Grayson County TXGenWeb

Kittie Lanham Oakes
16 July 1894 -

Contributed by Elaine Oakes
I have combined several documents that my Grandmother Kittie left. The originals were partly handwritten and partly typed on poor quality paper and had deteriorated badly. Some of the material was repetitious and some was fragmentary. None of it was really complete. Because they are interesting hints about other stories, I included the fragments but put them in brackets. I have added a very little from my memory of her stories.
Grandmother was a great storyteller, and it is hard to say what really happened and what was just a good story she had read somewhere and adopted.
The earlier versions had different names for several people and she probably didn't remember most of them by the time she wrote this, sixty-some years after the events. I believe most of the ordinary things, and most of the stories of mischief she and her sister got into. She claims that Sister was wild but from what she said about her own behavior she was pretty wild for those days, too. These days they would be considered normal to rather tame.
I was born, under a lucky star, I think, in Grayson County, Texas in a village so small I cannot find it on my map and it may not even exist today. Both my grandfathers were Confederate Veterans and both were early settlers in Texas because, as they told me, Reconstruction Days were so difficult in South Carolina and Mississippi. They felt they would be far better off in new territory and both bought cheap land in Grayson County in 1870, within six months of each other. I was born there so some of my remembrances are tales they told me as a child.
Grandfather Weems moved his family from Mississippi to a farm about four miles west of Sherman and Grandfather Lanham, from Edgefield,
South Carolina to one about the same distance east. Both lived in log cabins in the beginning.

Lanham Family

My paternal grandfather was Col. R.G. Lanham. He served with General Lee in Virginia, and while there he met and married Caroline Elizabeth Harrison. I never met her as she died before my father and mother were married. The old Daguerreotype picture and some bits and pieces of jewelry are all I remember of her, but she left two sons, my father Tom and Wiley, his younger brother. Papa said that I looked very much like her, and he also told me that she was related to the two Harrison Presidents and kin to Pocahontas but since then I do not remember, if I ever knew,
the names of either of her parents.
Grandfather must have loved her very much for he did not remarry for a long time - until I was about 8 or 9 years old. And much later, I found a small notebook among his things with sweet, sentimental poems he had written to her. I have a lovely heavy taffeta dress, handmade with tiny stitches, that she wore when she went to meet her new husband's family in Edgefield, South Carolina. Grandfather Lanham's full name was Robert Glover Lanham. My father's name was Thomas Walter and his brother was Wiley Harrison. Uncle Wiley never married. Although one of Grandpa's sisters traced the family records and had them printed in a small booklet; my actual first hand knowledge of the Lanham genealogy is skimpy. My aunt traced the family history back to about 1800 when Solomon Lanham settled in Maryland not far from Washington, DC. My great-grandfather moved to Edgefield, South Carolina and my father was born there. My father, Thomas Walter Lanham, was born in Edgefield, South Carolina and went to Texas as a small boy in 1870 or 1871. He grew up near Sherman and became a schoolteacher. He attended college in Sherman but did not graduate, though he taught school most of his life and was truly a bookish type. He was a very good small town school superintendent.
My father had one younger brother, Wiley Harrison. He had a strange and tragic accident, never explained. At the age of about 21, he was a law student in college at Sherman and was considered to have a brilliant future. But one night he rode home, returning from town. When his horse came home without him, Grandfather became alarmed and went to look for him.
He found his son lying beside the road, unconscious. Uncle Wiley was an excellent horseman and it was most unlikely that his horse had thrown him. The road was not rocky nor hard packed and the fracture in his skull was high enough and jagged enough that no plausible idea was found to account for the injury. He was unconscious for weeks and doctors trepanned his skull to remove pressure. He was desperately ill for weeks and the Sherman paper even printed his obituary. This he showed me along with two buttons of bone taken from his scull.
He did regain his health but never fully recovered mentally, was subject to occasional violent fits of temper. My mother was always able to calm him more easily than anyone.

Weems Family

My mother's father, James Madison Weems, was born in Mississippi, and I still have his old family Bible giving the names and dates of all his brothers and sisters. Tradition gives the first Weems in this country as living in Virginia near the small town of Wakefield where George Washington was born. My Uncle Mat had a friend, also named Weems, who had traced the family line back to the Wymss Castle in Scotland but
the actual family history has breaks in it, though appearances and characteristics indicate kinship back down the history.
Thomas Weems was the first American ancestor of our branch; he lived in Pennsylvania but married Eleanor Jacoby in New Jersey on November 6, 1728. He moved to Virginia and his descendants to Abbeville District, South Carolina. She, or one like her, is still around if rather the worse for wear. Her dress is different, though. I'm not sure if this was James Madison Weems Jr. or Sr.

