Chapter V

LIFE AT RICE LAKE AND MARSHFIELD

My arms and my life were full of care, work, happiness, anxiety, and love. Days and weeks and months went on till one night at midnight Alden discovered that the upstairs was afire. After the twins were carried in the next house, that of a kind neighbor, in their little beds, we worked to save all goods downstairs and did, except a few things forgotten. Neighbor boys quietly helped me with all the light things. The fire department was there, an old-fashioned pail brigade. Only by great care did one escape being hit by the empty buckets thrown down from the roof of the house. Neighbors made us comfortable and at three a.m. we heard the chimney fall with a dull thud. After we had recovered from the shock of fire, Mr. Church made merry at my expense, saying that I asked if he thought we could save the twins. What I did ask was if we could save the things, meaning household goods.

My good friend, Jennie Tearse, brought clothing for me, for some of mine had burned. A new place of abode had to be found. This took us farther out of town, and near a family named Blystone. We began buying the little house and it became a home. Before we knew it, the boys walked. There were no trees then but we had many flowers, particularly lovely German pansies — beauties they were. Paul would wave them a good-by when he went for sand in the backyard — “Good-by, little pannies, Tibbie come back to you.” They were happy in their little world. They had been told not to go out of the gate, but they wanted to explore. One day I noticed the gate ajar and kept on about my sewing, then started for them.

BROWN HEADS BOBBING IN THE HAZEL BRUSH

The little brown heads went bobbing through the hazel brush toward the “lum’er lard” where papa was. After I had finished a well reasoned lecture and started back with them, Romney said in an amusing low voice: “Come, Tibbie, let’s go home, go to sunny cool.” (Sunday School.) Tibbie was his name for Paul.

We had lived in the new home for a little over two years, and now were about to leave Rice Lake, as Alden had a more paying position at Marshfield, with the Upham Co., manufacturers of lumber. Marshfield was a lively place, of about 6,000 people. We soon became acquainted enough so as not to be lonely, as usual joined the church and tried to help. My husband’s work was much the same. The Upham families were friendly and we were entertained. Afternoon teas were the vogue to an exaggerated extent. Our friends were numerous and I hesitate to mention any since I cannot mention all. There were the Connors and Uphams, the Elvises, the Poads, the Demings, the Pullings, the Sextons, the Heatons, the Krauses . . . .

When we had been there a little over two years a little girl was born to us, July 20, 1894. I had had the boys to love for over five years. Now that a daughter had come I felt that my cup of happiness was full to the brim, she was so dear. She was a healthy little girl and as time slips away quickly it seemed a very short time till she had learned to walk. We named her Miriam — a Bible name — and Sybil for Grandmother Mills.

A LITTLE MUSICIAN LISTENS TO THE BIRDS

In imagination, I can see the Miriam of old, playing on the tambourine and dancing with her maidens. Our Miriam had no tambourine but had quite a remarkable voice. She could strike an octave correctly when she was two years old. She would listen to the birds, then hurry and get a pan, placing it upside down and stand upon it by the open window. There she would seem entranced. When the bird flew and stopped his melody she said once, “Did he sing, ‘Bring the good old buful boys’?” She had heard the twins sing, “Bring the Good Old Bugle, Boys.” The lady across the way — the editor’s wife — Mrs. DeGroff — had a garden of the most beautiful flowers. “Meemie,” as Miriam called herself, was constantly trying to get to the flowers. One day she escaped, and I saw the little figure fairly flying across the street. I started and called. She ran on, oblivious of traffic, calling, “Daff fow, Daff fow,” meaning DeGroff’s flowers. Is there anything so interesting as the development of a child?

Big Minnie, our occasional maid, had brought candy for the boys on their birthday. Evidently there had been a discussion, and Romney came rushing in with, “Mama, did you say we could have the candy?” They had tried to tell her that my permission was necessary. I liked their spirit of honor.

