...Just Ten Miles Away...

Source: saavem

When Marie gazed out her kitchen window, she felt a bubble of indescribable joy grow within her.  Her kitchen window in her house was a portion of the joy.  Too long all windows belonged in a distant cousin’s house, where she was paid to clean, cook, and care.

Lewis emerged from the barn, a laughing two-year old son on his shoulder.  Her husband and her son.  Marie’s heart burst at the sight of them. 

Dinner was steaming hot on the table when Marie finally sat down next to Lewis.  A six-month old baby girl Minerva tugged at Marie’s breast, as Lewis dished out a plate for Bobby, his little boy.  If a photo could have been taken, it would show a glow around the table, ringed with laughter and great happiness.

It was the summer of 1922, a glorious summer when the crops were good, Lewis and Marie were rejoicing over their life together, and the children were healthy.

Marie Cardiff holding baby Minerva; Lewis Cardiff holding Bobby; their dog, Spot

Like a summer storm rolling across the flat fields, diphtheria moved over towns and farms all across the country.  Over 100,000 children would die that year from this horrible disease. 

Bobby woke up feverish one morning, coughing, and crying, “It hurts, here!” pointing to his throat.  Immediately baby Minerva was sent away, to a relative’s farm out in the countryside, away from town.  Doctor Edwards was summoned and confirmed the worst fears of diphtheria, which was affecting too many children in the area.  The next seven days were text-book in the progress. 

For all those nights and days, Marie worried over little Bobby, with Lewis at the foot of the bed.  His face was a mask of pain, remembering the death and dying behind him in France.  Day by day, Bobby struggled to breathe, his throat swollen and his eyes desperate.   Finally, his little heart gave out. 

Bobby Cardiff,  b. 1920- d. 1922

Folks said that Marie’s screams could be heard a mile away, but then, a lot of mothers were heard screaming during that long month.

 

In a day or so, Lewis boarded the train, carrying with him a lead-lined coffin containing his dead little boy.  Taking the four hour train trip to his family’s home cemetery in Oakford, Illinois, Lewis sat in the cargo boxcar holding the coffin under his arm.  Slowly teardrops covered the top of the lid.

When Lewis returned to his farm after five days, Marie was stone-faced and quiet, so quiet.  Her breast milk had dried up, requiring that Minerva be fed by a friend.  Marie’s dark hair had started turning silver white.  They sat side by side on their marriage bed, holding hands, silent.  They would not talk about Bobby again, until 1941.

Her home and her family, Marie had to hang onto them even tighter.

Add captionSource: EveBlackwood

What happens now?

Theodorus Peck, 1927?, during Good Times

Over the decades after Theodorus had died, my father spoke very little about his own father, hardly at all.  It was a door he had nailed shut, never opened unless a sudden flash of a memory appeared. 

The photos of him growing up and changing into a man showed how he and his siblings handled grief by never allowing themselves to grieve.  The three of them posed for photos, three wooden soldiers with hands to their sides and awkward half-smiles pasted on faces.  The gray photos never permitted them to touch each other, to hold on to each other. Their eyes were still, frozen where grief had met them the day their father did.

Aunt Helen is the tall girl in the back row.  My father is holding the basketball.

“What happened to your pa?  Why’d he die?”

Those questions had been asked throughout my own growing years and answered only with a few words, usually provided by my mother.  So, it was only when grief had struck my father’s house twice more that my father allowed tears to fall and feel the bereavement long denied to him. 

Robert Peck 

First, death stole in, when my older brother, Robert, died at age 46 years with a brain tumor.  Then two years later, death returned like a thief and took a second younger brother, Bill, at age 44 years with blood poisoning.   

Bill Peck

My father aged in front of us and finally, nearly 70 years after Theodorus Peck died, Dad began to talk about his pa.

It was summer, a hot summer when we sat out on the back yard and listened to the night crickets start their songs.  Still dusky light slanted over the porch roof and bathed us in silver, black and white. The porch seemed to take a deep breath as a silence settled over us, heavy and filled with long held sorrow.  Mom’s hand snaked through Dad’s arm and interlaced his silver fingers with hers.

