Sublime
5 October 1824
After camp broke yesterday morning, and everything was packed back up in our wagons, we left in little groups forming a long trail of people in each of the three directions whence we had come. Our group was headed back to the Falls of the Coosa. We followed along with several other wagons, but once we turned off to go our way toward the falls, we were on our own as a small band.
I rode double with John, and what joy that was! He has had Farthing, his gentle brown mare with white down her nose, since before he came to Alabama. She has brought him safely to me, and now we were being brought home at a nice, slow pace that enabled John and \me to talk. And to sometimes just be silent and listen to the birds who were in the trees dotting the road.
Riding behind John with my arms around his waist allowed a closeness that I think he otherwise would have been embarrassed about. For all of his traveling and skills and abilities, I believe that John is an innocent when it comes to ladies. I was reminded only briefly of someone I once knew back in Laurens, many years ago; someone who taught me how to kiss, but who also taught me, unwittingly, how to be cautious of ever giving my heart again. Enough said on that.
As we rode on, in the gaps between conversations, I laid my head on his back. I could smell the smokiness of his leather vest; the days around campfires permitted their essence to linger. My cheek rubbed along the leather, up and down and slightly sideways in rhythm with Farthing’s four-footed walk, but I soon learned how to manage. If John had been able to look behind him, he would have seen the blissful smile that occasionally broke out in a grin.
Our party stopped more than once for various reasons, and on one of the stops, I took to skipping about, singing snippets of “I’d Be a Butterfly”, whatever I could remember of it. John had to smile in spite of himself. I had become a light-hearted girl once again, if for just a morning. He leaned on a tree near the trail, watching me skip down it a little ways. Then I would venture back, singing as I went, trying to do so without losing my breath. I blew an imaginary kiss to my singing teacher back in Laurens, Johann, for all of those singing lessons I once endured dutifully.
All too soon, we arrived at our place. John stayed while the oxen were unhitched from the wagon and the supplies put back to the various places they belonged. Although Reverend Terry was still his employer and was himself returning from Camp, John was anxious to return to work. There were horses to be tended to, the cotton crop to be looked after, and, most especially, John was eager to get back to his inventions.
Something had happened on John’s trip to Mobile regarding his gin that he was reservedly excited about. He was short on details about it, but promised that soon he would show me what he was up to.
Before he left our place, John leaned down and kissed me on the cheek in full view of Warner and the men. This was an emboldened move that took me by surprise. He said his good bye and was off down the path, while I danced a little dance of happiness. For now I was “John’s girl.”
5 October 1824
After camp broke yesterday morning, and everything was packed back up in our wagons, we left in little groups forming a long trail of people in each of the three directions whence we had come. Our group was headed back to the Falls of the Coosa. We followed along with several other wagons, but once we turned off to go our way toward the falls, we were on our own as a small band.
I rode double with John, and what joy that was! He has had Farthing, his gentle brown mare with white down her nose, since before he came to Alabama. She has brought him safely to me, and now we were being brought home at a nice, slow pace that enabled John and \me to talk. And to sometimes just be silent and listen to the birds who were in the trees dotting the road.
Riding behind John with my arms around his waist allowed a closeness that I think he otherwise would have been embarrassed about. For all of his traveling and skills and abilities, I believe that John is an innocent when it comes to ladies. I was reminded only briefly of someone I once knew back in Laurens, many years ago; someone who taught me how to kiss, but who also taught me, unwittingly, how to be cautious of ever giving my heart again. Enough said on that.
As we rode on, in the gaps between conversations, I laid my head on his back. I could smell the smokiness of his leather vest; the days around campfires permitted their essence to linger. My cheek rubbed along the leather, up and down and slightly sideways in rhythm with Farthing’s four-footed walk, but I soon learned how to manage. If John had been able to look behind him, he would have seen the blissful smile that occasionally broke out in a grin.
Our party stopped more than once for various reasons, and on one of the stops, I took to skipping about, singing snippets of “I’d Be a Butterfly”, whatever I could remember of it. John had to smile in spite of himself. I had become a light-hearted girl once again, if for just a morning. He leaned on a tree near the trail, watching me skip down it a little ways. Then I would venture back, singing as I went, trying to do so without losing my breath. I blew an imaginary kiss to my singing teacher back in Laurens, Johann, for all of those singing lessons I once endured dutifully.
All too soon, we arrived at our place. John stayed while the oxen were unhitched from the wagon and the supplies put back to the various places they belonged. Although Reverend Terry was still his employer and was himself returning from Camp, John was anxious to return to work. There were horses to be tended to, the cotton crop to be looked after, and, most especially, John was eager to get back to his inventions.
Something had happened on John’s trip to Mobile regarding his gin that he was reservedly excited about. He was short on details about it, but promised that soon he would show me what he was up to.
Before he left our place, John leaned down and kissed me on the cheek in full view of Warner and the men. This was an emboldened move that took me by surprise. He said his good bye and was off down the path, while I danced a little dance of happiness. For now I was “John’s girl.”
Oh, happy day!
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