In writing you, I have discovered what I want to say to Arthur and Totsie. Thank you for helping me find the words.
My love,
Bess
June 8, 1921
Dallas
Dearest Arthur and Totsie,
I still cannot quite believe that I am writing one letter to the two of you and that from now on, I will not be able to think of one without the other. I look forward to arriving at some new equation which will allow our friendship to flourish.
Does this mean you will be making your home in Dallas? I fervently hope so. Ever since college, I have prayed that one day Totsie and I would be able to share our lives as intimately as we did as schoolgirls. But I never imagined it would be Arthur who would provide us with this opportunity.
I understand your desire for a quiet wedding and I am very touched that you want me to be your witness. Of course I will be there. How could I miss such an occasion?
Manning and Lydia arrived in Vermont last week. They are leasing the farm this summer with an option to buy if the experience proves satisfactory. Your wedding will provide me and the children with just the excuse we needed for crossing the country also. I will leave them at the farm, of course, while I come to Boston for the wedding. Was it just a year ago that the three of us spent such a happy weekend together?
My best to you both,
et je vous embrasse,
Bess
June 8, 1921
Dallas
Dearest Manning and Lydia,
I find myself in the unusual position of accepting an invitation before it has been extended. However, propriety is shaped by circumstances and the children and I have just been provided with the occasion for a trip to New England, and an opportunity to visit you at the farm. The trip is prompted by the admittedly impulsive decision of my two dearest friends, Arthur Fineman and Totsie Davis, to join their lives in marriage. It was a little less than a year ago that I introduced them, and I frankly had no idea their friendship was heading toward such a conventional conclusion.
I never told you at the time, but it was not by accident that I met Arthur in Boston last year. He wrote and asked me to join him there for the purpose, I learned later, of proposing marriage. I did not think our relationship would prosper in an atmosphere of exclusive loyalty, and so I refused. We continued to see each other and I was convinced experience was confirming the wisdom of my decision. However, I had not counted on the attraction offered by another woman’s need for his advice. I suppose there is not a man alive who can remain oblivious to the charms of a damsel in distress.
I do not mean to burden you with all the details of my involvement in this most unexpected event but I do want you to understand my reasons for making the trip. Arthur and Totsie are my closest friends and I love both of them. They have asked me to be a witness at their wedding and I cannot refuse, whatever the cost. If I am to find a form in which our friendship can not only continue but thrive, then it is imperative that I prove my good will by being present at their wedding.
Marian had such a good time visiting us alone last spring that my three are eager to have the same experience. Would it be possible for them to stay with you at the farm while I go to Boston for the wedding? Forgive me for acting on the assumption that we are welcome, but time is so short it would be impractical to assume otherwise.
I trust Manning will forgive us for this invasion, but I could not bear to journey to Boston alone when the children would rather be on the farm at this time of year than anywhere else in the world. How fortunate for all of us that you followed your impulses and leased it in spite of my reservations, which I only voiced out of concern for you. But I have often proceeded without regard for well-meant words of caution, and I am delighted you had the foresight to do likewise.
Much love—and
à bientôt,
Bess
June 20, 1921
Dallas
Dearest Papa and Mavis,
The children and I are packed and ready for an early-morning departure for New England.
Robin complained of aches and pains all day but begged me not to delay the trip on his account. The doctor said we could leave on schedule if he promised to rest on the train so that he will be completely well when we arrive. I expect it will be easier to keep him amused in a berth than it would be in a bed. Where else can you lie perfectly still and watch the world pass by your window?
Robin has already reached our destination in his mind. Today, lying in bed, he drew scene after scene of the farm, as if he were summoning it into existence by giving it form. He talks as he draws, even if no one is listening, describing every detail of our life there. Tonight he propped the picture he drew of Pinetree Lodge on the table beside his bed and pretended he was falling asleep there. Pinetree Lodge was the name the children gave to the shelter they discovered beneath the low branches of a huge pine tree. The ground was soft with pine needles and on warm nights they would spread blankets and stay till morning.
I have never known anything but happiness in Vermont, and I am looking forward to our arrival as eagerly as the children.
Good-bye for awhile,
Bess
June 24, 1921
New York City
Dear Arthur and Totsie,
I tried to reach you by phone but there was no answer, and it is just as well, for I do not think I could bear to hear the sound of your voices.
By the time we reached New York my precious Robin, who had left Dallas with an undiagnosed illness, was delirious with fever. Fortunately my brother-in-law had taken a train down from Vermont and was waiting for us at the station. We went straight to the hospital where I learned Robin was suffering from spinal meningitis.
At my insistence Manning has taken the other two children to the farm. There is nothing any of them can do here and my suffering is only augmented by seeing it reflected in their eyes.
Though I cannot witness your wedding in person, all my good wishes will attend you. I know you will find joy and solace in each other’s presence even in moments of pain and sorrow. Until now I could not admit how much I envied you. Forgive me.
