The Dying Wish of Alida Hall-Rose (1866) by J.E. Rose

Historical Note: 

When I first began to study the family information pages of the Rose Family Bible, I was struck by the earliest entries: Philip B. Rose, born in 1831 and married to Alida in March of 1857. I should clarify that, though. It was the entry that said she was deceased in 1866, only eleven years into their marriage. Born April 1840, she was just 26. What’s more, the Bible also noted that a daughter, Mary, was born and died in 1862. It was only after I was able to acquire a copy of the Last Will and Testament of Alida, however, that the deeper implications of this information began to appear. She directed that her entire personal estate be severed from her husband and that upon her death he would receive nothing: all going to her remaining son, Goodwin! Today this may not seem that unusual. However, in 1866 it was extraordinary. What was happening in the background? 

I cannot say with certainty that I know why Alida would do this, but I have a theory and it is described in this dramatization. It’s written like a screenplay. I’ve carefully used as many historical facts as I can to weave the story together. Names and stipulations in this story are grounded in the facts revealed in the Last Will and Testament. The significance of Alida’s father, Hiram Hall, as a prominent local attorney is highly important to the storyline itself and more evidence of what Alida was dealing with. We don’t know for sure what Philip was up to but given the times, I think my story is plausible–albeit tragic. Nor do we know for sure what disease took Alida’s young life. According to history, tuberculosis was the number one killer of young women during this time. Also, according to history, the number one super-spreader of TB was the taverns and brothels of the underworld. 

SCENE OAKWOOD AVENUE, TROY - DAY (LATE SPRING, 1866)

The morning light cuts through a heavy river fog rolling off the Hudson River in Troy, New York in 1866.  A modest, black horse-drawn wagon pulls up outside a brick row building bearing a gilded glass sign: LEONARD J. ABBOTT, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

Twenty-six year old ALIDA ROSE  steps off the wagon. She is pale, her frail body rigid, holding a dark wool shawl tight around her shoulders against a sudden, violent cough. She is in the late stages of a four year battle with tuberculosis. Little was understood by doctors about the illness other than how fatal it was. She pauses, catches her breath, presses a handkerchief to her mouth, and checks it—a tiny spot of red—before folding it away out of sight.

SCENE INTERIOR OF ABBOTT’S OFFICE 

The room is dense with the smell of leather-bound lawbooks, iron gall ink, and tobacco smoke.

LEONARD ABBOTT (40s), a meticulous man with sharp eyes and ink-stained fingers, looks up from a stack of deeds as the door bell rings. He rises, taking in Alida’s appearance.

ABBOTT Mrs. Rose. Please, sit. I must admit, when your note arrived requesting a private consultation, I assumed I’d be receiving a messenger from your father’s chambers instead.

Alida sits carefully in the high-backed wooden chair, placing a small leather portfolio onto the desk.

ALIDA My father knows I am in town today, Mr. Abbott. He does not know I am in your office.

Abbott pauses, his quill suspended over an open ledger.

ABBOTT Hiram Hall is as fine a legal mind as Rensselaer County has ever produced. If this is a matter of property or estate—

ALIDA (interrupting calmly) If my father draws up my will, Philip’s lawyers will tear it to pieces before the ink is dry in Surrogate’s Court. They will call it a family conspiracy. They will claim a prominent counselor dragged his dying, hysterical daughter into his office to strip her husband of his lawful marital rights.

Abbott studies her face. The fever-flush on her cheekbones tells him everything he needs to know about her physical state. He can see the pallor already appearing. Even so, he is impressed that her voice is as steady as iron.

ABBOTT You intend to disinherit Philip entirely?

ALIDA I intend to liquidate every scrap of land, every beast, and every coin that bears my name under the Act of ’60. And I intend to place the proceeds into a trust for my son, Goodwin. It must be out of my husband’s reach. Forever.

Abbott leans back, adjusting his spectacles as the weight of the request settles over the room. It was unusual to hear a wife in those days speak with such informed vitriol. It garnered more respect from the attorney across the desk.

ABBOTT It is true that under the Married Women’s Property Acts, you have the statutory right to devise your separate estate. But I must inform you that Philip will challenge it the moment you are gone. He will claim unsound mind. He will claim undue influence.

