What is it about old letters? I love the feel of the paper, the beautiful–though sometimes indecipherable–handwriting, the tiny papers and even smaller envelopes. Thought you might enjoy these.
April 2, 1876
To: Mrs. Elbridge Smith, Old Town, Maine [Hapie’s mother]
From: Julius Eli Smith, Menasha, Wisconsin [Hapie’s brother]
My Dear Old Mamma,
I did not write to yesterday nor last Sunday for Nell [Hapie] and pap were so busy they could not write for me. I am going to hurry up and learn how to write myself and shall not have to wait for them. I was going to write to grandpapa today but Nell has not got time to write a long letter and so I will not write till some time next week for when I do write to him I want to send a long one. You tell grandpapa the reason I have not written today. That was a [illegible] letter he wrote to me. I want to see those things he told about. They must be queer ones. It was April first day yesterday and I fooled papa and Nell. Sophy got fooled when she went after the milk. She saw a five cent piece laying on the sidewalk and went to pick it up and it would not come and she looked and it was nailed to the sidewalk. I guess it had a little hole in it and somebody put a little nail through it. Mama, when I get married he will give me the little red house across the road to live in. When canI get married, Mamma? Papa and Nell say I can’t for a long time. Can’t I? You was only nineteen when you was married. I heard Nell say so lots of times. I could not go to Sunday school today because I had such a bad toothache. I wanted to go awful bad but it was snowing hard and Pap said I’d catch more cold if I went. Goodbye. Give my love to grandpappy from you loving little son. Julius Eli Smith
April 12, 1876(?)
To: Mrs. Elbridge Smith, Old Town, Maine
From: Julius A. Smith, Menasha, Wisconsin
My Dear Old Mamma,
I got another of your little valentine letters the other day. I am sorry they are all gone. You will have to write on paper like Nell does now. Would you? You see I send you some of my pictures. Nell went down and got them this afternoon. At last you have got your little boys picture. You know you have been wanting it all winter. They are better than Nell’s, aren’t they? I went to Sunday school this afternoon and said my lessons good. Everyone has to bring a penny and I carried one and they took my hat to pass round to get the pennies in. I can tell how cold it is by the thermometer now. It was down to zero one morning. Mamma I want you to have your picture taken now and send to your little son. I shall forget how my mammy looks. Have you forgotten how your little boy looks? We have not given away any chips (he means “ships” but made a slight mistake) away yet. I can not write my name now so Nell will do right. I am going to write you a little letter all myself before you come home. Give my love to grandpapy and all of them and lots to my old mammy from her little son.
Julius A. Smith
Fond du Lac
April 15, 1886
Elbridge Smith, Esq. [Hapie’s father]
My dear Sir,
I have just returned from Michigan and find your letter of the 10th. Our diocesan Council ordinarily finishes its sessions in two days but it is difficult for the Bishop to leave immediately on adjournment as the clergy and laity often have business to lay before him. I think therefore that June 10thwould be a safer appointment than on the 9th. If that will be satisfactory be so kind as to notify me. Faithfully Yours, _________, Bishop of Fond du Lac
Sunday, February 3, 1918
Camp Cody, New Mexico
Dearest Bruzzy [Hapie],
Its funny you have only heard from me that one letter I sent to you at Minneapolis as I sent you one a week or so ago when you first got down to Florida; the mail is pretty well tied up all over the country now I guess. Irma’s letters usually come two or three at a time and I get the paper about once a week. At that I have missed a few times writing to you but you skipped a couple weeks; after this I’ll write every Sunday and Weds. so if you don’t get them you’ll know were tied up some place between here and Florida. I got a letter from you today also a card yesterday; those old palms and that lake sure looked good to me; I wish they would camp us some place like that instead of the middle of a desert. You must be having a good time Bruzzy stepping around down there. I’m awfully glad Dad could make the grade and get away from the store for awhile; he needs a vacation as bad as you do.
It has been fine here since that cold snap we had a week or so ago and I hope we don’t have any more of that. We had a couple inches of snow and it got down below zero a couple nights. Irma is making me a suit of Arctic pajamas that go on over all your clothes and have feet and a cap on them so I will be prepared if we have any more of that weather.
