Christmas week there was no school, but such a succession of dining
days, and visiting days, and day parties, and night parties, that Fanny,
who looked forward to the week as a season of rest, thought that the
regular routine of school duties would be less fatiguing.
Christmas at La Belle Prairie was the one jubilee of the year, something
to be talked about for six months beforehand, and to be remembered as
long after. It was a time of feasting and recreation for both master and
servant. Days before, preparations commenced in the kitchen. Various
smells issued from thence--savory smells of boiled, baked, and roasted
meats; and sweet delicious smells of warm pastry and steaming cakes.
Aunt Tibby was rolling pie-crust or stirring cake all day long, and the
chopping of sausage-meat, the pounding of spices, and the beating of
eggs were constantly heard. Everything was carried on with the greatest
secrecy. The children were all kept out of the kitchen, and when
"somefin' good" was to be transferred therefrom to Miss Car'line's
store-room, Aunt Tibby came sailing in, holding it high above the reach
of the curious little heads.
"I don't care," said Cal. "There's six pound-cakes all in a row on the
store-room shelf. I see 'em when ma opened the door; and Marthy says one
of 'em got currants in it, and there's a little shoat thar roasted
whole. O! how I wish Christmas was come."
Coming suddenly upon Maud one day, Fanny found her with her apron half
full of bran, while her fingers were busily at work upon a few pieces of
faded silk. Maud tried to hide them at first, but finding by Fanny's
question of "What is it, Maud?" that it was too late, she had looked up
with a tired, flushed face and said:
"Miss Fanny, don't you tell now! will you? I'm makin' a pin-cushion for
Aunt Phoebe, but it won't come square, all I can do. It acts awfully."
"Let me see what the trouble is," said Fanny, and sitting down, she
examined the poor cushion; which, indeed, under Maud's hands, was not
soon likely to come into shape.
"You see," said Maud, "I want to give aunty a Christmas gift, and I
thought a cushion would be so nice, 'cause her old one that she wears
pinned to her waist, you know, has burst a great hole, and the bran
keeps tumbling out. I'm going to make her a right nice one, only I wish
'twas brighter, 'cause aunty likes red, and yellow, and all them, so
bad."
Fanny searched her piece bag and brought forth bits of gay ribbon, the
sight of which threw Maud into ecstasies of delight, then giving up the
morning to the job, she cut and planned, and fitted and basted together,
getting all in order, so that Maud could do the sewing herself.
"Aunty wouldn't think half so much of it if I didn't," said the child.
Well and faithfully Maud performed her labor of love, giving up her
much-prized runs on the prairie, and resisting all the children's
entreaties to play with them, till the Christmas gift was finished. It
was no small task, for Maud most heartily hated to sew, and her fingers
were anything but nimble in the operation. "I always did despise to sew,
Miss Fanny," she said, "but I'm going to make this cushion for aunty
anyhow."
It was finished at last, and, as Maud expressed it, "was just as
beautiful as it could be." There never was a prouder, happier child. She
did not thank Fanny in words for her assistance, but that night she came
softly behind her, and putting her arms around her neck, gave her an
earnest kiss, a proceeding which called forth an exclamation of surprise
from Mrs. Catlett, for Maud was very chary of her caresses.
Christmas morning came, and long before daylight, every child upon the
place, both black and white, was up ready to "march in Christmas." There
had been mysterious preparations the night before, such as the hiding of
tin pans and glass bottles under the bed, and the faint tooting of an
old horn, heard down at the quarters, as though some one was rehearsing
a part. Fanny was also astonished by an application from little "darky
Tom" for permission to use her school-bell, the said cow-tinkler not
being remarkable for sweetness of sound.
"O, yes, Tom, you may take it; but what can you want of it?"
"Couldn't tell no ways, Miss Fanny," said Tom, with a grin. "Mebbe Miss
Fanny know in de mornin'."
Morning did indeed bring an explanation of the mystery. Assembling in
the yard, the children marshaled themselves into marching order; Maud,
of course, being captain, and taking the lead, bearing an old tin horn,
while little black Tom brought up the rear with Fanny's unfortunate
cow-bell.
