USA > Vermont > Orange County > Bradford > Stories of old Bradford > Part 7
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It was young Josph Clark, a likely youth not yet turned twenty-four who first broke the heavy silence as the friends stood in the trodden tall grass of the graveyard. "She was a fine woman," Joseph said simply. "She always carried on in the face of discouragements, loss, or sorrow. She would ex- pect us to do the same."
"That is right," Moody's wife, Susan, tried to sound brisk as she picked up little Orlin from the grass.
"It was not for selfish tears that she gave us her time and taught us in her class," Fanny Aspinwall said, looking ten- derly at young Joseph.
The others nodded numbly. But some one could not help adding, "But always before at a time like this-" No one answered.
Old Joseph and his Sarah were the first to walk slowly away with bowed heads. The rest followed. They rode slowly and silently home through the rain with the words of their pastor* still ringing in their ears, "She has departed now to her Heavenly home to be with our Lord and Saviour, a fitting re- ward for one who was a servant of God and brought about the salvation of many."
* The children first went to school in Colonel John Barron's barn, located on the present Reynolds farm and said to be the first school for children in Bradford.
*This minister could have been Paul Dustin or Solomon Langdon, both of whom preached in Bradford for the Methodists in the year 1802.
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As Laban rode back by the Peckett cottage, which was now to be the Clark cottage, he looked fondly at the plain little house with its low roof sloping toward the front and a window each side of the door. It had been here that he first remembered seeing Mother Peckett. She had been weeding her spiced pinks and had given him one to hold for his very own. And it was here on the doorstep that he had last seen her alive. It had been on just such a lovely day two years ago that Laban had started out for the Methodist Conference in New York City, full of youthful hopes and dreams. As he had turned in his saddle for a last look at Mother Peckett and at his boy- hood home, she had waved a smiling goodbye and then had sat, chin cupped in her hands, her sunbonnet falling backward from her gray hair, her sweet faded eyes looking out across the narrow road and across the green fields toward the mountains that were just pricking through the morning fog. This spring he had had a sudden longing to be with Mother Peckett, to listen again to the inspiration of her quiet words. He had asked to have all of his free time for the year and had set out on the long horseback ride through the woods, knowing that he would spend all of the days but one on the road. He had sur,- prised the homefolks who had not expected to see him for sev- eral years, since he had been away only two years and New York City was far, far away. He was sorry that he had arrived too late for the quiet talk that he had longed for, but glad that he had been here to join the friends and neighbors in their farewell. Strangely enough, his mind felt at peace again. Of what had she been thinking that last time that he had seen her sitting on her doorstep, he wondered.
During this last year Mother Peckett had often sat just so in the early morning or in gathering twilight after her chores for the day were done, and her thoughts had taken her far back into the past. Laban's success in New York City and Mar- tin Ruter's success in Boston and in Philadelphia had made her proud and happy, but the boys' letters to her had made her happier still, for they told her that success in the big cities had not turned their heads and that the words of John Wesley,
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which she had first brought to them, were still written in their hearts .*
"John Wesley would be pleased to know that he has two more youthful followers to carry his words and teachings into the hearts of the great cities .* That makes twenty-two Brad- ford boys who have become ministers since 1797. I am proud of them ! I am proud of all of 'my children'."
"Sakes alive! It seems but yesterday that Laban was a baby."
She had seen him first in 1780 soon after she and Giles had moved to Mooretown from Haverhill, New Hampshire. Sarah Clark, in her faded calico dress and sunbonnet, had come across the field with Laban in her arms and Moody, not yet four, running by her side. Half way across Laban had grown heavy and she had put him down on his unsteady little feet to cling to her apron strings and follow after. She had come to call on her new neighbor and to compare her babies with Mrs. Peckett's youngest, little Ellen. Laban had been croupy and Mrs. Peckett had brought out some grease for his mother to grease him with. Young Mrs. Clark had been so pleased to have a near neighbor. The Barrons had been the nearest be- fore. "It was right lonesome at times living here in the pine woods, especially in the winter, before you came," she had told the older woman.
