Footnotes: Novel Inspirations from History

Valentine's Day

2012-02-12T15:11:00.001-06:00

I'm weird, but it's my children's fault. Valentine's Day is about birthdays for me, because my two daughters greeted the world on February 14 and February 15, respectively. Of course the nice thing about that is that the men in their lives can "kill two birds with one stone"--and they shouldn't have a bit of trouble remembering their wife's/girl friend's birthday!

Knowing what you folks already know about me, you won't be surprised that I'm sharing a bit of the women's history behind Valentine's day today. It resonates with me because of some parallels between Esther Howland's life and my own when it comes to entrepreneurship.

Esther Howland is credited by many with popularizing Valentine's Day in America. Educated at Mount Holyoke Seminary in Massachusetts (class of 1847), Rowland was a "woman with high color and glossy chestnut hair," who "drove high-stepping horses and looked like an aristocrat." She's about fifty in this photo--the only one I could find.

Apparently Esther had both an artistic eye and an entrepreneurial spirit, for when she received an English Valentine (her family operated a large book and stationery store) from one of her father's business associates, she thought she could do better. And so she did. She ordered supplies and made a dozen samples for her brother to take along in his sample book on his next sales trip. Her goal was $200 in orders. Imagine Esther's surprise (and, perhaps, sense of panic), when her brother returned with $5000 in advance sales.

This is where I smiled in reading her story. Back in the 1990s, I decorated a small plush bear and wrote a poem of comfort for a friend. A few bears went into the local Christian bookstore at the owner's request. From there, "Burden Bear" went into a catalog, but only after I convinced the person in charge that yes, I could fill an order for one hundred bears within ten days. Imagine our panic when suddenly the catalog had orders for two thousand bears. And then, a few days later ... two thousand more. Believe me, I can empathize with Esther Howland's feelings when her brother gave her the news of her great success. Success can kill a person!

With the help of some home-schooling Moms who became independent contractors for my bear business, we filled those orders and many more over the next few years--until Thomas Nelson Publishers offered me a book contract. I suppose I was following in the footsteps of women like Esther Howland, who rose to the occasion and created a production assembly line at home--with the help of several female friends. Soon, her cottage industry took over the third floor of the Howland home. Eventually the New England Valentine Company rented a building and even published a small book called The New England Valentine Co.'s Verse Book for 1879.

Esther Howland didn't invent the American valentine. She wasn't the first to make them, but she did popularize her own much-admired style. And she stands out to me personally in an era when women weren't expected to found businesses, and when many questioned their mental abilities when it came to such things. In 1881, Howland sold her business to George Whitney, which becames the largest valentine factory in the world.

See more exquisite examples of Victorian valentines by googling Esther Howland Valentine images.

Here's the little verse I wrote back in 1995 to accompany one of our Valentine's Day gifts.

Love is patient, love is kind,
When somehow wronged, love doesn't mind.
Love bears all things (I like that part)
And patience sets true love apart.
While only God loves perfectly,
His love has flowed through you to me;
I'm grateful for this chance to say
I LOVE YOU--Have a Happy day!

Happy Valentine's Day

from Stephanie

One Simple Act to Save Lives

2012-01-27T07:00:00.001-06:00

Jonathan Rhys Meyer
as Henry VIII
in "The Tudors"

Jane Seymour

I was recently watching the mini-series, “The Tudors”, and found out that both Henry VIII’s mother (Elizabeth of York) and his third wife, Jane Seymour, died of “childbed fever”, Jane, after giving birth to Henry’s only son, Edward VI. Both women came out of the delivery just fine, but died a short time later. How could a simple fever cause their deaths?

Because it wasn’t a simple fever. Childbed fever was a bacterial infection caused by one thing: doctors not washing their hands.

Doctors, who were usually gentlemen, thought their title and status was enough. “Doctors are gentlemen," Charles Meigs of Philadelphia’s Jefferson Medical College said, arguing against hand-washing, stating that “gentlemen's hands are clean.” But stats and facts obviously said different. In fact, there were far fewer deaths of mothers who had children born at home than those cared for by doctors in hospitals, proving that the doctors habits of not washing their hands between patients created periodic epidemics of childbed fever deaths.

Hospital 1840

In the late 1700’s and early 1800’s more than one doctor put two and two together and tried to make changes in medical procedures. But to no avail—and often to their own professional downfall. Doctors held themselves above other professions and didn't want to hear that they were at fault, or culpable in anyone’s deaths—even though washing hands reduced childbed fever deaths by 90%. Pride goest before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. . . unfortunately, new mothers’ destruction.

Mary Wollenstonecraft

There have been other famous women who died of this streptococcus-virus, the same bacteria that causes strep throat (among other ailments.) Eighteenth century feminist, Mary Wollenstonecraft, who wrote A Vindication of the Rights of Woman and who was the mother of the author of Frankenstein, Mary Shelley died of the fever, as did Isabella Beeton—who wrote the well-known Victorian home guide: Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management. Women's rights and household management... if only these logical-thinking women could have helped the medical profession before it killed them.

Katherine Parr

Katherine Parr, Henry VIII’s sixth and last wife, died of the fever after Henry was dead, and she had married her fourth husband, Thomas Seymour—who just happened to be the brother of Jane Seymour, the king’s third wife (who, as I said) also died of childbed fever. Interesting interweavings that show the pervasiveness of this type of death.

A famous person to be born of a mother who contracted the fever--and lived--was the French philosopher, Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Now, sanitary measures have all but eradicated childbed fever, or if contracted, it can be treated with antibiotics. Just another reason to be thankful we live in modern times with soap dispensers at every sink, anti-bacterial sprays and gels, and Wet Wipes.//Nancy

High School in 1889

2012-01-20T02:13:00.003-06:00

I'm reading a history of my home town as part of the research for next year's book, The Shadow of a Name. As I read, I've been creating a timeline of what happened when ... because I don't want to have my main character riding a horse-drawn trolley that didn't exist, or living in a part of the county that was populated only by wolves at the time. Just this evening, I've been adding the growth of the school system to my timeline, and I read something amazing:

“Thehigh school curriculum comprises four parallel courses of three years each, theEnglish, the Latin, the German, and the Classical. These courses includeinstruction in algebra, book-keeping, geometry, botany, human physiology,physical geography, chemistry, physics, geology, English composition, wordanalysis, technical grammar, orthoepy, elocution, history and development ofEnglish literature, rhetoric, political economy, civil government, elements ofcommercial law, general history, three years each in Latin, Greek, and German.It will be seen that the public schools furnish a good practical education,well rounded out. 9 instructors.

Anotable feature of the high school is a series of lectures on subjects directlyor indirectly connected with the course of study, given by persons prominent ineducational circles, and occurring once or twice per week throughout the year.Among the lecturers have been the Governor of Nebraska, and other Stateofficers, the Chancellor and other members of the faculty of the StateUniversity, lawyers, ministers and physicians of Lincoln, and the instructorsof the high school.”

Does that course of study amaze anyone else? I remember my mother, who was born in 1913, saying that elocution was her favorite subject ... in 8th grade. I don't know any 8th graders who would even know what that is. I had to look it up. It's "the study and practice of oral delivery, including the control of both voice and gesture."

And ... orthoepy? a. The study of the pronunciation of words. b. The study of the relationship between the pronunciation of words and their orthography.

Well, now I have to look up orthography. This is getting embarrassing: the art of writing words with the proper letters, according to accepted usage; correct spelling.

Lincoln's 1889 graduating class was about three times the size of the one pictured at the left. Still, I imagine our graduates dressed much the same. I love the flowers and the general "feel" of the photo, which says to me that they were proud of what they'd accomplished and they were making the day memorable.

I wonder how many of those flowers ended up pressed and treasured for years to come. Did any of those young women go on to higher education? What opportunities lay before them? Whatever came their way, I wonder if they used their orthography, orthoepy, and elocution?

As to the high school portrayed above, that is the Lincoln, Nebraska high school, built in 1873. Historian James McKee says that "the trees, it was quickly pointed out, were not for shade or decoration. In the parents' haste to locate the school, they had chosen a site so far to the east of the city that a green belt was needed to protect the building from prairie fires ... Well into the next decade many parents would not allow their children to walk to school in winter for fear that they might be attacked by wild animals."

Honestly, the more I learn about "the good old days," the happier I am that all I do is write about them.

--Stephanie

The Ultimate Sacrifice--Arland WIlliams

2012-01-13T08:27:00.000-06:00

Ice on the wings.

That’s all it took to fell a plane. Today is the 30th anniversary of the crash of Florida Flight 90. Those of you who are over 40 might remember the coverage of the crash on TV. The flight took off in icy conditions, and because of ice of the wings, it couldn’t gain altitude. It crashed into the 14th Street bridge in Washington D.C., breaking apart and sinking into the Potomac.

We watched as only six survivors clung to wreckage amid ice floes in the frigid water. Heroes were born that day. And one died… I’ll get to him later.

Survivors were saved by heroics from the shore, and one bystander, Lenny Skutnik, flung himself the icy water to pull a woman to safety.

And some were saved by a helicopter rescue. Don Usher, the pilot, hovered precariously over the handful of survivors, while his partner, paramedic Gene Windsor, dropped a life line to the victims in the water. Their bodies nearly frozen, their fingers stiff, they had trouble holding on.

On one occasion, Usher flew so low that one victim was pulled onto the skid of the helicopter. So low that Windsor—standing the on skid to reach her—had his shoes covered with water. Here’s a video.

All this happened while we watched on TV. Horrified. Praying. Spellbound.

And one thing we saw—that has still haunted me these thirty years—was seeing one man repeatedly hand the lifeline to others. Over and over he gave the line away rather than save himself.

And when the others were safe, and the pilot went back for him? He was gone.

His name was Arland D Williams. He died while offering his fellow passengers--strangers--the greatest sacrifice.

Of the 74 people who died in the plane (and four died on the bridge), all but one died of blunt force trauma.

Only one died of drowning. Arland Williams. Because of that fact, they were able to identify the brave man who gave his life so others might live.

They named the 14th Street bridge the Arland D. Williams Memorial Bridge in his honor.

And yet today, as I read accounts of the crash, few are mentioning him. That is a tragedy. And so I felt compelled to remind the world of his heroism.

Here is a story on Mr. Williams. He also has a Facebook page in his honor. There is an Arland D. Williams Elementary school in Mattoon, Illinois, and the town has a college scholarship fund in his honor. The Citidel, a military school in South Carolina, has an Arland D. Williams Society, "to recognize Citadel graduates who have distinguished themselves through community service, heroism and bravery." He also received many posthumous honors.

That makes me glad. And humbled. One ordinary man who stepped up, who gave up everything . . . I'm an ordinary woman. What would I have done in his situation? What would you do?

I have always been so moved by this event, and in Mr. Williams sacrifice, that I wrote a book inspired by the crash and the rescue: The Seat Beside Me. Although my characters are fictional (in deference to the survivors who are still living) I explored the humanity of the crash. For it all comes down to this: You’re sitting in a plane, chatting with your seatmate—who is quite an amazing person. But then the plane crashes. They die and you live. Why them? Why you? How can you live with the burden of being a survivor?

Let me tell you, writing the scenes with my characters in the water, writing the scenes from the hero’s point-of-view . . . it was one of the most excruciating and emotional things I’ve ever done. And because of that, it's the book of my heart. My heart broke a hundred times while writing it...

I wrote it for the heroes of Flight 90, but also for the heros of 9/11, the heroes before and since, the sung and the unsung. I wrote it for the men and women who unexpectedly rise to their greatest while helping others.

But above all, I wrote it for Arland. //Nancy

Welcoming 2012

2011-12-30T13:13:00.003-06:00

My bouquet of GRANDchildren.

Do you begin each New Year with a list of resolutions? It seems almost required ... right along with those "the best of" lists that abound regarding the year we've just come through. The more "mature" I become, the less inclined I am to make exhausting lists of things I intend to change in coming months. However, one resolution I know I'll keep regarding my personal life is the one that involves spending more time enjoying the little people pictured to the right.

When it comes to my writing life, I'm also going to spend more time learning about CRAFT this next year. Other than an English minor in college, a correspondence course in journalism, and a community college class in writing, I'm mostly self-taught when it comes to writing. So in 2012 I'm challenging myself to teach myself more ... a book a month on the nuts and bolts of my job. With the help of some writers I admire, I've compiled a list (given here in alphabetical order by author):

Plot and Structure by James Scott Bell

Characters Make Your Story by Maren Elwood

The Key by James Fry

Plot Vs. Character by Jeff Gerke

How to Write Best Selling Fiction by Dean Koontz

Writing the Breakout Novel by Donald Maas

Story by Robert McKee

Fiction is Folks by Robert Peck

Fiction Writing Demystified by Tom Sawyer

Save the Cat by Blake Snyder

Stein on Writing by Sol Stein

Techniques of the Selling Writer by Dwight Swain

The Writer's Journey by Christopher Vogler

The Moral Premise by Dr. Stanley Williams

If you're counting, that's FOURTEEN titles. We shall see.

In my educational life, this year in May I'll do the walk in the funny hat to receive my Masters' Degree in history. I'll post a photo of the funny hat, and even though I'll turn sixty before graduating, I'm honestly thinking of dancing down that aisle, because this is the fulfillment of a dream I've had since earning my B.A. in 1975. Perhaps there's a message in there ... never give up and you're never too old!

Lest I leave this blog without actually saying something history-related, let me share one of many fascinating things I'm gleaning from David McCullough's book The Greater Journey about Americans in Paris. First, I'm astonished by the number of "great Americans" who spent time studying in Paris. I'm not even half-way through the book, and already I've met Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Fenimore Cooper (did you know he WROTE The Prairie while in Paris?!), Samuel F.B. Morse (did you know he was a painter before inventing the telegraph?), Emma Willard (gotta learn more about her), Elizabeth Blackwell (first female physician in America), William Wells Brown (African-American abolitionist), George Catlin, Ioway Indians, P.T. Barnum, Charles Sumner, and Harriet Beecher Stowe. Goodness! My mind races with amazement and joy as I devour this book.

"Hatty" Stowe, "gazing upward within Notre-Dame, felt a 'sublimity' she found impossible to analyze or express." I relate to that. I've been there and felt that. At the Louvre, Stowe began to compare painters to her favorite writers. A fascinating thought. Rembrandt seemed to her to be like Hawthorne. Here's what she said:

"He [Rembrandt] chooses simple and everyday objects, and so arranges light and shadow as to give them a somber richness and a mysterious gloom. The House of Seven Gables is a succession of Rembrandt pictures done in words instead of oils. Now this pleases us because our life really is a haunted one. The simplest thing in it is a mystery, the invisible world always lies round us like a shadow ..."

I love being challenged to see familiar things in a new light, and McCullough has succeeded in making me do that on nearly every page of this wonderful book. Once again ... the man is my hero as a writer/historian.

For me personally, there is no better place to spend the week approaching a new year than Paris. Since I can't be there in reality this year, I'm grateful for McCullough's taking me there in my imagination ... and combining Paris with history puts two of my favorite subjects in tandem. Let the good times roll!

I wish you each one a blessed New Year. ---Stephanie Grace

Seizing the Moments

2011-12-21T13:33:00.004-06:00

Me and my cousins, 1955. That's me sucking my thumb.

At this special time of year I’ve been thinking back on a bit of personal history, and the issue of time passing too quickly. And what to do about it.

I’d like to say I have the answer to making time slow down, but alas, that bit of quantum physics or science fiction or Divinity escapes me. But I have figured out a way to minimize my regrets.

My concern about time-passing started a few years ago when I realized I didn’t remember my 30's. An entire decade was a blur. Why? Because the years were consumed with the logistics of being married, working, and raising three kids. My days were completely filled with have-to-dos and should-dos and love-to-dos. When I looked to the left then looked to the right, ten years had passed. Whoosh!

The prime years of my life a blur? That made me incredibly sad. But recognizing this made me stop a moment to think about the happy moments in my life that I did remember vividly. Chaotic Christmases with extended family, the abundance of cookies and laughter filling us up. The family vacations where I packed a Goody-Bag full of small surprises to be doled out to wiggly children when the miles seemed to go on forever. Or waiting backstage for my entrance in a community theatre production of “My Fair Lady”, looking up into the dark recesses of the ceiling where catwalks, lights, and scenery lay waiting, thinking about the joy I got from being on stage. These snippets of my life still make me smile and feel warm inside. But they were snippets that couldn’t be retrieved because life has gone on.

In hindsight I recognized how special these times were--but did I know it at the time? Did I stop and think, I need to appreciate this moment because it’s precious?

Not often enough. And the regret made me ache inside. Why didn’t I wallow in those moments? Why was I so busy with today and the next day, that I took those treasured times for granted?

How could I eliminate this regret in the future?

It was a wake-up call. I had to find a way to more fully appreciate the moments of life because now, at age 57, the years are rushing past way too quickly. Ten years from now I do not want to look back on this year and find it a blur.

And so I became determined to have no more regrets—at least not about this. I vowed to enjoy each moment and appreciate it for what it is. To pause just a wee bit and think, This is special. This is good. This is what life is all about. To really see and hear and touch and smell and taste life.

To pause. That’s the key. To pause and relish it all.

I'm not always successful in remembering “to pause”, but I'm getting better at it. For instance, we now have all three kids and their spouses in town and see them and the grandkids often. I do not take that for granted, but fully engage myself in now, and absorb the moments we have together. Like a sponge in water, I soak it all in.

This attempt to appreciate the moment has also made me more defensive of my time. Recently I've dropped two big, weekly obligations that I was involved in for years because I realized where I wanted to be was home. It was a been-there-done-that realization that has given me the gift of time. Free time. When we're younger we feel an obligation to DO. But that's fading for me. I'm content to HAVE DONE things, and move forward with fewer HAVE-TO-DO burdens.

To remind myself to appreciate the here and now, I created a plaque in my house that says, "Now is the most wonderful time of the year." It’s displayed every day, through every now, because the truly memorable moments of life aren’t always connected to the big celebrations, but to the small moments, the tick and the tock of two seconds that are perfect and splendid because we are simply alive.

And so dear readers, start giving yourself the gift of NOW. Now. Amid the busyness of life find peace and joy in one fine moment. And then, another. And another. For God is good, and life is a gift to be cherished.

And now is the most wonderful time of the year.

A Book Lover's Christmas Tree

2011-12-15T14:56:00.003-06:00

This isn't my tree, but I couldn't resist sharing it ... an editor I work for sent me the photo.

Hope the holiday is bringing you joy.

My own Christmas decorations await in the boxes I stored them in last year ... stay tuned! And perhaps I'll even have something to say about Christmas in the 1800s. Sorry I've been away.

