My Road To Rotary

Chapter 19

A Sad Tragedy

FOX POND WAS NOT without its tragedies; one of Wallingford's most beautiful young ladies, beautiful in character as well as in person, met her death in the waters of the pond. She was much older than I but she seemed particularly near to our family because she had once lived with grandmother. In those days in New England, it was not unusual for refined and educated young ladies to do housework when there was no other demand upon their time. Their social status was in no wise affected and the presence of such a person in the home was a social as well as an economical advantage.

Nancy was dark-eyed, tall and willowy and would have graced any position in which she might have found herself. She was loved and admired by the townspeople both old and young and a dark shadow fell upon the community when she left us. She had suffered as only the refined and cultured can suffer until she could bear it no longer.

One night she arose from her bed and went out, down the familiar road, across the creek bridge, on up the hill, through the woods, then down the slope to Fox Pond, the scene of many a happy picnic in former days.. Slowly and with a determination one would hardly have thought her capable of, she waded out into the cold water to a depth not much above her knees, then fell forward face down and deliberately held herself in that position until she died; the water was not deep enough to drown a child who cared to live. In the morning a searching party easily found her.

The perseverance of Nancy in her determination to take her own life, was a subject of conversation for many years. One never heard words of condemnation; they were words of deep sorrow. The folks of our valley had suffered a great loss. Nancy had always been a sweet influence in our community.

Folks recalled the fact that one after another those nearest to her had been taken; first her father, then her mother and then her kindly and handsome brother, Neil, who died of tuberculosis while still a young man. After the shock of these bereavements, her whole affection was centered on her younger sister, Lizzie; Nancy simply had to have someone on whom to lavish affection, and most naturally she turned to Lizzie.

There was little social life in our community, most of the young men having gone west in search of larger opportunities. The two Gleghorn girls found employment, as many other refined and capable New England young ladies had done, working in the shirt and collar factory of Troy, New York, sixty miles south.

The thought of our Nancy and our Lizzie working by the side of foreigners was disturbing but the Gleghorn girls needed the money and after all, such employment was a break in the monotony of everyday home life in Wallingford and they could come home occasionally.

The combination was broken up soon by Lizzie being called upon to take charge of the home of an aged neighbor and Nancy continued her life in Troy alone. It's a long story, that of the passing of Mr. Frank Miller and his having made Lizzie the sole beneficiary under his will. All of these events seemed quite natural to Nancy and she was happy in Lizzie's good fortune. The great shock caine when Lizzie married and Nancy realized that her one remaining prop had been removed; Nancy henceforth was to be alone.

This was more than she could bear; there had always been someone she could serve; now there was none. Nancy was not the kind of young lady to live without purpose, so, as has been related, she got out of bed one night and made her distracted way down the creek road to the pond.

Stories of the migration of ambitious young men to the western country are full of romantic and interesting incidents. They went from farms and villages out into the unknown world, equipped with good principles and a willingness to work. Throughout their wanderings they were sustained by the hope of success and their

determination to render good accounts of themselves. Few of the home folks give even passing thought to the Nancys and Lizzies who have been left without prospects of becoming mothers with families of their own. In rare cases young men who have attained success do return to pick up the threads of youthful romance, but, as a rule, new romances take the place of the old, and those who return bring with them their families.

In a few cases, New England young ladies of courage and determination have taken matters into their own hands and joined the trek to the western country. Some of the New England girls who struck out for themselves became school teachers and few returned to New England. In one instance, a far seeing and philanthropic migrant who had been successful in the West, chartered a ship and took a load of marriageable young women all the way around Cape Horn to Portland, Oregon, into the outstretched arms of waiting suitors.

In another instance, the founder of a great system of restaurants which extended throughout the Southwest, advertised in New England for young women of character who desired to make permanent homes in the West. This progressive employer of hundreds of young ladies, seemingly against his own interests definitely urged his help to marry whenever suitable opportunity presented itself. To be employed as a waitress in one of the excellent Harvey eating houses along the line of the Santa Fe railway soon became a satisfactory assurance of respectability and many happy marriages followed.

If our winsome Nancy had known of such opportunities, she probably would not have waded to her death that night in Fox Pond. No one could have presided over a home with greater dignity and charm nor have been a better mother than Nancy.

In case there is any to whom the term, "hired girl" is not familiar, I may say that in rural New England of my day, the hired girl was not the equivalent of the city maid; she was an institution; she wore no cap or other indication of servility. While waiting on table, she did not glide noiselessly and speechlessly about surreptitiously purloining a half-emptied plate and substituting another either half-full or empty. When she entered the dining room from the kitchen, everyone knew she was coming; she made no attempt to conceal her presence. When she planked her ground grippers down, one had a feeling of security-no cinderella slippers were they. She considered herself a member of the family and to all intents and purposes she was. After having landed her cargo of corned beef and cabbage, boiled dinner, pork and beans, or whatever else might be on the bill of fare, she took her place at the table, and, in due course of time passed her plate for a helping which had to be geperous.

In compensation for the customary amenities, she delivered tidbits of local gossip, stored up for the occasion. She could give the "low-down" on almost anything. Her antennae extended in all directions and it was marvelous how much she was able to scoop in.

