then. That says it all, doesn’t it? Make sure you marry for love, dear.”
“I really don’t know much about love, Aunt Birdie. My friend Ruth and I used to read True Romance Stories and they made falling in love sound like a bad case of influenza. Your stomach goes all aflutter and your palms sweat and your head starts spinning. I’m not sure I would like the sensation, to tell you the truth. Does love really feel that way?”
“My husband fell in love with me the moment he first laid eyes on me. He saw me across the room and he said to his brother, ‘Look! Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?’ He couldn’t take his eyes off of me. ‘I’m going to marry her,’ he vowed, ‘if it’s the last thing I ever do.’ He begged my father for permission to court me, but it wasn’t enough for Gilbert to win Father’s permission or even my consent to marry him. He was determined to win my love. And so he did.” She sighed and wiped away the tear that had rolled down her soft cheek. “Then this terrible war started, and we’ve been apart ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, gently squeezing her hand. “I hope I meet a gentleman who loves me that much.”
“Make certain you marry for love. My sister Agnes married for money, and Florence married so she could serve God, and poor Mattie never married at all. But I was the fortunate one. I married for love.”
“Do you know why my father and mother got married? Their names are John and Angeline Hayes.”
“Oh yes. That was true love. Deep and passionate. Like my husband’s and mine.”
“Won’t you please tell me their story?”
“Their passion was ignited the night of the Great Fire, and the fervor of their love was as all-consuming as the flames.”
Wow! Aunt Birdie could write True Romance stories! But was it the truth? I knew that the Great Fire had occurred in October of 1871. I was born in April of 1873. Allowing a few months for courtship and marriage, and nine months for pregnancy, the timing did seem to make sense.
“What happened then, Aunt Birdie?”
“It began to rain early on Tuesday morning and the fire finally stopped. If it hadn’t been for the rain, this house would have burned up with all the others.”
“I mean what happened with my parents? Do you have a photograph of their wedding?”
“Yes. Would you like to see it?” She lifted her wedding photo from her lap and showed it to me again. I was disappointed but not surprised.
“I think this is you, Aunt Birdie.”
“Darling Gilbert. He’s the love of my life. He’s fighting in Virginia to help free the slaves, you know. Make sure you marry for love, dear.”
I gave up. Trying to get information from Aunt Birdie was probably a lost cause. A few minutes later, Grandmother and Aunt Matt finished the dishes and joined us in the parlor.
“Unpacked already?” Grandmother asked. “That didn’t take long.”
“I’m letting my dresses hang in the wardrobe for a while before I press them.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Aunt Matt said, “I have an article to write. Good night.” She crossed the front hall to her room and closed the door.
“That reminds me,” Aunt Birdie said. “I need to write a letter to Gilbert. It always cheers him to receive mail from home.” She stood and floated to the tall secretary across the room, unfolding the drop leaf so it formed a desk. She sat down gracefully and took out her stationery and a pen. Meanwhile, my grandmother had retrieved a bag of yarn and knitting needles and settled into a rocking chair.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Socks. They’re for the children down at the settlement house. Some of those poor little dears run around in the snow all winter with bare feet in their raggedy shoes. Do you know how to knit, Violet?”
“I learned how to once, but I’m not very good at it. I can’t say that I enjoy it.”
“Well, if you ever feel like helping me, I have extra knitting
“I really don’t know much about love, Aunt Birdie. My friend Ruth and I used to read True Romance Stories and they made falling in love sound like a bad case of influenza. Your stomach goes all aflutter and your palms sweat and your head starts spinning. I’m not sure I would like the sensation, to tell you the truth. Does love really feel that way?”
“My husband fell in love with me the moment he first laid eyes on me. He saw me across the room and he said to his brother, ‘Look! Isn’t she the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?’ He couldn’t take his eyes off of me. ‘I’m going to marry her,’ he vowed, ‘if it’s the last thing I ever do.’ He begged my father for permission to court me, but it wasn’t enough for Gilbert to win Father’s permission or even my consent to marry him. He was determined to win my love. And so he did.” She sighed and wiped away the tear that had rolled down her soft cheek. “Then this terrible war started, and we’ve been apart ever since.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, gently squeezing her hand. “I hope I meet a gentleman who loves me that much.”
“Make certain you marry for love. My sister Agnes married for money, and Florence married so she could serve God, and poor Mattie never married at all. But I was the fortunate one. I married for love.”
“Do you know why my father and mother got married? Their names are John and Angeline Hayes.”
“Oh yes. That was true love. Deep and passionate. Like my husband’s and mine.”
“Won’t you please tell me their story?”
“Their passion was ignited the night of the Great Fire, and the fervor of their love was as all-consuming as the flames.”
Wow! Aunt Birdie could write True Romance stories! But was it the truth? I knew that the Great Fire had occurred in October of 1871. I was born in April of 1873. Allowing a few months for courtship and marriage, and nine months for pregnancy, the timing did seem to make sense.
“What happened then, Aunt Birdie?”
“It began to rain early on Tuesday morning and the fire finally stopped. If it hadn’t been for the rain, this house would have burned up with all the others.”
“I mean what happened with my parents? Do you have a photograph of their wedding?”
“Yes. Would you like to see it?” She lifted her wedding photo from her lap and showed it to me again. I was disappointed but not surprised.
“I think this is you, Aunt Birdie.”
“Darling Gilbert. He’s the love of my life. He’s fighting in Virginia to help free the slaves, you know. Make sure you marry for love, dear.”
I gave up. Trying to get information from Aunt Birdie was probably a lost cause. A few minutes later, Grandmother and Aunt Matt finished the dishes and joined us in the parlor.
“Unpacked already?” Grandmother asked. “That didn’t take long.”
“I’m letting my dresses hang in the wardrobe for a while before I press them.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Aunt Matt said, “I have an article to write. Good night.” She crossed the front hall to her room and closed the door.
“That reminds me,” Aunt Birdie said. “I need to write a letter to Gilbert. It always cheers him to receive mail from home.” She stood and floated to the tall secretary across the room, unfolding the drop leaf so it formed a desk. She sat down gracefully and took out her stationery and a pen. Meanwhile, my grandmother had retrieved a bag of yarn and knitting needles and settled into a rocking chair.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“Socks. They’re for the children down at the settlement house. Some of those poor little dears run around in the snow all winter with bare feet in their raggedy shoes. Do you know how to knit, Violet?”
“I learned how to once, but I’m not very good at it. I can’t say that I enjoy it.”
“Well, if you ever feel like helping me, I have extra knitting
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