Chapter III

I must have been about eight or nine years old when another experience came into my life. Living as I did on a farm, I was ever on the alert about any happenings outside of the house. Indoors meant certain feminine affairs which never interested me. I did not object to work. I have never been lazy.

As I look back now on those early days I believe that I was rather imposed upon by my brother. I would work my hands sore doing his “chores” or helping him, in return for a special promise of a race on horseback or some other sport, which was my life.

In the spring, when the “river broke up” and the great cakes of ice started down, there would come the great “flood.”

When I look at that “great river” now, I smile to see it as a narrow little mill stream diverted from a small, but very beautiful tributary to the Connecticut. However, it looked large to us in those days. That spring flood was as important and exciting to us as the great flood was to the children of Noah.

We were not allowed to go near the swollen stream but as a safer way we were sent to the big barn where we could see from some of the high windows, the meadows covered with water.

The proverbial “hired man” was, of course, in the barn, as the heavy rain made outside work impossible. As I was a girl (perhaps), and a bit shorter than the boys, the hired man lifted me up to a high window where I could see as much of the “flood” as the boys who were perched on the high beams. Suddenly I felt a hand under my clothes and this beast of a man was fumbling about. I was furious and quickly scrambled out of his arms. He whispered to me to keep still and, if I told, he would throw me into the flood. He never touched me again but would try to bribe me to go to the barn, which I always refused to do. I imagine it was not easy, as candy was a rare thing in our young lives. All my instincts were against any contact with that man, and I finally told him if he ever spoke to me again I would tell my father and he would be sent away.

From that episode I realize that my natural instincts were not along sexual lines. I have known girls of that age who have told me that it was fun to have some one play with their privates.

Why I should have submitted to that sort of thing with the two boys is obvious. I was simply paying the price of companionship.

There was a third family in the little group of homes in the neighborhood where we lived. These people were very close friends of my parents. The man and his wife were both very musical, and their little boy was one of my group of playmates. Music was my father’s profession, before he lost his voice for concert work and went to farming. Our home was the musical center, not only of the neighborhood, but of the town, even though we lived two and a half miles away.

My father still had a charming tenor voice and the neighbor, whom we will call Mr. Wiggins, had a very deep bass. His wife always accompanied the singing feasts. I was in my element at these times, for I loved all music. To me, at that time, it was of course just the beautiful sounds and the harmony of the two voices that thrilled me. It was a veritable soul feast. I would sit for hours and listen to their music, enjoying it as keenly as I always did the sports out-of-doors.

Mr. Wiggins was something of a god to me. I would marvel over his deep, rich, bass voice. In many ways it touched me even more than my father’s tenor. As I said, my father’s voice was on the wane and when it will be remembered that I was the ninth child, it will be understood that he could not be in his prime. He kept up his teaching for a long time, however.

The young son was never admitted to the inner secrets of the “private investigation committee,” although he joined in our sports.

There were no so-called desirable girls in the neighborhood for me to play with, so my parents thought. I fully agreed with them, as the girls always wanted to play dolls, a thing I considered utterly futile.

Often it is said that a girl’s love for dolls is indicative of her future love for her children or for children in general. I never could make a doll seem real to me. I could look upon a tomahawk which I had carefully carved from wood, as a real weapon, but not so with a puppet. But I loved taking care of and playing with a real baby. The only one available in my early life belonged to a Swedish couple who worked for my uncle and lived in one of the little farm houses quite remote from our home. The Swedish mother was very glad to give the baby over to my tender mercies, whenever I appeared. It throve in spite of, rather than because of, I fear, the care I gave it. Not that I abused it, but my arms were not long nor were they capable of adjustment about a wiggling husky baby boy. It was always referred to as “my baby.”

I remember that I always applied to the mother when a change of garments was imperative. To me now this fact seems rather significant in that, although I had been instructed in the anatomical differences between boy and girl, I had no further curiosity, as I would have had if my mind had been sexually warped. Every time my mind was directed to the thought of the male there was only further rebellion over the fact that I was not created a boy.

* * * * *

One might think that most of my life had been spent in the discussion of matters pertaining to sex. When instances of precocious sexual behavior have been brought to my attention, I have in a very few words gone right to the bottom of the cause and effect and then dropped the subject. The knowledge I have thus gained I have found to be of great value in the life which I have led.

There has always been some quality in my make-up to inspire confidence of young and old. I have ever adopted the attitude of sympathetic interest. When problems came up for which I felt, in my wide experience, I had an answer, I believe I have helped many towards their solution.

Now to go back to the “musical evenings” and the events which followed. The three families of which I have spoken in our little neighborhood group, while occupying three separate houses, were like one great family. The children were in and out of each house with equal freedom and the several cookie jars were open to all.

There was a fourth house where the children loved to go. The old uncle and aunt who lived there, childless, were both deaf and dumb and in their house we were never “sushed.”

The old uncle was a mender of shoes, for our own families mainly, and he was kept very busy repairing the scuffed-out toes and soles for three families of lively children. I used to go often, by myself, to watch the process of making the waxed end and fastening on the hog’s bristles for a needle. I was allowed to help at times, and in those days I firmly believed that to be a shoemaker was the goal at which I aimed. I loved to work with my hands. I do not mean any thing as senseless as to sew a fine seam or wash dishes, but in any other craft where carpenter’s tools or like implements were used, I was in my glory.

One day I was shoe-mending with my uncle, when Mr. Wiggins came in with a piece of harness to be mended, while he waited. As he sat down I happened to notice that his trousers were not fastened in front and told him of it as quickly and as innocently as I would have told my father. As I was not allowed to “help” with his job of mending, I soon started out to find something more interesting to do, thinking no more of the occurrence of the trousers.

As I started for the door Mr. W. told me to wait in the shed for him, as he wanted to see me. Of course I did as I was told. He came out and led me to a dark corner of the shed and told me to be quiet and he would show me something nice. He then proceeded to expose himself. I started to get away but he lifted me up in his arms and held me tightly. I begged him to let me go, but he threatened me with an awful whipping if I did not stay and be quiet. Not that he expected the deaf people in the house would hear me if I cried out, but my own house was near. He made me take hold of that awful member and then he kissed me in the most disgusting way, which fairly made me sick, and I gagged so that he had to let me go. He told me if I ever told anyone he would kill me. Of course, I was terribly frightened and upset and—whom could I tell? On the next musical evening I pretended I did not feel well and wanted to go to bed soon after supper.

I could not bear to hear that glorious bass voice and buried my head under the clothes so I could not hear it. One of my gods had fallen. How I suffered! I have never heard a deep bass voice since without the events which I have just mentioned, and others which followed, flashing across my mind. My preference for that quality of voice was destroyed.