Anna Marcet Julius-Haldeman to Jane Addams, October 7-9, 1919 (fragments)

[missing page] "house" or "barn." About a week ago when she came home from a little shopping expedition she discovered the little dog. She simply went wild over it, shouting "Muddie! Muddie! Ching and Wang have a little baby. A little, teeny, tiny dog." Never in all her life has she been so excited over any gift. Her eyes sparkled, she danced around with it and every night since all three sleep with her. Manuel and Josephine named it "Lang" but Alice never calls it anything but "Ching-and-Wang's-dog." She carries it everywhere and I am always afraid she will lose it, but she never forgets to look out for it.

You know, Auntie, I have learned many things, big and little from you, but for none of these lessons am I more grateful than for the advice you gave me in regard to Alice's sleeping. Naps are [page 2] now an ordeal of the past. At half past five when I get home from the bank I bathe her and put her into her pajamas in which somewhat airy attire, but looking like a dewy rose she dines with us at six, usually eating a heavy dinner and by half past seven she and Josephine are sound asleep in the nursery. She always sleeps until half-past seven in the morning, sometimes until eight, [occasionally] until nine. It has made her so much more equitable. The nervous strain of being made to go to sleep when she didn't want to, used to offset the value of the nap & then she wasn't sleepy when she should ↑have↓ been, at night. Incidentally you can't imagine what it means to Manuel and me to have our evenings together! To be sure it can't last long. Number two will put an end to that but [page 3] we are making hay while the sun shines and working on a dandy story.

We see in this month's Atlantic that our "Caught" is announced for the November issue. We think it quite fun that our second baby and second story should make their appearance so simultaneously.

However, the baby may arrive first, for Dr. Owensby is not at all pleased with my state. Since Saturday he has allowed me nothing but milk and water -- not even so much as a nibble of bread and he says quite solemnly that if this albuminous condition continues into next week he will have to induce labor. Now, Auntie, you are not to worry. I promised to keep you informed, but really, [page 4] Dr. Owensby is the sort of doctor who knows just what to do and has the skill and initiative to do it. I feel perfectly safe in his kind and thoroughly competent hands. I am sure that we should not even lose the baby, for, of course, Dr Owensby, Manuel and I would go to Kansas City to the best hospital, equipped with incubators etc and where the Dr. could have the best and most competent assistance. And you cannot imagine what a lively ↑and vigorous↓ little creature it is in its present habitat.

And, moreover, there is every possibility that with this strict diet and absolute rest (flat on my -- back -- except for meals when I join the family at the table so things run smoothly), an hours quiet ride in [page 5] the car for fresh air, and the one daily exertion of giving Alice her bath -- this difficulty may subside. It seems to me that my feet and ankles are not nearly so swollen today, though I don't know how the [specimen] will test I send on every day. Manuel is going to drive down to Pittsburg this afternoon.

It is my own fault in a way. When I reached home I found "confusion worse confounded!" Everything in a mess. Florence had simply cooked the meals and let everything else [rip]. The house was dirty, the kitchen disorganized, the dairy cellar a disgrace, the chicken-house full of mites, an extra man was installing the milking machine, the day after I arrived, Frank O'Hare came and settled down as a house guest, the next [page 6] day Manuel ran over Gemma (our wonderful hound) and, after the first two dressings by the vet, I attended to her mangled leg every day -- because I was willing to take more time and so not hurt her so much -- but it was a real nervous strain. School began which meant that three children must be [gotten] off by half-past eight, [that?] the full care and amusement of a A [illegible] on me and that if Florence & I were to have lunch ready for said three children & Manuel so no one was ↑should be↓ late to school and if our house was to be kept in order I had to pitch in and help every morning with the dishes for our family of ten, literally help with the meals and the house work. I guess I was up & down the stairs twenty times a day. I would trot [page 7] out to the sand-pile, play a few minutes with Alice -- maybe peel the potatoes with her -- trot in again, up-stairs, down to the dairy cellar etc. We cleaned house and did it thoroughly -- with a man to do the heaviest work, of course. We put up quarts of fruit which meant that I had to stand over the stove a lot.

I found Florence had been [serving] twelve meals a day. From Manuel to Elwin, each boy had eaten when it pleased him, & it had never pleased ↑any two of↓ them to eat at the same time. I found the boys really liked to eat in the kitchen better. So I said "all right. But when you are called to your meals you must come. If you don't there will be no hard feelings, but Florence will put the things in the warming oven and you will have to set them out yourself." A [page 8] couple of times the younger boys went haughtily without a bite rather than do this, but we paid no attention to them and now they come hustling.

I raised Florence's wages from five to eight dollars a week, but she seems to have [illegible] lost her old interest. More and more of the work seemed [to?] come onto my shoulders. And [I?] didn't want Manuel to feel the "wheels go round." Whenever he would get home everything would be smooth and quiet & I was neat & fresh. But I just about sweat blood to have it so.

