Loud enough for Mother to hear, though, he added that they appear only when the sun goes down, when children are to be tucked into bed. (It was not like him to be concerned about arbitrary rules such as bedtimes, but I eventually discovered that it was the subject of his statue that made him wary. He was working on his Mary Magdalene, with her unbound curls falling around her naked torso. Needless to say, Mother would not have approved, so he kept the sculpture hidden far into the forest.)
Finally, despite her objections, he allowed me to join him one evening after supper. As we walked into the trees, I was made to promise not to tell Mother of the sculpture.
That first night I lay bundled in Father’s big coat and stared up into the darkening sky, but eventually I fell asleep to the sound of his chisel. I awoke to him putting me to bed?—?I had slept even as he carried me home.
“Did I miss them?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “But they’ll come again.”
He allowed me to go with him again the next night and the night after, and I forbade myself from giving in to sleep. I pinched my arms and hopped up and down while Father worked at his sculpture, but the bats did not appear. And then at last it happened?—?just after sunset on the third night, a dark spot flitted through the trees, so quick and small that I doubted my eyes, but then it came again, and dozens more with it.
Thinking on it now, I am surprised I was not somewhat disappointed, for there was little to observe. In the dusk, especially to my inexperienced eyes, the bats could have been barn swallows or oversized moths. Yet for all that, it was marvelous?—?the nights of anticipation and then, in the sky above me, the fleeting silhouettes of their wings.
That is the excitement. We catch only glimpses, a burst of movement, a flap of wings, yet it is life itself beating at shadow’s edge. It is the unfolding of potential; all of what we might experience and see and learn awaits us.
January 22
Too little sleep is not good for my constitution, and I think I may be coming down with a cold or some other illness, I feel so poorly. I could not bear the thought of lying in bed all day, so although it was blustery, I went for a walk on the wagon road behind the officers’ homes. I tired more quickly than I would have liked, however, and have returned after only an hour or so.
January 23
Still I cope with this queasiness and general malaise. I had hoped that exercise and fresh air would chase it away, but again it comes upon me unexpectedly. These past days I have not cared to draw attention to it. Allen, however, insists I visit the barracks hospital tomorrow to see Dr Randall. He says it will not do for me to board the ship if I am coming down with some sickness.
I am loath to go?—?I’ve always had the irrational thought that if one consults a physician, it only confirms an illness that might otherwise be ignored away?—?but I will go nonetheless.
Boston Herald, Sept. 10, 1884
A WEDDING PARTY
FOR SON OF GEN. FORRESTER
Lieut.-Col. Allen Walton Forrester, son of Gen. James Forrester, and Miss Sophie Ada Swanson, daughter of Mrs. Helen Swanson, were married at 12 o’clock yesterday at the Grace Presbyterian Church in a quiet ceremony. The bride and groom were attended at the altar by Miss Swanson’s mother and Mr. George Forrester, brother to the groom. The ceremony was officiated by the Rev. Dr. Daniel Rodgers. The bride wore a dress of heavy white satin and a tulle veil, and carried a bouquet of pale pink Bennett roses.
The newlywed couple was then escorted to the nearby Forrester estate by the elderly Gen. and Mrs. James Forrester. Despite the small size of the wedding party, the reception was an impressive affair, with numerous gifts and distinguished guests. In light of Gen. Forrester’s stature in the Boston community, it does not come as a surprise that his son’s wedding would attract such attention. The event was attended by the likes of Gen. Joseph Lovell, Lieut.-Col. Robert Jones, Sen. Henry Dawes, and Augustus Flagg.
The newly wedded couple leaves next week for Vancouver Barracks in the remote Washington Territory where the Colonel is to be stationed.
Dear Mr. Forrester,
I was surprised when the boxes of documents came to my office last week. As I said during our telephone conversation, we probably aren’t the best institution to receive this collection. I think you misunderstood me. I’m sure they are historically important. Unfortunately, we just don’t have enough staffing or resources to properly archive them. Our funding was cut this past year, and we are now relying almost entirely on volunteers. I am sure the university or one of the larger museums in Anchorage would be happy to take this donation.