A Woman of Independent Means (30 page)

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.

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.

I have decided to take the children back to Dallas on the train with Arthur and Totsie. Our help with the baby should compensate for the added responsibility of our company. I simply cannot face the thought of traveling alone with the children. Sometimes Arthur must feel he married two women. Since the wedding he has devoted as much time to me and my family as he has to Totsie. Fortunately they both knew me before they knew each other so neither resents my prior claim. Marriage does not begin to prepare us for the complicated relationships that can exist between men and women. Friendship, perhaps because it is less defined, can be a far more demanding responsibility.

My love,
Bess

July 26, 1921
Woodstock

My dear Dwight,

I was very touched by your letter of sympathy, and all it reflected of your feelings toward your own son. Be assured that Totsie has no wish to deprive you of his affection but he is so young he will forget you unless you make it a point to see him whenever you can. I realize this will become difficult once he is living in Texas but I am taking care of him this week while Totsie and Arthur are vacationing at the seashore and I hope you will take advantage of the opportunity to pay him a farewell visit. Having just lost a son, I beg you not to turn your back on the one you still have. Do not let your pride deprive you of more than even death could.

Little Dwight will be here all week. Please feel free to call on us at any time.

With deepest affection,
Bess

July 28, 1921
Woodstock

Dear Sam,

You were so kind to write and send separate letters to both children. Drew plans to hold you to your promise to take him fishing the first weekend we are home. Eleanor would not tell me what you promised her, but it was obviously a source of great satisfaction. After she read the letter, she locked it in her box of pine cones and other treasures.

I am delighted you have become a member of the country club. If I had known you were interested, I would have been happy to write a letter in support of your application. However, you seem to have managed sufficiently without my help. I must confess I had taken pity on you as a stranger in town but it is clear that you are not without influential friends. In our part of the country I can assure you that counts for more than wealth or family background.

New England now seems like a closed chapter of my life and I am anxious to bring the children home to Texas. It is nice to know you will be there waiting for us.

Affectionately,
Bess

July 29, 1921
Woodstock

Dearest Papa and Mavis,

Our pastoral existence was enlivened most pleasantly this week by a visit from my friend Dwight Davis. He drove up from his home in Connecticut, intending to spend only the afternoon at the farm with his son. But as afternoon lengthened into evening, it was clear he had no wish to leave. We invited him to stay for a supper of country ham, corn from the garden roasted in its own husks, and homemade bread and preserves from Mrs. Stone's larder. His two-year-old son took him by the hand and led him into the garden to help the children gather vegetables for the salad.

He admitted after supper that this was the first time he had ever been alone with his son for longer than a few minutes. Totsie was always standing by, ready to spring to attention at the first show of impatience on the part of either father or son. And, as almost any father will, he took advantage of her constant presence to evade those parental responsibilities that ultimately result in a precious intimacy which can be achieved no other way.

At my suggestion he booked a room in the village inn so that he could have another day at the farm. When he told us good-bye for the night, Little Dwight suddenly clung to him and begged to go with him. No one was more amazed than Dwight, but he quickly agreed. I packed the baby's nightclothes and favorite soft toy in a satchel and off they went. I fully expected to see them back here by breakfast the next morning. I suppose I am as guilty as the next woman of thinking father and child cannot stay friends for long.

However, it was late afternoon before they returned, bearing gifts for everyone. They had spent all morning shopping in the village and had then gone back to the inn for lunch. That act won Dwight to my heart completely. Any man brave enough to dine in public with a two-year-old has my total admiration.

I have always found Dwight a rather stiff and reserved person, but the children have taken a great liking to him (and the presents he brought from town did nothing to discourage their growing affection). We persuaded him to keep his room at the inn for the rest of the week—till Arthur and Totsie return from the Cape. It is ironic that he did not discover his son until he was on the verge of losing him but that may well prove soon enough.

I am reminded every day that there are greater tragedies than my own—the greatest being not knowing what you have until you lose it. How much of what passes for grief in the world is really nothing more than regret? Of course there are moments of unbearable sadness every day when I think of Robin and long for his loving presence, but some mornings I awaken astonished at the elation which fills my soul in gratitude for the years he gave us.