James Madison Weems, Sr.
(1846 - 1916)
grandfather of Kittie Lanham
(Photograph contributed by Carolyn A. Rogers)

Digging back into memories to see what one can recall presents problems. I think, because many children are brought up hearing anecdotes telling of their early behavior, it is difficult for a person to separate what they actually do remember from what they may have heard related to them of early happenings in their infancy. I doubt that many can draw a line of distinction with accuracy.
The first place that I am sure I definitely remember is the house where I was born. That home belonged to my grandparents and since they moved from that small village before I was four years old, incidents that happened there are rather unrelated to any sequence of events. In my mind's eye, I can see part of that house 'though I cannot recall the number of rooms or their arrangement. I know that it was large enough to have an upstairs, and that there were two porches and that it was painted an ugly, dingy yellow. The front porch had a fancy balustrade around it, ant there was a sort of fretwork under the eaves, much more elaborate than modern taste suggests.
The house was set in a large yard, and there were several trees for shade where I could play. Grandpa hung a rope swing for me from one of the low branches. And the yard was fenced. That is about all I can stretch my memory to cover.
Why the house is less distinct in my mind than the gin I do not know. But for some reason, the fact that Grandpa Weems ran the cotton gin, and certain incidents that occurred in connection with the operation of the gin are more impressed on my memory. I do not know why, but such is the fact. Ginning season in that part of Texas was a strenuous time for the manager. The gin ran all night, wagons piled high with the white fluff filled the gin yard waiting for their turn. And I remember watching these, the horses and mules and the tired farmers. They were sometimes so exhausted from the long days in the picking fields that they stretched out on top of their loads to snatch the sleep they missed. They often did their barn yard chores by lantern light in order to be in the fields picking their cotton at the first faint light of morning.
I loved to see the wagons with high sideboards move up in orderly line. To see the huge pipe pulled into position so it could suck up the white load into the tearing pulling teeth of the rollers. Once I remember seeing a man's hat sucked from his head as he pulled the suction pipe into position, and another time, a stone about the size of a man's fist was drawn into the machinery to damage it and cause a shut-down. Time was lost for repairs, then rollers began to turn again and thick, white felted cotton was folded and pressed into bales and tied with metal straps. Perhaps I remember so much of this because I knew that Grandpa was working too hard. Often he could not leave even long enough to walk across the road for his meals.
Tiny though I was, I could carry a small pail of cold buttermilk when Grandmother or Mama took his plate of food to him. And there was dusty lint hanging from every weed or tree in the whole gin yard. Big black-and-white Dan was the dog member of the family and I think he was a mutt but mostly of the Newfoundland breed. Grandpa often said Dan was such a good, brave watchdog that he saved the wages of a night watchman at the gin. He was devoted to me and when any man came to the house, Dan always placed himself between that man and Sister and me. Once when Mama had been away for sometime, and came up the front walk in her best dress, an elaborate white organdy with loads of frilly ruffles, Dan met her halfway down the walk and she did not see him in time. He stood erect on his hind legs, and was taller than she, then he gently put his arms around her neck and kissed her. Unfortunately, he did not realize that the rain the night before had left the feathers along his legs wet and muddy. Ironing that white dress took hours but Mama just laughed and seemed pleased that Dan was so glad to see her.

Mama had two brothers only a little older than she and for this weekend, the whole family was together.


