Chapter 5

My DEAR GRANDCHILDREN:

We were married on the 8th of November, 1831. No costly arrangements were made for the occasion. The death of my sweet mother having occurred a few months previous would alone have prevented display and revelry; but, besides this sad event, my father had become greatly reduced in circumstances, and could afford no better preparations for the wedding of his child than such as could be made at home. Evergreens, provided by my little brothers, and festooned with flowers by my sisters, set off to great advantage the transparent white curtains, and gave a look of freshness and gaiety to our neat, but plain parlor; and the cake, with its plain icing, showed more than the confectioner's skill in its whiteness and flavor.

The circle of Mr. Charless' own immediate family, and a few friends he wished to invite, with some of our own, composed the company. And, since I am dealing in minutiae, I will tell you how the bride was dressed. She wore a plain, white satin dress, (made by herself), trimmed about the waist and sleeves with crape-lisse, which gave a becoming softness to the complexion of the arms and neck, which were bare. A simple wreath of white flowers entwined in her black hair, without veil, laces or ornaments, (save the pearls which were the marriage gift of her betrothed), completed her toilet. The graceful and talented Dr. Potts (Mr. then) performed the marriage ceremony, saying, "what God hath joined together, let not man put asunder."

My father, who had always been in comfortable circumstances, had, however, never been rich; and, notwithstanding he had been called to encounter many untoward events in life, we had never known what it was to want, until we came to St. Louis. This last move, which was fraught with brilliant hopes, in a monetary point of view, proved most disastrous, and, in a few short months, his little all of earthly goods was gone, and his faithful, loving help-meet laid away to sleep in the cold earth, and he, himself, declining in health, depressed and discouraged.

Our new home was a sad place, and it was joyous, too; for young hearts were there throbbing with pleasurable emotions, which sorrow and disappointment, though they checked, could not destroy. And young heads were there, big with the future; and Hope, which could not be hid by the darkness that surrounded us, sat enthroned as a queen, ever pointing us to the beautiful castle in the distant mist, and by her reflex influence coloring even the dreary present with her rainbow-tints.

A few days after our marriage we were received, as members of the family, at the house of my husband's parents. Upon our arrival there, we found the house brilliantly illuminated, for "Joseph was coming home with his bride," and the old people must have a grand reception! Everybody came that evening, and everybody called on the bride afterwards. Next morning, however, some of the realities of life commenced. We were late to breakfast, and, to my dismay, the breakfast was over. I glanced at my husband, who seemed a little embarrassed. But a cordial greeting from his mother, who was busy in the adjoining room "ridding up," and an affectionate kiss from his sister (Mrs. Wahrendorff), who immediately advanced upon our entrance into the room, made things a little more pleasant. We sat down together, and alone. Hot batter-cakes, etc., which were covered up near the fire, were soon placed upon the table, by the servant, and our plain, old-fashioned mother (who was no woman for nonsense) very unceremoniously told me to "pour out the coffee." What a downfall for a bride!

But this was not all. Upon my return to my room, after the departure of Mr. Charless to the store, I found that it was just as we had left it, and not cleaned and put in order, as I supposed it would have been. Mrs. Wahrendorff followed me, and offered (smiling) to assist me in making my bed, which I courteously accepted; and, finding that I was to be my own chamber-maid, I asked for a broom, which she sent to me. How long I had had that broom in hand I do not remember, but, while standing in the middle of the room, leaning on its handle, absorbed in rather disagreeable reflections, (all of which I might have been saved if I had known then, as I do now, that no disrespect was intended by these stranger relations), I happened to look out of the window, down into the street, when what should I see but the uplifted countenance of my husband, beaming with happiness and joy. Our eyes met, and, in a few moments, he entered the apartment, which had been very prettily fitted up, expressly for us. There was a shade of mortification on his whole-souled face, mingled with a playful humor, as he said: "Has mother put you to work already?" A kind embrace, with "I must make some other arrangement, dear--this will not do"--brought me to my senses, and I insisted (without prevailing, however), upon conforming to his mother's wishes in all things. "I had been accustomed to do house-work (much to the credit of my sensible mother, who, although a Virginian, taught her daughters self-reliance and many useful lessons in house-wifery), but I only felt strange, and a little home-sick; I would soon get over that, however." A few crystal tears fell, not mixed with sorrow; for how could sorrow find a place for such trifles in a heart so conscious of having just obtained a treasure, in a noble and devoted husband?