In this order they commenced "marching in Christmas" to the music of the
horn, the beating of tin pans, the rattling of bits of iron and pieces
of wood, the jingling of bells, and the clapping of hands. Into the
house, and up-stairs to the very doors of the sleeping-rooms, they all
marched with their horrid din. It was received with tolerable
good-humor by all but Nanny, who, deprived of her morning nap by the
tumult, raved at the juvenile disturbers of the peace, and finally threw
her shoes at them as they stood on the stairway. These were directly
seized upon as trophies, and carried off in triumph to the quarters,
where the young performers went through with the same operations.
"Christmas gift! Christmas gift!" was the first salutation from the
servants this morning, and it was well worth while to give them some
trifling present, were it only to hear their extravagant expressions of
gratitude and delight. It was impossible to forget for a moment that it
was Christmas. One could see it in the faces of the servants, released
for a whole week from their daily tasks, and rejoicing in the prospect
of dances, and parties, and visits to friends and kindred on distant
plantations. The children, too, with their boisterous merriment and
constant talk about the holidays, seemed determined to bear it in mind,
and the great dinner--the one dinner of the year--in the preparation of
which Aunt Tibby had exercised all her skill; this, in itself, seemed to
proclaim that it was Christmas.
"Oh, Miss Fanny," said little Joy, "don't you wish Christmas lasted the
whole year round?"
The short December day was fast drawing to a close, as a party of four
rode leisurely along the road crossing La Belle Prairie. The ladies,
though scarcely recognizable in their close hoods, long blue cotton
riding skirts, and thick gloves, were none other than Miss Nancy Catlett
and our friend Fanny, while their attendants were Mr. Chester, the town
gentleman, and Massa Dave Catlett, who had come over from his new home
in Kansas, on purpose to enjoy the Christmas festivities on the prairie.
One of those night parties, of which Nanny had talked so much, was to
come off at Col. Turner's, and this was the place of their destination.
In accordance with the customs of society in these parts, they were to
remain until the next day, and, accordingly, black Viny rode a little in
the rear, mounted upon old "Poke Neck," and bearing sundry carpet-bags
and valises, containing the ladies' party-dresses.
Just at dusk, our party reached their journey's end, and dismounting one
by one from the horse-block in front of the house, they walked up the
road, and were met in the porch by Miss Bell Turner, Nanny's particular
friend. This young lady, with long curls and a very slender waist,
performed the duties of hostess in a free and easy manner, ushering the
gentlemen into the parlor, where a fire was blazing on the hearth, while
the ladies, with their attendants, were conducted up-stairs to the
dressing-room.
Here a dozen or more were engaged in the mysteries of the toilet,
braiding, twisting, and curling, while as many servants were flying
about, stumbling over each other, and creating the most dire confusion
in their efforts to supply the wants of their respective mistresses. The
beds and chairs were covered with dresses, capes, ribbons,
curling-irons, flowers, combs, and brushes, and all the paraphernalia of
the toilet, while the ladies themselves kept up a continual stream of
conversation with each other and their attendants.
Into this scene Nanny entered with great spirit. Shaking hands all
round, and introducing Fanny, she hastily threw off her bonnet and
shawl, and bidding Viny unpack the things, she set about dressing in
good earnest.
"How nice to get here so early," she said. "Now we can have a chance at
the glass, and plenty of room to move about in."
Fanny wondered what she called plenty of room, but had yet to learn the
signification of the term when applied to the dressing-room of a western
party. Thicker and faster came the arrivals, and it being necessary that
each lady should undergo a thorough transformation in dress, before
making her appearance down-stairs, the labor and confusion necessary to
bring this about can be imagined. Such hurryings to and fro, such
knockings down and pickings up, such scolding and laughing, in short
such a Babel of sounds as filled the room for an hour or two, Fanny had
never heard before. Completing her own toilet as soon as possible, she
seated herself upon one of the beds, and watched the proceedings with
great interest.
"You Suke, bring me some more pins, directly." "O please, Miss Ellen,
mind my wreath!" "Jule, how much longer are you goin' to keep the
wash-bowl?" "Dar now, Miss Eveline done get her coat all wet." "Did you
know Tom Walton was here? I see him in the passage." "Miss Belle, that's
_my_ starch-bag." "There, now! don't them slippers fit beautiful?" "Why
don't that girl come back?" "O, Liza, just fasten up my dress, that's a
dear girl!" "Come, girls, do hurry, we shan't be dressed to-night."
How it was all brought about, Fanny could not tell, but at last the
ladies were dressed, the last sash pinned, and the last curl adjusted.