I heard the other day that Harry Chaffer had been drafted and was at Camp Dodge. I wonder how Birdie is getting along with her Harry; but she’s stepping high and wide. I think at that it will be more peaceful for Harry in the army than at home. Billy was appointed Dental Ass’t today and starts in tomorrow morning. It will be a lot nicer to have Billy with me, won’t be so lonesome. He’s about the last of the old bunch that was on the Border last year together.
Everything is about the same down here. I am still feeling pretty foxy and haven’t even had a cold yet; we have no idea when we’ll pull out of here but will have lots of time to let you know about it before we go. You asked about that war insurance. It costs 6.60 a month and in the case of death or total disability pays 58.50 a month for twenty years. It’s a pretty good thing because after the war it can be changed into any Old Line insurance without a physical examination and I haven’t any of that at all now and might not be able to pass the physical exam after the war.
I am going to have those pictures taken just as soon as I can get a hold of the necessary Bruzzy and will send you one just as soon as I get them.
Think I had better stop for tonight will write again Weds.
Much love to the family, Elb. [Grampy/Pa]
Spring Park
July 18, 1918
Dearest Irma,
Dad had a letter from Elbridge first part of the week and I was awfully sorry to hear you were not feeling well again. You poor child, it’s “tuff” to be sick when you are all alone, when Elbridge can’t be with you.
I am counting the days now to the 10thof August.
In Elbridge’s last letter he said he was going to try for a furlough to bring you home. I don’t dare think of it—that would be beyond all expectation, but what a joy to have you both, even for a little while. It is beautiful out here now, that is, the weather. Today there is the loveliest softest breeze and just right for heat. It has been that way quite awhile now.
It would make your trip home much more enjoyable if Elbridge could come with you and would beat going to El Paso all to pieces. I only hope he has not prepared a nice little disappointment for me.
I was in town Tuesday making ____ that 18 hours, and Clara came out with me. Clara does not seem to be feeling very well and is talking of staying at home for a while after she has her vacation She seems depressed as well as “off her feed.” I believe the one rather causes the other.
I think she will be out here quite a little during her vacation. It will be so nice with you here (also Elbridge). I’d like very much to have your mother and father come out oftener, but your father is all bound up in the farm and Mr. Garland and simply can’t be pried loose, and I suppose your mother doesn’t like to come without him. Never mind. When you come, I am going to secure some first class “bait” in the person of Mrs. E. S. Story and I think they will both be willing to come. I hope I won’t have any trouble keeping the bait.
I am going in town again tomorrow to finish up my 18 hours, but it will take all day to do it. I shall be so glad to have it finished. I shall of course do some work every week, but can go to _____ at my convenience, which is much harder to arrange from out here than in town.
You remember those horseback pictures you sent us. I asked either you or Elbridge to send us the films so we could get another set or two, but so far, no response. Your mother wanted some and was going to write for the films too. When I told her I had already done so, she thought that would be sufficient. I wish you would send them Irma dear. That husband of yours never will. I think he spends all his time looking at you, and I can hardly blame him for that.
I understand you have found “Cody.” Aren’t you glad? Shall you bring him with you, when you come? I can hardly realize you will be here in really so short a time, for the weeks do roll around so fast.
I sent you some magazines the other day and will send some more tomorrow. I don’t know why I stopped sending them—guess I thought you and Elbridge couldn’t read any more. I carried those five magazines in all done in one package and the girl said it was overweight and would be .43 sent that way, and advised me to separate them, which I did and the two packages were .19—same difference.
Eloise is still in Chicago and poor Donald is pretty lonesome. He didn’t write her though for he didn’t want to hurry her home. Clara said she had a letter from Eloise. Eloise got much in love with Clara while she was here. They seemed to get along beautifully together and are so very different too. Clara says she envied Eloise her overwhelming, bounding spirits.
Well dear little girl, I guess this will have to be called a letter. The best I can do this time. I’m kept pretty busy writing. Eloise says if I don’t write to her as often as I do to you ….
Heaps of love for you and Elbridge and do write and tell me about the furlough.
