8. Hickory Grove

Kent took Jamie's coat and hung it up somewhere while Martha said, "We have twenty minutes before the vegetables are done. Would you care to see the house?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jamie said, "it seems quite lovely."

"Well, I'll show you around if you promise to call me Martha," she smiled. "We're a farm family, we don't stand on ceremony here. Our dirt's as filthy as the next guy's."

"Thank you, Martha. We really did love the pie. Kent said the cherries came from your orchard."

"They freeze easily," she nodded. "Now try to imagine what life may have been like here when this place was first built. What would they have called this area where they greeted their guests?"

Kent rejoined them. "The pillar room," he joked. There were three each on either side, left and right, as well as easy chairs, lamps and a low bureau. A grand, Y-shaped staircase emerged from above. The old wood gleamed.

"In New York this might be a lobby or vestibule," Jamie said. "I'd call it a foyer."

"That's what we call it," Martha said. "From there they seem to have brought people in here." This room on the west front had three windows, a large fireplace on the end and a door to the veranda, along with a low desk and a few chairs. The room was half again as long as it was wide, perhaps 27 feet by 18. Full-size portraits depicted various family members, children and dogs; not great works of art necessarily, but valuable for what they represented.

"This seems to be a room for standing and talking business around the fire," Jamie said. "And perfect for guests at a large party. I might call it the gallery."

"That would be a good name," Martha said. "We think of it as the reception room."

"I love your decorating for Christmas," Jamie said. "It must be quite a job in this big house."

"Everything's a job in this house," she chuckled. "Far too much room for one person. But I can't get out from under it, it's too historic." Another three pillars on the south side led to the dining room, with soft lights, an enormous long table and dark paneling. She took them back across the foyer to another, lighter room with wainscoting, yellow wallpaper, a large, forest green rug and several conversation groupings. It too had a huge fireplace, a large antique chandelier and in the corner, a grand piano. A large, live Christmas tree glittered in front of a window.

"This," Jamie said, "is the parlor."

"Yes," Kent grinned, "the front one as opposed to the back one."

"The back one has a different formal name," his mother reminded him. "There's been a definite loss of grandeur since the Judge's time."

"I don't miss it," her son said.

"I don't either," she replied. "Who's got time for that stuff anymore?"

Jamie asked, "Are these furnishings original? I'm no expert, but they remind me of post-colonial furniture-making."

"Most are original, and some even pre-date the house," Martha said. "The sofa's from Pennsylvania, and several of the chairs are from Vermont. The family patriarch brought them all here on wagons long ago. People must have thought he was crazy, crossing the mountains with these things. But we're glad to have them."

Kent said, "He was from Philadelphia. A second son, so he got sent off to the wilderness."

Jamie said, "Getting to Pittsburgh would have been the difficult part. He didn't ship them down the river?"

"We don't think so," Martha said. "He came overland to Richmond, Indiana and stayed there several months."

"Quakertown."

"Exactly," Kent agreed. "You remembered."

"Richmond was once the second largest Quaker city in the world, next in importance to Philly."

"I didn't know that."

"Home of Earlham College. My mother heard Dr. Trueblood speak once. He impressed her. It's a lovely room."

"We never use it," Martha said.

"Except at Christmas," Kent reminded. "This is where the kids eat."

On the south wall French doors were open to another large room, obviously the library. Again a huge fireplace with a large desk in front of it, a bulky computer the only modern intrusion. A large old globe stood in a wooden stand, books were shelved twelve feet high, an unabridged dictionary was perched chest-high with its own lamp and magnifying glass, and a long simple table allowed a student to spread out. But there were many chairs too, leather-covered, old ashtrays and spittoons in the corner. A magazine rack held titles on farming and livestock, conservative journals, hunting and fishing. "The men's gathering place, the smoking room," Jamie said. "Masculine, designed to be a bit intimidating." He smiled at Kent, "Let's hide in here if we don't want to deal with the womenfolk." Another set of French doors was closed on the south wall, while the west wall had a heavy ornate door to shut females, children and the noisy world out.