Harvey Weems		Dr. James Madison Weems Jr.		Annie Lou Weems Lanham

I don't remember what this celebration was for, but it was something special. Uncle Mat made the ice cream. He set the big freezer on a table on the back porch and turned the crank. I adored both my uncles, and no small girl was ever petted more. But both uncles loved to tease me, Uncle Mat in particular. That was how I got the shock of my young life. It was a warm, no! HOT! summer day in Texas and the ice in the freezer melted fast. When the salty water began to overflow from the wooden bucket of the freezer, Uncle Mat set the freezer in a big dishpan. After several minutes of vigorous turning the crank, the cream was frozen. Then Uncle Mat set it out of the pan and wrapped it in feed sacks and left it on the table to ripen. He pushed the pan full of icy saltwater back a little way under the table. His job was done and he turned his attention to me. He
was playfully reciting to me the old rhyme about "The old bumble bee came out of the barn, and he had his bagpipe under his arm, and he went z-z-z-z!" He had a sort of tune to the jingle and when he reached the z-z-z-z, he tickled my ribs. I backed away, dodging, and sat down in that icy pan of water. A violent shock and the first in my young life, I guess! I howled! The rest of the family saw only the finny side.
Later, that same afternoon, some young friends dropped in for the ice cream and cake. That was when I gave Uncle Mat his shock in return. He took his special girl out to the settee on the front porch so they could eat their cream together in privacy but I followed them. Of course, after the icy wetting I had that morning, I had to have fresh clothing from the skin out, and as it happened Mama had made me new underwear of which I was very proud.
I hunted Uncle Mat up to tell him about that, "I got new drawers on, Uncle Mat! Have you got new drawers? Mine have lace on them, too. Uncle Mat, do your drawers have lace on them?"
Both Uncle Mat and his young lady were terribly embarrassed. So was Mama! I was hustled back inside and given a lecture on the subject of what not to talk about.
Operating that gin was hard work, long hours, and a great deal of responsibility for Grandpa but he made many friends among the farmers and having been a farmer previously, he knew their problems and could talk to them. Some of his friends put his name up and he was popular enough to be elected County Commissioner. Then he moved his home to the county seat town.

CHRISTMAS IN THE WEEMS HOME

His next home was a neat little gray cottage and I could almost draw a blueprint of that place, it is so firmly fixed in my memory. The whole family gathered there for the first Christmas that I can remember. It was a traditional Christmas, only we did not have a tree at home. I was told that Santa Claus would come down the chimney if I hung up my stocking, however, since there was no fireplace, only a big black heating stove with a six or seven inch pipe, I could not quite take in the idea without a few questions.

James Madison Weems Sr. home at Celina
James Madison Weems Sr. with wife Kittie, Catherine Red Weems, and
his daughter Annie Lou Lanham Weems with her two daughters Carrie Lee Lanham (Autry) and Kittie Lanham (Oakes)

As for the Christmas tree, Uncle Buddy came to take me to that. Since our family was only visiting from out of town, Mama explained that I need not expect Santa Claus to have anything for me on that tree, but that my presents would surely appear the next morning in my stocking. After assuring Mama that I just wanted to see the gorgeous, big tree with its bright decorations, and that I would not be disappointed, she let me go with him. Imagine my surprise when my name was called the same as the other children! Santa, himself, brought me a little packet tied up in bright ribbon. I was proud as could be, with a lovely box of four tiny perfumes, all different "flavors".
That Christmas Eve night I was so excited, and my small black cotton stocking did not seem nearly big enough to hold the doll I wanted, so I borrowed one from Grandmother. Then I worried for fear Santa would not know it was mine so I wrote a letter to him telling him about the exchange in hose. I was not more than five but I had been reading and writing more than a year. I carefully pinned the letter to the long stocking and hung it on a chair beside the stove just before kissing everybody "goodnight" and saying my "Now, I lay me."
At Grandpa's home, I do not remember ever having a tree. There were always a few decorations, a mistletoe wreath with red ribbon bow on the front door, and some other bunches hung around the parlor (never called a "living room then") and in the dining room. One of Grandmother's sons or Papa saw that she had flowers, usually a vase of red and white carnations. But the only tree we saw was at the church. A tall cedar with many candles carefully placed and strings of popcorn and cranberries; sometimes tinsel strings sparkled among little brown paper bags of candy for the children, and striped peppermint candy canes, and a few of the lighter weight unbreakable toys.
Next morning early, I found a small China doll in the top of my stocking. She was so beautifully dressed in soft red wool that I now know Grandmother must have spent many hours making that lace trimmed petticoat and tiny ruffled drawers with baby-sized buttons and buttonholes. Beside my stocking, there was a tiny iron cook stove almost an exact replica of the one in our kitchen, and the miniature pots and pans to go with it. I was so proud! I still have that doll.
The memories of that Christmas are still vivid. It was wonderful, the family happiness, the laughter, the jokes and gentle teasing. Before the hearty breakfast, with every one of us around the long table, Grandpa conducted family worship. He read the story of the Baby Jesus from the family Bible, said a short, earnest prayer, then served our plates.
Grandpa was a very devout man, a steward in the church, and he held family prayers every night just before retiring.
After breakfast, Grandmother and Mama began preparing the elaborate Christmas dinner, stuffing and baking the turkey, getting vegetables ready, and all the things that could not have been prepared earlier. Coconut white cake, spice cake, and a big platter full of fancy cookies had been prepared during the week but several fruit cakes had been ripening, occasionally sprinkled with whiskey, for more than two months. Uncle Mat and Grandpa beat up eggnog and set it to ripen on the back porch. Each of the three of us had a sip, and my opinion as to its quality was gravely considered, even though they both were perfectly aware that was my very first taste of the delectable stuff. It was later served with some of the fruitcake to any guests who might drop in.
The China doll I received that Christmas was not my first love for I remember Nora. She was a rag doll and I do not remember just when she was acquired, but I must have been very young, probably about three. Mama made this doll but it was all hand made and hand-painted with some of Mama's artist oils. I think she even made the pattern the doll was cut from for I have never seen another so well shaped. It had a nicely rounded head, well-shaped nose, and seams were well hidden under the beautifully painted baby face, which looked so much more like a real baby than the China doll. Nora even wore some of Sister's outgrown baby clothes. She was the only doll, of the many later ones I had, that I ever wanted to take to sleep with me, I loved her so.

