From the Relief Society Magazine, 1934 –

Hard Times

By Mabel S. Harmer

Barbara greeted the knowledge of the coming of her child with a feeling something akin to panic. It had been entirely different with the other two. Small Joan had been welcomed with the ecstasy accorded a firstborn and when Bobby arrived, two years later, Barbara had airily announced to the nurse that she intended to have at least half a dozen. She remembered now, with a smile of amusement, the “you-poor-benighted-thing” look the nurse had given her.

But this time it was different. Paul’s salary had already suffered two cuts and there was always the fear lurking in the background that he would lose his position altogether. It had been months since they had been able to save anything.

Barbara had figured until her head ached. Well, there was no other way out – they simply must dispense with things which she had long regarded as necessities.

First the telephone must go – it was practically the same as cutting yourself off from the world; next the new winter coat she had been planning on. At any rate she wouldn’t be going out much and the old one would do. She hesitated next between Joan’s music lessons and Mrs. Fisher’s day with the housework and then finally decided that they would both have to go. It was too bad – Joan was getting such a good start with her music and Barbara would really need help more than ever now – but it couldn’t be helped. There was only a few months left in which to save the two hundred dollars that would be the least they could expect to get along with.

She pushed her pencil and paper aside and decided to take a walk. There was no use in getting morbid about it. They would have to manage somehow.

Putting on her hat and a light wrap she started down the street in the direction of Aunt Emmy’s. When her mother had left for California to spend the winter she had said, “Now, do look in on Aunt Emmy once in a while – the poor soul gets so lonely” – and Barbara had tried to walk down there at least once a week.

She found Aunt Emmy deep in her photographs and other relics of the past, in which she seemed to live to a greater extent now than in the present.

“Come in, dearie,” she called, on catching sight of Barbara. “It’s so kind of you to call on an old lady.”

Barbara cleared some space on the sofa and sat down.

“By the way,” said Aunt Emmy holding up a paisley shawl, “did I ever show you this? Jim brought it to me when he came from his mission.”

Barbara had seen it at least a dozen times but she smiled politely and said, “Yes, thank you, Aunt Emmy. I have seen that one, but what is this?” holding up a small white silk one. “It looks like a baby shawl.”

Aunt Emmy beamed. “Doesn’t it seem strange? That was my own baby shawl. It’s nearly eighty years old now.” The wrinkled hands caressed the bit of silk lovingly. She looked up at Barbara. “Shall I tell you the story?”

“Oh, do!” exclaimed Barbara, whose mind had been dwelling rather intently on baby things.

Aunt Emmy toyed with the silken fringe a moment and then began. “My parents were living in a little town in Illinois at the time and built a very comfortable home. It was November and the crops had been harvested. A right nice lot of corn, too, they said. Mother and Father had left one home two years before and hoped now for a little peace, but they were constantly being threatened by the non-Mormons. They hoped for the best however, and had worked hard to secure themselves against the coming winter.

It was now late November and the weather had turned rather cold. There was a two-year-old boy in the family and a new baby was expected in January.

One cold evening after the family had gone to bed, my father was awakened by a light outside. He ran to the window and was shocked to see his barn and haystack in flames. At the same time there came a knock at the door and a harsh voice said, “The house goes next and ye’ve just got time to hitch up your wagon and join your crowd down the road.”

Father opened the door and pleaded with the men outside. His wife was ill. It might kill her to take her out in a night like this.

The men laughed and said he should have thought of all that before he joined the Mormons.

Sorrowfully the little family dressed, gathered up a few clothes and a small amount of food and went out to their wagon – now their sole possession.

They joined the rest of their friends in a little grove of trees outside of the town. They had built a bonfire and were doing their best to keep up each other’s courage.

During the night, I was born in the old wagon and destitute as those people were, they gathered up a scrap of clothing here and there for the new baby. One good woman gave this shawl. No doubt it was a prized possession since they had only time to gather up a few things. I have always loved it. Perhaps it helped to save my life.”

“And such a useful life,” said Barbara with a loving smile as she patted the old lady’s knee.

“Well, I’ve had my ups and downs – but my parents – they were the ones who had the hard times.”

“Yes,” echoed Barbara, with tears in her eyes, “those were the hard times. I must run now.” she said, standing up, “and thanks for the story. You don’t know how it has helped me.”

She walked home with light feet. The odors of Autumn were in the air. Ripe apples, chili sauce cooking and burning leaves. “How good everything is,” she thought.

As she entered her pretty home she looked about with an almost guilty air. She was surrounded by every convenience that modern science had invented. And she had been afraid! Afraid of losing some of her luxuries. After all, they really were that.

She went to her cedar chest and opened the lid. In neat piles were the partly worn baby garments of Joan and Bobby. “Almost enough of everything,” she thought. “How lovely.”