They went through it, in front of the staircase and on into the dining room, where the table could easily accomodate twenty. Along the south wall were matching bureaus for fine dishes, and above each one smaller portraits of fathers and mothers, generation by generation. Kent put a hand on Jamie's shoulder and guided him to the pictures of his parents.

"Oh my," Jamie murmured. "Martha, you are so beautiful. And your husband, what a fine looking man."

"Wasn't he," Kent said. "That's my Dad."

"You've got his eyes. You look a lot like your mother, but those are his eyes."

"I got my body from Daddy, people always say. But I always kinda been Mama's boy too."

"My, a house full of gallantry tonight," his mother smiled. "Jamie, come often, I don't hear such things nearly often enough."

Jamie realized that he hadn't just married one man, but an entire family with a long history in a single place. He wondered what the rest of them were like, and how many there were. His own family was small and scattered, two brothers, a father and whatever wife he was on now, two nieces he'd never seen (so he couldn't give them AIDS by touching them), another niece and nephew who probably didn't remember him. But here was a family that didn't let memories die.

Over the fireplace were large portraits of the founding generation. "This is Josiah Kessler, who came to Indiana at the age of 20 to occupy the land his father had bought on Christmas Day in 1822," Martha told him.

Josiah was a stolid looking man with a gray beard, reserved and dignified. "One dollar an acre, paid for in gold. When the auction was done, the county sheriff had to organize a posse to carry all the money back to the U.S. Treasury in Washington. Josiah's father William Penn Kessler went back with them before returning home to Philadelphia."

"Are you related to William Penn?"

"Well, it's always been said we might be, but there are gaps in the earliest genealogy, so we can't be sure until Josiah arrived in this county. From there on we know."

Kent said, "Josiah's first job when he got here was to evict the squatters who'd taken up farming while he was gone. Most moved on peacefully, but there are records in the library of a few lawsuits, I guess he kept the circuit judge pretty busy. But over time he won his rights and made friends with the people living here. Some of the time he just let the squatters stay and start paying rent for what they were already using. He made peace, and people liked that. He began to get a following, and people came to his meeting. That's how the chapel got started."

"Kessler Township," Jamie said.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about his wife." While Josiah looked like a fairly generic 19th Century yeoman, his wife was a stunner: much younger, dark in hair and complexion, with a commanding presence yet a friendly face, wearing a gown off her shoulders with a hint of her bosoms. American Gothic she was not.

If anyone, James Earl and Kent looked like her, not Josiah. She was a beauty.

"Ah," Martha said, "Miss Evangeline."

"Quite the lady," Kent said. "As important in her way as Josiah was in his."

"We have so many stories about her, Jamie," Martha said. "He built this house for her. And oh, what their son did later."

"The Judge," Kent grinned. "To cover up from bein' a crook."

His mother said, "When James Earl and I got married, this spot over the fireplace was occupied by an enormous portrait of the Judge. He seemed to want to tower over everyone even in death, like he was the big man and don't you forget it. He's the one who fancied up this house and filled it with servants, putting on these lavish parties so he could hold court. A personality the opposite of his father's."

Kent said, "Once Mom moved in he lasted about a month. Then she demoted him. He now gets to supervise people takin' off their boots." He pulled Jamie to the hallway leading to the secondary entrance off the porte-cochere, six feet wide, lined with hooks, an umbrella stand, two built-in coat closets.

His portrait made Jamie laugh. "He looks like a cross between Napoleon and William Howard Taft."

"The old man liked to eat," Kent grinned. "He kept his maids hoppin', no doubt."

Martha said, "He seems to have lived on the edge of scandal all his life. But no one could ever pin anything on him."

"A politician," Kent snorted. "County commissioner, state senator, the governor's cabinet a couple of times, then a seat on the state Supreme Court."