LIVING WITH THE KANE FAMILY

Papa was a country schoolteacher and moved about from one place to another quite often. The first school that I remember about was probably about twenty miles from where Grandpa and Grandmother lived. It was in a farm community and our little family could find no house available for the teacher's family. We were fortunate that one of the members of the school board took us in to board in his home.
We became members of the Kane family which was already rather large consisting of three grown sons, one of them away at college, two grown daughters, another almost grown, and the baby of the family only a year older that I. She and I were great playmates.
The Kane home was large with a big attic where Lorena and I could find the most amazing costumes for dressing up like ladies. There were several storage trunks of garments that had long gone out of style, picture hats with enormous plumes, veils and wraps. That was a wonderful place to play, especially on rainy days. We could spend hours there without interfering with any of the grown-up projects.
Mr. Grayson Kane was a very devout man, a well-to-do farmer and popular in that section of the county. It was the custom some time during the summer for an itinerant preacher to come into the community with a tent and hold about 10 days camp meeting. Once or twice the meeting was held in Mr. Kane's big pasture, but after a few years, the church managed to scrape up enough cash to buy a small tract of land on which they expected to build a church. Until this church was erected, a brush arbor was put up. Supports of four or five inch logs were set in the ground and a framework of lighter poles nailed across their tops. Then brush was piled on top enough to provide shade and even some protection from a light shower. At one end of the arbor, a platform was set up, and borrowed chairs provided seats for the choir. A crude shelf was set up at the front of the platform to hold the preacher's Bible, though after reading a few verses, it was rarely referred to. Some one in the community loaned an organ; the lodge provided flare torches, and the camp meeting was off to a good start. If the preacher was well known, sometimes families came for several miles in their big farm wagons. Mattresses and quilts were brought, as well as food for several days. Such gatherings of relatives and friends might provide their annual get-together, unless a funeral might intervene when the clans would always gather.
Ordinarily, the Kane family attended the camp meetings with reasonable regularity since they lived only about three miles from the meeting grounds. But one summer, Mrs. Kane decided she was going to camp. Mr. Kane put up the objection that he could not stay at night because of his live stock. They had to be attended to night and morning, but in the end, he agreed to fit up one of his wagons for camping. One of the older boys could stay with the family and Mr. Kane and the hired hand Rufus would go to meetings during the days, always returning to the farm to do the chores and sleep there.
Rufus was a drifter who had never been exposed to the hellfire and brimstone some of those country preachers could dispense. Neither was he overly gifted with gumption, though he could and did fulfill his farm duties fairly well under the close supervision Mr. Kane gave him. Mr. Kane was a little surprised when Rufus indicated that he wanted to attend some of the services but readily gave his permission, with the proviso that Rufus was to return at night with Mr. Kane to help with the chores. After seeing the preacher get himself well warmed up to his sermon, and seeing several shouting women, and mourners converted, the combined effect of these things made considerable impression on Rufus and he went down to the mourner's bench. But though many of the believers prayed with Rufus,
and he returned to the bench for prayers several times, Rufus was still unconvicted. He was still struggling trying to think things out one night when he and Mr. Kane started for home.
The meeting was expected to close the next day so Mr. Kane had left his gentle farm team of horses with his family, just in case they wanted to come home before he returned. On this night, he was driving a team of young mules to his wagon. They were not yet thoroughly trained for their duties, but were excellent plow animals. No noise followed the plow, but the wagon made sounds to them, running over some of the rocks in the road, empty and rattling along.
Rufus, still under the spell of the preacher, was struggling in his soul, trying to pray salvation through, and asked Mr. Kane for help. Mr. Kane quoted scriptural verses in answer to all the questions and was sincerely concerned about his hand's welfare. The mules were trotting along under perfect control, the summer moon overhead, the peaceful night, and Rufus praying softly.