 

“My pa....” Dad began, and then paused, searching for words that were choked back before he could speak them.  Finally, he spoke, his voice a stranger’s voice.  “The night he died, my sister and I were upstairs in my Grandma Peck’s house.  The phone rang and I looked at her and said, “Sis, Pa’s dead.  They’re calling to tell us that he’s dead.”  
 

"She didn’t believe me, but I knew it as sure as I knew what day it was.  I heard Grandma say that they’d wait to tell us the news in the morning.”  Dad raised his head, his strong angular face lit with moonbeams, and we could see a slow snail trail of tears.

Mom’s hand squeezed his, as he continued to speak in that stranger’s voice.  “I got up as soon as it was light, went out to the back porch to watch the sun come up.  Pa’s work boots were there, where he had taken them off not two days ago.  I lifted them up, smelling Pa’s smell on them yet.  A piece of mud, dried in the sole’s instep, fell into my hand.  When he last wore those boots, the mud was soft.”  Dad’s head ducked down into the black night as he continued.  “I wrapped that piece of mud up in a handkerchief and ran home with it.  I kept it in my drawer for years....”  And the story ended.

Memories folded up in that handkerchief and drawer slowly crept out over time.  Not big memories, but ones speaking about the loneliness of a ten-year old boy trying to harvest the corn field by himself.  Such loneliness and despair swallowed up his youth.  And when his sons died, something had to break free.

My father slowly released parts of his grief over the remaining years of his life, but I know that when he closed his eyes at night, the images of his pa and two sons were the last to leave when sleep came. 

My father in about 1944

And then...

Happiness and Ever After should be a requisite in unexpected love stories.

After Amy’s family forgave her, throwing a big reception for the wedded couple, things settled down.  Theodorus informed his family about the wedding, and they were thrilled.  A little shocked perhaps, but thrilled. 

Amy in her modern traveling suit

His parents set about building a new house on a portion of farm land they deeded to Theodorus and Amy.  For Amy, this was beyond her hopes.  Living in a town or city in a shared bedroom with her two sisters and supporting the family had been her future.  And now, Amy would have her own home, her own husband, and even farm land.

Theodorus traveled ahead of Amy, kissing her good-bye passionately at the train station in Detroit.  “Soon!” was the word they whispered.

He arrived and inspected the progress.  Like Amy, a house of his own had also been beyond his hopes.  He sent a telegraph, and she arrived within days.

Theodorus with Helen

That was 1919.  In 1920, a daughter Dorus Helen was born to them.  Life was wonderful.  Theodorus was president of the town’s bank; his parents were prosperous with ever increasing farm land.  In 1922, my father Louis Edmund was born.  In 1925, William was born. 

Helen and Louis "Bud"

Smiles on my grandmother’s face in old photos say everything:  Life is wonderful, Love is wonderful…

son Louis, Amy Peck, her mother-in-law Laura Peck, and  Theodorus with their new car

The Stock Market Crash of 1929 punctured the big balloon.  The bank was closed and land had to be sold.  But, still, Theodorus and Amy were together.

And, then…I hate those words.

Theodorus had never been a robust man like his two brothers.  Over the next two years, he began to grow more fragile.  He lived in constant pain, on aspirins.  Amy worried over him.  She unpacked her boxes of medical books and sought answers. 

In 1932, his doctor decided that Theodorus had to be admitted into a hospital. 

People seldom went to hospitals in a rural area.  Those who were admitted were suffering from serious life threatening issues.  This usually resulted in death.  Which is what happened.

Theodorus was taken by ambulance to a hospital over sixty miles away.  After his admission, plans were made for surgery, as a kidney tumor was suspected.  The night before the surgery, while Amy sat at his bedside, Theodorus suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage.  Death came quickly.

Amy L. Peck as a widow

Amy was about 40 years old, and the only love of her life was buried.  The next decade for Amy and her three children would be harsh.   

Love's Labour Lost--almost

Theodorus Peck, 1918

Amy Nichols, 1916

This love story should not have been possible. 

One world was from the farmlands of Illinois, where Theodorus’ family were affluent landowners, bankers, and shop owners.  The other world was from the cities of Michigan, where Amy’s family were more gentile, educated, and ‘with prospects’.