Incidentally, Mr. O'Hare, while quite a dear was quite a burden. He helped me clean the chicken house & then got interested in [remodeling] it. He was shattered when he came -- a [page 9] nervous wreck. Couldn't eat and couldn't sleep. But he soon began, after his work at [carpentry?] to "sleep like a top." Usually he would sleep until ten or so the next morning when Florence or I would stop and get him his breakfast. He went around in Jack's old clothes and smoked an old pipe. When he left he said he felt like a new man & he looked it. But you know what it is to have anyone in that condition of nerves for two weeks. Perfect outrage that his wife should be kept in prison. It is bad enough when a man like Debs is treated as he is, but when a mother & a wife -- the head of a household is taken away from them for upholding the [principles] for which this country was [page 10]

[missing page(s)] den with me a lot, since I am taking it easy. She is the most inventive little soul. At present she is absorbed with a deck of playing cards. The kings and queens & "their children" she makes houses for them out of dominoes! And then suddenly turns the cards themselves into [a?] long "too-too train" on the [floor] -- then makes them into a [illegible] and pretends the dominoes are people. She has achieved some very Chinese effects with the Chinese dogs and dominoes. She makes beds and chairs out of the dominoes and "stairs" and "too-too" trains on which the dogs are very effective.

Her little inhibitions have quite disappeared. Her napkin is tucked in now entirely as a matter of course, and she goes to Sunday school as regularly as can [page 11] be and with much enthusiasm. Two Sundays ago she was in an "exercise" (it being rally day). She and Mel Jenkins led the procession onto the platform and behaved with much poise, Alice singing with gusto and her little voice ringing out above the others. When she saw us, her face broke into smiles, she arose and waved to us and told Mel quite audibly that there were "Daddy & Muddie." She [quite?] won the audience by her naturalness.

She is so sweet-tempered since she is with me, chiefly ↑and left chiefly to her own devices & has [illegible] with the soul [rocking] naps.↓ And you should see how she obeys her father -- yet he is always gentle with her. But like Joey she stands in wholesome awe of him. Joey, I must tell you is making good in the fourth grade (she skipped the third). [page 12]

This is a long letter and I am afraid a stupid one. I have never been subject to headaches but along with this difficulty has come an ↑a constant and↓ astounding severe one -- though it is much better today. Yesterday I simply couldn't have written at all.

Please, Auntie, never tell Mary Fry or ↑even↓ Miss Landsberg or Aunt Laura or anyone about this. If I have to go to Kansas City, I don't want any of them ↑ever↓ to know it. They need never know the baby didn't come right here just as expected. Anybody here I shall simply tell, I went up there because we had such a large household it made it simpler. No one here knows exactly when the baby is expected so they will [page 13] think it quite natural.

I make it a point to dress carefully in the morning and look well and alert and never lie down downstairs, so no one in the household knows I am indisposed. I just told Florence I was going on a lighter diet. I thought it would be better. And that I had extra [writing] to do and so would get [illegible] extra help. And I shut myself in here in the den to lie down.

We all have our queer little quirks and I can't bear to be thought ill. I want everyone to think I have the easiest kind of a time carrying and having a baby. You ↑and little Ruthie Jones↓ are the only persons in the world besides Manuel I should think of confiding in. Mary has written in such detail about Genevieve's difficulty. And I [page 14] am no especial friend of Genevieve's. I should die of mortification if any one knew about me as I know about her. There seems to be no sense of personal dignity, no reticence in the average woman when it comes to her maternity. My relations with the baby, the secrets and mysteries of his or her arrival are to me as sacred and [as] much a matter for the deepest reserve as the secrets and mysteries of my most sacred and intimate moments with Manuel. One's doctor and nurse -- are quite different. I can be completely simple and frank with them. Because they are needed. But it is another thing to let the whole world into one's soul's holy of holies. And usually if one lets one friend in one might as well understand that eventually it will be the whole world [page 15] and be done with it. But I trust you, Auntie. And I feel it is quite your right to know. You seem almost like a mother to me. And if anything should go wrong -- which I honestly don't in the least anticipate -- be sure to have Alice with you at least a month out of each year. Manuel can always afford to send her to you and to send a good competent maid with her so you wouldn't be bothered with too much detail and if her clothes shouldn't be exactly right, remember, you promised me, to see that the right ones were purchased immediately. Simply get them and send the bill to Manuel. And if she should be showing a tendency to be crude and provincial from being too much with hired help, select the right school and insist that she be sent there. Manuel would always listen to your advice. I believe that a boy or girl never really acquires [page 16] social poise, really good manners unless the solid basis for them has been established before fifteen. Alice will always have many problems. She will never be especially "easy" to handle. She has too decided a personality. But she can make a charming and splendid woman. And Manuel worships her so much that fundamentally he can never go wrong with her. But he will never understand the thousand and one things necessary to the successful training of a little girl.