The next event of consequence that will aid in developing to your minds the character and disposition of your revered grandfather, occurred a few weeks after the circumstances related above. Mr. Edward Charless, who was married and settled a few squares from us, sent one evening an invitation to his brother to come over and make one of a card-party-–to be sure to come, for they could not do without him. He went. Upon his return, about twelve o'clock, he found me still up, waiting for him. He saw I felt badly. Not an unpleasant word passed between us, and nothing was said about it afterwards, that I recollect. Again his brother sent a similar message--"one wanting in a game of whist." He promptly replied, (very good-humoredly), "tell your master I am a married man now, and cannot come. He will have to look out for some one else to fill that chair." And if my husband ever spent half a dozen evenings from me in his life--except when attending to business of importance, or when necessarily separated--I do not now remember it. His pleasures were with his heart, and that was with his family.

Not long after this, news came that his half-brother (Robert McCloud) was in a declining state of health. His mother expressed a desire to have him brought home. Joseph immediately offered to go for him, and in a few days he took leave of me for the first time; left in his sister's (Mrs. Kerr's) carriage, with two good horses and a careful driver. And it was fortunate that he was so well equipped, for it was a hard trip, at best, for a poor invalid who was a good many miles distant. He returned in a few weeks with his emaciated brother, who lingered a few months, and died.

During this winter my own dear father declined rapidly, and no hopes were entertained of his recovery. This state of things passed heavily upon me. It was painful enough to know that he, too, had to die soon. But what was to become of my dear sisters, and our brothers --all of whom were younger than ourselves? The eldest, who was about sixteen years old, and our second brother (two years younger), had just commenced business as store-boys--one in a dry-goods store; the other, my father had placed under the care of my husband. Mr. Charless had, but a few years previous to this time, become a partner of his father in the drug business, (having abandoned the profession of the law, as it was not at all suited to his taste, and, perhaps, not to his talents), and, as he had frankly told me, immediately after our engagement, he was a new beginner in the world, and poor; under such circumstances I could not hope that it would be in his power to do anything for my father's helpless family. Tears, scalding tears, nightly chafed my cheeks, and it was only when emotions were too strong to be suppressed that I would sob out in my agony sufficiently loud to awake my husband from sound repose; for, through the day, I always controlled myself, and waited at night until deep sleep had fallen upon him before I would give vent to my burdened heart. At such times he would sympathize with me, and speak words of encouragement and comfort: not embracing promises, however, for he was not a man to make promises, unless he felt at least some assurance of an ability to perform them them. True, to his heart's core, he could not, even under the excitement of the moment, awaken hopes, perhaps to be blasted. And, young and warm-hearted as he was, so alive to the sufferings of others, I wonder now, when I think of it, that sympathy such as his, and love such as his, had not overbalanced his better judgment, and induced him, in such trying circumstances, to promise any and everything to soothe the troubled soul of one he loved better than himself.

He weighed matters. He planned, and thought of every expedient. As respectful as he ever had been to his parents, and tenderly as he loved them--fearful as he was of any step which they might not cordially approve--a new and nobler feeling was struggling in his breast; for a sorrowing one, whom he had promised to love and cherish, looked up to him as her only solace; and, while a thousand conflicting emotions forbade her utterances and requests, he divined all, and, folding me tenderly to his breast, said, emphatically: "Charlotte, your sisters and your brothers are mine." Sweet words, that acted "like oil poured upon the troubled waters." And has he not proved himself faithful to that declaration? Has he not been to us, in our destitute orphanage, more than a husband and a brother? Did a father ever bear more patiently with the foibles and imperfections of his children? Was a father ever less selfish than he has been? Has not his loving arm embraced us all?

But, my children, I forgot I was writing to you, and I have already written a long letter--so, will conclude with the injunction: If you want to be happy--if you want to make others happy--if you want to be truly noble, make this dear grandsire your model.

It was truly said of him by his pastor, Rev. S. B. McPheeters, that "Mr. Charless was a man of unusual loveliness of character, irrespective of his religious principles. By nature frank and generous, full of kindly emotions and noble impulses, if he had remained a man of the world, he would have been one of those who often put true Christians to the blush, by his deeds of benevolence and acts of humanity."

As regards his devotion to me and mine, I would say, there are but few brothers-in-law, and they hard-hearted, and regardless of the world's opinion, who could have refused to be the friend and brother of a helpless family, thus left in the midst of strangers. But how often do you see men so steadfast, so disinterested and devoted through life? Where is the man to be found that would not have murmured--that would not, at some time, have let an impatient word drop, showing that he felt the burden of the care and responsibility brought on him by marrying, and thus, at least, have wounded the wife of his bosom? Where is the man to be found, that, under such circumstances, has secured to himself the devoted love, and the unbounded confidence and admiration of a proud-spirited family, such as mine are? Many, indeed, must have been his virtues, clear and sound his judgment, upright and pure his daily walk and conversation, cheerful and confiding his demeanor.

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.

BELMONT, January, 1861.