3. More About Papa

One morning in mid-June, Lou and I, to our surprise, had an invitation to visit the Newcomb family in Florence. Mr. Newcomb, who belonged to our church and was a great friend of Papa’s, had an interesting store where he sold a little of everything. “Notions,” I think it was called. He had a long glass case filled with ingenious candies for children. He gave me a small tin box containing a tiny copper hoe, rake and shovel, each with a blob of very good taffy on the handle. We played all day with the Newcomb youngsters; and, to our increased surprise, were invited to spend the night. Mrs. Newcomb was not there: her unmarried sister was our hostess. Perhaps Lou knew what all this was about, but I didn’t.

Papa came for us the next morning. He seemed very happy and urged Flora to hurry. I was amazed when Mrs. Newcomb came out to meet us at our side door. We found Mama in bed, but she was not ill. She put out her arms and kissed us. Then Mrs. Newcomb led us to a tiny cradle. We peeked in.

“You have a little brother,” Mrs. Newcomb said, softly.

Lou made some ecstatic murmurs and cooed a few tender words that are understood only by very young babies. I simply stared bug-eyed at the pink newcomer with the funny little fists. I cannot recall that I asked where our baby had come from. Perhaps whatever of mystery there was about it had been completely eclipsed by the fact that I now had a brother to play with.

In a couple of days Mama was up and doing her own housework again. It was customary in those days for women to try for a new record in their ability to resume their normal occupation after the birth of a child. Sometimes one would boast that she did the family washing the next day. I am told that they usually paid, in later life, for this distinction. Mama was never very well, after she was middle-aged, though she lived to be ninety-two.

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