Somewhere in the World

Chapter 7

November-December 1859

When the first snow fell in Lovell in early November, Margaret fell in love with the fairy land appearance of the landscape. She had never experienced winter or the resultant ice and snow before. The native New Englanders might grumble and prophesy a difficult winter, but Margaret was enchanted. Each morning, she pulled on her heaviest boots, warmest coat, and scarf and gloves and took long walks along the river and through the streets of town, whether crunching through thin layers of rime or making her way along ankle-deep drifts. Dixon prophesized severe lung inflammation, but as Margaret had always been hale and hearty, she shrugged off the servant’s dire warnings.

Between her friendship with the Higgins’ family and her work supporting her father at the day school, Margaret found her hours filled and had little chance to miss her old home. Alas, the same could not be said of her mother. Mrs. Hale found nothing to lighten her mood during the gray days of November. The cold weather that so invigorated her husband and daughter chilled her, and made her lethargic in body and mind. She would remain in bed on the coldest days, taking her meals in her room before the fire in her grate, rather than venture into the lower rooms. The weather seemed to control her mood; on sunny days, she would rally and take up her duties with vigor. But on rainy or snowy days, she preferred to recline on the sofa or stay in her room, seeking whatever dainty treats Dixon cared to bring to her.

However, the arrival of a letter from her son brightened her face and gladdened her heart more than any sunny day could. Margaret arrived home from one of her afternoon rambles to find the house in an uproar. “Margaret, where is Margaret?” she could hear her mother calling down the stairs. Margaret sprinted up the steps, fearing some bad news from Charleston, to find her mother clutching a letter in her hand.

“It is from Fred,” Mrs. Hale exclaimed with gladness. “He is well; he is in Texas but he hopes to soon travel to New York. Oh, Margaret, he addressed this letter to Williamsburg—I fear he did not receive your letter about our removal to Massachusetts. Thankfully, our tenant—Mr. Arbuthnot? Is that his name?—sent Fred’s letter along to to us. How fortunate, but such a delay.”

“When is Fred to reach New York?” Margaret asked when no additional information was forthcoming.

“Who knows? He has yet to receive his orders. Oh, Margaret, he writes that despite the rumblings of war, he will stay with the Union Army. I so hope those horrid politicians will settle their differences so there will be no more talk of conflict.”

Margaret raised her eyebrows in wonderment. Did her mother not read the papers or hear the chatter in the shops? She remembered the day that Nicholas Higgins had returned from western Virginia with a gray, grim face. After a standoff with the soldiers at the Harpers Ferry artillery, John Brown had been captured by the U.S. Marines and had been charged with treason. Nicholas had feared the old man would hang for his deeds. “Seven people were killed, and at least ten were injured.” Nicholas had explained. “He made it well known that he intended to arm the slaves with weapons from the arsenal, in an attempt to stir up a rebellion among them.”