A Fine Start Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Kansas 1856

  December 26, 1856

  December 27, 1856

  December 29, 1856

  December 31, 1856

  January 1, 1857

  January 6, 1857

  January 8, 1857

  January 27, 1857

  January 28, 1857

  January 29, 1857

  January 30, 1857

  January 31, 1857

  February 2, 1857

  February 5, 1857

  February 7, 1857

  February 9, 1857

  February 11, 1857

  February 12, 1857

  February 16, 1857

  February 18, 1857

  February 23, 1857

  February 24, 1857

  February 25, 1857

  February 28, 1857

  March 1, 1857

  March 2, 1857

  March 3, 1857

  March 5, 1857

  March 6, 1857

  March 9, 1857

  March 20, 1857

  March 23, 1857

  March 25, 1857

  March 26, 1857

  March 27, 1857

  March 28, 1857

  March 29, 1857

  March 30, 1857

  March 31, 1857

  April 1, 1857

  April 2, 1857

  April 3, 1857

  April 6, 1857

  April 7, 1857

  April 8, 1857

  April 9, 1857

  April 10, 1857

  April 11, 1857

  April 13, 1857

  April 14, 1857

  April 15, 1857

  April 16, 1857

  April 17, 1857

  April 18, 1857

  April 19, 1857

  April 20, 1857

  April 21, 1857

  April 22, 1857

  April 30, 1857

  May 4, 1857

  May 5, 1857

  May 7, 1857

  May 11, 1857

  May 12, 1857

  May 13, 1857

  May 14, 1857

  May 15, 1857

  Life in America in 1856

  Historical Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other books in the My America series

  Copyright

  December 26, 1856

  A new diary from Mother! It is my favorite Christmas gift. I am lucky to have it, as paper is scarce here in Kansas Territory — otherwise known as K.T.

  Paper must be scarce in St. Louis, too. My friend Julia sent me a cross-written letter. First she wrote a page. Then she turned the page sideways and wrote across her writing.

  Julia wrote that when she passes our old house in St. Louis, she misses me. It is nice to be missed. She wrote of tea parties in her parlor. And of evenings singing around the piano. Last summer her letter would have made me homesick for St. Louis. But now K.T. seems more like home.

  I must write back to Julia. I will cross-write, too. For I have so much to tell! I will tell how our friend Dr. Baer watched over Pres and me on a steamboat from St. Louis to K.T. And how Mother, Father, and Grace came to K.T., too. How we live in a small cabin with my Aunt Margaret and my three cousins. How my father and my uncle fought in a war to make K.T. a free state that does not allow slavery. How my uncle was captured by pro-slavery soldiers. How he is still in prison! How my father was shot in the shoulder. And how he is mending now. How I have learned to knit. And how, now that the war is over, I hope to go to school.

  Aunt Margaret said we must have a happy Christmas even though Uncle Aubert could not be home. And we did. All of us children found penny candy in our stockings. It was great fun to see everyone open the gifts I made for them. Pin cushions for Aunt Margaret and Mother. Knitted wool mufflers for Father and Uncle Aubert. I knit one for my cousin George, too. He turned thirteen last week. So I made him the same gift as the grown men. I stitched small U.S. flags for my brother, Pres, and for my cousins, Charlie and John. I made a corn-cob doll for my sister. Grace named her Tess. I even made a yarn cat toy for Mouser.

  Pres made no presents for anyone. He is only seven. So no one expected much. But he wrote a poem for Uncle Aubert. After Christmas dinner, he read it aloud to us. It was short and went like this:

  “When you get home from prison, Uncle, dear,

  We all will be so glad.

  I will let you hold my snake,

  The only one I ever had.”

  As Pres read, Aunt Margaret put her face in her hands. I thought she was sobbing. Then I saw that she was trying so very hard not to laugh.

  December 27, 1856

  So cold! Too cold to leave the cabin except to do the chores. Too cold for my friend Lily to ride Honey over to visit me. I miss Lily. I wish I could show her the flannel night-dress that Aunt Margaret made me for Christmas. It has three shell-shaped buttons. If only I had a pony, I would brave the cold and visit Lily.

  Later

  I asked Mother if school was going to start soon. And she told me that no place has been found yet in Lawrence for a new school. Don’t people here know how important a school is?

  December 29, 1856

  The cold and wind let up today. Aunt Margaret drove the wagon to Lecompton to visit Uncle Aubert in prison. She took him food for a late Christmas dinner. And she took him his gifts.

  I spent the day making candles with George. We built a fire in the yard and stood a great three-legged kettle over it. I put in hard fat called “tallow.” It came from a neighbor’s hogs. While the tallow melted over the fire, Grace helped me tie candlewicks to a stick. We set the stick over a tray of candle molds so that a wick went down to the bottom of each one. When the fat was melted, George ladled hot tallow into the candle molds. We left them to cool. Once they cooled, we lifted them out by their wicks. Now we have candles to light the long winter nights.