Tuesday, September 10, 1918
Dearest Elbridge,
We were glad to hear you had reached your destination safely and were in a little more comfortable camp. Irma came out Saturday and reported on your progress. She is still here and had another letter from you last night forwarded from town. She seems to think from the way you wrote there is quite a probability of your going to the Training School in this country, which pleases us both very much. You certainly have waited long enough for your chance. Irma wants it as much as I do, and I should think you would much rather go here than over there.
We saw Warren Beach’s name in the paper last night as having received his commission.
I stopped writing down Curdy, thought I’d better wait till we got your new address.
Irma is looking much better and feels better. She has a pretty new dress in which she looks very svelte. Also has a becoming hat and pretty pair of light colored boots.
I haven’t gotten anything for her yet, but I will. Thought I’d wait just a little bit and see what her people would do for her. They mightdo quite a bit. She has picked out a winter coat at Alkinsons which has been laid aside for her. I haven’t seen it but she says it is a very pretty one, all except the fur on it. So I thought perhaps I might her some ___ satisfactory I’ll help her out anyway, where ever it seems to be most needed. I have a new name for her, “Little Ho Hum.” Whenever she is out here she gets so sleepy and the approaching sleepiness is always preceded by a “Ho Hum” and about eight in the evening brings the first one. So I told her she was in for a new name. About 15 minutes ago a little “Ho Hum” broke the silence—it isn’t evening either, but it’s nice and dark and rainy, just right to sleep.
Sunday we had a beautiful day, absolutely perfect. Since then it has been cold, but Irma says it is more comfortable out here than at home where it is cold.
I suppose Dad told you all about your wonderful tree climbing dog—with practice he will be chasing the squirrels. He is on a regular “tear” this afternoon. We can’t let him in here until he gets over it. He has the porch to himself and every bed is ____ and every rug rolled up in a heap and he is racing from one end to the other. It’s raining, or he would go outdoors. He comes once in awhile and rattles the door knobs, It’s about all we both can do to stay on our feet when he feels the way he does this afternoon. He will have to be “gentled” quite a bit before he will be a safe playmate for Bobby. We always go into the kitchen for a little “stand around lunch” every evening and Cody may be ever so sound asleep but he is right along with the first person who reaches the kitchen door. Then he travels from me to the other and manages to get his place alright. He is especially fond of a piece of bread with marmalade on it and fed to him in small mouthfuls. Also cookies. I expect Mr. H____ would object if he knew.
I used quite a lot of my precious sugar allowance making that marmalade. The kind you used to like. Also made some of those spiced crabapples and a little jelly last week. I had 25 pounds canning allowance and it’s about gone. I wonder how much I used to use “in the days of real sport.”
These days of plenty seem like a dream now. Unfortunately, it costs about as much ____ to have anything to use, as it did in the days when I fed the multitude through the kitchen windows, say with cinnamon rolls.
Well son, it is getting near dinner time. I’m going to keep little “Ho Hum” as long as I can out here. She is a very sweet little addition to the family.
With lots of love, Mother
December 11, 1918
Dearest Elbridge,
They say we must write “cheerful” letters to the soldiers—would you call it cheerful if I should say I am just sick for a letter—the letter that has not come yet. Well, it isn’t cheerful not to have one either. Just a month today since the Armistice was signed. Dad says they have had several letters at the office written since then. We’ve been trying to follow through the newspapers your possible location—also return. Cast___, France was given as the station of the 34th, also your co., the 136thAmbulance, was among those mentioned for early return, so we are preparing a great disappointment for ourselves if some time this winter doesn’t bring you back. I was over to Irma’s yesterday and the day before “doing my bit.” She had a little “bassinet” that did not seem to have a very good finish, so I put on another coat of white enamel. They all think I am quite an expert at that sort of thing since my efforts at decorating those old chairs at the lake. I’ve also undertaken to enamel an old bureau they have, for she wants her room to be all white for the little new occupant. When they first began to publish the return of troops, I had a wild hope you might be back by Jan. but I’ve dragged myself back to “sometime this winter” now.
Of course it is unavoidable that changes without number will at least appear in the papers, and now they say all the sick and wounded will be returned first, and much of the Artillery and the Aero Squadrons.
