General George McClellan's Pursuit of Miss Nelly

Nelly & George McClellan

Miss Ellen (Nelly) Marcy was considered to be the catch of the East Coast in the mid and late 1850’s. Her father was a renowned army captain who saw his daughter as his prized achievement. From his posts on the frontier in Texas and elsewhere, he wrote his daughter a multitude of letters seeking to guide her development, and nowhere was this more important than in the selection of a marriage partner.

By all accounts, Nelly was the sweetest, most agreeable young woman imaginable. Intelligent, kind, and skilled at making everyone feel welcome, she was also a beauty and a faithful Christian. Young businessmen and military officers alike flocked to pay her court.

An army man himself, her father warned her against falling in love with a military man, especially if he were an officer in the field. Such a man would be gone for months or years on end, leaving her alone back east, or even worse, the man might try to bring her to the frontier itself, exposing her to the dangers and rugged, hard living.

Instead, Marcy wanted his daughter to be socially ambitious and marry up on the social ladder. He also wanted her to be well-provided for. He thought he’d found a good prospect in 1854 when his daughter was eighteen: Lieutenant George McClellan, one of the most promising engineers in the army and not a field officer. McClellan, who had been known as a boy genius at West Point, came from a very well-placed Philadelphia family. Marcy decided that in McClellan’s case, he’d be willing to make an exception to the “no army men clause.”

Gen. George McClellan riding into Frederick, MD, years late during the Civil War
in Frank Leslie's Newspaper

McClellan fell hard for the beautiful, charming young woman the first time he laid eyes on her, and confident man that he was, he felt assured of victory. He wrote to her mother and declared his intentions. Her father had already encouraged his pursuit, and her mother quickly joined McClellan’s fan club. Unfortunately for McClellan, Nelly wasn’t having it. He was a charming young officer who was fine as a friend, but she felt no spark.

Impetuous, McClellan rushed to propose after a short acquaintance, and he received a flat no. After many attempts to persuade Nelly differently and after numerous letters to her mother, he gained no ground. Nelly wouldn’t write to him, and he was now stationed in Florida. After a year of making no headway, he backed off from pursuit, but his heart still belonged to Nelly.

In the meantime, McClellan’s roommate from West Point, Lieutenant A.P. Hill, a lady’s man, met Nelly and fell in love. This time, the feeling was mutual, much to Mr. and Mrs. Marcy’s chagrin. Hill was a field officer bound to spend many years on the frontier, and his family background was only mediocre, not the crème of society.

General A.P. Hill

When Nelly accepted Hill’s proposal, her parents were livid. Her father wrote that she had greatly disappointed him, and that his strong love for her might turn to hate if she didn’t come to her senses. Basically, he said she’d have to choose between Hill and him.

Her mother wasn’t much better, except she went on the attack against Hill. She learned that in his wild youth, ten years before, he’d stopped in New York City on his way back to West Point and contracted a venereal disease. She spread this information about the social circles of Washington. She even wrote McClellan, who was serving in Europe at the time, with the information, but he reprimanded her and stood up for his old roommate.

Nelly eventually gave in to her parents’ bullying and broke off her engagement. A year later, Hill found someone else and eventually married.

The years passed. McClellan left the army and became a vice-president of the Illinois Central Railroad. And Nellie continued to be the fairest of many balls, pursued a multitude of gentleman callers hoping to win her affection and hand and her father’s approval.

In March 1858, four years after his failed proposal, McClellan managed to strike up a correspondence with Nelly. Her father had led a dangerous but successful rescue mission out west in Utah, and McClellan wrote to her, commending her father. Thus began their relationship via pen and paper, he in Chicago and she in Washington. Hope was reborn. Nellie wrote to him as a friend, in a sisterly fashion, and he took matters slowly this time, no rash proposals. However, he assured her he was her longest and most ardent admirer.

Eighteen months later, he had a chance to see her. Nelly and her mother planned to travel to St. Paul to spend the winter with her father. McClellan invited them to stop in Chicago for a couple of days and stay with him. They accepted.

Steam Engine

When it was time for mother and daughter to head on to St. Paul, McClellan offered his private train car for their travel, and he joined them for their journey. He had never stopped loving her. There had been no one else in all of this time, and he wasn’t about to let the woman of his dreams slip away without a giving his all to win her as his wife.

General George & Nelly McClellan
(Library of Congress)

He proposed on the second day of the train ride, and she accepted. His persistence, faithfulness, and enduring love had eventually won her heart.