ALIDA Mr. Abbott, this is why my father cannot touch this document. I love my father dearly and Hiram Hall will defend my wishes in court as my father and as Goodwin’s advocate when the time comes. But you, Mr. Abbott—an independent, disinterested officer of this court—will draft it. When Philip’s counsel stands before Judge Warren, your name on the docket proves this was my sole, uncoerced act.

Abbott looks at the small leather portfolio, then back at Alida. A slow, subtle nod of professional respect passes between them.

ABBOTT You’ve thought this through, Mrs. Rose.

ALIDA I've had plenty of time to think, Mr. Abbott. She muzzled a cough of more blood in her handkerchief. “I’ve very little time left to act.”

ABBOTT  I understand. Under the statute you have the absolute legal right to devise your separate estate. But Philip’s statutory rights—courtesy and administration—can create endless litigation if we leave a single crevice open.

ALIDA Then seal every crevice, Mr. Abbott!  If Philip Rose receives one copper penny from my father’s land, he will drown it in rye whiskey before my funeral dirt is settled.

ABBOTT (jotting notes) I take it he is drinking?

ALIDA It worsens every day. 

Alida often wondered how it ever got to this point with Philip. She knew it started. She was just 16 years old. He was eleven years older and swept her off her feet. Her father had resisted Philip from the first time they met. But that only emboldened the young girl more and made the “forbidden fruit” that much more tempting. After their wedding it didn’t take long for the warnings of her father to bear fruit. Though he had big plans and bigger promises, Alida was disturbed at how little his talk aligned with his walk. He bounced from one job to another and always complained

Worst of all was the quiet, systematic plunder of her separate property. Under the law, what was hers should have been secure, but Philip’s neglect operated like a slow leak in a boat. To cover his losses or secure his next round of credit, he had let farm structures fall into disrepair, left timber timber unharvested, and allowed livestock to wander or starve. She was forced to watch her inheritance—the land meant to secure her son Goodwin’s future—dwindle not because of market crashes, but because the man sworn to protect it was simply burning through it out of spite and carelessness.

Every dollar Philip squandered on liquor or reckless wagers was a dollar stolen directly from Goodwin’s education, his clothing, and his future bread. Sitting at that desk, coughing into a stained handkerchief while trying to balance an account book that Philip had thoroughly wrecked, Alida realized that disease was only taking her body.

ALIDA  And it is not merely the bottle, Mr. Abbott.  His public liaisons with women across the county are no secret in Pittstown. He abandoned his marital duty years ago. He abandoned his home. But most unforgivably,.he abandoned our son.

Alida leans forward, her eyes blazing through her frail physical state.

Goodwin is a boy. He is defenseless. If Philip gains control of my estate as guardian or administrator, he will mortgage Goodwin's future to pay his own debaucheries. I will not allow my child to be made a beggar by his father's sins.

ABBOTT  So your instruction is a total conversion of assets?

ALIDA  Sell everything. Land, real estate, personal property. Let your trust convert every acre into liquid interest. Pay my just debts, pay my burial, and hand every remaining cent directly to a court-appointed Guardian for Goodwin's support and education.

ABBOTT  And if the interest alone is insufficient to board and educate him?

ALIDA  Then invade the principal. Eat into the capital sum as necessary. Ensure Goodwin reaches twenty-one educated, housed, and secure. On his twenty-first birthday, hand him whatever remains.

ABBOTT (nodding, drafting clauses) And should the boy pass before reaching twenty-one... without lawful issue of his body?

Alida pauses. A shadow of grief crosses her face, but her resolve instantly returns.

ALIDA Philip shall not inherit even then. Divide it equally among my own brothers and sisters. My bloodline, not his creditors.

ABBOTT And for the executors? Who shall hold the key to this trust and resist Philip's inevitable demands?

ALIDA  You, Mr. Abbott. You know the land, you know the town, and you know Philip. You will not bend when he comes railing to your door.

ABBOTT As will I. I shall finalize the drafting immediately. We will call in Isaiah and Byron Thompson from down the road to stand as attesting witnesses. They will certify your mind is sound and free from coercion.

ALIDA My mind has never been clearer, Leonard. My body is failing me, but my duty to my son is absolute. Write the document.

Abbott nods, dipping his pen once more into the inkwell, the scratch of steel on parchment filling the quiet room as Alida sits upright, staring resolutely out the window toward the rolling fields of Pittstown.

SCENE THE HOME OF HIRAM HALL OCTOBER 1866

The light outside the window is the bruised purple of an upstate New York October sunset. The room is quiet save for the crackle of a dying hearth fire and the heavy, shallow rasp of ALIDA’S breathing.

