A Woman of Independent Means (17 page)

Rob had that kind of power over me from the day we met. But what will I be without him to tell me how beautiful and bright I am? Are other women as frightened as I am, wondering how much of what they are is merely a reflection of what others see in them? What am I when I am all alone? Am I strong and brave without the children to assure me I am, out of their own need? Will I ever believe I am beautiful and bright out of the sight of a man who loves me? I feel as if I have just been born—cut apart from the sustaining presence that made all my decisions for me and left helpless in the hands of strangers.

I have spent so many nights alone this past year. But none of them prepared me for tonight. How I dread tomorrow!

I wish you could talk to me for awhile. I am so weary of my own thoughts.

All my love,
Bess

February 15, 1919
St. Louis

Harold D. Perkins
Editor
The Dallas Morning News
Dallas, Texas

 

Dear Mr. Perkins,

Though we have never met, we have many mutual friends and I am sure you are aware of my husband, Robert Randolph Steed. He made quite a name for himself in real estate and insurance circles during the eight years we lived in Dallas.

I know you will be distressed to learn of his untimely death from influenza yesterday in St. Louis. We have many friends in Dallas who will mourn his passing so I am enclosing an obituary notice which I typed myself late last night. I am sending it directly to you because I do not know who is in charge of the obituaries of prominent men, and I would not want someone in a lesser position on the staff to overlook the story simply through ignorance of who my husband was.

I will be very grateful if you will give this matter your personal attention. I have continued to subscribe to
The Dallas Morning News
even though I now live in St. Louis. I noticed a few weeks ago when Mr. Clark of the Lone Star Bank died, in addition to a conventional portrait, the paper printed a picture of him at groundbreaking ceremonies for the new bank building. Therefore, I am including a photo of my husband at the formal opening of the St. Louis office of the Midwestern Life Insurance Company, which was the reason for our move here. (I am the lady on the left, holding the roses.) I am also enclosing a recent portrait (which I fortunately requested for an anniversary present last year). Both of these photographs are copies, so please feel free to keep them permanently in your files. You may have further need of them in years to come when reference is made to my husband and his many outstanding accomplishments.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth Alcott Steed

Enc.

Robert Randolph Steed, 29, prominent real-estate developer in Dallas and founder of the Midwestern Life Insurance Company, died last Thursday of influenza at his home in St. Louis.

He was born in 1890 in Honey Grove, Texas, the son of a prominent educator. In 1909 he married Elizabeth Alcott of Honey Grove and moved to Dallas. He made his name in real estate with the development of the Junius Heights area, and became a partner in the firm of Florence and Field.

In 1915 he was attracted to the growing field of life insurance and started his own company. His success in this new venture led to the opening of an office in St. Louis, and he moved there with his family in the fall of 1917.

He was area chairman of the Liberty Loan Campaign and traveled extensively over a five-state area on behalf of the war effort. He was personally commended by the Secretary of the Treasury for the success of his campaign.

He was a member of the Dallas Country Club and St. Matthew's Episcopal Cathedral in Dallas, and in St. Louis served on the board of directors of the Chamber of Commerce and belonged to Christ Church Cathedral.

Funeral services and burial took place in St. Louis last Friday. Mr. Steed is survived by his wife, Elizabeth Alcott Steed of St. Louis, and three children, Robert Randolph, 8; Andrew Alcott, 7; and Eleanor Elizabeth, 6; his mother, Jane Cantrice Steed, and a sister, Lydia Steed Shepherd of Dallas.

February 16, 1919
St. Louis

Dearest Papa and Mavis,

How I wish you were here with me, and yet what a comfort it is late at night to set down my thoughts in a letter to you.

The funeral service was magnificent and for a moment even I believed that death could be the triumphant conclusion to life. The cathedral was packed with people from all walks of life, many of whom were strangers to me. I suppose it comes as a shock to any wife to realize how little of her husband's life has actually been shared with her. He would have known everyone at my funeral. However, it was thrilling to see in what affection and respect he was held in this city. Though I am sure I would have loved him if all the world had been against him—and indeed at times might have welcomed the adversity that would have left us with only each other—I am grateful to know so many share my loss.

After the service friends came to our home to pay their respects. Lydia and Mother Steed stayed upstairs with the children, not wanting to share their grief with strangers. But Manning offered to stay with me and I accepted gratefully. I also felt it was important for him to meet some of the men who had been so helpful to Rob when he first decided to open an office here.

I have always found it difficult to express my sympathy to anyone who has suffered a loss and I was afraid I would find it even more difficult to accept such expressions. But the alchemy of grief transforms the most awkward phrases into sentiments of purest gold, and I treasured every word of comfort offered.

Many of our friends brought food to the house—and the dining table looked as if we were preparing for a banquet. It all seemed so festive I impulsively ordered the imported champagne we had been sent as a gift last Christmas by the Secretary of the Treasury to be put on ice and served to our guests. After all, the same efforts that earned the champagne had brought about this occasion. This was to be Rob's last party and I decided to make it one he would have enjoyed.

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