  Making candles reminded me of making bullets. I have made both now. I much prefer making candles.

  I still have the bullet that Dr. Baer took out of Father’s shoulder. Sometimes I take it out of my trunk to look at it. Such a little thing. But it nearly killed Father. He still cannot lift his left arm. I am worried about him.

  Later

  Aunt Margaret is back. She said Uncle Aubert was happy to have the warm muffler I knit for him. She said Pres’s poem cheered Uncle Aubert and the other prisoners. Pres looked proud to hear it.

  December 31, 1856

  I bundled up to go to the barn to milk Mollie. The cold was so fierce it made my teeth ache. At least milking does not take long. Poor George. He has been out hunting all day in this awful cold.

  Father is restless inside the cabin. I think he feels bad for not helping George bring in meat to feed us. Sometimes I see him trying to lift his injured arm. He makes a face, as though it hurts him terribly.

  Later

  What a fine surprise! In spite of the bitter cold, Dr. Baer picked up Miss Peach and Hannah Peach and drove them to our cabin. Dr. Baer brought an apple cake that he baked himself. It was delicious.

  How good to see Hannah Peach! Because of our time together on the steamboat, I feel that she is my friend. I forget that she is sixteen and I am only nine.

  When Hannah first came here from the vegetarian community, she was pale and thin. But now she is her pretty self again. She said the just-built cabin she shares with her aunt is warm and snug. She has lined the walls with blue paper. She said Lily’s big brother, Theo, comes to split wood and do outside chores nearly every day. As she told me this, her face got pinker and pinker. Can Hannah Peach be falling in love with Theo? Wait until I tell Lily!

  After we ate, Aunt Margaret got out her tambourine. Dr.
Baer, Miss Peach, and Hannah began singing “Call to Kansas.” I remembered how I first heard it sung on the steamboat, The Kansas Hopeful. I joined in singing:

  “We’ll sing upon the Kansas plains

  The song of liberty.”

  Aunt Margaret says she has high hopes for 1857.

  January 1, 1857

  Before he left last night, Dr. Baer looked at Father’s shoulder. He told Father to try to move his arm each day. Oh, I hope that will help him!

  January 6, 1857

  Pres is upset. The black snake he calls Jake is missing. Father says Jake is curled up sleeping through the winter. He says come spring, Jake will be back.

  January 8, 1857

  The cold is terrible. The wind blows snow through cracks in the cabin walls. This morning Grace and I woke up dusted in snow. My head hurts. My throat, too. First I am hot. Then shivering cold. I would like to curl up and sleep until spring like Jake the snake.

  January 27, 1857

  Now I know what it is like to have the ague. Otherwise known as the K.T. shakes. I have not been able to sit up for three weeks. Or write a single word in my diary. Mother says I was so hot and shook so badly I scared her near to death. I do not remember any of it.

  Pres read me a poem he wrote for me. It went like this:

  “Tomorrow is my birthday, Meg,

  I am turning eight.

  But if you still have the K.T. shakes,

  You can give me a present late.”

  Pres turned eight last Tuesday. I slept right through his birthday.

  January 28, 1857

  Mother made a seat for me by the window. Mouser is curled up in my lap as I write. I can see Father trying to split wood with his good arm. Often, the log falls off the chopping block. Father keeps his left arm tight to his side. I wonder, can he move it at all?

  January 29, 1857

  Mother and Aunt Margaret helped me stand today. My legs wobbled badly. It wore me out.

  Later

  The wind is howling like a pack of wolves. We shiver even inside the cabin. Tonight, Father gathered us around the fire. He read aloud from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He changed his voice for each character and made us all laugh. In this way, Father and Mr. Shakespeare warmed us on this cold winter’s night.

  January 30, 1857

  Mr. Young, the traveling photographer, came to visit and stayed for supper. Afterward, we sat around the fire. I was knitting. Mr. Young began telling a story. It had something to do with women going to saloons and breaking all the whiskey bottles. I was most eager to hear this story. But Mother shooed us up to bed, so I never found out why those women smashed the whiskey bottles.

  January 31, 1857

  Snowed all day. So quiet. Not long ago I went to sleep to the sounds of Border Ruffians firing off their guns. Now I feel safe. If only Uncle Aubert were home. If only I could go to school. Then K.T. would be fine.

  February 2, 1857

  It warmed up some and Lily rode over to visit me! I told her how Hannah Peach’s face turned pink when she talked about Theo coming to help her and her aunt with chores.

  Lily’s eyes grew wide. She said, “So that is where he has been!”

  She told me that Theo gets up extra early these days. He does his chores. Then he rides off. Everyone thinks he is out hunting. Lily says she will not tell anyone what I told her.

  Then Lily told me wonderful news! The basement of the Lawrence Unitarian Church is being turned into a school. Lily’s big brothers, Theo, Will, and Sam, are helping to build it. Lily says Judge Josiah Quincy of Boston sent money for the school. It will be called Quincy High School.