She lies in a high wooden bed, propped up on extra pillows. The feverish flush has left her; her face is pale, drawn, but untroubled.

On a chair beside the bed sits HIRAM HALL (60s). His formal coat is unbuttoned, his collar loosened—a rare sight for a man whose life has been defined by courtroom composure. He holds a small, folded legal document in his liver-spotted hands, reading the bold, elegant hand of Leonard Abbott.

HIRAM (softly, tracing the signature) Abbott, one of the most uncompromising men in the county. You chose well, Alida.

Alida turns her head slowly on the pillow. Her voice is barely a whisper, yet clear.

ALIDA You aren't angry? That I went to Abbott?

Hiram sets the parchment down gently on the bedside table, right next to a small glass of water and a tarnished silver spoon. He reaches out, taking her cold hand in both of his.

HIRAM Angry? My dear girl... as a counselor, I am furious that I didn't think to advise it myself. As your father... I am in awe of you.

A heavy silence settles between them. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the hallway marks the passing seconds.

HIRAM  Philip was at the tavern in Lansingburgh yesterday. Telling anyone who would listen that the law protects a husband’s rights. That a wife’s land is a husband’s land. He’s already gathering his arguments for Moses Warren’s courtroom.

ALIDA Let him gather them.

HIRAM He will claim you were frail. He will claim I stood over you and forced your pen.

ALIDA (a faint, dry smile touches her lips) And when he does... Abbott will step to the bar. He will swear under oath that I walked into his office alone. That I dictated every clause. That I was of sound mind, clear intent, and acting entirely of my own free will under the statutes of this state.

HIRAM And when Abbott finishes... I will stand up behind him as Goodwin’s advocate. Not as the man who drafted the paper, but as the grandfather who will enforce it to his last breath.

Alida closes her eyes, a deep, shuddering sigh leaving her chest. The tension that has held her body rigid for months finally dissolves into the mattress.

ALIDA He cannot reach Goodwin now, Father. The land will be sold. The money placed beyond his hands. Goodwin will have his schooling. He will have a life.

Hiram leans forward, resting his forehead against her knuckled hand, his shoulders trembling just slightly. The stern attorney yields, for a brief moment, to the grieving father.

HIRAM He will have everything you gave your life to secure. I promise you, Alida. On my honor. On my life.

Alida opens her eyes looking out the dark window toward the hills. The evening star has just appeared above the tree line.

ALIDA One thing remains and then this is finished.

Hiram tenderly gripped her hand, touching a cool cloth to her forehead. 

Father, I am sorry.

HIRAM Whatever are you sorry about? 

ALIDA Tears formed in her weary eyes. A quiver on her lips. She could barely say, Phil–”

Hiram anticipated what was going. “There, there. We do not need to–”

ALIDA Forcefully, Alida spoke, No Father. I must apologize for ignoring your counsel about him.. You knew this would happen, you tried to warn me! I should have listened!

Hiram’s breath hitches, the hard edge of his legal mind completely dissolving in the quiet warmth of the room. He looks down at her—at the faint, desperate tear slipping down her hollow cheek—and tightens his grip on her small, frail hand, shaking his head with a gentle, fierce tenderness.

HIRAM Hush, my sweet girl. No. He leans closer, his voice dropping to a thick, raspy whisper, stripped of every ounce of courtroom formality.

HIRAM  You have nothing to apologize for. You loved with an honest heart, Alida. That is never a sin, and it is never a fault. The dishonor in this house belongs to him, and him alone—not to the woman who tried to build a home out of his ruin.

He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, his eyes shining in the dim firelight.

HIRAM You were young, and you believed in the promise a man made to you. That is not weakness. But look at what you have done here today. You did not let his weakness break you. You stood up, in the cold light of the law, and you saved your boy. You did what I could not do for you—you outmaneuvered him.

A heavy, painful swallow tightens his throat, but he manages a soft, heartbreakingly proud smile.

HIRAM If I warned you back then, Alida, it was only because I loved you. And if I am proud of you tonight, it is because you fought for Goodwin with a courage greater than any law book I ever opened. You do not owe me an apology. I owe you a debt... to make sure your victory stands.

Hiram looked down to see his daughter peacefully sleeping. At first he wondered if it was the sleep of death. A shallow breath assured him she still clung to the silver cord for a bit longer at least.