GREAT SMALLPOX EPIDEMIC--ST. MARY'S HALL--THANKSGIVING DAY IN
CALIFORNIA--ANOTHER BROTHER-IN-LAW.
"Mrs. Brunner has become too childish to have the responsibility of
young girls," had been frequently remarked before Elitha's visit; and
after her departure, the same friends expressed regret that she had not
taken us away with her.
These whispered comments, which did not improve our situation, suddenly
ceased, for the smallpox made its appearance in Sonoma, and helpers
were needed to care for the afflicted. Grandma had had the disease in
infancy and could go among the patients without fear. In fact, she had
such confidence in her method of treating it, that she would not have
Georgia and me vaccinated while the epidemic prevailed, insisting that
if we should take the disease she could nurse us through it without
disfigurement, and we would thenceforth be immune. She did not expose
us during what she termed the "catching-stage," but after that had
passed, she called us to share her work and become familiar with its
details, and taught us how to brew the teas, make the ointments, and
apply them.
I do not remember a death among her patients, and only two who were
badly disfigured. One was our pretty Miss Sallie Lewis, who had the
dread disease in confluent form. Grandma was called hurriedly in the
night, because the afflicted girl, in delirium, had loosened the straps
which held her upon her bed, and while her attendant was out of the
room had rushed from the house into the rain, and was not found until
after she had become thoroughly drenched. Grandma had never before
treated such serious conditions, yet strove heroically, and helped to
restore Miss Sallie to health, but could not keep the cruel imprints
from her face.
The other was our arch-enemy, Castle, who seemed so near death that one
night as grandma was peering into the darkness for signal lights from
the homes of the sick, she exclaimed impulsively, "Hark, children!
there goes the Catholic bell. Count its strokes. Castle is a Catholic,
and was very low when I saw him to-day." Together we slowly counted the
knells until she stopped us, saying, "It's for somebody else; Castle is
not so old."
She was right. Later he came to us to recuperate, and was the most
exacting and profane man we ever waited on. He conceived a special
grudge against Georgia, whom he had caught slyly laughing when she
first observed the change in his appearance. Yet months previous, he
had laid the foundation for her mirth.
[Illustration: MRS. BRUNNER, GEORGIA AND ELIZA DONNER]
[Illustration: S.O. HOUGHTON, Member of Col. J.D. Stevenson's First
Regiment of N.Y. Volunteers]
[Illustration: ELIZA P. DONNER]
He was then a handsome, rugged fellow, and particularly proud of the
shape of his nose. Frequently had he twitted my sensitive sister about
her little nose, and had once made her very angry in the presence of
others, by offering to tell her a story, then continuing: "God and the
devil take turns in shaping noses. Now, look at mine, large and finely
shaped. This is God's work; but when yours was growing, it was the
devil's turn, and he shaped that little dab on your face and called it
a nose."
Georgia fled, and cried in anger over this indignity, declaring that
she hated Castle and would not be sorry if something should happen to
spoil his fine nose. So when he came to us from the sick-room, soured
and crestfallen because disease had deeply pitted and seamed that
feature which had formerly been his pride, she laughingly whispered,
"Well, I don't care, my nose could never look like his, even if I had
the smallpox, for there is not so much of it to spoil."
Our dislike of the man became intense; and later, when we discovered
that he was to be bartender at grandpa's bar, and board at our house,
we held an indignation meeting in the back yard. This was more
satisfaction to Georgia than to me, for she had the pleasure of
declaring that if grandma took that man to board, she would be a
Schweitzer child no longer, she would stop speaking German, make her
clothes like American children's; and that she knew her friend Mrs.
Bergwald would give her a home, if grandma should send her away.
Here the meeting was suddenly interrupted by the discovery that grandma
was standing behind us. We did not know how long she had been there nor
how much she had overheard, nor which she meant to strike with the
switch she had in her hand. However, we were sitting close together and
my left arm felt the sting, and it aroused in me the spirit of
rebellion. I felt that I had outgrown such correction, nor had I
deserved it; and I told her that she should never, never strike me
again. Then I walked to the house alone.
A few moments later Georgia came up to our room, and found me dressing
myself with greatest care. In amazement she asked, "Eliza, where are
you going?" and was dumbfounded when I answered, "To find another home
for us."
In the lower hall I encountered grandma, whose anger had cooled, and
she asked the question Georgia had. I raised my sleeve, showed the welt
on my arm, and replied, "I am going to see if I can't find a home where
they will treat me kindly."
Poor grandma was conscience-stricken, drew me into her own room, and
did not let me leave it until after she had soothed my hurts and we had
become friends again.
Georgia went to Mrs. Bergwald's, and remained quite a while. When she
came back speaking English, and insisting that she was an American,
grandma became very angry, and threatened to send her away among
strangers; then hesitated, as if realizing how fully Georgia belonged
to me and I to her, and that we would cling together whatever might
happen. In her perplexity, she besought Mrs. Bergwald's advice.
Now, Mrs. Bergwald was a native of Stockholm, a lady of rare culture,
and used the French language in conversing with grandma. She spoke
feelingly of my little sister, said that she was companionable,
willing, and helpful; anxious to learn the nicer ways of work, and
ladylike accomplishments. She could see no harm in Georgia wishing to
remain an American, since to love one's own people and country was
natural.
