 | Berkeley papers |  |
I have thought every week since we left you that I would
write to you. Mother I know would be anxiously looking for some
tidings from us and I felt it was my duty to write to relieve her
of all anxious feelings about us—and did my utmost to make this
rouse me to the discharge of my duty; but all was in vain. Week
after week fled by, without my being able even to attempt it. In
addition to my sorrows, I have been a good deal indisposed the
greater portion of the time I have been here and really have not
been able to write several weeks. I still go bow'd down in spirits
and sometimes sink almost into despair. Sorrow and desolation pervade
my heart. Would that I could suppress my feelings, but 'tis
impossible. This goes home, but not to my husband to cheer and
comfort him. Oh! that dark, still grave that holds and keeps him
forever from my sight. Oh! that monster, grim monster, death that
has snatched him from my fond embrace and made me a mourning, sorrowing
widow. How hard it is for me to bear it. How hard to believe
that the fond father and devoted husband with us last New Year is
gone-gone, gone into Eternity—that we shall never again see his
face on earth, that alone we must live and struggle through life's
troubles and cares, while he slceps 'neath the clods of the valley
But I must not indulge in writing my feelings. But oh I am so
lonely and desolate what else can I write of, save the deep feelings
of my heart: I know you thought of his birthday, how sacred
to our memory! Dearly loved one, tho' sleeping the sleep of death
thy memory is and over will be cherished by us. Oh that thou
couldst have lived for thy dear children to have leved and remembered
thee! Oh! that they could have known how tenderly their
father loved!
My mind has been greatly exercised about how I shall live.
I have thought of a great many ways, but as yet have not determined
what I shall do, and will not till I see Brother. I feel
like he will know what I had best do better than any one else.
Oh I cant tell you how I feel when I feel that in truth I am a
poor widow and must make some exertion for me and my dear children
to live. Oh! what is there that I would not give for my dear, my
fondly lov'd husband. Father why didst thou tear him from me, and
leave me thus in this wilderness world? Oh why do I have to suffer
thus? I must stop. Oh! forgive me if I have said amiss.
The dear little children are well. Minnie often says she is
going over the mountain to see her grandma and carry her little
sister with, that she cant leave her at all. She is getting to be
very interesting, and talks a great deal. Lucy is a sweet babe I
think but is not near as pretty as I expected to see her. She is
perfectly devoted to Charlotte, and 'tis very seldom that she will
stay with any one else when Charlotte is about. I keep her at
night with Columbia's help, but as soon as morning comes she is
restless until carried to see her brandma. I wish the children
could be with you all, a while at least, but the roads are so bad
now that I dont know when we will be able to get over.
Carrie came up last tuesday, and seems as well as usual. I
not heard her say when she xpects to go. She is writing to Fannie
now and I presume will tell her plans to her if she has made any.
I stmpathize deeply with auntBaxter in her late bereavement
Truly she has her share of sorrows and afflictions in this world.
May God support her and sanctify to her, her great affliction is
my prayer.
There has been but little sickness in this neighborhood
since we've been here. Mrs. Jarman's the only death. No doubt you
have heard of this lamentable event. Mr. Jarman and Sarah are said
to be most deeply afflicted. Bettie is in bad health, confined
pretty much to her bed-has been here for several weeks. Dr. Bibb
her physician, is beginning to think very seriously of her case.
Her disease he says is an inflamation of the kidneys, and he fears
will terminate in the Dropsy. She has seemed better the last few
days and I hope will continue to improve. Her boy is well and
growing finely.
Pa brought me a letter from you a short while ago. I am
sorry to hear that Mother is much indisposed and hope she may speedily
recover. Minnie is gone to bed, but before she laid down, told
me to send her Grandma & aunts a kiss and tell her grandma that
she is a good girl, and if her aunt Carrie goes home before her ma
she is going with her to stay with her grandma while she is sick.
And aunt Fannie she sends two extra kisses for the nice bonnet she
sent hor. We've not seen it yet, but I know 'tis pretty from the
discription Carrie gave us of it. I am much oblige to her for her
kindness in making it. I find it impossible for me to work. I have
not made my winter dress yet. Pa gave me materials for a cloak too
which is yet unmade. I don't see the use of my having clothes. I
shall have to get to work soon tho' for the children.
I am glad to hear that Mr. Cross is liked so much in Harrisonburg,
and that Lucy & Ginnie have become members of his church
I hope to hear him before long. Cousin Julia I hope will receive
more comfort ere long, but there's not much more comfort in this
world for us. Oh that we may profit by our afflictions.
Give much love to Mother for me, & tell her I often think
of her in her lonely state. God has done it and we must submit.
Remember me affectionately to aunt Baxter, Mrs. Stevens,
Lucy—and all enquiring friends. The family unite with me in sending
love to you, Mother and Fannie. Good bye. Write soon.
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