From the Relief Society Magazine, November 1919 –

Emancipation of Margaret Bryce

By C.

Aunt Marion’s telegram reached the Bryce home about 10 a. m. on the 22nd of August. In the dining room the breakfast was still set as the family had left it — Maude had been out with her Bee Hive Swarm on a moonlight hike the night before and had a head-ache; Betty had gone with Elva Crawford to see something about the bazaar the Primary was getting up. On the back porch was heaped a pile of bedding and a couple of “grub” boxes Will had brought in from the herd the day before. He was up town now getting supplies for the fishing trip the Scouts were going on the following day. Ned was in the shed overhauling the second-hand “jitney” he had traded for a few days before.

The kitchen table and sink were piled high with unhusked, green corn Bertha had sent up with the boys on their way to the pasture with the cows. Bertha wanted to can it in the pressure cooker and it was such a job to do it alone that she always came to her mother’s to do it. She had told the boys to tell grandma that the baby had cried with the ear-ache the night before and she might be a little late getting up to help.

The sitting room floor and table and chairs were strewn with plots and deeds where John had left them. He had stopped in on his way to the field to look up some papers concerning the late father’s estate, and had been in too much of a hurry to put things away again.

When the messenger boy came, he found Margaret Bryce in the garden. A large basket of tomatoes stood in the path near the empty swill-pails. The woman was staggering from the corn patch under a huge load of green fodder she had pulled for the calves. On her arm hung a bucket of grain for the chickens.

“Here’s a telegram for you. Sister Bryce,” called Johnny Atkins when he saw her.

Margaret Bryce stopped. The blood fled from her wrinkled cheeks, and she tottered beneath her load, and let it fall to the ground.

Jimmy! Her missionary boy! It must be It was only last summer that Fred Davis had died in the mission-field of pneumonia. These thoughts sped like lightning through her mind as she reached for the yellow envelope. Her knotted hand’s trembled as they broke the seal. The words danced before her sunken eyes.

“Here, Johnny; I haven’t my glasses. Will you — read — it please?” Johnny took the foreboding message and read:

“Los Angeles, Cal., Aug. 19.

“Am coming to visit you. Should arrive about the 22nd.

“Marion.”

A look of relief followed by one of joy came into Mrs. Bryce’s face.

“Thank you, Johnny.” She picked up her load and started toward the corral.

So Marion was coming to see her. Marion! her twin sister whom she had not seen for twenty — no, twenty-five years. Yes, it was when Bertha was a baby that Marion had paid her last visit. It was not with unmixed pleasure that Mrs. Bryce recalled that visit even now. Marion and James never had gotten on well. On that visit Marion objected vigorously to the way James let his wife wait upon him. She had said some very unkind and cutting things and while Margaret had felt that they, in a way, were justified, she had felt in duty bound to take sides with her husband and a sort of estrangement between the sisters had resulted.

As the years went by it had been bridged over to some extent. Occasional letters passed between them and Marion was ever inviting Margaret to visit her. This her husband had never been willing for her to do, but they had let the girls go out a year or so ago. But now poor James was dead and Marion was coming. The thought gave Mrs. Bryce a glow of happiness. She had always loved her twin sister devotedly and even as a child had envied that “way” Marion had of getting what she wanted so easily. They were so entirely different, she and Marion.

Mrs. Bryce fed the calves and chickens and hurried toward the house, stopping to pick up the basket of tomatoes and the swill-pails on her way. A tired little sigh escaped her as she saw the breakfast table and littered rooms. She was already weary from her out-side chores. She crossed over to the calendar hanging above the machine. Good heavens! today is the 22nd. That telegram had been delayed as so many of the telegrams Widow Atkins handled were. Marion might be here any moment!

“Maudie,” she called. There was no reply, so she went to the bed-room door. Maude was asleep on the unmade bed. The mother remembered the hike and the head-ache and softly closed the door. It made Maudie so cross to have to work when she had a head-ache.

Mrs. Bryce piled up the dirty dishes and carried them into the kitchen where Bertha’s corn greeted her. Dear, dear, she had forgotten that corn. It ought to be on right now. It took so long to can vegetables. She stacked the dishes on one side of the sink and began to husk the corn.

“Grandma, Uncle Ned wants that can of chain grease. He says he believes it’s in the pantry but it might be in the closet up in his room.” Mrs. Bryce looked in the pantry. “I don’t see it here, Georgie. Couldn’t you run up and see if it is in Uncle Ned’s closet. I’m trying to get your mama’s corn ready and Great-Aunt Marion is coming and I have so much to do.”

“Gee! when will she be here ? Will she bring any little boys ?”

“Run on and find the grease for Uncle Ned.”