Dresses of thin material, cut low in the neck, with short sleeves,
seemed to be the order of the night, which with wreaths, and bunches of
artificial flowers in the hair, gave the ladies a handsome appearance.
With Miss Belle at the head, they all descended to the parlor, and found
the gentlemen strolling about, employing themselves as they could, till
the night's amusements commenced; and, indeed, both ladies and gentlemen
manifested such eagerness to adjourn to the play-room, that the signal
was soon given, and they proceeded forthwith to a log building in the
yard, formerly used as a school-room.
Games soon commenced, and were carried on with great vigor, the young
people making up in activity what was lacking in gracefulness of motion.
Game after game was made out, the ladies vying with each other to see
who should laugh the most, while those who were left chatted gayly
together in groups, or tried their powers of fascination upon some
long-limbed specimen of humanity.
"What calls the gentlemen up-stairs so frequently?" inquired Fanny,
innocently, as groups of two and three disappeared up the steps leading
to the room above.
"You are not aware, then, what a formidable rival the ladies have up in
the loft?" said Mr. Chester, gravely, though there was a comical
expression about the corners of his mouth.
"No, indeed."
"Well, I only hope you may not witness the overpowering influence
sometimes exerted by this same rival," said Mr. Chester; "but honestly,
Miss Hunter, there is serious danger that some of these light-footed
young gentlemen may, ere long, be obliged to relinquish their places in
our party, all through the attractions presented to them up yonder."
"I don't in the least know what you mean."
"In plain words, then, they are talking about horses up there; men are
crazy over horses you know."
"Are you in earnest, Mr. Chester?"
"Certainly I am. It would not answer, I suppose, for ladies to intrude
upon their modest retirement, or I could convince you in a moment."
"How can you joke about it, Mr. Chester? I think it is perfectly
scandalous."
"Well, it is bad enough," said her companion, more gravely. "One living
at the west becomes accustomed to such things."
"_I_ never will," said Fanny. "If I had known these Christmas parties
countenanced such impoliteness, I would have stayed at home."
"A set supper," Nanny had several times expressed a hope that Mrs.
Turner would provide, and she was not disappointed. The long table was
bountifully spread with the substantials of this life, and though not in
the style of an entertainment in Fifth Avenue, it was admirably suited
to the guests who partook of it. A roasted "shoat" graced each end of
the board, a side of bacon the centre, while salted beef, cut in thin
slices, with pickles and cheese, constituted the side-dishes. Hot
coffee, corn bread and biscuit were passed to each guest, and a piece of
pound-cake and a little preserved fruit for dessert.
There was plenty of laughter and hearty joking at the table, and the
flushed faces and increased volubility of the gentlemen gave too certain
evidence of the truth of Mr. Chester's assertions.
"The langest day maun hae an end," says the old Scotch proverb, audit
was with a sigh of relief that Fanny at last saw Uncle Jake lay down the
tortured fiddle, and the guests with lingering steps and wishful eyes
retire to seek the few hours of repose that were left of the night.
"Confusion worse confounded" reigned for a time in the apartment
appropriated to the ladies' use, and the numerous couches spread upon
the floor increased the difficulty of navigation. At last, when quiet
seemed restored, and Fanny was sinking into a peaceful sleep, she was
aroused by her neighbors in an adjoining bed, three young ladies who
declared that they were "all but starved, and must have something to eat
before they could go to sleep." One of the black women was despatched to
the store-room for some slices of cold bacon, and sitting up in bed,
with the candle before them, they made a hearty repast.
"Of course, you can't eat half as much as you want at table," said one
of the young ladies, apologetically; "one always wants to appear
delicate-like before the gentlemen."
"What in goodness' name, Nan, made breakfast so late?" said Dave the
next morning, or rather noon, as they were returning home; "I thought
one while we wasn't goin' to get any." "Why, you see, they hadn't any
wheat flour in the house for the biscuit," said Nanny, "and they had to
send three miles over the prairie to Mr. John Turner's to borrow some."
"Twenty people invited to stay over night, and no flour in the house?"
said Fanny, in amazement.
"It rather shocks your Yankee ideas of looking out ahead, Miss Hunter,"
said Mr. Chester, laughing. "We are used to such things out this way."
"Oh! Miss Fanny, people can't remember everything, you know," said
Nanny; "Belle says they never thought a word about it till this
morning."