About half way between the Kane home and the arbor, there was a long sloping hill leading down toward the Kane gate. Just as the wagon reached the top of this hill, Rufus stood up shouting.
"I've got it! Hallelujah! Glory be, I've got religion, Mr. Kane! I'm goin' to Heaven, now!" The startled mules' first leap threw Rufus over the back of the wagon seat where he fell into the bed of the wagon, still shouting. Mr. Kane braced himself, trying to control those frightened mules in their headlong race down the hill, expecting every second for one of the wheels to strike a rock large enough to overturn the careening wagon.
Rufus pulled himself up on his knees, yelling at the top of his voice. Mr. Kane was sawing on the heavy reins, trying desperately to bring his team under control.
"Shut up, Rufus!, he ordered. "For pity sake, quiet down!" But Rufus paid no heed. "Hallelujah, I'm a-gonna see Glory!" The mules ran the harder. In desperation, Mr. Kane gathered both reins into his left hand, swung himself around on the seat and clouted Rufus right in the mouth.
"Dammit, you fool! Shut your mouth, or we'll both be in Heaven, next minute!" Such an outburst was entirely out of character; Mr. Kane normally being a quiet, mild-mannered man, that Rufus was shocked into silence. The mules were quickly brought under control, and the two men reached home safely and in silence. Neither of them ever mentioned the incident.
One of the neighbors, however, had just turned his team off the main road into his lane. He heard and saw the frantic run-away and he repeated the story to the preacher.
The preacher stared at the man thoughtfully, then, "I take it, Mr. Brown, you don't drive mules," he said mildly.
When school was over, we went back to Grandpa's for a visit. I cried myself sick when Mama gave my rag doll, Nora, to Lorena as a parting gift. Lorena and I, both, had other dolls but Nora was my favorite. Mama promised me she would make me another just like it but she never did. Strange how a single childish incident sets the pattern or furnishes a clue to other more important sequences. But from that time on, I knew in the depths of my heart that my wishes, my desires, and my longings were of minor importance to Mama. I realized then, though I was very young,
that I could never count on complete fairness from her. And I have never understood why my doll should be taken away from me and given to some one else over my unwilling protests.
Even after we moved away from that community, we often went back on visits as long as we lived in Texas. Lorena and I were flower girls when her grandparents celebrated their golden wedding. In those days it was a rare couple who lived long enough for that fiftieth year celebration, since then Texas was not far past pioneering days. It had been a hard life for many of them.
Little old, Mrs. Callahan looked very sweet in her embroidered white dress, and their sons and daughters bought a lovely gold brooch for her gift and an elaborately engraved gold-headed cane for Mr. Callahan. I even remember the identical ruffled white dresses Lorena and I wore, with wide gold-colored satin sashes. The reception was held in the Kane's big living room and banks of goldenrod were everywhere.

UNCLE MAT

While we were with Grandpa and Grandmother that summer, Uncle Mat hung up his shingle as a dentist. First, he had studied for more than a year under an old dentist who wanted a young partner. When he was sure that he wanted to continue in this profession, he went away to school in Baltimore and studied in the dental college there. Later, he became one of the best in Texas and with his own practice. After a couple of years in the East at school, he came back and was quite the gay young blade, with his very fashionable tight fitting trousers, derby hat, and bicycle. He also acquired a beautiful trotting horse, a buggy, and various other accessories. Once, he took me to Denison on his bicycle, a distance of about six or seven miles. He had planned to meet some of his young friends there. Some of the young women had come in buggies. But for that one night, I was thrilled at being his best girl. He told me so. He took me for a boat ride on the lake, got a water lily for me, and fed me all the popcorn and pink lemonade I could handle. I had a wonderful time.As we were riding home, with me on the handlebars, much later than my usual bedtime, his rear tire went flat and that meant we had to walk for miles. Part of the way was along dark road, and through deserted streets. When we finally did arrive at home, the whole family was up waiting. They were astonished that I had walked all that distance, without a single whine or whimper. And though it was very late and I was only about five, I had not complained of being too sleepy to walk and had never asked to be carried.