Thereafter grandma changed her methods. She gave us our dolls to look
at, and keep among our possessions, likewise most of our keepsakes. She
also unlocked her carefully tended parlor and we three spent pleasant
evenings there. Sometimes she would let us bring her, from under the
sofa, her gorgeous prints, illustrating "Wilhelm Tell," and would
repeat the text relating to the scenes as we examined each picture with
eager interest.
We were also allowed to go to Sunday school oftener, and later, she
sent me part of the term to the select school for girls recently
established by Dr. Ver Mehr, an Episcopalian clergyman. In fact, my
tuition was expected to offset the school's milk bill, yet that did not
lessen my enthusiasm. I was eager for knowledge. I also expected to
meet familiar faces in that great building, which had been the home of
Mr. Jacob Leese. But upon entering I saw only finely dressed young
ladies from other parts of the State promenading in the halls, and
small girls flitting about in the yard like bright-winged butterflies.
Some had received letters from home and were calling out the news;
others were engaged in games that were strange to me. The bell rang, I
followed to the recitation hall, and was assigned a seat below the
rest, because I was the only small Sonoma girl yet enrolled.
I made several life-long friends at that institute; still it was easy
to see that "St. Mary's Hall" was established for pupils who had been
reared in the lap of wealth and ease; not for those whose hands were
rough like mine. Nor was there a class for me. I seemed to be between
grades, and had the discouragement of trying to keep up with girls
older and farther advanced.
My educational advantages in Sonoma closed with my half term at St.
Mary's Hall, grandma believing that I had gone to school long enough to
be able to finish my studies without teachers.
Georgia was more fortunate. When Miss Hutchinson opened "The Young
Ladies' Seminary" in the Fall, grandma decided to lend it a helping
hand by sending her a term as a day scholar. My delighted sister was
soon in touch with a crowd of other little girls, and brought home many
of their bright sayings for my edification.
One evening she rushed into the house bubbling over with excitement and
joyously proclaimed: "Oh, Eliza, Miss Hutchinson is going to give a
great dinner to her pupils on Thanksgiving Day; and I am to go, and you
also, as her guest."
Grandma was pleased that I was invited, and declared that she would
send a liberal donation of milk and cheese as a mark of appreciation.
I caught much of Georgia's spirit of delight, for I had a vivid
recollection of the grand dinner given in commemoration of our very
first legally appointed Thanksgiving Day in California; I had only to
close my eyes, and in thought would reappear the longest and most
bountifully spread table I had ever seen. Turkey, chicken, and wild
duck, at the ends; a whole roasted pig in the centre, and more than
enough delicious accompaniments to cover the spaces between. Then the
grown folk dining first, and the flock of hungry children coming later;
the speaking, laughing, and clapping of hands, with which the old home
customs were introduced in the new land.
There, I wore a dark calico dress and sun-bonnet, both made by poor
Mrs. McCutchen of the Donner Party, who had to take in sewing for a
livelihood; but to the Seminary, I should wear grandpa's gift, a costly
alpaca, changeable in the sunlight to soft mingling bluish and greenish
colors of the peacock. Its wide skirt reached to my shoetops, and the
gathers to its full waist were gauged to a sharp peak in front. A wide
open V from the shoulder down to the peak displayed an embroidered
white Swiss chemisette. The sleeves, small at the wrist, were trimmed
with folds of the material and a quilling of white lace at the hand.
On the all-important morning, grandma was anxious that I should look
well; and after she had looped my braids with bows of blue ribbon and
fastened my dress, she brought forth my dainty bonnet, her own gift.
Deft fingers had shirred the pale-blue silk over a frame which had
been cut down from ladies' size, arranged an exquisite spray of
Maréchal Niel rosebuds and foliage on the outside, and quilled a soft
white ruching around the face, which emphasized the Frenchy style and
finish so pleasing to grandma.
Did I look old fashioned? Yes, for grandma said, "Thou art like a
picture I saw somewhere long ago." Then she continued brightly, "Here
are thy mits, and thy little embroidered handkerchief folded in a
square. Carry it carefully so it won't get mussed before the company
see it, and come not back late for milking."
The Seminary playground was so noisy with chatter and screams of joy,
that it was impossible to remember all the games we played; and later
the dining-room and its offerings were so surprising and so beautifully
decorated that the sight nearly deprived me of my appetite.
"Mumps. Bite a pickle and see if it ain't so!" exclaimed a neighbor to
whom Georgia was showing her painful and swollen face. True enough, the
least taste of anything sour produced the tell-tale shock. But the most
aggravating feature of the illness was that it developed the week that
sister Elitha and Mr. Benjamin W. Wilder were married in Sacramento;
and when they reached Sonoma on their wedding tour, we could not visit
with them, because neither had had the disease.
They came to our house, and we had a hurried little talk with a closed
window between us, and were favorably impressed by our tall "Brother
Ben," who had very blue eyes and soft brown hair. He was the second of
the three Wilder brothers, who had been among the early gold-seekers,
and tried roughing it in the mines. Though a native of Rhode Island,
and of Puritan ancestry, he was quite Western in appearance.
Though not a wealthy man, he had a competency, for he and his elder
brother were owners of an undivided half of Ranchos de los Cazadores
(three leagues of land in Sacramento Valley), which was well stocked
with horned cattle and good horses. He was also interested in a stage
line running between Sacramento and the gold regions. He encouraged
Elitha in her wish to make us members of their household, and the home
they had to offer us was convenient to public schools; yet for obvious
reasons they were now silent on the subject.