  When she said that, I nearly burst into tears.

  “You are eleven,” I said. “You can go to high school. But I am only nine! I cannot go!”

  But Lily says the school is for anyone from nine to twenty. So I can go!

  Lily’s mother’s baby will come soon. She asked if I have been praying for a baby girl. I said I had. Lily asked me to pray all I can. Her six brothers are praying for another boy. We are badly outnumbered in our prayers.

  Later

  I felt a lump in my bedding. I reached under my quilt and discovered my Christmas candy! I hid it there from Pres. Then I forgot about it. I have ten pieces left.

  February 5, 1857

  Mother gave me some white wool. She showed me how to make baby booties by knitting two small squares and stitching the edges together. I am knitting little booties for Lily’s baby sister.

  Tonight, Father tried to help George clean his rifle. But he could use only one hand, and he dropped the gun. Father picked it up and handed it to George. Then he walked out of the cabin without saying a word.

  Later

  I lie in bed, awake. I can hear Mother and Father talking downstairs. I think they are talking about Father’s arm.

  February 7, 1857

  Mother was rolling dough this morning. I asked her about Father’s arm. She kept rolling. She said many are worse off. That was all she would say.

  February 9, 1857

  I helped Father hitch Bay to the wagon. He rode out to our claim. He says we have to build a cabin on it soon or we will lose it. That is the law. If you stake a claim, you must build a cabin on the land. It must measure at least twelve feet by fourteen feet.

  I watched Father drive off. How can he build a cabin with one arm? Uncle Aubert could help. But he is in prison. What if we lose our claim? We will have no place to live. Aunt Margaret says she likes her cabin “full to bursting.” But we cannot live here forever.

  Later

  The sky is dark. Snow is coming down fast. Father is not back yet. I am so worried. Hurry, Father!

  Later

  It grew so dark we lit candles mid-afternoon. Oh, how glad I was when Father burst through the cabin door. He was soaking wet from the snow. But he is home and safe. Under his good arm he carried a bundle wrapped in a quilt.

  Father is standing by the fire now. I asked him about the claim. I asked what was inside the quilt. But Mother shooed me away. She said Father must warm up before he answers any questions.

  Later

  A claim jumper has been on our land! Father said the claim jumper put up a cabin. A twelve by fourteen cabin.

  “So fast?” said Pres.

  Father nodded. Someone was trying to take away our land! But why was Father smiling?

  Father said, “Would you like to see the cabin?”

  “Now?” I said. “In the snowstorm?”

  “Yes,” said Father. “Now.”

  He asked Pres to carry over the bundle. Pres set it on the floor. Father unwrapped the quilt. And there stood a tiny cabin.

  “It is twelve by fourteen,” said Father. “Twelve by fourteen inches.”

  The cabin was made of sticks, not logs. It had a door. And two windows. It was a perfect little cabin!

  Father told us that this is a trick. A claim jumper sets a little cabin down on a claim. Then he and a witness go to the Land Office. The claim jumper says the land should be his, for he has put up a twelve by fourteen cabin. And the witness can swear that this is the truth.

  Grace said the little cabin would make a fine home for Tess, her corn-cob doll. Father said he thought so, too.

  February 11, 1857

  Father rode to Dr. Baer’s claim today. I asked to go with him. But he said no. He said it firmly. I dared not ask a second time.

  Bedtime

  Father came home late. Pres, Grace, and I ran to greet him. But he barely said a word to us. His thoughts seemed far away.

  Now Mother and Father are talking downstairs. I cannot hear what they are saying. But they sound serious. I only hope Father will not go away again.

  February 12, 1857

  At dinner, George said he met Sam Vanbeek in the woods, hunting. Sam said that the new baby is here.

  My heart began beating with excitement.

  “Is it a baby girl?” I asked.

  “No,” said George. “A boy, Stewa
rt.”

  A boy? After all those prayers!

  Poor Lily. Seven brothers.

  February 16, 1857

  I cut my finger chopping carrots today. I could not sit still to stitch. Every time I moved, I bumped into someone. Tonight, when Father read from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, all the characters got mixed up inside my head. I thought maybe I was coming down with the K.T. shakes again. But Mother says it is only cabin fever. She says she has a touch of it herself from being too long in a small cabin.

  February 18, 1857

  A wonderful day!

  Mother and Father took Grace, Pres, and me on an outing. We bundled up against the cold. I put on all my petticoats and my silk dress. Then my prairie dress. And my coat on top of both. Aunt Margaret wrapped me in her double shawl. In the wagon, we snuggled under buffalo robes. Only my nose was cold. As we went, Bay’s breath made clouds in the frosty air.

  Father says a dose of town is a known cure for cabin fever, so we drove first to Lawrence. I thought everyone might be inside in such freezing weather. But the streets were filled with people. Father said many of them are emigrants.