Joseph had been born that next September. Dear Joseph ! He would carry on her work. Of that Margaret Peckett was sure. Of all the Clark children, who had grown to seem almost as dear to her as her own grown children, Joseph seemed the closest. Joseph would stay on even after he was married to Fanny, for he loved the land that his father had cleared and on which he had built their first rough cabin. Joseph was con- tent with his brick mason trade, but best of all, Joseph loved
* In addition to their preaching careers, Laben Clark. D. D., helped to found Wesleyan University, at Middletown, Conn., and served as President of the Trustees of Wesleyan until his death, and Martin Ruter, who was given the Honorary Degree of D. D., was president of Augusta College in Kentucky and founder and first president of Allegheny College in Pennsylvania.
* Methodism was first started at New York in 1766. In 1790 Jesse Lee brought it to Boston. Margaret Appleton Peckett brought the first tidings of it to Bradford, Vt., around 1780 and probably to Haverhill, N. H., in 1774.
* Dr. McKeen gives the date of Margaret Appleton Peckett's arrival in Bradford as 1779 or 1780. Mr. Swapp gives it as 1780.
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to spread the Word. He loved to talk to the hard-working farm folks about the love of the Lord and the salvation of their souls. Although only in his early twenties, Joseph could preach well enough to fill the places of absent preachers at the meetings held in the little schoolhouse. More and more folks were com- ing from a distance to hear him, not counting, of course, mem- bers of their own flock, such as her dear friends the Bryant Kays, who rode twelve miles to attend all the meetings. Some day Joseph might become their regular pastor. But all the preachers were circuit riders now. And some day she hoped that Joseph or some of the Clark family might live in her own cottage. She would like to know that he would live here.
She thought of those early days when she had tried to bring the message of John Wesley's beautiful new faith to her new neighbors. The Clarks had come, of course, bringing their children with them .* It was not until seventeen years later after Nicholas Sneathen, the first Methodist circuit preacher, had come to see Mother Peckett that the first real Methodist class had been started in Bradford. That was back before the schoolhouse was built. There had been just five members in that first class in 1797, the two oldest Clark boys, Elizabeth Warren, Mother Peckett's own son William, and Mother Pec- kett herself. Later six more joined. By 1779 when the Church Society was organized, there had been thirty members, a large number for any church in those days. The years had brought many changes. Giles had left her for his Heavenly home. Her own children and the oldest Clark children had grown up, mar- ried, or gone away. Moody and Susan had a son nearly grown now, a fine lad of nearly fourteen. (Martin Ruter, the Corinth boy, had been only fifteen when he had joined the Methodists.) New neighbors had come. But through all of these changes the Methodist movement had gone steadily on. They had gone a
* The older Clarks attended the first old Congregational Church which was built on Peters Hills in 1793 by Edward and Joseph Clark (under contract for the Congregationalists) and to which Gardner Kellogg, their first minister came, rather by chance, in 1795. Mr. McKeen came to town in 1814, about twelve years after Mrs. Peckett's death.
At about the time that this first Congregational Church opened, another church was built on the Upper Plain near the north end of o'd cemetery by the Calvanistic Baptists. The last survivor of this church was Deacon Rueben Martin who clung to his faith until his death in 1841. long after the building and the other members were gone. Reuben Martin's wife was the daughter of Judge Noah White. She came to Bradford as a small baby in 1763 when her parents emigrated from Haverhill, Mass. From Concord, N. H., to Newbury, Vt., to which they came first, there was no road, and they came through the trackless woods, sleeping on the ground at night with no shelter.
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long way, but much remained to be done. She wished that she were as spry as she had once been about accomplishing things. But young Joseph had taken much of the load from her tired shoulders onto his own strong young shoulders of late. If they all just kept on working hard, the dream would come true. Some day they would have a church building of their own. She wished that she could be here to see it. But, as she had told them, it did not really matter whether they met in a church building or in the schoolhouse or in her own kitchen or in a field. What mattered was what was in their minds and hearts.
Mother Peckett sighed, and the sigh was one of both weariness and happiness. "Life is good," she murmured. "God has given me so much !"
She smiled at the darkening mountains and shivered a little in the cool evening air. She drew her shawl closer. Time went so fast now. The wooden sap buckets had been washed and put away for another year. The lone butternut tree was be- ginning to leave out. The softly curled little leaves looked like pale yellow blossoms against the dark green of the pines and the dark blue of the sky. Soon the wild cherry trees would blossom at the edge of the clearing. The pasture hill was snowy with bluets. She wondered idly if she would be here when the bluets came out next year, for of late her strength was failing fast.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill sweet music of childish voices at twilight, and then she saw the younger Clark children running barefooted across the field toward her.
