Manning was a little shocked but I insisted he make the first toast and he rose to the occasion with unexpected wit and style. He spoke eloquently about Rob and the boldness of his vision. Suddenly my own personal loss seemed insignificant compared to what the country had lost in the death of the man who was my husband. After Manning, others spoke and at the end of each speech we raised our glasses.
The other men present, including some of the most prominent businessmen in this part of the country, accepted Manning as one of them and their obvious regard, reinforced no doubt by champagne, seemed to transform my shy, scholarly brother-in-law into a figure of consequence in the world of finance. I am convinced he could have a splendid future here if he had someone who believed in him at his side. But the man I saw tonight is not the man Lydia loves, and her hopes for him are quite different than mine would be in her place. I see now how much of what a man becomes is due to the woman at his side. A life can go in so many different directions and though a man may be the captain of his soul, he needs a good navigator at his side if he dares sail into uncharted seas.
Lydia came down after all the guests had left. She declined our offer of champagne and said she was shocked by all the laughter she had heard. She announced that Mother Steed was returning to Dallas with her and she had spent the afternoon helping her pack. I said nothing, but if I had chosen to speak my thoughts aloud, I would have asked which of the three women who loved Rob—his wife, his mother, or his sister—had done more to honor his memory that day?
Manning, once again the docile husband, accompanied Lydia upstairs. I called for the children and they came running, eager to sample all the food. I poured ginger ale into champagne glasses for them and asked each of them to propose a toast to their father. I wish you could have heard them. They said what they felt so beautifully it brought tears to my eyes, and suddenly the control I had maintained so successfully since morning collapsed and I finally began to cry. Children are terrified of adult tears and the three of them clung to me, repeating every hollow word of consolation I had ever used on them. I struggled to regain my composure and nodded my head in agreement. “Yes, I know. Everything’s going to be all right.” How I wish I could believe those words.
The three children and I are like survivors of a terrible shipwreck. We crept into the big bed as if it were a life raft, and they went to sleep easily. I lay awake for a long time, taking comfort in the sounds of their breathing, then finally turned on a light at my desk and sat down to write. I am terrified of tomorrow—and all the tomorrows I must face alone.
I love you with
all my heart,
Bess
February 25, 1919
St. Louis
Dear Mr. Fineman,
I was deeply touched to hear from you again and to know that in a sense we are sharing another time of tragedy. I am sorry I did not know of your wife’s death last year. I still subscribe to The Dallas News but there are days when I fail to read it as closely as I should.
I derived great satisfaction from the account of my husband’s death in the Dallas paper. Thank you for enclosing the clipping. People think they are sparing my feelings by keeping the tone of their letters abstract, but I take comfort in anything that offers tangible evidence of my husband’s existence, and I was very pleased that both pictures were used.
I am stunned by the rage that has surfaced within me since my husband died. I have always thought of myself as a tolerant, broadminded person who wished everyone well. But I see now I was that kind of person only because I had no reason not to be. Injustice makes villains of us all, and I am afraid I am going to lose more than my husband before I find enough charity in my heart to forgive those whose only sin is that they are still alive.
Forgive me for inflicting so many of my unspoken thoughts on you, but I sensed you would understand. Here at home and in my letters to friends and family, I have to maintain a calm façade that becomes more foreign to me by the hour. I hope you will permit me the luxury of exorcising a few more demons in yet another letter. You were so kind to write—and even kinder now to listen.
The children are all well. Eleanor is active and healthy and I suspect she has almost forgotten the tragic occasion that acquainted us with one another.
Sincerely,
Bess Steed
March 5, 1919
St. Louis
Dear Manning,
I have been with Marvin Hamilton all morning discussing the alarming deficit in the company’s finances due to deaths from influenza. The cash flow from the sale of new policies has been diverted to pay all the claims made since Christmas.
Under no circumstances can we consider paying the stockholders a dividend this quarter. I am determined to meet all the claims as promptly as possible, though this may entail considerable personal sacrifice on the part of everyone involved in the company.
Rob of course carried a sizable policy on his own life but I am shelving my claim for the moment. I am also foregoing the benefits to which I am entitled as the widow of an executive, and I am asking everyone to continue working at his present salary in spite of the higher title he inherited at Rob’s death.
I think it is important for you to attend the board meeting here next week. Some long-range decisions will be made and I want you to be part of them. I hope you will plan to stay with us. The children would be so happy to have you under our roof, however briefly.
My love to Lydia and Mother Steed,
Bess
May 14, 1919
St. Louis
Dearest Totsie,
Your letter brought me the first bright day I have known since Rob died. The thought of joining you in Vermont for the summer fills me with delight! What a reprieve from the terrible reality of my life just now!
Once we decided to close the St. Louis office of the company, I knew I had no choice but to sell my house here and move back to Dallas—but to return without a husband and with less money than when we left is an unbearable admission of defeat. And I will postpone it as long as possible.