Bess
JUNE 25, 1921
NEW YORK CITY
MRS LEONARD MAXWELL
5620 WATERMAN AVENUE
ST LOUIS MISSOURI
ROBIN DIED THIS MORNING AM BRINGING BODY TO
TEXAS FOR BURIAL PLEASE ARRANGE TO HAVE ROBS
COFFIN AT STATION TOMORROW READY FOR SHIPMENT
I CANNOT BEAR FOR ROBIN TO BE ALONE
BESS
June 27, 1921
Dallas
Dearest Lydia and Manning,
Two nights have come and gone but the nightmare does not end. The only way I have survived is by cultivating a sense of complete detachment. Mentally I assume a stance far away from the scene at hand and then watch the proceedings with the un-caring eye of an outsider.
It was kind of you to offer to make the trip to Texas with me but I am happier thinking of you in Vermont with the children. Nothing can be gained from getting close to death. Death is the enemy and every instinct urges us to keep our distance. I am so glad the children are there with you. It would take more courage than I possess now to find words of comfort for them, and even my silence reverberates with anger.
I am not sure I could have boarded the train without the unexpected assistance of Arthur and Totsie. They were married in Boston as planned and came into New York that afternoon. They were to sail for Bermuda the next day on their honeymoon. Instead they came straight to the hospital and spent their wedding night sitting with me. They were still there the next morning—the anniversary of my own marriage—when the nurse took me to Robin’s bedside to tell him good-bye. I have never seen a fever create such a sweet dream. Robin thought he was lying in Pinetree Lodge and he made me promise he could sleep outside all summer under the stars. He said even if none of the other children wanted to stay there with him, he wouldn’t be afraid to sleep alone.
Arthur and Totsie were with me all day after he died and never mentioned that their ship had sailed without them. Without even asking, they arranged to accompany me on the train back to Dallas and to spend their honeymoon looking for a place to live.
There was a large crowd waiting at the station in St. Louis when our train arrived. I had forgotten how many friends I made there. The conductor was kind enough to allow me to remain in my compartment during the long layover and my friends boarded in small groups to pay their respects.
There was a great deal of confusion about which baggage car was going on to Dallas and the conductor was calling, “All aboard,” when I suddenly realized Rob’s coffin was still on the platform waiting to be loaded. I gave a shriek, more of anger than of sorrow, as I realized nothing is accomplished in this life without constant supervision. I was not even to be allowed the luxury of total surrender to my grief.
Several well-meaning friends, thinking I was hysterical with emotion, tried to restrain me as I bolted down the aisle of the train. I broke free and leapt onto the platform, throwing my arms around the coffin. Finally the conductor understood and the large coffin was quickly loaded onto the baggage car to lie beside the smaller one.
I boarded the baggage car with it and refused to leave. I felt I belonged there with my husband and our son on the last trip the three of us would ever make together. I cannot explain the strange sense of calm that came over me as I sat in the darkness between those two coffins, wrapped in the blanket Arthur insisted on bringing me. At that moment I knew it was not possible to lose completely anything I had ever loved. I spent a sleepless but tranquil night and was not prepared the next morning when despair descended over me like a shroud, smothering in its dark folds all the hope I had felt the night before.
A very simple funeral service was held at the mortuary—just a few prayers and a hymn, all Robin would have understood since he had not been confirmed and thereby educated in the more elaborate rituals the Church has devised to disguise the brutal truth of our mortality.
The minister closed with the prayer Robin said every night: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep”; then continued with the words I never taught him: “If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” By that omission I had hoped to spare him any thought that death could take him unaware. In that at least I was successful. For, more than the other two children, he accepted his father’s death as part of life and never considered the possibility of his own. He was truly alive for every moment of his allotted decade. Even in his sleep his mind was always active, creating settings in which his restless spirit could roam, looking for adventure. I cannot believe even death will put an end to his happy dreams.
I find it difficult to bring this letter to a close. Somehow the effort of shaping my thoughts into sentences gives me the illusion I am in control of my feelings. But I know when I put down my pen all will be chaos again.
Kiss Drew and Eleanor for me and hold them close. Do they understand at all? But how unreasonable of me to expect that they would when nothing makes sense to me.
I must sleep now and hope the night will free me from the nightmare of this day.
Bess
June 30, 1921
Dallas
My precious lambs,
I have just finished reading your letters, and it is the first time since I left you that I have felt like smiling. It was so good of Aunt Lydia to ask you to write down everything you have been thinking and feeling. All we have is each other and we must share as much as we can.
Darling Drew, where did you ever learn a long word like “condolences”? It is such a sad-sounding word to me, much too long and sad for a little boy who was as happy as Robin. I am glad the two of you are there at the farm he loved so much. Marian loves having you there and Aunt Lydia hopes you will stay all summer.
I am very tired now so I have been staying in bed and trying to rest. Annie comes every day to take care of me. She tells me she is at the head of her class in nursing school and I can see why. She is so calm and efficient no patient would dare contradict her. I take all the medicine she gives me, even though I am not really sick, just very tired.