A lot of homes can have all kinds of a “Merry Xmas.” Those that have their boys back, but those delayed casualty lists that are coming in now, are hard for the ones who have been feeling “safe” since that Armistice was signed. But you didn’t get there in time to get into anything so we can feel pretty happy anyway this Xmas even if you aren’t here. If you will only think of us time enough to send us all a nice Xmas letter. I’d rather have it than anything else I know of. So would Irma. Likewise Dad. Last year we had Xmas with the Pauly’s but don’t know how it will be this year. Can you imagine Dad and I trying to be festive, just the two of us. They will have a gay time in Florida. F_________ and Bunny are down there for this winter so they can have a “regular” time. But none of them can get past Ellen. She is the star performer.
Eloise wrote that F_______ just had a long letter from Roy J_______. He is convalescing in a hospital at Vichy. Had an operation for appendicitis (I’m not sure whether that should have two “p’s” or not). He was expecting to come home soon. I’ll give you Deb’s address as soon as dad gets home.
Before this reaches you, Xmas will be all over and done with, accompanied as usual, by long sighs of relief. On November 30 we sent you that very m______ little box, also money orders. We all thought you would rather have money than any thing else for you must be in what we would call “straightened circumstances.” I only hope it reaches you safely and in time. As Nov. 30 was the final date set for sending off Xmas mail I would suppose that special effort would be made by postal authorities to deliver in time. Still hoping and with heaps of love, Mother
I forgot to tell you Cody is well and happy. Residence in turn seems to agree with him all right. Dad takes him for a walk every night, as, whenever he is put outside, he has to be tied up, owing to the multitude of dogs.
I think he will fully meet all your ideas for his being “hard boiled.”
When Irma comes over, as she does occasionally, she has to have a “convoy” of the whole family when she is admitted to his presence. He is so glad to see her, he leaps fully a foot higher than she is and comes down about fifty ______ more or less, of joyous dog, a little more than she can stand just now. I don’t know quite how he will agree with the new member of the family.
January 24, 1919
Dear Son,
Got yours of January 1sttoday but the Christmas letters you mentioned have not arrived yet. They are probably coming on a slow boat. That you had not yet had any letters from home is an outrage but I suppose the only thing is to grin and bear it. The Christmas presents and Christmas mail was absolutely promised to be delivered for Christmas. Yours will probably be for next Christmas. I sent you a cable the 20thsaying “Daughter arrived everything fine.” I presume you got that although that too may not have reached you. Well old scout cheer up anyway for you have a great family here waiting for your return. That girl is sure a peach. Looks just like her father only don’t seem to have her father’s appetite as yet. She is perfectly satisfied to suck her thumb and go to sleep.
Irma is coming on fine and already anxious to be home so that she can have the baby all the time instead of just for a few minutes every four hours. I have been around to see her every day also. Mother Story is over there a lot. In fact all the relations are hanging around there so much that the nurses are complaining about so many being under foot all the time.
Cody is sure some dog and continues to make me take him out walking nearly every night and yesterday noon I found that he is a regular “Mexican” Airedale. You see Mother is with Irma so much that I have to get my own lunch most of the time and I dug out a can of Mexican frijoles in chili and warmed it up for my lunch. Now Cody always is around when there is eating going on and I thought it a joke to offer him some of this hot chili con carne with beans ____ but you should have seen the way he went to it. He must have got the habit in old or New Mexico.
Donald reports having received a fine letter from you, which he answered at once in the hopes of getting another. I saw Frank Stewart a few days ago and he is the first returned from “over there” soldier I have seen that I know. Some of our store bunch that had not got out of the country are already back here on the job. Sandy and J____ got through fine but Anderson and Lew Times were both hospital subjects and not yet brought to this country.
I noticed what you said about your trouble with toothache for Christmas and it seems to me that you are very foolish to let your teeth go to the point where there is any chance of their aching. Especially as you are where that kind of work is provided for you. Better have them put in hop and keep them that way.
