The Nash Sisters

by Leatha Marie

  Mrs. Murphy started shouting and screaming like someone had hurt her. She cussed at Philip and said, “I told you to leave me alone! Now get out of my house, you creep!” I didn’t look back, but I could tell Philip was not the only person being a creep.

  All three of us walked as quickly as we could. Michael was asking a hundred questions—“What was Philip doing to Momma? Where were their clothes? Are we going to tell Daddy that Philip hurt my momma?” Ellen was just crying and sniffling the whole way. She did not have anything to say about what she saw. I told the kids we were going to my house, and we would eat dinner there. And if they wanted to, they could spend the night, but I was not going to answer any questions about their momma and Philip Walker. I said, “The only thing I will say is that your momma did not get hurt. She should be the one to tell your daddy, not you.”

  Once we got to our house, I told the kids to go to my room and close the door. I went out behind the barn and started shaking. I was shaking so hard, my body slammed me to the ground. I started screaming and hitting the dirt with my fists. I stayed out there until Ethel called out to me. Then I started breathing deep trying to calm myself down. After a while my breathing slowed, and I started crying. Ethel found me. She sat down beside me and hugged me for a long time. She said in that sweet-momma-kind-of-voice, “It will be okay, Caroline. Whatever it is, it will be okay.” Ethel is good like that.

  Before we finished dinner, someone knocked on the door. I had not had a chance to tell Ethel what we saw. Michael and Ellen were right under my feet the whole time. When I heard the knock, I stiffened and said to Ethel, “Take the kids to my room, and I will see who is at the door.” She must have seen my fury because she did what I asked without any questions.

  As I was walking to the door, I was planning what I would say to Mrs. Murphy, but it was Philip Walker at the door.

  Now that I could see him with his clothes on, I noticed him different. Philip is a few years older than me. He is a head taller, and he looked like he had muscles. I thought to myself, I don’t think I can take him, so don’t push it with him.

  He said through the screen door, “Caroline, can I talk to you? Outside?”

  I said, “No, you cannot! I am not gonna to be alone with you. If you have anything to say, say it right here!”

  He said, “Okay. You saw what happened. She is going to the sheriff to say that I attacked her. You know that was not what happened, right?”

  I told him I didn’t know anything and that I wasn’t gonna help him with nobody!”

  He told me he could hurt me if I didn’t speak up for him. He said, “She went after me just like she always does.”

  I slammed the door in his face and locked it. Then I started shaking again.

  I quit that job and am living with another family in a nearby town. I am not keeping children. I’m cleaning house. I know you all are laughing at that because I am not good at cleaning. But I am a heck of a lot better at cleaning than this family.

  That’s all I’ll say for now.

  Caroline

  * * *

  My dear Nash sisters – April 4, 1930

  Oh my God, Caroline, how terrible! I can’t find anything good in that story except you got out of town! Dianne, how wonderfulforyouinBurlington!It sounds like Joe is working hard. Ethel, I am glad you are enjoying the company of a good man . . . I think. How is Marie, Ethel? You didn’t say much about her.

  As you can see, I am typing my letter. We use typewriters all the time in the secretarial pool at work. I am staying after work to type this letter. Maybe I can write more on two pages than when writing by hand.

  I knew I would love getting letters from all of you at once, but this is hard. I want to be with you all right now. And at the time you were going through the things you describe. I want to hug you all. I can’t wait until we will be home together again.

  My job at the bank is interesting. They set me up in a typing class. I work on the third-floor writing correspondence for the directors of the bank. There are three of us doing this work, and we get along well. The other girls are about my age, and we often go out after work where we could find a place to drink champagne and listen to music. It is not as easy to find in Washington. Not like you can find bootleg liquor in NC. But we were clever and found a few “blind pigs” (that is what they call them here). I never have to pay because one of the women has a company account she can use at all the places we enjoy. That’s just the cat’s meow! Fun and free!

  I am learning some new dances. At just about every club, there are men looking for women to dance with. Sometimes the club owner teaches couples to dance. The Charleston is my favorite. It is really easy to learn. They say it is the rage in the Big Apple. Last week we learned the Foxtrot. That is a dance where you have to really watch the man’s movement or you will step all over his feet. I got the hang of it after two nights going out to the dance halls. I can’t wait to teach you when I get home. We can buy a phonograph and some records. Even Momma will love it.

  Dancing does not require a relationship. Just someone to dance with. At the boarding house, the girls that live here dance together as partners in the parlor on Wednesday night. So fun!

  I am working for men, dancing with men, and going out with men occasionally but have not found any #1. I am not in a hurry because I love being my own woman. I do what I want, go where I want, and will not get hurt by a man. I also am able to spend my money anyway I want.

  I marched in a rally two weekends ago. We went all the way from the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol. Did you realize that even though women were given (given?) the right to vote in 1920, most women do not vote? The men who are elected to represent us do not think about how women and families will be affected by their newest law. Since Jeanette Rankin from Montana, the first woman in Congress, is no longer in the House of Representatives, there is only one woman representing our voice in the Congress, Senator Rebecca Felton of Georgia. There are mostly men deciding to go to war, allow child labor, and other mandates that would be different if women used their voices. The rallies can make a difference! It gets our view in the papers and on the radio. I know the Nash sisters have always voted. Now we need to vote women into public office!