The likelihood of their meeting was very limited, fate stepped in.  The key factor was the restlessness that filled Theodorus.

He was extremely intelligent and eager to see more than the rolling fields of corn.  Tall and lean with pale blue eyes, Theodorus was not a physically strong man; farming would have been a difficult life for him.  Theodorus “Dorus” was already 35 with no serious attachments.

With his parents’ blessings, Theodorus went on a “stroll-about the United States”.  The stroll went West to Utah and up to Idaho.  It took him through mountains, deserts, and ultimately to Michigan.

He had friends in Michigan from his growing-up years and from his travels.  They showed him different towns and cities.  One city was Detroit. 

Amy came from a town nearby, and had just received her Pharmaceutical Degree.  Finding a job in Detroit meant that she would receive a good salary.

Amy Nichols on her way to the Drug Store

What is a bit vague (from her reminisces) is about her family.  At one time they had been comfortably situated, but something about the father’s gambling and drinking had left them in financial straits.  There were three daughters and one son.  Amy was the oldest and was considered to be a ‘spinster’.  She was also brilliant.

Amy was so mentally gifted that she had begun studies in medical school to become a doctor.  She was the only woman in 103 men.  Two years into her studies, the family was nearly destitute.  With their pleas for help, Amy switched her studies to become a Pharmacist. 

Only part of the class photo, with Amy Nichols at the top

At the age of 28, Amy was behind the drug store counter, filling prescriptions and laughing with customers.  She was a big woman with a big personality—tall with brown eyes and an easy smile. 

Theodorus needed something from a drugstore, so his friends took him to this store as it was the closest.  Brown eyes meeting pale blue eyes, well, you can picture the exchange.

They began the courtship.    

Her family was not happy.  No, they viewed Dorus as depriving them of their source of income.

What to do?  They eloped.

When my grandmother said this to me, I was about 14.  My jaw dropped; I looked at my very traditional elderly grandmother, and these images did not coalesce.  “You mean—out the window, down the ladder elopement?”  She said, “Well, almost.”

When the dust had settled and days had passed, Amy’s family cooled down, considered their standing in the community, and held a reception for the newlyweds. 

Reception corsage

Their love story will continue on another posting.

A Love Affair to Remember

Love stories are not as unique as we like to believe. 

Of course, when I was falling in love with my future husband, it was the love of the century.  The stuff of books, legends, and movies-- that was what we had.

It is only now in the present that I find myself looking back at the grand love affairs that led to my existence.  In looking at one's mother and father, their respective parents, and back for generations, one will find a man and woman whose eyes spoke of longing and desire.  Then they fell in love.

Ellen Jo Carter's maternal grandparents were Sam and Daisy Parker.  Their stories come from my own mother's parents.

My mother’s parents were Lewis and Marie Cardiff.  Their love was always clear to me in the way he patted her behind as she walked by him, even when they were in their senior years.  It was the way she giggled when he did that, blushing a little.  They held hands at the table.  Love.

My grandfather was the source of Ellen Jo Carter's Grandpa Sam Parker.

They met near Grandpa’s childhood home, right after WW1.  Grandpa had experienced the worst of the war, the most horrible carnage, unimaginable to those at home.  As a skilled hunter and sharp shooter, Grandpa and another farmer like himself were assigned to scout behind enemy lines.  They were on the run, sleeping in barns and ditches, and making their way back to deliver information about the enemy troops.

He returned home a battered soul who just wanted peace.  He got a job collecting milk for the local dairy company.  Along long stretches of quiet green pastures, Grandpa guided the horse-pulled wagon, and collected the milk cans that farmers set out for him early in the morning.

My grandmother, Marie (on the left) was the source for Ellen Jo Carter's Grandma Daisy Parker.  She was close to 18 yrs. in this photo.  Wearing a new dress, Marie was preparing to leave home and go to work at a family friend's house.

A young woman had observed that lonely journey day after day.  Working as a serving girl for a large farm family far from her own parents, Marie was homesick and watched the world go by from the kitchen window. 

Barely 18 then, Grandma decided that she needed to be on that road just when he went by.  They waved at each other for days.  Then he stopped and talked for a few minutes. 