"Then there's his townhouse," Martha said. "Wait till you see that, Jamie. It's actually quite lovely, a stop on the Crawfordsville house and garden tour every year."

"Aunt Miriam and her husband live there now," Kent said. "It's a cool house. His office back in the day, when he didn't feel like comin' out here. We're nine miles from the courthouse, it was a long commute back then."

They continued on to the back of the house. The kitchen on the west side was large and very old-fashioned, with 1940's cabinetry and an old breakfast table along one wall. A set of service stairs was opposite an enormous old hearth, with the cabinets, appliances and counters arrayed around the fireplace. Jamie wondered what it would be like to cook in such a room as Martha checked her vegetables. Then she said, "Now then, the last room down here's the one we really live in."

"The back parlor," Kent said. "The family room."

Its furnishings were modern and comfortable, with a wide screen television, a sound system, lots of seating, game tables with a jigsaw puzzle half-finished, a storage area with toys, thick padded carpeting, a room people could knock around in. Jamie took one look at it and said, "The drawing room? The women gathered here after the Judge's dinners. Miss Evangeline would have presided here."

"That's right," Martha said. "This is the drawing room."

"I never could figure out why they called it that," Kent said.

Martha didn't seem to know, so Jamie said, "In the days before electronic amusements, women would gather in a room like this to read aloud, and draw, and sew and write letters, play music and sing, and generally put on their own private entertainments. It's a drawing room because here is where they drew, a skill every young woman was expected to have. After the men had their smokes and fellowship, they would join the ladies to compliment their talents and accomplishments."

Martha said, "That would explain why the piano used to be in here. I felt it took up too much space, and none of us play, so I moved it to the front parlor."

"Makes sense," Jamie nodded. "I would guess that in the old days, all the young women took piano lessons here as part of their education."

"This was kind of the female arts room?" Kent asked.

"Yes," Jamie said, "so it's right that you still use it for entertainment. Family room's just an updated term, that's all, because no one can draw anymore, we have specialists for that now. But once, every young lady was taught to play and sing and draw. Rooms like these were where they caught their husbands."

Martha looked at him. "You've spent time in great houses before."

"In New York primarily, and some other cities, when I was younger. Mrs. Astor used to love to entertain. And she always liked young men around her." He smiled. "She was quite the flirt."

"Mrs. Astor," Martha told her son. "Well, shall we get our little meal started?"

Jamie asked what he could do to help.


The dinner went just fine in his view. Mrs. Kessler politely grilled him to tell his entire life story, which he modestly recounted.

Kent however was not so pleased. When teasing his mother didn't work and domestic violence got mentioned, he summarily changed the subject back to William Penn and Quakers, which Jamie was happy to pursue. Afterwards Kent reproached his mother. "That sure was fun, finding out he was abused and neglected as a kid in your very first meeting."

She was sorry, but said, "Don't you think you needed to know?"

"Not tonight, no, I didn't. You think I don't have time to find out all about him, I gotta know everything now?"

She apologized again, "I had no way to know that would come out. Now help me get dessert on, so we can have a pleasant time."

From the front of the house piano music started up, a song Kent instantly recognized—the only one Jamie could play by heart after the Incident. Kent left his mother in the kitchen and went to the foyer, leaning into the parlor between two pillars.

Then he sang,

"My heart will be blessed
with the sound of music,
and I'll sing once more."

Jamie's playing was sensitive and tasteful, not sentimental or dramatic. He tacked on a quiet ending, then folded his hands, looked down and smiled deeply. Kent had such a nice voice.

Martha wheeled a cart with coffee, tea and cake and saw them kissing at the piano, Kent bending down, Jamie stretching up, two handsome men in love in the front parlor of the old family homestead at Hickory Grove.

Would there be portraits of them here someday? She began to think so.++

© Copyright 2009 Josh Thomas, All Rights Reserved.