had to—I would tell Lydia everything. I would tell her about Helen and George Slater. I would take off my shirt. Then she could choose, and if we were not to be married, I would leave town by dark. I was afraid of it, but there was also a comfort in the resolve.

It was early afternoon when I got back to Honesdale. As I started down Main, I saw three men ahead. Two of them I didn’t know, but one was familiar. Then I near froze in alarm. The man was not from Honesdale—it was William Patterson, a timberman from Long Eddy! He was not a friend, but he knew who Lucy Lobdell was and might recognize her, even in disguise. He would certainly know she’d gone missing.

I kept my head down as I went by, but I felt his cold stare on my back.

* * *

Saturday, and Lydia was coming to the glass factory to plan our engagement. I would tell her the truth and accept my fate. I was there for more than an hour, but Lydia didn’t appear. I became increasingly fearful and hoped very much that she hadn’t yet spoken to her friends or her mother about our plans. Then a knock. I went downstairs, thinking that I had carelessly latched the door behind me. But the door wasn’t locked, and when I opened it, I saw a gray-haired lady, the Watson’s housekeeper. “This is for you,” she said, offering an envelope and nervously looking around. “It’s from Miss Lydia.”

I took the envelope. Perhaps Lydia had fallen ill, and I would make some reply. But the woman hurried away in a manner that frightened me. The note said all.

Dear Joseph, Some terrible accusations are being made about you that I know cannot be true. An unspeakable humiliation is being planned. Guard yourself without delay. Lydia.

I had been found out. There could be no other meaning. And no comfort in Lydia’s professed disbelief, for if she did not believe the accusations, she would have come herself and not warned me to flee. And no hint at all that she wished to come with me.

Desperate to escape, I took the road back to Honesdale at a fast walk, not sure if I were moving away from danger or closer to it. After the Bethany turnoff, I saw in the distance two men on horseback coming toward me. On any other day I would have thought nothing of it, but I went into the bushes and was well hidden by the time they passed at a canter. I only got a glimpse, but one of the men, I was almost certain, was David Horton. I counted to thirty before taking to the road again. The riders had disappeared around the bend, and I couldn’t tell if they had gone toward the glass factory or up to Bethany.

I reached Honesdale and walked down Main Street fearing every passerby. Up ahead I saw Francis Penniman standing outside the office of the
Democrat
. He was having a conversation with someone whose arms were making wild gestures. I crossed the street to avoid them.

At Blandin’s, I went straight upstairs to collect my things. I stuffed my bag in haste, all the while worrying about my money. It was in Blandin’s safe, but I hadn’t seen him when I came in. Was he in the back? Would he give it to me?

A sudden bang and the door to my room swung open. It was Damon, and his withered face was looking mean. “Daniel wants to see you, missy. He wants to see you now.”

With no choice I tied my bag and followed Damon down the stairs. There were a few men at the tables, but I was afraid to look in their direction. Blandin was now behind the bar. Our eyes met, and he motioned for me to go into the back room.

Blandin followed me into his office, closed the door, and threw the bolt across. It was just me and him. I didn’t know what he had in mind, but three of me would have been no match for him, if he were looking to settle things that way. He put his hands on his hips and looked at me hard. “There’s gonna be trouble, son,” he said, voice steady. “You need to go. You need to go now.”

I didn’t know why he was being calm and kind. I had made a fool out of him in front of the whole town. Any other man would have bellowed or lashed out, but Daniel Blandin didn’t even need to unmask me.

“Yes,” I replied in a whisper. “I’ve gotten my things.”

Blandin nodded and went to his safe. He pulled out the envelope with my money then turned to me. “Which way will you go?”

I had no answer.

“Listen,” he said, “there’s no time to lose; they’ll be on horseback.”

“Who’ll be on horseback?”

Blandin gave a disbelieving snort. “Who do you think? Horton and his friends. I’ll try to slow them down, offer them some drinks when they get here, but that’ll just make things worse if they catch you. And you don’t want that to happen. Do as I say—take the towpath.”

“Won’t they know I went that way?”

“They will, so you have to be smart about it. Where the Pike branches off, there’s a store. Go in and buy some tobacco and ask the distance to Hawley. Then go on down the towpath, as though you’re goin’to Hawley. Half a mile or so there’ll be a footpath that goes up the hill. When no one’s looking, take it. It will bring you over to Narrowsburg. They’ll go right on by.”

Blandin then crossed the room and undid the bolts on the rear door. It groaned as it opened onto a narrow alley. He turned and offered his hand. “Take care of yourself, Joseph.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” I managed to say, aware that he now took my hand gently. A tear rolled down my cheek, then another. I was crying like a woman.

