Sheep Sorting Day. Every year the
Tarrytown Historical Society presented a weekend festival in celebration of
local sheep farming, once a vital part of the rural economy. Sheep put out to
pasture to grow fat and furry were collected and sorted to their rightful
owners for wool shearing. This grand finale of ovine wool production heralded
other cheerful labors connected to spring.
Blythe Grey parked her car in the cul
de sac out of sight of the festivities and headed to the group of costumed
volunteers. Her costume fit well, considering it was from the society’s
archives.
“Blythe, over here! You look so
elegant. Do you have your props?”
Gina Monroe, dressed in a flouncy
Victorian gown handed Blythe the day’s schedule. They approached the house,
home of four generations of the Walker family.
An intriguing decision made by the
society board members showed the Walker house to its best advantage. Instead of
choosing one era to showcase, they designated one or more rooms of the 14 room
house to represent each historical era once lived in by Walker ancestors. Rooms
were furnished in Colonial, Federal, Victorian, and Edwardian fashion, to name
a few. And during festivals, docents wore the corresponding costume for his or
her particular area for interpretation to visitors.
Blythe wore a high-waisted gown
typical of the Federal or Regency period, which flourished in the early 1800s.
Her dress was rather grand, she thought, with its deep blue, long-sleeved outer
gown that parted in the front to reveal a cream silk under-skirt. Her hair was
gathered in soft curls on either side of her face. She was stationed in the
Front Parlor. Federal furniture, designed to emulate the best of Neoclassical
Greek and Roman construction, honored the new Federal Republic formed after the
Revolutionary War. A cherry wood drop-leaf table stood in front of a curving
settee upholstered in burnished gold. Blythe’s prop was a silver tea service
embellished with an eagle with spread wings.
The bright music of country fiddlers
began outside. Blythe, a newcomer to the festival and the society, gazed out
the window to study the scene, and to learn the faces of society members she
hadn’t met.
“And isn’t it the herds of woolies
and their bleating that makes up the best part of this pageant?”
Blythe turned quickly at the sound
of the cheerful voice. Her eyes found it hard to focus in the shadowy room,
dazzled by the sunny view beyond the window. A woman dressed in a high-waisted green
gown embroidered with vines and flowers graced the doorway. The gown looked
familiar – must be part of the collection. Hadn’t Blythe seen it on a mannequin
in the costume exhibit in Town Hall? And the delicate brogue. Nice touch.
“Hello! There are so many people I
haven’t met yet…”
“You’re Blythe, I know. I’m Jayne
Walker and pleased to make acquaintance with ye.”
“Same here,” said Blythe, thinking
simultaneously that it was a great idea to assume Walker family names, and
wondering why she wasn’t aware that more than one Federal interpreter would
share her space. She assumed that Wendy, the director of docents had decided to
give her a hand this first time through.
Jayne joined her at the window.
“Have the pipers arrived yet? And
the drummers? Surely they scare the sheep, timid creatures as they are. But it
wouldn’t be a proper Sorting Day without them.”
Blythe watched as a fair-sized flock
of sheep were herded into the elevated patch of ground beyond the doors of the
house. Their bulging sides hid their thin legs making caricatures of them. She
felt suddenly light-headed and put her hand to her temple.
“Ah the washing and carding and
spinning to be done once the shearers get through with them,” sighed Jayne. “I
prefer knitting to weaving cloth, but all must get started in days to come.”
In days to come. Blythe staggered
slightly. Something wasn’t quite right.
“My dear!” exclaimed Jayne. “Are you
unwell? Your hand is shaking. It’s cold as stone! Come to the settee and take a
restorative.”
Blythe allowed herself to be led to
the settee. Jayne removed her own lacey woolen shawl and placed it round her
shoulders. Blythe felt alarmed at her own increasing confusion. There was a
glow reflecting warmth on the ceiling of the room. How could there be a fire in
the grate? Blythe was unaware that the festival involved lighting the
fireplaces. She thought the flues were all blocked to keep out the weather in
historic homes such as this.
And she heard the sound of pouring
liquid. Jayne poured fragrant tea into two white china cups with broad gold edges.
The Wedding Band china, thought Blythe, usually secured in glassed-in shelves. She
added sugar and cream, then held the cup to Blythe’s lips. Wonderful.
Her eyes lifted from the inside of
her cup to the pale blue ones of Jayne sitting beside her.
“Sure it is you’ve had a curious
reaction to seeing me,” laughed Jayne softly.
Blythe felt tiny shoots of panic
rising up to her throat. She breathed deeply to calm herself. The sound of
bagpipes joined by drumming floated through the window.
Two hours later, the designated time
when all docents were to gather near the outdoor podium to join the crowd of
onlookers for a show of period dancing, Blythe found Gina.
She pointed to the program in her hand and
said to her, “They have to make a correction. Jayne Walker’s middle name is
incorrect. It’s Lydia.”
(924 words)
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