Sherry Shindelar

Originally from Tennessee, Sherry loves to take her readers into the past. A romantic at heart, she is an avid student of the Civil War and the Old West. Sherry is a multi-award-winning writer. She currently resides in Minnesota with her husband of forty-one years.

Connect with Sherry: website, newsletter, Amazon, FB, Goodreads

Texas Reclaimed

Can love blossom between a woman haunted by her family’s past and a man with a war-scarred heart?

Cora Scott is determined to hold onto her family's Texas ranch and provide a stable home for her young half brother, Charlie, despite the mounting challenges of post-Civil War frontier life. But when a scheming creditor threatens to seize their land, she must accept help from Ben McKenzie, a former Yankee soldier sent by her late brother. Though Ben's generosity and strength draw her, the man's private struggle she stumbles upon—too reminiscent of her father's alcoholism—makes her question whether she can trust her heart to him.

Ben McKenzie arrives in Texas intent on fulfilling his promise to his dying friend to protect Cora and Charlie. While using his inheritance to save their ranch, he battles not only the loss of their cattle but also his dependency on laudanum—a medicine that turned into a curse after his imprisonment at Andersonville. As his feelings for Cora deepen, he must choose between his promise to his father to take over their Philadelphia newspaper and his growing dream of a life with Cora in Texas.

The Original Town of Washington, California by Denise M. Colby

County map of California, 1860, by S.A. Mitchell, Jr., Atlas map

There was a town called Washington located across the Sacramento River from Sacramento City. It was never officially recorded and the town became later known as Broderick, a suburb of West Sacramento.

Early History

It originally was a land grant from the Mexican Governor to John Schwartz. John had built a shack along the river six miles south of where the American and Sacramento Rivers converge. He and his brother had established a salmon fishery there, then expanded to raising livestock and growing potatoes and melons.

The 600 acres was purchased by James McDowell in 1846 (before the Gold Rush in 1848). He and his wife, Margaret, and their three daughters (I’ve also read there were five children in a different report) lived there. James died by being shot in a saloon brawl in 1849.

In order to survive, Margaret McDowell took in boarders, but it wasn’t enough. Then she realized how valuable her land was. She hired a surveyor to map out 160 acres, which was then divided into 41 blocks. She named it the Town of Washington. Rumor has it she formed the town on Washington’s birthday and thus the name. Since there wasn’t an official registry, it’s possible she named it on the day of sale for the first plot, which sold for $500.

On it’s way to longevity in the 1850s

Whatever the date, the Town of Washington thrived for more than ten years. Businesses included a shipping company, hotels, saloons, restaurants. Fishing and farming were a staple as well. Washington was the pivotal destination from Sacramento for those traveling further west, or for those traveling East before crossing the river to Sacramento.

The Pony Express would deliver their parcels to Sacramento, then put it on a barge that traveled down river to San Francisco. On the few occasions they would miss the barge, they would travel by ferry to Washington, then follow the established wagon trail route from Washington down to Vallejo (I actually use this route in my 3rd book No Plan at All). 

It’s been said that a town is official once it establishes a post office. Washington gained one in April 1854, but it burnt down two years later and was never rebuilt. They had to go to Sacramento to get their mail after that. On a side bar, there is another town called Washington (located northeast of Sacramento in Yuba County) formed in 1850 (and most likely recorded). This other Washington is only 1.9 square miles and received a post office in 1862. I’m making an assumption here, but it is probably the reason Margaret’s Town of Washington never had a new post office because no two towns named the same can have a federal post office. When the town was renamed to Broderick, then it received a new post office in 1893.

Margaret (now with her third husband) donated land to form a school district in 1856. Named the Washington Unified School District, which still exists today.

Factors causing Washington to falter in the 1860s

The area flooded. I wrote about this in an earlier post about all the flooding in Sacramento. This caused the government to move several times between San Francisco and Sacramento. In 1851, the county seat (now called Yolo County) was relocated from Fremont to Washington. And for the next ten years, Washington was positioned to be considered for it permanently. Unfortunately the massive flood of 1862 (which caused Sacramento to “raise” their streets) made those voting for a permanent location to shy away from Washington, and they chose Woodland instead.

On top of that, Washington couldn't afford to raise their streets to prevent flooding like Sacramento did. They had to endure the flooding year after year (which I believe became worse once Sacramento raised its streets.

