In the years following the Civil War and until the early decades of the 20th century, it was customary for large photographic portraits to be made of individuals or couples. These pictures were frequently made in photographic studios in towns, or as was often the case in the Western North Carolina mountains, by traveling photographers. These unsmiling faces placed in ornate frames hung in many homes but as the 20th century wore on, and as modes of decor changed, they were relegated to attic, basement or storage shed. Not so the fate of Miss Hannah’s portrait of the mid 1890s. It retained a place of honor for more than a century, as it does today. Ironically, none who have treasured and perpetuated Hannah’s memory by displaying her portrait were, or are, her blood relatives. She has been referred to over the years as “Miss Hannah” not only as a mark of respect but also because her photograph was taken before her marriage.

The timelessness of the pastoral. “What joy the spring brought to the young couple as the dogwoods bloomed and the miracle of a mountain spring unfolded before them.”

In Henderson County, N.C., where the northern slopes of Couch Mountain meet the rolling hills of Hooper’s Creek Valley, is a fenced, serene, well-kept graveyard. The little church to which the graveyard once belonged was called Patty’s Chapel, established in 1856 and was one of the first churches in Henderson County. And while Patty’s Chapel has long been gone, each tombstone that remains holds a somber untold story. The graves of those who died young are particularly saddening, presenting lives full of promise that went unfulfilled. One such grave is that of a young woman scarcely more than a quarter of a century old when her life ended more than a hundred years ago. Her name was Hannah, and this is her story.

Hannah found love and married early in 1898. The cold wind surged through the mountains and the snow flew as she and John began their new lives together. What joy the spring brought the young couple as the dogwoods bloomed and the miracle of a mountain spring unfolded before them. As only the young can, their lives were filled with hopes and dreams.

In her snug house Hannah arranged her possessions lovingly. Her portrait, brought from her parents’ home, was hung with care. The cast iron pans, the pottery chum and crocks, and the new baskets were displayed to her liking. She was particularly pleased with her ironstone dishes. Her bowl and pitcher set for the washstand had a dainty sponged-stencil border design of light green. The women closest to Hannah banded together to sew for her a warm and beautiful quilt. It had appliquéd designs of green oak leaves and burnt orange acorns on an antique white background. To Hannah it was a priceless treasure.

The beauty of love. “Hannah lost her life before the birth of their child and John found himself alone, his hopes for the future gone. Only Miss Hannah’s portrait remained.”

It was a rite of passage for young southern women of the day to place important items, certainly linens, in their hope chest. When Hannah was in her mid-teens her grandfather, skilled in woodworking, had surprised her one-day with the gift of a storage chest. Over the years she had accumulated quite a few treasured pieces of needlework. The linens, stitched with great care, had been made by Hannah’s mother, grandmothers, and aunts, as well as by herself. She periodically – often on a Sunday afternoon – took the linens out to admire them and then gently restored them to their waiting place. Hannah’s years of waiting had ended. She could now find pleasure in using the beautiful linens in her newly established home.

In the spring there was much to be done in the yard and garden. It seemed that each time the newlyweds went somewhere, whether for a walk in the woods or to visit family, they came home with a cutting or a small start to a bush, flower or tree. Following tradition, boxwoods had been brought from their parents’ homes to plant on each side of the doorway of their newly started household. Their garden was well on its way when the rhododendron bloomed.

There were two things Hannah promised herself she would have when she had her own home – guinea hens and a lilac bush. The love of these things came to her from her grandmother. In time, her young husband saw to it that she had both. The lilac bush was placed where it could be seen to the best advantage. The guineas were so spotlessly clean and their actions very amusing. Finding their nesting place was a challenge but their eggs were delicious. The gentle sounds they made were as comforting to Hannah as a ticking clock, and they always loudly announced when someone came into the yard. Hannah loved caring for them.

How fast time flew. The soothing days of spring flowed into the hot days of summer and then the glorious, colorful days of fall. Life could not have been more perfect when the couple realized that a child was on the way. As all young men must, John felt the responsibility of a growing family. There was a cradle to build and so much else to do. Often as he listened to Hannah sing in her kitchen or talk to the guineas as she fed them, he would stare, deep in thought, at her portrait hanging before him in their living room.
He was a strong, tall young man (more than six feet) and to himself he pledged that with all of his strength he would always provide for this dear wife and their longed-for child now on its way. It seemed that all the steps of his life led him to this time and place – and there had been many steps. John reflected on his own childhood and the journey that brought him to the western North Carolina mountains and to his eventually meeting Hannah.

John’s parents had joined the many western-bound adventurers following the Civil War, leaving family and friends in North Carolina they sought a better life. They settled in Arkansas where John was born in 1871. When he was six years old his father and mother determined to return eastward to their former home. The 900-mile trip had taken two and a half months in a covered wagon, with John and his two older brothers walking all the way. Two younger brothers rode in the wagon. His mother, expecting a sixth child, both walked and rode. At night, if there was a dwelling close, the family asked permission to camp nearby. Their requests were usually granted; in fact, they were often invited into the house or were given rest in a barn which usually had a tight roof and was often filled with fresh hay. The families they met on their journey were eager for news and enjoyed the company of visitors. John’s family often asked for work in exchange for the lady of the house baking bread, which they prepared, in her oven. For John the long journey home was an adventure never to be forgotten.

As John moved about his busy days as a new husband, he found himself looking backward to his own childhood and his life with his siblings and parents. He also looked into the future and made plans for the life of his unborn child and his wife.