PAPA'S SECOND SCHOOL

The next school my father taught was endowed. Part of the funds for it came from the state, but the building, grounds and house for the teacher's home were provided by a very wealthy old doctor as a memorial to his only daughter. He had selected about five acres from the middle of a huge pasture for the site.
He kept herds of cattle in that pasture and when some of them were near our yard fence, Mama was deathly afraid and she would not go into the yard herself, nor let me go even though we had a good fence of three or four strands of barbed wire. She was especially fearful if some of those big red bulls began pawing the dust nearby.
The schoolyard was also fenced and there was plenty of play ground. Since the doctor was quite an advanced thinker for his day and time, he had provided space for the children to learn how to plant a garden, set out a few fruit trees, and make flower beds and hot beds.
The main building was a large, white frame structure, with two long rooms separated by a sliding partition so that they could be thrown together to provide for a community center. A narrow stage to provide for school programs ran along one end, and there was a smaller single room for primer classes and the first and second grades. This building was about the size of the many one-room schools that dotted the rest of the county.
Our house was just across the road from the school and it was constructed on the same pattern of all the better farm homes in that section. It had
a hall straight back from the front porch to the kitchen, with a large room on each side and a stair going up from near the single center door. The upstairs plan was identical. There were no closets, no built-ins, not even a back porch. The dug well was about thirty feet from the kitchen door and that in itself was considered a great convenience, as the wife on many of the farmsteads in that area sometimes had to carry water several hundred feet. Our well was about thirty feet deep and all the water used we pulled up with rope and pulley. Every home had a brass bound cedar bucket set on a wash shelf near the kitchen door with a big tin basin and roller towel handy.
We lived at this place several years and everything I learned about the people in the community interested me. Some were rugged individuals.
There was old Doctor Sheperd, who had provided this school for children from his tenant families, and many more besides. The greater number
of pupils walked to school, sometimes several miles. Others rode horseback, and one family sent their kids in an old buggy.
When I was about six, Dr. Sheperd vaccinated me for small pox and I remember that he asked Mama to be sure to save the scab when it fell from my arm. He provided a small box filled with sterile cotton for her to put it in and he used that scab for many of his patients who needed the vaccination but could not afford to pay for serum. He said I was such a healthy little animal that my scab would do for several hundred inoculations. Nowadays, medical procedure like that is beyond the imagination of modern practitioners. I suppose many of the younger doctors have never come in contact with a case of smallpox, and they certainly can have little idea of how terrible that dreadful pestilence used to be. I have since seen several cases and I know.
Dr. Sheperd was a fine man and I admired him greatly but I doubt if he knew much about medicine. He had a fairly good library and did considerable reading but I never knew that he attended any medical seminars or such.
But his team and buggy were familiar over all the roads round about. He carried a small black pillbox and from it dispensed calomel and quinine as needed. And that was about all, except for a pair of forceps, a needle and gut strings, and his thermometer. Undoubtedly, his greatest value to the community was the comfort and sympathy he gave his patients along with his pills. They trusted his wisdom, his knowledge of human nature and went to him for advice on many family problems other than health.
After we had been living on Dr. Sheperd's place for about a year, Mama and Papa received an invitation to a wedding. Mr. and Mrs. Kane were giving their daughter a church wedding, and Mama was asked to take charge of the affair. Lorena and I were to be flower girls again. This was to be the first church wedding I ever attended. Since we were about twenty miles from the nearest florist, Mama and some of the neighbors gathered bushels of honeysuckle vines to decorate the little chapel. I have no idea how many white tissue paper flowers they made. Over the altar, they made and hung a white bell and the church looked lovely.
After all that elaborate preparation, the poor groom was so flustered that he forgot to pick up the bride's bouquet at the railroad station. Mama sacrificed all the cosmos in her flowerbed, tied them with a satin bow, and that made a pretty, ferny armful for the bride to carry.

Biography Index
Susan Hawkins
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