After spending much of a long life trying to bury all of the unhappiness
which has come into my life, it is a rather hard task to bring all of
these things to life again.
While I suppose I have always been conscious of the events of my life, I
do not want to give the impression that I have always been brooding over
them. They were, to me, past and I have had great happiness out of the
present, though with it new sorrows. I was born to be happy. The life
that people have known, loved, and even admired, has been absorbing to
me, and I have been able almost to forget the shadows which have come
into my life and which I believe come into most lives.
Soon after the experience in the shed at my deaf and dumb uncle’s house,
I was sent to the Wiggins’ house on an errand. I went right in, called
as I always did, and found that there was no one there but Mr. W. As my
errand was with Mrs. W., I turned to go, but he caught me and drew me
into a dark hallway. I struggled to get away but he held me, loosened my
underclothes, and did something which hurt me dreadfully and made me
scream with pain. He held his hand over my mouth and frightened me with
awful threats. If I told anyone, my father would kill him, and then my
father would be hung for doing so. In my terror I kept still.
I felt sick and sore all day and for several days. I did not play. When
I went to bed mother went with me. How I wanted to tell her what had
happened, but I was terrified.
I realize now that even though I was very young for maturity, my mother
must have had it in her mind and was on the lookout for it, as I had
been so mopey and quiet, not caring to play as usual.
Much to my horror I discovered some blood on my underclothes and tried
to hide it, thinking my mother would know just how it came there, and
probably picturing immediate murders, battles, and sudden deaths. Her
eyes were keen and she asked me if I had hurt myself in any way and of
course I said “no,” trembling the while inside. “Well,” she said, “It is
nothing to worry about, this happens to all little girls when they are
about your age.” She then fixed a cloth for me to wear and told me to
call her before I dressed in the morning. I clearly remember that night
of terror. The dread of that morning! I thought, of course, as she said
it was “what happened to all little girls,” that she knew, as I did,
where the blood came from and that the next day was to be one of murder
and bloody history in my young life.
Why, oh why was I a girl! Such a curse! Small wonder that I thought so.
Morning came, and nothing happened. I was told there would not be any
more blood and I must be a little quiet that day. I was glad to be quiet
for I was still very sore and uncomfortable. I felt relieved, as what my
mother told me corroborated what Mr. W. had said, that he would not hurt
me again.
What an influence that event has had, all through my later life, in
dealing with adolescence, as an argument for the enlightenment of youth
on questions of life and sex! But I have never before given this reason
in support of that argument.
Can anyone imagine a more dreadful thought than to have been given the
impression which I received from my mother—that it was normal and usual
that some man should sever that delicate tissue, so frightening a little
girl that she dared not cry out in rebellion? Another and a more
dreadful reason why I should so rebel at being a girl! That was the only
information my mother ever gave me about coming to maturity. At least,
nothing else that she may have said made the slightest impression on my
mind.
Added to the former threats by Mr. W. were the assurances that if I
told, Mrs. W. would probably kill me and there could be no more musical
evenings. I realized, even at that age, that I could not treat him as I
had the hired man. He was the master; a dear friend of the family. I was
not old enough to argue with him, I had but to do his bidding, believing
it to be the penalty one must pay for being a girl. But why the awful
secrecy? I wonder if those arguments in a child were justifiable. Was I
trying to hide under an “alibi”? I know I hated the whole thing and I
believe I am sincere in describing the reactions I experienced at that
time, yet I have always heard it said that a girl need never be led
astray. I do believe that now, but with so young a child I hardly think
such a theory holds good. I certainly was not seduced; I was forced into
that situation.
In short, I was a slave to that man for several years. When he told me
to go to a certain place, I had to go and endure the most awful things
at his pleasure. I was never one to go away by myself, and I grew very
sly in my maneuvers to get away from the rest of the “boys”. I knew that
if they saw me going away, they would surely follow, as they would think
I had discovered a bird’s nest or some other marvel of nature. If they
should ever discover the real reason of my going, then would come the
dire calamities predicted by Mr. W. I surely learned the arts of
strategy and intrigue.
These meetings were not so very often, but I never went out to my play
without the fear that I might see the signal for me to go down to the
woods.
During the earlier sessions he was apparently very careful not to hurt
me, using his finger to “make the place big,” as he said. It was
painful, however, each time he touched me, I begged him not to ask me to
come again. But again the threats, so I felt I had to do so. I told him
what my mother said when she saw the blood on my clothes, and he laughed
and said it was a good joke. I failed to see it and told him so.
