A Woman of Independent Means (5 page)

April 21, 1913
Dallas

Dear Mother Steed,

Ever since Annie described to me the freedom accorded expectant mothers in Europe, I have been hinting to Rob that I would be happier spending the summer abroad. Today he surprised me with steamship reservations for a transatlantic crossing, departing New York City May 30, arriving Southampton June 8. One of the reservations is for you, if you are willing.

When I spoke of traveling abroad, I of course hoped—and indeed assumed—Rob would be at my side, but unfortunately his business will keep him at home. He seems to have complete faith in my ability to manage without him. Why else would he encourage me to make this trip? I suppose I should be flattered. I've done everything in my power since the early months of our marriage to persuade him to treat me as a full and equal partner instead of a helpless wife who has to be protected by her husband from the outside world. But sometimes I wonder if I have not succeeded too well. I just hope he will miss me as much as I shall miss him.

However, I am thrilled at the thought of seeing Europe—with or without Rob. And we will not lack for male companionship since Robin and Drew will be with us—and of course our devoted Annie to look after them. Annie has not been home to Germany in ten years, so she is very excited about the trip. Hans will be staying here with Rob. Apparently he has no desire to see his homeland again.

I have traveled extensively in my mind since the year tuberculosis confined me to my room, but no mental journey can compare to the excitement of actually leaving home. I hope you will share my enthusiasm—and the trip.

Devotedly,
Bess

April 25, 1913
Dallas

Dear Lydia,

I know you were sorry to see Mother Steed depart, but now that the baby is six weeks old, you should be able to manage alone. We have so much to do here getting ready for the trip.

My friends are horrified at the thought of a woman in my condition undertaking such a voyage
without
her husband and
with
two small children, but none could suggest a more interesting way to spend the final months of pregnancy.

My only regret is that Rob will not be with me. We have shared every new adventure from the day we met in the fourth grade. It does not seem right for me to be seeing Europe for the first time without him. But the commitment that keeps him at home—his business—is the very one which enables all of us to go, so I must not complain.

Affectionately,
Bess

April 29, 1913
Dallas

Dear Papa and Mavis,

Thank you for your letters, both of which arrived this morning, but your fears are groundless, I assure you. No one could be more concerned about my condition than Rob—or more solicitous of my health and well-being. More than anything he wants me to be happy, and he knows how oppressed I would have felt at home this summer hiding behind shuttered windows. It is ironic that the Old World is more permissive concerning the conduct of pregnant women than the New World. We may have won our freedom as a country in 1776 but in the area of feminine rights the battle is still raging.

We will be traveling in complete comfort and style. Rob is making sure we have the best possible accommodations everywhere. We will return to Dallas in ample time for me to prepare for the birth of the baby in September and the start of the fall social season in October.

Devotedly,
Bess

May 28, 1913
en route to New York City

Dear Heart,

I know of no other husband in the world who could stand at the train station and wave his wife and family such a dear, brave good-bye. For one brief moment I wanted to pull the emergency cord and run back into your arms—but our reunion will be even sweeter in September.

The motion of the ship rocking on the ocean will be most welcome after two nights of grinding, jostling train travel along rocky roadbeds. I have read that the train tracks linking this country were laid by convicts and immigrants; with every rock they placed they must have sought revenge on the privileged classes who were to benefit from their labors.

I lay awake much of each night, with the window shade raised, watching the dark landscape rush past. Last night the train sped through the heart of a forest fire, and I watched with fascination as the flames encircled but could not touch us. Sometimes my life seems as safe and insulated to me as the compartment in which I was riding last night. I see the flames of death and deprivation outside, but they do not touch me.

All my love,
Bess

June 3, 1913
aboard the
Lusitania

Dear Heart,

Flowers seemed to be growing from the walls of our stateroom when we arrived on board ship. How thoughtful and generous you are! We are surrounded on this voyage with evidence of your affection—the telegrams, the baskets of fruit, the champagne, the model ships for the boys. Thank you for everything —but especially for the flowers and the tender note that accompanied them. I fall asleep amid their scent each night, dreaming of your embrace.

Oh my love, how I cherish those blossoms around my solitary bed. When you are beside me, I am garden enough. I burst into bloom at your touch. Without you, I lie fallow, my only satisfaction watching a rose unfold. Why am I not content knowing I am nurturing a new bud of life inside me? Most of the women of my acquaintance find their husbands irrelevant during these months of impending motherhood, but the constant, tangible evidence of our love that I carry serves only to fan the flames of my desire.

Oh, my beloved missing half, how I yearn for your completion! I would surrender to you tonight more eagerly than I did on our wedding night. Then I only suspected the delights in store for me. Now I know what I am being denied by distance and circumstance—and every cell of my being cries out in protest.

Dearest, write as often as you can—and, please, no more letters dictated to your secretary. I know you think Miss Hop-kins only types your letters but I suspect she also reads them. Take pen in hand late at night, my darling, the last thing before you fall asleep. Release me with words until I am back in your arms.

I am yours forever,
Bess

June 6, 1913
aboard the
Lusitania

Dear Lydia,

I hope you will not find my handwriting illegible. For the past twenty-four hours we have been buffeted by high winds. All the furniture has been roped down, and the waves are so high no one is allowed to stroll on deck.

I spent most of the day in the stateroom, looking after Annie and Mother Steed, both of whom are suffering from severe cases of “mal de mer.” The boys are fine. They put on their cowboy suits this morning and pretended that the raging sea was their bucking bronco. Each time the boat lurched, they howled with delight. And fortunately I too have survived the storm and stayed on my feet. Compared to the first few weeks of pregnancy, a storm at sea is a trifle.

I wish you could have seen Robin celebrating his third birthday. He was seated at the place of honor at the captain's table, wearing his starched white sailor suit—and there was not a man or woman on board who would not have liked to claim him. We were all given paper hats to wear and whistles to blow, and there was much merrymaking as a huge, three-tiered cake was wheeled into the room. The band played “Happy Birthday” and when it was over, Robin astonished us all by giving the captain a crisp salute.

Mother Steed says he won't remember anything about the occasion in another year but that seems of no importance to me. He understood everything that was happening as it happened. At that moment he was truly and completely happy and what more should any of us expect from life?

Tomorrow is our last day aboard and I am as excited about my first glimpse of the Old World as Columbus was when he sighted the New.

Love to Manning
and the baby,
Bess

June 11, 1913
London