Sarah's Family

Deep in thought Sarah Aimie Bissell traveled from the hills of Western Massachusetts to the Hudson River Valley of New York to begin her life with her girlhood sweetheart, now husband, Adam.  Their fourth day of traveling took on the fragrance of snow compelling the young couple to travel at a less leisurely pace.  After a full day of bumping along in their wagon they stopped in a small village just outside the city of Albany.  They found a place to stay for the night and decided to rest until late morning before completing their journey.  Morning dawned with snow and wind thankfully they had but a short distance yet to cover.  When the wind finally quieted they bundled themselves in warm clothing and a warm carriage throw and made their way slowly to their destination.  By late afternoon, and as the sun dimmed, Sarah and Adam were finally in Albany and began searching for accommodations for the night.  They were looking for an inn in which to spend the night.  Up and down the cobbled streets they saw only rows of homes, all the same and each attached to the next.  Sarah loved seeing the lighted windows and imagining the family within each, like peering into the windows of the dollhouse her father made for her oldest sister, many years prior.  A for rent sign in the window of a lovely brownstone on a quiet tree lined street caught their attention.  The cobblestones that paved the street echoed as their wagon traveled over them.  The snow was just beginning to fall as the daylight faded creating a glow dotted by windows with firelight visible through rippling panes of glass. 

Albany

After a very brief and quiet discussion Adam, accompanied by his bride, alighted from the wagon, and went to the door to pull the bell.  Without time to retreat a stout woman, grandmotherly in appearance opened the door.  The couple began the introductions.  “Good evening, Madam, I’m Adam Bissell and this is my wife, Sarah.  We saw your sign.”  This barely uttered the woman ushered the couple in to the warmth of her well-furnished parlor.  Adam’s quizzical expression prompted the woman to make introductions of her own.  “I’m Emma Nash, Widow Nash.” 

The mere thought brought a low gasp from Sarah. 

Emma continued, “Mr. Nash, my Billy, died eleven years ago, he was working on the Hoosac Tunnel.  March 20, 1865, been on my own ever since.  We didn’t have children so I packed up, took what they offered, left North Adams, in Massachusetts, came to Albany and bought this house.  This way I can be close to Billy sometimes, figuring he’s riding one of the engines that stop at the Albany station.” 

Again Sarah was unable to stifle her astonishment at Emma’s candor, and her breathless summary of her life.

“Don’t fret Mrs. Bissell, I’m not crazy, just lonely sometimes.” 

Even as Emma continued with her story the young couple found her likable and thought of her as a link to their home, so newly left behind.  Adam was finally able to bring up the ‘for rent sign’ and the purpose of their visit.