I seem quite wound up, don't I. But this is really the end. Heaps of love to you, darling from

Marcet

Tuesday, Oct 7th

P.S. I decided that as Manuel was going down to Pittsburg, I would wait until he got back before mailing this letter -- and I am so glad I did, because the specimen [page 17] showed a marked improvement. The doctor told Manuel he had made up his mind that if it didn't we wouldn't wait another day but would go to K.C. tomorrow. He thinks it quite possible ↑now↓ that if ↑[illegible]↓ I continue to rest and keep a strict diet -- he said I might ↑add↓ have milk toast now and malted milk -- this albumin may ↑entirely↓ disappear. He sent Manuel home in fine spirits The Manuel said I had been absolutely conscientious in following orders and he said he could see that. He said he could see the doctor was entire immensely relieved. And believe me I have had my lesson and shall take no more chances. It was just a case of overwork.

I'll [illegible] drop you a line the end of this week, and tell you exactly how I am.

M.

Wednesday. [page 18]

Dearest Auntie:

That wonderful little package which you assembled at Field's has been a veritable treasure trove. The little blue doll shoes and the little goggles, I made into separate packages and placed with the other birthday gifts at Josephine's plate. Later, after the "Mary doll" had arrived, I let Alice discover the little red slippers and she went into [ecstasies] over the heels. She spent one whole afternoon "walking Mary." The little purse she keeps in her own "wawer" (drawer) and allows no one but herself to take it out and put it in. In it she keeps three white balls (really buttons) which, now that Josephine is in school, she plays with by the hour. Sometimes, they are different people, again they are different animals. They seem very real to her and the purse is always their "house" or "barn." About a week ago when she came home [page 19] from a little ride down-town, I let her discover the little dog. She simply went wild over it, shouting "Muddie! Muddie! Ching and Wang have a little baby. A little, teeny, tiny dog." Never in all her life has she been so excited over any gift. Her eyes sparkled, she danced around with it and every night since, all three dogs have slept with her. Manuel named the newcomer "Lang" but Alice never calls it anything but "Ching-and-Wang's dog." She carries it everywhere and I am always afraid she will lose it, but she never forgets to look out for it.

You know, Auntie, I have learned many things, big and little from you, but for none of these lessons am I more grateful than for the advice you gave me in regard to Alice's sleeping. Naps are now an ordeal of the past. At half past five, when I get home from the bank, I bathe her and put her into her pajamas in which somewhat airy attire, but [page 20] [missing pages(s)?] it seemed to me if I got an extra woman to help -- it would be just that much more confusion. I'd rather do the work than adjust to another personality. It isn't Manuel's fault, at all, because, as I said, whenever he reached home, everything was sweet & calm; he was at the Appeal all day and never saw the work, and, being a man, had no idea of what the ↑amount of↓ work ↑actually↓ was.

Incidentally, our windmill got out of fix & we had quite a water problem, and Florence & I had to carry water from the well for about a week.

Well, now Frank has gone, Gemma's leg is nearly well and Jack attends to it, everything is clean as a whistle, a good orderly routine is established, the fruit [season?] is over and I have secured a colored woman to come from nine to one ↑on↓ [illegible] [page 21]

[page(s) missing]

P.S.

I decided that I better wait for Manuel's report before mailing this letter and I am glad I did, because the specimen showed a marked improvement. Dr. Owensby told Manuel that if this one hadn't, he had made up his mind that he must not delay another day but go up to Kansas City this morning. He thinks it quite possible now that if I continue to rest and keep a strict diet -- he sent permission to add milk toast and malted milk -- this albumin may entirely disappear. Manuel came home in fine spirits. He said the doctor seemed almost as relieved as he himself felt. And believe me, I have had my lesson and shall take no more chances. It was just a case of overwork.

I'll drop you a line the end of this week, and tell you exactly how I am.

Marcet [page 22]

P.S.

I decided that I better wait for Manuel's report before mailing this letter and I am glad I did, because the specimen showed a marked improvement. Dr. Owensby told Manuel that if this one hadn't, he had made up his mind that we must not delay another day but go up to Kand City this morning. He thinks it quite possible now that if I continue to rest and keep a strict diet -- he sent permission to add milk toast and malted milk -- this albumin may entirely disappear. Manuel came home in fine spirits. He said the doctor seemed almost as relieved as he himself felt. And, believe me, I have had my lesson and shall take no more chances. It was just a case of overwork.

I'll drop you a line the end of this week, and tell you exactly how I am.

Marcet

Thursday morning