Mother and I are very quiet this winter just hanging out with a little double solitaire as the only dissipation. We have some quilting frames with and are going to have a quilting party all our own and maybe a few comforters against the time when we have a P____ family around such as “Bobette,” her mother and father. What do you think of the idea of a daughter anyway? I am just delighted myself you know I always wanted some girls and now Mrs. Pauly says that this girl will be spoiled by oneof the grandparents. I wonder if she means me?
We have done lots of work this year but the government has not let us make much money just now too when it would have come in so handy.
Peter is still going to the farm every Saturday and Sunday. I wonder what he and “Tom” are raising now.
I wonder if you will get this or will it like all my others go drifting all over France and never reach you. You surely have a grist of mail somewhere and may sometime have to overtake you.
We are having the warmest winter in years. Minnetonka open until Christmas and the rivers open at the present time all of which helps with the coal bills.
Time to go home so for this time good bye and come home soon because the baby will be crying for you.
Dad
p.s. It took a lot of cigars to go around on the girl today.
Tuesday March 4, 1920
Dearest Elbridge
It seems good to have a nice long letter from you and also to hear that you are getting some letters yourself. It was like being in an awful nightmare, to write and write, and know nothing was reaching you. You needn’t fear that we will send you any more money. It’s too uncertain and you’ll probably need it quite so much here. I read in last night’s paper that it is two months salary, $60, that will be given soldiers. That’s better than nothing, but not so good as six months. I don’t see how in the world you can save any money if you manage to get home with $50 or $60 you’ll do well. You don’t get any extra money for your office work do you?
Yes dear boy, it will be a little pull to get started, but when you see “Bobbette” you won’t mind pulling. If you can only get home so you can get some work for the summer, and meantime be with us at the lake, it will give a little chance to be ready for winter. I have talked all the time as if I expected of course you would be out there, and I guess Irma expects to be now. Of course I know there is no place you either of you would want to be so much as in your own little nest, but you must have a few months to get ready in. And I do think the lake will be a fine place to have Bobbette get used to plenty of fresh air.
Irma has sent those letters you mailed her to and I hope they will help to get you sent home, but I read in the paper (and of course everything in the paper is so) that if a soldier received his discharge by special request his fare would only be paid to and from points of embarkation and he would have to pay his own boat passage. If that is so, I think it is pretty small of the government or army or whoever is responsible. I was over to Irma’s Sunday. Dad was in the midst of a job of painting so he couldn’t go. We just have to freshen up this house or we can neither sell or rent.
I also staid all night (by request). It takes so long to go and come and being alone I couldn’t stay long after dark. Clara and her mother were both going out Monday afternoon, and Irma said, “I wish I was going. I’ve staid home so long.” So I proposed her going to meet Clara right after giving Bobbette her “lunch” and I would stay and take care of Bobbette. That would give her four hours, from two to six. So she did. She is feeling so well now, only don’t get quite enough air. It’s been so terribly cold as well as blizzardy, ever since she could get out, and bad walking too. There are some good movies this week and she and Clara were to go to one yesterday—first disspation. She looks well now too, but I want her to get back to normal by degrees. She will be all the better afterwards. These very swift people are usually braking down later and having operations, etc. etc. You certainly are missing a good deal. This little Bobbette is the sweetest thing. We all stand around in an admiring circle and some one will say, “There, she looked just like Elbridge then.” Clara says when she sleeps and when she laughs she looks like you. The curls haven’t appeared yet. I think after creating all this commotion, the least you could do would be to pass those along. Irma tries to poke up the very small amount of fuzz she has but there is not enough of it yet to make a crinkle. It takes so long to get any information to you. Here she is, six weeks old, and up to the time of writing this last letter of yours, you had received six letters about her since her arrival.
I won the prize at the Club last time—had only four competitors. And it happened to be a glass pyrex baking dish, just nice for two, so I am laying it away for you and Irma to start with.
I hope prices will “drop” a little before you start filling it. Everything required, both inside and out, is simply awful. I was glad to hear you had one civilized meal with your French family. Was there no onethere you could talk to besides the boy you went with. Have you pick up any French at all? There isn’t much use in asking questions in these letters. Before we could get an answer, Bobbette will have a full set of teeth and be walking. She is the strongest little thing you ever saw for a brand new baby. If you have her over your shoulder she will pick her little head right up. So you don’t know half as much about babies as you do puppies, you can’t appreciate that, but they are not expected to be very active at six weeks.
