On this day in history, January 26, 1837, Michigan is admitted as the 26th U.S. state.
Street map or plan of Detroit, Michigan by Nathaniel Currier dated May, 1837. Printed on front: “City of Detroit, Michigan from late & accurate surveys, May 1837. N. Currier’s [undecipherable] cor. of Nassau & Spruce Sts. N. York. Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1837 by Morse & Brother in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District of N. York.”
Original map from the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library.
Courtesy of the Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library
1) Inside the Buffalo Public Library, 1900s. 2) The Dakota at Central Park West, 1890. 3) 5th Avenue and 59th Street, 1897. 4) Emigrant and pretzel vendor. By Alice Austen, 1896. 5) Nassau Street, circa 1905. 6) The Mad Hatter Tea Room, Greenwich Village, circa 1908. 7) Waldorf Astoria Original Site at 5th Ave and 35th Street, 1899. 8) Grand Army Plaza Brooklyn, 1894. 9) Brooklyn Bridge, 1896. 10) The Saint Regis Hotel, 1900s..
“Oh, Jesus Christ on Heaven’s throne! Emma—stop!” Henry
exclaimed, choking on the words. She listened and followed his command, but it
still seemed there had been a delay from the time his mind had managed to form
the words, his lips to utter them, and the moment when she had taken her mouth
from his throat, her palm from his thigh, where she was perilously close to his
“What is it? What have I done?” Emma asked. Her eyes held a
curious amalgam of apprehension and desire and, yes, persistence. He felt her
hand right beside his leg, not touching but almost, just as he had almost,
almost achieved his impulse and his shame with the scent of her body, some
flower he didn’t know her favorite for its place at her neck, her wrists, the
softness of her breasts above her stays’ confinement, the way she said his name
Henry, Henry darling…
“Nothing. Everything. I would forget myself and I shan’t do
it, I cannot treat you thus,” he managed, trying to settle himself, remembering
where they were, how soon the wedding would be, how precious Emma was for her
soul and not only her physical beauty. She laughed then and it sent a thrill of
urgent heat through him. It made his hands shake, driving out nearly everything
but the lively feeling of his skin and hers, the memory of her hip in his grasp
and the way lust made him hard and aware, the animal God had made before He
breathed in soul.
“What a goose you are, Henry! Do you think I haven’t any
idea—that I didn’t like it? That I don’t want this?” Emma said, laying her hand
on his hip but lightly, the way she might soothe a skittish colt, looking up at
him with eyes that were affectionate and knowing, shy enough he wasn’t
embarrassed to be the naïf or uneasily puzzled by her confidence.
“It’s a sacrament, isn’t it? There isn’t anything wrong
between us, because I love you. I don’t allow
this,” she added, stroking her hand along his flank, arching into him and
brushing her lips against the edge of his collar. “I long for it, for
you, all of you. I can hardly believe you feel the same, when I want you so
much, and then when you do—Oh! That’s what kisses are for, isn’t it? When there
He saw her sweet face and those eyes he’d dreamt of, in
tender dreams and terrifying ones and now in his sleeping mind’s conjectures
which left him breathless and yearning, Emma beckoning from their bed,
struggling to lace a boot, soapily revealed in a copper tub, her hair in a long
tail painting the floorboards with the bathwater. She was right so he answered
her with his mouth on hers, a hand at her back keeping her close, letting her
discover how perfectly matched they were, love and desire, trusting they would
recall themselves when they needed, dimly thankful it was Monday and they had
only to wait one more day.