"I beat!" shouted ten-year-old Samuel. - He dropped, panting, onto the step beside her and tossed a big pink and white bouquet into her lap. "They're all for you, Mother Peckett. We went a long way to find them."
"Mayflowers !" Mother Peckett exclaimed. "My first of the season. You dear children to think of me."
"And Sally has brought you a cake that she baked. That's why she couldn't run as fast," he added honestly.
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"Oh, I am sure it is delicious ! Sally is such a good little cook. Run into the house, Sammy, and find a knife. We will all sample it."
She reached out gently for the crushed, wilted little bouquets that Betsy and Gardner were offering her and patted Gardner's hot dirty little hands and kissed Betsy's smiling, rather vacant face. "How lovely! Come, Betsy, and sit beside me on the step and Gardner, come and sit in my lap. My, what a big boy you are getting to be! You won't be able to sit in Mother Peckett's lap much longer."
"No. I'm really too big to sit here now. I'm nearly as tall as Betsy. Folks can't call me the Clark baby any longer, can they?" he asked proudly.
"No. And you may not have the first piece of cake. Ladies must always be served first, you know. So pass your piece to Betsy and wait quietly for your turn like a little gentleman, Gardner."
"Hannah said to tell you that she has to stay home to- night to help Ma, but she will be over early in the morning to help you churn, and Edward will come sometime along to split the wood," Sally told their older friend.
"And I will be glad to come over to milk your cow, and Gardner can drive it to pasture," added Sammy.
"What dear helpful little friends I have," smiled Mother Peckett.
"Ma says that she's right glad to see us eager to serve the Lord. We let Ma think that because it pleases her, but we really like to do chores for you just because we love you," Sally answered, giving their friend a hug.
"I'm sure that you love. the Lord," answered Mother Peckett.
"Tell about when you were a little girl," teased Betsy.
"No, Betsy, she told us that last night. Please tell us about when you were a big girl in England, Mother Peckett. As big as Hannah or me," begged Sally.
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"Well, I wasn't many years older than you are now, Sally, about Hannah's age, I guess, when I first went to work for John Wesley. I was his housekeeper," Mother Peckett began proudly. "Mr. Wesley, you know, was the man who, more than all the others, started the Methodist religion."
"Yes, please tell us more about Mr. Wesley," said Sammy.
"He was a nice man, so sweet and sunny and full of joy, and so kind and tender-hearted that he couldn't bear to hurt anyone, yet firm as a rock and stern when it came to defending his beliefs. I didn't see too much of him at first. He kept him- self shut up in his study when he wasn't off preaching at some meeting, or visiting some of his flock, or straightening out the tangles some of his ministers had gotten themselves into. Some days he would eat only a little rice and biscuit. He would probably have forgotten to eat at all if it hadn't been for his faithful secretary, Mary Bosenquet. Some days we didn't see him at all, and Mary would carry him some food on a tray. But I was happy just to be there. I had been brought up strictly by stern God-fearing parents, and I knew the first time I ever heard him speak at a gathering that I would be so happy if I could work for Mr. Wesley, for work I must for someone. When the chance came, I could hardly believe my good for- tune. It's hard to describe one of Mr. Wesley's meetings. He made us feel that the God we had feared was a loving God who cared about each one of us, and that we had no cause to be afraid of Him if we did His bidding and obeyed the govern- ment of our new church. And yet his words filled us with worry and anxiety. They made us think of our sins and short- comings. Strong men who heard him for the first time used to beat their breasts and sob aloud. His words were quiet words. He didn't aim to excite folks the way he did, but his words seemed to touch each person in the meeting. Each one felt that Mr. Wesley was speaking directly to him. And when the unbelieving mob broke in and became rough and noisy and broke up the meeting, as they often did, and we feared for Mr. Wesley's safety. he could always seem to keep them from doing too much harm with a few quiet words."
"What did Mr. Wesley look like?" asked Sally.