We had one hard day. Some men came to town and began drinking. They had built a cache for themselves and when the police came upon them, fought viciously. Our chief of police was seriously stabbed, and the doctor at first despaired of his life. The town was stirred to its foundations. Our police chief was ill for many weeks, but lived.

Alden at this time had a position with the R. Connor Lumber Company, of which W. D. Connor was president. Marion Connor, daughter of Alden’s employer, came and spent an afternoon with Miriam. The next day it became evident that Marion had infantile paralysis and we feared for Miriam and sorrowed for Marion. Everything that medical science could do was done for Marion and eventually she began to improve, but was crippled for many years. Our Miriam did not catch the disease, for which we were indeed thankful. I recall a saying of my mother” “We have as much to be thankful for in the things we escape, as in the positive blessings.”

When Miriam was quite small, she had pneumonia. It seems strange, but the doctor, whom I called promptly, didn’t suggest a nurse. I got up every hour and gave medicine as directed. She got through it surprisingly well and I recall the doctor’s saying, “The only difference between her chance and (mentioning a neighbor child who died) was that you called me in time.”

A MAJOR EVENT AT THE OPERA HOUSE

Marshfield had a rambling wooden opera house. One night it burned and as we lived but a half block south, we heard the first hissing as flames broke through the roof. They traveled along the eaves and soon the whole building was ablaze. It was a major event and the opera house drew a crowd that night, you may be sure. Mention of fire calls to mind a time when Miriam was probably not more than two years old. I had stepped outside, leaving her alone. Returning I found her standing in front of a lighted stove. The draft had begun to draw in her dress. I’ve shuddered many a time at what might have happened had I prolonged my absence.

We lived in the house across from the DeGroff garden for about three years, then decided that we would buy a little home of our own. Father and mother were pleased to help in this. Moving seemed almost a habit now and we had great interest in getting settled. Alden had just taken his position with the Connor Company and it necessitated his being gone from his family much of the time, but he was generally able to spend Sundays with us. The new home was given a real going-over. We added a kitchen and sleeping room, and a rear porch; and we papered and painted. A new woodshed made its appearance.

The house occupied the western part of two very large lots on Third Street, our corner being the second east of Central Avenue, the principal business thoroughfare. The house faced south and the rear porch faced east, so that we had plenty of sunshine — a desirable thing since central Wisconsin has a rainfall that is more than ample.

I hired a man to plow and level the ground for a smooth lawn, and for a good-sized vegetable garden. There was fine young mountain ash at the front entrance, but otherwise there were no trees, either inside or outside the board sidewalks that flanked the highways. However, on the north boundary there grew one of the most magnificent elms in Wood County. It was a landmark that lifted its head high above all other buildings in Marshfield, with the exception of the standpipe of the waterworks. Many years later Paul was to write in his “How Pan Shaped the Leaves and Other Poems” the story of the felling of this great elm when it became a danger because of its age.

But the decorative mountain ash and the great elm were not enough. The Hinmans, substantial citizens of Marshfield and friends of ours, were thinning out or changing trees. Here was my chance and as they gladly offered all we wanted, I hired a man with a stoneboat and horses to bring some fine box elders. They grew so rapidly that soon we had excellent shade. Later we planted soft maples on what we called the terrace, between the public sidewalks and the roads. These were all to become stately trees.

The children and I planted flower seeds about the house and around the woodshed and soon the premises suggested a picture in a garden magazine.

Even Nero seemed to notice and enjoy the new plantings. Nero was our pet dog, dear to the hearts of the three children. He was more intelligent than most blooded dogs, as he was, I think, part fox terrier, part pug. He was to live with us throughout all the years at Marshfield. Later, in St. Paul, he was shot in a dog scare roundup. He jumped out of an open window to run about — but he forgot to take his leather muzzle prescribed by the ordinance. Long after, Paul was to put Nero into his “After Supper Poems” but he changed the name, being in need of a monosyllable. The poem is called “The Ballad of Old Bill.”