The final step in causing Washington’s demise was the railway bridge built in 1870. A train depot was built in 1868 in Washington which increased the amount of visitors and travelers. During this time, the only way to travel to Sacramento on this side of the river was by ferry. This made Washington a pivotal spot for travel by train from San Francisco, then ferry over to Sacramento to pick up the train there and vice versa.

 

1869 advertisement for train travel through Washington

(note that it was considered Sacramento)

However, there was so much competition between the railways that one rail company decided to build a railway bridge across the river in 1870. The tolls on the bridge ended up being cheaper than the ferry ride. This diverted traffic away from the town. Because passengers could now ride direct to Sacramento, they ended up bypassing Washington, and what was once a booming town filled with travelers, now saw a steady decline. 

All of these things impacted property values in the once-thriving community of Washington. In one report I read—it didn’t survive.

The community did to some extent, and it was renamed Broderick before the turn of the century. Then in early 1900 it was merged with two other communities to form what was called East Yolo, which then ultimately became the City of West Sacramento.

As I searched for a location to place my fictional town, I stumbled onto this settlement and it’s crazy history and it’s almost claim to fame. I think the words in the original research ‘did not survive’ had me wanting to form a fictional town with a different outcome. But I also didn’t want to confuse people with the name Washington since a Washington, California still exists today. So in honor of this small town, I chose the name Washton (and had my townspeople call it that as an abbreviated form of Washington).

I have loved finding old maps and studying the area. You can see the train tracks on this current map where the train depot in Washington once sat.

 

Current Google map showing once was Washington (across river from Sacramento)

the red circle highlights the train tracks built for the Washington depot 

With each story, I have expanded my town a bit or the surrounding area building on what I first started. In my fictional town there is currently one main street, one schoolhouse, one church, and the ranches north of town raise cows.

 

Best-laid Plans Series

Three young women. One new beginning. A journey of faith, friendship, and unexpected love. It’s 1869 and three young women travel to Sacramento, California, ready to begin new lives as teachers in the rural one-room schoolhouses of the West. But the plans they carefully laid soon give way to something far greater. As God gently redirects their paths, each woman discovers lessons in friendship, faith, and trust—and encounters the most surprising gift of all: love. (No Plan at all is a prequel story with side characters.)

 

Denise M. Colby writes historical romance sweetened with faith, hope, and love. She finds history fascinating and contemplates often how it was to live in the 1800's. Her debut novel, When Plans Go Awry, is a 2025 Carol Award finalist. Sign up for her newsletter at

www.denisemcolby.com or follow Denise on Facebook, Instagram, Bookbub, Pinterest, or GoodReads.

Pipers Who Carried More Than Music

When music became message in the Highlands

The mist lay thick over the Scottish Highlands. Then came the sound.

Low at first—almost a hum—before rising, steady and sure, into a tune that carried farther than any voice. It wound its way over stone and stream toward men who waited for its message.

They knew what the bagpipes meant.

More than music.

A summons.
A warning.
A call to stand.

In the Jacobite uprising of 1745, a Highland piper might carry much more than melody on the wind.

The Language of the Pipes

To an outsider, the skirl of the pipes might sound wild and untamed. But to the clans, it was anything but random. Specific tunes were associated with calls to gather, advance, or retreat—a kind of musical code understood within clan structures. Even in later periods, pipers retained a quasi-signal role; historically, they could help direct troop movement when visibility and order broke down.

In a world before standardized bugle calls or electronic messaging, the pipes served as a kind of audible command system. Their sound cut across distance and confusion. Over rough Highland terrain—where sightlines failed and voices were swallowed—the pipes could still be heard.

Music became language. And the piper became a messenger.

If the pipes carried orders, they also carried courage. Pipers typically marched at the front of clan regiments, playing as men advanced into battle. Their music reinforced clan identity, shared memory, and loyalty to chiefs.

The sound itself had a psychological effect. As one modern historian summarized, the pipes’ sound “stir[red] the hearts” of those who heard it, embedding emotion directly into the battlefield experience. It inspired courage among Jacobite troops.

It is not difficult to imagine what that meant in the moment before battle—the ground trembling, the air thick with fear—and then the pipes rising above it all.

The music did not remove the danger, but it reminded the men of their unified mission.

“Its effect is not so much to please the ear as to awaken the passions,” wrote one 18th-century commentator on Highland bagpipe music.