The Resurgence of the Fan

2011-11-18T07:00:00.001-06:00

Nancy with parasol at Colosseum

We went to Europe this summer, and one of our stops was Italy. I adore Europe and have visited a dozen times, but they don't do air conditioning the way we Americans are used to air conditioning. I know we're spoiled. I admit it. And actually, much of the time we weren't inside, but outside. Walking around Rome or Venice or Florence in 103-degree heat made us melt like gelato on the pavement.

I don't do heat. My favorite temperature is 60--with clouds (I should live in Seattle.) Other than searching for a breeze, or hunting out shade, I discovered two things that saved me. A parasol and a fan. Fantastico!

Honestly, I cannot imagine walking around any American city with either, but in Europe I didn't feel foolish at all. And strolling through Rome's Forum, or waiting to ascend the Eiffel Tower, they helped me survive the heat.

Woman with Parasol by Renoir

It made me wonder why we've abandoned the parasol and fan. The parasol probably went by the wayside because we now embrace having a tan. But a hundred years ago, having porcelain skin revealed breeding. Only people who worked for a living had tanned skin. So I'll surrender the parasol--even though I don't do tans either.

But... the fan...

Lady with a Fan by Aviat

Being a woman of a certain age, who goes through her own personal heat waves, I've started using one of two pretty fans I bought in Florence and at Ford's Theatre in Washington D.C. Yes, I receive a few odd looks, but I don't mind. It's far more elegant than fanning my flash with a menu or page of coupons.

In my research, I learned there was a Language of the Fan, where women could say secret things to the men in their lives by the flip of their fan. Fanning with the right hand in front of your face meant "Follow me." Fanning with your left hand meant, "Don't flirt with that woman." Slowly fanning yourself meant, "Don't waste your time, I don't care about you." While quickly fanning yourself meant, "I love you so much."

Lady with a Fan by James Tissot

Yikes, would I be in big trouble! Because I tend to fan with both hands (as one hand gives out) and at different speeds depending on the outer--and my inner--thermometer. Any man who was trying to understand my fan-language would run in the other direction--with good cause. No wonder men complain that they can't understand women.

Which leads to a bigger question: did men really understand this special, intricate language? Not to disparage the other sex, but I've noticed that most men I know don't pay attention to what a woman is wearing, if their hair is worn up or down, or even if they wear glasses, much less notice whether the woman runs her fingers over the fan's ribs (meaning "I want to talk to you") or carries the fan closed with the left hand (meaning "I'm engaged.") Sorry, but it ain't going to happen.

Lady with a Fan by Mary Cassatt

Either men have changed drastically over the centuries, or the whole Language of the Fan is something women created and talked about amongst their friends, while the men never caught on. Or if a rare one did . . . I bet he was very popular.

Also, there's the secrecy thing... why did they feel the need to be secret? For instance, if you wanted to say goodbye to some man, why not go up to him and say goodbye, or even wave from across the room. But saying goodbye in fan-speak, by placing the fan behind your head with a finger extended . . . Goodness sakes.

Besides, if every lady in the room knew the language, there wasn't much secrecy in it. Imagine a room full of women all gesturing with their fans. It would be like an opera when everyone sings their own line at the same time. Or the sideline of a football game, when the coaches are all gesturing frantically to get their play in. Ha. Women with fans were certainly getting their play in!

There is one message I could use on occasion: passing the fan from hand to hand means, "I see that you are looking at another woman." But I've found that clearing the throat, or an elbow in the ribs works just as well.

For cooling purposes, and even as a fashion accessory, I'm all for the resurgence of the fan. But for everyone's sake, let the language die.//Nancy

Mourning Dress

2011-11-11T20:09:00.006-06:00

The August, 1891 Ladies Home Journal published this advice about mourning dress:

"Widow's, which is the deepest of all mourning, consists of a plain gown of Henrietta cloth or bombazine, with crape upon it or not ... the length of the veil differs, of course, according to one's height, but the real widow's veil should reach to the edge of the skirt, back and front,

and be finished by a hem a quarter of a yard wide. This is worn so that the whole figure is shrouded for three months; after that it is s thrown back, and at the end of another three months, a single veil, reaching to the waist, is worn. This may be worn for six months, and crape then be laid aside."

Since the veil in the photo on the right has been "thrown back," we can assume that this young widow's husband died over three months ago.

Prior to the Civil War, the widow's first year mourning attire consisted of black silk, with undersleeves and collar of black crepe, black crepe trimming, and black jet jewelry. The second mourning, after the first year, would have allowed white trim. As the 19th century wore on, customs required longer periods of mourning and "the rules" became more carefully defined. It was difficult for those who were less wealthy to keep all the rules. They could purchase ready-made mourning costumes from "mourning warehouses," and sometimes resorted to dyeing clothing they already owned black in order to follow the customs. Half mourning after 1860 allowed for women to wear soft mauve, violet, pansy, and lilac.

The ladies who read the 19th century article titled "Mourning and Funeral Usages" posted here:

http://www.victoriana.com/library/harpers/funeral.html

would have shunned me. After all, when my husband died in 2001, I wore red to his funeral. Red. Horrors! Well ... his long cancer battle was over ... he'd graduated to heaven ... and ... it seemed right at the time.

Last week Nancy showed us how the photography profession was affected by the mourning industry. When we realize that over half a million men lost their lives in the Civil War ... when we think that a man's wife, mother, and children all went into deep mourning, we can also imagine the demands put on the textile industry. Just think what it was like on the streets of every city and town in America. Just think of all that black silk.

The textile industry responded to mourning customs with more than silk and crepe. Cotton mills began to produce specific prints known today as "mourning prints." In her book Clues in the Calico, textile historian Barbara Brackman writes, "the 1902 Sears catalog offered mourning prints 'at 5 1/2 cents per yard. Very Best Quality of Mourning Prints. These prints are very swell, and are worn by ladies or misses, are neat and will wash without fading."

While I wore red ... as the months went on and I was still in mourning, I realized that, while the Victorians may have taken it to the point of excess, there is something to be said for a public display that says, "I've lost someone dear to me ... please be kind."

I hope ever single widow pictured here is rejoicing in heaven even as we feel sad for them more than a century later. http://www.flickr.com/photos/60861613@N00/sets/72157625329574429/?page=2

May you know the reality of God's promise to turn out mourning into dancing .....Stephanie

A Lasting Memory

2011-11-04T07:00:00.001-06:00

To cap off Halloween week, I'm going to share one of the most bizarre things I've ever encountered in my research: family portraits that include a dead relative. At first this didn't surprise me. In their sorrow, the families surely wanted an image of the lost loved one--case in point this poignant photo of a grieving couple and their dead child from the mid-1800's.

But what disturbed me was finding out that often the photos were taken as if the dead were still alive. They would paint eyes on the eyelids, and even add pink to their cheeks on the print.

But the most odd custom was propping the deceased up beside their living relatives. There was even a special stand created for this purpose.

During the Victorian era this type of photography was very popular. Actually, before photography, the wealthy often had portraits painted of their deceased relatives, often as they appeared alive, though there were sometimes a symbol of death in the portrait.

This child was probably painted after he died

The girl in the photo at left is deceased. Eyes have been painted on, there is an odd placement of the hands, and you can see the stand behind her feet.

Honestly, I understand that having images of their relatives might have given the families comfort, and I don't mind (as much) the photos of the deceased--looking deceased. But propping them up . . . it seems to reveal a desperation. But I can't judge them. Grief confronts everyone differently, and who knows the sad stories behind their often untimely deaths. Plus, since photos were expensive (though less expensive than having a portrait painted) rushing to get one last photo of a child, parent, or spouse is understandable.

There are many of these photos out there, but I'll let you explore the subject more at your own discretion. Here is a very good website that also offers a good explanation about the evolution of photography. Victorian Post Mortem Photos

May they all rest in peace . . ./Nancy

On Halloween and History

2011-10-27T13:55:00.006-05:00

My relationship with Halloween has evolved over time. As a child subject to an entire menu of scary dreams that tended to repeat themselves (I was known for waking up screaming), I wasn't much for thinking that being frightened had a thing to do with having fun. In fact, I distinctly remember the very last time I attempted to walk through what was called a "fun house." My poor brother had to reverse our way and find our way back OUT when I refused to take a nother step past that hand sticking up out of the grave. I knew it was pretend. I didn't care. I wanted OUT. That was my very last voluntary experience with "fright night."

As a young parent, I was confused. I didn't want my Christian faith to be a list of "what we don't do because we are Christians," but I also didn't want to be involved in "the other side" of the spiritual realm I very firmly believe exists. My children dressed up as cowboys and princesses and we "trick-or-treated" on our very safe and boring block where no one put out lighted skulls or set up speakers so they could broadcast shrieks and moans into the night air.

As a historian, as I ponder the connection between history and Halloween ... I think more about mourning and funeral customs, which I find fascinating and not in the least macabre. So my next few blogs are going to be about the history of mourning customs, funerary art, and memorial practices in America. I only intended to do ONE blog post ... but then I started gathering up the things I reference when someone dies in one of my novels (and someone always dies) ... and realized readers might find some of this stuff interesting. And just so you know ... the doorknocker I photographed above in Florence, Italy, is about as scary as I intend to get.

I've always found cemeteries to be fascinating places, and the symbolism and artistry evident in many of the older graveyards in America seem to me to be "stories in stone," as Douglas Keister said in his book by that name (subtitle: A Field Guide to Cemetery Symbolism and Iconography). While I grew up visiting old cemeteries (we invariably stopped at old cemeteries on vacation), my first visit to Colonial Williamsburg's Bruton Parish churchyard as an adult captivated me. I'd never seen such ancient stones, never seen entire stories carved into memorials, and never been surrounded by so "death heads" (I learned that term later). Apparently the Puritans were big on this symbolism. It's interesting to live in an age where our own rituals involve removing the reality of death as much as possible and be confronted with a graveyard where death heads meet the eye every which way you turn. I don't find it bone chilling ... just interesting.

The Inventor You Never Knew

2011-09-23T07:00:00.002-05:00

If I said the name "Walter Hunt" I’m betting most people would say, “Who?”

He’s the inventor no one knows, yet the inventor of many things that are still used today—or that evolved into things we use today. Then why don’t we know him?

Because he worked behind the scenes and because he made mistakes--mistakes we can learn from today…

He was born in 1796 in New York state. As a young man he lived in the textile mill town of Lowville, New York. His family worked in the mills. The entire town depended on the mills. When the mill owner wanted to lay people off because he was losing money, Hunt convinced him it wasn’t because of the workers, but because the machines were inefficient. To fix the problem, Hunt invented a better flax spinner and the workers’ jobs were saved. Bravo. Way to go.

But then Hunt made the first of a series of mistakes. And so our lessons begin. . .

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE: Good things come to those who wait. Throughout his life, Walter Hunt went for the quick gain rather than being patient and looking at the bigger picture. After inventing his flax spinner he went to New York City and sold the patent. He got quick money up front. But by doing so he ended his chance to reap any profits from the machine over time.

LEARN FROM YOUR MISTAKES: As an inventor, Hunt had to try and fail, try and fail many times before he finally succeeded. That succession of steps was ingrained into his work ethic. But when it came to business, Hunt tossed aside this method. He failed at not profiting from the spinner, so you would have thought he would learn from his mistake of selling the rights. Nope.

Just a year after the spinner was invented, he witnessed the death of a little girl under the wheels of a carriage. It affected him greatly (as it certainly would.) Hunt recognized the problem at hand: coachmen had hand horns to beep, but in an emergency, they had to keep both hands on the reins. So Hunt invented a foot-activated gong. Problem identified, problem solved.

But once again he sold the patent before it was manufactured.

BIG GAINS INVOLVE BIG RISKS: This was a reoccurring lesson not learned in Hunt’s life. The need to pay the bills caused him to sell now rather than wait for the possibility of a larger gain in the future. Admittedly, waiting was a risk, but history shows that in most cases, the risk paid off—for someone else.

So it went with a knife sharpener, a stove, a globe caster, fountain pens, ink stands, bottle stoppers, ice-cutters for boats, paper collars, innovations in guns, and the first sewing machine. Invent it, sell it, move on. In Hunt’s defense, he was married and had four children to support. He needed money. Now.

He tried his hand at real estate, but his mind was always working, seeing a problem and inventing an answer.

For instance, while trying to figure out how to pay a $15 debt, he was fiddling with a piece of wire—and invented the safety pin. He sold the rights. The rest is history.

Sewing machine drawings

PAPERWORK PAYS & TIMING IS EVERYTHING: Hunt invented the first sewing machine in 1833. He didn’t patent it, but sold the idea to George Arrowsmith. But then there was a recession, a cholera epidemic, and labor issues—seamstresses thought the new machine would put them out of work, so Arrowsmith also let the idea slide.

A decade later, when the world had calmed down, many inventors started expanding on Hunt’s idea. In 1846, John Greenough received the first patent for a sewing machine.

Then more inventors jumped into the game, and in 1853, Elias Howe and I.M. Singer—two men who took Hunt's idea and expanded on it—were in court, battling for the rights to this very lucrative product. Howe claimed he invented the first workable sewing machine. Singer’s defense involved showing Hunt’s original drawings, dated 1834, which proved Howe wasn't the first, Hunt was (therefore Singer shouldn't have to pay Howe anything.) In the end the courts acknowledged Hunt as the first inventor, but ruled that because Hunt never filled out the proper paperwork for the patent, Howe could have it. I’m sure Hunt kicked himself on that one. The lack of paperwork, added to inventing the right idea at the wrong time, equaled nothing. Actually, Issac Singer agreed to pay Hunt $50,000 to end the patent controversy, but Hunt died before receiving the first payment. Once again, bad timing.

KNOW YOUR STRENGTHS: Even as I reveal my frustration with Hunt’s choice to sell the rights to his inventions and not take the time and energy to manufacture them, I wonder if he was wiser than I give him credit for. Perhaps he knew his strengths—and weaknesses. He clearly was not a businessman. He was good with his hands, he had a mechanical mind, but to develop a factory to manufacture his products, to think about owning a building, hiring workers, marketing the product to the public… Did the breadth of that task overwhelm him? I can imagine him most content in his workspace, tinkering with odd parts, working alone but for the churnings of his mind.

Hmm. Perhaps I need to cut the man some slack. For as a writer I often feel overwhelmed with the new world of publishing and e-publishing and networking and websites and marketing—and just want to be left alone in my workspace, tinkering with odd characters , working alone but for the churnings of my mind.

For even though Hunt didn’t reap great monetary reward (I can feel your pain, Walter) he was highly respected. On June 8, 1859, he died of pneumonia in his workshop—working until the end. I can relate to that, for on more than one occasion, I’ve found myself at my computer through sickness and surgeries and exhaustion. I’d love for my family to find “THE END” typed on the computer when I die. Dying with your boots on isn't a bad way to go.

RESPECT AND SATISFACTION ARE WORTH MORE THAN MONEY: All this begs the question of "What is success?" Is it measured by money? Fame? Walter Hunt never earned a lot of money, but he provided for his family. He wasn't famous, but he enjoyed his work. After his death, the New York Tribune wrote this about him: "For more than forty years, he has been known (for his) experiments in the arts. Whether in mechanical movements, chemistry, electricity or metallic compositions, he was always at home: and, probably in all, he has tried more experiments than any other inventor."

Which leads to a very important life lesson: IF AT FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED, TRY, TRY AGAIN. Life is all about trying. And failing. And trying again. Hunt did that better than most.

Walter Hunt, inventor extraordinaire, I owe you an apology. Because hindsight is 20/20 I can look at your life and see your blunders. Yet I cringe when I think of someone in the future dissecting my life, my mistakes, and my missed opportunities. You used your gifts, which is more than a lot of people do: "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." Luke 12:48

So here it is. My apology and my kudos. You did good, Walter. I understand you better now--and I appreciate you./Nancy

Quilts and Historical Fiction

2011-09-15T23:12:00.006-05:00

I readily admit that “it’s the history” that draws me to historical fiction. And it’s a good thing that I love history, because writing historical fiction means that before I dress, move, or feed anyone … I have to do research. I’m never happier than when I’m in my studio surrounded by piles of “dry” (to others) history books, historical documents, sepia-toned photographs, and enlargements of historical settings (see photo at right) for my current

work-in-progress I literally end up in a “nest” surrounded by ephemera and, on occasion, patchwork.

Patchwork?! Yep. I'm an avid textile geek. I adore old fabric and have several running feet of antique quilt

tops and quilts stored in a walk-in-closet just off my office. In fact, one set of quilt blocks in particular played a role in my beginning the story that became my first novel back in 1995. I’d stood in the hot sun for hours waiting for an auctioneer to sell a box of rags … because among the “rags” were some diamond-shaped quilt blocks that, had they ever been finished, would have made the center of what quilt lovers call a Blazing Star or a Bethlehem Star quilt.

It was only natural for me to imagine my heroine stitching those blocks together … and only natural for me to wonder why she never finished them. Those bits of cloth led me to take a class in dating quilts … and another class … and, eventually, a class in appraising quilts … and then another … and so it goes. I continue to have a passionate fascination with antique fabric and American quilts, and as I’ve collected quilts and tops and blocks, I’ve always wondered about the women who made them. Why, for example, did his woman cut up what appears to be a devotional book to make these hexagons? It’s a technique known as English paper piecing, but I find

myself wondering about the papers used and wondering … was she upset with God when she cut up that devotional book or Sunday School manual?

And I love "meeting" frugal women who pieced bits together to get a larger bit for patchwork. If you look carefully, you can see where the seam is on the triangle in

the center.

Over the years, as I’ve read women’s diaries and reminiscences, I’ve collected references to quilts and “comforts,” and I love including references to what historians call ‘material culture’ in my stories. In Sixteen Brides I had fun helping a woman who ran a store get rid of some awful orange fabric by marketing it as fabric that would make quilts “shimmer.” As it turns out, one woman takes on the challenge and makes a beautiful dark blue and orange quilt. I keep thinking I should try it. But I’m a quilt lover, not really a quilt-maker.

Since my books are usually set in the 19^th Century on the Great Plains, I can reference quilts as bedding, room dividers, front doors and more … and I can use quilting bees as natural settings for conversation and competition among women. A courthouse steps quilt plays an important role in next year’s release with Barbour titled The Key on the Quilt.

I sometimes give a lecture called “Dress Your Beds Fashionably” that shares general guidelines for what a bed would “wear,” in a given time period, but my knowledge of quilt history helps me dress my ladies, too. The book Dating Fabrics, A color guide 1800-1960 by Eileen Jahnke Trestain includes color plates of popular fabric divided by era: Pre-1830, 1830-1860, 1860-1880, 1880-1910, and so on up through 1960. It’s a wonderful resource that helps me “see color” in my sepia-toned photograph collection.

The more I learn about antique quilts and textiles, the more I want to know. I’m fortunate to live near the International Quilt Study Center and Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska, where exhibitions never cease to inspire more questions and lead me on new quests to get to know the women behind the quilts. I never know when a new idea will spring up as I ponder patchwork.

