Aunt Phoebe's Journey

There are two different versions of the following story, one written by Florence for an AAUW assignment, and another apparently for publication, though there is no evidence that it was published.

The shorter version was the better one, in some respects, but the longer version contained some interesting additions. The version given here is a combination of the two.

Aunt Phoebe was Clemmie's next older sister, who married Frank Sherpy, probably about 1876. Of there seven children, Bertha, the oldest, was about seven years older than Ella (see the Watson Genealogy & Chart)  - MRW

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by Florence Richardson Street

Enclosed you will find the story of about Aunt Phoebe. Our assignment was to make a short story out of some family happening, so of course I have had to fill in a few gaps. In the main it happened like this. At the time Roy's behavior seemed cowardly to us as he cowered there in bed until morning instead of telling his folks at once. - FRS

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“Well, Phoebe is on her way to Nebraska!” Mother remarked with a happy sigh at the breakfast table one Friday morning in July. Next to visiting her oldest sister Clara herself, Aunt Phoebe's journey was the best substitute. “Poor Phoebe! She's had such a hard life. She was so full of fun as a girl. I do hope she has a good visit.”

It seemed queer to us children to think of Aunt Phoebe's going far away. She was one of the fixtures in our lives. If mother were ill, Aunt Phoebe would come in to spend the day and sort of take over. While she didn't exactly cheer us up, we were accustomed to her gloomy outlook on life, and even derived a little amusement from her doleful forebodings.

We always associated Aunt Phoebe’s visits with tales of woe. The cows had gotten into the corn because Uncle Frank hadn't mended the pasture fence, and one of their best milkers had died of colic. Bertha had that pain in her side again; Aunt Phoebe was sure it was appendicitis. She would probably have to have an operation. The black horse from their best work team had broken his leg and Frank had to shoot him. Somehow these calamities always occurred just as mother was Planning to buy herself a new coat or dress, and she seldom had the heart to buy them. Father sometimes chided her for going shabby.

It must have been a month earlier that Mother had announced at dinner that Phoebe was going to Nebraska to visit sister Clara. Her sensitive face was flushed with suppressed excitement. We children were thrilled! In those days mothers of large families, especially farm wives like Aunt Phoebe, did not stray far from their own firesides. Even a trip to town required careful planning and was undertaken with some hesitation. From southern Minnesota to Nebraska seemed a stupendous journey.

“How exciting! When is she going? Who's going to take care of the children?” we chorused.

“Who's going to pay for the trip?” Father inquired warily, glancing quizzically at mother from under his bushy brows as he deftly carved the big, juicy beef roast.

Perhaps Father had some grounds for suspicion, though goodness knows, Mother didn't have the price of a railroad ticket to Nebraska. Women were not supposed to need much cash when they had charge accounts which were settled between merchants every January by a system of swapping. Father generously gave Mother five dollars each week for her own use, no questions asked. Two dollars paid the weekly wage of our maid-of-all-work, usually a Norwegian “newcomer” girl, so there was not much left to throw around. However, Father's shirts and ties and, occasionally, a suit or overcoat he had expected to wear again had a way of disappearing and then, presto, reappearing on Aunt Phoebe's son Roy.

“Phoebe has been saving her butter and egg money and she has enough in the bank to pay for her ticket!” Mother retorted triumphantly.

“Humph!” Better save it to buy shoes for that raft of young ones instead of gallivanting across the country,” Father remarked dryly.

“Now, Dave, Phoebe's entitled to a vacation. She works her fingers to the bone, and, besides, she hasn't seen Clara for 10 years! Neither have I,” she added wistfully.

Mother always stood up for her sister Phoebe, but not for Uncle Frank. According to her, their habitual hard luck was due to Uncle Frank's poor management. He was not what was called a go-getter. When our family drove in the surrey on a Sunday afternoon out to their farm 3 miles south of town, Father was wont to remark:

“Must be Frank's north forty along here. Look at the mustard!”

Mother and Father did not agree on the reason for Uncle Frank's poor farming. Mother said he just wasn't cut out for a farmer; he should have been a mechanic. Look at the way he liked to tinker. Father was sure Uncle Frank was just too “doggoned lazy.”

“Dave, the children will hear you!”

Of course, lank, brown-eyed, easy-going Uncle Frank sometimes did not get his corn cultivated or his wheat harvested just when those jobs should have been done, on account of his attending so many auctions. He had a passion for auctions. They were sort of social gatherings, and Uncle Frank was nothing if not sociable. He would come home from an auction with a broken-down corn planter, a sewing-machine which would not run, or a rocker with one rocker missing.

“You said your sewing-machine wouldn't work anymore,” he defended himself against Aunt Phoebe's upbraiding.

“Well, neither does this one, as far as I can see!” she would retort sharply.

“I can fix it,” Uncle Frank would assure her.

“If you're so good at fixing things, why don't you fix the one I've got instead of spending good money for another piece of junk? Mine is a heap sight better than this.”

It was fun out at the Sherpy farm. There were such fascinating things to play with. The treadles of the old sewing-machine would go up and down, up and down, when we pumped them, so we pretended it was an organ. We played Sunday school and sang all our Sunday school hymns lustily to the accompaniment of the sewing-machine. The baby carriage, minus a wheel and a handle, was just the thing for a doll-buggy when a piece of rope was tied to the front end and some child held up the rear corner. We used to play house with the churn that had a broken dasher. Uncle Frank was going to fix that as soon as he got around to it. He always had time to banter with us children, and truth to tell, we liked him better than diligent Aunt Phoebe.

Aunt Phoebe’s impending trip was the chief topic of conversation at our home for the next few weeks. We boasted of it to our friends. We all took a keen interest in Aunt Phoebe's wardrobe. It was Mother who discovered among her things a piece of gray wool just right for a new dress for Aunt Phoebe. Mother, herself, cut out and fitted the dress one time when Aunt Phoebe could drive in to spend the day. Her blue eyes glowed in happy anticipation of her approaching journey. When the worry lines were smoothed out of her forehead, she looked almost pretty in spite of her short, dumpy figure.

Father slipped mother a five-dollar bill one day, and gruffly told her to see that Phoebe got a decent hat. “I'm tired of looking at that old black bonnet with the bedraggled ostrich feather when I sit behind her in church.”

Father sister Emma, who taught in a Minneapolis high school and was considered very stylish by the family, arrived for a visit just then. She impulsively decided that Aunt Phoebe might as well have her navy blue coat; she was planning to buy a new one next spring anyway, and here were some black kid gloves she didn't need. Even Uncle Frank staid away from an auction and donated three dollars for some new shoes.

We were very proud when Aunt Phoebe donned her new wardrobe for our benefit a couple of days before she was to start for Nebraska. We felt she would do the family credit. Mother had prevailed upon her to get a cheerful-looking hat trimmed with one lovely pink silk rose. Aunt Emma had showed her how to do her hair in the new teacup style. With the soft natural waves of her brown hair loosened around her face, Aunt Phoebe looked years younger.

“I haven't had a whole new outfit since my wedding-day twenty years ago,” she told us as she smoothed the folds of the dove gray wool dress lovingly, glancing at her reflection in Mother's long mirror with evident satisfaction. We pretended not to know that Mother had intended that material for herself when she bought it. “Won't Clara be surprised to see me so well dressed!”

That was on Wednesday. Aunt Phoebe was leaving early Friday morning. She planned to wash and iron and bake bread on Thursday, then pack the leather valise Father had loaned her; he had bought it when he went to the Chicago World's Fair (Colombian Exposition, 1893) and had brought it home full of gifts for the family. We wouldn't see Aunt Phoebe again before she left. Mother and she indulged in a tearful farewell with many messages from Mother to her sister Clara in Nebraska. And Phoebe was not to worry about her family, mother told her. Bertha and family were so capable, they'd get along fine. The responsibility would be good for them and they would appreciate their mother all the more when she returned.

We were still at the breakfast table that Friday morning when Uncle Frank's team and light wagon drove up to our hitching post. Of all things out clambered Aunt Phoebe!

“Her train must be late. I do hope she won't miss her connection in Saint Paul,” worried Mother.

But Aunt Phoebe was weeping. She was the most dejected, woe-begone looking mortal imaginable. At first she was incoherent because of her sobbing. We thought somebody must have died, but it wasn't Uncle Frank, for he was sitting in the wagon, holding the reins and staring straight ahead. He seemed to have lost his customary jauntiness.

“We thought you had started for Nebraska,” Mother observed in a puzzled tone.

“I'm not going to Nebraska, now or ever!" Aunt Phoebe announced between sobs. “The money, the money is gone, gone!” Her voice rose to a wail.

“You said it was in the bank,” Father reminded her.

“It was. Until yesterday afternoon. Frank drove in to get it because the bank wouldn't be open this morning before train time. I was finishing the ironing and the bread wasn't out of the oven yet, so I couldn't go with him.”

“The bank hasn't failed, has it?” Father asked Aunt Phoebe impatiently. It was past time for him to go to his furniture store, but he couldn't leave in the midst of this family crisis. Aunt Phoebe was so agitated that we despaired of ever making head or tail to her story.