Additionally, it could unsettle or intimidate opponents unfamiliar with it, which may or may not have been an advantage to the Scots. According to tradition, one British officer declared, “The bagpipe is the only music I ever heard that made me want to fight.”

Carriers of News—and Perhaps More

The Jacobite cause relied on covert communication to rally resistance, but required trusted couriers who could move between clans without being noticed. Writing about Jacobite operations, one contemporary author said, “Their correspondence was carried on with great secrecy… by messengers who passed swiftly and unobserved.”

Bagpipers became part of the communication network for good reason. They were welcome in most places, were usually present at gatherings and councils with access to information and leadership circles, and were trusted within their clan networks. A piper could travel where others might draw suspicion. He could listen and observe.

History rarely records bagpipers acting as spies. But in that world, it is not difficult to imagine the role they might have played, using their pervasive presence to gather information and their tunes to encourage men in the fight.

A Symbol Worth Silencing

After the defeat of the Jacobites at the Battle of Culloden, the British government moved swiftly to suppress Highland culture.

Tartans were restricted. Weapons were seized. Clan structures were dismantled.

“For the more effectual disarming the Highlands… no man or boy… shall… wear or put on the clothes commonly called Highland clothes.”
— 1746 Act of Proscription

While this law focused on dress, it reflected the broader effort to dismantle everything tied to clan identity. Though never formally outlawed in a single sweeping statute, bagpipes were increasingly treated as instruments of war.

After the Battle of Culloden, a Jacobite piper named James Reid was captured and tried as a rebel. His defense was simple: he had carried no weapon.

The court disagreed. “No, but you served as a piper… and in that way did your duty, encouraging the rebels.” (From trial accounts of James Reid, 1746)

Reid was executed, evidence that pipers were viewed as active participants in warfare, not mere musicians.

The pipes, more than just music, represented identity, memory, and resistance.

To silence them was an attempt to silence the people themselves. And to squelch further rebellion against the English.

The Sound That Traveled

One of the pipes’ greatest strengths was simple: they could be heard across hills, through mist, over the noise of men and movement. In fast-moving raids, the ability to signal across distance mattered.

The pipes became something like a living beacon. Not seen, but heard. Not fixed, but moving.

A signal that could not easily be intercepted—only understood, or not.

In the end, the Highland piper did more than play men into battle.

He carried their courage, their identity—and sometimes, their secrets—on the wind.

SOURCES:

Why Were Scottish Bagpipes Banned in Scotland?

War Stories of Culloden: a series of… | National Trust for Scotland

Multi-award-winning author Marie Wells Coutu finds beauty in surprising places, like undiscovered treasures, old houses, and gnarly trees. All three books in her Mended Vessels series, contemporary stories based on the lives of biblical women, have won awards in multiple contests. She is currently working on historical romances set in her native western Kentucky in the 1930s and ‘40s. An unpublished novel, Shifting Currents, placed second in the inspirational category of the nationally recognized Maggie Awards. Learn more at www.MarieWellsCoutu.com.

In the misty Scottish Highlands, Kenna MacLaren defies English law by playing bagpipes to keep alive the music and memories. When she finds a duke’s nephew wounded, she faces an impossible choice. Helping him could cost her everything, but abandoning him goes against her faith. As English soldiers hunt for rebels, Kenna must decide if she can trust this man with her family's safety--and her heart. Get your free copy of this new novelette here, when you sign up for Marie’s newsletter.

The Attempted Drowning of Live Theater

By Kathy Kovach

Throughout the years since its inception, live theater has gone through its ups and downs. From exquisite performances, delightful to the literary ear, to irreverent political entertainment, offensive to the elite.

In an effort to control the narrative, the London Licensing Act of 1737 became the enforcer. It served to censor plays that parodied prominent figures, in particular Sir Robert Walpole, the de facto first Prime Minister of Great Britain (1721-1742).

Royal Opera House Covent Garden, London c1900

By the 19th century, only three patent theaters were approved through the Lord Chamberlain. For winter, Covent Garden and Drury Lane, and for the summer months, the Haymarket. Still under censorship, every play had to be approved. Three main areas were under scrutiny.

• Political themes: No parodying of government issues or political figures.

• Religious content: Nothing that challenged beliefs or morality.

• Social issues: Poverty, class struggles, and gender roles were often sanitized or omitted.