   PART II   

The townsite of Kandiyohi was surveyed and platted in October of 1856 by a party of Minneapolis gentlemen. Upon the most commanding prominence overlooking the lake, these enterprising men had reserved four blocks as “Capitol Square” two years before the capital lands were located, indicating that some understanding existed between the townsite promoters and the parties who were to select the new capital lands.

—History of Kandiyohi County
, The Pioneer Press, 1905, describing the apparent under-the-table dealings of the company seeking to move the Minnesota capital from St. Paul to Kandiyohi, a land scheme that Lucy Ann Lobdell became part of when she, with her rifle and posing as Joseph, was hired to guard the Kandiyohi site.

T
HE RAIN BEAT down in a single-note chorus. Above the din I could hear the creek rushing, but in the dark I couldn’t see it. My feet were my eyes, and had I not been familiar with the road, I would have stayed at the station, lonely but dry.

The glow in the window said that someone was still awake. I gave a quick rap and entered as though I had been gone only a day. Indeed, once inside, I saw that everything was where it had been—the broom in the corner, the chair by the hearth, and in it Father, asleep. Beside him stood my mother in her bedclothes, eyes wide.

“Lucy?”

“Yes, Mother.”

I knew she would be angry. She had every right to be. Even so, I wanted her to set it aside, if only for a minute. I wanted her to cross the room and hug me—happy to see me safe. But she stayed where she was, her face in a knot. “What’s happened to your hair?”

I set my bag down and tried to stay calm. “Where I went,” I said, “it was easier to work if my hair was short.”

John and Sarah came running down the stairs, followed by Mary. The older ones froze when they saw me, but Mary jumped like a goat and threw her arms around me without a thought of the water dripping from my outer-shirt. This moment of sisterly love didn’t wake my father or soften my mother.

“What kind of work?” she asked as I let go of Mary.

“Men’s work,” I said, hoping that might put an end to it. Mother’s face filled with more questions, but I spoke before she did. “Is Helen upstairs?”

“Well, I see you still remember her name.”

I pretended not to hear those words as I took the wet canvas from my shoulders and hung it on a peg by the door. Then I reached out and took Mary’s hand. “Will you take me to her?” Mary gave a bright nod, but Mother just stood there blocking the way. Our eyes met in a cold stare. A moment passed and then another. She moved aside.

I followed Mary upstairs and into her room. Helen lay asleep in Mary’s bed. She had twisted in the blanket and her pink feet stuck out the side. I could hear her breathing as I drew near. I looked at my child for a long moment, feeling everything from joy to shame. Finally I knelt down and kissed her gently. “I don’t think I should wake her right now,” I said softly.

I was not just thinking about Helen and the surprise it might cause to be woken this way, but about what I could manage in my own weary state. Mary didn’t understand and pushed past me, less cautious. “Oh, I wake her all the time—she always goes right back to sleep.” My sister gave my daughter a little shake. “Helen, look here. Mommy’s come back.”

Helen opened her eyes and smiled at Mary. Then she saw me and started to cry. I was scaring her, as I had feared.

“Helen, darling,” I said, leaning forward and touching her shoulder, “I know I look different, but it’s me. I’ve come home.”

My daughter pulled away. Mary reached out and took her hand. “I’ll get her back to sleep,” she said. “We’ll do this in the morning.”

I bent forward and kissed Helen again and then got up to face whatever was waiting down below. I could hear conversation, but as I came down the stairs, it stopped. Father was awake now, and he, at least, was happy to see me. He stiffly rose from his chair and kissed me on the cheek. Mother, John, and Sarah looked on.

“The return of the prodigal son,” said John, landing hard on the final word.

I turned to him. “Aren’t you a little glad I’ve come back?”

“It depends on how disgraced you are.”

“Disgraced?”

“Yes. You went away with a man?”

I wanted to throw something. “I did not.”

John forced a small laugh. “If you didn’t, then it’s probably because you think you are one.” I was standing there in his clothes, so there was little I could say to that.

“Men’s work?” asked Mother, as though there could be no reason for it.

“Well, what would you have me do, Mother? Stay on with old Winthrop for a dollar a week? Marry him? Would that make you happy?”

My mother wasn’t moved. “It was you who wanted to marry George Slater,” she said. “Couldn’t wait. Wouldn’t listen to anyone. You made that bed.”

It was unkind to throw George Slater in my face, but she was right. It was my doing and no one else’s. But the meanness in the room wasn’t my doing, and I had no way to meet it. Afraid I might cry, I turned and ran back up to Mary’s room. She was asleep with Helen, or nearly so. I lay down on the rug beside the bed. I hadn’t slept in two days, but still it was hard in coming, as bits and pieces of pointed conversation drifted up from below.

* * *

Neither Mary nor Helen was in the room when I woke. It was already light and I rose with the hope that a night’s sleep might have made everyone more kind. But downstairs, Mother looked at me and didn’t even give a good-morning. “Why are you wearing your brother’s clothes?”