“Oh, Frank got the money alright. He was just putting it into his wallet outside the bank and a stranger spoke to him. He seemed to be a pedlar. He was going out our way, he said, and would appreciate a lift. Of course Frank let him ride. Frank drove right past the Koester place where they were having an auction.”

Here Aunt Phoebe gave Father a withering look. She sensed what he was thinking, I guess. “He says he wishes now he had stopped. He might as well have bought that black horse of theirs to match up Cap.” She went on, “It was pretty late to do any peddling that night, so Frank told the man he might stay the night if he wouldn't mind sleeping with Roy.”

“Of course we were all talking about my trip, and I was busy packing. My new clothes looked so pretty!” Aunt Phoebe again burst into violent weeping. She dabbed at her reddened eyes with a moist handkerchief.

“Well, Roy heard a sound in the night. The pedlar wasn't in bed with him. Roy could barely see him. He was standing in front of the old walnut chest, rummaging in the top drawer where Frank had put the money. He told Roy to keep his mouth shut or he'd shoot and then he skipped out. Roy came and woke Frank and they chased the peddler but it was no use. He just disappeared.

“It took me years to save enough butter and egg money for that ticket,” Aunt Phoebe continued. “Something was always happening so that I had to use it for some other purpose. I'll never have the heart to try it again. I just wasn't meant to go.” Aunt Phoebe sank into a sitting room sofa and gave herself up to utter despair. Mother dropped down beside her and wept in silent sympathy.

This was too much for Father. It really had seemed too good to be true that he was not going to be involved in Aunt Phoebe’s project. He usually was. There were Fannie’s high school tuition and textbooks last year, and little Ralph's funeral the year before that. Uncle Frank's insurance would have lapsed long since if Father hadn't assumed responsibility for the premiums. Our building the big new house last year had made going a bit tough; But, if this meant so much to Clemmie, maybe he could manage.

“You kids! How about giving up Chautauqua camp this August and letting Aunt Phoebe have the money for her trip? Fishing's pretty punk down there at Waterville anyway,” Father posed the question to the five of us.

I gulped. I had just finished sewing six rows of brown braid around the skirt of my first bathing-suit. And then I thought of Father lugging home new fishing-tackle, green minnow-bucket and all, in January. He loved to fish and this week at Waterville was his only chance in their busy year. However, we all nodded assent.

Father fumbled with his checkbook. Somehow he couldn't see very well. He blew his nose loudly. Then he scribbled something on a small blue pad and strode into the sitting room.

“Here, Phoebe, take this and buy your ticket to Nebraska, and, for God's sake, start tomorrow before lightning strikes the barn or that ugly bull gores Frank!”

Do you know, it was the queerest thing! Mother was the one who was grateful - not Aunt Phoebe. Mother threw her arms around Father's neck and kissed him right there before us all. Aunt Phoebe just sat there staring at the little blue slip, and then she said:

“It will take some figuring to get to Nebraska and back on that, Dave.”

The Sherpy clan: Frank is clearly a social person

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Father Enters Big Business

by Florence Richardson Street

Father’s furniture store was a very important factor in our family life, quite apart from the income it produced. When I walked down Main Street in our southern Minnesota town, I felt a sense of ownership, of belonging, which I’ve never had since.

Richardson furniture store in Northfield, Minnesota

The store had three floors. On the first floor were rugs, carpets, mirrors, framed pictures and dining room furniture; on the second, bedroom suites, mattresses, and chairs. The top floor was used for storage and repair shop, resided over by a Norwegian cabinet-maker who had learned the trade in the old country. A huge glue kettle and a battered coffee pot always simmered on his small gasoline stove. A freight elevator transported furniture from one floor to another, and oh! what a thrill to ride up and down on it! Ole, the delivery boy, would warn us good-naturedly, “stay back from de edge, du barne!”

Father prided himself upon his attractive store windows. To advertise porch swings, he once hastily screwed some large hooks into the plaster ceiling of the display window and hung up the swing. For the benefit of an interested customer, he jauntily plumped his 200 pounds down on the swing – the ceiling hooks gave way – and father and the swing made a hasty descent, one corner of the swing going through the plate-glass window. Somehow this didn’t strike my practical English mother at all funny when he recounted the incident at the table. “Sort of an expensive joke,” she commented dryly, mentally calculating how many household necessities the price of the window would have bought.

Sometimes father was absent from the noon meal because he was taking to dinner a young couple about to be married. They would come in shyly, hand-in-hand, to choose their furniture, and he wasn’t taking any chances of their falling into the clutches of his competitor, whom he cordially hated.

Father would let them choose a lot of shiny oak stuff which he carried for purpose of comparison. Then he would convince them skillfully that, while this might do for the present, it wouldn’t always satisfy them. “You want to think of what you’ll be proud to own 20 years from now,” father would counsel. “Good furniture lasts a lifetime.” Step-by-step he would suggest substitutions – a simpler, better-made bureau with beveled mirror, a more comfortable mattress, sagless springs, a planar but more beautiful dining table, sideboard and chairs. After the sale was completed, father would add a large train etching as his wedding gift. Long before installment buying became general, he would arrange for regular payments of the difference between what the young folks and plan to spend in the cost of better furniture. Payments often consisted of butter and eggs. These couples became his firm friends, returning through the years for other needs. He could also speak a bit of Norwegian, which never failed to amuse his Scandinavian customers.

Father demonstrating a new mattress
The young woman is Clara Watson, his niece and bookkeeper

Buying in larger quantities than a store in a town of four thousand could sell easily was father’s weakness. When he could have sold readily six or seven newfangled “sweeper-vacs” he ordered a dozen. The last five or six proved almost impossible to move. This was a source of considerable friction between him and his partner, Mr.Ferg, (Ferguson) for father was the buyer; the store was only one of Mr. Ferg’s extensive business interests.

Once father got really into BIG BUSINESS. It happened that the college on the hill above town had built a large dormitory for men which, strange to relate, provided no clothes closets. To offset this defect, the college had ordered, direct from a little factory to the south, something over 100 large wardrobes. These were to be “of oak, seven feet high, four and one-half feet in width, 20 inches deep, smoothly finished outside and inside.” Although satisfactory in every other way, the cabinets have been poorly finished inside, so the college authorities refused to accept them. This blow caused the factory to go bankrupt. Four months these wardrobes cluttered up the Milwaukee freight depot until father bought the lot, to the consternation of mother, his partner, and everybody at the store.

“It will take 10 years to get rid of them!” Mr. Ferg snorted.

“Dave, you’ll send us to the poor house yet!” Mother declared.

“Betcher my bottom dollar we can sell every last one within a year!” Father countered.

Knute, the cabinet-maker recently arrived from Norway, was pressed into service to help Ole. Day after day the two men hauled wardrobes from depot to store in the high wagon. They grew tired and glum. Even the black team lost its customary spirit and didn’t run away once.

Two father this venture was a challenge. He developed strategy. Only one wardrobe was displayed at a time, thus giving customers the impression there was scant stock on hand. From the doctor’s wife down to the little girl who came for carpet tacks, nobody left the store without being shown a wardrobe. He sold many to farm wives, who invariably had an upstairs bedroom minus a close closet.

“Ya! Virst ve baere dem from freight house store,” grumbled Ole. “Then ve loefte every damn von back into de high wagon og loefte dem oopstair soomevere.”

Knute nodded agreement: “Ya, ya, alvay oopstair!”

Father became quite resourceful in thinking abuses for wardrobes never imagined by the manufacturer. About this time our church women purchased their first dishes and silverware. They needed storage space. Father prevailed upon them to buy two wardrobes to stand side-by-side. Knute built nice selves into them, and they were used satisfactorily in the kitchen church for years.

I always suspected that mother has helped that transaction along. It was now her turn to absorb some of the surplus.

She had been asking to have a linen cupboard built into a recess in the upper Hall. Father sent up a wardrobe, neatly fitted with shelves. One slight drawback was that it was deeper than the niche, so we were continually bumping into it in the dark.

It proved so useful, however, that mother said the boys might as well have one in their bedroom, which had no close closet. Father complied with alacrity. The wardrobe worked very well for the two boys, divided as it was into two parts, with a deep drawer underneath and the shelf above. Fay and Russell each had his own side for his clothing and treasures, thus eliminating much squabbling.

The boys invented a new game called “sleeping car.” Each high shelf became an upper berth into which they climbed like monkeys. Even father hadn’t visualized this use!

One evening the little boys were excused from the table before the rest of us had finished. They scampered up to their room which is above the dining room, to resume a game of “sleeping car.” Suddenly we heard a crash which jarred the whole house, the dining-room chandelier swayed drunkenly, and then – silence. In consternation the family rushed upstairs; too scared little boys were crawling out from under an avalanche of clothing. The heavy wardrobe had tipped over as they had shinned up to their “births” at the same time. Its fall had been broken by the foot rail of their iron bed, which is been bent into a deep V; probably only this had saved the youngsters from serious injury.

