A Woman of Independent Means (20 page)

It was the first time Totsie and I had been away from the children all summer, and we suddenly felt as unfettered as young foals. We tried to maintain a sedate appearance befitting our position as we walked through town, but we were practically dancing when Totsie arrived for her beauty appointment. In our lightheaded mood she had no trouble persuading me to join her in a shampoo and soon we were both snow-capped with lather.

There was such an air of expectation about us that the postmaster's wife overcame her native shyness to ask whom we were expecting. Totsie began to talk about Dwight while the woman rinsed her hair with lemon juice. Then, while Totsie sat outside in the sun letting her hair dry, the woman turned her attention to me. In what was for her, I am certain, an unusual display of interest, she asked if I were expecting anyone special this weekend.

She was rinsing my hair at the time and attributed my long pause before responding to the water cascading over my ears. But it was not rainwater that wet my cheeks and the bitter taste in my mouth was more than lemon. I could not speak but finally shook my head negatively.

“Oh, well,” she said, trying for a light tone, “who needs a reason for looking pretty?” But we both knew the answer.

I have been so happy here this summer and I truly thought I had succeeded in eluding the sorrow that has pursued me so relentlessly since Rob died. But the prospect of Dwight's arrival has made my solitude unbearable. I do not know how I am going to get through the next two weeks. I feel more alone tonight than I have ever felt in my entire life.

I love you both for being part of my memory of Rob.

August 5, 1919
Woodstock

Dear Cousin Josie,

I am sorry you felt a train trip was too arduous for you. Personally, I have always found daily routine more tiring than travel. In fact, the very thought of seeing anything new invigorates me. However, it was kind of you to send the genealogy book in your place. I was thrilled to learn that a branch of my father's family can be traced to the American Revolution and am anxious to do research and discover the extent of their contribution to this chapter in history.

It was very generous of you to give me the family tree. I only wanted to study it, not rob you of your heritage. However, if you sincerely feel it is safer in my keeping, I will be honored to have it for future generations of our family. But I am puzzled by certain omissions on the tree. The genealogy book mentions a family living in Salem, Massachusetts, in the seventeenth century that I feel sure we have a right to claim but your mother did not include them when she had the tree drawn.

I have been anxious to explore New England on my own and so have decided to take the children on an excursion next week. Totsie's husband, Dwight, has kindly offered me the use of his car.

I plan to go first to Salem and check the local records to establish our connection with the family I mentioned earlier. It is thrilling to feel personally linked with the people who founded our country. I will let you know the results of my inquiries as soon as I learn anything definite. I know you must be as interested as I am in the missing chapters of our family history.

Much love,
Bess

August 15, 1919
Boston, Massachusetts

Dear Papa and Mavis,

The discovery of our family's role in the history of this country has left me in a state of shock.

In Salem I established beyond a doubt our descent from the family of the town crier in the seventeenth century but learned at the same time that his oldest daughter was an accuser in the first witch trial. I understand now why their name is deliberately deleted from the family tree, and I suspect Cousin Josie knew all along to what an ignoble end my search for illustrious ancestors would lead me.

In Boston I hoped to redeem the ignominy of our earliest known forebears with the brave acts of our revolutionary ancestors. What a blow to find our family's name on a list of Tory sympathizers.

We are returning to the farm tomorrow. I promised the children we would retrace Paul Revere's ride on our return route and I cannot disappoint them, but every historical mile we travel will drive another nail of disappointment into my already splintered heart.

I know now that history cannot be counted on to furnish us any reason for pride in who we are. We have to do that for ourselves. I guess I should be glad I learned the truth while I still have so much of my life ahead of me. What a year! I lost my husband in the spring and my heritage in the summer. I am truly on my own.

All my love,
Bess

August 20, 1919
Woodstock

Dear Cousin Josie,

I am returning herewith the genealogy book and family tree you were kind enough to lend me. I have no further need of them and no wish to own anything that more rightfully belongs with you. After all, it was your mother who ordered the family tree made and kept it hanging in her living room until someone (you perhaps?) discovered a reason for taking it down. I understand now why it was not on display when I visited your house for the first time, and only wish you had seen fit to spare me the trip that brought me face to face with facts I would rather never have known.

However, some good may have come from my experience ancestor hunting. Dwight Davis, my friend's husband, comes from an illustrious family, many of whose members served with distinction during the Revolution. But family history is an all-or-nothing proposition. There is no way to claim the good while denying the bad, and I have warned him of the betrayals lurking in any close examination of one's origins. His wife has implored him to remove the family tree hanging in his study before their adopted child is old enough to understand his omission from it, but so far Dwight has refused. However, I think I may have abetted her cause by hinting at the existence of a few skeletons among the branches of the family tree, and Totsie has privately predicted that the tree will be out of sight when she returns home at the end of the summer.

The end of summer—how sad that sounds to me. I must make plans—and yet it is so difficult to know where to start. There must be days when it is very reassuring to you to know where and how you will spend the rest of your life—and to have all your decisions made for you by someone with your best interests at heart. I wish I could be as decisive in my own interests right now as I have always been in the interests of others. I wish there were another “I” with an existence separate from my own who could tell me what to do. At this moment I would gladly take orders from anyone who spoke with authority.

Your devoted cousin,
Bess

August 21, 1919
Woodstock

Mrs. Annie Hoffmeyer
210 Gaston Avenue
Dallas, Texas

 

Dearest Annie,

I read your letter with tears of joy. I was not sure I would ever hear from you again. But what unexpected bereavement brings us together! I lost my husband to death and you lost yours to another way of life. I would not presume to say which is the harder loss to bear.

I find myself in much the same position you do as fall approaches—with small children dependent on me and no husband to provide for us. Perhaps our mutual need can serve us both. As much as I dislike the idea of retracing any of my steps, I must return to Dallas next month and try to save what remains of my husband's business. And as I feel certain you are anxious to leave the scene of marital discord, let me suggest that I rent a house large enough for both of us and our children. That is, of course, if you will assume the responsibility of running it. I cannot afford to pay you a salary at this point, any more than you can afford to pay me rent, but in return for your services, I will gladly provide food and shelter for our two families.

I know when you left my employ you were firmly resolved never to return to domestic service, and I respect your decision. However, in this case you would not be working for me, we would be helping each other through a difficult time in our lives. I hope you will agree to the arrangement, as I feel we could both profit from it.

I am sending by the same post a present for each of the children. They were hand-made by the wife of the mayor of our village here. The gingham snake is for little Franz and the knitted dress for your new daughter. How cruel of Hans to make her arrival the occasion of his abrupt departure from your life.

The children send you hugs and kisses—as do I. And we all eagerly await your reply to my proposal.

Your devoted friend,
Bess Alcott Steed

August 29, 1919
Woodstock

Dearest Annie,

Your prompt reply was cause for celebration! The children and I are thrilled at the prospect of seeing you again and sharing your life. The house you mentioned sounds perfectly suited for all our needs. I am enclosing a check to cover the first month's rent, effective at the earliest date you care to move.