Boston, Massachusetts
Beacon Hill
“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson.
One of my favorite Emerson quotes. It took leaving California and returning to Boston to truly appreciate this man’s words and rely on them heavily.
~ S.
Harlan Garrett requested a horse driven carriage to be the mode of transportation for what Kinsey playfully called her “Grand Tour of Boston”. Scott had to agree with his grandfather; the weather was perfect for a carriage ride. Today Boston would be presenting it’s best for his little cousin. It was time to relax and enjoy it with her.
The carriage weaved its way down Mt. Vernon Street towards the State House turning right on Beacon to view the Commons and its beautiful parks. Continuing on to the financial district, Harlan was certain to point out the businesses he had invested in or owned. Scott noted the list had grown considerably which included several firms concerned with patenting and invention. Dotted throughout the streets of Tremont and Devonshire were legal practices; some well established while others were new to the profession so they could ride the wave of Boston’s ever-growing population. It was one of the newer law offices that caught Scott’s attention to mentally jot down its street number.
As with most Boston elite, Harlan Garrett held high expectations to support charities such as hospitals and colleges along with cultivating the arts.
“My dear, I must show you our Boston Athenaeum. Contributions and the tireless efforts of so many inch us closer to the opening of a museum. Oh, if you were only staying longer. Your love and enthusiasm of the fine arts would be priceless to the work. I will introduce you to a few of our contributors tonight.”
“I look forward to it, Sir. I only hope I can remember everyone’s name.”
“That’s easy Freckles. My grandfather’s circle is rather small so there will only be a few last names to memorize.” Scott, taking off his hat to place over his heart, cleared his throat. “And here's to good old Boston...the land of the bean and the cod...where Lowells talk only to Cabots...and Cabots talk only to God."
Even Harlan Garrett fell victim to Kinsey’s contagious laughter over Scott’s rendition of a poem penned purely to poke fun at the Boston Brahmins.
As the afternoon continued with good spirits, it was evident Kinsey had become the “common ground” in which grandfather and grandson could engage in conversations of shared interests without the suspicions or accusations that had plagued their relationship recently.
Scott admired Harlan’s knowledge of Boston’s past and present as the trio entered the more historic areas. However, the grandson truly felt the man’s passion when expressing his vision for Boston’s future.
“Scott, I think your grandfather is attempting to sell me Boston.”
“No, Kinsey, I believe he is trying to give you Boston.”
Harlan smiled wistfully. “Ah Scotty. I have only attempted that once. Fortunate for me your grandmother said yes.”
Kinsey’s Grand Tour ended at the Old North Church where Harlan pointed out that Longfellow’s poem, although popular, was a bit inaccurate.
Climbing out of the carriage, Kinsey stood breathless in front of the church. “The American Revolution was ignited on this very spot. Extraordinary. Independence and freedom; absolutely worth the fight.” Donning a sly grin, Kinsey peered up at her escorts. “Wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen?”
Once back home, Harlan excused himself to retire to his study to finish paperwork before guests started arriving for the evening’s gathering. Hearing Kinsey’s voice echoing from the kitchen signaled to Scott she was bending Winnie’s ear instead of following his advice and retiring to her room to rest before the onslaught of Grandfather’s socialites.
Winifred was the first to notice Scott’s stern face as he leaned in the doorway.
“Well ScottyGarrett, it seems as though something is displeasing you.”
“Yes Winnie. Something is displeasing me and I’m looking at her.”
The younger cousin turned and expressed concerned. “Winnie! What did you do to deserve such a look?” Snickers could not be contained by either female.
Scott began to count.
“One. Two.”
Kinsey rolled her eyes. “You said you were advising me to rest.”
“And now it’s more. Three.”
“I have managed social events in the past. Honestly, Scott.”
“Not one of my grandfather’s. You have no idea. Four.”
“I think I shall ignite my own revolution.”
“Try it. And then find out what I ignite. Five. Six.”
“Freedom.”
“Seven.”
“Independence.”
“Eight.”
“You are in sufferable!”
Kinsey’s stomps could be heard on every step punctuated by the slamming of a bedroom door.
Winnie grinned. “Have ye ever gotten to ten?”
Scott returned the smile. “Not yet. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Well, it’s good to see me methods I used on ye carry on.”
“In the last few months I have acquired a great respect for many of your methods.”
Opening the pantry door, Scott began a search.
“And what do ye think yer doin’ in there as if ye would know sugar from salt.”
“I’ll have you know Winifred, not so long ago I baked a two layer yellow cake with chocolate icing that Johnny paid a shiny silver dollar for.”
“Then make yerself useful and hand me the blue and white mixing bowl; the one with the handle.”
While retrieving the mixing bowl, Scott spied the object of his search. “Jameson. It appears Winifred your taste in the spirits has improved.”
Snagging a coffee mug, Scott poured himself a healthy portion.
“Well now, if ye be pilferin’ a woman’s good Irish whiskey at least have the decency to pour her two fingers.”
The warmth of the whiskey settling in assisted Scott with his next question. “Winnie, during all the years we shared together in this house, why didn’t you tell me about my father?”
Winnie stared at the bottom of her mug as if the answer was written there. “In the beginning, I respected yer grandfather’s wishes and said nothing. As years passed I became a selfish old woman and did not want to give ye up. There’s very few things I regret doing in my life ScottyGarrett…” Falling silent, Winnie finished her drink.
“You’re still too young to have regrets, Winifred.” Scott finished his drink and turned to leave. “Tell me, tomorrow being Wednesday does Grandfather still spend the afternoon at the Union Club?”
“Like clockwork. And why would ye be askin’?”
“Curious.”
“And what have I always told you about curiosity?”
Smiling, Scott nodded and left.
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