Before Lawrence: The Town Square
Second chapter from Before Lawrence. An introduction to everyday life in Osceola, Missouri in August 1861.
This is the second chapter of Before Lawrence. To learn more about the purpose of writing this story, check out the “Forward.” Before Lawrence is part of The Missouri Chronicles. Follow the story by subscribing on Substack, contribute your thoughts, and check out the added resources.
Osceola was a peculiar town. While they endeavored to have orderly streets running perpendicular and parallel to the Osage River, it was a rather opportunistic layout. First, there was the meandering river. Like most rivers, you had to account for the ebb and flow of the water level. The docks had to be protected by eddies, and they were tied to piers, allowing for the rise or fall. The warehouses were built on higher ground, well above what settlers could surmise to be the flood stage. The town was hilly, so the main highways into the town followed the wandering ridgetops.
Like most towns, Osceola’s heart was the town square. It was a busy place, at the center of which was an elegant courthouse, surrounded by a large lawn. A gazebo was built on one corner. The businesses that surrounded the square were typically wood structures, but a few brick structures began to emerge, chief of which were four banks. Lawyers had offices above retail stores. There were a few general stores, well provisioned and quite busy as farmers from all about the county would come to replenish their supplies. As a consequence, the streets were lined with horses tied to wagons. In between them were horses tied to hitching posts.
The next ring of blocks around the town square were where farmers and settlers went to get the serious work done. Here were the coopers, the wagoneers, wheelwrights and blacksmiths. Joined with the flow of traffic in and out of the warehouses, the bustle of shoppers on the town square, and the industry of the tradesmen, Osceola was a thriving village in the midst of what, in all respects, was still unsettled land. While there were hundreds of farmers, the settlements only started in the 1830’s, only one generation having passed. So virgin land was still to be claimed. Kansans, in particular, often first came through Osceola before proceeding to the prairie lands of eastern Kansas. Just as Independence served as the launching point for settlers heading to California and Oregon, Osceola was the last place settlers could stop to purchase wagons, horses and mules, and vitally needed supplies. Many farms in the area were getting a reputation for providing breeding livestock, and it would be here that newcomers would purchase the animals that would hopefully thrive on their future farms.
Small villages were popping up all over St. Clair County and to the south in Cedar County. Supplies would travel from the warehouses of Osceola to these small villages, where farmers could obtain basic provisions and tools. But, from time-to-time, a farmer and all or part of his family, would hop onto the wagon and head to far off Osceola, sometimes taking two days to arrive. They may have been picking up something at the warehouse or simply hoping to find supplies that were not forthcoming in the towns near their farms. If they had produce, like tobacco, they could sell it at the docks. Regardless, the wagon was usually filled to the brim with stores when they returned home.
So Osceola prospered. They had a school and several churches. And scattered about the town and along the edge of the village were elegant homes. Elegant, in the western sense of the word. They were constructed in the typical frame common to houses in the region, but often embellished with a wing of rooms to the back and a kitchen built separate from the house. Adjacent to the houses would be a small farm, with ice houses, work sheds, stables and housing for slaves. None were more to be admired than the estate of Waldo Johnson. His house stood on Market Street, just above the town square. The trees had all been removed in the town with a few exceptions, so the town square was visible from structures above. Waldo Johnson’s home was shrouded in shade trees along the south and west, protecting it from the merciless sun of summer. But the man could look out from his front porch to greet the rising sun each morning, and as he took the steps up to the street, he could see below him the town square, the courthouse, and the bustling activity along the river.
But Waldo Johnson was not in Osceola in August 1861. He was in Washington, DC, serving as the senator from Missouri. He was a Unionist, a man who struggled to resolve a paradox, a world where men were equally endowed by their Creator to be free, but some “men” could be held in bondage. To him, what mattered the most was to have this difficult issue resolved through unity. It was his opinion that the matter of slavery was to be decided by each state and he was distressed to see federal troops marching through his state. And it was his decision to own slaves. After all, as some of the townsfolk would say, “He treats them well.”
So walking out onto the porch this day was not Waldo Johnson, but a black woman by the name of Cynthia, called by her friends Cindy. The pole beans had been coming in quite heavy and she had beside her a large basket of green beans picked earlier that morning by one of the other slaves. She got her morning chores done early. With the Johnsons out east, she was free to run the place. Yes – that’s right. She managed the house while the Johnsons were gone. The Johnsons not only had the house in town, but farmland outside the town. So the slaves that were around the house sometimes had to hop in the wagon and head to the farm to work in the fields, tend to the livestock and make repairs. The foreman on the farm ran things as he saw fit, but he had to work with Cindy. If she needed a hand at the house, she got her way.