Over a period of weeks, they learned about each other through the spoken and unspoken language of love, always respectfully.  Lewis was, after all, ten years older than Marie.  One evening after supper, Grandpa showed up at the house where Grandma was a serving girl.  She went out onto the porch behind the kitchen where he waited, hat in hand. 

He scooped her up in his arms, their eyes meeting.  Grandpa said, “Marie, I want you to be my girl forever.”

My grandfather was a farmer before and after WW1.  He suffered lung damage from the toxic gas used in war.

That was it.  The next day or so, Grandma packed up and went off with Grandpa.  They were married in a simple straight-forward ceremony.  Grandpa had $100 from his army discharge.  With it, they bought a bed, a plow, and a sewing machine.

This was my grandparents' home.  Ellen Jo will visit here as she grows.

A love affair to remember?  Like Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr?  You betcha.  As for the other side of the family, you will have to come back to hear about them.

The Maze of Small Town Time

My grandmother and grandfather with their four daughters (Mom on the left).

The faces of my mother’s hometown all look familiar, as if there is a mold somewhere which makes each family member.  A distant cousin has the same nose as my aunt, and the way someone smiles calls up the memory of a long dead parent. 

When I visited my mother, we went out to the local restaurant frequently.  We always planted ourselves where Mom could see who entered and where they sat.  All it took was for me to ask:  “Mom, who is that lady?  Do I know her?”

I know my grandmother is the tall girl in the back, but...

Mom would lean back.  “Well.  That woman is Lydia Roberts.  NOW her maiden name was…..and her mother was….”  The twists and turns of births, marriages, and deaths plus maiden names and odd events that happened down through the years led deeper and deeper into a maze of genealogy. 

Mom knew it all.  All the names and relationships, all the side events that make small-town life interesting, and all the history of decades past were imprinted in my mother’s mind. 

 My grandmother was the same, and I would guess that there was an oral history of telling family lines at Sunday dinners, funeral memorials, and births of new generations.

Mom, who is the lady on the right?

My mother traced back through to the early 1800s, and then, “…NOW Orley Jenkins came here from Kentucky at that time.  BUT his mother’s family—the Jones family—were from Wales.  What was her name?  Lizzie?  NO.  Margaret, that’s her name…”   

She would pause then, glanced at the woman who was eating her fried catfish and coleslaw.  “Oh.  No, no you don’t know that woman.”

I had gotten lost at the second turn in the maze, but I didn’t dare interrupt Mom.  When Mom was weaving her way through over 100 years of people, it was best to let her find her way back to me. 

Growing up, I thought these were cattle rustlers.  As an adult, I found out they were my mother's side of the family.

In the town of Preacher’s Creek, one’s family name and ancestors are part of the big trunk of inheritance that gets opened when a new baby is born.

Ellen Josephine Carter is the voice of the Carter family.  The photos in “Who ARE these people??” represent the Carter family. 

Part of the rural community, the Carters are relative newcomers in a town that prides itself as beginning in 1820.  The Carters moved to the area just before the Civil War, bringing with them a greater degree of sophistication and knowledge of the world outside Preacher’s Creek.

A long photo shot of my maternal grandmother's home at the turn of the 20th century.

The Carters married into the Harris family, represented by Elizabeth Harris Carter, Ellen’s grandmother. 

The Harris family pre-dated the whole pioneer group led by Zeke and Annabelle Lister Johnson.  Having come to the wilderness in the early 1800s, the Harris clan intermarried with the local Natives.  This connection to the Native Americans combined with the worldly and entrepreneurial Carters is important.

My maternal grandfather was born here, along with  about 8 other children. 

But, what about the other side of the family? 

My maternal grandmother on the right, early 1900s

Louise Parker Carter comes from the Parker family who also arrived in Preacher’s Creek area in the 1820s.  The Parkers remained outside the social life of the town, living on the farm and off the land.

My mother's grandmother in checked dress

The photos that come with this post represent the humbler beginnings of the Parker family.  Mix the Parkers with the Harris Carters?  The dynamics are interesting.

My mother's parents with baby Mom in her father's lap, 1929