If you’d like a copy of the hand-out I provide when I give my “Dress Your Beds Fashionably” lecture, I’d be happy to e-mail a copy. Just send your request to Stephanie@Stephaniewhitson.com, and indicate “Dress Your Beds” in the subject line.

"Life is just a patchwork quilt of births and deaths and things ... and sometimes, when you're looking for a lovely piece of red, you only find a knot of faded strings ..." May your weekend bring all kinds of lovely reds!........................Stephanie

P.S. It is nearly 1 a.m. and blogger has won for today ... I apologize for the odd font sizes and margins.

Tudor England and Sandra Byrd, author of To Die For

2011-09-02T12:27:00.006-05:00

I've been away from the blog for a few weeks, scrambling to finish up a history course for my masters, begin a new course (they overlapped...YIKES) AND my next year's novel, attending a women's conference, and welcoming a new grand-child. This week I introduce you to my writing friend Sandra Byrd and her latest ..... while I work on a blog about KEYS .... and another about SHOES .... back soon! Steph

_________________________________

I have been drawn to Anne Boleyn since I was a girl, curled up in a beanbag chair, dog-earring books about her as I read and re-read them. My research journey took me to

Meg Wyatt, narrator of my novel, whom I came to love and admire. {I will quickly note that in my book I have switched the names of the Wyatt daughters so that the eldest is named Anne/Alice and the younger Margaret/Meg so that the story could be told without two "Annes" to confuse the reader.} My story idea was sparked by one solitary clue, an offhand comment in a Tudorplace.com.ar link that said that Anne Wyatt attended Anne Boleyn till her death, and that, at the end, Anne Boley

n had given her friend her prayer book, a very personal gift indeed, and just before her execution whispered something in her friend's ear.

I'm a lifelong lover of historical novels, especially all things English. On road trips, I was the nerdy girl in the backseat of the car reading Victoria Holt and Jean Plaidy streetlight by streetlight well into the night. I even named my daughter Elizabeth! Therefore, it's a dream come true to pen my own novels set in the Tudor court. Those reformation years were critical to refinement and revival in Christianity. Yet I found that while Anne's faith, and the faith of her friends, was well covered in nonfiction, fiction only infrequently highlighted her convicti

ons, often though not always portraying her as either vixen or victim. I wanted to add some new shading and nuance to the genre and telling it from Meg Wyatt's point of view allowed me to do that. Historian Eric Ives, Anne's principle biographer, says, "The absolute conviction which drove Anne was the importance of the Bible. For that reason, if her brand of reform needs to be given a label, that label must be 'evangelical.'"

My research led me to London, which was fantastic, and many fascinating details. I loved, for example, the Eavesdroppers, little faces carved into the high eaves of the Great Hall at Hampton Court Palace.

(Eavesdropper photo copyright Helen Newell, http://tinyurNewall, http://tinyurl.com/hcpeavesdroppers)

They looked soft and sweet. But they were there to remind courtiers that someone was always listening, there was always a secondary audience to anything said at court, and that behind a pleasant face could be a heart of malice. I think it's interesting, too, that being a servant or highborn attendant was a position of honor. Your status wasn't determined by the job or tasks assigned to you, but by the rank of the person you served. That's good for us to remember, too, as Christians.

_______________

Learn more about Sandra's books here: http://www.sandrabyrd.com or purchase her new book about Anne Boleyn, told from the point of view of Meg Wyatt, here: To Die For

A Dime by Any Other Name...

2011-08-26T08:00:00.001-05:00

Recently, I went to a coin show with my husband and heard the most fascinating story that ties into my biographical novel Washington's Lady. It adds another layer to the respect I feel toward our first president and his wife, Martha.

When this country began as thirteen colonies, and even after we gained our independence from England, we continued to use British money. But since we were a free nation, it seemed logical that a new money system had to be created. American money. On April 2, 1792, the “Mint Act” was passed, giving the nation the go-ahead to mint its own coins. There were to be silver half dollars, quarter dollars, and half dismes—half dimes.

At that time George Washington was president and Thomas Jefferson was his secretary of state. As was usually the case with these patriots, they saw a problem and came up with a solution. For isn’t that the American way?

To make coins they needed someone to create a design—a die. So they put an ad in the paper and hired someone. Check. They needed a company to press the coins. So they put an ad in the paper and hired someone—John Harper, who had a press in the cellar of his house on the corner of Cherry & 6th Street in Philadelphia, just down the street from the construction of the new U.S. Mint building. Check check. But then came the biggest problem: you can’t make coins without precious metals. Where would they come up with those?

What follows could simply be legend, or it could be the truth. Knowing George and Martha Washington as I do, I choose truth, as the story fits with their character and continued sacrifice for their country.

Mt. Vernon Plantation

Needing silver, George stepped forward and said that he would give Jefferson a letter to take to the Washington’s Virginia plantation, Mt. Vernon, authorizing Jefferson to take some silver that Washington had there to use for the coins.

It’s fun to imagine Jefferson riding up to Mt. Vernon, knocking on the door, perhaps being greeted by Martha, home for a visit from the nation’s capital of Philadelphia. “Thomas. How nice to see you. What brings you to Mt. Vernon?”

I’d love to have seen the look on Martha’s face when Jefferson handed her the letter from her husband, indicating she should hand over some of their personal silver. It’s said they gave between $75 and $100 worth of silver to the cause of new coinage. Considering most people earned $1 a day, $100 was a large amount.

In 1792 fewer than 2000 “half-dismes” (pronounced “deems”) were cast, but it’s not known whether they were ever circulated or just given away as souveniers. There’s a notation in Jefferson’s diary for July 13, 1792: “rec’d from the mint 1500 half dimes of the new coinage.” But there’s also some evidence that Washington handed the half-dismes out to friends and dignitaries. So the mintage could have been more than 1500. Perhaps George was given some half-dismes for his own use, as a repayment toward the silver he provided. Whether circulated or not, the half-disme was the first step to the minting process that would follow in the newly formed U.S. Mint being built. The first widely-circulated American coins came out in 1796.

There’s also an unsubstantiated story that Martha’s profile was the inspiration for the woman’s head on the coin. I’m not sure what I feel about that story. Martha did not like being First Lady. She had the heart of a patriot, but she also had the heart of a woman, the heart of a wife. When George agreed to become the head of the Colonial army during the war—and ended up being away from home for eight years, she accepted their separation as a sacrifice for the good of the cause, albeit, not without a few complaints. But when the war was won and George was asked to be its first president, she rebelled and virtually said: Enough. Haven’t we given enough, George? When is it someone else’s turn?

But George was an ambitious man and had trouble saying no. He was president through two terms, and was the the only president to get 100% of the electoral votes. But Martha was a reluctant First Lady (though actually, the term hadn’t been invented yet.) She did not like being in the limelight and just wanted to be home with George in Mt. Vernon, “under our own vine and fig tree.” So for her to agree to have her likeness on a coin? I don’t think so.

Actually, Congress thought about putting George’s portrait on some coins, but he dismissed the idea as “monarchical”. Only kings did that while they were alive. So the Mint Act specified a "portrait emblematic of liberty." The woman on the half-dismes—whether Martha’s likeness or not—is representing Lady Liberty.

George Washington was in his second term of president in 1792, when he addressed Congress on November 6 about the new coins: “There has been a small beginning in the coinage of Half Dismes; the want of small coins in circulation calling the first attention to them.” It would seem by his statement that the half-disme was intended to be put in circulation.

Around its circumference the coin has the words: INDUSTRY - LIB - PAR - OF – SCIENCE. Translated, that means, "Industry and liberty on par with science". There is no mint mark, as there was only one minting place at the time: Philadelphia.

I saw one of the few remaining half-dismes at the coin show (it's said that fewer than 200 remain.) It was smaller than a modern dime, and weighed less. It could have been mine for $175,000. One half-dismes, in mint condition sold a few years ago for over $1 million. Yet to think that George and Martha and Thomas might have held that particular coin in their hands…or Benjamin, or John or Abigail… I get heady thinking of it./Nancy

Dead and Buried

2011-08-12T07:25:00.004-05:00

Sometimes when visiting Europe’s cathedrals and churches, they begin to blur together. St. Peter’s in Rome is one that always stands out, and another is Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. And in this last case, it’s not as much due to the architecture (which is lovely) as much as for the graves and tombs it holds.

For one thing, there are some pretty important people-of-history buried inside: Michelangelo, Galileo, Rossini are buried there (to name but three.) An artist, a scientist, and a composer. The years of their deaths span centuries, Michelangelo in 1564, Galileo in 1642 & 1737 (more on this later), and Rossini in 1868. Because so many famous Italians are buried here, the church has been known as the Temple of the Italian Glories, for these men certainly brought glory to their country. We still celebrate and marvel at their achievements.

Michelangelo's tomb

Michelangelo was the brilliant sculptor (the David), painter (the Sistine Chapel), and architect (the dome of St. Peter’s in Rome.) Irascible and driven—and pushed beyond his limit by various Popes—when Michelangelo died in Rome, his body was taken to his beloved Tuscany, to Florence, to Santa Croce for burial. Michelangelo was the Renaissance, so being buried in Florence, the birthplace of Renaissance, was very appropriate. The three figures on his tomb represent his talents: artist, sculptor, and architect.

Galileo's tomb

Galileo, a talented mathematician and astronomer, pursued the notion that the earth rotated around the sun, but he added a layer. He insisted that such an idea did not contradict the Bible. The scientific idea was not new, but the church objected to him stepping out of bounds--acting as theologian in addition to scientist. It's said he was excommunicated for heresy, but others say it was more of a censure, a cease-and-desist to stop him talking as if what he said was a solid truth. A few years later (1632) Galileo wrote a book that caused his real trouble. For in it he told both sides, but in doing so, made the pope look like a fool. Not a wise thing to do. People were executed for less. He was allowed to live, yet was under house arrest until he died in 1642. This earth/sun issue was such a hot button, that Galileo was not allowed a Christian burial until 1737. It’s interesting to note that his tomb has a relief of the solar system—with the sun in the center. It wasn’t until 1992 that the pope apologized for the church's treatment of Galileo.

The last tomb to mention... even if you don’t know Gioacchino Rossini by name, I bet you’d recognize his music. He wrote 39 operas. The "William Tell Overture" is the theme music to the 1950’s TV show, “The Lone Ranger”, and there was a Bugs Bunny cartoon featuring Rossini’s "Barber of Seville". Surely the composer would turn over in his grave. He was originally buried in Paris, but at the request of the Italian government, his remains were moved to Santa Croce in 1887—nineteen years after his death. Florence wanted to lay claim to this “Italian Mozart.”

Beyond these grand tombs (and there are many more), I was most moved by the gravestones on the floor, grave after grave that we walked upon. Most were worn from the tens of thousands who have visited the church over the centuries. I mentioned to our guide that it felt wrong walking on them, but she said that being walked on, having their graves worn by the masses, was considered part of their penance. Don’t tread on me!

But the most intriguing graves held the outline of a person, etched in stone. These graves told an enormous story. For some of the graves had the head at the altar end, with the feet pointing toward the front door. And some were placed in the opposite way. There was an explanation for that. People who were godly had their feet at the altar end, so when Jesus Christ comes to earth again in glory (apparently through the front door) and the godly rise from their graves (as the Bible says), they will be standing with Him, as his children. People who weren’t on good terms with the church had their head near the altar so when they rise at the Second Coming, they will face Jesus for judgment. Whoa. It appears they’ve already been judged by man! My question is, if they were so bad, or not “in” the church, why were they allowed to be buried there in the first place?

One other tidbit I found interesting. The walls of the Santa Croce used to be vividly painted with depictions of Bible stories so the priests could teach the illiterate poor the stories. But in Renaissance times, the priests didn’t like that old style of painting so white-washed it over. Sigh. Every age thinks newer is better.

The point is, the dead do tell tales. Very interesting ones./Nancy

Keeping Hope Alive

2011-07-29T08:00:00.001-05:00

On this, the 30th anniversary of Charles' and Di's wedding, I'm going to write about St. Paul's cathedral. My family and I were in London last week, and while there, had a tour of St. Paul's. I knew of St. Paul's because it was the site of Princess Diana's marriage to Prince Charles on July 29, 1981. I will always remember the photo of her on the front steps, with the train of her dress cascading down the stairs. I remember watching her fairy-tale wedding on TV. Too bad the fairy-tale ended...

It was exciting for me to walk those same stairs, be in that same church. Here's a picture of some of my family sitting on the steps just to the right of where Diana walked--where the London police are standing in the photo.

Yet even with St. Paul's being the place of Diana's wedding, the piece of history that touched me the most happened forty years earlier.

As we approached St. Paul's, our London guide stopped and had us admire the dome. It turns out the dome was a beacon of hope for Londoners during World War II.

London endured "the Blitz", a period of eight months when Hitler bombed the city with the intent of demoralizing its citizenry. It all started on September 7, 1940, at 4:00 PM. Unable to invade England, Hitler sent 348 German bombers escorted by 617 fighters to bomb London for two hours. Then, guided by the fires, another wave flew over and added more destruction.

For 57 consecutive days London was bombed. The parents of our guide (children at the time) were sent to the country, to safety.

Some of the bombs were explosive, but others were phosphorus bombs that caused fires. Hundreds of volunteers manned the roof of St. Paul's with the sole job of throwing sand or dirt on those phosphorus bombs when they landed, snuffing them out. Water would have allowed the phosphorus to spread and burn more. Each morning, as the citizens of London came out of their hiding places, they looked for the dome of St. Paul's. If it was standing, they were standing. England was still standing. Churchill made saving St. Paul a priority for the morale of England.

The worst day of bombing came on December 29, 1940. Dozens of fires were put out and a bomb that lodged in the dome fell away, damaging the Stone Gallery, but leaving the dome intact. Here's a famous photo taken by Herbert Mason, showing St. Paul's rising above the smoke.

I was inspired by the spirit of the Londoners who helped each other get through this awful time. Over 20,000 died during the raids and 1.5 million homes were damaged or destroyed. Because of their tenacity and the courage of the British armed services, Hitler's plan was curbed. He stopped the bombing in May of 1941 and turned his attention to the Russian front.

American Memorial Chapel
and the Roll of Honour

I was also moved by the American Memorial Chapel in the apse of the cathedral. It honors American servicemen and women who died in World War II. It was paid for by donations from British people. There's a Roll of Honour that contains the names of more than 28,000 Americans who gave their lives in the defense of the United Kingdom in WWII. Inside its glass case are a pair of gloves. Each day a page is carefully turned so that every name is seen by the public. It takes over 14 months to go through the book--and then they start over from page one. I found this very touching, especially since my father served in the South Pacific in the Air Force for 2.5 years during the war... He's 91 now, and the sacrifice of that generation humbles me.

The Duke of Wellington is buried in St. Paul's, as is Admiral Nelson, and the architect of the church (and many London churches), Sir Christopher Wren. So it's a place of internment, of weddings, of memorials, and honor. As a newspaper said a few days after the horrible December 29 bombing: St. Paul's "symbolises the steadiness of London’s stand against the enemy: the firmness of Right against Wrong.”

Long may it stand.//Nancy

The Trip of a Lifetime

2011-07-21T08:00:00.099-05:00

The Moser gang at Versailles

I've been absent from this blog for a few weeks, but I have a good excuse. My husband and I took our three grown children and their spouses to Europe for the trip of a lifetime. We were not disappointed. Before we left, we made it clear to the kids (ages 26-33) this was not going to be a vacation, but an excursion. On the road by 7:30 most mornings we shared the glories of Rome, Florence, Venice, Lucerne, Paris, and London. But even more than that, we shared time.

St. Peter's in Rome

Away from the duties of our lives back home, we concentrated on each other. We oohed and ahhed at the majesty of the Sistine Chapel and Versailles, shared laughter as we had a picnic in the grass at the base of the Eiffel Tower on Bastille Day, and marveled at an impromptu Swiss oompa band practicing above a sidewalk cafe in Lucerne as we ate bratwurst.

Eiffel Tower in Paris

Together we marveled at God's handiwork from our vantage point on top of the Alps at Mt. Pilatus, and at man's ingenuity as we took a fast train under the English channel from Paris to London.

The Roman Colosseum

We were humbled by history as we saw the tomb of St. Peter, the Roman Colosseum, the actual armor of Henry VIII, and the stunning St. Paul's Cathedral in London where I remember watching Princess Diana get married back when I was a young mother . . .

On the top of the Alps
in Switzerland

I've been to Europe over a dozen times, but during each trip the history dazzles me and makes me marvel at the course of humankind. And so, over the next few weeks I'm going to share some of those amazing tidbits of history with you. Not necessarily the big moments in time regarding kingdoms and dynasties, but the personal stories of actual people who lived and struggled, who won and lost. People who, but for a century or two (and a few thousand miles), shared many of the same feelings and life challenges that we face today. Theirs are the stories that remained with us as we moved from country to country.

Marie Antoinette and her children

One such story was brought to our attention through a portrait hanging in the French palace of Versailles. It was a painting of Marie Antoinette and her three children--the last portrait painted of her. Marie was originally named Maria Antonia. She was the youngest daughter of Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, and was married off to Louis XVI of France at the age of fourteen... The shy Maria and the her young husband (only fifteen himself) took years to consummate their marriage. Their lack of a child was the gossip of the continent. People--from royal to the lowest man on the street--knew their personal business and offered opinions. Maria was a naive girl who had not been groomed to be a queen. It took eight years for her to conceive.

Adding to my interest of her, was the revelation that this Marie Antoinette was the same girl I'd written about in my bio-novel Mozart's Sister. As a child Maria Antonia had heard the young Mozart and his sister Nannerl give a recital in her family's palace in Vienna. When five-year-old Wolfgang tripped during the concert, Maria helped him to his feet. The impulsive little Wolfgang kissed her, said he was going to marry her, and then had the gall to climb into the lap of Maria's mother, the empress. That girl was this woman...

At Versailles, as I stood with my own family beside me and looked upon this grown up Maria Antonia--Marie Antoinette--I learned of another family's trip, taken in an attempt to flee France during the chaos and danger of the French Revolution. As the masses of the suffering poor rose up against the decadence of the ruling class, Marie's world of luxury crumbled around her. So she and her husband the king fled with their three children, hoping to escape to monarchy-friendly Montmédy in northeast France. But before they could find freedom they were caught and returned to Paris. All were imprisoned, and Marie and Louis were eventually beheaded by the mobs who demanded satisfaction.

But what of the children in the painting? There is an empty cradle in the background that sorrowfully represents Marie's youngest daughter Sophie who had died during the painting of the portrait, just before her first birthday. The oldest daughter, Marie Therese, standing at her mother's right, was exiled to Austria. She married but was childless. The little boy, Louie Joseph--the heir--died of TB during the tumulutuous political times, and the baby on her mother's lap (Louie Charles) died in prison. And so the Bourbon line of France was destroyed.

