Home for the Holidays (14 page)

“Nothing escapes my aunt, does it?” She shook her head. “She’s been working herself into exhaustion, baking and doing things around the inn. This vacation was supposed to be so that we could relax a little.”

“Active people have a hard time doing nothing,” Lloyd observed. “Your aunt can be that way too. I get my exercise just trying to keep up with her.”

Alice chuckled. “She is a bundle of energy, isn’t she?”

“When you’re older, staying busy can make you feel young,” the mayor said. “When you’re feeling sad, it can keep you from dwelling on bad memories.”

Alice had never considered it from that perspective. “I think I do that myself sometimes.”

“Of course, I’d be happy to be a professional couch potato, if I could find someone to pay me for the privilege.” Lloyd chuckled. “As for Jane, I’d let her be, Alice. That’s what I do with Ethel when she gets that way. Takes her a little time to work it out of her system, but then she always comes around.”

Lloyd Tynan’s house was only a short distance from the heart of town, and occupied a cleared tract of land ringed by elms and willows. Those trees, he told the group, had been planted by his grandparents when they had first arrived in Acorn Hill.

“My family roots are spread out all over New England and Pennsylvania,” Lloyd explained as the group gathered on the front lawn. “I’m of Irish and English descent, with a bit of Scottish on my mother’s side. My father’s family moved here in the 1800s, and we Tynans have lived in this region ever since.”

From the front the house appeared to be a plain, rectangular box of red brick with a small, built-on enclosed
porch that sat on the left side. The front had four large windows and six smaller ones, each flanked by white sliding shutters. Separate doors indicated two entryways, and two chimneys rose on opposite ends of the steep, tiled roof.

“The house was originally built to serve as a meeting house,” Lloyd said as he led them up to the left-hand door. “My grandparents were dedicated Quakers and my grandfather led the local congregation for many years until they disbanded during the Depression.”

“How did your family end up converting the meeting house into a home, Mayor?” Allan asked.

“My grandfather bought the meeting house and land from his society, as he couldn’t bear leaving the area,” Lloyd told him. “I also think he had it in his mind that the Quakers would return someday, although they never did.”

“Quakers were like that funny-looking man on the oatmeal box, right?” Laura asked.

“Quakers were a Puritan sect who referred to themselves as ‘the Society of the Friends’ or simply ‘Friends,’” Alice answered. “They built their own churches, which they called meeting houses.” She took out the literature from the tour company to glance at as she presented the information on the historic aspects of the house itself. “Mayor Tynan’s home is one of the oldest examples of a nineteenth-century, two-cell meeting house still in existence.”

“I’m putting in papers to have it declared a historic landmark,” the mayor added.

Alice pointed to the different architectural features as she read them from the paper. “It has two stories and was built to be symmetrical, with each side of the house mirroring the other, as you can see from the twin front entries and duplicate sets of windows.”

“Why is everything doubled?” Laura asked. “It almost looks like a duplex.”

“In a way, it was,” Alice affirmed. “Quaker men and women met together for worship, but separated for business discussions. In other words, boys on one side, girls on the other. This is more evident when you see how the inside of the house is arranged.”

“But what made you decide to live in a
church
?” Laura asked the mayor, still perplexed.

“I grew up in this house, so I never thought of it as anything but my home.” Lloyd unlocked the front door and opened it. On a wall just inside was a large, beautifully decorated, dried-flower wreath. “Come in and I’ll show you why.”

The interior hall split off in two directions, but opened up in the center into an enormous living room. Lloyd opened a closet near the entry to hang up everyone’s coats and scarves before leading them into the big center room.

Allan pulled out a handkerchief just in time to catch a sneeze.

“God bless you,” Alice said.

“We’re in the right place for that,” the retired architect said, making Lloyd chuckle.

“What sort of services did they have here?” Edwina asked as she looked around.

“The Friends used this house for many things, from worship meetings to business to educational classes for their children,” Lloyd told her.