Sister Eva had gone east taking Blanche with her to visit Will’s three sisters in Wilmington, Massachusetts. They returned at just the proper time, stopping to see us when all was in readiness and we visited to our heart’s content. Then she was kind enough to stay with Paul and Miriam while I took Romney to an oculist in Milwaukee. He had suffered with his eyes for some time and glasses were fitted.

ROMNEY TAKEN TO SPECIALISTS

I went to Minnesota the next summer with the children. While visiting Eva I took Romney to a specialist, as he had not been strong. The specialist could find nothing definitely the matter. We visited Grandpa and Grandma Hills in Faribault as we had done almost every summer. The children thought it was quite like a fairyland, for the time was spent on the lawn under evergreen trees and poplars. Grandma had a very pretty flower garden and a vegetable garden. They enjoyed the chickens, but sometimes annoyed grandpa by chasing them. One of them, not liking to be chased, flew from the upper door in the barn. The feathers of one wing had been cut. The hen struck the ground heavily and died. This fact brought consternation, and punishment for Paul. In general all was lovely and the children delighted in the ride behind Prince to the post office in Faribault. The summer visits were repeated for many years. One year Mr. Connor had sent Alden to Varner, Arkansas, near Little Rock, to look after lumber that he had purchased. His going had been delayed quite a time because of an injury and foot infection that had followed, but at last he was able to go and had been gone five months. He returned by way of Faribault to visit us all.

When Miriam was six she entered school as the boys had. There was no kindergarten, I believe, then, although the boys had attended a private one started by Mrs. Poad.

This is a good time to mention a very pretty party that we gave. I had been entertained so much that it could not longer be postponed. I can truly say that it was a great success. The children all helped. Mrs. Connor and Mrs. P. J. Kraus were very gracious and helpful to me. I can see Miriam now as she stood holding the little basket with the cards to which the ladies helped themselves, these being directions to seats at table. We tried to have a literary hint in the tables — Longfellow, Burns, Lowell. . . . It all brings pleasant remembrances of the kind hearts that are usually beating in the breasts of friends.

FROM LINCOLN TO McKINLEY

The assassination of President McKinley occurred while we were in Marshfield. “Don’t let anyone hurt him,” were his words concerning the assassin. I think this was typical of the President. He and Mrs. McKinley were splendid examples for a nation. The day of his going, I had attended a party and the tragedy was the one topic of discussion. Mrs. Rowe, who had been our organist, was a year older than I, yet she seemed surprised when I said I could recall the assassination of three presidents. It was my turn to be surprised when she asserted she couldn’t remember President Lincoln. I recall the black lines on newspapers. My mother had wept and said, “It seems as though a member of the family were dead.”

“Aunt Sarah” Upham was a dear, familiar character in Marshfield. I can see her now sitting in church with her paisley shawl drawn neatly over her trim shoulders. She was a grandma to boys the age of mine, but to us all she was affectionately Aunt Sarah, the mother of Frank Upham, a lumberman. But her work was finished a few years before the World War. The world was surely better for her having been here nearly eighty years.

We had one real beau — or perhaps Beau Brummel. It appeared he was fond of courting. At this time there were two favored ones, but he would love this one, “were t’other dear charmer away.” At last he or somebody decided, and he was wed and we no longer saw him going down the street with an arm around each lady. His boast was that it was his ambition to have his wife the best-dressed woman in Marshfield. It was an unusually well dressed city, so there was really some competition.

One summer Eugene Field’s children (Pitty, Pat, and Tippy-toe) visited our town, staying with former acquaintances of their father. An Aunt accompanied them. Our children became acquainted, but I trust not in the way one little girl became acquainted with a new neighbor. She said: “Mary and I are acquainted now. She made a face at me and I made one at her, so now we know each other.”

Ours were not the only twin boys in town. Not far away lived twins, Willie and Charley Pors. If there is a Charles in the family, there is almost sure to be a William. The Upham boys were so named — Frank’s boys and Aunt Sarah’s grandsons. The great surgeons, William and Charles Mayo of Rochester, had followed the style — or their parents had. The Pors boys had not only father and mother, but grandfather and grandmother; the latter was very fond of pretty clothes, if one may judge by appearance.