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"Oh, he was thin and delicate-looking. He had a long face with a long nose and a sharp chin, and when I last saw him his straight shoulder-length hair was gray. He had a way of push- ing his head forward and holding his chin up, probably from speaking to so many crowds of people. He had such a sweet smile, and his eyes that could grow stubborn and stony if he had just cause, were usually so kind. In spite of all the troubles he had, his face was so peaceful looking.
"It was hard working for him until I got used to it. I was so young. The parsonage was a big place to keep clean. And I had to have good meals ready to serve at all hours. There were many dinner guests, all people who were working for the cause or for Mr. Wesley. His brother Charles was around a lot. No one could help but like Mr. Charles. He was so pleasant and loving and always had a kind word for every- one. He was his brother's advisor. Mr. Charles wrote the beautiful hymns that we sing. He and Mr. Fletcher were both more friendly, in a way, and easier to get acquainted with than was Mr. John. (Though all these Methodists were more friendly than were my own people.) Then there was Mr. Coke and Mr. Whitefield. Mr. Whitefield was a great preach- er. Many were the tears and sighs when Mr. Whitefield preached in the meeting. I was afraid of dear Lady Hunting- don at first. She was of royal blood and so queenly looking. But she was humble at heart, and when I came to know her I grew to love her as did everyone who knew her. But, oh my ! Running such a house was a big chore for a simple country girl, and I don't rightly know how I would ever have made out if it hadn't been for Mary Bosenquet. She advised me, and as we grew closer we sometimes shared each other's tasks. She was like an older sister to me."
"How did you happen to leave there and come to Ameri- ca?" Sam asked.
"Well, I left Mr. Wesley when I married Mr. Giles Peck- ett with Mr. Wesley's blessings. I met Mr. Peckett at one of the meetings. We saw eye to eye on nearly everything, and it was a case of love at first sight. Mr. Peckett persuaded me to leave off working and marry him. Giles needed me. His wife had died and left him with two children. We both knew that
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we wanted to follow Methodism. In America Giles would have a better chance in every way. But it wasn't until after my John, Margaret, and William were born that we finally set out for America."
Mother Peckett smiled. "It was a long, long voyage across the stormy Atlantic, with not many conveniences on the ship, so to speak. I was so thankful when we reached Portsmouth, New Hampshire. That was in the year 1774. My, I was a homesick girl that first night in Portsmouth. I hardly knew whether I was seasick or homesick. If it hadn't been for Giles-but I had Giles and my babies, and I felt that God was with us here just as He had been with us in England. We soon settled in Haverhill, New Hampshire. Giles cleared our land and dug out the stumps and built our cabin home. Of course, it was nothing so grand as this fine little house here that Giles built for me later on. Life has been good to me." She smiled contentedly.
"Now run into the house and get the hymnal, Gardner. Sally and Sammy shall each read me a hymn before you go home, for my eyes are not as good as they used to be."
"I can read, too, now-a little, but you don't need to have them read to you, Mother Peckett. You know all the words by heart," Gardner said as he rose to obey.
"And now you children must run home across the field and to bed," Mother Peckett told them when two hymns had been read aloud and they had all sung one together. "I want to sit here for a few minutes alone before I go in and light the candle and start my church work."
It was the year 1832. Mother Peckett had been gone now for thirty years. The sound of hammering carried far on the crisp winter air, and every stroke of the hammer was like a note of music to Joseph Clark as he neared the top of Bliss Hill. He had just driven through the deep drifting snow with another load of lumber in his sled. He drove the oxen up near to the hitching rail, but he didn't begin unloading at once.
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The church, now nearing completion under the direction of Captain Moses Chamberlin, 'Captain Elliss Bliss, John B. Peckett,* and Isaac Corliss, had stood here now for a year on the west side of the road near the top of the hill. It was a plain simple building 50 feet long by 40 feet wide, but to Joseph Clark it was the most beautiful building in the world. So long it had taken the dream to come true ! He entered now by one of the two big front doors that opened into the aisles and looked proudly around. At the front, between the doors, was the speaker's high platform and altar. There were two wood stoves, one on either side of the altar. Across the front end was a gallery, shaped like a half moon, for the singers. There were five little windows on each side of the room and three at the back of it. The floor was divided into fifty slips, or pews, with doors opening onto the aisles. The auctioning of the slips should bring in a goodly sum, enough to meet the payments, Joseph thought.