Seeing this painting, hearing this story, walking beside my own husband and children, I felt compassion for this queen. This woman. This mother.

It would not be the last time I would count my blessings on this trip . . .

A Most Unsuitable Match

2011-07-18T01:00:00.000-05:00

With great joy, I’d like to announce my new release, A Most Unsuitable Match.

The story idea was inspired by visiting a historical site in Nebraska as part of my master’s degree program. http://www.fws.gov/midwest/desoto/bertrand.htm. The steamboat Bertrand sank in 1865 with more than 250 tons of cargo aboard. Rediscovered (in a field--the Missouri River changed course a lot back then!) in 1968, the cargo was salvaged and is now on display.

When I learned that sisters ages 19 and 17 were on board and saw one of their coats on display (see it on the right), I knew I wanted to tell a story about a young woman's adventure traveling north on the Missouri.

A Most Unsuitable Match follows Fannie Rousseau upriver in 1869 in search of her last living relative. Fannie is from a privileged family and has never encountered ‘rustic’ living. On her journey she meets Samuel Beck, who is headed upriver in search of his run-away sister. Fannie and Samuel are very different people … except in how they can’t seem to stop thinking about each other.

Today I thought I’d invite you to come and play with my imaginary friend, Fannie Rousseau, of St. Charles, Missouri, as I interview her aboard the steamboat Delores on the second day of the two-thousand-plus mile journey north to Fort Benton, Montana.

Miss Rousseau, tell me the most interesting thing about you.

Interesting? I’m not all that different from any other young lady raised to be … just that. A lady. I suppose some would think it interesting that I’ve embarked on this journey. To tell you the truth, I thought it was interesting and brave--until the Delores pulled

away from the levee yesterday. Now I’m thinking it may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m here now. At least I have Hannah with me. She thinks travelling by steamer is like flying, it’s so fast. Seeing her excited about the trip helps some. I just hope I don’t live to regret running off like this.

What do you do for fun?

I haven’t had fun in a while. I’ve been in mourning since Mother died a few weeks ago.

What are you afraid of most in life?

Being alone. That’s why I’m here, you know. I’m going to find my Aunt Edith. Two days ago I didn’t even know I had an Aunt Edith. Can you imagine that? A girl my age growing up without knowing her own mother had a twin sister?

What do you want out of life?

I just want to understand why. Why didn’t Mother tell me about Aunt Edith? Why did Mr. Vandekamp—he’s in charge of Papa’s affairs—why did he get so angry when I asked him about her? He forbad me to come on this trip. I let him know that I am of age and he cannot forbid me to do anything. I want answers, and I’m going to find them.Thankfully, Hannah agreed to come with me. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Do you read? If so, what is your favorite type of book to read?

Oh, I just love Mr. Dickens! Don’t you? I can read his books over and over again and they never grow old.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I’d be more … sure. Of who I am. Of what I should become. I’d be able to look back and accept things without feeling so … lost.

Do you have a pet? If so, what is it and why that pet?

Mother didn’t allow pets. She said they were an unnecessary nuisance. I used to pretend that Minette’s dog, Jake, was mine. They just live next door. Minette’s my best friend. She was happy to share Jake.

If you could travel back in time, where would you go and why?

I’d visit the place Mother grew up in France. Maybe if I saw her as a girl, I’d finally understand … well. That's silly, isn't it. the past isn't going to reveal itself. Unless I force the issue. That's what I'm hoping this trip will do for me. Reveal the past, and help me find a future.

____________________________________________________________

Read the beginning of A Most Unsuitable Match here:

http://www.bethanyhous e.com/ME2/Audiences/dirmod.asp?

--Stephanie Grace Whitson

Remember the Ladies

2011-07-11T01:00:00.000-05:00

As I celebrated the Fourth of July this past weekend (at the Mississippi Valley Blues Festival on the banks of the Mississippi River in Davenport, IA), the usual swell of patriotism and thankfulness had me thanking God for the great blessing of being an American. But then, as I thought about blogging today (thanks, Tracie, for inviting me), Abigail Adams’s words came
back to me. In a letter to her husband, John, in March of 1776, Abigail wrote, "I long to hear that you have declared an independency. And, by the way, in the new code of laws which I suppose it will be necessary for you to make, I desire you would remember the ladies and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors.

“Remembering the ladies” is a large part of what many women writers do when we create our characters. We remember—and celebrate—the uniqueness that is woman.

I’ve been working on my master’s degree in history, and I think that, by now, the word is out that professors c

an expect Stephanie to always have something to say about the women. But, honestly…too many history texts don’t remember the ladies! Just last week an intensive class on the Bill of Rights made the point that the Constitutional Convention ended up taking months, and that meant that the men involved were away from home for months. The emphasis was on their sacrifice … my thoughts were of the women back home running the farms and family businesses while their husbands were away.

When Abigail wrote John, he and his cohorts were fleshing out a certain document that, when they signed it the following July, would change history for us all. I love the obvious affection that resonates in John’s reply to Abigail’s request. “ … your letter was the first intimation that another tribe, more numerous and powerful than all the rest, were grown discontented.” (He had no idea!) He goes on to write, “Depend upon it, we know better than to repeal our masculine systems,” and adds further that “in practice, you know we are the subjects.” He further teases Abigail about the “despotism of the petticoat.”

Here’s to the historians and novelists who answer Abigail Adams's call to "remember the ladies."

Recent reads of mine introduced me to Martha Washington via Nancy Moser’s Lady Washington; southern girls during the Great Depression in Elizabeth Musser’sThe Sweetest Thing and Judith Miller’s Amana women in A Place to Belong. My new release A Most Unsuitable Match takes a well-to-do young woman to the end of a steamboat journey and, consequently, to the end of herself in Fort Benton, Montana.

Remember the ladies!!!!

---posted by Stephanie

Sports Women

2011-06-23T08:00:00.012-05:00

Mary Stuart,
Queen of Scots

Up until the late nineteenth century, if you were a woman you were not allowed to participate in sports. When did it change?

There were always the exceptions. Women in ancient Greece were not allowed in the Olympics, so they held their own Games of Hera every four years. Mary, Queen of Scots was an avid golfer, and called her assistants “cadets”. The first caddies. During her reign (1542-67), the famous golf course of St. Andrews was built. Women in Regency times walked—Elizabeth Bennet in Pride & Prejudice enjoyed a good, hardy stroll. There have been a few boxers, fisher-women, horse racers, runners, hot-air balloonists, and archers.

May in "Age of Innocence"

But until the 1870’s to 1890's mainstream women and sports didn’t mix.

The bicycle changed everything—though not because it was a way to get exercise or that it was considered a sport, but that it finally allowed women autonomy. They could move quickly from Point A to Point B by themselves. And they didn’t need a man to come along as a chaperone. I think about the feeling of freedom a woman would have felt the first time she rode a bicycle. The breeze through her hair, the exhilaration of using her limbs until they burned… And the choice involved to go somewhere. Even that. Especially that. Choice.

As bicycles gained popularity in the 1880’s, women’s clothing was adapted for ease of movement. No more bustles! As early as 1850 Amelia Bloomer developed “bloomers” to wear under a skirt, thus giving women more freedom of movement. With bicycles, the bloomers were ends in themselves. How risque! Some considered women who rode bicycles whores... Yet in the decade of 1890-1900 over a million women would ride bicycles. Beyond all the other sports, bicycling was a wide-spread hit.

During this time many sports became womanized: rowing, hiking, fencing, lawn tennis, tennis, croquet, sailing, and swimming. The summer resort of Newport, Rhode Island, encouraged all these activities. I have some of my characters deal with bicycling, swimming, and sailing in An Unlikely Suitor. Even baseball was played by women: According to this wonderful timeline site, in 1875 two women’s teams, the "Blondes" and "Brunettes", played their first match. “Newspapers heralded the event as the 'first game of baseball ever played in public for gate money between feminine ball-tossers.'"

Boulder Field of Long's Peak

Some of these sports didn’t require a lot of physical effort, but some did. In 1871 Addie Alexander climbed Longs Peak in Colorado. I’ve climbed Long’s Peak (the tallest peak in Rocky Mountain National Park at 14,256 feet), but I was 18 and wearing rubber-soled shoes. I can’t imagine climbing over the Boulder Field in the slippery leather-bottomed shoes of Addie’s time. Twenty-two years later, Katharine Lee Bates climbed Pike's Peak and composed a poem, “America the Beautiful.” It was set to music in 1910 by Samuel A. Ward. On top of the peak, there is a commemoration plaque.

With the doors to sports open, some women took it to extremes. In 1891 Mary French Sheldon led an expedition to East Africa. That same year Beatrice Von Dressden jumped with a parachute from a hot air balloon. This was her first jump. First? Are you kidding me? She did it again? Get this woman a place on “Fear Factor”!

Not everyone thought women should exert themselves and there were many articles condemning this change in women’s lives. Many men seemed intimidated by a strong, active woman. But in 1892, the YMCA devoted an issue to women, saying exercise for women was a good thing.

Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it! And as with most acts of freedom, I appreciate having the choice.//Nancy

1903 , Kuna, Idaho, and Donna Fletcher Crow's Daughters of Courage Series

2011-06-20T01:00:00.000-05:00

It's Monday, and I (Stephanie) can't think of a better way to begin a week than with a great story combined with a good deal.

Donna Fletcher Crow (www.DonnaFletcherCrow) joins us today to share footnotes from Idaho histor

y (inspired by her own family heritage), with news of a re-release of her beloved Daughters of Courage series.

The "good deal" part is for those of you with ereaders, because Greenbrier has made the books available for a short time for ... can you believe it ... less than one dollar each. Happy Monday, booklovers! (Kindle: http://ning.it/kqmEE1 Nook: http://ning.it/lruv7t).

I suppose I should admit right away that two of my favorite reasons for loving Kathryn's story include the Scotsman (I'm part Scot) and the character named Stephanie (ahem). Lenore Persons of Guideposts Books said this after reading Kathryn: It’s rare to find novels that combine a strong Christian ethic with such compelling story-telling. Because these are real people and real events, the experiences of faith challenged and faith triumphant are all the more meaningful. I hope that Donna Fletcher Crow’s loving testament to her grandmother and mother and to the brave men and women who shaped our country will touch you as much as it did me.

The story's main character,Kathryn, has never been short on courage. But then she's never faced a wilderness so hot and dry that the only growing thing is endless miles of rattlesnake-infested sagebrush with the nearest fresh water 15 miles away. Yet Kathryn Jayne is determined not merely to survive. She will thrive. Even when those nearest to her die. Even when murder strikes their tiny community. Even when a dashing, irreverent Scotsman struggling to outdistance a troubled past brings turmoil to Kathryn’s heart.

From untamed Idaho, to Edwardian London, to enchanting Scotland, Kathryn records her experiences in the journals that become an inspiration for her family and the basis for this gripping saga.Through every generation America’s women have exhibited courage, spirit and faith. Kathryn, Elizabeth and Stephanie are true Daughters of Courage. This sweeping family saga will help today’s women find inspiration to triumph in the challenges we all face.

Let's talk about the history behind this series. You mentioned a family photograph?

Even as a child I loved this picture of my paternal grandmother Esther Fletcher when she was a teenager. She was so pretty. And I loved her dress. Could my grandmother ever have been that young?

I have always been able to look at a picture from history and put myself in that scene, so when my editor askedme to write a pioneer series, I knew I wanted to tell my grandmother’s story.

What was the most surprising thing you learned about "the real story" while researching this book?

Well, okay. I didn’t immediately want to tell my grandmother’s story. I didn’t want to do a pioneer story at all. Jeanette Oke was all the rage at that time. And there was the wonderful Little House on the Prairie series. One more tree didn’t need to die for another pioneer story.

Then I began researching the lives of my grandmothers and other Idaho pioneer women— and I discovered that our desert pioneers had completely different stories from the sod buster stories we all think of when we say pioneer romance.

These incredible women who homesteaded in the desert before the irrigation canals were dug in 1909 had to survive a climate so dry that washing wrung out by hand and spread on a sagebrush bush at night would be dry in 20 minutes. After Indian Creek dried up in June the nearest water was 15 miles away in the Snake River and had to be carted up in a horse-drawn buckboard. And the only creatures who could survive in the wild were jackrabbits and flying ants that would swarm down the stovepipe in the heat of the day. Then fall dead on the floor when soot encrusted their bodies.

And yet these brave women not only survived their days, but would also sit down at night and write in their journals. These journals have been collected in the Kuna Library where I did a great deal of my research and I used Kathryn’s journal as a through-line in my series as a source of strength for her daughter and granddaughter.

Besides the photograph of my grandmother which I mentioned above, the photographs, such as this one on the left, of pioneer families standing proudly in front of their homesteads inspired me with a sense of the courage and vision they must have had. Surely they were seeing “the desert blossom as a rose” in their minds. Look hard and you’ll see a heartbreakingly fragile tree planted beside the house.

One book that really helped my research was titled THE SETTLEMENT OF THE KUNA REGION 1900-1925 (sponsored by: Kuna Joint School District No. 3, Kuna Library District, and the Association for the Humanities in Idaho, and dedicated to the memory of Warren Reynolds who was a moving force in the Kuna History Project). Warren Reynolds must have been a distant cousin of mine, because Reynolds is a family name on my mother’s side. The book was helpful for its narrative, but even more so for its many, many pictures like this one.

What spiritual encouragement did you draw from what you've learned?

Every generation has its own unique challenges that require its sons and daughters to stand strong, but God is always faithful. I find it encouraging to know that no matter how hard things might seem today, and no matter how dim the flame of faith might flicker, it has been much harder and the flame has burned much lower in other times, but it has always come back. At times only a handful have stood against a dark, but, with God’s help, it has been enough.

Did you meet a special woman from the past you'd like to tell about?

Kathryn is a composite of both of my grandmothers Esther Smith Fletcher and Tennie Botner Book. Although I have very dear childhood memories of both of these courageous women (they were both at our wedding, even) I felt that I came to know them in a new way by recreating the world they raised their families in. A world so different from our own that required skills and knowledge none of us have today.

___________________________________________________

Special thanks to Donna for joining us today... learn more about her and her stories at:

www.DonnaFletcherCrow.com (AND DO GO HERE...I think Donna has the most intriguing author photo I've ever seen. Makes me want to tag along on her next research trip!)

www.donnafletchercrow.com/articles.php

Feeding Baby

2011-06-16T08:00:00.012-05:00

We are expecting our fourth grandchild this fall. It’s made me wonder about what kind of bottle this child will be using. I am amazed at all the different options out there, from the tradition bottle, to ones that are bent at an angle, to those with disposable innards, etc. Will the formula be with iron, lactose free, take two scoops or four?
When I was writing my novel, Masquerade, which was set in 1886, I had to do some research about bottles and milk. Was milk available for purchase in the poorer areas of New York City? And what did bottles look like?

Turns out the issue of getting milk into a baby—when the mother couldn’t nurse—has always been an issue. In medieval times, babies drank from a hollowed out horn. Later on, there were "pap feeders" made of porcelain. And "pap" was often boiled water and flour. Sometimes bread or egg was added.

In the mid-1800’s cow’s milk was shipped in wood barrels and would easily spoil. It was a dairy farmer by the name of Gail Borden who did something about it. He was sailing home to the USA from Europe, when they encountered rough seas. The cows on the ship got seasick and wouldn’t make milk—I never imaged that was possible. The babies on board were crying from lack of milk. Personally, when I look at situations like this, the odds of getting a dairy farmer with foresight on a ship in a storm, with cows that couldn’t produce milk . . . it leads me to know that the entire situation was God-arranged.

When Borden got home he started doing experiments with milk and found that it was 87% water. If he boiled it down in an airtight pan, he came up with a condensed version that was resistant to spoilage. On the way to Washington D.C. to get a patent, he met up with a wealthy grocery wholesaler, and together they canned it and tried to sell it. In 1864, the Eagle Brand Consolidated Milk company was formed.

Canned milk was not a huge success. During production, essential fats and nutrients were lost, and people were used to a more watery consistency and a white color (to get the white color, chalk used to be used!) But Borden persevered, and the Civil War was a boon to his business as the troops were sent condensed milk as part of their rations. At one point during the war, Borden produced 300,000 gallons of condensed milk at his Elgin, Illinois plant. It seems that this milk was not a beverage, but just a condensed form of the milk product.

In 1885, John Meyenberg, an immigrant from Switzerland, was producing the first evaporated milk at his Helvetica Milk Condensing Company plant. Soon after, Eldrige Amos Stuart developed a way to process canned, sterilized evaporated milk. By the end of the century, he partnered with Meyenberg and supplied Klondike gold miners milk in 16 ounce cans.

As the twentieth century began, homogenization was implemented, and in 1934, Meyenberg’s company (now the Pet Milk Company) added Vitamin D to their evaporated milk by a process called irradiation. He exposed the milk to ultraviolet light, which created the vitamin (amazing!)

So… canned milk was available for purchase. But what then? How did you feed it to the baby?

Ceramic or porcelain bottles were used in the 19th century, with a piece of cloth or rawhide stuffed into the end for the baby to suck upon. Preserved cow udders were also used. (yuck!) But these containers were hard to keep clean. Bottles became a little more sanitary when glass blowers began to create actual bottles for this use.

In the 1840’s vulcanized rubber came about that made rubber nipples possible. But the smell was horrible, and they were not widely manufactured.

In the 1880’s a type of bottle was created that was advertised as the way to feed your baby. Once the craze caught on, everyone and their brother had their own version of this bottle. It was marketed by many names including “Mummies Darling” and “The Princess Alexandria” (she was the Princess of Wales at the time and was very popular.) But in spite of the marketing, this bottle was a baby killer.

It consisted of a glass tube that held the milk, that had a stopper on it. A length of rubber tubing went from bottle to a bone mouth shield, and a rubber nipple. The big advantage was that the baby could feed themselves, even before they could hold a bottle. The disadvantage was it was impossible to keep clean and children died. Considering only two out of ten children lived to age two, mostly because of hygiene issues, this type of bottle was a horrendous addition to a continuing problem. Even though doctors preached against it, this type of bottle was used into the 1920’s. It’s impossible to measure how many babies died because of the germs formed and left behind in these bottles.

Look at these photographs of babies using these bottles. How odd looking. And more than that, how odd that the parents would let a precious photograph be taken with their baby sucking on one of these. It would be like having a formal picture of your child with a pacifier in its mouth. That first picture of the little boy . . . he looks drugged.

1894 brought a breakthrough that carried the bottle into the 1950’s. A “double-ended” feeder invented by Allen and Hanbury. It was glass and had a nipple on one end and a valve on the other that allowed the milk to flow continually—and made a full cleaning possible.

