Esther Hudson here has a terrible fascination for knittin, and an abundant fascination with sheep.I fear sometimes for her sanity, as she spends much of the evening sketchin cats on her slate and showing em to me. Cats, sheep, and knittin are much of her conversation and I wonder if she will ever be settled in a home of her own. I durst not send her away, as her father is at sea, and knowing what might befall her, given her simple ways, I think it best to keep her close. She is fond, as you can see, of dressin, but refuses utterly to quarter a fowle. She will beat a fine pound cake, but the coarser tasks of the kitchen she finds distasteful, preferrin to dress the ladies’ hair. Of her future, I do sometimes despair.
Mrs Smith and Miss Smith
My cousin, Miss Eliza Smith, has donned her new dress to come up to town from her beloved Newport to see about a position. The family with whom she has found employment these many years has suffert in that city’s decline since the late war, and she seeks a new future in Providence. She writes a fine letter, and with excellent references, Miss Smith would be well suited to manage a household for Mrs Brown’s youngest daughter, the recently married Mrs Mason. Miss Smith seems also to steady Esther, whose conversation grows more sensible when she is not with me. Perhaps after speaking with Mrs Mason, Esther, Eliza and I can slip away to enjoy some of the newly pickt apples she has brought up from Rhode Island.
Mrs Smith at day’s end
At the end of a long day filled with visitors– every stage has stopt at our house, some mistaking it, I think, for that questionable establishment operated by ‘Mrs’ Mary Bowen on South Main Street–I was ready to remove my soild apron (thankfully Esther has a spare) and venture down the hill to seek refreshment with my frinds. I may chanst to hear some news of the Ann & Hope, bound for Canton, and on which my son is a sailor. Or perhaps, before the light fails, I may read a bit of Mr Defoe’s most moral tale, Moll Flanders, and think in gratitude that my late husband’s family has seen fit to give me employ. I cant read at home, for if Mrs Brown catchs me readin that book agin, I will surely be trouble.
(Top photo thanks to the Providence Journal; bottom two thanks to Sharon Ann Burnston, our Mrs Brown)
I don’t think we can be very much more ready. It’s a bit of madness, really, when the actors are also the stage managers, press agents, prop masters, and set designers, but that’s how these things work. (The local paper says we’re presenting a play; it’s somewhere between a reenactment in the larger, looser sense and improv theatre, but never mind.) I have only myself to blame, and Mister Mason and his interest in Sleep No More, for all this. Aware of Mister Mason’s interest, I should have realized what might happen when I said, “Can’t we just occupy the house for a day?” with all the fluidity of the Occupy movement in mind.
The Shooting Star: Snowy in his “best bib and tucker.”
Chemisette or tucker? By the time The Shooting Star was published in 1941-42, “bib and tucker” had wandered away from their original meanings. Tuckers were worn under women’s and girl’s bodices, taking on the role of neck handerchiefs or fichus, and what some people like to call “modesty pieces,” though the phrase always makes me think of the front panel of desks.
Turns out you probably can. Scrolling through the miniatures gallery, there was Hannah Weaver Peckham in her best tucker, and Miss Rhodes, while later, is also sports a chemisette or tucker. (Mrs Peckham looks a bit cranky, doesn’t she? Perhaps her busk is poking her.)
What you’d call it remains an open question.
The 1933 Oxford dictionary we have in the office defines “tucker” as “A piece of lace or the like, worn by women within or around the top of the bodice of the 17-18th C.”
Phoebe Smith Rhodes, RIHS 1918.3.6
The same dictionary tells me “chemisette” is 1807, from the French, diminutive of chemise. “1. A bodice, more or less like the upper part of a chemise. 2. An article, usually of lace or muslin, made to fill in the open front of a woman’s dress 1844.”
While I think that one could, in Rhode Island in 1800, wear a garment that filled in the upper part of a bodice, I’m not sure what one wold call that garment. The simplest thing to do is to wear a white kerchief like Phoebe Smith Rhodes. Have I ever settled for the simplest thing? Not if I can help it.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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