“What a nice little tree,” Edwina said, smiling at the four-foot pine Lloyd had displayed on one table. “I really like your wreath too.”

“My secretary made the wreath for me. I don’t have a great many Christmas decorations, I’m afraid. My grandparents followed the Friends’ beliefs and didn’t celebrate Christmas,” the mayor told her. “They taught my father to spend the day bringing food and firewood to poor families in the community. My mother and father joined a different Christian congregation after they were married, but they too felt the holiday should be celebrated simply and with reverence.”

Lloyd’s decor was equally uncomplicated and gave the immediate impression of being tidy, but geared toward the comfort and taste of a bachelor. The furnishings were
functional, with a variety of plaids and autumn-colored fabrics and drapes. A large primitive painting of a woman in Quaker dress hung in the place of honor above a fireplace and a pair of bookcases held an interesting selection of books on political history.

The mayor was quite proud of the two prayer benches placed near an antique wood-burning stove in the corner opposite the fireplace, which he identified as being original to the house.

“My parents installed plumbing and electricity for convenience, but I only use the central heating when it’s really cold outside.” Lloyd looked down at himself ruefully. “I come with plenty of my own insulation and I’ve always preferred a good fire during the winter.”

The tour of the rest of the house went well as Alice and Lloyd led the group through the different rooms and identified each by the way the Quakers once used them. The mayor showed them where the elders and overseers met, and the side room used by women for their business meetings. He related how his father as a boy would listen in on meetings with other children in the upper gallery.

“Why did the Quakers call this a meeting house instead of a church, Mayor Tynan?” Edwina asked when they returned to the central living room.

“The founder of the Quakers, a man by the name of
George Fox, encouraged the Friends to meet wherever they could and not worry about the formal trappings of established religions,” he told her. “They never really went public with the locations where they met either, as they were very private people.”

“So it was a top-secret meeting house,” Ted said, looking intrigued.

“In some ways, it had to be,” the mayor agreed. “Secrecy became imperative when the first Quakers began being persecuted by members of other, opposing religions in power. Often they could avoid being arrested and having their property confiscated only by meeting away from their homes in places like barns or warehouses that could be simply converted for their needs.”

“It’s a shame they were treated that way,” Edwina said. “Why didn’t they fight back?”

“Quakers have always been dedicated to peace, ever since they first formed their religion in 1660,” Alice told her.

“Weren’t they over in England?” Laura asked.

“The religion originated in that country,” Alice said. “In the mid-nineteenth century there was a split between Quakers in England and those in America that would last over one hundred years, partly because of itinerant ministers in Pennsylvania who spread a more evangelical message than the more mystic-minded Friends in England were
prepared to support. American Quakers believed in a strong Christian doctrine and performed outreach whenever they could through different forms of social activity.”

“Quakers were very different from other Christians, weren’t they?” Ted asked.

“Until this century, it was quite easy to identify Quakers by their habits,” Alice told him. “They were a splinter group, after all, but they had no qualms about showing the differences in their beliefs. Quaker men did not believe in ‘hat honoring’ and would not remove their hats, even in situations where every other man in the room would. Like our Amish friends, they believed in plain dress and would not wear anything but black garments without lapels or buttons, as colors and accessories were considered vanities. Most noticeable was their use of
thee
and
thou
when speaking, and their identification of the days of the week and the months by numbers instead of by the names we use.”

“I’ve heard that the Quakers were very much against music and dancing,” Edwina said. “Why was that?”

“Most forms of music and dancing were considered to represent extravagance and ostentation, two things the Quakers preferred to avoid. Also, there were concerns about regulating contact between men and women. They did allow some forms of music, but dancing was definitely frowned on.” Alice smiled. “I don’t want to give you the
wrong idea about them. Quakers have always been very kind and devout people. It’s true that their beliefs were strict, but they have always been deeply involved in charity work.”

“Betsy Ross, the patriotic seamstress who helped to create the American flag, was raised as a Quaker,” the mayor added. “I remember reading how she would bring food to the poor as a little girl.”