The office of Examiner of Plays was created in the early 1700s. This person was given immense power over the playwright and answered only to the Lord Chamberlain. The Examiner would visit theaters to evaluate their safety and comfort. He saw to it that the rules were followed to the letter. Often, he’d appear when a law case regarding licensing needed to be enforced. As of 1911, he was required to read plays, examine playbills, and write a Reader’s Report to be turned in to the Lord Chamberlain.

One notorious examiner, George Coleman, used excessive slashing of anything he personally deemed inappropriate. Because of his actions, the House of Commons appointed a select committee to review the licensing laws and censorship in 1823.

Novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton chaired the committee which moved to abolish censorship and remove the office of examiner. It was all for naught as Parliament rejected the motion. So firm was the ruling, that the Examiner and the authority of the Lord Chamberlain remained in power until the Theater Act of 1968, also known as the Theatres Regulation Bill, which abolished both roles.

Until then, the Lord Chamberlain’s wings were clipped somewhat, and he could only prohibit the performance of plays that were likely “to do violence to the sentiment of religious reverence”—in other words, to be indecent—or “to be calculated to conduce to crime or vice” *. Where before he had full autonomy, he would now occasionally consult the Archbishop of Canterbury. A copy of the play’s script and the Reader’s Report were held at the Lord Chamberlain’s office, and they are still housed by the British Library.

In all, between 1738 and 1968, there were a total of 21 Examiners of Plays.

Creative expression could not be curtailed, nor could the playwrights’ opinions. Unlicensed theaters popped up. They often escaped surveillance by performing in pantomime, using music during the action. Thus, melodrama became popular.

The Reform Bill of 1832 essentially gave the power back to the people, or the middle class. A new system was established called the Theaters Act of 1843. Now, “free theater” could explore what had been squelched before, breaking free of the patented theaters. However, the expected flood of new building didn’t happen for sixteen years. This was attributed to the plethora of illegal theaters already operating.

The creative heart had to fight to survive, nearly drowning in suppression. However, it fought valiantly and continued to bobble to the surface until it became the dramatic entertainment we enjoy today.


* Shellard, Dominic; Nicholson, Steve; Handley, Miriam (2004). The Lord Chamberlain regrets: a history of British theatre censorship (1. publ ed.). London: The British Library. ISBN 978-0-7123-4865-2.

Titanic: Legacy of Betrayal

A TIME-SLIP NOVEL

A secret. A key. Much was buried on the Titanic, but now it's time for resurrection.

Follow two intertwining stories a century apart. 1912 - Matriarch Olive Stanford protects a secret after boarding the Titanic that must go to her grave. 2012 - Portland real estate agent Ember Keaton-Jones receives the key that will unlock the mystery of her past... and her distrusting heart.

To buy: Amazon

Kathleen E. Kovach is a Christian romance author published traditionally through Barbour Publishing, Inc. as well as indie. Kathleen and her husband, Jim, raised two sons while living the nomadic lifestyle for over twenty years in the Air Force. Now planted in northeast Colorado, she's a grandmother and a great-grandmother—though much too young for either. Kathleen has been a longstanding member of American Christian Fiction Writers. An award-winning author, she presents spiritual truths with a giggle, proving herself as one of God's peculiar people.

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Dahlonega: The Gold Rush Boomtown That’s Now a Hallmark Film Location

by Denise Farnsworth

Folks in North Georgia visit the mountain town of Dahlonega because of its adorable square where you can shop for locally made goods, fudge, Appalachian string instruments, and of course, sip coffee. In fact, it’s so cute, Hallmark has filmed movies there. You can take a carriage ride or visit the University of North Georgia. But if you do, you’ll notice something unique. Gold adorns the steeple of Price Memorial Hall on the university campus. And the brick courthouse in the middle of the square? The gold museum. Then there’s Consolidated Gold Mine near Wal-Mart where you can descend into a drippy mining tunnel. Visitors can dig into the area’s rich history as the heart of the 1830s Georgia Gold Rush.

This history serves as the backdrop for my Twenty-Niners of the Georgia Gold Rush series. You’ll remember articles about Auraria here on HHH, which featured the first boomtown, Auraria, just south of Dahlonega, the setting for The Songbird and the Surveyor. The Maiden and the Mountie highlighted Canton. And book three, The Schoolmarm and the Miner, releasing next month, brings 1839 Dahlonega to life.