I was born in 1954 and my bottles were also glass and the usual procedure was for mothers to sanitize the bottles and nipples in boiling water. Then came plastic bottles, and when we fed our three kids (in the late 1970’s to mid-1980’s) I used the Platex nurser (“Most like mother herself”), that had the disposable bags. When the grandbabies came along, I was rather surprised to find that the disposable method had been re-replaced with plastic again.Here's a baby bottle museum site

It’s said that whatever's old is new again, but hopefully, never again with certain baby bottles of the past.//Nancy

Trains, Boats . .. and NO Automobiles

2011-06-09T08:00:00.001-05:00

It’s 1895. Look at a map. If you were rich and lived in New York City and wanted to go to Newport, Rhode Island for the six-week summer season, how did you travel those 175 miles?

Cars hadn’t been invented yet. And considering Newport was on an island... You had two choices: take the train or take a steamer ship.

When I was doing the research for An Unlikely Suitor, this transportation issue was my biggest challenge. It’s not like there are that many train schedules sitting around from 1895. And as an additional complication, the character who needed to go on the journey was a poor seamstress, not someone from the Vanderbilt set.

Interior of Fall RIver Line Steamer

I discovered that most wealthy travelers took steamers. The Fall River line left from the North River in NYC in the evenings so its passengers slept on the ship and stopped in Newport, continuing to Fall River, Massachusetts, then continuing on to Boston, where businessmen could be at work in the morning.

The interior of these steamers was luxurious. They had staterooms, or there were berths in dorm-type rooms. Even middle class passengers could experience a bit of luxury on such a ship.

2nd class car

Others went on the train from Grand Central Station (see my June 2 blog) to Wickford Junction, Rhode Island, where they’d take a short trek down to the dock to catch a steamer for the 75 minute trip to Newport. On the trains, the second class cars were simple seats and had a shared lavatory for both men and women.

This is the train car I used in An Unlikely Suitor

First class train travel was more luxurious, with velvet seats, and gilded ceilings. There were salon cars and dining cars.

1869 Dining Car

But… it still must have been a hot and noisy ride as men wore suits and women wore long-sleeved, high-necked ensembles. And hats and gloves. A few years ago I was riding in a train in France that lost its air conditioning, and it was a miserable experience—and I was dressed for the heat. So first class or no, travel could be tedious.

1895 Fashion

When the wealthy set arrived in Newport, they would find that their summer homes were ready for them, as their servants had been sent ahead weeks earlier. And each socialite had ordered at least thirty new outfits for the 6-8 week season. Summer vacation was a big production for all involved.

Sometimes I imagine being able to take one of these ladies in my car and explain to her the highway system, rest stops, drive through food, cruise control, reclining seats, climate settings, cup holders (and 44 oz. drinks), navigation systems, back-up cameras, the radio, CDs, and DVDs. They’d probably scream from the speed alone...

But wouldn’t it be fun to share?//Nancy

1881 Arizona & Mary Connealy, Author of Deep Trouble

2011-06-06T01:00:00.002-05:00

Today I've asked fellow Nebraska author (yeah!) Mary Connealy to tell us about what it's like to be in deep trouble :-). I just retrieved my copy from my daughter, who gave it applause and a "thumbs up."

Deep Trouble follows Shannon Dysart on a search for a city of gold, the lost city of Quivera, which she believes is in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. She's on a quest to prove her father's

research isn't the work of a madman, and that he really did find treasure in the west.

Gabe Lasley is trying to keep her alive until she comes to her senses ... and then he plans on marrying her. With trouble on their back trail from the villains who still want Shannon’s map, the dream of gold coloring every decision Shannon makes, and Gabe’s surprising need to protect her, they set out to find a city of gold. Along the way they find that true treasure is rooted in love. And that was within their reach all along.

What artifact, place, historical event, or woman from history made you want to write this book?

Deep Trouble really began as a treasure hunt. X marks the spot, you know??? My heroine is searching for the Seven Cities of Gold, the Kingdom of Quivera. As I tried to figure out where in the world a city of gold might be hidden, I latched on to a long ago memory of a visit to the Grand Canyon. If someone wanted to really hide something, where better. My heroine's course is set and then the trouble begins. Deep Trouble.

What was the most surprising thing you learned about “the real story” while researching this book?

I did a lot of research about the history of the Grand Canyon and found out there were a lot of people, very early on who recognized it as a tourist treasure. It's so remote it's hard to believe someone would think travelers would come there, but Americans, even back then, had a great knack for figuring out how to profit from their hard work. The research I did about the Seven Cities of God struck me as being a mythological heaven on earth. Streets of gold. It made a wonderful contrast between the heroine looking for earthly wealth and the hero trying to get her to accept what was truly treasure here on earth. Love, family, faith.

Is there a historical photograph that inspired you you’d like to share?

My book begins in Mesa Verde, in Colorado. I slightly fictionalized Mesa Verde and didn't exactly pin point the location because I needed my cliff dwellings to be of a very specific design so someone could be trapped at the topmost cave simply by removing a ladder and Mesa Verde didn't do that for me, from what I could see in pictures. I've attached a picture of Mesa Verde to my email and if you'll look close there could be some caves high above the others, and if I was searching for gold in that place, I'd probably find a way to look in every nook and cranny.

What one non-fiction book helped you research the most (for those who want to learn more)?

For the Grand Canyon I relied heavily on The Man Who Walked Through Time by Colin Fletcher. Colin Fletcher is the first man to walk the length of the Grand Canyon. His first person reactions to the canyon were invaluable to me.

What spiritual encouragement did you draw from what you’ve learned?

Writing this book made me want to get out into nature. I spend so much of my life behind the computer researching. I'm trying to get out more, go to museums, visit locations, get my hands on things. It deepened my respect for the beauty God has created all around us and what a beautiful country we've been blessed with.

VISIT MARY AT:

www.maryconnealy.com

www.mconnealy.blogspot.com

www.seekerville.net

www.petticoatsandpistols.com

Grand Central Station

2011-06-02T08:00:00.000-05:00

You’ve probably heard of the “Commodore” in regard to American history. He—Cornelius Vanderbilt—was the founding father of the Vanderbilt dynasty in the mid-1800’s. He began earning his fortune in steam shipping, and expanded to railroads. He was ruthless, and became one of the richest men in America. When he died in 1877 he left $100 million--$95 million to one son and his four sons, and $2 million each to a grandson and two other sons, and a piddling $250,000-$500,000 each to his eight daughters. One "wastrel" son, Cornelius, got a $200,000 trust fund. He considered the one lucky son--William Henry Vanderbilt--the only one capable of continuing his business. And even the ones who received the lesser amounts were considered wealthy for it.

Grand Central from Lexington 1890

But enough about the Commodore's wealth, and back to railforads... In New York City, Vanderbilt bought the key land between 42nd & 48th Street, Lexington to Madison, with the intent of constructing a new train depot. In 1871, at a cost of $6.4 million, the first Grand Central would arise—and be out of date even before it opened. Why?

It was the time of the Industrial Revolution, and times were changing. Constantly. Even as the Commodore had the Grand Central depot built, the steam engine—for which it was built—was on its way out. Steam engines were noisy, dirty, and potentially dangerous—and one arrived every 45 seconds!

Streetcars arriving at Grand Central

In 1902 there was a collision in the smoke-filled Park Avenue Tunnel that killed 17 and injured 38 people. This catastrophe fueled the demand for the cleaner electric trains. By the end of 1902 there were plans to demolish GSS and build a double-level terminal. Isn’t that the way? It takes the loss of life to get our attention, and get much-needed changes implemented. Here are some original news articles about it: Grand Central 1902 crash

Interior 1880's? This is what I used
in my novel An Unlikely Suitor

Another negative about the design was its congestion. Originally the GSS served three rail lines—that each had its own facilities for waiting, baggage, and ticketing. Talk about confusing! The New York Central and Hudson River Railroad, New York and Harlem Railroad, and the New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad, all shared the space.

Clearing the tracks after Blizzard of 1888

Although updated in 1899, in 1913 the GSS that we know now was unveiled, and 150,000 people attended the ceremonies. The 1930’s and 40’s were the heyday of train travel. “In 1947, more than 65 million people -- the equivalent of 40% of the U.S. population -- traveled through Grand Central Terminal.”

New Grand Central about 1918

But then . . . during the Fifties . . . people started to drive and fly and train travel waned. GSS was nearly demolished to make way for more of the skyscrapers that surround it. But concerned citizens rallied (including Jackie Kennedy Onassis) and the original 1913 station was preserved—and restored. Today it houses many restaurants and shops and gives us a glimpse of the past. //Nancy

Restored Grand Central terminal today

Here is a great website about the Grand Central Station, with some interesting “secrets” and trivia: Grand Central Station Info

Some famous movies filmed there: “North by Northwest”, “The Cotton Club”, “The Fisher King”, “Superman”… and wasn’t there a scene in “The Prince of Tides” filmed there? With the kid playing his violin? Grand Cental Movies

Quilts and the Sod House Experience

2011-05-31T14:31:00.002-05:00

Just wanted our followers to know that my co-author Kathleen Moore and I (Stephanie) are giving a book talk at the International Quilt Study Center and Museum this Friday at 5:30 p.m. We'll be doing a trunk show featuring quilts we made for our book and also telling some of the stories we learned about 19th century sod house homemakers on the Great Plains.

Home on the Plains: Quilts and the Sod House Experience

International Quilt Study Center & Museum

33rd & Holdrege

Lincoln, Nebraska

It's a "first Friday," so admission is free .... and a book signing follows in the gift shop.

Thanks for putting up with the announcement! I've been working on the talk instead of writing a blog post.....and proof-reading the galleys for my next book ..... and proof-reading a commentary on Philippians by my pastor .... and I'm overwhelmed!

----Stephanie

Will You Marry Me?

2011-05-26T07:00:00.003-05:00

If you read about my great grandfather, Noach Swenson in a previous blog (The Man on the White Horse) here’s another story about him. About how he met and married his wife, Emma.

Noach immigrated to Minnesota from Sweden in 1869 at age 19. His sister and her husband were already living near Jordan, Minnesota. Noach worked in the area until he was 21, until he could homestead. A few years later, a group of these immigrants were together socially… and another Swenson (no relation), Muns Swenson and Eva, were at the gathering with a baby in a cradle. People teased Noach about not being married. He said, “I’ll marry that one”, meaning the baby in the cradle.

And he did. He married the baby, Emma, when she was 16, and he was 38. The community used to have barn dances. Emma loved to dance and Noach was attracted to the vivacious girl. But what did she see in him? There’s no record of the whys behind it. Logically he married because he was attracted to her, maybe even loved her, and needed a wife to help him with his homestead. But Emma? A vivacious 16-year-old? Did she want to get away from home that badly? Did she love him? Did her parents approve and encourage her? Or were they against it? Whatever the motivation and emotions, the two were married in 1888, had six children, and were together until their deaths in the 1930’s.

C.M. & Sarah and children
My grandmother, Ruth, is the youngest on the left

On the other side of my family was C.M. Holmquist. He came over from Sweden about the same time as Noach (1869-ish). He was married to Sarah Christina Jonnsen in 1880 and they had nine children. My grandmother, Ruth, was the youngest, born in 1900. She was born eleven months after her brother Arthur died of polio, at age four. Birth and death must have been ever-present… There were nineteen years between child #1 and child #9. Sarah had to be exhausted. She always looked frail…
Sara Christine died in 1922 at age 67. Her daughter, Alma died a few months later of a sudden heart attack—at age 25.
Heartbroken, C.M. took a trip back to Sweden. On the trip he met Elvira Mattson. When he came home he presented her to his family. Surprise! Welcome my new wife! A ship-board romance? C.M. was seventy.

Logic might suggest that people were more pragmatic back then, that they knew life could be cut short at any time and so didn’t waste time. Also, especially in rural communities, there were fewer prospects to choose from. Communication and transportation was limited beyond your community. The people you saw every day was who you got. Plus, there was the language and culture barrier. To find someone from the same background and roots probably took precedent over finding your true love or waiting for Mr. or Miss Right.

I’m sure many families have such odd pairings, either by age or circumstance. I’d love to hear some of your stories . . . //Nancy

1880 ... Omaha to Sacramento via train ... with Stephen Bly, author of Throw the Devil off the Train

2011-05-23T00:01:00.001-05:00

Today I'm honored to introduce you to a godly, humble man I admire greatly. The "official word" about Steve:

Stephen Bly is a Christy Award finalist and winner in the western category for The Long Trail Home, Picture Rock, The Outlaw’s Twin Sister and Last of the Texas Camp. He has authored and co-authored with his wife, Janet, 105 books, both fiction and nonfiction. He and Janet have 3 married sons, 4 grandchildren, and 1 great-grandchild and live in the mountains of northern Idaho on the Nez Perce Indian Reservation.

I first met Stephen and Janet Bly years ago at a writer's retreat. They were gracious and welcoming ... and they prayed faithfully for me when my husband, Bob, was in the midst of the cancer battle that took him to heaven back in 2001. Together, the Blys have modeled a lot

of great things for me, not the least of which are faithfulness in prayer and commitment to each other and the Lord they love.

The Sunday morning worship service when Steve pastored and served communion to the gathering of believing authors at that conference was unforgettable. I received a special grace note from the Father that long-ago Sunday morning ... a little preview of heaven. There will always be a special place in my heart for Janet and Stephen Bly, and I'm thrilled that Steve agreed to share some "footnotes from history" with us. (Stephanie G.)

_____________________________________________________________

What different sort of setting made you want to write this book?

You’d think after more than a hundred books in print, most of them set in the Old West, that I’d have exhausted every possible location. I’ve used cabins, saloons, dance halls, jails, hotels, cafes, sandbars and most any other place you could name. All, except one. In my last book, Creede of Old Montana, I set a whole scene inside an outhouse.

I’ve set stories in Colorado and Arizona, in New Mexico and Nevada, in Montana and Idaho, in Wyoming and Nebraska, in Texas and South Dakota. The old western Stagecoach was a road story in a stage.

But somehow the idea grew to get my characters on a train.

Throw The Devil Off The Train is a road story inside a train headed west. I wanted the grandeur of the West from a train window. . .the very slow journey, compared to modern transportation.

What was the most surprising thing you learned about “the real story” while researching this book?

I was most surprised that this story turned into more of a romance than a classic western. I knew there’d be western adventures such as a holdup, hijack, kidnapping and even a gold mine swindle. But when I shoved my two protagonists together on that long, cramped, chaotic train ride west, it was like throwing two cats into a burlap bag.

She's got to escape. She's desperate for a change. She hopes for a fresh start. She'd do anything to get to Philip, a childhood friend who runs a booming business in California. And she sure doesn’t want anyone on the train to know her real last name. The long train ride promises a peaceful transition from one life to another.

He's into revenge. Race Hillyard heads west with a heart of vengeful justice, to settle a bitter score for his brother, and a body aching for sleep. Those who incited his brother’s death should pay for their actions. He’s on the prowl for the culprits, the one action at present that makes life worth living. He arrives at the train station exhausted and views the ride as a restful prelude before confrontations in California.

The only thing these two agree upon: they despise each other. Fiery, opinionated and quick to react, can they team up long enough to throw the devil off the train? That become the main question that moved my plot.

Did you need to know a lot about train food and other amenities?

I know a lot about what cowboys on the trail ate during that time. They filled up with biscuits, bacon, beans. And coffee. Ah, good old boiled coffee. The brand was probably Arbuckles which tasted like a Starbucks tall Americano with a quadruple shot. . . mixed with a bit of mud. By the late 1880s air-tights (canned food) appeared, such as peaches and tomatoes. That provided more ways for the camp cooks to make dessert. Sourdough bread thrived on long trail drives. But I didn’t know much about dining on the rails.

As I began to research train food, I stopped when I realized my two main characters would not be have much in the way of funds. As it turned out a couple measly apples became a great point of contention and nourishment between them. So, this greatly simplified my research as they scavenged for plainer fair.

What one non-fiction book helped you research the most (for those who want to learn more)?

I used my Place Names books for the different stops along the route. They’re great for historical tidbits such as real names and other interesting trivia of old towns. That, plus my memory of many other research journals and my University of Oklahoma and University of Nebraska nonfiction histories, as well as personal tours through the various trips we’ve taken along that trail ourselves, helped me with description. For instance, when passengers Catherine Goodwin and Race Hillyard take a walk along the muddy North Platte River, I know they’ll see scattered buildings, mountains of firewood, bluffs, short, dry, brown grass sprawled for miles, as well as treeless, rolling prairie. I could even note possible wagon ruts that record the direction of an intrepid pioneer. The rest of the time was spent inside the train. I used lots of old photographs from various books and online for those details.

What spiritual encouragement did you draw from what you’ve learned?

As the theme developed for this story, I was reminded that all of us have flaws and strengths, but relationships can grow in spite of the weaknesses when we’ve got a commitment to the Lord to do things right.

Folks can gnaw on our nerves, but people are much more complex than we realize at first impression. We tend to judge and categorize humans before really knowing them. We thus eliminate friendships for surface reasons and lose out on some of God’s special gifts to us.

Most of us hide spiritual and emotional hurts from others. . .and sometimes ourselves. We must be open to what God is doing around us, to receive the help he sends. This is what I’ve learned from the characters in my novels and especially from those in Throw The Devil Off The Train.

___________________________________________________

Throw The Devil Off The Train available May 2011. You can order through your local bookstore, your favorite online bookstore includinghttp://www.amazon.com/ or get autographed copies through the Blys website:http://h/

Visit the Blys at:

http://blybooks.com/

http://blybooks.blogspot.com/

The Man on the White Horse

2011-05-19T07:00:00.005-05:00

I recently helped my 90-year-old parents move into a retirement community. While going through a lifetime of possessions, we came upon an amazing photograph. I asked my mother “What’s this?” She said, “The man on the white horse is your great grandfather, Noach Swenson. His wife, Emma is in the surrey.” Looking closer at the picture I saw a band, playing in the field! Also, everyone was very dressed up. “What’s the occasion?” Mom said Grandpa Noach had purchased five new binders and the community was celebrating.

My great-grandparents: Emma in the surrey,
and Noach Swenson on the white horse.

Amazing. Also amazing that they’d had the foresight to get a photographer to come out and take a picture of the day. It’s probably in the 1890’s… Actually, I found a newspaper article that said the man who sold Noach the binders, from the dealership in Canby, Minnesota, arranged for the band. Marketing, marketing…

The band, out playing in the field

As photographs often do, it made me delve into my family history a bit more. Luckily, my mother had done the genealogy of both sides of the family back in the 70’s (before the Internet!) So I didn’t have to look too far. I found out more about Noach and Emma. ..