When the year was almost up, one wardrobe still remained. The men at the store had begun to razz father. He did his level best interest customers. “Why, Mr. Richardson, don’t you remember? You sold me one last April!” The town and countryside seem to have reached the saturation point.

With this matter uppermost in his mind, father went up to Mr. Oleson’s tailor shop over McGuire’s jewelry store to have his new suit fitted. He happened to notice that the garments upon which Mr. Oleson was currently working on exposed to the dust. Before the fitting was completed, father had sold the last wardrobe!

Delivering this one was something else, however. For one thing, it was another upstairs job. “Schust von more oopstair vardrobe og I qveet,” Knute had threatened. And this was no ordinary flight – the iron stairway leading from the sidewalk between two brick buildings must’ve been twice the height of the usual residential stairs. There was no landing anywhere, not even at the top where door opened abruptly into the tailor shop. No spot to pause for breath.

Knute and Ole studied the situation without enthusiasm. They decided they might as well carry the wardrobe from the store, as the stairway was but a few doors up Main Street. The piece was awkward to get a grip on, and very heavy to negotiate up the long flight. Knute, the stronger of the two, lifted from the bottom while Ole tugged at the top.

Father stood watching proceedings from the sidewalk in front of the furniture store. He was vaguely uneasy. Suddenly he beheld Knute leap like a skier into space from the stairway opening, fleeing for his life! At his heels, end over end, came the mammoth wardrobe, careening to the middle of Main Street, where it crumpled into kindling. Knute had not paused until he had reached safety on the far side of the street, where he stood quaking.

“Dat ting, it loike to kill me! He gasped.

The two men had gotten the thing safely up the stairway to the tailor’s door. Only had to take one hand from his and a moment in order to open the door; Knute felt the wardrobe slipping, but couldn’t hold it. He let go and leapt downstairs ahead of it. Usually passers-by were numerous, and teams were hitched all along the street, but by some strange miracle the path was clear and nobody was hurt. 

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Snapshots: The Northfield Richardsons

 

David Fay Richardson and Katherine Clementine Watson
on their wedding day in 1883

Clementine Watson Richardson and her three daughters:
Ruth (8), Ella (16), Florence (15)
"Merry Christmas to Grandma & Grandpa"
December 1900

David Fay Richardson
& his two sons, Russell and Fay

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The Mystery of Mother's Christmas Clock

by Florence Richardson Street

“One of these days I want to get a real nice clock for the mantel,” Mother said wistfully.

Ever since we had moved into the big house, which had a fireplace in the living room, mother had remarked frequently that the fireplace mantle needed a clock. The old walnut Seth Thomas had been moved to the kitchen, where it was needed most; Whenever we wanted to know the time, we had to run to the kitchen.

Little Ruth in the Northfield house parlor, prior to 1899;
the Seth Thomas clock is visible in the kitchen behind

Father's furniture business had been good that year, so he decided rather impulsively to surprise Mother with a clock for Christmas.

Father always did his Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. He dropped into McGuire's jewelry shop just to look, but Mr. McGuire succeeded in selling him a beautiful black onyx clock with three light marble columns on either side of the face; It looked a little like the Parthenon.

Christmas came on Sunday that year [Ed: This dates the story to 1899. Ella was then 15, Florence 14, Ruth 7, Fay 6, and Russell 4]. Father connived with Mrs. Bierman, our next door neighbor, to keep the clock overnight period she promised to place it on the mantle while the family was at church.

After church, Father brought Mother home. She went into the house alone while he put up the horse period of course Mother spied the lovely clock at once, but she decided mischievously to have a little fun with Father. She carried the clock into an adjoining bedroom and draped her shawl carelessly over it.

When Father came in, he stared at the empty mantle, then dashed over to Biermans. Soon Mrs. Bierman ran over to borrow an egg. She made an excuse to come into the living room. She, two, stared in bewilderment at the mantel.

Ours was a large family. In addition to five children, our California cousin Fred Watson lived with us. There was also a Norwegian maid, Hannah, who had been with us for years.

About that time, we children arrived home from Sunday school. There was an air of mystery about the house; I observed Father quietly conferring with Fred. Father and Fred were darting here and there all over the house in a most peculiar fashion. I even heard Fred on the attic stairs.

Finally, justice Hannah announced dinner, Mother drew Father aside. “You've had your fun,” she said, “and I've had mine.” She took father's arm and led him into her bedroom. With her dramatic gesture, mother lifted her shawl and revealed - a sofa pillow!

Where was that clock? Father hadn’t the remotest idea. Neither had Mother. She enlisted the help of the children. We searched high and low, in the most unlikely places, but couldn't find the clock. The search continued intermittently until bedtime, but to no avail. We went to bed, still mystified.

Suddenly, in the dead of night, we were awakened by an exquisite chime! We scrambled out of bed, excited and laughing, and rushed downstairs in the direction of the sound. It struck 12 times. There on the fireplace mantel, just as though it had always been there, was Mother's clock!

Although the mystery occurred 60 years ago, it never was resolved. Though cousin Fred, then 15, helped look for the clock, I personally suspect that he was playing a delightful Christmas trick on the rest of the family. He was that much of a mischief.

The Christmas Clock

In 1983, the clock was still in the possession of cousin James Smith of Monmouth, Oregon. The story was printed in the Kansas City Star, December 18, 1960, section D, page one. [MRWalsh, ed.]

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The David Fay Richardson Family in Northfield, Minnesota

by Florence Richardson Street

The old idea of family records was merely to record the birth, marriage, and death of each member; but I think we can only understand ourselves and our children by knowing something of the personality of our forebears.

Father has written his autobiography, but there are other things quite important he never touched upon. Why is it, when a man writes his autobiography, he tells almost nothing about his family?

Father had planned to be a physician, and had studied was old Dr. Schofield at Northfield until a long siege of typhoid had made and give that up. He would have made an able physician, and I doubt not but that Bernard has inherited some of his inclination in that direction through his grandfather Richardson.

However, he married and settled down in Northfield as a furniture dealer. He was an able salesman and soon built up a thriving business. The delivery of furniture was always in the “high” wagon with the current frisky team. Father was not what was known as a good driver. He was small and energetic intense, and seemed to inject into his horses and irritable state of mind. His runaways were frequent and sometimes disastrous.

Father and his high wagon

Once when I was a small child, his horses became frightened at the freight depot. In the fracas they ran over Father, hauling the heavily-loaded high-wagon over him. He was wearing red flannel underwear, and one woman who saw all that expensive red thought it was blood!

Sometimes when Father wanted to deliver a big country purchase in person, took the three little children with him for the ride. It was always my job to go along to look after the children. The farmers’ wives would treat us all to pie or doughnuts and buttermilk and make quite an occasion of our call. Once, just as father lifted Ruth down, a big dog leapt at her barking, and she ran under both horses, coming out unscathed. I remember that in his relief, father spanked her!

There was a constant undercurrent of strife between my parents over the spending of money. Mother thought of it in terms of family comfort or advancement, and father of expanding his business. Men of that period seldom consulted their wives in business matters. They tried not to let on when they were doing real well, so they could gamble a little in wildland or apple orchards.

Mother was a remarkable manager. Father didn’t care how much she economized out of sight, but he didn’t want her or us to look shabby. “You think I want Lee (his competitor) to know my business is rotten this year?” “Do you mean you want me to go out and buy a new coat because your business is bad?” Mother asked incredulously.

Mother was almost never well. I think now that many of her headaches could’ve been avoided if she had not had so many anxieties.

She enjoyed her children and was determined they should have a happy childhood she herself had missed. Her mother died when she was three. She had the Englishwoman’s attitude toward the holidays, that they were to be properly celebrated. Never a Thanksgiving or Christmas for Fourth of July came around but what mother managed to instigate some family festivity. The maid always went home at these times, but somehow they were pulled off successfully. Father was always the life of the party on these occasions. Aunt Emma would be there, trying to be helpful, but she was always so slow that she was more in the way than anything.

Where Aunt Emma excelled was at entertaining the three youngest children. Her visits were greatly anticipated by us all. Mother inveigled even Father into doing all sorts of renovating and repairs “before Emma comes.”

No matter what time of year Aunt Emma arrived she brought little gifts for us all, down to the current Annie in the kitchen. The children never asked for their gifts, but they accompanied her upstairs and watched expectantly while she unpacked.

Aunt Emma shocked Mother by her extravagant clothes. I’ll never forget Mother’s expression when Aunt Emma showed her some beautiful changeable tan and blue taffeta she had purchased for the lining of her new suit.

I have thought of her Mother’s life a great deal in the year since her death, and have wished that she had received more spoken appreciation. You see, she played to a very small audience – her husband, her children, and Aunt Emma – and none of us realized how much she needed praise.

In fact, praise even in my generation was measured out very sparingly for fear we would become “conceited.” Conceited child was a terrible disgrace.

I can remember only once in my life that Aunt Emma praised me and it made me cry. Mother would praise things we made, like doilies or slashers, but not us.

So much has been written about how wonderful big families are, but in a big family children don’t get very close to their parents. About the time I had led up to a confidence with my Mother, one of the younger children cut his toe, or fell out of a tree, and the moment was gone. I was as fond of them as though I had been their Mother – took great pride in dressing them up and taking them with me where they would be noticed.