“I can’t find it, Grandma,” George reported a moment later, and Margaret Bryce wearily ascended the crooked stairs. She had just got back with the grease when Betty called from the front door:

“Mother, Elva and I are going over to Grandon to bring their things in to the Bazaar. We may drive on out to the farm and eat dinner with Delia Patterson, so don’t worry if I’m a little late.” Betty started back toward the car waiting at the curb. Mrs. Brice hurried to the window.

“Betty, I just got a telegram from Aunt Marion. She is coming to visit us. The telegram said she should be here today.”

“Good !” exclaimed Betty enthusiastically. “You remember I’ve told you about the jolly times we had out to Aunt Marion’s three years ago, Elva. She’s the dearest ” Betty was climbing into the car.

“There’s a dreadful lot of work to do this morning,” Mrs. Bryce ventured, half apologetically. “I ought to can tomatoes and Bertha sent her corn up to do, and there’s the ironing to finish and —”

“Well, we just can’t leave this bazaar work now or the whole thing will be a failure,” protested Betty a bit petulantly. “But, of course, I can stay if I have to. Where’s Maude?”

“She has a head-ache, and is asleep. But never mind. I guess I can manage somehow.”

“Well, we’ll get back as early as we can.”

The car had scarcely driven away when Will came hurrying down the path.

“Say, Mother, the fellows want to get everything packed tonight. I’ll have to have one of these grub boxes cleaned out to take, and I wonder if you could fix me up a pan of beans and a cake and a little stuff. I’m so sick of canned grub from being out to the herd that I feel like that fishing trip won’t be worth much if I have to go off before I get filled up on decent food before I go.”

“I’ll try, Willie; but I just got word that Aunt Marion will be here on a visit today and I’m dreadfully busy.”

“Aunt Marion. O, I hate company! It makes so much more work. Why didn’t you make Bet stay and help you?”

It was nearly five o’clock when a touring car drove up to Bryce’s gate, and a fair-haired, plump woman got nimbly out.

“Just set my things on the front porch, Jefferson, then you would better drive to the hotel. My sister has a large family and I shouldn’t like to burden her.” Aunt Marion’s chauffeur was obeying this command when Margaret Bryce, who had heard the car stop, came to the front door. The parlor had been tidied, the tomatoes and corn canned, the beans and cookies prepared for Will, and the ironing finished, but at the sound of that car she had looked in dismay at her own soiled dress and felt of her untidy hair. There had never been a moment in the busy hours to give to her personal appearance. Nevertheless she hurried to greet her sister.

There was little resemblance between the two. Margaret was tall and dark and angular and the hard life she had led made her look at least fifteen years older than Marion.

“Let me have your things and you sit right there in that rocker and rest,” said Margaret after the first embrace was over. “You must be tired out.”

“Yes, I am tired, but I’ll wager I’m not half so tired as you are. You look ready to drop. You’ve simply got to go home with me, Maggie, and take a good, long rest. I’ve been wanting to come for you ever since I heard of Jim’s death, but I couldn’t get away before. You look as if you work just as hard as you used to. Now Jim is gone and the children grown. I don’t see what is to hinder you from taking life easy.”

But Marion had not been in the Bryce home long before she began to see, and she kept seeing plainer and plainer all the time.

The first morning after her arrival she was awakened about daylight by the sound of someone chopping wood. Her bed up near a window facing the yard, so she drew the curtain and looked out. Yes, her suspicions were correct; Maggie was the wood-cutter. A few moments later she heard her sister come in and start a fire in the kitchen stove. Then she heard her calling Ned from the foot of the stairs. “Ned, if you don’t get up now you won’t have time to milk before John comes for you to go to the field.” A little later she saw from her window, Margaret out in the garden digging weeds for the pigs. Soon she came in and started breakfast and called to Ned once more. The aunt heard him promise in a cross, sleepy voice that he would get right up; but he didn’t; so, as soon as his mother had set the table and called the girls, she took the milk pails and went to the barn.

When she came in with the milk she called the girls once more, reminding them that there was the churning to do and the milk to separate and the lot to irrigate that morning. As Aunt Marion lay there listening and interpreting each sound, a determined resolution took possession of her. She was going to make a reformation in that household if possible, and she knew her plan meant the keeping of her tongue still while she was there, and she realized that was going to be a difficult thing to do.

When Marion was called to breakfast she found her nephews and nieces fresh and smiling and eager to show her every attention. Their mother looked as tired as if she had done a hard day’s work.

During the weeks that followed, Marion Sanders saw that program repeated, with variations, every day. When her visit drew near its close she remarked as casually as possible one day:

“You are going home with me, aren’t you, Maggie?” For reasons of her own she had not mentioned the subject since the day of her arrival, and apparently none of the children had heard of her invitation. She and Margaret were alone today.