“That reminds me that Mayor Tynan has a wonderful collection of political memorabilia here at the house,” Alice said. “I believe you will find it just as interesting as the Quakers.”

“Do you have a specific type of memorabilia you collect, Mayor?” Allan asked.

“My collection consists mainly of campaign pins, buttons and badges. I have a few really old ones, plus at least one example from each of our American presidents dating back to 1864, when President Abraham Lincoln ran for re-election in the middle of the Civil War.” Lloyd took down a single frame and handed it to the schoolteacher. “This is my rarest specimen, a pin given out by the election committee to re-elect Lincoln.”

Alice joined in admiring the one-inch-square pin. Inside a bronze-colored metal frame was an oval sepia-colored portrait of the beloved president. “Why is there a little hole at the top?”

“That was for a ribbon,” Lloyd said. “The ribbon was then pinned to your lapel.”

“Couldn’t they just have stuck a pin on the back?” Laura asked.

“They figured out how to do that about fifty years later, Laura,” Lloyd told her.

“Was it your family’s involvement in local politics that made you begin your collection, Mayor Tynan?” Edwina asked.

“To tell the truth I never set out to collect them at first. My father was quite active in regional political campaigns, and whenever he came back from a convention he would always have a number of badges as souvenirs. It was my good fortune that he gave them to me.” Lloyd picked up a wooden box and opened it to show that it was full of Pennsylvania state campaign buttons. “One of my friends boasted that he had gotten a presidential campaign button from an uncle who lives in Washington, DC, so I asked my father how I could get one of those. Father had me write a letter to the presidential election committee, and they sent my first one to me. I was so impressed that they would take the time to send a badge to a child who couldn’t vote. From then on I was completely hooked.”

“How much can this stuff be worth?” Max asked as he peered at a framed celluloid button with two portraits and the inscriptions “McKinley and Tanner” and “Illinois 1896.”

“That one you are looking at there is worth about forty-five dollars on the collector’s market. My Lincoln pin is worth quite a bit more, probably close to a thousand.”

Laura squinted at the lone pin. “For this little bitty thing? Incredible.”

“I don’t sell them, but I’ve been known to swap some on occasion.” Lloyd indicated the other framed groups of badges on the wall. “A lot of them I picked up at antique shows, but many were given to me by friends and colleagues. Alice’s aunt found some wonderful old pre-World War II campaign buttons at thrift stores. I’ve also worked for several presidential campaigns myself and was able to obtain badges from them.”

“Why do you limit your collection to pins and badges?” Laura asked. “Why not other things?”

“With all the campaign items today’s candidates hand out—hats, T-shirts, bumper stickers and such—I’d never find the room to display them.” He lowered his voice. “I’m also not much of a fan of dust catchers, if you know what I mean.”

Edwina uttered a laugh. “Spoken like a true bachelor.”

“So who invented the very first campaign button, Mayor?” Allan asked.

“Why, our very first president, George Washington. He wore a button to his first inauguration in 1789. I’m afraid I
don’t have one in my collection, but according to my collectors’ guides it was a garment button made of brass and had the slogan ‘G.W. Long Live the President’ on it.”

He showed them the oddest of his campaign buttons, such as the Andrew Jackson button with Jackson’s signature on the back, and the celluloid watch fob upon which was a likeness to Theodore Roosevelt. Alice thought the strangest campaign slogan was that of President Harrison, who used a “born in a log cabin” motif on his badges, while in reality he had never lived in one but had been born in a large house to a wealthy, privileged family.

“What would a collector regard to be the rarest political campaign button, Mayor?” Ted asked.

Lloyd thought for a moment. “That does change a bit from year to year, as old badges are discovered in attics and so forth, but I would have to say the most prized badge is the one for James Cox from the 1920 presidential election.”

“James Cox?” Edwina looked puzzled. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Most folks haven’t. Cox buttons are rare since few were made compared to those for other campaigns. James Cox’s claim to fame was really his running mate for vice president, a young, fairly unknown fellow by the name of Franklin D. Roosevelt.”