Father was too busy with the store to pay much attention to us children. If we crave to favor from him, we seldom approached him directly, but got Mother to ask him. His natural response to his sudden request was “no!” Mother had developed a fine philosophy for handling these. “Even though it seems crazy or unnecessary, if doing it would do no harm, I would say yes.”

During the last few years, Father and I got acquainted through letters. He was such a charming person I wish I had known him better when I was at home.

David Fay Richardson

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Fay and The Pulling Contest

By Florence Grinsted Richardson

In this piece, real names were replaced by the author with fictitious ones, even for the horses. "John," is Fay Watson Richardson.

John was young and had started farming when times were good. With a little money saved up by hard work and what he could borrow, and by careful breeding, he had raised one of the finest dairy herds in the community. Hard work and good luck earned him as reputation as one of the best farmers in the county. But in the Fall of '30 he received an ultimatum from his banker giving him one year to restore his equity in his farm equipment. The implement company had sold his note and chattel mortgage to the bank; it was impossible to renew any collateral, and John could not raise a dollar.  

To tell the truth, it looked like the end. John was determined that every acre had to produce all it was possible to get out of it. Every cow had to produce to her limit.  If a cow could not come up to his standard, out she went. His horses the same; if they could not put in the longest hours at the hardest work and stand up to the strain, someone else could own them.

The only exception to this rule was a team of 1800-pound Belgians that he had raised, two blue roans, colts well-bred to start with, from a big mare he had owned when he started farming. A year apart, they had grown as much alike as two peas in a pod.  

These, Queen and Blue, were his weakness; if John could not work them himself, they did not work.  He would trust no one else to handle them. 

Among our other horses was a bay gelding he had purchased from a wood contractor's outfit.  "Old Charlie" was not outstanding in looks at all. He weighed 1750 pounds and he was the meanest devil of a horse a man ever owned. He knocked out more walls than we could keep in place. He would kick standing alone in a stall, kick all the time he was eating. The only thing he enjoyed was work, the tougher the load the better. To see him pull it looked as if he was made of iron. 

John worked him carefully with other horses as team mates; unless held down on a pull, Charlie would throw a slow-starting horse under the wagon. He was an old horse; he worked with most of the other horses at different times, and they made extra-good pulling horses if they had the heart in them to start with. Old Charlie had outlasted several good team mates. He wasn't lovable, but John kept him for the work he could do.

The County Fair was to be on Labor Day, and there was a special attraction: a pulling match for horses.  This feature aroused much enthusiasm, especially since the Fair Board was offering $500 for first prize and $200 for second. John got to thinking maybe we could cash in on some of his efforts with the team of Belgians.

Our hired men, Nat and Runnigan, heard that a big team from the coal yard was being entered by Jack Sharp. We knew that team of blacks, we had watched them in town pulling a load of coal on a sleigh over bare ground through the lumber shed. As big as they were, they would not weigh much more than Blue or Queen, maybe 100 or 200 pounds more at the most. John filed his entry for the contest.

John did not say much, but he did considerable thinking. In a day or so he had rigged up a stone boat.  Dumped in a ravine back of the barn was a big pile of cement in sacks that had gotten wet and had been thrown away. John had Runnigan carry some of this out and load about a ton or so of it on the stone boat. He put their best harness on the roans and hitched them to the stone boat. The team was used to pulling, but needed practice to get down to a steady pull. As John spoke to them, he would crouch down and tighten the reins - the harder they pulled, the steadier he pulled, as though he held them back. He worked awhile with them every evening and kept adding more weight until he had them pulling as much as Sharp's team had pulled on bare ground, shod with sharp shoes. Runnigan said to put sharp shoes on Blue and Queen, and we'd have a chance. We kept this practice a secret, as we knew it was part of the battle to win.

On the last day before the fair, Runnigan was busy shoeing the team with shoes having good long calks. John got a new, heavy leather harness; when he brought it home from town, he had it in his trailer, covered up. He was as tickled as a boy with his first pair of long pants, and when Runnigan fitted it on the team I saw on the housing over the collar that our name was in large bold letters in nickel.

By then we had so entered into the spirit of the thing we could hardly keep it a secret. As we watched the team pull that night, we knew we had something that champions are made of. By now the two horses pulled as one. John would let them tighten up on the tugs, and as he leaned back on the lines he spoke again, the horses crouched and then straightened, not taking a step until the load started to move, and they hauled it the required 30-foot distance.

Sunday evening John loaded the pair of horses into a truck and drove to the fair grounds. By then he was getting a little nervous as he realized what he was asking this team to do and what was at stake. If he lost, we were done. Horses and everything would go.

Early Monday morning just after it got light, I went with Runnigan to look at the rest of the horses that were entered to pull that day. Publicity and the large amount of prize money had attracted some good teams from the city - one from the stock yards, and a couple of big teams from the packers, eight-horse teams that made ours look pretty small, especially as they were outfitted with expensive harnesses. But we weren't so much afraid of them as we were of the stock yard team, and Sharp's team from down home.

Runnigan went back to harness up and wipe the horses off. Blue hadn't eaten her grain, she just stood there. As soon as John came in from home, about eight o'clock, he knew right away she was sick. As soon as he could, he got a vet to get some stuff into her and after a while she seemed easier. But the vet said under no circumstances to move the horse or it would kill her. The look on John's face told us he knew right then that it was all over if he could not pull. We couldn't win the prize, the team would be lost on that damned mortgage. It had been our last chance. We were done before we  started.

Runnigan went out to eat and had a couple of good snorts out of a bottle while he was at it. Kind of made him feel better. Still, the fact remained something had to be done at once, and (after another drink) he was the man to do it. He found a telephone booth, called Nat at home and told him to go get old Charlie and lose no time in getting him up as a substitute. Runnigan then had another drink to keep up his courage, because John raised hell when you tried to help him.

Nat arrived just before the hour of the contest and I shall pass over the scene when he led Charlie from the loading chute. Runnigan got the worst of it, but John couldn't resist when he saw he still had a chance with a team. Maybe they weren't a team, as he said, just two horses (and one of them the meanest devil that ever lived), but if anyone could drive those horses and make them pull, it was John.  No matter that it had been several years since the horses had even worked together, that the roan was carefully trained to pull slow and steady, that Charlie was too quick - he could pull.

Out in front of the grandstand they drew numbers from the judge's hat to determine their turn. John was sixth, with Sharp just ahead of him.  

Each team started with a weight the equivalent of moving a two-ton load on a paved street. They were hitched to a cable, and the pull was registered by a dynamometer on a truck operated by men from the state university engineering department. Runnigan had a ringside seat on the truck, where he took the place of ballast. The truck moved along as the team pulled, until a judge rang a bell at 29 feet.

The first pull was an easy one for all the teams. Increasing the weight, the next pull gave some of the teams all they could start. The third try with the load at five tons was too much for the show horses from the packing house, the eight-horse teams, so that thinned the competition down to the stockyard team, Sharp's, and ours. Young Sharp took the notion to drive their team himself; he was sure of winning. He did better than we expected, holding that big team of blacks down to a steady pull, amid cheers from the grandstand.

John was doing his best to hold Queen and Charlie together on a dead pull, but the horses had different ways of pulling. Experienced horsemen who knew the circumstances shook their heads as John hooked on for the six-ton pull. The stockyard team had failed to move it, but Sharp's team had made a beautiful pull of the six-ton load. With his patched-up team, how could John expect to pull as much as this beautiful pair of blacks pulling like one horse, and that like a machine?

Still John had a chance, just a chance. He had hard work steadying his team into the collar. He was practically dragged along by the lines as they tightened into the load; for a minute they hung motionless, then they stretched out and reached for another footing, scratching the dirt and making the gravel fly. A front shoe flew through the air, and Charlie slipped and hesitated, just for a second but enough for Queen, who was even now. As Charlie got sure footing again, they strained and pulled and marched down the 30 feet to the applause from the stands.

Still, it was a tie. Did we have a chance to win? The judges went into a huddle, then called a short intermission. A minute later, the announcement came out over the loud speaker:

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have witnessed a sight this afternoon never before equalled - two teams have pulled, on a fair pull, 500 pounds more than the record of any team on this or any other fair ground. We feel that both teams are equal in power and hesitate to ask them to pull again; therefore we are giving duplicate prizes to each contestant."

Amid the cheering, Runnigan held the team and John came running up into the grandstand to take me in his arms. He had accomplished all he had started out to do. The money would pay off the mortgage. We would work to bring the farm into productivity, to provide for us as we had always dreamed. And the horses would belong to their rightful owner.

Queen and Charlie, the pulling team

Back to Table of Contents

Private Diary of Ruth Catherine Richardson, Part 2

PRIVATE DIARY OF
RUTH CATHERINE RICHARDSON
Part II

+++++ 

Mar. 21, 1908

It is nearly a year since I have written in here, and so many things have happened since then.