So it was that she sat on the porch as the morning sun rose higher into the sky. Out there, under the hot, oppressive sun, life was hard, if not unbearable. Cindy prayed for those she knew who worked under these conditions. Here she was, sitting in a rocking chair, snapping beans, under the shade of a porch. It was hot, but enough of a breeze blew over the balustrade to cool her face.
She was about half way through the beans when Alice came down the street. She lived behind the Lewis house. She waved to Cindy and descended the steps, carrying a large basket of black-eyed peas.
“Hello Cindy, mind if I join ya’?”
“Love to have you here, Alice. Not a bad day if you can keep out of the sun. Saw you out in the garden pickin’ the peas.”
“Lord, Cindy. It is so hot. I am just soaked with sweat.”
“So Miss Lewis had you doin’ garden work this mornin’. I suppose Missy had the kitchen duty.”
Alice sighed. “Yes, she did. With the kids and Dr. Lewis having to be all over the county, that house can be quite busy in the morning.”
“Well, I suppose the white folks are grateful they have a doctor around. And we are fortunate we live near one.”
“And, Cindy, it is so nice to hear Miss Lewis playing that piana. Do you hear it?”
“Yes, I do. It is nice. She was playin’ somethin’ last night. I was sitting out here just enjoyin’ it so much.”
The two women could see walking down the street a young man.
Alice said, “That looks like the new school master. I believe his name is David Anderson.”
“Lord knows the white folks needed a teacher. For us? I suppose we are lucky to have masters who teach us how to read. I read some, but I could never hope to read those books in Master Johnson’s library. Missus wanted me to be able to run the place while they were gone and wanted me to be able to read.”
“My mistress just wanted Missy and I to enjoy books. Thought we would be happier. And I suppose she is right. We are just happy as larks reading books in our spare time around the lamp in our tiny cabin.”
The women laughed.
David Anderson saw the women laughing on the porch. He was uncertain whether they were laughing at him or not. Even after being in the town for two weeks he had not yet spoken to a black person. He continued on his way. He enjoyed his morning walks up to the schoolhouse. He was taking this time to prepare the school for the coming year. Today was a Saturday and he wanted to see what was happening on the town square. He could see it was already packed with people, horses and wagons. Several passed him on the street. He passed a couple who were walking up the hill, tipping his hat to them as he passed, wishing them a good morning.
He wound his way through the crowd until he arrived at the general supply store. There he met a man who was a bit older than himself. He wore an apron, standing behind the counter.
“Hello. My name is David Anderson. I am the new schoolmaster. Could you provide me with some assistance.”
“Certainly. Name is John Weidemeyer. I own the place. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you had in stock some supplies we need for the school. Paper, pencils, chalk?”
“Yes on all three counts. How much do you need?”
David gave him a list. Aside from those things, there were a few other office supplies on the list. John looked it over.
“Yes. We have all these things.”
“I suppose the school has an account here?”
“Yes. It does.”
“Could you have those things delivered to the school?”
“That can be arranged. I can have my boy take the supplies up Monday morning.”
“You have a son working for you?”
“Not yet. Marcus is not my son,” as Weidemeyer pointed to a slender black man who was stocking the shelves.
“Thank you, Mr. Weidemeyer.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Anderson.”
Anderson did not have much else to do, so he left the store and started his journey home, his house being downhill east of the town square. Along the way he passed a group of men who were doing what was common in these parts – a casual conversation on the courthouse lawn. They pulled from their wagons a box or barrel and set it on the ground. The yard about the courthouse had some trees, albeit rather small. Yet they provided a precious amount of shade under which the men gathered. David could see these men really enjoyed themselves and he had seen them together previously.
“Hello, gentlemen.”
One quipped, “Well gentlemen may bit of a stretch. That I can claim, but I can’t speak for the rest.”
The rest of the men just laughed and rose to shake Dave’s hand.
“Mark Brown.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Jack Pierce.”
“Micayah Dark.”
“Jake Coonce.”
“David Anderson. I have just moved to Osceola.”
Jack Pierce said, “Ah yes! You are the new preacher at the Methodist Church. And, I understand, you are the new schoolmaster.”
“That is correct. Appears the word spreads rapidly.”
Micayah Dark, a man with gray hair, quipped, “With three newspapers, hardly a word of gossip goes unrecorded.”
Mark Brown went to his wagon and retrieved a small keg. “Have a seat and join us, Mr. Anderson.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brown.”
“Call me Mark.”
“David.”
Jack Pierce asked, “So what do you think about our town?”
“Beautiful place. Quite busy. I come here with one vice – love to fish. Any of you men fish the Osage?”
