Chapter IV

After spending much of a long life trying to bury all of the unhappiness which has come into my life, it is a rather hard task to bring all of these things to life again.

While I suppose I have always been conscious of the events of my life, I do not want to give the impression that I have always been brooding over them. They were, to me, past and I have had great happiness out of the present, though with it new sorrows. I was born to be happy. The life that people have known, loved, and even admired, has been absorbing to me, and I have been able almost to forget the shadows which have come into my life and which I believe come into most lives.

Soon after the experience in the shed at my deaf and dumb uncle’s house, I was sent to the Wiggins’ house on an errand. I went right in, called as I always did, and found that there was no one there but Mr. W. As my errand was with Mrs. W., I turned to go, but he caught me and drew me into a dark hallway. I struggled to get away but he held me, loosened my underclothes, and did something which hurt me dreadfully and made me scream with pain. He held his hand over my mouth and frightened me with awful threats. If I told anyone, my father would kill him, and then my father would be hung for doing so. In my terror I kept still.

I felt sick and sore all day and for several days. I did not play. When I went to bed mother went with me. How I wanted to tell her what had happened, but I was terrified.

I realize now that even though I was very young for maturity, my mother must have had it in her mind and was on the lookout for it, as I had been so mopey and quiet, not caring to play as usual.

Much to my horror I discovered some blood on my underclothes and tried to hide it, thinking my mother would know just how it came there, and probably picturing immediate murders, battles, and sudden deaths. Her eyes were keen and she asked me if I had hurt myself in any way and of course I said “no,” trembling the while inside. “Well,” she said, “It is nothing to worry about, this happens to all little girls when they are about your age.” She then fixed a cloth for me to wear and told me to call her before I dressed in the morning. I clearly remember that night of terror. The dread of that morning! I thought, of course, as she said it was “what happened to all little girls,” that she knew, as I did, where the blood came from and that the next day was to be one of murder and bloody history in my young life.

Why, oh why was I a girl! Such a curse! Small wonder that I thought so. Morning came, and nothing happened. I was told there would not be any more blood and I must be a little quiet that day. I was glad to be quiet for I was still very sore and uncomfortable. I felt relieved, as what my mother told me corroborated what Mr. W. had said, that he would not hurt me again.

What an influence that event has had, all through my later life, in dealing with adolescence, as an argument for the enlightenment of youth on questions of life and sex! But I have never before given this reason in support of that argument.

Can anyone imagine a more dreadful thought than to have been given the impression which I received from my mother—that it was normal and usual that some man should sever that delicate tissue, so frightening a little girl that she dared not cry out in rebellion? Another and a more dreadful reason why I should so rebel at being a girl! That was the only information my mother ever gave me about coming to maturity. At least, nothing else that she may have said made the slightest impression on my mind.

Added to the former threats by Mr. W. were the assurances that if I told, Mrs. W. would probably kill me and there could be no more musical evenings. I realized, even at that age, that I could not treat him as I had the hired man. He was the master; a dear friend of the family. I was not old enough to argue with him, I had but to do his bidding, believing it to be the penalty one must pay for being a girl. But why the awful secrecy? I wonder if those arguments in a child were justifiable. Was I trying to hide under an “alibi”? I know I hated the whole thing and I believe I am sincere in describing the reactions I experienced at that time, yet I have always heard it said that a girl need never be led astray. I do believe that now, but with so young a child I hardly think such a theory holds good. I certainly was not seduced; I was forced into that situation.

In short, I was a slave to that man for several years. When he told me to go to a certain place, I had to go and endure the most awful things at his pleasure. I was never one to go away by myself, and I grew very sly in my maneuvers to get away from the rest of the “boys”. I knew that if they saw me going away, they would surely follow, as they would think I had discovered a bird’s nest or some other marvel of nature. If they should ever discover the real reason of my going, then would come the dire calamities predicted by Mr. W. I surely learned the arts of strategy and intrigue.

These meetings were not so very often, but I never went out to my play without the fear that I might see the signal for me to go down to the woods.

During the earlier sessions he was apparently very careful not to hurt me, using his finger to “make the place big,” as he said. It was painful, however, each time he touched me, I begged him not to ask me to come again. But again the threats, so I felt I had to do so. I told him what my mother said when she saw the blood on my clothes, and he laughed and said it was a good joke. I failed to see it and told him so.