Perhaps they could get more days of regular preaching by the circuit riders, now that Newbury and Groton had been set off as a separate circuit and Fairlee was planning soon to join Bradford's circuit. The circuit riders must have been hard pressed in the old days when the large "Vershire circuit" reach- ed from Groton to White River Junction and westward to Barre. He remembered hearing Elijah Hedding, who had trav- eled the Vershire Circuit during 1806, say that he had aver- aged 3,000 miles in a year. He had said that it had taken him ten years of preaching once each day to earn $450. The circuit riders would like preaching in this new church. True they must share their new church with the Universalists who had helped to pay for it and who were allowed to hold services in it every fourth Sunday, but it was still the Methodist Church .* He wished that Mother Peckett could see it. How proud and
* Grandson of Giles Peckett.
* The Pecketts were relatives of Donald, Debora, and John Cole.
For the facts which this story is based I am indebted to the following sources: History of Early Bradford Methodism and First Methodist Meeting House. by Andrew Freeman Swapp. B. D., former minister of Bradford Grace Methodist Church, History of Bradford, Vt., by Dr. McKeen, Wesley and Methodism by Isaac Taylor, published by Harper & Bro.
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happy she would be if she could know. A golden ray of sun- light shone in through the central pulpit window high above the altar and fell like a friendly arm across Joseph's shoulders. For an instant it seemed to light up the inside of the church as a happy smile lights up a beloved face, and in that instant Joseph felt sure that Mother Peckett knew.
SILAS' SHOES*
A strong, angular young man in rolled-up shirt sleeves shoved up the many-paned window of his little room up un- der the sloping farmhouse roof and propped it open with a stick. Mrs. Clark didn't like one to let in the poisonous night air, but he must have just a breath before he returned to his work. The cold air fanned his hot face, touched his muscular tanned arms, and rustled the scribbled papers on the littered writing table in the dimly-lighted room behind him. Perhaps after a minute or two he could think better how to word what he wanted to say to his people.
He looked out across the wide fields and up at the North Star and thought back to the early settlement of Bradford when a log cabin had stood where this cottage was now. Let's see, this cottage must have been built about eleven years before he had been born. He wondered how many leaders had wrestled with problems similar to his under this very roof. Long ago when it was first built, "Mother" Peckett, for whose memory he had a deep respect, even though she had been the leader of another faith, had lived here. Perhaps Mrs. Peckett had often stood looking out of this same window and won- dered, as he was wondering now, just how to word a message He was sure that Joseph Clark must often have done so. Mr. Clark had grown up in the old house near here. The young man's mind wandered back now to another early farm house.
It was a shed-like cabin that stood in a lonely clearing among the Corinth hills. It was the typical home of an early Vermont farmer with nothing about it to suggest that one of its inmates might one day become a well-known person. With- in seated at a hand-hewn pine table was a small tousled-haired boy.
The boy was tall for his age, yet the ill-fitting, rough homespun clothing that had been handed down from Robert or John seemed to be draped over his thin. wiry body. One bony little hand nervously pushed back a wisp of reddish hair
* Imaginative story based on the incident told in McKeen's "History of Bradford, Vermont."
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that strayed from the thick mop that he bent industriously over the slate he was rapidly covering with words. The dim light from the candle threw weird, dancing shadows over the rough board walls and across his serious young face. It was late for farm folks, and the child knew that he should be in bed as were his parents and all of the eleven brothers and sisters who were still at home. For tomorrow they must all rise early, as usual, to start the new day's work. The two younger ones had been asleep for some time now, but it was much easier to do his studying in the quiet of the night. Now that his oldest brother Daniel had been hired out to a more prosperous farmer than was his own over-burdened Scotch- Irish father, Pa found so many chores for Silas to do that the boy found little time to steal away into the woods to study as he had been accustomed to do.
Silas sighed. "I don't believe I'll be a farmer when I grow up. They have so little time to read or study," he thought. "I don't know what I'll be, but I think it will be something that has to do with books. Perhaps by the time I am grown up folks will be able to have more houses built purposely for schools and be able to pay someone just to teach in them. Then I could teach and save money to buy books. I would like to own a book !"
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