Grandpa and Mavis are here too. Sometimes after supper we talk Annie into joining us for a game of bridge but she is such a bad player we usually end by just talking. Grandpa has been telling me stories about his boyhood, most of which I had never heard before. I realize more and more that we have to work at making friends with members of our family the same way we do with strangers, by asking them questions and relishing their answers. I have asked Grandpa to remember all the stories he is telling me so he can repeat them to you when you get home.
Eleanor, I think your cat is about to become a mother, though I have no idea who the father is. However, she seems to have no further interest in him anyway and is quite content to sleep at the foot of my bed all day. I am very grateful to have her company, the sound of her purring helps me fall asleep. Which I am about to do right now.
Goodnight, my angels. I will come to you when I can.
Love and kisses,
Mummy
July 10, 1921
Dallas
Dear Lydia and Manning,
I am eternally in your debt for your care of the children this summer and anxious to join all of you there.
Today I left the house for the first time since attempting to turn it into my own tomb ten days ago. I have my friend Sam Garner to thank for leading me into the light again. He has been so kind and solicitous, stopping by the house every day on his way home from work. He never asks to see me, simply leaves a note accompanied by a basket of fresh fruits or vegetables from the farmers’ market near his office.
I have not felt like facing anyone outside the family. I am not strong enough to put on a brave front, and no one can possibly share my sorrow. But yesterday I happened to be downstairs when Sam appeared with a bushel basket of tomatoes, so I felt I had to speak. He apologized for the size of the basket but said it was not possible to buy a smaller quantity. He stops at the market several times a week and usually makes his supper from the produce he brings home.
He seemed so lonely that I invited him to stay and share our fried-chicken supper. He insisted on slicing the tomatoes as his contribution to the meal. He is very awkward at expressing his feelings and seemed grateful when I directed the conversation toward impersonal topics.
Except for our friends, the Townsends, who introduced us, and his associates at work, Sam knows no one in Dallas. However, he seems more interested in places than people. I envy the firsthand knowledge of our area that he has already acquired. Compared to him, I feel like a foreigner. He is quite taken with this part of the country and the opportunities it has to offer. In his enthusiasm I see the spirit of the pioneers, and his unshakable optimism seems able to withstand even my despair.
This morning he arrived at my door with a picnic basket he had packed himself and informed me our destination was a new dam being constructed to the north of town. For the first time since I have known him he became almost eloquent as he described the far-reaching effects of the dam. To have refused to accompany him would have been an affront to his enthusiasm and so I went upstairs and got dressed for the first time since my precious Robin was laid to rest.
This afternoon when I returned home Arthur and Totsie were waiting. They have found a small house in Highland Park perfectly suited to their needs, and they are returning to Boston next week so that Totsie can close her apartment and reclaim her child. She had arranged for a nurse to care for him during the two weeks she and Arthur had planned to be on their honeymoon.
I was amazed to hear myself proposing that I travel to Boston with them and bring the baby to the farm with me. I feel I owe them a honeymoon, and I know it will be a great comfort to me to have the daily care of a young child. Drew and Eleanor adored having the baby visit us last summer and, as I remember, you and Marian were equally entranced with him.
I hope I have not imposed on you unduly with my impulsive offer, but Arthur and Totsie accepted gratefully, and of course it will help fill for a short while the aching void in my heart. I will keep the baby in the guest bedroom with me.
My love to you all. See you next week.
Bess
July 25, 1921
Woodstock, Vermont
Dearest Papa and Mavis,
I was overcome with emotion at seeing my two precious children again, and I know now I should have rushed right to them instead of staying in Texas as long as I did. Somehow I thought it would be easier for all of us if we remained apart until I found the strength to go on living. But how foolish of me not to realize that they are the source of any strength I may still have. We flew into each other’s arms and when they saw me cry, they gave way to the sobs they had been afraid to let anyone see.
Later that day they showed me the scrapbook they made with Lydia’s help, describing their summers on the farm. Lydia has written a charming narration describing the adventures of my three children and their cousin, using illustrations supplied by the children, including the last sketch Robin made on the train. He is so alive and happy as a character in the story, and the children included him in all their pictures. I am so grateful to Lydia for finding a way of keeping him alive a little longer for all of us. Here on the farm it is hard to believe he is not out in the orchard playing hide and seek, just waiting for someone to call, “Home free,” before bounding into sight.
Totsie was very happy to entrust her little boy to my care so that she and Arthur could spend a quiet week alone on Cape Cod before returning to Dallas to begin life as a family. He is a darling child and his eccentric two-year-old behavior makes us all laugh. I welcome the diversion he creates.
Lydia and Manning have decided against buying the farm, and after this summer I doubt that any of us will return here. The children have made a permanent claim on it with their memories and no matter who holds legal title, part of it will always belong to them.