Finally he accomplished the beastly act which he had made up his mind
to. How I wished I had never told him that the buttons of his trousers
were not fastened, as I thought that was what led up to all of this
horror! I suffered no serious pain at these times and I marveled at his
apparent ecstatic delight. His kisses nauseated me and I was filled with
disgust. The disgrace of the whole thing which I felt must be wrong, in
spite of what my mother had said, took much of the joy from my beloved
games.
I was not wholly cast down, however, but like all normal children I was
able to forget between times. I told no one of this. Mr. W. passed on
many years ago. I realized that perhaps, in a vague way, these meetings
may have been a source of satisfaction to me in that I seemed to be the
agent whereby he gained such joy, but never did I feel a physical
thrill. All of this happened before I reached maturity.
Up to this time, the act had no connection in my mind with the creation
of babies. I simply thought that, as my mother said, “all little girls
had that thing happen to them”; that it was the role of the female to
make the male apparently happy for a few seconds, under the penalty of
death or serious social and family complications, or deprivation of the
much-loved games.
The first intimation that there might be a connection with the advent of
babies came one day which stands out clearly in my memory. It was a cold
winter’s day when my oldest cousin took me for a drive in a sleigh, on
the river, which was frozen solid.
It was a wonderful ride. Tucked into the sleigh with the large warm
buffalo robes, life seemed very full of joy. The woods bordering the
sides of the river with their carpets of snow, sparkling with millions
of diamonds, presented a sight I shall never forget. We drove nearly to
the source of the river when we thought best to turn around, as it was
getting quite narrow.
The horse was stopped and I was asked to go through the old performance!
To desecrate that beautiful spot seemed cruel. I begged him not to do
such things. But no! If I did not comply he would drive home without me.
On our way home my cousin said to me, “Now you may have a baby.” (He was
probably eleven years old). “You must watch, and if you find you want to
spit all the time, you must tell me, for that is the sign that you are
going to have a baby.” I did a lot of thinking and asked a lot of
questions, but he did not seem to have any further information for me.
So I wondered whether I would “spit” the baby up or where it would come
from. I think the idea rather appealed to me. Being the youngest of nine
children, I had always longed for another baby in the family, so that I
could have someone to “boss,” as I was always expected to obey the older
ones. I was warned not to tell anyone of the possibility, and I wondered
how I should explain things when I might appear carrying a baby and
saying that it was mine.
About that time the Swedish woman showed me a smaller baby which she
had. I was so glad, as the other one had become rather heavy for me to
handle. I remember the shouts which went up when I casually remarked
when I got home, that “Sophy had spit up another baby.” I was glad that
I was not asked how I knew so much about babies, for I realized I would
not be able to tell them the truth. For a while after the sleigh ride up
the river I thought I wanted to spit a great deal, in fact I was
punished for doing so, as I was told nice little girls did not do such
things. The matter was soon forgotten.
This reminds me of what a friend of mine told me of her six year old
son. One day he was led home by a very angry mother of a little girl
with whom he had been playing. The angry mother told my friend that
these children had been found lying in the furrow of a plowed field in a
very compromising position.
When the mother had gone home, my friend felt that she must reprimand
her son so she said, “Don’t you know it was very naughty of you to do
such a thing?” She said her son looked up at her with real fear in his
face and said. “Why, she ain’t going to have a baby, is she?” Friend
mother had her first intimation that her baby had ever heard of such
things. She did not discuss the thing further with her son, but thought
it a huge joke. This was told me when I was in college, but I felt I
could then warn her that she was not being fair to her son in not
explaining things to him. But I had not the courage then.
When my mother chided me for expectorating so often I longed to ask her
if she had to do it when she “had” me. But of course that barrier was
ever between us. Forbidden subject! Each morning I would wake up
thinking there might be a baby that day. After a while I grew tired of
trying to make “spit” enough, and the questionings of my cousin ceased.
I recall that in some way my cousin did convey the idea that there might
have been an egg deposited inside of me that day on the ice and that the
baby would come from that egg. Then I wondered whether I would have to
sit on that egg as long and as quietly as a hen did before the baby was
hatched.
How my cousin became so wise I never found out. At my questions, he
would assume a superior air and say, “Oh, boys always know those
things.” Again I lamented the unwise choice of my sex, when that last
egg was laid by my mother.