Consolidated Gold Mine

In the summer of 1833, Aurarians thought their town would be the seat of the newly formed Lumpkin County. Then it was discovered that the lot Auraria sat on had been drawn fraudulently in the land lottery, and eyes shifted north to the little settlement where gold had first been discovered, then known as Licklog (for the hollowed log put out for the livestock of said discoverer of gold, Benny Parks) or Talonega (Cherokee for gold).

An 18x32 log courthouse was soon erected, with a door so low a tall man had to stoop to enter. Harrison Riley built Dahlonega’s first store. Watch for a future article on this “town founder,” also known as “the meanest man in the mountains” and the mastermind behind a brutal family murder. That might hint that early Dahlonega was a rough place.

Colonel W.P. Price, a lifelong resident, wrote, “Gambling houses, dancing houses, drinking saloons, houses of ill fame, billiard saloons and tenpin alleys were open day and night. Water Street where there is now no street and not a house standing, but where many stood fifty and sixty years ago, was the street where hundreds of miners and other people gathered, especially on Saturdays and Sundays, and made night hideous by fighting, cursing and swearing. Women were almost as numerous as men, and equally as vile and wicked.” Indeed, the tan yard at the end of Water Street was known as Sprawl’s Hotel. Drunken miners were escorted to an open vat and thrown in. This process was called “oozing out.”

Other early residents and Baptist, Methodist, and Presbyterian church members soon sought to bring a more civilized influence to Dahlonega. John and Mary Ann Choice built the Choice Hotel with stables in the rear. A black man by the name of James Bosclair, known as “Free Jim,” opened a cake and fruit store, then bought a mine and ran the largest general store. The current brick courthouse was constructed in 1834, and by 1838, the newly completed Dahlonega Mint brought a government-appointed staff...and a lot of in-fighting. The boxy, two-story, white-framed Dahlonega Academy overlooking town from a western hill offered education for the citizens’ children.

It’s to this setting that the heroine of The Schoolmarm and the Miner repairs to salvage her hopes of a teaching career squandered by her father. Little is she prepared for twin bullies, a haughty board president, and a widower who’s given up his career in law enforcement to raise his mischievous daughter. https://www.amazon.com/Schoolmarm-Miner-Twenty-Niners-Georgia-Gold-ebook/dp/B0GMRS3Q88/

Denise Farnsworth, formerly Denise Weimer, writes historical and contemporary romance mostly set in Georgia and also serves as a freelance editor and the Acquisitions & Editorial Liaison for Wild Heart Books. A wife and mother, she always pauses for coffee, chocolate, and old houses.

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Fix My Teeth in Comfort . . .

By Suzanne Norquist

 

. . . Yeah, right.

One constant in dental offices today is the style of the chair. I can go anywhere in the United States and rest in comfort while I have my teeth cleaned or filled (or worse). I stretch my legs out and recline my head to a height where the dentist or hygienist can work while sitting.

Until the late 1700s, specialized dental chairs didn’t exist. Before that, a patient usually sat on the floor, often with their head held between the practitioner’s knees while he extracted a tooth. Few other procedures were available.

Otherwise, a dentist might use a regular chair. Perhaps a rocking chair with a log to block it into a reclined position. Or maybe a fancy upholstered armchair, which would convince the patient of the dentist’s competence. Who wouldn’t feel confident in a plush chair with eagle’s head carvings?

Josiah Flagg, a Boston dentist, is credited with inventing the first dental chair in 1790. He modified a simple wooden Windsor writing chair with a padded headrest. Then he added a tray for storing tools of the trade. It would have looked similar to the one below. I doubt this would have been more comfortable than the floor.

It would be another forty years before Englishman James Snell designed a chair with an adjustable seat and back. As a dentist, he found the inconvenience of a regular armchair frustrating. His design had a seat that would go up and down, a back that would tilt backward and forward, and a footrest. Leaning back in the chair would raise the footrest. It even included a table to hold a candle so the patient wouldn’t have to.

This chair didn’t move smoothly, and adjustments were limited. Many improvements were required before chairs resembled the ones we see today.

In the 1840s, with the introduction of nitrous oxide and ether for anesthesia, dentists could perform longer procedures, making a stable chair a necessity. Samuel Stockton White began manufacturing dental tools and furniture in the S.S. White Manufacturing Company. He jumped on each new innovation.

Various dentists made improvements. However, most were clunky.

Dr. James Beall Morrison patented a design in 1867 that included a ball socket and joint with a foot pedal, the ability to tip in any direction, and a vertical adjustment of over three feet. This allowed the dentist to stand or sit while working. The chair was constructed with iron for durability. The dentist would crank the chair into position.