He came to America in 1869, at the age of 19, the first of his family to leave Sweden for the “Land of Opportunity”. As the ninth of eleven children, he would never inherit anything in Sweden. His ambition was to become an independent, land owning farmer, but he had to work a few years to earn enough money to realize his ambition. He worked on the railroad and as a farm hand until he went to Lac qui Parle County in Minnesota and filed for a homestead in 1879. He had to return to his farmhand job to earn more money, but he did order a house built on the homestead. When he returned he saw that it had no windows and no door! He had to whittle out an opening with his pocket knife! He fashioned a crude door but had no hinges, so cut a strip of leather off the top of each of his boots and fashioned leather hinges!

He and a neighbor pooled their resources and each furnished two oxen for a four-oxen team to break the sod. They each started working 20 acres. Staying warm in the house was a challenge in the Minnesota winters. Trees were scarce and couldn’t be spared for fuel, so prairie grass was twisted into tight knots to slow its burning, and then put away for winter use. For the rest of his life, Noach planted many trees… when a grove died in the 1930’s, he was very sad. Trees were special to him.

Sod house in Lac qui Parle County

He knew the family of Mons Swenson (no relation). Mons had operated a ferry across the Minnesota River near the present town of Jordan (at that time Belle Plaine was the nearest town to the ferry.) Mons and his wife, Eva had a daughter, Emma—who was born in a log house at the ferry site in 1873. They moved to Noach’s area and lived in a sod house until theirs could be built. One winter the snow covered the house and they had to shovel their way out, tying a rope between the front door and the barn in order so they wouldn’t get lost in the blizzard.

Noach, age 38, decided he wanted to marry the lively Emma—age 16! And so they married in 1889. “Though he was a serious, reserved man who did not join much in gayety, he admired the pretty girl with the rosy cheeks and curly hair who twirled so gaily to the notes of her father’s fiddle.” He built a two-story house for her on the land adjoining his original farmstead. Twenty-two years age difference? Yikes.

Nearby Dawson, MN 1892

They had seven children (one died young), and Emma was busy. During harvest, more so. She would have to cook three meals a day, and two lunches for the 20 farm hands. She had to take the lunches into the fields, but they came in for meals. She filled a crock with pancakes before she called them to breakfast in order to keep up with their appetites. One time (because of rain and delays) she had to feed 20 farmhands for 28 days straight. Emma was worn out!

Once, newlywed Emma and her newly arrived sister-in-law from Sweden were washing clothes. They had a hot fire going on the stove. The chimney caught on fire. Emma told her SIL to ring the bell to call the men in, but got two buckets of water and climbed up on the roof and poured the water down the chimney herself. But it flamed up again and she realized they were going to lose the house. She went inside to save what she could. All she saved was her sewing machine. A pair of new shoes were on the treadle, but one fell off and the fire was too hot to save it. So Emma lost her house, with all her new wedding gifts and possessions inside. She saved a sewing machine and one new shoe. Later, the barn burned and 21 horses were lost. No insurance claims. No stores nearby to easily buy new things.

Once Noach froze his feet going to get his cattle down by the river in a snowstorm. His toes were so badly frozen that they turned a dark blue after they thawed. He couldn’t wear shoes, but had to wrap his feet in cloth until they healed.

Providence Valley
Lutheran Church

In his later years, after he’d retired and moved to town, Noach still loved to ride out to the farm. He marveled at the gravel roads, for when he’d come to Minnesota, there were no roads. To find their way he said they’d get to the top of a ridge, look around, make a plan of action, and go to the next ridge, where they’d make a new plan. Sounds like a good philosophy of life in general… And perhaps that’s how they got by, how they kept going amid all the hardships and challenges. They’d go to a high place and look for a new way to go… I know their faith grounded them and provided much comfort. They were founding members of the Providence Valley Lutheran Church--which is still a vibrant church.

Noach’s farm prospered and was continued by my grandfather, George. My mother grew up on that farm, and only recently was it sold—over 100 years after it was started. Such were the hardships of homesteaders. Such was their tenacity and strength. It makes me wonder what I have to complain about in my easy life? Looking back, they inspire me. And they humble me.//Nancy

1887 Texas & Karen Witemeyer, Author of To Win Her Heart

2011-05-13T15:50:00.119-05:00

Well, I've just gotten home from spending the morning on

Granny-duty (joy!), and what a wonderful surprise to find that my daughter's latest read just happened to be this book ... To Win Her Heart by fellow Bethany House author, Karen Witemeyer. Talk about Serendipity! Now, my daughter is what you would call a "discerning reader." She reads literally dozens of books a year and is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to our regular fiction book club meetings. The woman knows the world of Christian fiction ... and she gives this story of a blacksmith with a criminal past and a librarian with pacifist ideals a "thumbs up." It is my distinct pleasure and honor to introduce y'all to Karen Witemeyer as she shares some of her own "novel inspirations from history." Enjoy! ...............Stephanie G.

***

As a writer, nothing excites me more during the research phase of plotting a book than discovering actual history that allows my entire plot to fit together in a way more perfect than anything my imagination could have conjured. This is exactly what happened during the writing of my latest novel, To Win Her Heart.

My hero, Levi Grant, enters the story after spending two years in Huntsville State Prison for an unintentional crime. Being a large, muscled man, he was put to work in the labor camps during his incarceration, breaking rock at a granite quarry.

The abusive camp sergeants he faced there left him with scars inside and out, but the compassion of a prison chaplain helped him rebuild his faith and rededicate his life to serving the Lord. Upon his release, he takes up his father's blacksmithing trade and tries to create a fresh start by keeping his past a secret. Now, as the author, I couldn't allow this secret to stay hidden forever. So I began looking for ways to expose my hero's past. And I stumbled upon the perfect solution in my time period research.

In 1881, the Texas Capitol building (pictured as it appeared in 1875) was destroyed by fire (after the fire below right). The Texas Legislature decided that when they rebuilt, they would use only materials native to the state. They initially chose limestone, as there was a quarry near Austin, but when iron particles in the rock led to discoloration, they elected red granite instead.

This granite was obtained from Granite Mountain near Marble Falls, Texas in1885. To cut costs, the state contracted convict labor for breaking the stone. The use of free—or almost free—convict labor in the quarries, however, was seen as an attempt by the state to undermine unionized labor and was opposed by virtually every organized labor group in Austin. Hence, word spread throughout the region about the controversial labor force.

This historical event allowed me to supply Levi with quarry experience during his incarceration (breaking rock at Granite Mountain), but with a project that was so well known for using convict labor, it could easily expose his past should anyone learn of his involvement. And, of course, someone does. History provided the perfect scenario. (The photo shows convicts working at Granite Mountain.)

Not only did this fabulous research gem supply the plot point I needed, but it also helped determine my setting. The story opens in 1887, in keeping with the time frame of Levi working at the labor camp in 1885 at the beginning of his incarceration, leaving time on the back end of his two-year sentence for his spiritual rehabilitation with the prison chaplain. It also played a role in the location of Spencer, Texas. Knowing how pivotal a role having a quarry nearby would be to my story, I chose to set my fictional town near Limestone County where the natural resource from which the county derived its name was abundant enough to allow me to install a quarry a few miles from town.

Fun how things work out, isn't it?

For more information on the use of convict labor in building the Texas state capitol building, follow these links: http://www.texfiles.com/texashistory/statecapitol.htm - Highlights the labor union dispute.

http://www.ci.austin.tx.us/library/ahc/capitol/design.htm - Great pictures of the convict labor force, Granite Mountain, and the construction of the capitol.

***

Please join me in thanking Karen for sharing some fascinating history with us today. Believe it or not ... I'm working on a book set at the Nebraska State Penitentiary in the 1880s ... I was amazed when I learned that Karen had studied convict labor! The places we writers will go to find a story .... I declare!

Visit Karen at website: http://www.karenwitemeyer.com/

For more about her new release: To Win Her Heart

A Day at the Beach

2011-05-05T07:00:00.001-05:00

Since Newport, Rhode Island is on an island . . . there are many beaches. Back in the Gilded Age, the last few decades of the nineteenth century, two were notable—yet opposite in who frequented their sand and sea.

Easton's Beach and the Boardwalk

First there was Easton’s Beach, on the eastern side of Aquidneck Island, south of Easton Pond. This beach actually became too popular, as Newport grew to be not just the summer retreat of the East Coast rich, but a retreat for the working and middle class. The fact the trolleys made it easy for mill workers in nearby Fall River to go to Easton’s in their free time, added to its popularity.

From Bailey's Beach

But the wealthy, seeking exclusivity, left Easton’s to those … other classes, and moved their patronage south to Bailey’s Beach. Where Easton’s could be reached by trolley, Bailey’s was truly isolated, and could only be reached by foot or bicycle. The same is still true.

Here’s a photo of a trolley in 1889. In Chapter 17 of An Unlikely Suitor, I have a young couple take the trolley to Easton’s, where they wade in the ocean. For a nickel you could ride the trolley anywhere. In the early 1900’s a roller coaster was added (below.)

Bailey’s Beach was private, with its own club house and clinentele. It’s owned and run by the Spouting Rock Beach Association, and they determine its members. It’s located at the south end of the Cliff Walk near Spouting Rock—which is a rock formation where the water…spouts.

bathers on Bailey's Beach

At the southeast corner of Bailey’s is “Rejects Beach”, a portion of the beach that is separated from Bailey’s by a rope that marks its boundaries on the sand—and even into the water. Well then!

In the 1890's, the attire for swimming was ponderous. Soggy blanket anyone? And yet . . . hmm. It would have covered a multitude of body flaws. But somehow, I don't think modern day bathing beauties will go for it.//Nancy

Hats--Oh, My!

2011-05-02T01:00:00.000-05:00

Princess Eugenie made quite a statement at the royal wedding this past week when she wore what one blogger labeled, "a doorknocker adorned with an octopus."

The Princess is only one in a very long line of women who sported noteworthy headwear. Ladies'hats have been the cause of com

ment and controversy for centuries.

In the 19th century, for example, hats played a role in the founding of Audubon Magazine!

In 1886, a devoted (and ultimately outraged) birder hiked from his uptown Manhattan office to the heart of the women's fashion district on 14th Street, tallying the stuffed birds on the hats of passing women as he walked. He counted parts or entire bodies of three bluebirds, two red-headed woodpeckers, nine Baltimore orioles, five blue jays, twenty-one common terns, a saw-whet owl, and a prairie hen. In two afternoon trips he listed 174 birds from forty different species … all of them “victims of fashion.” Gull, tern, heron, and egret populations were especially affected by the fashion craze involving avian accents.

In 1897, Harper’s Bazaar reported, "That there should be an owl or ostrich left with a single feather apiece hardly seems possible." More than birds adorned hats in the those days. Fruit, flowers, furs, and even mice and small reptiles nestled atop fashionable

ladies' heads.Believe me ... I looked. I never did find a photo of a period hat with a "small reptile" ...

although I wonder what we'd see if we had a view of the other side of the creation on the left. Plenty of room for a menagerie. Still, I'm thinking small reptiles just didn't really catch on.

When researching Nora’s Ribbon of Memories, I grew increasingly impressed with the artistry and skill required to be a successful milliner. My main character, Nora (a runaway who works in an 'establishment of ill repute' for a while as a housekeeper) eventually becomes a milliner. At one point, her new employer pulls out a “lightweight buckram frame,” to use as a base for a new creation, and Nora wonders aloud, “How do you turn that thing into a hat?” The milliner goes on to show Nora how its done, “We cover the frame with … bombazine. With a black velvet bow on this side, and a black ostrich feather curving up across the top, it’ll be stunning.”

Another character in the book, Dr. Maude Allbright, is described as someone who "may not have been a slave to fashion ... " but was "definitely a slave to hats." Still, Dr. Allbright eschews the idea of dead birds as adornment.“Every red-tailed hawk in the county will be dive-bombing me if I wear that,” she scoffs, pointing to a French creation sporting three gray birds perched on the crown.

Dr. Allbright orders her hat with “posies instead of dead birds,” and especially likes “a large-brimmed hat entirely camouflaged in felt-gray plumes and curled blue and yellow striped ribbon.”

In the end, Nora opens her own business in fictional Millersburg, Nebraska.

One very helpful resource I discovered while working on Nora was a book called The Female Economy; the Millinery and Dressmaking Trade, 1860-1930. I close with hat history ... and some photos of imaginative head-coverings from my collection of vintage photographs. You'll notice feathers and plumes in abundance. Who knows ... maybe there's a small reptile in there somewhere.

"When a girl enters a milliner's establishment, she must give three or four month’s time to learning the business. After that, she receives five dollars a week; and in some instances, as she improves, her wages are increased to fifteen."

"The dressmaker’s assistant looks down on the factory hand … she works with ‘fine things’ and interacts with ‘ladies’ …"

“No woman wants a hat like any other hat that has ever been made.”

“It is the retailer’s duty to curb the extravagance of young women who cannot afford expensive hats, and thus help their customer’s avoid paths that have led many girls to ruin.” The Illustrated Milliner

"Last evening Sallie Howe was here. We were all talking about bonnets. They all wish me to have some kind of bright flower inside my bonnet. Sarah and Lizzie wish me to have a Geranium scarlet, white strings with a scarlet edge, not to have purple by any means, they say … I wish to know what you like. I do not think pink is becoming … They say I must not have white or purple …”

"[The customer said] 'When I put my bonnet on and looked into the glass, I hardly knew myself it made me look so handsome' … disaster could have just as easily been the result … they expect us to remake them in spite of nature."

"Failure in millinery was most often caused by doing too much business on credit …etiquette prevented the tradeswoman from pressing her case.”

Hats still make a statement ... I do wonder what Mrs. Howe of Burlingame, Kansas, (whose business card appears above) would say about ...

Cheers!.........................................from Stephanie

My Chateau of Inspiration

2011-04-28T07:00:00.011-05:00

The nice thing about writing fiction is that I have some leeway to use a place that is real as inspiration, without using it per se. That’s the case with the Chateau-sur-Mer in Newport, Rhode Island, the summer playground of the wealthy during the Gilded Age.

When I saw this house in Newport, I fell in love. It stands on a green hill, grand but not haughty, elegant without being cold. Until the Vanderbilts started building their mega-mansions in the 1890’s, it was the palatial mansion in Newport.

It was first built in 1852 then remodeled and added onto, twenty years later. It was built for William Shepard Wetmore who made his fortune in the China trade. Originally it encompassed 35 acres and had a sea-view. But later, some of its land was sold (and the Breakers built upon it), making this “castle on the sea” landlocked. William and his wife once had a party for 3000 in the house!

When William died in 1862, the house passed to his son, George, who eventually became the governor of Rhode Island (1885-1887), and a state senator (1894-1912.) He hired Richard Morris Hunt to transform the house—which Hunt did, starting in 1871. He changed it so much that many people thought the original house had been torn down. Hunt later was the architect on the Vanderbilt’s Breakers and Marble House.

I include Mr. and Mrs. Wetmore at a dinner party in Chapter 13 of my book. A little ironic twist that they are guests in the fictitious Langdon mansion inspired by their very real home.

There are five areas of Chateau-sur-Mer that I used in An Unlikely Suitor. I am very partial to wood trim (you would know that if you saw my house), so the paneling of the grand entry really spoke to me. Plus, the stained glass and skylight are stunning. I had great fun writing a scene where my immigrant seamstress character, Lucy, first walks into the house.

The second room I used was the French parlor—that I called Mrs. Langdon’s morning room. It’s notable because the wood paneling of the rest of the house is present there too, but Edith Wetmore had it painted white. As a lover of wood and its grain I cringed. But it’s a very feminine room in a very masculine house.

Third, was the Butternut Bedroom. I made this the bedroom belonging to my main character, Rowena. She’s very warm and unassuming, and I felt the color of the butternut wood suited her, and was a contrast to the formal, assuming, white morning room preferred by her mother.

The Library was another room that inspired a scene, a confrontation between a poor girl in want of a book to read, the heir, and a butler. I have a library in my house, with lots of wood and shelves, so I love this type of room.

Lastly, the back of the Chateau had a porch facing the sea. I created a scene that had Rowena painting a landscape on the porch, and it was also a place she could go to contemplate the drama in the book. (Note: these wonderful interior photos are from a great book about the mansions of Newport by the Preservation Society of Newport County: Newport Mansions.)

I added a room-sized dressing room for Rowena, and stables and outbuildings, as needed. But the spirit of the Chateau lives on in my fictional Porte au Ciel: Gate to Heaven.

When I visited Newport in 2005, the Chateau-sur-Mer was undergoing a restoration but is now open to the public. It’s on my to-do list. After all, the house and I have become very close.//Nancy

How to Help a Grieving Friend ... personal history

2011-04-25T16:44:00.010-05:00

I (as in Stephanie, pictured on the right before she was published) hope you won't mind indulging me on this Monday-after-Easter with a brief announcement and a few reflections on some personal history, since the promise of Easter is very personal.

The older I get, the more I look forward to Heaven, because the list of people I get to see again grows. I particularly think about my first husband, Bob, and my own parents. Bob's parents are there, too, and this past year my grandson Barrett left for heaven before I held him in my arms as a newborn.

This past Easter Sunday, I copied parts of 1 Corinthians ... "If Christ has not been raised ... your faith is worthless; If Christ has not been raised ... you are still in your sins ... and those who have fallen asleep have perished ... BUT Christ has been raised! ... (and someday), "in a moment ... in the twinkling of an eye ... the dead will be raised imperishable ... and death

will be swallowed up in victory." I believe that with all my heart. And yet ... in the meantime ... part of being human is facing hurt and loss.

I learned a lot about grief between 1996 and 2001. In 1996, just a few days after Bob received his "terminal" cancer diagnosis, my best friend died of breast cancer. A few months later, both my parents died within six months of each other. And then, in 2001, Bob graduated to heaven.

It wasn't until after Bob had left this earth that I began to realize how terrible I was at helping grieving friends. I found myself calling them and apologizing for stupid things I'd said or done ... things that, at the time, I intended to be helpful. Things that, now that I was the one facing loss, I suddenly realized weren't helpful at all. In fact, some of my well-intentioned words were hurtful.

I joked with another widow about writing a book called Lifestyles of the Well Meaning but Clueless ... because I realized how clueless I had so often been.

Thus was borne How to Help a Grieving Friend, a little book that talks about "how it feels" to grieve and then focuses on "how to help," giving practical ways to offer meaningful help in times of loss.

Not surprisingly, it took my agent a long timeto find it a home. Why? "Well," publishers said, "we just don't do death and dying well." Which, my agent said, was exactly the point. Isn't it interesting that the one thing that every single person ever born has in their personal history, is also the thing that "we don't do well."