Your invitation for the summer is such a tangible offer of comfort at a time when words of sympathy ring hollow in my ears. I am so weary of people asking if there is anything they can do for me. Of course I always answer with a polite no, and they go away satisfied at having done their duty. If only once I dared answer in the affirmative. But nothing frightens people more than undisguised need. I have kept all my old friends through this difficult time by never demanding the dues of friendship. Not that I doubt they would be paid—but only once. Friendship to me is like a capital reserve. It pays dividends only so long as the principal remains intact. Whatever personal sacrifice is required, I am determined to come through this experience without spending my principal—on any level.
The children are very excited at the thought of a trip east. We are all eager for the sight of a landscape without memories. How I look forward to holding the baby—and you. Please thank Dwight for his share in your kind invitation.
I love you dearly,
Bess
May 25, 1919
St. Louis
Dear Cousin Josie,
Forgive me for the long delay in replying to your letter of condolence, but I was in such disagreement with the sentiments expressed I could not bring myself to acknowledge them.
Of course I am outraged by the untimely death of my husband, but I am even more outraged by your willingness to have been taken in his place. I will not die willingly, even if I live to be a hundred, and your welcoming acceptance of the end of life seems to me an affront to all that has gone before. I realize now that when you sat down to write me, you imagined I was looking at you through your own self-denying eyes and thinking, “Why couldn’t she have been the one to die?” You do me a great injustice by attributing such a thought to me—and you do an even greater injustice to yourself.
If you have read this far, please believe that if I did not love you, I would not have been so upset by your low estimate of yo
ur own life. Surely you are not surrounded by people who share your contempt for life. But do not count on others to convince you your life matters. All of us are finally alone with only a single opinion to sustain us—our own.
I hope you will write again. I would appreciate a letter, but I am offended by self-pity masquerading as sympathy. How can death be a loss to someone for whom life has no meaning? Forgive me the arrogance of being so outspokenly alive, but I am at war with death and all those who collaborate in its victory by their silent assent. I am determined to win you to my side—the least we can do is prolong the battle by making the enemy take us by force.
I have sold our house here and am putting your furniture in storage while I take the children to Vermont for the summer. Perhaps you will come visit us once we are settled. I will write you as soon as we arrive and have a better idea of the living arrangements.
I am, as always,
your devoted cousin,
Bess
June 1, 1919 St. Louis
Mrs. Leonard Maxwell
President
St. Louis Garden Club
St. Louis, Missouri
Dear Lucy,
I am addressing this letter to you in your official capacity since it concerns a business proposal. But first let me thank you again for the impressive wreath the club sent to Rob’s funeral, in addition to your own personal floral tribute. My garden has been a great source of strength and comfort to me this spring, and every flower that blooms is an affirmation. I am very sad at the thought of leaving our beautiful home here and with it all the friendships that have flowered in the past two years.
Beyond this summer my plans are indefinite, but I am afraid there is no possibility of staying in St. Louis. I am very concerned about the care of Rob’s grave site in my absence. Of course I have paid the cemetery for perpetual maintenance, but I am enclosing herewith a donation to the St. Louis Garden Club in the hope that the membership will collectively assume the responsibility for the upkeep of the grave. My membership in the club has been a source of enormous pride to me, and I would like to think of the grave site as a small garden reflecting the same standards of taste and excellence that the club has always set for its members.
I do not know whether there is any precedent for such a project, but it would certainly fill an immediate personal need on my part. Indeed, I expect the idea would have strong appeal for the membership at large and in the future might even provide a lucrative source of revenue for the club.
I am leaving St. Louis at the end of the week and would very much appreciate an answer before I go. Thank you for your unfailing courtesy in this as in all matters which have come to your attention as club president.
Gratefully,
Bess Steed
June 15, 1919
Woodstock, Vermont
Dear Papa and Mavis,
I am like a child again, living in this old farmhouse, surrounded by stone-walled fields of daisies, with only my own children to remind me of the adult life I left behind in St. Louis.
The train trip to New York was an adventure for the children but I was too encumbered by the luggage of remembered landscapes to share their enthusiasm. I spent hours staring out the window but saw only the interior of my own mind.
We took a milk train from New York to Vermont, which seemed to stop at every populated crossing en route. But this part of the journey was new to me and I welcomed every chance for a closer look at the countryside. My friend Totsie was waiting for us at the station with a neighboring farmer and wagon she had hired to transport us to our summer home.
Totsie and her husband discovered the property on a trip through New England last fall. The farmer who owned it was very dubious about renting it as a vacation home, with no plans for cultivating anything but pleasure, but he finally consented to a short-term lease.