“We’ll have to leave here next Friday. I guess you can be ready by then.”

“I’d like to go, Marion. I’d like to go the best kind, but I don’t see how I can. There is so much to do this time of the year. There’s the garden and fruit to tend, and the girls and Bertha need a lot of sewing done, and John’s wife expects to be confined in a few weeks, and I always take care of her and the baby.”

“Look here, Maggie ” Aunt Marion had a hard task to stop the flood of words which leaped to her lips, but she managed to bite them off and said weakly, “I do wish you’d make up your mind to go.”

Though Margaret had had no idea of going she did broach the subject to the family next afternoon when they were all there, and she thought Aunt Marion was out calling on a neighbor.

“Aunt Marion wants me to go home with her,” she ventured timidly.

“Why, Nettie may need you any time,” spoke up John. “She is so nervous she never could stand a strange noise around.”

“And, Mamma, it is only a few weeks until high school starts. Maude and I haven’t a thing to wear. It will keep us hustling to get our sewing done.”

“Well, mother has promised to help me fit out the children before their school starts. I’d think you girls could sew for yourselves. What in the world will you do when you have four children to sew for?” This from Bertha.

“Hy Patterson says those peaches you ordered from him will be ripe in a few days,” remarked Ned.

“I’d think.” suggested Will, “that you’d rather visit Aunt Marion sometime when she hadn’t just been here.”

“I guess that would be better,” the mother admitted with a disappointed little sigh. She was completely swamped by this avalanche of arguments. No more was said about her going until Thursday afternoon when Aunt Marion began to get her things together.

“What have you decided about going home with me?” she asked.

‘T guess it will be better not to try to go just now,” said Margaret. She expected to have to argue. Marion did not usually give up her plans easily, but all she said was:

“I’m sorry. If anyone needs a rest and a change it is you.” Thursday night, had any of the Bryce family awakened about midnight they would surely have given the alarm that burglars were in the house, for some one was unmistakably in Mrs. Bryce’s bed-room — that lady having been induced to sleep with Aunt Marion, since the guest room was cooler. Some one, too, cautiously placed a couple of traveling bags on the front porch where they were carried away by a male accomplice. However, no one awoke, and the next morning no one reported anything missing.

At the breakfast table Aunt Marion announced that she would not leave until the next day as her chauffeur was slightly under the weather.

“However,” she continued, “he is well enough to drive over to the Patterson farm to get those peaches Ned mentioned the other day. So, Maggie, get on your things and you and I will go and get them and let the girls do up the work.” There were surprised looks from both girls, and a weak protest from Mrs. Bryce, but Aunt Marion hurried her into her clean dress and hat and led her out to the car which had just driven up to the gate.

As they were about to drive off, Maude called out: “Why, you haven’t taken anything to get the peaches in. Mamma. What shall I bring?”

“Never mind. Jefferies has some boxes in here that will do,” said Aunt Marion. “Good bye. We mav stay and visit awhile, so don’t get worried if we are not right back,” and away they chugged.

A half hour later, Mrs. Bryce, who had been leaning back enjoying the coolness of the ride, sat up with a sudden start.

“Why that’s where we turn off to Patterson’s,” she said, pointing back to the branch road behind them.

“Yes, I know it is,” said Marion with a cool something in her tone that startled the weaker woman. “But we are not going to Patterson’s. We are going to Los Angeles. California. Maggie Bryce, I’ve kidnapped you ! No, vou don’t need to look frightened. I’m not crazy! Everything is all right. Your things, all you’ll need, are in a suit case under your seat. And I’ve arranged so everything will be all right at home. I left a letter explaining all to the children, so sit back and enjoy yourself.”

“Why, Marion Sanders, turn right back. I can’t leave home now, I tell you. Nettie — ”

“O, Nettie will be all right. I telegraphed money for her mother to come and stay with her. I asked George’s sister Alice to help Bertha with her sewing, and made arrangements with Henrietta du Pont to see that the girls got something made before school starts. I even arranged for Marian Allen to go in and show the girls how to put up the fruit. You are kidnapped, I tell you, so you may just as well forget all about home and its worries. For forty years you’ve been a slave, Maggie Bryce. First it was to Jim. That was bad enough; but now it is ten times worse, — you are a slave to each of your children. You are to take lessons in how to be a free woman. I expect the children t learn some lessons, too. You are not going back to them until I’m sure they have learned theirs and you have learned yours. This is the day of your emancipation. I want you to go home to them as a mother and a companion, not as their slave.”

“But I enjoy doing things for them. Anyone enjoys working for the ones they love,” protested Maggie.