No more this time sonny boy, If I should write just what we are all thinking all the time, I should just write line after line, I want you to come home. Dad don’t say so much but he does too.
Good bye Dad Story, with heaps of love,
Bruzzy
March 12, 1920 (year not specified but his dad is expecting him home by summer)
Dear Son,
I guess I have been letting the women do the letter writing. I have kept putting off until I would have time for a regular letter and that time never comes. At home there is work for all the time and here at the store I am always a man or so short first for one reason and then for another. In January soon as I had my usual force again Harry Eklund had the flu and what with his wife dying and himself sick we had to look after his work for five weeks. Then the very week he was back Brewster laid up for four weeks and this week (illegible) is back from France and I can breath again. You know he is the only regular good help I have had for a good long time.
I have been fixing up around the house all winter. The last two sets of renters left things pretty rotten. I want to get things looking as well as possible and sell. Mother doesn’t want to live there any more and I don’t blame her.
We had your letter from Moutois (?) Monday and Irma over the phone last night said she had two. What you said about Hospital bill makes me think that Mother must have told you a thing that I was not permitted to do. Irma in spite of my best efforts would not let me pay that bill. So don’t give me credit for anything but trying to pay it.
Donald and Eloise are now planning on coming here for two months this summer about June and July. His boss would not listen to his quitting his job but gave him an advance in pay and two months vacation with pay so instead of all summer we are to have them for a visit.
I surely hope you can get back soon so many things depend on your being here. It will be impossible to do much of anything about a job for you until we know just when you could go to work. There have been a lot of good selling jobs this last few weeks, but you know how that goes. When a man is wanted he is wanted to go to work at once. I don’t think there will be any trouble in getting work whenever you do come.
Irma and the baby are getting along fine and Mother is over there quite often but I don’t get to see them nearly as much as I would like to do. It is such a job to get over there and back again. I wish we had them with us all this time.
We have had a mild winter. Have only had to burn about half the usual amount of coal for which “praises be” now we are looking ahead to going to the lake which won’t be so very long now.
Cody is getting to be a regular dog. He has his family well trained. He knows how to get anything he wants. He can order fresh buttered toast for breakfast, doughnuts for lunch etc. and when he would like a lively time he goes and gets one of Mother’s slippers shakes it under her nose and knows that he has started something.
Of all our boys who went across Lew (illegible) is the only one back so far.
Hope you get along soon so that we can plan for the summer.
Good bye, Dad
February 16, 1921
Dearest Dad,
This has always been one of my ambitions—to write letters in the morning—and now I’m going to do it.
Donald has gone back to bed and Eloise and Buddy to A______ to see F_____ who is convalescing, just about home from the hospital. She wanted me to go too but I thought it a good chance to write my letter. The first one I sent from here was rather a scrambled affair. I was terribly tired from the trip, solely on account of my back. It’s just as well I did not wait at home to get over it, for it’s still there—over a week now that I’ve had it.
I’m keeping as quiet as possible. Guess that is the only cure. There was a “bridge” over at the Villa yesterday. They all made strenuous efforts to have me attend, but I didn’t feel like sitting up in a straight chair all afternoon. I surely was glad to get your letter. It was written too close to my going away to hear much about how you all are getting along. I would so like to hear that Irma has some one to help her. There’s one thing in removing whatever little help I might have been. I also remove the extra work I made. You have a whole bureau drawer and quite a bit of closet room besides. I miss Bobby so in the morning—that dear little always happy voice, and the snuggly little body and all the rest of her dear little ways. No baby was ever like her. I suppose you got my letter, such as it was, written from Chicago. It wasn’t much I know, but it at least told you I was safe, if not very sound. Some official came to my seat in the evening, out from Chicago a little ways, perhaps half an hour, and asked if I was Mrs. A.C. Story. If I was comfortable and all right, had my baggage, etc., etc. Upon receiving an affirmative answer to all his questions, he passed on. Did you telegraph? I couldn’t imagine any other reason for his extreme solicitude.