  Hey, Caroline, do you think Mrs. Murphy would run for office? It seems like she knows how to get what she wants from a man! Or at least get what she needs from a man! Ha Ha!

  One last piece of news. I meet so many interesting people in D.C. I want to tell you about Jane Hines. We related to each other on growing up in the South. Jane is from Virginia and grew up the way we did -- farming, poor, and with lots of siblings. She told me about getting her degree in psychiatric nursing from the Medical College of Virginia. She was visiting D.C. to talk to people in Congress about what she called “problems of the mind.” I was fascinated with how they are thinking about mind illnesses people have.

  Remember Uncle Elmer, Momma’s brother? They used to say he was a mean son of a gun and drank too much. Jane was educating me about new techniques to improve the care for people like Uncle Elmer. You know they threw him in jail for months and would not let him come home. According to Jane, they have found better ways to help people like Uncle Elmer. If we had known this back then, they probably would have said he was mentally ill, not just mean and a drunk. Jane works in Raleigh at Dorothea Dix State Insane Hospital where they are studying better ways to help those with mental illness. This in little old Raleigh, North Carolina! How about that! Jane said at Dix they are investigating different therapies and remedies. And she said it is working. I want us to go visit her sometime when we are all home. I think you would like Jane. Until now, I have never been interested in college. The secretarial courses I took were all I needed to keep a good job. I thought that would be the end of my school days. But maybe not.

  I can’t wait for the next letters! Sorry I went on a little long on this letter!

  Love you bunches,

  Annie

  * * *


  JANUARY 1931

  Annie

  Disaster at Home

  Our momma died just after Christmas 1930, leaving Dianne, Annie, and me to work out the details of the estate and Caroline’s care.

  The Nash girls have not been together since Christmas 1929. Our lives were all so different now that all of us lived away from each other. It was good staying in touch by writing the Nash Round-Robin letters. Since Caroline was included in those letters, not much was shared in them about her fits of anger and sadness. Momma and I had been making decisions about what needed to be done. Annie was especially anxious to get home to see Caroline. Since those two were the youngest, they held a special friendship.

  Here Annie tells about her Roaring Twenties lifestyle and a shocking visit home.

  I have a car. Actually, I have two cars. But the larger one would be better for this trip. Rather than take the train from Washington, D.C., to go home as I usually did for the holidays, I drove the 1927 Nash. I could imagine my sisters’ excitement when they saw a Nash sister had a Nash car! There will be many things to settle with Momma’s estate, and the larger car will come in handy for all of us. Besides, I want to show it off to those busybodies that lived nearby. They needed to know that this Nash girl is doing just fine.

  I pulled in the driveway at the home we lived in all of our young lives. Even though it looks different now, each time I come home, I visualize it the way I wish it would always be. Four little girls with a mom that made us feel any dream could come true. As I looked at the house, there we were again as children. Dianne and Ethel up on the front porch setting up house with their dolls. Me pushing Caroline in the swing in the front yard. I pushed her so hard her feet almost touch the sky. Those were such happy times.

  It had taken six hours to come from Washington with a stop for a sandwich and coffee. Less time than I thought. I surprised Ethel and Dianne by bounding up to the house, throwing open the front door, and shouting, “Tootles! I am here!” as if nothing would begin until I was home. My sisters jumped to their feet and sprinted over. We all grabbed each other in a three-woman Nash hug.

  “Well, look at you,” Dianne said. “That is one great looking fur coat!

  “How was the drive? Was it cold in that drafty old car?” Ethel asked, reminding us that in one of the Nash Round-Robin Letters I complained about the Model T “horseless carriage” that I had been driving to work. I filled them in on the new car and said it was not cold at all. The heating system worked great in my 1927 Nash Ambassador! Of course, they both wanted to see it.

  From the front porch they could see my green marvel. “Holy Moly, Annie!” Ethel said in disbelief. “How can you afford that thing?”

  “Antonio, my new boyfriend, wanted to buy me a car, and I told him this one would do just fine.”

  “Antonio? Not Jimmy you told us about in the last letter? Or that one you were seeing last Christmas? Oh, what was his name?” asked Ethel.

  Dianne said, “His name was Woodrow. The pictures of him were hilarious with his wiry yellow hair and long nose.”

  I chuckled and said, “Yeah, Woodrow. He reminded me of Sadie. Nope, Antonio is my newest beau. His parents came to D.C. from Italy. His father works for the Italian Embassy. Toni is sooo dreamy!”

  I had much more to share about my life, but that could wait. I wanted to know about Caroline. My throat tightened and my eyes filled with tears. As we went back in the house, I said, “How is dear Caroline? I am so sorry she is still not well.”

  Ethel tried to explain, “Caroline is breakable. I never really knew that before. In my mind she was always like a bull. Whenever she got upset, she would throw a fit, not in a fragile sort of way but in a pig-headed way.