“Of course, they do, so why rob your children of the joy of doing for you. You are spoiling them, every one. It’s a wonder to me that they are not worse spoiled than they are. It is a wonder to me that they respect you as much as they do. O, I know I am hurting you dreadfully. Often the surgeon has to cut deep before he can cure. You have been robbing your children all the time you have been half killing yourself. I left my home in charge of my fifteen-year-old Margie, and I’m not worrying but that things will go on about as well as when I am there.”

“You always were a born manager. I’ve always wished I could do things like you do.” Maggie was near to tears of mingled emotions.

“Well, you can if you want to, and are willing to give up a little of the joy of giving, and take a little of the joy of receiving. That’s a lesson very few mortals have to learn, but you seem to be one of them. Now you are to begin letting others take some of the burdens. Let the children work for you and wait on you. As I said a moment ago, this is the day of your emancipation. You are to go back to your family as a mother and a companion, not as a slave. Come, Maggie, tell me you are not angry. I just had to do it — because I loved you so much.”

The startled look gradually faded out of Maggie’s face. She pulled her sister’s face down and kissed it.

“I’ve wished for years I — had courage to do something like this.” she said in a low tone, “but you seemed to have gotten all the courage for us both.”

“And you seemed to have gotten all of a lot of other qualities that are worth a whole lot more — patience and endurance and cheerfulness. I’ve been learning a lot of lessons from you.”

“I guess they will really get along all right for a few weeks and I do feel as if I need a rest.” Margaret Bryce settled back among the cushions with a look of genuine content.

“In the meantime, consternation was in the Bryce home. It was Betty who found Aunt Marion’s letter. It was in the novel she was reading. Perhaps Aunt Marion had been pretty sure that Betty would have to take a peep to see how the hero and heroine were getting on before she cleared up the breakfast table.

“Maude, Maude!” she called. “Come here, quick! Here’s a letter from Aunt Marion. She hasn’t gone to Patterson’s at all. She’s gone home and taken Mother with her.”

“What’s that?” called Ned from the bathroom, and he emerged with one side of his face covered with lather, while at the same time Will came tumbling into the room from the porch chair and squeezed in to look over his sister’s shoulder. Together the quartet read the letter Betty held:

“Dear Nephews and Nieces, — I’ve kidnapped your mother! You young folks seemed very intelligent and nice to me in most ways, but it is very evident you are not up on history or else you would know that the days of slavery in the United States ended with the Civil War. I found a veritable slave with a half dozen masters in your home. I have taken it upon myself to set her free. I have made arrangements so that none of you will really suffer while she is away, but I am going to keep her until I am convinced her own children are ready to treat her as a mother rather than as a slave.

“Lovingly,

“Aunt Marion.”

“Why, what on earth does she mean?” gasped Will.

“I know,” sobbed Maude, “it’s the way we let Mamma do all the hard work, and wait on us and everything. You ought to see how different it is in Aunt Marion’s home. They all do everything for her and they — just seem — to enjoy it and are — so happy.”

“That’s what I noticed,” agreed Betty, “and while we were out there I made up my mind we’d make it easier for Mother, but somehow it was so easy to fall in the old rut again.”

“By Jove, it’s funny I’d never thought a thing about it,” said Ned. “Mother always has done everything, and I just took it for granted. It was the same when Dad was alive, and she still slaves, as Aunt Marion puts it, for John and Bertha, now they are married. By Jove, it’s funny we couldn’t see how it looked to other people.”

“Do you suppose Aunt Marion will let her come home for Thanksgiving,” Will wondered wistfully.

“Maybe she will if we can prove to her that we are not really heathens, by then,” said Betty in self disgust. A new light of responsibility was dawning in the girl’s face.

“I feel like I’ve learned my lesson already,” whimpered Maude. “The house seems so empty and dreadful with Mother gone. I know I shan’t sleep a single night until she gets back. I’ll just lie awake thinking of all the drudgery she has done for me and wonder how she can ever forgive me.”

“That’s just the way I feel, by Jove, if it isn’t,” said Ned.

“I guess it’s the way we all feel. But let’s hurry and show Aunt Marion we’re not bad clear through. What can we do?” This from Will.

“There’s plenty we can do. We can clean the house and fix up ‘all the things that have worried mother, and learn to do the work well with out her, and be pleasant and happy, and O, a thousand things. But there is John out by the gate. Call him in. Then we’ll take this down to show Bertha. We’ve all got to get busy on this reformation business at once,” declared Ned emphatically. “Then maybe we can have Mother back for Thanksgiving.”

“We’ve got to have her back by then!” declared Will. “I can’t wait that long to let her know how sorry I am.”

“And won’t it be a Thanksgiving, though, just to have Mother here to — wait on!” cried Betty as she began briskly to clear up the breakfast table.