And so my announcement:

How to Help a Grieving Friend, is
now available in ebook format for Kindle (http://www.amazon.com

/How-Help-Grieving-Friend-ebook/dp/B004WBJ6C6/r

ef=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=digital-text&qid=1303768778&sr=1-1) and Nook (http://search.barnesandnoble.com/How-to-Help-a-Grieving-Frie

nd/Stephanie-Grace-Whitson/e/2940012328199/?

itm=1&USRI=how+to+help+a+grieving+friend and will soon be available as a print book. (I don't own an ebook reader, by the way ... but I downloaded Nook's free app onto my PC and voila ... I can order ebooks!)

If you feel as awkward and helpless as I used to when headed to a funeral (or when I saw someone in the grocery store who had just lost a loved one), if you've wondered what to say or do, this little book can help.

Today's "personal history" blog closes with a poem I wrote many years ago as a reminder of the promise we celebrate at Easter. I hope it encourages you.

Because He lives ....

Stephanie

Cocoons

A lifeless shell (to earthly eyes) can open,
freeing its surprise to dance on a garden leaf.
Gossamer wings gently hesitate to fly.
And then, as wind abates, it flutters towards the sky.

Out of sight, it yet exists and, dancing on,

its wings persist to unseen garden leaves.
No less alive, though out of sight,

it testifies to each man's plight;
a common destiny.
For each of us must leave behind a lifeless shell.
and earthly-minded men can think, "Life's done."
It isn't true.

Although unseen, we flutter on to gardens green with joy,
alive in Christ.

Alive in Christ, Who's dead cocoon, though buried in a garden tomb arose to give new life.
Here's hope for all in facing death:

a lifeless shell (to earthly eyes)
precedes the birth of butterflies.

A New Book and a Contest!

2011-04-21T07:00:00.003-05:00

It's always exciting to hold a new book in my hands, and my newest has finally arrived! An Unlikely Suitor is set in the Gilded Age, 1895. A New York seamstress, along with her sister and mother, help create a summer wardrobe for a rich heiress. They end up in the summer haven of the rich, Newport, Rhode Island. A friendship ensues, a bit of danger, and a lot of romance.

I've talked about the book in earlier posts, and have begun sharing some of the insights into Newport and the sewing process that I discovered while doing the research. I'll share more in future weeks. Here's a woman who looks like Lucia Scarpelli, my seamstress... I love finding portraits of people who match the characters in my head. The fact she'd dressed ala 1895, and is sitting in a place that looks like Newport's Cliff Walk. Zounds, I couldn't have imagined her any better!

I'm so excited about the book's release that I'm having a contest. I'm giving away a vintage-inspired wooden box full of goodies (worth over $50), an antique piece of jewelry (that sparkles), and a copy of the novel. Three winners. All you have to do is leave a comment to this blog entry and tell me the era of history you most like to read about. Who knows? Maybe I'll choose that time in history as a setting in a future novel. Or you can also enter on my website at www.nancymoser.com or on my Facebook page. I'll draw the three winners on May 15.

Also, just a note... if you like the book I'd sure appreciate you spreading the word, and leaving a review on one of the online bookstores like Christianbook.com, Amazon.com, or barnesandnoble.com. If you don't like the book, shhh! Just kidding. You're welcome to give your true opinion.

Thank you ever so much for your readership! Without you, I'm writing to the wind.//Nancy

Where Did They Get Their Simplicity Patterns?

2011-04-16T15:44:00.013-05:00

When I was a teenager, “Mom” Pennell made my Easter outfit every year. (I contemplated inserting a photo of me in my favorite “Mom” Pennell creation, but regained my sanity.) A retired seamstress, Mom Pennell had worked for a wedding gown designer. He drew … she sewed. Mom could transform her employer’s drawings into a 3-D object long before CAD existed. My understanding of how she did that is that God the Creator gifted her to create by perceiving spatial relationships in a way that enabled her to combine a drawing with a woman’s shape (in her mind) and then cut a piece of fabric to fit that shape. 3-D geometrical talent applied to cloth. Of course Mom also had a dress form, and I always went for at least one fitting … just like 19^th century dressmakers.

In the U.S., until Butterick began to publish patterns, fashionable clothing that fit properly was the purview of the wealthy. The rest of society either wore makeshift clothing that didn’t fit very well or hoped for hand-me-downs from someone higher up the income ladder. Aprons (a straight piece of cloth gathered onto a narrow piece of cloth tied at the waist) or belts often give shape to what was little more than a long, hemmed, sack. In this engraving of a maid in the 1750s, the softness around her neck is probably a square of cloth folded and draped like a scarf. The headgear? A circle (invert a pail, a basket, or a crock and you’ve got a circle pattern) gathered to fit around the head (measure with a length of twine to see how far to draw it up). I’m no seamstress, but I think I could manage.

Of course none of that was sufficient for women who were part of the growing “middle class” 19^th century America. By then, a woman’s dress required buttonholes and darts and set-in sleeves. Enter (I think) the women like Mom Pennell who had the gift to look at the page and make it happen.

While the Civil War created demand for men’s ready-to-wear in the form of army uniforms, women would have to wait until later in the century (the 1880s) for much to happen in that marketplace (and then, of course, they’d still need the means to barter or buy). I know from reading western women’s pioneer diaries that they helped each other with their sewing needs. So I’m going to make an “educated supposition” that, if there was a Mom Pennell within twenty miles, she probably helped more than one pioneer woman with her dressmaking. (It’s also possible to de-construct a dress you like and use it for a pattern. Seam-ripper in hand, a pioneer woman could have taken a dress apart and used the resulting pieces as a pattern for years to come. Did they? I haven’t a clue … but I once did that with a beloved dress.) The brief research I’ve done on the history of dressmaking indicates that Godey’s Lady’s Book offered full-size patterns in the 1850s. When I learned that, I rushed to my bookshelf to check my 1875 Godey’s. Alas, no dress patterns that year, although pull-out fashion plates abound.

I did, however, find the pattern on the left in an 1869 edition of Peterson’s Magazine. How long do you suppose it took a woman to transfer the drawings into usable size ... and how did she make this "one-size-fits-all" approach work for her child? The brief instructions include the admonition that, “by the letters it may be readily seen how to put it together.” Oh ... really????

Mass-produced, sized, dress patterns came along thanks to Ebenezer Butterick. The family cut and folded the patterns by hand at first, moving into mass production by 1866. Millions had been sold by 1871. James McCall became a competitor. I enjoyed reading the Butterick company history here: http://butterick.mccall.com/butterick-history-pages-1007.php php.

Thanks to Vince for suggesting this topic. (Simplicity, by the way, was founded in 1927 ... I didn't know that!)

I, for one, have new appreciation for how easily I can don an "Easter outfit" if I so choose...although I am far more interested this year in snuggling my Easter grand-babies than thinking about new clothes! Here's the First Arrival with his big sister ... hours after his April 14 arrival. The next Easter baby is due any day now ... she and her cousin will be in the same church nursery soon.

The Breakers

2011-04-14T08:00:00.009-05:00

Summer “cottage” my foot. Yet that’s what the wealthy set of the Gilded Age called their mega-mansions in Newport.

The Breakers is the largest of these mansions and is used in the climax of my novel An Unlikely Suitor. Encompassing 65,000 square feet of living space (not to mention the cubic feet) it’s the size of thirty homes in one—and one family lived in it. A little about them:

Cornelius Vanderbilt II
by John Singer Sargent

Cornelius Vanderbilt II was the grandson of the Commodore who ignited the Vanderbilt fortune decades earlier by getting into steamships and railroads. Cornelius was the favorite grandson and was bequeathed $5 million upon his grandfather’s death in 1877. When his father (William Henry) died in 1885, he received $70 million. Quite the nest egg. But C-2 didn’t sit around doing nothing. He took over the helm of the his family’s railroad legacy.

But backing up…C-2 met his wife Alice Gwynne while they were teaching Sunday school. They married in 1867 and had four sons and three daughters. Mrs. Vanderbilt was a leader in New York Society. Here’s a picture of her at one of her costume balls in 1883, dressed as "Electric Light".

This portion of the Vanderbilt family was very generous and gave to many charities including the YMCA, Salvation Army, Red Cross, their churches, as well as donating Vanderbilt Hall at Yale in memory of their son William, who died of typhus while in his junior year there in 1892. I think it's important to note that when C-2 died he had not added to his fortune, but had given away what he had made over his lifetime. We’re talking millions.

Breakers 1909

When they built the Breakers they had five living children, aged 9, 15,18, 20, and 22. The first Breakers burned to the ground in 1892. Its replacement was started a year later, and finished the year of my novel, 1895. But Mr. Vanderbilt suffered a bad stroke the following year, so this was the only year the Breakers was fully enjoyed by Alice and Cornelius. The 70-room mansion purportedly cost $7-12 million to build ($150-260 million in today’s dollars.)

Alice and daughter Gertrude

Because the first house had burned down (as did many houses in the Gilded Age due to the use of open flame lighting and fireplaces) C-2 was determined the new house not suffer the same fate. And so he built the house without the use of wood. It used steel trusses, and C-2 even had the furnace placed away from the house, under the street. Set on 13 acres, commanding a view of the sea, the Breakers represents the epitome of Gilded Age extravagance with Italian and African marble.

Dining Room

The Music Room is decorated in real gold, and the Dining Room has columns of alabaster. Richard Morris Hunt was the architect. Looking at the detail…the artistry… I have a degree in architecture, but I can’t imagine envisioning such design, much less finding people with the talent to implement it. And once you have the house designed, you have to furnish it! All this done in two years? It’s astonishing. How could I resist having my own fictional ball in this massive hall? (below)

Neily and Grace
Vanderbilt

When the Breakers was finished in 1895, the Vanderbilts were going through a bit of a personal crisis, as their son Cornelius III (Neily) had fallen in love with Grace Wilson, who had been secretly engaged to his older brother Bill, before Bill died of typhoid. In spite of his parents’ objections, Neily and Grace were married in 1896 and were cut out of the will. They were married their entire live. Neily’s mother didn’t reconcile with him until 1926.

Morning Room

Alfred, the third Vanderbilt son, died in the sinking of the Lusitania. Next son, Reginald, was the father of Gloria Vanderbilt—the grandmother of journalist Anderson Cooper. Daughter Gertrude married Harry Payne Whitney and became a patron of art and formed the Whitney Museum of American Art in 1931. She was also a sculptor and designed the Titanic monument in Washington, D.C., honoring the men who gave their lives so women and children could be saved. Their youngest daughter became a countess by marrying Hungarian Count László Széchenyi.

Gladys Vanderbilt
by John Singer Sargent

C-2 didn’t have long to enjoy the Breakers. He had his first stroke the year after it was finished, and died in 1899 from a cerebral hemorrhage from a second stroke at the young age of 55.

He left the home to his wife, who left it to Gladys—who always loved the estate. In 1942 she leased it to the Newport Preservation Society for $1, but in 1972, the Society purchased it from Gladys’ daughter Countess Sylvia Szapary for $365,000. The family still owns the furnishings. What a bargain! When Sylvia died in 1998, she left the estate to her two children, who continue to spend time there, up on the third floor, away from the tourists. Over 300,000 people visit the Breakers every year. You really should be one of them. Newport Mansions//Nancy

Treadle sewing

2011-04-11T07:00:00.000-05:00

I wax nostalgic when the topic of treadle sewing machines comes up, because .... I learned to sew on one. At Clark Junior High School in East St. Louis, Illinois, we had an entire row of them in the Home Ec classroom, and that's what we used to create our fully lined black wool sheath dresses, and our two-piece wool pants suits. Pedal-pedal-pedal-pedal! In 1963-4. (And then of course we climbed aboard the covered wagon to go home. Uphill. Both ways. In the snow.)

For years my Grandmother's treadle sewing machine was part of our home decor. (Grandma Rose was Grandpa's sixth wife, but that's a topic for another blog. Or not.) I remember the drawers still housing all the attachments, and how I wish I had Grandma Rose's machine back...I'd probably use it!

As Nancy reminded us a few posts ago, the sewing machine changed women's lives forever. Reading her blog reminded me of some anecdotes I've come across in my studies of 19th Century Great Plains women.

In 1867, a Nebraska pioneer woman wrote, Didn’t this sewing machine help me long fast. I never mean to sew by hand any more if I can help it.

In 1878, Nebraskan Mattie Oblinger wrote about her Mother's sewing machine back home, "I wish I was near enough for awhile to do some sewin' on. I have so much to do I do not know where to commence." Later that same year she wrote, "I had to make some new clothes for the girls to wear to the fair, and I was very much hurried as I done it all by hand. Mother, I often wish I was close to your machine for three girls makes lots of sewin'."

Iowa farm wife Emily Gillespie was so thrilled to get a sewing machine, she wrote about it in her diary. I finished Henry’s clothes, took me just 49 hours to make coat, pants, and vest. "Just 49 hours" .... Oh my.

Nebraska sod house homemaker Luna Kellie wrote, J.T. had bought me a new Singer Machine and I made good use of it making all the clothes we all wore. I had done this before by hand only occasionally taking some long seams down to sew on Mrs. Strohls machine. Machines were not so high then I think we paid 30 or 35 dollars for it.

At least J.T. wasn't like one husband I read about who said that he thought that twenty or twenty-five dollars was a lot of money to pay for a machine that did "little more than lighten a woman's work load." Where do you suppose he's buried :-).

Ranch wife Grace Snyder had been married four years before she saved enough to buy a sewing machine by raising an orphaned calf. Imagine her joy when her husband returned from a supply run to town with that machine in the wagon ... and imagine her disappointment when they discovered he'd only brought the cabinet! The machine head, shipped in a separate crate, was still back at the train depot with the rest of the load. It would be a few days before the working part arrived!

For all the advances in women's sewing tools, I still think there's something to be said for the soothing monotony of hand stitching. I have a wonderful sewing machine and a Featherweight, but I still love to thread a needle (the thread spools perch on this antique thingy (what's it called?) and stitch by hand. And I honestly believe that our pioneer foremothers enjoyed it, too--in spite of all they had to accomplish. There is great satisfaction at looking at a bit of needlework and saying, 'I made that." Dinners get eaten, cookies disappear, laundry just has to be done again ... but stitching? Stitching often outlasts the hands that do it.

--Steph

A Romantic Stroll

2011-04-07T07:35:00.000-05:00

The Cliff Walk… doesn’t it sound like the perfect place for a romance, or a Gothic tale? That’s one reason I chose it as an integral element in An Unlikely Suitor. Walking along its 3.5 mile length with my husband conjured up images of Newport in its prime, during the last half of the 19th century…

The nice thing about nature is that the basics remain the same. And so the essence of the Cliff Walk remains much as it was so long ago. Considering Newport has been around since 1639, the original paths along the shore of Rhode Island Sound and the Atlantic were probably originally worn down by deer and the Narragansett Indians. When European settlers lived there, they would go down to the rocks to recover goods from ship wrecks.

For the sea could be harsh and the rocks along the shore were (and are) jagged and dangerous. Yet there’s something very exciting about walking on a narrow path with civilization on the one side, and the fierceness of nature on the other. Standing on the Walk, looking out to sea, the centuries fall away and you feel a connection with all that came before.

Newport began to be a summer haven of wealthy New Englanders as far back as 1850. As is the way since time began, people liked having a home with a view, and so homes were built along the edge of the ocean. As the century progressed, the first homes were replaced with palatial mansions that had grounds rivaling the lush estates of Europe. Instead of merchants and politicians building there, the extraordinarily wealthy “Robber Barons” of the Gilded Age took over: the Vanderbilts and Astors built summer “cottages” that were as large as twenty homes.

The Forty Steps

The Cliff Walk was a place for all classes. Although the wealthy lived along its edges, the servants who worked in those houses were free to use the Walk. At the north end are the 40 Steps. Here’s a photo of the wooden steps taken during that olden time. The steps ended on the rocks. It was a gathering place for the working class who would have parties where they’d dance and sing Irish music. Since that time, the steps have been improved, from wood to more sturdy stone.

Servants gathering
on the Cliff Walk

As the Walk gained in popularity, improvements were made a little at a time. Now, most of the Walk is paved, though there are still areas where you are virtually walking on rocks. But in the 1890’s (the era of my book) it was a more dangerous place and every year there were accidents and even deaths. I’ll leave it at that…

My husband on the Cliff Walk
telling me "How about this one?"

What did the rich home owners think about the lower classes walking within a hundred feet of their back porticos? They were not amused. At various times in history, the homeowners tried to restrict access. At one point they even dropped the Walk 12’ below the land-line so walkers couldn't see their houses. They’d plant bushes, put rocks in the way, or even use guard dog.

But many embraced the merging of their property and the Cliff Walk and made improvements, including nice walls to sit upon and bridges. The bottom line is the walk is a public place and all are welcome to embrace its beauty and honor its history. Go to Newport and take a walk. You won't be disappointed.//Nancy

Home on the Plains: Quilts and the Sod House Experience

2011-04-04T01:00:00.046-05:00

Many years ago I had the privilege of being shown the Dowse Sod House in Custer County, Nebraska, by the gentleman who's father had build the soddy. When I asked him where he'd been born, Mr. Dowse

turned around and pointed at the bed pictured here and said, "Right there."

I looked at the quilt on the bed and wondered ... "What kinds of quilts did those women have?"

So I went on a search for quilts used in Sod Houses. Fellow author and textile

historian Kathy Moore joined the fray and together we combed museum collections and the Solomon Butcher photographic collection for evidence. And we found quilts and women's stories. We share some of them in the new book ... Home on the Plains: Quilts and the Sod House Experience It's a true work of my heart and the result of years of research, miles spent driving gravel and dirt roads, untold hours in archives ... and at the sewing machine.

Co-author Kathy and I also MADE about a dozen quilts for the project, taking inspiration from

the antique quilts we discovered and creating a variety of reproductions and/or "new variations on the theme."

You'll note that the woman pictured on the book cover has spread a couple of her quilts on the fence in front of her sod house just before the photographer took her photo. What does that say about her? Did she make them? Or did the woman you can't see (seated in the wagon the mules are pulling) make them? We'll never know which member of the Comer family created these quilts, but we do know part of their story. As a woman, the most interesting "detail" to me is that Mrs. Comer had Sarah Ellen in 1872,Cora in 1875 (who died in 1876), Paschal in 1877, Minnie May in 1880, Hattie Bell in 1883, Georgie in 1885, Andrew in 1886, James in 1889, Melville in 1891, and Mary Elizabeth in 1903. Makes me tired just to tell you about it ... but that's the kind of "news" that keeps me writing stories.

In the case of this book, all the stories are true. I hope you'll enjoy meeting school-marm Susan Payne, young mother Luna Kellie, grandmother Maria Newton, and the other women featured in this book intended to be a tribute to our pioneer foremothers. The book also includes patterns for how to make some of the featured quilts. There's a sneak peek of sample pages at More info "Home on the Plains" (and a way to order an autographed copy.

