You look
surprised to see me. Didn’t think that out here on this beautiful lawn an old
ghost would be lurking about in the middle of the day, here to lure you beyond
your daydreaming thoughts. I don’t mean to scare you. That’s not my purpose.
But I do need you to look me straight in the eye. Yes, that’s it. Deep down
into those still blue eyes. They’re rather strange aren’t they, because you
don’t see just the eyes, do you? No. You see something else, an image, not very
pronounced right now, but there just the same. Keep looking, it will get
clearer in a moment. Now don’t get distracted; even when you see other spirits
come toward you. They are all around, in the woods, in the Clarke house and
down across the way toward the Institute for Advanced Study. Pay no attention
to them. It’s just you and me.
My name is Mary. I’ve been dead
many years. At about this time, when autumn arrives and the leaves turn those
brilliant colors before they fall to the ground I come back, to walk the earth
once more in order to talk to the living. I always come here, to Princeton
Battlefield. On this land that is so peaceful now, a big event took place. It
was loud; it was awful. Men died; right before my eyes. But I can’t tell you
about that until I tell you the entire story. My story. Do you see me as a
baby? Or did you turn away from my eyes?
I
was born in 1764, in Stony Brook, a small village that lies close to Prince
Town, New Jersey. It is named Stony Brook because it sits beside a brook that
meanders through this area of bountiful farms. Our farm, the Stump Farm and Blacksmithy, sits just outside the village, just off the
road called Quaker Bridge. The road was named that for this village has many
Quakers, or, as we refer to ourselves, Friends, living here. Located nearby is
our Meeting House or church.
Our
farm has four buildings: a house, a barn, a blacksmith shop and a smokehouse.
There is a kitchen garden next to the side door of the house that leads into
the kitchen. We grow vegetables and herbs. In our fields we cultivate flax, corn and wheat. Off to the side there is a peach
orchard that also has two apple trees. We have several chickens, a big mean
rooster, two pigs, some cows and two horses. We keep bees out past the orchard.
Every year we have a new calf, which gives us milk. Our household is always
blessed with fresh butter and cream. I should know, for since I turned seven I churn the milk. When the peaches ripen on the trees during
the summer, I am extra diligent about the fresh cream.
In
between our house and barn is a huge old oak tree. During the summer months, my
brothers and I play games in its shade or make use of the swing our father tied
to the upper branches many years back. Certain chores, like peeling onions or
shucking corn can be done under its wide canopy that provides shelter from the
Jersey sun. One can also just sit under it to think. On Sundays I lie down
beneath its branches to watch the leaves dance with the breezes. For in the
summer, they are so thick that I can hardly see the sun, but as the autumn
creeps in and the weather turns crisp, the sun can be seen peeking through the
emptying branches.
Once the cold
weather arrives, it is time to learn, for my mother has been well educated and
the abilities of reading, writing, adding and subtracting are taught to all of
us, her three children. I, Mary, am the youngest. My brothers are Paul, the
eldest, and Samuel. All of us from the age of four had responsibilities on the
farm. My first chore, when I was of the age, was to feed the chickens and pick
up the eggs. When I was six, I learned to milk our cows. When I was seven,
besides taking on the churning of the milk fat, I learned to read and write and
to add and subtract. It was also the year I decided I was to be in charge of
the peach orchard. I confess this responsibility was taken up in the name of a
love for peaches that knew no bounds. My parents were aware of this passion but
allowed it. They agreed to my demands.
Besides the
family members, we have two helpers. Tom, a man of African decent, who had been
with my family since before I was born, and Sally, lately arrived from
Scotland. She is indentured, meaning that in order to pay her way to the
colonies she had sold her services for five years. That spring, of 1775, marked
her first year with us. It was also at that time that we heard about the Minute
Men who fired upon the British Regulars up in Concord. An American had died in
that confrontation as well as British soldiers. My father was very worried
about this occurrence and my mother prayed hard that peace would last in our
colonies.
When I was
eleven, I grew tall for my age. Mother made me new clothes for I had outgrown
everything. My hair, which had been blonde, now turned a light brown. The
features of my face favored my dad, who had a straight nose, full lips and the
most expressive eyes of anyone I have know since. Sally said it was his eyes
that I had, and though I didn’t talk much, she said my eyes told a body
anything they wanted to know. Paul reported that he thought I would grow
prettier, but Samuel made no comments. He shared my proclivity for economy of
talk.
It was about
that time that I fell in love with our neighbor’s boy, Jimmy Updyke who was three years older than I was. Jimmie said
peace was not going to last and that he was going to join the army to fight for
our rights. I didn’t know whether to be awestruck or afraid. It was a little of
both. For I felt it too, that things would not stay the same, not even in the
quiet and peaceful Jerseys.
Then
it happened. A big battle took place, up north, in Boston, the battle of Bunker
Hill they called it even though it took place on two hills, Breeds being the
other. It changed everything and we knew what was coming next. Washington moved
the Continental Army to New York and then Jimmie was gone. Gone to New York
with his friends and many others in the militia, to fight in the army. He said
goodbye to me early one morning in June of 1776, right after I turned 12. I
tried not to cry, but it was hard not to. I loved him so. Jimmie, tall and
straight, his blonde hair always falling into his blue, blue eyes. Told me he
would play a drum in the fife and drum corp. I asked him if he would be in
danger.