  Ethel told a story I had not heard. “One day a year or so ago Caroline and her friend Ellie got into a fight. Actually, Ellie did not fight, but Caroline did. Caroline had snitched on the Smith boy to his dad about skipping school. Ellie told Caroline that she needed to stop being so mean. Ellie said, ‘You know his dad is going to beat him senseless. It is not your place to get him in trouble.’ The way Ellie told it, Caroline got stiff and her face turned red. It was as if Caroline stopped breathing for a minute. Caroline then moved back from Ellie and burst out screaming and spitting curse words at her. Ellie just stood there staring at Caroline wondering who Caroline had turned into. Then Caroline picked up a rock and flung it at Ellie, hitting her just above her right eye. When the blood gushed out everywhere, Caroline ran away.”

  Thinking about the situation with Ellie, I began to look back on the times Caroline could not control herself. She is a lot sicker than any of us thought. I was beginning to understand that Caroline being in Raleigh at Dix Hill hospital really was the safest place for her to be.

  To comfort each other we did another Nash girls hug, but longer and softer this time. Dianne reminded us of our work together. “Okay, we can’t be crying about Caroline the whole time. We have work to do to take care of things for Momma. Annie, go get settled in your room. We will have supper ready very soon.”

  After arranging my things in my old room, the one I used to share with Caroline, I walked to Ethel’s room to see Marie. She was fast asleep in Ethel’s bed. I could tell by the rumpled covers that Ethel had snuggled next to Marie. Marie was still the prettiest child I had ever seen. At age three, she had changed a lot. Looking less like a baby. She still had that jet black hair like Ethel, deep blue eyes like Frank, and the smoothest porcelain skin. My body felt like jelly standing there watching her sleep. I was filled with love and a pinch of jealousy. I ached for a baby—to be a momma.

  I came downstairs to the kitchen where Ethel was cooking Momma’s chicken pastry. It smelled wonderful. I was still sad and a bit depressed about what we needed to do. “How are you two? Were you both here when Momma passed? I am glad you sent that telegram to come quickly. I wish I could have come sooner. Have you decided about the funeral and burial?”

  “I was here,” Ethel said. “She passed in her sleep as peaceful as a butterfly resting on the window sill.”

  Dianne pitched in, “Ethel sent me a telegram too. I was able to come right away. The only thing we have decided is that Momma will have her final resting place on the hill on the east side of the property. The morning sun will make her happy. And besides, remember that is where we buried Daddy’s few possessions from the War Department.”

  The memory of dealing with my father’s death was faint. I was only three or four at the time. But that resting place was very important to this land. I said, “Of course.”

  As we ate, we talked quietly about how our family had gone from six to five to four and one of the four of us was . . . not well enough to be home. We were not the same family that played, got into mischief, and kept secrets together. Even when I was very young, I understood how great it was to have sisters who shared advice about life with me. I was never afraid of what might come because they were there for me. Now it felt more like standing on a small island in the middle of a vast ocean rather than the ten acres of home that always kept me safe.

  After we finished dinner, I cleared the table. Dianne, the organizer, said “I have made a list of what we need to talk about. Momma didn’t leave a Will nor any notes about what she wanted done with her things. We never talked about what should happen to the house and the farm. The urgent piece is the funeral service. Now that you are here, Annie, we can make some decisions.”

  There was that ten acres of love and loyalty again, holding me steady.

  Ethel went to the cabinet high above the stove and pulled out a bottle of wine. I was astonished. I didn’t know they drank. But I was also relieved because I needed a drink right about then.

  We talked all evening, rarely sticking to the list but getting back to it eventually. Dianne divided up duties. Ethel would talk to a lawyer about what needed to be done with the estate. She knew someone she trusted. Mr. Wilkins helped her deal with the mess of keeping Frank and the Pollards away from Marie. Dianne
would make sure all the bills had been paid and find out exactly how much money was left. And I, since I was the creative one, was to plan the funeral and burial. UGH!

  “What about Caroline?” I asked.

  “There’s not much she can do from the mental hospital. But we need to keep her informed,” Dianne said.

  Then Ethel remembered my closeness to Caroline and said, “Annie, do you think you can write some notes for our discussion about Caroline? I hope what you have learned from your friend Jane will enlighten us.”

  I agreed to write the notes. The ten acres was surrounded by a deep moat and truly inaccessible to Caroline, my dear sister. My friend Jane was going to help us build a bridge to Caroline.

  Ethel, who was closest to the details of Caroline’s care, told us Momma had settled with the doctors. “Momma arranged for Caroline to live at Dix Hill through the next year. They say it will be at least that long before Caroline gets better.”

  When I am anxious, I take charge. I try to control something. I said, “We must go see her right away. I want her to come home at least for the funeral. We are all here. We can take care of her for a few days, can’t we?”

  Dianne dropped her head as if she was praying and said, “I am not so sure about her coming home. Yes, we can go see her and talk to the doctors. She doesn’t know about Momma yet. It will be really hard for her. She has always thought she was Momma’s favorite.” At that we all smiled. We all thought we were Momma’s favorite. That is the kind of mother she was.