In 1877, Basil Manly Wilkerson added hydraulic adjustments to the chair. Instead of cranking to situate the patient, the dentist could simply use a lever. The S.S. White Company manufactured and sold these chairs. 

The small print on the advertisement says, “You can pay a higher price, but you cannot get a better made chair at any money than the Wilkerson. It is built to endure the use to which it is put. It will last almost a lifetime. There are plenty of them still in good form after more than twenty years of active service. It has all the movements which go to making operating easy for the patient and the operator. At its price, also, it is the cheapest chair at the service of the dentist.”

By the early 1900s, most chairs were metal for cleanliness. And in the 1940s, electric motors drove the lifts. Since then, they haven’t changed much.

Next time I visit the dentist, I’ll try to be grateful for the ergonomic chair instead of complaining about the other things that happen during the visit. 

***

 

Love In Bloom 4-in-one collection

“A Song for Rose” by Suzanne Norquist

Can a disillusioned tenor convince an aspiring soprano that there is more to music than fame?

“Holly & Ivy” by Mary Davis

At Christmastime, a young woman accompanies her impetuous younger sister on her trip across the country to be a mail-order bride and loses her heart to a gallant stranger.

“Periwinkle in the Park” by Kathleen E. Kovach

A female hiking guide, who is helping to commission a national park, runs into conflict with a mountain man determined to keep the government off his land.

“A Beauty in a Tansy”

Two adjacent store owners are drawn to each other, but their older relatives provide obstacles to their ever becoming close.

Republished from Bouquet of Brides

Buy links: https://books2read.com/u/bOOx8K

https://www.amazon.com/Love-Bloom-Mary-Davis/dp/B0FPLFYCXR/

  

Suzanne Norquist is the author of two novellas. Everything fascinates her. She has worked as a chemist, professor, financial analyst, and even earned a doctorate in economics. Research feeds her curiosity, and she shares the adventure with her readers. She lives in New Mexico with her mining engineer husband and has two grown children. When not writing, she explores the mountains, hikes, and attends kickboxing class.

 

The Midwives and Miracles of the Marsh

 By Tiffany Amber Stockton

There was no hospital on the island and no doctor within easy reach. Just a woman who knew what to do.

She Knew What Grew in the Marsh

When I started digging into the history of isolated coastal communities for this series, I learned a bit about midwives. When someone got sick, or a baby was on the way, they called on a woman. Usually older. Trusted by everyone within a day's travel. And she was the closest thing to a doctor most of those communities ever had.

Midwives along the Eastern Shore weren't trained in any formal school. They learned from the woman who came before them, who learned from the woman before her. They knew which plants to gather from the marsh and the kitchen garden. Mullein for coughs, plantain leaf for wounds, bayberry bark when a fever climbed too high.

A lot of that knowledge had roots in the traditions of the region's original peoples—the Powhatan and Accomack—passed along through generations of living side by side.

And they weren't just called for births. They mixed tonics, dressed wounds, sat with the dying, and managed the everyday medical crises that had no other solution when the nearest doctor was miles away across open water.

More Than Herbs and Remedies

Here's the part I find most interesting. Faith was woven directly into how these women worked.

Prayer wasn't something separate from the remedies. It was part of the care. A midwife might pray over a laboring woman, gather neighbors from the local church to stand in prayer when a fever refused to break, or whisper Scripture over a child in the night. There was no hard line between what she knew how to do and what she trusted God to do. She worked right up to the edge of her knowledge, and then she handed it over.

That resonates with me. Psalm 139 says God knit each of us together in our mother's womb. The women who spent their lives welcoming new life into those salt-air rooms knew that better than most. They had too much experience of what lay beyond human hands to believe they were ever truly in charge of an outcome. They were instruments. And they showed up anyway.

The Ones Who Went Unrecorded

The hard part of researching this topic is learning most of these women were never written down.

As professional medicine became more formal through the 1800s, midwives and folk healers got pushed out of the official record. Their knowledge was dismissed, their contributions went undocumented, and what they knew often died with them or survived only in family memory that eventually faded too. Finding their specific names and stories takes real digging, and sometimes you come up empty.

What I did find is they were trusted by their neighbors in the most vulnerable moments a person experiences. They carried knowledge no book recorded. And they were faithful, showing up in the middle of the night when someone needed them.