I recall one day as I was raking our lawn a neighbor came by. I had on a broad-brimmed hat and he called out almost boisterously: “Maud Muller on a summer’s day, raked the meadow fresh with hay.” I glanced his way and noting that his eyes were bloodshot I thought I understood and took no offence. This neighbor once walked down the street using a chair partly as a cane. His need of some sort of support was quite apparent.

HOW FASHIONS IN GARMENTS CHANGE

Trying to recall what clothing we wore in early days is difficult except for extremes like hobble-skirts, peg-top trousers, mutton leg sleeves, or hats so wide we had difficulty in entering a door. There were street cars in New York that were called hobble shirt cars with very low steps. A car with high steps was difficult for the hobble skirted.

I think that men’s clothing was usually more somber than women’s. Perhaps men will have revenge some day by wearing again bright knee breeches and silver buckles. When the check suits were the style for men it seemed that usually the obese man chose the checks, so that he looked more abundant than ever. How material used for clothing changes! I recall calico, long ago, also lawns and delaines; and chambrays and organdy for summer; merino and other plain light weight wool for winter. Petticoats were dear to the hearts of all girls — “Balmoral.” Wide stripes encircled them, sometimes of gay colors. The peg-top trousers for men were as recent as 1912, I think. So much for clothing and goods. Our shoes would one season be narrow and pointed, the next broad and square. Why not? The shoe men must live.

The “Travel Class” in Marshfield was quite an institution. The children gloried greatly in mother’s belonging, her being an officer, also being poet of the class the last year we were there. When one of the papers came for my poem to publish, they were overjoyed, bless them! What a fine cooperative spirit our children have!

One of the delights of the twins was to bring home carnations to me, bought with their hard-earned pennies . . . They would hide them so that I should not see until they were ready. I can’t help looking back . . . the two boys always together with the checked blue coats, Romney’s arm over Paul’s shoulder. Once Paul had been far from angelic at school and I said, “Now I want you to go back and tell Miss Taylor you are sorry.” He went back with perfectly good intentions, I know, but his teacher told me he said, “My mother said I must tell you, you are sorry I was a bad boy.”

Time sped on rapidly. The boys went from the Fourth ward school where Miriam had joined them to the eighth grade classes, held in the new high school. The two were allowed to take Latin and Algebra in addition to their grade studies, as they were well advanced. They took their part in the Presbyterian Church, being active in Sunday School and in the Christian Endeavor groups.

Alden’s employer had suggested that an office be opened in Minneapolis and our going to the Twin Cities sounded more and more certain. We expected to live in St. Paul where we had so often visited my sister Eva’s family. At length it was definitely to be, and the time of farewell was approaching. I sold the dear little home to the neighbor across the way at a fairly good figure so that we had lived the six years without housing cost — and there was something to spare. We had $1800 cash that could be applied to a new home.

A NEW HOME AND A GREAT SORROW

Alden and I had come up to St. Paul to find the right home and I think we did, 1684 Van Buren Street. People who knew real estate thought we found a wonderful bargain. But before we moved a great sorrow had come to us. I had come up, bringing Miriam, but the boys, brave little men, stayed in Marshfield. A good neighbor, Mrs. Kelly, had boarded them part of the time. I returned once to Marshfield and was called back when my dear mother passed away. It was the greatest sorrow I had known.

I must relate an incident that greatly impressed me. Call it telepathy if you will. One evening at six o’clock I had the strangest sensation. I couldn’t throw it off. I said to Alden that I felt it concerned mother. No, he would hear none of it. At nine p.m. I had the same sensation and told him again. The next morning a telegram came: “Mother is much worse come at once.” When I reached her I felt that I had come none too early. When I related my experience the others said: That is easy to explain. At six p.m. we talked it over. Mother seemed so low that we felt we must wire you and at nine p.m. we went down to send the telegram.”

My mother died April 24^th, 1903.