Finally he accomplished the beastly act which he had made up his mind to. How I wished I had never told him that the buttons of his trousers were not fastened, as I thought that was what led up to all of this horror! I suffered no serious pain at these times and I marveled at his apparent ecstatic delight. His kisses nauseated me and I was filled with disgust. The disgrace of the whole thing which I felt must be wrong, in spite of what my mother had said, took much of the joy from my beloved games.

I was not wholly cast down, however, but like all normal children I was able to forget between times. I told no one of this. Mr. W. passed on many years ago. I realized that perhaps, in a vague way, these meetings may have been a source of satisfaction to me in that I seemed to be the agent whereby he gained such joy, but never did I feel a physical thrill. All of this happened before I reached maturity.

Up to this time, the act had no connection in my mind with the creation of babies. I simply thought that, as my mother said, “all little girls had that thing happen to them”; that it was the role of the female to make the male apparently happy for a few seconds, under the penalty of death or serious social and family complications, or deprivation of the much-loved games.

The first intimation that there might be a connection with the advent of babies came one day which stands out clearly in my memory. It was a cold winter’s day when my oldest cousin took me for a drive in a sleigh, on the river, which was frozen solid.

It was a wonderful ride. Tucked into the sleigh with the large warm buffalo robes, life seemed very full of joy. The woods bordering the sides of the river with their carpets of snow, sparkling with millions of diamonds, presented a sight I shall never forget. We drove nearly to the source of the river when we thought best to turn around, as it was getting quite narrow.

The horse was stopped and I was asked to go through the old performance! To desecrate that beautiful spot seemed cruel. I begged him not to do such things. But no! If I did not comply he would drive home without me.

On our way home my cousin said to me, “Now you may have a baby.” (He was probably eleven years old). “You must watch, and if you find you want to spit all the time, you must tell me, for that is the sign that you are going to have a baby.” I did a lot of thinking and asked a lot of questions, but he did not seem to have any further information for me. So I wondered whether I would “spit” the baby up or where it would come from. I think the idea rather appealed to me. Being the youngest of nine children, I had always longed for another baby in the family, so that I could have someone to “boss,” as I was always expected to obey the older ones. I was warned not to tell anyone of the possibility, and I wondered how I should explain things when I might appear carrying a baby and saying that it was mine.

About that time the Swedish woman showed me a smaller baby which she had. I was so glad, as the other one had become rather heavy for me to handle. I remember the shouts which went up when I casually remarked when I got home, that “Sophy had spit up another baby.” I was glad that I was not asked how I knew so much about babies, for I realized I would not be able to tell them the truth. For a while after the sleigh ride up the river I thought I wanted to spit a great deal, in fact I was punished for doing so, as I was told nice little girls did not do such things. The matter was soon forgotten.

This reminds me of what a friend of mine told me of her six year old son. One day he was led home by a very angry mother of a little girl with whom he had been playing. The angry mother told my friend that these children had been found lying in the furrow of a plowed field in a very compromising position.

When the mother had gone home, my friend felt that she must reprimand her son so she said, “Don’t you know it was very naughty of you to do such a thing?” She said her son looked up at her with real fear in his face and said. “Why, she ain’t going to have a baby, is she?” Friend mother had her first intimation that her baby had ever heard of such things. She did not discuss the thing further with her son, but thought it a huge joke. This was told me when I was in college, but I felt I could then warn her that she was not being fair to her son in not explaining things to him. But I had not the courage then.

When my mother chided me for expectorating so often I longed to ask her if she had to do it when she “had” me. But of course that barrier was ever between us. Forbidden subject! Each morning I would wake up thinking there might be a baby that day. After a while I grew tired of trying to make “spit” enough, and the questionings of my cousin ceased.

I recall that in some way my cousin did convey the idea that there might have been an egg deposited inside of me that day on the ice and that the baby would come from that egg. Then I wondered whether I would have to sit on that egg as long and as quietly as a hen did before the baby was hatched.

How my cousin became so wise I never found out. At my questions, he would assume a superior air and say, “Oh, boys always know those things.” Again I lamented the unwise choice of my sex, when that last egg was laid by my mother.