I believe I told you Donald’s new car was a coupe—they call it a sedan. I thought they were all the same, but it seems the sedan is larger than the coupe. I like it for you can have as much or as little air as you want and it’s certainly fine for children. If we ever have any money for a new car I certainly want a closed one. I haven’t been to ride much on account of my back. I think the more quiet I am, the quicker I’ll get well.
The weather is marvelous here. Such lovely days—just right—neither cold nor hot. Nights are cool—just right to sleep. It’s not a bit like last winter. Some of the bloom, the _____, all over everything kind is a little past its fully glory. The fire vine, poinsettias, etc, but the Cherokee roses are just coming in, and the air is sweet with the orange blossoms.
The grounds and everything around here are beautiful and the house looks very nice with its fresh whiteness—also very nice inside, even though you miss some of Mrs. Arneson’s nice furniture and rungs. She left quite a few odd chairs on porch etc to help fill up corners.
I’ve only been to A____ once and then only for about 15 minutes. It seems Bunnie’s children all have the whooping cough, and when we were there Eloise saw them coming so she gathered up Buddy and flew. So our visit was cut off short. It made them mad so I understand (Bunnie I mean) to have Eloise leave so unceremoniously. I don’t blame her though. Most of people whose children “have things” seem to have no consideration for any one else. I believe Bunnie is a Christian Scientist.
Oh! I forgot to tell you, Donald rather insisted on my going down to a chiropractic (if that is the way to spell it) doctor here, with my back. I haven’t been, needless to say.
They are all much upset by the low price of fruit here. Guess Mrs. A, is pretty well tied up again. She helped F____ buy a grove awhile go and put quite a lot of money in it. Donald says Ellyn gave her place at A___to Milly and Eslir, but of course it wasn’t paid for so I don’t know how that works as a gift.
Mrs. A. says as soon as the fruit is picked she is going away somewhere. She doesn’t like it at A____, says there is “nothing to like” and Eloise says they none of them like to come to see her because it makes them homesick. So take it all in all, they are rather uncomfortable.
Eloise and Donald are running around with that snobby Marle Markle and her p____, but as it is mostly “out” and not “in” on account of Buddy, I probably won’t have to see much of them.
As soon as I can, I want to get hold of the combinations so I can be left with Buddy in the evening. He is not as bad as out to the lake, but is far from perfect. Sometimes he will sleep till 10 p.m. before waking—sometimes he wakes two or three times and any old time in the night. But it is not as hard to get him to sleep again, sometimes just a few minutes, and he doesn’t have anything to eat.
So it is of course a great (missing page) ….
… is going downtown. I want to get this in first mail this afternoon. I’ll write again Saturday or Sunday.
Perhaps the next one I’ll write to Irma. You’ll all get the benefit, regardless of the address.
I do wish you could have a bit of this glorious weather—you’d love it.
Donald is going.
Heaps of love for all of you. Kiss Bobby all over for Hapie and get one of those nice little round smiles from Tommy. Tell Elbridge I’m going to send something for his birthday too.
Mother
May 15, 1935
Dear Elbridge,
I received a letter from Mother the other day telling me of your mother’s sudden passing. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for you all, I know what a great loss it is to your family she was such a wonderful mother and I know would have been as wonderful a grand mother. I shall never forget the happy times we had as youngsters all made possible by her, and I did love her and think so much of you all. I shall never forget your birthday dinners and the lovely things she made for us, and then the days at the lake do you remember where she cooked waffles for us until we nearly did {illegible}. Some day I shall tell my young son all about it but I really wouldn’t want him to know a few of the thing we did, such as taking the swells behind those street car boats when you use to make the boat rock and scare me to death.
Please give my love to your father and my sincere sympathy, also my kindest regards to your wife and family. Deepest sympathy and love from your old friend Marie. p.s. Do you remember the darling tea cups and saucers your mother got for you to give me on my birthdays. I still have two or three and not having any little girls of my own to give them to I just wonder if your little girls would like them I would dearly love to send them to them. Marie Budd Hill (Mrs. Francis W. Budd, 1504 E. 9thWinfield, Kansas)
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