P.S. I made the blue quilt on the cover (and several others featured in the book) ... but I had a lot of help with the quilting. //Steph

__________________________________

I also want you to know about a re-release of The Story Jar by author friends Robin Lee Hatcher and Deborah Bedford.

The Story Jar…

The jar itself is most unusual—not utilized in the ordinary way for canning or storing food, but as a collection point for memories. Some mementos in the jar—hair ribbons, a ring, a medallion--are sorrowful, others tender, some bittersweet. But all those memories eventually bring their owners to a place of hope and redemption in spite of circumstances that seemingly have no solution.

Isn't the idea of a jar of stories appealing? Hope you like it!

Robin got the story idea while speaking in Nebraska ... she shares the "story behind the story" ....

In September 1998, I received a story jar as a thank you gift after speaking at a writers’ conference in Nebraska. The small mason jar, the lid covered with a pretty handkerchief, was filled with many odds and ends – a Gerber baby spoon, an empty thread spindle, a colorful pen, several buttons, a tiny American flag, an earring, and more.

The idea behind this gift was a simple one. When a writer can’t think of anything to write, she stares at one of the objects in the jar and lets her imagination play. Who did that belong to? How hold was he? What sort of person was he? What does the object represent in his life? Writers love to play the “what if” game. It’s how most stories come into being. Something piques their interest, they start asking questions, and a book is born.

A week after receiving my story jar, I attended a retreat with several writer friends of mine, Deborah Bedford included. On the flight home, I told Deborah about the jar. The next thing you know (after all, what better thing is there for writers to do on a plane than play “what if”?), we began brainstorming what would ultimately become The Story Jar. We decided very quickly that we wanted this to be a book that celebrates motherhood, that encourages mothers, that recognizes how much they should be loved and honored.

The Story Jar was first published by Multnomah in 2000, but eventually went out of print. Thus Deborah and I are delighted that Hendrickson wanted to bring it out in a new, revised version because we believe these stories can inspire others, just as it did this reader back in 2001:

"I am an avid book reader and have read thousands of books––maybe more––since the age of 5. I can honestly say that [The Story Jar] has touched me more than any other I have read. I cried, I laughed, and I relearned things that I had forgotten long ago as well as realizing things I never knew. Thank you for sharing your stories with your readers. They are truly inspiring. I plan on giving it to all the ‘mothers’ in my life for Mother's Day."

You don’t have to be a writer to want a story jar. It can be a family’s way of preserving memories. Consider having a family get-together where everybody brings an item to go into the jar, and as it drops in, they tell what it means to them, what it symbolizes. We can learn something new about our loved ones when we hear their memories in their own words. Or do what my church did a number of years ago to create a memory for a retiring pastor. Inspired by The Story Jar, members of the congregation brought items to the retirement dinner to put into a story jar or they simply wrote their memories on a piece of paper to go into the jar. It was our way of saying thanks to a man and wife for all of the years they’d given in God’s service.

A story jar can be a tool for remembering all the wonderful things God has done in our own lives. As Mrs. Halley said, not all of God’s miracles are in the Bible. He is still performing them today in countless ways today, changing lives, healing hearts.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Robin Lee Hatcher is known for her heartwarming and emotionally charged stories of faith, courage, and love. She makes her home in Idaho where she enjoys spending time with her family, her high-maintenance Papillon, Poppet, and Princess Pinky, the kitten who currently terrorizes the household.

When Deborah Bedford isn't writing, she spends her time fly-fishing, cheering at American Legion baseball games, shopping with her daughter, singing praise songs while she walks along the banks of Flat Creek, and taking her dachshund Annie for hikes in the Tetons where they live.

Order your copy here:

The Story Jar

Visit Robin and Deborah at: http://www.robinleehatcher.com/ and http://www.deborahbedfordbooks.com/

Have a fabulous week! Spring's coming!

Marseille, France, 1700s, and white corded quilting

2011-03-28T01:00:00.005-06:00

In a recent post, Nancy told us that American dressmakers often looked to France for inspiration, but as the 19th century wore on, they became increasingly independent in their design ideas. I recently attended a lecture that made me aware of just how far-reaching the French fashion industry has been over the centuries.

Godey's Ladies books might have brought

French fashion to America in the 19th

century, but the French were "all about fashion" long before that!

The lecture I attended was sponsored by the International Quilt Study Center and Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska, in conjunction with their current exhibition titled Marseille: White Corded Quilting, which features phenomenal works from the collection of Kathryn Berenson and others. See more of the exhibition at

http://www.quiltstudy.org/exhibitions/online_exhibitions/marseilles.htm.

Because of my love of all things French ... and my passionate interest in quilting traditions ... Berenson's books pictured here are two favorite reads.

When I look at the engraving above of the woman bent over the quilting frame in an atelier in France, I can't help but wonder what her life was like. She spent hours a day creating phenomenal quilted clothing. What would she think if she could see us today as we stand in open-mouthed wonder at her exquisite handiwork?

Among the more jaw-dropping things I learned from speaker Frederique Sevet-Collier at the lecture that day was that, by 1680, the women working in

the textile ateliers of Marseille, France, were producing 40-50,000 pieces of whitework a year. Tens of thousands.

What's corded whitework? Draw a design on a piece of white cloth, then layer that with a backing fabric and stitch along the design. Finally, separate the weave on the back layer to introduce a length of white cording into the channel created by the stitching. How many hours do you suppose it took to create even a small piece? Surely hundreds of hours. Other more intricate pieces in this exhibition would have required thousands of hours.

While the Marseilles whitework industry was nearly eliminated by the Plague, quilted clothing remained in vogue for centuries. I am still amazed by the work that went in to making beautiful petticoats like this one in my personal collection. Petticoat ... as in ... undergarment rarely seen by anyone but the wearer. Amazing ... and somewhat simplistic compared to the pieces on display at the museum. Still, as I run my hand over the feathers quilted into the hem, I imagine "her" ... and I'm inspired to attempt to tell her story.

Of course "she" lives on the Great Plains in the 19th century, not at Louis XIV's court. She's a newcomer to fashion compared to the ladies who wore the creations from Marseilles. Still....I wonder....what if one of those women's creations traveled to the New World in a trunk aboard a ship .... what if ....

Sew 'n Sew

2011-03-24T07:00:00.003-06:00

There are some inventions you marvel over, and wonder why someone didn't invent it earlier: Velcro, Scotch tape, rollers on suitcases, Chapstick. . . But there are other inventions that were invented early on, as if humanity made them a priority. One such necessity that spans the ages and all geography are sewing needles. By varying accounts, they’ve been around 20,000 years. I consider that pretty much forever.

People have needed to sew since Adam and Eve first wanted to get dressed. The first needles were made from animal bone and didn’t have an eye, but a slit in the top to hold the thread (which was made from animal sinew.) Metal needles followed, but were often made by the town blacksmith, which means they were often crude in design. England was one of the first places to mass produce them, and the town of Redditch became known for its manufacturing. In 1866 Redditch produced 100 million needles! There's a museum you can visit there: Forge Mill

In 1755 the first sewing machine was invented by the German inventor, Karl Weisenthal, who created the first sewing machine needle, but never finished the invention of the machine. The first machine that was usable was invented in 1790, by British Inventor, Thomas Saint. It only used one thread to form a chain stitch, and was mostly used on shoes. It didn’t have a needle, but used an awl to get through the heavy leather fabric. And it never was produced beyond the patent model.

The next inventor was French. In 1830 Barthelemy Thimonnier patented the first sewing machine that actually was sold. It also produced a chain stitch and was used to sew uniforms for the French army. But tailors voiciferously—and violently—objected to this machine, believing it would hurt their business. They mobbed Thimmonnier’s factory, and destroyed it. He fled to England and died bankrupt.

The man who figured out the two-thread system we use today was American Walter Hunt in 1834—he also invented the safety pin. But he gave up the invention when he became convinced that his sewing machine would cause too many seamstresses to be out of work.

Elias Howe Jr. lived on the edge of poverty and watched his wife as she worked as a seamstress. He got the idea to copy the movement of the human arm and created a machine that made a lock-stitch. He had a public contest against women sewing by hand and finished five seams before any of them had finished even one. But no one bought a machine. He went to England to try to sell some, but when he returned, he found more than one sewing machine on the American market, many using his patented mechanisms. He sued and agreed on taking royalties. He made nearly $2 million by getting a cut in the sale of other people’s machines

The inventor who finally got it right has a familiar name: Singer.

In 1851, Isaac Singer patented his version, the first rigid-arm sewing machine. Previous to this, the arm vibrated with the needle. Singer’s machine included a presser foot to hold the cloth steady. And sales really popped when he figured out how to let the sewer power the machine with their feet, via a treadle vs. a hand crank.

Singer brought the sewing machine to the people. He advertised, and provided service-after-the-sale. He sold the machines for $75-$125 in fancy showrooms, and let people pay in installments. This was essential for sales, as the normal annual income was $500 and as such, people would have to pool their money to buy a single machine for an entire small town.

But then a young farmer, James Gibbs, saw a picture of a Singer machine and made his own. He teamed up with James Willcox to sell a lighter, cheaper model than the expensive Singer (he sold his for $50.) Willcox & Gibbs sold machines until the 1970’s.

Helen Blanchard patent drawings

Women made improvements to the machines too, and many patents were given to women. Helen Blanchard of Maine invented the zigzag sewing machine and in 1881 started the Blanchard Over-seam Company. Very mechanically inclined (and self-taught) she was awarded 28 patents.

In my new novel An Unlikely Suitor, my two immigrant seamstresses go from working in a sweatshop making ready-to-wear, to working for a private dressmaker, sewing custom-made designs for a rich clientele. Knowing how to use a sewing machine was invaluable.

As is the normal cycle of any “new” machine on the market, the price eventually went down so they were more affordable. The fact many women could have their own machine changed their lives drastically. Before machines (according to Godey's Lady's Book) it took fourteen hours to make a man’s shirt and ten to make a simple dress. So women spent a lot of their day mending and sewing for their families. But with a sewing machine . . . suddenly a woman could sew a shirt and dress in about an hour.

What to do with all that free time? Women were able to think beyond the home . . . and the world has never been the same.//Nancy

I'll Take Thirty Dresses

2011-03-18T09:11:00.000-06:00

Made-to-order workroom in Stewart's

My novel An Unlikely Suitor begins in a dressmaking shop in New York City in 1895. Off-the-rack clothes were no longer a novelty and could be purchased at a myriad of department stores (Macy’s, Bloomingdale’s, Stewart’s, Bergdorf-Goodman…) Many stores offered both custom made clothing as well as ready-to-wear, which was often sewn to fit on the premises. Women could also order clothing from catalogs. But with all these options, most high-society ladies still had their wardrobes custom designed and sewn, often in small dress-shops. In my book it’s Madame Moreau’s Fashion Emporium. The “Madame Moreau” in the store’s name is in reaction to a fascination with all things French. Actually, the woman who runs the store is named Mrs. Flynn, who had the uncanny ability to adopt a French accent when dealing with her clientele. These dressmakers often imported Paris fashion—to copy, although in the 1890's they were taking more and more pride in their own developing American fashion.

Bloomingdale's 1888 catalog

1830's

Although the complexity of the bustle-era was gone (illustration at left is 1888), dresses in the mid-1890’s were far from simple. The focus moved from the back of the dress to the sleeves—or actually to the waist. For by making the sleeves ridiculously huge, a woman’s waist appeared tiny in comparison. And in the everything-old-is-new-again phenomenon, it should be noted that these sleeves were also popular in the 1830’s. But during that time, skirts were also wide, making women look as if they were swallowed up by their clothes! Too much.

Fashion is all about silhouettes. To create the hour-glass silhouette of the 1890’s, a wide top and small middle was needed.

bodice pattern

The over-sized puffy sleeves were called gigots, or leg-o-mutton sleeves. They were often made from four separate pieces of fabric (most sleeves nowadays are cut from one piece), and they could be stuffed so they kept their shape. Skirts were often four or six gores, or had insets of gathers at the thigh-level (as a seamstress myself, I know these insets would be difficult to do.) Even though the patterns to ,make these clothes were still far from simple, it was a big step for women’s fashion to lose the bustle.

Note the inset flared skirts on the right

To herald the new style came the “shirtwaist”. It became the uniform of working women everywhere: a relatively plain skirt with a leg-o-mutton blouse that had a standing band collar and buttons up the back. A simple petticoat was all that was needed—except for the dratted corset, of course. It would still be twenty-five years before women rid themselves of that awful contraption. Wearing this relatively simple ensemble women were able to go to college, work, and enjoy sports such as golf or tennis.

But forget shirtwaists for the rich patronesses of the dress shops. They wanted custom designs that made them stand out from the masses of women wearing the simpler styles.

The dressmaking shops were often staffed by immigrants, first or second generation Americans. They created the intricate patterns for the dresses, cut the fabric (which was purchased in varying non-standardized widths. Now, we basically have 45”, 54”, and 60” widths to choose from), and sewed the garments on machines and by hand (I’ll be blogging about the evolution of the sewing machine next week.) The elite of society kept these shops busy with their need to showcase their family’s successes and wealth through their fashion. To walk the streets of New York City in elegant finery, to take a promenade through Central Park, to go to the opera or Delmonico’s, to attend a ball or dinner at the Astor’s or Vanderbilt’s, demanded fashion that wowed the viewer. Has much changed today? Don’t we also long to be thought of as fashionable?

Now here’s an age old question: did women dress for men or women? Do we dress for men or women now? The fashion of the late nineteenth century tried to emphasize a woman’s figure (even if it was completely covered). But I still think most women dress for the appreciation of other women. For do men really know if something is fashionable or not? Women notice. Women know.

Another reason the dressmaking shops kept busy was the summer season. Many of the members of the Four Hundred of New York society went to Newport, Rhode Island for six to eight weeks at the end of every summer. There, amid the cool ocean breezes, they created another version of society, with as many rules and standards as they had in the city. Each woman needed nearly thirty new outfits for this season.

That’s the starting point in An Unlikely Suitor. A mother and daughter enter Madame Moreau’s in need of an entirely new wardrobe…only the daughter suffers from an infirmity that causes her dresses to hang oddly. Enter the heroine, Lucy Scarpelli to find a sewing solution. And so a friendship between immigrant seamstress and wealthy heiress is born . . . and continues as Lucy gets a chance to join Rowena in Newport. It’s a classic premise of friendship between a poor girl and a rich girl, set amid the lavish opulence of Newport, with the breeze blowing off the Cliff Walk, and handsome young men with time on their hands . . . Trust me, the story is well . . . sewn.//Nancy

1896 Spokane, WA & New York City with Jane Kirkpatrick, author of The Daughter’s Walk

2011-03-14T20:35:00.009-06:00

In 1896 Helga Estby and her daughter, Clara, made an historic walk from Spokane, WA to New York City hoping to earn $10,000 from the fashion industry that would be enough to save their family farm.

In 2003, when novelist Jane Kirkpatrick finished reading a book about that walk, what struck her was the unfinished story: that upon their return from the walk, Clara, the daughter, changed her last name and was separated from

the family for twenty years. Jane wanted to know what happened, why did she change her name? What did she do during those years? What brought the reconciliation after that extended exile? "I also liked the idea that one of the few things Clara carried with her as they followed the railroad track across the continent was a curling iron. What did that tell us about her character, or did it tell anything at all?"

The result of Jane's quest to find answers and to know "the story behind that story" resulted in her new release, the Daughter's Walk.

I'm thankful to Jane for agreeing to visit today and share some of the "footnotes from history" that led her to tell this unique story.

What was the most surprising thing you learned about “the real story” while researching this book? I found Clara living about 50 miles from Spokane during most of the separation and that she later became quite a successful business woman owning many properties in Spokane and eventually living not all that far from her biological family. Descendants whom I interviewed were stunned to know their great aunt had actually lived so nearby. They were also surprised to discover that the house Clara and her sister -- after the reconciliation -- lived in was owned not by the sister but by Clara. I also discovered that she had two close women friends who had been furriers in New York City about the time of the historic walk. That set me on the journey to research fur fashions in the early 1900s and took me to a contemporary fur auction, one of the largest in the Northwest and one that Clara and her business partners likely attended more than once years before. The Fur Commission staff were wonderful in helping me speculate about Clara's life during that time and told me that she would have had to have a male agent as women wouldn't have been allowed to bid at the fur auction. That helped explain a family story about Clara sometimes traveling to Europe "with a man" on business. Several years ago I wrote a series of books called the Tender Ties Series about a woman involved in the fur industry in the early 1800s. Now here I was researching that same industry in early 1900. It was fascinating to see what changes had occurred and how Clara might have been involved.

Is there a historical photograph that inspired you you’d like to share? On the left! To earn their way across the country, they had photographs taken which they sold for a nickel. Part of the reason we know about this journey at all is because a few of those pictures were saved by a relative and others were located in archival copies of newspapers. The women were to wear the new reform dress once they reached St. Lake City and they also modeled the dresses while in Chicago. Most photographs showed off their high button shoes, scandalous for the time period when modesty meant ankles were covered and corsets worn daily.

What one non-fiction book helped you research the most Linda Lawrence Hunt's book Bold Spirit: Helga Estby's Forgotten Walk Across Victorian America (Random House, 2003) Her book tells of the walk, the social challenges of the period and explores the great silencing of the story by family after the women returned. It was there I read about Clara's name change and separation. Little was known though about what Clara did after the return and that's what I wanted to explore through fiction. I also wanted to imagine what Clara might have been thinking as a teenager walking across the country for eight months with her mother.

What spiritual encouragement did you draw from what you’ve learned? I had to explore the great emptiness of exile, of being sent out or away and how much we may play in that journey by our choices. I actually ached for Clara at times knowing her family was physically so close and yet so emotionally distant. Her efforts to deal with that made me sad and I longed for her to find a way to step over whatever had caused the rift and to mend the break. When we feel separated from God I think the pain is profound yet not unlike the heartache when a family rift defines our every day. It's said that forgiveness is required of us as Christians, as God forgave us; but reconciliation is not. That becomes a choice and it made me conscious of rifts within my own family that I wanted to heal. The story also made me want to seek forgiveness for my own choices that left me separated from God and to take action to allow Him to seek me out.

Did you meet a special woman from the past you’d like to tell about? Definitely Clara Estby Dore, the daughter on this journey. Her very wish to do things differently than her mother had actually taken her onto paths very similar to her mother's making decisions for family. Clara's journey reminded me that the word family comes from the Latin Famalus meaning servant. I believe that Clara discovered the true meaning of family and deepened my own understanding of family. I hope her journey brings nurture to readers as it did to me.

Thanks so much to Jane Kirkpatrick for sharing her footnote from history with us today.

To learn more about Jane's other wonderful books, visit her at