A TRAGEDY RECOUNTED

Jeremiah Babin occupied himself chiefly in the administration of his family’s business and real estate interests. The fortune had its origins in the distant past when an enterprising relation cornered the Canadian fur trade, but it was solidified by lucrative investments in the railroad, the manufacture of steam engines, and the acquisition of vast tracts of real estate in the now burgeoning middle of the country. Jeremiah’s wife, Virginia, née Millbury, though of an old and respectable Boston family, had so many beautiful and charming sisters that her dowry was not sufficient to attract any but the most sincere suitors. Given that among these sisters, Virginia was neither the most beautiful nor the most charming – though all agreed she possessed that most winning of female virtues, a sweet disposition – her marriage was widely considered something of a coup. That she adored her tall, handsome, rich husband was a given. The marriage was blessed with two children, a boy, Victor, and a girl, Melody.

Like so many in their set, the Babins moved among their houses from season to season; spring in New York, summers in Maine or Newport, fall at the family’s manse in Philadelphia, and winter in Florida, though Jeremiah was sometimes forced by his business affairs to remain in Philadelphia through the early snows. It was in December during one such delay in the family’s migrations that tragedy struck a devastating blow.

All that morning, as a light snow drifted down from the pristine white sheet of the sky, the children had pleaded with Miss Jekyll, their governess, to be allowed a sledding expedition in the park. Diligently they worked at their lessons in hopes of the adventure, and at lunch they were rewarded when their mother, smiling at their eagerness, granted their teacher’s request. They had not far to go; the spacious plains of the park began just across the road from the Babins’ big stone house on Chestnut Street. When Victor and Melody were sufficiently wrapped in fleecy hats, scarves, gloves, woolen stockings, and fur‑lined boots, and their sleds extracted from beneath the stair landing, they ventured out into the chilly air while their mother looked on indulgently from an upstairs window. The trio stood at the curb, each child holding a sled cord with one hand and Miss Jekyll’s kid‑gloved fingers with the other. The traffic was light. A carriage passed on one side; a gentleman on horseback trotted by on the other. When the way was clear, they hurried into the cobbled street. Halfway across, Miss Jekyll’s boot skidded on an icy patch, and as Virginia watched from above, the governess came down awkwardly upon her side. The children dropped their sleds, rushing to her aid; Victor manfully bent over her shoulder to offer his assistance. Melody, standing behind him, looked back at the house, spotted her mother’s anxious face at the window, and waved. Miss Jekyll sat up in the street, adjusting her hat.

From out of nowhere, or so it seemed, though it was actually from around the corner, a cab hurtled into view. The horses were galloping full out, their muscular necks stretched to the limit, their heavy lips folded back over the bits, green with foam. Steam rose from their wet nostrils, their great chests heaved, and the furiously grinding hooves struck and struck the cobbles with the indifference of machine pistons. The driver had braced his boots against the ridge at the front of his box and wrapped the reins around his forearms. He was pulling with such force that his back was nearly horizontal to his seat. His hat was gone, his face crimson with fury and terror, his mouth open wide, teeth bared. His eyes looked down his face, focused on the surging heads of his horses. He couldn’t see the helpless woman, the attendant children, huddled in the street.

Virginia screamed and threw herself against the window, tearing at the sash, though it was certainly too late. By the time she had pulled it free and the cold air rushed in, carrying the din of the approaching annihilation, Miss Jekyll had risen to her knees and was attempting to push the children out of danger. Melody took one tentative step toward the house; Victor clung to his governess, determined to help her to her feet. The shriek of the wheels against the stone, the pounding of the horses’ hooves like rifle fire in a battlefield, the driver’s shouts, and Miss Jekyll’s anguished cry combined in a deafening, unearthly roar. In the last moment before the hooves struck, knocking the woman flat on her back, tossing the boy beyond her to be trampled before he could rise, Virginia saw her daughter look up, her expression confused but not frightened, and mouth the word “Mama.” Then the carriage wheel struck her from behind and she sprawled facedown before it.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 503