Ella and Florence had a double wedding last August. Ella surprised us all by getting married so soon. Oh! I was so lone­some, I cried about three times a week all fall.

Then Clara Larkin, Mabel Johnson and I have been going together so much since last year just before Christmas, that I have hardly had time to get lonesome.

David Weeks was away all summer in Fallon, Mont. He wrote to me all summer. This year he is in Tacoma, Washington. No telling where he will be next year. His father is a railroad contractor, so they rarely stay more than two years in a place.

Mamma had kind of a nervous breakdown after the wedding, and has been sick all fall and winter. We didn't get a girl until after Xmas, and so I had to help quite a bit. They used to have rare treats, like too strong coffee, burnt toast, flat pancakes, etc. We have a dandy girl now - Annie Skluzacek, a Bohemian.

These are the clothes I have at present:

Monday morning

Mar. 23, 1908

Yesterday I went to church as usual. Rev. Keesy is our pastor now. I wrote four letters in the afternoon, to Ella, Florence, Grandpa and David. I went to League and had to play the piano. I must go and look over my Caesar before school time. 8:30 a.m.

Mon. Eve.
Mar. 23

9:15 p.m. Uncle Frank Richardson is up from Cannon Falls today. I was over at Helen Watson's after school today. She had just begun to make candy. It was layer fudge. I like it ever so.

A man, the Central at Lonsdale, calls up Annie Skluzacek, our girl, real often. I told Annie he was cross, just to tease her. She told him tonight. His initials are V.V. He told Annie to have me talk to him next time he called up.

Tuesday Eve.
Mar. 24, 1908

9:30 p.m. Received letters from Ella and Bernard today. Bernard certainly is a tease.

Minnie Belle Schofield Hoover was up this afternoon. She is going to Salt Lake City, about 50 miles from Park City where Florence is, in two or three weeks. Florence is so tickled that she hardly knows what to do.

Clara and I, and Fay and Russell, went to the "Jack Knife" Lecture tonight. It was fine.

Ella is coming Sat. a.m. on the Rock Island. Won't we be glad!

Wednesday Eve
Mar. 25, 1908

Florence's letter came today. I made two pillows for the bathroom downstairs this afternoon. It is so warm today - Spring has certainly come.

I do hope that I will have sense enough to keep a diary this year. There were so many things last year that I would like to have kept track. I am not going to read a single page of this over until New Year's Eve.

I wish Clara Larkin would keep one. It would be so much more fun. She is so nice. She isn't exactly pretty, but she is ‑nice‑ looking and very bright. She is so witty, just like her father, and so ladylike - just like her mother. She has a swell form, too. If I was only taller, but then some people think I have kind of a cute figure, anyway.

Ruth (in dark dress) and a friend
in front of the Richardson home, Northfield

Thurs.

Mar. 26, 1908

I am going to try and be better than I have been since Mrs. Spooner ‑[the German teacher]‑ came. I didn't like her at first, and I wouldn't let myself like her. Mamma told me she had noticed that I was crosser to everyone, and she knew that it was because, down in my heart I kept saying to myself "I don't like Mrs. Spooner and won't do what she wants me to."

Tonight Clare Spooner, Mabel Johnson, Clara Larkin, Ethel Probart, Grace Harmer and I played "Sweet Bunch of Lilacs."  We had lots of fun.

Today the worst thing happened when I was out getting my cloak at 4 o'clock. I was in quite a jam and everyone was squashed pretty close together, as usual, when someone tried to put their arm around me. I jerked away and in kind of a side glance, saw it was Arthur Babcock. I shall hardly speak to him after this. To think a boy would do such a thing!  It is the first time anything like that every happened to me.

Mill on the Floss" has me head over heels in interest. Poor Maggie!  I am just afraid she is going to do something with her cousin's betrothed. Poor Maggie! She was always getting into trouble.

Friday,
Mar. 27, 1908

Today we got out at a quarter to three, because it is the last day of school before spring vacation. After school I went down town. About quarter past four I began making a white muslin cover to my bolster for my gold bed.

Elliot Watson telephoned over about quarter to eight for me to come over and practice. I just have been home about twenty minutes. I received an invitation to an April Fool's party. Mabel J. is giving it with Clara L.

Ella comes tomorrow on the 11 o'clock Great Western. My! I am so happy.

I mended three corset covers after supper. I will have quite a bit of sewing to do this vacation. Guess I will try and write better. I scribble so badly.

I got a compliment for Helen Crary, from Evelyn Kean, yesterday. She said that Helen had such pretty hands. I have never noticed. I notice very few peoples hands.

Sun. a.m.
Mar. 29, 1908

Ella came yesterday morning. She is just the same as ever. She always was pretty.

Received letters from Grandpa and David yesterday. I guess I won't write to him much more. His letters aren't very interesting. It is rather a bore to have to write to him. Am going to church now.

Sun. Evening,
Mar. 29, 1908

Went to church and Sunday School this morning. Mr. Nichols had all of his Sunday School class sign a pledge. He gave us each a rose.

I wrote a letter to Florence and one to Grandpa.

Aunt Maggie and Milford were over this afternoon. Celia Francis was over, too, to see Ella. Clara came to get me to go riding. We didn't ride very long as Mr. and Mrs. Larkin wanted the horse.

I have been reading "Mill on the Floss," and I just finished it tonight. It is an extremely sad, sad book, yet so true to life. The two books that I have read this winter have been so sad, "Kenilworth," and "Mill on the Floss."

Mar. 31, 1908
Tues.

I didn't write in my diary yesterday. Ella and I slept quite late in the morning. In the afternoon we went down town. She went up to Minnie Belle's and I went up to Clara's. She and Mabel had telephoned for me to come down. Then we three went down town again. They wanted to [get] some Teddy Bear napkins. We hunted all over town but couldn't find any.

Fay and Russell and I played "Quien Sabe" all evening. It takes nearly the whole evening to play it, as the limit is 500 pts., so we only played one game. Fay won. Ella was over at Streets for supper.

Apr. 3, 1908 
Friday
9:30 a.m.

I have just been washing my hair this morning and I look like "the wild man from Borneo."

Wednesday night I went to Clara and Mabel's April Fool party. Yesterday Mabel Johnson and a friend that is visiting her by the name of Mabel Johnson, Rilla and Ila Drake, Clara Larkin and I played "Sweet Bunch of Lilacs."  In the evening Papa, Ella, Fay, Russell and I played "Quien Sabe."

Apr. 8, 1908
Wed. 9 p.m.

Got a letter from Florence today.

Ella went Sunday. It made me feel so blue that she couldn't stay longer.

Our Caesar class is going so slow that I am going to go on a little ahead of the rest. Eloise figured out that if we take 35 lines a day we would barely finish the four books we are supposed to take. I finished the second book tonight.

We have had a heavy snowstorm which has lasted 2 days. I mean the snow has lasted 2 days, not the storm.

I thot I wouldn't write David anymore, but I got such a jolly letter from him that I guess I will. It is rather fun to correspond with a boy. I never did write to any boy whatever.

I have been most awfully cool to Arthur Babcock lately. I don't suppose he cares though. He is so soft that you could stick your finger right thru him.

Beth Street is Salutitorian at High School this year. I think she was only 6 or 7/29 behind the valdictorian. Her average was 95 9/29, I think. My average last year was 95 1/4, but my average this year will bring it down, I am positive. I think that Hazel Runnels or Judith Anderson will be the valdictorian in our class.

Apr. 9, 1908
Thursday

Bought some new gunmetal buttoned shoes today. Clara, Mabel and I went down town together. When I took off my shoe at the shoe store, there was a little tiny hole in the toe of my stocking. It must have come there during the day, because it wasn't there in the morning.

Fanny Rivier, Rilla Drake, Clara, Mabel and I are going out after crocusses tomorrow night after school. I hope that they tell Charlotte to come along, but Fannie and Rilla thot of it and I hardly like to ask them.

I am kind of glad that Fannie is going away, because Mamma don't want me to go with her. She isn't thot to be so very particular about the boys she goes with. If she stayed much longer, I know I would be going with her (if she would let me) because I can't help liking her. She is certainly fascinating, altho she isn't so very nice. Yet she is much nicer than Florence Revier. I never particularly like or disliked her, but I do like Fanny.

Papa was out all last night on an undertaking case. He was just coming in when I was getting up this morning. Mamma hasn't been very well today. I am afraid that Hannah bothers her. Hannah is the best cook, but she is not as sweet-tempered as Annie. I am truly lonesome for Annie Skluzacek, she is so good to me.

I keep a memory book of all the parties and things I go to. It is lots of fun.

My! I did dislike (I was going to say "hate," but I guess I hadn't better) Mrs. Spooner, and I was bound that I wouldn't like her, but I am really getting so that I like her. She really had to make us do those things and it wasn't her fault that we weren't used to it.

I was just thinking of something I heard Helen Watson say once. She said that every bit of gossip that we hear, we should give this test before repeating:  "Is it true?  Is it necessary?  Is it kind?"  I am such a gossip about some people. It is ‑true‑ I know, but it is not necessary nor kind, either, for that matter.