Dark answered, “Sure do.” The other men concurred, although David noticed that Jake Coonce was rather reserved.
“We’ll let you know if any of us go out and fish. I expect to head out onto the water this coming week.” Pierce smiled.
“I suppose you are looking forward to the coming school year. Don’t be surprised if some of the kids are no-shows during harvest,” Brown mentioned.
“We were not much different where I grew up. When the harvest had to be gathered, it had to be gathered.”
David was hesitant to divulge where he grew up.
Mark Brown, though, asked, “Where’s that?”
“Union County. Ohio. Not far from Columbus.”
The men seemed to get a bit more reserved, and David was aware of their unease. But he had to confront this issue at some point.
“I would love to have the children stay in school. So I am wondering. Don’t you have enough slaves to do all the work?”
Pierce answered, “We do. But it still involves everyone. Besides, most of the farmers want their children to have the skills of doing the work of running a farm.”
Dark added, “Most every farm and business in this town has a slave, but most everyone works alongside them. I suspect there are no more than two or three hundred of them around here.”
Pierce added, “You’ve met John Weidemeyer?”
“Yes, I have.”
“He is the county treasurer. He probably has a close count. In any case, we all have to work the farms. I think about the only people who do not work on their farm is Waldo Johnson, a couple of the bankers and some of the lawyers. The rest? We have to roll up our sleeves and get the work done, one way or another.”
“How long have you men been in Osceola?”
Brown answered twelve years, Pierce twenty, Dark thirty, and Coonce, the first word coming out of his mouth, “Forever.”
The men laughed. Dark quipped, “Ol’ Jake is one of the first settlers. In fact, a true frontiersman, all the way back to the Osage trading post. Heck, I bet he knew the French traders. He won’t say so, but I think he talks to himself in French.”
Jake did not say anything, but David was most interested in this man. He was older, weather worn, thin and bearded. His expression humorless. He looked like a frontiersman. In his wagon rested a long-barrel single-shot rifled musket, a fine piece of work. On his belt was a large hunting knife. He looked like the sort you wouldn’t trifle with. The other men were unarmed, wore regular farm clothes.
“Mr. Coonce, tell me what you know about this place?”
His voice was low and a tad raspy. “I scouted out this place back when the Osage lived in these parts. Good people. Hunted and fished with them. And yes, “turning to Micayah Dark, “I even knew French traders. You probably met one of them, Francis Chouteau.”
“Yes. He was my guide.”
“We’re neighbors, so to speak. Francis’ father was a son of Auguste Chouteau, out of St. Louis. Married an Osage woman. He was raised mostly by her and the clan. He knows these parts better than anyone.”
“Must have been quite an adventure living out so far from St. Louis.”
“It was. Much different than now, but in some respects nothing has changed. We have to pretty well grow or make everything ourselves. It hasn’t been easy.”
Pierce added. “Nothing tastes better than a fresh apple. Yet we had to wait several years for fruit to grow in abundance. Figuring out what grows well in these parts is another mystery. Ridgetop land is quite fertile, grows about anything. Excellent grazing land for our cattle. Plenty of lumber for building material. And, as you can see, we have rock and clay. We have prospered, so to speak. It has been an adventure living in these parts, seeing this land transformed from prairie to working farms.”
Brown noted, “As you may have gathered, we are in our own world down here. Only recently got a telegraph, so we scarcely knew what was happening in Washington or Jefferson City.”
Dark exclaimed, “Whatever we hear about those two places don’t amount to much for us. At least it didn’t until recently.”
David said nothing, not sure if he wanted to go into this territory. And it was apparent that none of the men wanted to go down that path. They all had this fear of chasing off the town’s only schoolmaster.
“Well, gentlemen. Thanks for your hospitality. Enjoyed meeting each of you. I need to head home for lunch. If any of you are seeking to attend a church, please be sure to look us up at the Methodist church.”
He arose and the men stood and shook his hand.
David walked away knowing he was beginning the slow, patient process of cultivating friendships in the town, opening doors to the gospel. The men, on the other hand, sat back down and waited till he was out of earshot.
Dark said, “I wonder if he has any idea what a hornet’s nest he was walked into?”
Brown responded, “I am surprised he would bring his family down here. I sometimes think people out east think all this stuff about a border war as some sort of fairy tale, something from one of those dime novels.”
Pierce remarked, “I suspect he is going to learn more about our situation eventually. He is a smart man, no doubt led here by his pastoral calling. If he was just a teacher, I doubt he would have come. Western Missouri is no place for anyone during these times. We have a state government in exile, gathering an army in Springfield. We are in the middle of a storm, although, thank God, we have had peace so far.”
© Copyright 2024 to Eric Niewoehner
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