She had a superlative sense of dignity which she yielded to no one, it mattered not what the occasion. For example, a New England housewife once asked her "Biddy" to wear a cap and gown while serving distinguished guests from the city. Biddy's answer was prompt and unequivocal, "It is wanting me to make a fool of myself that ye are? Stick that bonnet on your own head and that purty apron on your own body. Bridget Moriarity will have none of them."

A city house maid is no more like a New England hired girl than a horse chestnut is like a chestnut horse.

Our Mary and the Stafford's Myra had an organization of their own. They used to get together evenings and talk things over; what was not known by one or the other of them, was not worth knowing. Their gleanings gave spice to table talk. There was never lack of matters to talk about at our table and Mary or Delia as the case might be, contributed their full share.

Neither allegiance to the Congregational church nor allegiance to the Republican party caused my grandparents to be narrow either in their religious or their political views. I can never recall a time when we were without an Irish Catholic girl in our house and the garden was always worked by Mr. Wynne. I can also in truth say that I never heard my grandparents speak in disparaging terms of either Catholics, Jews, Democrats, or of members of other races or devotees of other faiths.

I early learned the essentiality of maintaining a mutually satisfactory understanding with the hired girl, and, although there were no formal treaties executed, there were certain strict canons of correct practice which were always observed. Among other things it was understood that neither should inform on the other. This was mostly in my favor as I seldom had anything on the hired girl but she frequently had considerable on me. When grandmother displayed her unfamiliarity with affairs of common knowledge in the community, it was not necessary for me to sit trembling in my chair; a wink across the table by the hired girl was sufficient assurance that all was well.

When, by chance, I happened to stumble into the kitchen one night and saw Delia sitting in the lap of Pete, her sweetheart and prospective husband, I stumbled out again reserving my wink for a more appropriate occasion.

Tender recollections these-my heart swells with pride as I recall the rigid observance of the niceties of our face-saving treaties; no mere scraps of paper they-Ah no! As long as Delia and Mary lived, it was my custom whenever in Vermont to call upon them in commemoration of the faithful performance of their duties in our household. Both raised children and had grandchildren in plenty. I do not think of them as having been servants but rather as having been members of our family.

Although we had no hired man who sat at the table with us, I well know the species and know that they also were independent in character. They did not work for a wage merely; they worked to accomplish a task and the task had to be sensible. Tell a New England hired man to transfer a pile of stone from one corner of a field to another and he will do so willingly; tell him to take the stones back again and he will do so grudgingly but tell him then to transfer them somewhere else and it will be up to you to find another hired man to carry out your wishes, if you can find one sufficiently unprincipled. There must be common sense in everything a New England hired man is required to do. New Englanders abhor waste whether it be of time, money or energy. Perhaps that is why their poorhouses remain tenantless, or nearly so, much of the time.

I suppose that there must have been an official poorhouse in our county but I do not remember seeing it or knowing anyone who lived in a poorhouse. New Englanders have always had an antipathy against paupers except those who were in that state through no fault of their own. The laws of most of the New England States at one time disfranchised paupers, probably on the theory that if they could not manage their own affairs, they would not be likely to make substantial contributions in the affairs of state.

In the early days, in New England, it was the practice to sell the services of paupers at public auction. The pauper went to whomsoever would pay him the highest price for his services and the employer henceforth became responsible for his welfare. The institution served its purpose well enough to justify its existence in the opinion of the majority of the voters for many years. A certain percentage of citizens, unable to manage their own affairs to the satisfaction of the public or to their own satisfaction, were willing to work and experienced a goodly measure of relief from worry and anxiety in the transfer of their burdens to the shoulders of other men more capable of bearing them.

All went well in the cases of the employers who were true to their trusts; those who were really interested in the welfare of their workers, but that much doubtless could be said for slavery. Good masters in some respects were better than none but slave owners were not always good masters, and it is equally true that employers of pauper labor in New England were not always true to their trusts. Moreover there was in the New England institution a suggestion of serfdom, which of course was repugnant to men and women born and bred in that part of the United States frequently spoken of as the "Cradle of Liberty."

The only case of pauper labor that I have ever heard of in My Valley was the case of Nathan Remington, whose services were sold to Mr. Alfred Hull; the relationship continued throughout the life of Mr. Hull and throughout the life of his widow; nothing short of death could have terminated it.

There were not many who came within the hired man class; that is, there were few who habitually worked on farms belonging to others. Farmers and their sons managed to do all the work of their farms except during haying time possibly.

When a villager needed a man for a particular job, he could usually find one suited to the requirements. There were a few elderly men who had no regular employment and who were glad of the opportunity to earn a little extra money. Some, who did not care to work for anyone and everyone in need of help, would work for some particular person whose ways they understood and approved. Mr. Wynne was always glad to help grandfather out and Randall Nourse helped Mr. Ed Martindale quite regularly. What, if any, other source of revenue Randall had, was not known to the public. He occupied rooms in the basement of Alphonso Stafford's home, and what, if any, cash he paid for the privilege was unknown. Perhaps he paid nothing. Alphonso Stafford may have considered him a protection against fire, burglary, etc. At any rate, Randall belonged to a class of Wallingford citizens who lived respectably and well on an income incredibly small. That is where characteristic Vermont frugality came in.

Mr. Justin Bacheller was the only villager who had a bonafide year-round man servant but Mr. Bacheller was a lover of fast horses and John Catle knew how to exercise and train them and there was not the slightest servility in his service; he was one of the citizens of our village.