Apr. 11, 1908
Sat. a.m.

Yesterday turned out to be so cold that we didn't go for flowers after all. So we had our picnic up at Mabel's. Clara couldn't come, tho. In the evening, Clara and I went to an illustrated lecture. It certainly was dry. We only had 10, so we probably got our money's worth. We left before it was over.

Mrs. Larkin picked out a new black petticoat for me yesterday. She got it on approval, as Mamma couldn't go down.

Sat. p.m.

Nothing doing. Too sleepy to write, anyway.

Monday,
Apr. 13, 1908

Didn't have my German lesson today, and Mrs. Spooner told me I had to stay after school. I had to go down to the dentist's, so she said I could come early tomorrow morning.

Mamma and I went riding for a little while before supper. 

Judith Anderson was over this evening, and we studied German together. This is the German poem that I flunked on:

Ich hatt' einen Kameraden,

Einen bessern findst du nit.

Die Trommel schlug zum Streite,

Er ging an meiner Seite,

In gleichem Schritt und Tritt.

Eine Kugel kam geflogen

Gild's mir, oder gild es dir?

Ihn hat es weg-gerissen

Er liegt mir vor den Fussen

Als war's ein Stuck von mir.

Will mir die Hand noch reichen

Derweil ich eben lad'.

"Kann dir die Hand nicht geben.

Bleib du in ew'gen Leben

Mein guter Kamerad."[1]

All I could say straight was the first stanza.

April 14, 1908
Tuesday

Well, lots of nice things have happened today. First all, it has been a perfect day - rather windy, but then, I like Wind. Then, I said my German poem correctly, got an easy place in Caesar to translate - changed my flannels - had a nice walk down town - read in a dandy book, "Darrel of the Blessed Isles" - went over to Elliot's to play. And I am to wear a pretty new nightgown, low neck and short sleeves, with a blue ribbon in the neck.

Papa has bought a season baseball ticket, and I am glad because I was afraid that I couldn't go to the games.

Sent a lemon postal to Uncle Ed. I am waiting to see what he says.

April 15, 1908
Wednesday

Colder today. Took my Caesar exam. Wrote a letter to Florence, and a postal to Ella. Finished "Darrel of the Blessed Isles" by Irving Bachellor. Fine book. Am going to get a new corset, my old one has all gone up and it hurts me to wear it. A new one never hurts me. I remember the first day I ever wore a girdle. I thot I was going to die, sure.

Apr. 16, 1908
Thursday

Oh! I am so lonesome!  If I can only keep from crying!  Awhile ago Florence wanted me to come out with Minnie Bell, and I could have gone (that's what made it hurt) just as well as not if - well, if is always in the way. It would have cost too much for one thing, I suppose, and then Mamma didn't want me to leave her alone. I suppose she is just as anxious to see Florence as I am, but it seems as if I must see Florence. The tears are coming so I must stop - quick!  It makes me cry to write this.

Apr. 20, 1908
Monday

My marks in the six weekly exams are:

Caesar                  97

German               97

Geometry           91

Composition      95

Most likely my report will be much lower, because I am not such a very good student. I have had to stay after school twice for German since Mrs. Spooner has come.

Annie Skluzacek came back today. Her father was here for dinner. Annie and Hannah are both here now.

Clara Larkin and her mother, and Helen and I went to early service Easter morning. Mabel Johnson had Fanny Revier, Belle Nordguard, and Clara up for dinner, Easter. I didn't feel hurt, though, because she had Fanny and Belle because they are both going away soon, and Clara, because she couldn't come.

Mamma picked out a pretty hat for Florence. She can't get anything she wants without paying an exorbitant price. Papa didn't like it. I don't [know] what's the matter with the hats this year, or - him, he doesn't like my hat, either. Mamma only had to pay $4 and something.

May Mowry was over this evening and stayed quite a while. She seldom takes off her hat. I guess she intends to stay only a few minutes, but she usually stays about an hour or two. She is very good company when she isn't sleepy. Last summer she used to come over and sit and yawn and not say a word.

I have about two thin dresses that I can wear this summer. I am making me a white eyelet linen hat. I have white shoes and stockings, and a white jacket that are still as good as new, and then I am going to have a new linen skirt. That will make me have one cute outfit, anyway.

My new corset hurts me. It is too long at the bottom.

Dr. Riddell said that I kept good care of my teeth, they were so white and shiny. I always brush them once a day at least, but not much oftener.

Wednesday,
Apr. 22, 1908

Got a letter from David. This makes three letters I have had from him since I wrote him one. It has been a dandy day today. I got my report card:

Caesar            98

German         91

Classics           96

Geometry     92

Comp.             94

I am truly proud over my Caesar mark. I don't suppose I ought to be, but I am. Other people beat me in everything else, but that. That means that my daily average is 98 1/2 or maybe just 98. Prof. George usually drops fractions.

Lucile has been very very low since Wednesday. Yesterday she had three hemoraghes within twelve hours. [Note from MRW: Lucile was ten years old, the daughter of Earl and Jennie Richardson, younger sister of Jessie.]

Arthur Babcock wrote me a note Friday asking me to go riding with him Tuesday or Thursday evening. Of course, I shan't go. I am only fifteen, and Mamma doesn't think I ought to.

Hazel Ramage had a party - 14 girls - up at her house Friday evening. I dressed like "Molly the Sunbonnet Baby."  We all had dress in fancy costume. I had an awfully good time.

Ray Larkin went after flowers yesterday afternoon. He gave the Dutchman's Breeches to Clara and me. He said he was going out again this afternoon and if he found any, maybe I would get some. Mr. Nichols gave us such a cute card today that shows the meaning of every flower. I would hate to have anyone send me an ice plant, for that means, "You freeze me!"

The boys' calf is outdoors rendering a vocal solo which I am enjoying (?) exceedingly.

My Memory Book is nearly full, and I must soon be making another one. It is the most fun to make one. Last night Annie and I made some cocoa fudge. It was not so very good. Clara Larkin can make good candy, I think. I think she is kind of mean to him some­times. She is always saying "Stop bothering me, Ray."  I rather like him, and I know he is an awful tease, but then he is a boy. He don't ever get really mad at me, but he teases me. He threw water at me, once, the other day.

My little plumb tree will soon be in bloom. It has such lovely big plumbs on. I can see it right out of my bedroom window.

My room is so pretty, I think. It is a west room with one west and one south window. In summer it is the coolest and in winter the warmest room in the house. It has a small closet off the south side, and the door into the hall on the east side. I have a brass bed, with a white ruffled, thin spread over pink, and bolster the same. There is a small white maple dresser, with a white cover over pink, a little writing desk with a white maple chair, and a rocker the same; a little table, and a couch with three sofa pillows: 2 pink and one yellow, my high school pillow. I made it, and Fay and Russell bot it for me to work.

The yell is:

rac a ta zinc, to zinc, ta zinc,

Rac a ta zinc ta zi,

Hurrah! hurrah!  Northfield High!

I wouldn't have anyone read my diary for anything. It would be just like laying my heart bare. If I ever let anyone read this, it will be because I love, love, love them more than I love myself. Just now I don't love anybody just that way.

My little primrose that Mr. Nichols gave me for Valentine's Day has bloomed steadily ever since.

Had a new hat for Easter. It was brown sailor trimmed with brown silk ribbon. Mamma put some red roses on it that Papa brot from Chicago. They are very pretty and very nice roses, but I don't like [it] so very well.

Tuesday,
Apr. 28, 1908

Lucile is getting along better. She is still very weak, tho.

I wasn't well yesterday so I didn't go to school. I will have some nice (?) making up to do. Eloise was out, too. She telephoned over this afternoon for me to come and translate Caesar with her. I stayed until 6 o'clock.

It is rather cold in my room so I guess that I will go to bed and study so that I can keep warm.

Papa has 3 undertaking cases on his hands just at present.

I heard that Mrs. Spooner is not to teach German next year. Joy!  Joy!  Joy!  But if she should take Cicero!  Well, I ought to remember: -

[Page has been torn out]

I was... as the first time I led. This is only my second time, though.

Clara and Ray and I were going out riding tonight. It was so nice out. Mamma didn't want me to go unless I put [on] my winter coat. I just suggested that perhaps I had better take a hot water bag too, if it was so chilly. She made me stay home altogether, after all. I was so mad. I suppose I ought to have minded, but it wasn't a bit cold, and I don't like my winter coat very well, anyway.

Clara is so afraid that they will move to Texas. Her father has been down and bought some land, and he is just crazy about it. Mrs. Larkin and Ray want to go, too, but Clara doesn't want to at all.

I didn't write a single letter today, for a wonder. I am truly getting tired of writing letters, and I wish I could have a vacation from it for a while. But then I wouldn't get any, and then ‑that‑ wouldn't be any fun, either. I guess it is best the way it is now.

Jennie Phillips started to follow us again tonight but I am glad to say that we shook her.

