2. My Mama

It probably did not occur to Papa, when he asked Jennie Cassel to be his wife, that she might have a difficult problem on her hands. Only an Angel could have coped with it, and Jennie was no Angel.

Perhaps the situation might have been less trying for his new bride if A.J., prior to the wedding, had gathered his noisy little flock around him and had confided that he was about to present them with a new mother. Had he solicited their co-operation everything might have got off to a better start. But this peace-loving man, whose motto was “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,” gave his family no hint of the happy event until he drove his team of frisky bay Hamiltonians up to the door and introduced his young bride. They were stunned and speechless. It should be said, in the interest of truth and justice, that the Douglas children were not really bad. Indeed, when one considers all the circumstances, they behaved somewhat better than might have been expected.

Seeing we have plenty of time, let us call the roll. Herbert (Herb) and Alice (Al) were married and in homes of their own, Herb working in Pratt’s Carriage Manufacturing Company, at Elkhart, Indiana; Al living in Terre Haute where her husband, Ed Mossman, was editing a weekly paper distinguished for its lengthy editorials and limited circulation. They had three children, and not much else. Al was always on Mama’s side and when she came home to visit, accompanied by her babies, and attempted to admonish her younger brothers and sisters, one may suppose that the Douglas home was a good place to keep away from. Papa’s duties were so heavy, at the time, that he was unable to serve as umpire.

As for the resident children, Elizabeth (Lizzie), about twenty-two, was teaching in an elementary school in town. Lizzie was brimming with energy, infatuated with her job, and carelessly scornful of the ridiculous manner with which schools were taught in the backwoods.

Will, twenty-one, was working in a jewelry store, learning to repair watches. He was a quiet fellow, with weak lungs. One cold night there was a big fire in the block where he was employed, and he joined the other volunteer fire-fighters, was out all night, came home at dawn soaked to the skin, and was sick-abed all through the winter and spring. Mama dutifully nursed him, for which he was appropriately grateful, but this additional responsibility imposed a heavy burden on her, for she was pregnant now. During his tedious convalescence, Will conceived the idea of a little screwdriver with an attachment to hold the head of a tiny screw while it was being inserted into a watch. Luckily for the young invalid, the thing was patented and paid a royalty which permitted him to marry and take off for the more invigorating climate of Denver where he—and Nettie, too—soon died of what was known as “galloping consumption.”

Stephen A. Douglas (Steve), twenty, after a tempestuous year at home, fled to join his older brother in Elkhart.

Minnie, at fifteen, sickened and died of the same pulmonary tuberculosis that had carried off their mother.

Frank, fourteen, was still in school, a noisy, lovable kid, who at sixteen ran away and joined a circus.

Lura (Lou) was only six, an elfish little thing, who was content to call her stepmother “Mama.”

* * * * *