Dwight and Totsie worked on the house all spring, rebuilding the stone fireplace onto which all the rooms open. Only the two downstairs bedrooms are finished. Upstairs is an open sleeping loft which looks down on the living room. Totsie intended to keep the baby in the master bedroom with her since Dwight is not expected for several weeks and give me the other bedroom, but I elected to share the loft with the children. We fall asleep talking and telling stories as if we were all the same age. How I wish they could have known their father as a child. What fun the five of us would have had that summer you rented your downtown lot to a merry-go-round. Remember, Papa? I can just see us—Rob, Bess, Robin, Drew, and Eleanor, all friends the same age—riding round and round together. Time is a cruel thief to rob us of our former selves. We lose as much to life as we do to death.
Here in this place Totsie and I have managed to repair some of the ravages time has worked upon our friendship. We squander our days like schoolgirls on holiday, interrupting our idleness only to feed and care for the children. But it is amazing how much they are able to do for themselves as long as we ignore those twin tyrants, propriety and punctuality.
Everyone retires and arises at any hour he likes, wears clothes of his own choosing, and eats when he is hungry. We buy fresh produce and dairy products from our landlord’s nearby farm. Totsie has as little interest in the culinary arts as I do, so we never sit down to a formal dinner. The first one to become hungry at night gets out bread and cheese. We keep a soup kettle going on the stove at all times. Its outward appearance changes somewhat from day to day as new ingredients are added but its basic character remains sturdy and substantial. We have virtually become vegetarians because it is so much simpler. Also the children are on a first-name basis with every four-legged creature within walking distance, so I suspect any beef, pork, or fowl found on their plates would be instantly suspect.
I live immersed in the present. To avoid thinking about the past, I avoid planning for the future. For the moment we are all well, and who can ever say more than that?
All my love,
Bess
June 30, 1919
Woodstock
Dear Lydia and Manning,
Thank you for your kind letter of advice concerning my financial situation. Let me assure you that the profits I realized from the sale of my house are safe in a savings account. I agree that this may be the last large sum of money I will see for some time and I promise to consult you before acting on any opportunities for investment that may present themselves.
Perhaps this trip did sound extravagant, but the train tickets have been our only large expense. At my insistence I share the cost of food with Totsie but everything else has been provided for us. We lead a deliberately simple life. The children are thriving on it and knowledge of how little we need to survive is making me strong.
I do not know what we will do when summer ends. I have thought about staying on here. The children could walk to the village school and I would welcome the isolation of a New England winter. But there are two months between me and any decision—thank God!
Tell Mother Steed I inquired about her health and though she may prefer not to correspond with me, the children cannot understand why she no longer writes to them.
I hope you will write again soon. The arrival of the mail is a great event around here. Eleanor loved her letter from Marian and is hard at work on a reply.
Love,
Bess
July 3, 1919
Woodstock
Dear Mr. Fineman,
Your gracious letter was forwarded to me from St. Louis. How curious that you have just returned from Boston! Our travels have taken us in the same direction this summer without our knowing it.
I did not realize your work involved stocks and bonds. I am very interested in new opportunities for investment, having just sold my house in St. Louis, and I would welcome your advice in this area. My life is in such a state of flux just now I have decided not to reinvest in real estate. I will rent a place wherever I decide to spend the winter. I am primarily interested in investments with growth potential, since I have adequate income to see me through the comi
ng year.
Forgive me for taking advantage of your brief mention of a business trip to apprise you so fully of my own financial situation but it is a great relief to discuss money matters with an objective outsider. All my other advisors are involved at least indirectly in my financial future, and as a result their sense of responsibility for my welfare exercises undue restraint upon their judgment.
I very much enjoyed your descriptions of the people you met and the places you visited on your trip. My life here is so removed from the world you describe I could be living in a foreign country. Our daily life is confined to the farm and the few neighbors within walking distance—so social exchange is kept at a minimum.
Yesterday the farmer’s wife who sells us milk and eggs invited us into her home for the first time this summer, as we were caught in a cloudburst. She is always taciturn and rather sullen, even in the most pleasant weather, but yesterday she seemed especially gloomy. Once inside her house, I learned why. As I sat in the parlor and strained for a look through the window at the view outside, she burst out bitterly, “I know, I know. It’s too high and you can’t see out.”
“What a shame,” I murmured. “You have such a magnificent view. Can’t your husband lower the windows?”
She shook her head sadly. “He says it’s easy enough to go outside and look at the view if you want to see it.”
As we left she took my hand in a surprising show of affection. “I hope you appreciated your husband while you had him. I didn’t know how well off I was the first time. Mr. Stone is my second husband.” She stood in the doorway until we were out of sight. At first I thought she was sorry to see us go, then I realized she was just admiring the view.
This was the first time I had confronted my own feelings about remarriage and I was surprised to realize how opposed to the idea I am. Life seems so short I cannot bear the idea of repeating any experience—even one that brought such happiness the first time.
A Woman of Independent Means Page 9