Sadly, the dreams of the young couple did not come to fruition. Hannah lost her life before the birth of their child and John found himself alone. All his hopes for the future were gone. Only Hannah’s portrait remained. In the years following Hannah’s death, John moved her portrait from the living room to his bedroom, perhaps to keep well-meaning friends and family from mentioning it.

Eventually he regained strength and will to carry on. He had learned all of the skills of building and farming required of a young man at that time. Hard work tilled his days and after several years he again embraced life and began anew.

A peaceful place of rest. “It is well into the morning before the sun touches the rolling hills. To the west is an unobstructed view of Mount Pisgah and surrounding mountains. Miss Hannah’s grave faces east.”

During the dreamy, golden days of September when everything seems right with the world, and all things are believed possible, John brought home a new wife named Mamie. It is not known if the couple discussed Hannah’s portrait hanging in the bedroom but it remained. It remained for the 64 years of their married life.

Their first decade together brought John and Mamie hard work, happiness, and three children – two boys and a girl. John acquired land with a beautiful hilltop for a home and fertile bottomland along Mud Creek, which flows into the French Broad River. He and Mamie, using a cross cut saw, cleared the slope in front of their chosen home site. John hauled trees to the sawmill by wagon for lumber to be cut for their new home, which, in time, he built.

The house was built entirely of oak and had a roof of ornamental metal shingles. Tall, dark pines typical of the area backed the site. When time came to move into the large house, the portrait of Miss Hannah was taken along and hung in John and Mamie’s bedroom. The view from the bedroom took in the newly replanted lilac bush, the bottomlands of the farm, and in the distance the western face of Couch Mountain. The lilac bush bloomed beautifully in due season.

The next 25 years progressed as they might on any successful farm. Mamie tended her home and kept her family clothed and fed and John worked long hours at both building and farming. As the three children grew up they went routinely with their parents to tidy Hannah’s gravesite and to take flowers from Mamie’s garden to place there.

Anyone visiting Patty’s Chapel graveyard today will find it much as it was many decades ago.

It is well into the morning before the sun touches the rolling hills. High Top and Couch mountains delay the sun’s arrival in the valley. To the west is an unobstructed view of distant Mount Pisgah and surrounding mountains. The sun setting behind these high mountains is a spectacular explosion of color adding an even greater feeling of peace to this serene hilltop.

Hannah’s grave faces east. On the cast concrete tombstone there is a hand, in relief, pointing toward the sky with the words, “At Rest.” Only her first name is given, the words “the wife of” and then John’s full name.

John loved the old hymns and over the years he led the singing in church. His resounding voice could be heard in the bottom land and throughout the valley as he sang while plowing his fields. “Rock of Ages,” “Amazing Grace” and “The Church in the Wild Wood” echoed across the farm. He was at peace with himself and his world.

In 1937 as John’s age reached into his late 60s, his second son, his wife and their 5-year-old grandson moved into the house. The home was divided into separate living quarters.

It must have been a magical place to grow up. The boy grew to manhood hunting, dedicated to football, enjoying many adventures with his family and friends. After a tour of duty in the Navy, graduation from college, and entry into the business world, he brought home a beautiful bride to see the farm and to meet his family.

The bride was shown through the house and items of interest pointed out. There were Mamie’s two bedroom suites that had been made by her father and the handcrafted oval wooden dough bowl with which she demonstrated her skill at making biscuits.

And, of course, the new bride was introduced to the portrait of Hannah. In the couple’s enthusiasm to share as much as possible about the house, farm and family, they climbed to the attic to see what intriguing contents were stored there. In an old chest they found an antique beige dress and bonnet made of a shiny, elegant material and the new bride dressed up in the outfit. The young man put on a three-quarter-length suit coat with tails. He parted his hair in the middle, in the style of an earlier day, and the couple had their pictures taken in front of the house. The entire family joined in the fun.

The elder John lived to be 92 years old, surrounded by the family he treasured, his farm and the house that he had built. Hannah’s picture remained in the bedroom.

Mamie passed away five years later. The portrait was not moved from its resting place of more than half a century. John and Mamie’s son and his wife lived the remainder of their married lives in the house. No one entertained a thought of removing Hannah’s face from the home.

The time came for everything to be cleared from the home and farm. It was a daunting task for the grandson with no siblings or cousins on that side of the family to help him. Two 16-foot trailers of farm equipment went to another state, much of it headed to a museum. Chums, crocks, the two bedroom suites and the wooden dough bowl went home with the grandson in a 24-foot van packed full of household items.

As the house and barn were cleared, there were many interesting discoveries. There were countless questions that only those who were long gone could have answered. One discovery was particularly mystifying. In an upper shed of the barn a cache of Union Army items from the Civil War was found. There was a Union Army belt with U.S. on the metal buckle, a cartridge pouch with U.S. in brass, a cap pouch and a scabbard with a 14-inch bayonet with a triangular-shaped blade. These items, their origins unknown, are believed to have been stored in the barn when Mamie’s parents’ old home place was sold many years earlier.

The old white farm house on the hill, backed by tall dark pines, is deserted now. The cleared slope in front of it is overgrown with scrub pines and vines. It can no longer be seen from the highway. As with all old farmhouses, it brings echoes of the past to anyone who will listen – good times and bad, happiness and sorrow, hard work and rest.

Where is the antique frame with the portrait of Miss Hannah now, the only remaining tangible evidence of her existence?

After more than a century, her picture hangs in a guest room at the home of John and Mamie’s only grandchild. This grandson calls the room “Miss Hannah room,” which delights his young grandaughter, who is John and Mamie’s great-great grandaughter.

Her name is Hannah, too.