Tonight when I was leading, I used the word "swamped" and Helen and Clara both got to giggling. I don't suppose that it is a very elegant expression, but "swamped" expressed my meaning exactly. I am going to speak and do things like that every chance I get, so if I should ever get invited to society at Carleton, I wouldn't be such a terrible greeny. I don't hardly expect to ever be invited tho, because the girls that they usually invite are pretty, smart, witty, and cut. They have to be bright and ready speakers, too.

Northfield News, May 2, 1908

May 4, 1908 
Mon.
9:40 p.m.

We didn't have school today either. I am so glad that the school burned. [Note from MRW: Her younger brother Russell recalled that classes were held temporarily at various places, including rooms above downtown stores. His graduation picture (framed by Richard­son & Richardson, according to the sticker on the back) shows the class and faculty in front of a new brick building with double entrance doors making the corner.] I guess that we will begin Wed., and then we will have to go Saturdays to make up. That will be pretty hard, I tell you. We can't have any picnics on Saturdays, or anything.

This afternoon Clara and Hazel Ramage and I went for a walk. Mabel and Rilla have started a hope box, which I think is certainly the limit.

I called on Mrs. Weeks this afternoon (not David's mother).

Mabel and Clara were down this evening and brot their sewing. My hat is still on the go. Mabel brot Clara and me down some Dutchman's-breeches. We found some butter cups this afternoon, which we brot home for Mabel's "hope box."  I guess we hadn't better josh them too much, or they will get mad.

Mamma trimmed my last year's sailor so that it looks better than my new summer hat. I wore my new plaid gingham dress today.

It is like this:

I think that it is real pretty. I have several other new dresses and I will draw pictures of them when they are done. I wish that Mamma would have some new dresses, too.

I wanted to ask Elliot over tonight but I didn't, because Papa said that it was Elliot's Lodge night.

Mamma has been sick today. Heart trouble.

May 9, 1908

Most done house cleaning now. Have been down town three times today. Papa gave me the St. Olaf "Viking" today. Mamma hasn't been feeling well this last week.

'Twas a nice day today.

I wish something nice and real exciting would happen soon, like - an invitation to visit some nice unexpected person, etc. My red memory book has just one page left in it. I will be soon starting in the new grey one.

May 13, 1908

Annie is going away to be married.

Rilla, Clara and Mrs. Larkin and I have been up to Johnson's this evening. We made Divinity. Ugh!  I feel so full, I could bust. It was awfully good, tho.

I am so sleepy that I will tumble directly into my little trundle bed.

May 18, 1908

Only nine more days of school!  Oh! I ‑am‑ so glad!  I am going to have a lot of fun this summer. I do wish David were going to be here. I haven't been a bit lonesome, but it would be lots more fun, just the same, if he were here.

Annie has gone, and Mamma and I do the work. It won't be any trouble when school is out. Mind you, Papa wants me to take vocal lessons of Mrs. Wilson, and Mamma wants to have me take a few painting lessons of Mrs. Mowry. Papa and Mamma certainly are good to me. I do wish I could learn to sing decently, at least.

Oh!  Hurrah!  Just nine days more of Madame Spooner!  Hip! hip! hurrah! 

I don't care enough about Mrs. Spooner now to even hate her. I just dislike her. Probably she will be just as glad to get rid of me as I am of her. If she feels as happy as I do over it, she must feel pretty good. But she wouldn't ever get excited over anything!  Oh! no! she must forever

I tore out the next page because it was so blame foolish.

I had to buy my Caesar because I had marked it up so. I wasn't much surprised, though.

I do wish that I knew what I got in my exams. Today, in Geometry, I was "stuck" completely. I couldn't get a certain question. I asked God to help me and he did. I don't know whether I could have got it alone, or not, but I like to think it was He. It isn't the first time that He has helped me, either.

June 9, 1908
[Tuesday]

I had such a lovely birthday, June sixth; it was a nice day, and everybody was lovely to me: my sixteenth birthday. Fay and Russell gave me a fine six-ball croquet set; Mamma gave me a bracelet; Florence sent me a hand embroidered corset cover; Mabel and Clara gave me a dear little gold pin; yesterday a fancy back comb came from Aunty, and just today a pretty hat pin came from Norma Cone. Oh! yes!  Mamma gave me a pair of embroidered stockings a little ahead of time, and Mrs. Ferguson (our birthdays came on the same day) brot over a "night blooming Cyrus" for me to look at. It was beautiful.

Ella and Bernard are stranded on account of railway washouts, at Butte, Mont. No telling when they will get out.

Went to senior play with Jessie Richardson.

I got my report. Thru in everything, average 93 3/5.

June 1908
Friday

Today was a lucky day for me. I got two letters and 5 postals - the postals all from David. They were pictures of the U.S.A. Battleships that he took himself. I thot that it was awfully nice of him to send so many.

Ella sent me a white collar and cuffs to work and wear with my brown suit. They are still at Butte and will be until goodness knows when.

This morning I made muffins and put soda in instead of baking powder. They weren't very good for some strange reason, but Fay ate 4, just the same. I made a good sour cream cake today, tho.

July 31, 1908

I have been having such a nice restfull vacation. We have such a good hired girl. Hope to goodness she don't get married right away.

There was a little boy, Paul Richardson Street, that came to live down in Park City, Utah, July 3, 1908.

Russell and I visited down at Aunt Amy and Uncle Charley Featherstone's the week following the Fourth.

The week after I was at Featherstone, I spent a few days at Cannon Falls. [Note from MRW: with Uncle Frank and Aunt Alice Richardson and their children.] I always have a good time there. Mabel and Clara are visiting at Zumbrota. It is pretty lonesome here.

Mamma is feeling pretty bad tonight. She has had such a hard year of it.

I weigh 117 lbs now. Just think of that!  I am only five feet tall, too.

Perhaps Rilla and Mabel and Clara and I are going camping this summer.

I am going [to] try every day so that perhaps I can be a really good woman. It ought to be possible, withGod's help.

Aug. 5, 1908

This morning was so nice that Mamma started out for a Wednesday drive about 9 o'clock. This p.m. I went over to see Hazel Runnels, but I met Etta Skillman coming away, and she said that Hazel wasn't home, so we went together and called on Frances Newell. Then she called on Jane Williams and we both called on Cora Hanson.

I went over to play tennis with Etta, but she was going to prayer meeting. I didn't care to go so I stayed at home. Mamma played Flinch with me in the evening.

Ella wrote me a letter that I got today. She says she is having a good time.

I won't mind when school begins, because I really have a pretty good time at school.

Aug. 6, 1908
Thursday
10:30 p.m.

This morning, it was so nice out, that I got up at ten minutes to seven, and took a walk. I walked by Runnell's, and Hazel came out and joined me, and we walked until 20 minutes past. Mamma and I rode out past the cemetery from 9 until 10:30. It was lovely.

Hazel Runnels asked Beth, Charlotte and me over to spend the afternoon and for supper. We had so much fun.

In the evening Hazel and Grace Page and I went down to church to practice the Epworth League songs. We stopped by the way to see a performance by some trained dogs. It was pretty good.

Tomorrow morning, if it is nice, Hazel and I are going to take our breakfast and eat it out near Hertzbergs, about a mile from town.

Mabel and Clara got back from Zumbrota about seven o'clock tonight. The first I saw of them was down on the street while we were watching the dogs perform.

Clara wrote me a letter and four postals while she was gone. She writes such cute letters, just like herself.

Got a postal from Marian Siegar down in Cannon Falls. She is coming up soon to see Irene Tosney. 

Marian Siegar, or "Babe" as they all call her, is real fat, but she is rather pretty, and ever so nice. She has beautiful hair and complexion.

Aug. 7, 1908
Friday

This morning Hazel and I started out at 6:30 a.m. We walked for about a mile, and then sat down on a little bridge past (south of) Charlotte's, and ate our breakfast while we dangled our feet off the edge and threw the crumbs and egg shells into the water. It was the most fun, and we were so hungry that we ate everything up (except the lunch baskets). We stopped at Charlotte's and washed our hands and got a drink, and swung a little while, then started for home. We got home just at half past eight.

This afternoon the Bierman kids were over and played with my doll Helen. They think that she and her clothes are nearly perfect.

Went to church supper. I stopped at Clara's on the way back, and she drove me home. They have the swellest, new single buggy. Mr. Larkin is quite well-to-do, I guess.

I had a date with Elizabeth and Charlotte to try their roller skates after dark. Oh! we laughed so!  They certainly are roller skates, for I rolled around just like a rubber ball, head on top sometimes, and then feet on top. Every time I heard anyone coming I sidetracked myself into the grass.

Marion, Helen, Blanche Haslip and I have to sing a duet next Sunday at Epworth League. I don't see why they asked me, I am sure.

I don't write half as nice as I used to. I am going to see if I can't do better. I wonder why I have grown so careless. I will try and make my letters "works of art."

Guten Abend!  Guten Nacht!

Aug. 8, 1908
Saturday

I didn't get up so early this morning - it was about eight o'clock when I had breakfast.

Mabel and I went down town this afternoon, and then sewed until supper time. After supper we played five games of croquet. I beat four and Mabel, one. When it was too dark to play, we went in the house, and Russell and Mabel and I played "Sherlock Holmes."

Clara is not feeling well today. I hope that she won't get sick again. She is not very strong.

Saturday,
Jan. 2, 1909

Things have certainly changed since Jan. 1908. Another little nephew has arrived by the name of Harold Street, that Bernard and Ella are pretty proud of. His birthday was November 18, 1908. Ella and Bernard, and Claude and Florence are all living at Deer Lodge at the same house. They have such good times together.

Mamma is much better than she was a year ago. It has helped a great deal to have good hired girls.

New Year's Eve, Mabel Johnson had Hazel Ramage, Grace Harmer, Clara and me up to spend the evening. Then I slept down at Larkin's with Clara. We watched the old year out and the new year in - the first time I have ever done it.

In the morning I went around with Mr. Nichols to take flowers to people. I am a "minute man."  He asked at Sunday School for volunteers. We weren't to tell each other either, and I haven't even told Clara. On the morning when he brot me home, he gave me a box of flowers, and a box of chocolates for Clara and me together, for a New Year's gift. We gave him a box of homemade candy for Christmas, because he is so fond of candy.

We were all over at Aunt Maggie's for dinner yesterday. We had a fine dinner. She and Aunt Jennie are certainly good cooks.

I was down at Clara's from about six until half past seven.

I have to lead League tomorrow evening. Oh! joy!

Helen Watson has thrown up her school at Elk River. Everyone says that she has ruined all her chances of ever getting another position. Oh! dear! I hope not.

I will draw pictures of the clothes I have now.

Apr. 25, 1909
[Sunday]

Florence and Paul are coming a week from Thursday. I am so tickled that I don't know what to do.

The Seniors entertained us Juniors Friday night. I had such a nice time. Rilla Drake stayed all night with me. Stillman Hathaway asked if he could see me home, but Alic Miller asked if she could go home with me, so I guess we three girls scared him out. I don't blame him much though. Poor kid! he has hard luck! Last time I was anyplace where he was, was when the Epworth League enter­tained all the Young People's Societies. Park Carpenter was there, and we were kind of fooling together all evening, but I never dreamed of such a thing as going home with him, for I am always scared stiff of him, altho he is just a dandy fellow. But when I started out the door Stillman was on one side and Park was on the other, as I suppose, waiting for me. Park got in ahead, and off we went leaving Stillman there. I was nearly dying, I wanted to laugh so, but I didn't dare, for I was, as I said, afraid of Park. 

I felt kind of mean, but still I was glad, for I believe I really like Park better than Stillman. I wished he liked me better, but I know he doesn't care a snap of his fingers for me, but just asked me because we had had kind of a jolly time together. Stillman is all right, tho, or I wouldn't go with him. That sounds kind of egotistical, doesn't it?

I haven't a bottle of ink of my own, and the first thing I will do will be to buy a bottle of my own, and write every night. Not that I think this will ever be of interest to anyone, for I would have a perfect fit if anyone should read it, but I want it for my own per­sonal use.

I never hear from David Weeks anymore. It was my turn to write, but I just thot that I would see if he would write again, to my once, but he didn't. I should like to see him again sometime. I wonder if I ever shall. He was a nice boy. Wouldn't he feel complimented if he knew that!!

Well, this is quite a boy number. I guess I had better stop this nonsense.

I have just read the most blessed book, "The Woodcarver of 'Lympus."  If I ever read another book better than that, truer to the joys and sorrows of human life, I will consider myself fortunate.

I never have had any real sorrows. My greatest ones were when Jake Ware wasn't nice to me at Hazel Barnard's party, and when the girls were married and went away from home. 

Just think!  I have never seen Florence since, and Ella but one short week.

Apr. 26, 1909

My pen has dissapeared, and I have tried every imaginable way to fix up a pen out of a pencil and a pen [point], but all to no purpose.

Miss Green was here today and sewed on a blue school dress for me. Clara Larkin came up after school and sewed a while. All the time she was here I had to sit around in Mamma's kamona, because Miss Green thot every minute she would have to try on my dress.

I bought my ink today, as I planned, and by tomorrow night I will try and have my pen here too.

I bought a little motto that I am going to send Aunt Emma after I have tinted it. I hope it will be pretty.

Went to Glee Club tonight. Had such a cold I couldn't sing, but I went for the fun of it, anyway.

May Mowry brot us over a sack of popcorn this evening.

Mamma has a hard headache tonight, and I will, too, if I don't hurry up to bed, for it is ten o'clock easy.

These are pictures of my new spring clothes: 

Apr. 27, 1909
Thursday

I went to gymnasium today. We have a gym in our church. I wear Ella's old gym suit. It doesn't just fit, but it does very well for me.

Afterwards Clara and I went thru town. I saw some coconuts so I got one. We went up to Larkin's and cracked it, but all the juice ran out.

This evening I painted the motto for Aunt Emma. Today is her birthday, and it has to go way to Denver yet. I am afraid it will be rather late for her birthday.

Just after supper I walked down to Cousin Ida Watson's with May Mowry while she took some china down to be fired. Then about quarter past eight, Papa and I walked down to the auction that is being held at Johnson's Drygoods Store, but it had closed.

I have some more Cicero to translate, so I will begin it now. I am all undressed, but I like to get into bed and study. It is not ten yet - my bedtime.

Apr. 28, 1909
Wednesday

I have a blue linen dress that I forgot to draw a picture of, the other night. 

I have embroidered a simple design in blue, in Wallachian and eyelets.

About all I have done today is to make a collar and enjoy my cold. A person looks worse than they feel when they have a cold.

I wrote my essay on "Prue and I" today. It is quite important, for it counts one tenth of the year's average in English.

After I had translated "my portion" in Cicero today, Prof. White said, "Miss Ruth, have you read this over before coming to class?"  I said, "Yes."  Then I got to thinking. I don't know whether I did or not, but I know I read just before it, and just after it, but, I believe by some mishap I must have skipped that particular place.

I am always short of money. But, I have a legacy of twenty dollars from Grandma Richardson that will accumulate in the bank till I need it. Isn't that a fortune?

May 1st, 1909

Sat.

Mayday and the ground covered with snow. And not a single basket did I get or give. Oh! well!  Yesterday I took a few carnations over to Lucile for her May basket from me. Poor little thing!  Yet she is so happy all the time. She seems like a little angel just lent to us for a little while.

Clara Larkin came up this afternoon to sew, but we didn't sew much; we made candy instead.

Hazel Runnels was over this evening. She is real nice to me, but I can't make out whether she really likes me or not. Boys never puzzle their heads over such foolish questions, do they?

I have a strange wish and hope. Someday, some­where, I want to be beautiful. Really beautiful; and a person is never ‑really‑ beautiful unless they are happy and beautiful inside, ‑too‑. So you see it is something to strive for. I wonder if it is possible. It may not be until I am an old, old lady with snowy hair. I hope I will be a nice old lady like Grandma Keesy. She is just the dearest little old lady there ever was, and I am just crazy to become - not acquainted with, but loved by, her. If I could be like that - well, that would be beautiful.

Northfield News, August 14, 1909

Northfield News, August 21, 1909

May 2, 1909
Sunday

I have a sore eye tonight and I really oughtn't to write, but this has been such a funny and yet such a nice day that I really wanted to write about it.

This morning was communion Sunday. While we were at the altar just after we had taken the bread, the little boy next me sneezed and sent his piece flying straight in front of him. I thot I would die!  I didn't dare laugh, but I do believe that was the hardest thing I ever did - not to laugh - I would say to myself, "Why Ruth Richardson! that isn't funny! what's the matter with you!"  I would think I had entire control of my feelings, and then I would see that little piece of bread lying on the platform, and it would all begin again.

Roy Turner and Fay and Russell and I were walking home from Sunday School together this morning and Roy told a joke that struck me funny: -

A man had a stand at a street carnival where he sold "red-hot" sandwiches. When the customers were going to eat them right away, he didn't do them up, but when they were going to take them away, he put them in a sack.

A man came up and bot one, and as the "red-hot" man handed it to him, he said, "Are you going to eat it, or take it with you?"

This afternoon I came upstairs and fussed with my hair for about half an hour, and then ended by putting it up the same old way. Then I read David Copperfields proposal to Agnes, and was just reading about Dora, when Charlotte and Hazel came to get me to go walking. I just love that book. Oh! Agnes is just great, and so is David!  I love them both. And oh! how I cried when little Dora died.

We three went up and called on Mrs. Spooner. She seemed real glad to see us. We had to wait a long time to see her, but we had a real nice time while we were waiting.

I guess I will have to finish the chronicles of this day in the next issue. 

End of Diary

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Northfield News, August 1, 1913

Northfield News, August 22, 1913

 

---

[1] Translation by Alfred Hellstern:

Once I had a comrade,

better you will not find.

The drum called us to battle

He went at my side

Same in pace and stride.

A bullet came a-flying –

Meant for me, or meant for thee?

Him it has struck down

At my feet lies he

As if a part of me.

He wants to take my hand

Even while I load my gun.

"My hand I cannot give thee.

In life eternal do thou remain

O good comrade of mine."

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