Book Review: The Woman Thou Gavest Me

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Tuesday, December 30, 1913: There’s nothing much to write about for today. Am interested in reading a book that I once tried several years ago and though it too dry.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Curling up with a good book is the perfect way to spend a cold winter day.

It’s obviously not what Grandma was considering reading because it was published in 1913, but I just finished reading The Woman Thou Gavest Me by Hall Caine. It was #7 on the Publisher’s Weekly bestseller list for 1913.

This book tells the story of a young woman, Mary O’Neill, who loved an Antarctica explorer, but was forced by her father to marry another man. Her wealthy father wanted to get control of some land, so he insisted that she marry a financially-struggling nobleman who owned an estate.

(Tip to the wise: If you’ve never consummated your marriage, but instead decide to have an affair with an Antarctica explorer, be sure to use birth control if you sleep with him the night before he leaves for Antarctica.)

The Woman Thou Gavest Me touched on a lot of complex social and moral issues that people were grappling with in 1913—

Should marriages be based upon family and business relationships, or should they be based on love?
Should women be allowed to divorce? . . . and if they are allowed to divorce should they be allowed to remarry?
What role should the Catholic church have in determining what is acceptable in regards to marriage and divorce?
Is it sometimes acceptable to have an affair?
How should illegitimate children (and their mothers) be treated by society?

This book is worthwhile reading from a historical perspective. The themes addressed by this book reminded me of the themes that Edith Wharton, another author from this era, often explored. The Woman Thou Gavest Me was a slow read—and felt very dated; but there was something about it that kept pulling me back to it over the course of several months.

Sunday School Attendance Pins

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Sunday, December 28, 1913: Went to Sunday School this afternoon for this last time in this year. Would like to say “I haven’t missed any,” but I can’t. The missing amounts to two.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

I think that this Sunday School attendance pin is from the mid-1900s. Does anyone know if there were attendance pins a hundred years ago?

Grandma—

Don’t beat yourself up for missing two Sundays. I’m impressed that you made it to Sunday School for 50 of the 52 weeks in 1913.

Expected Visitor Didn’t Come

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Saturday, December 27, 1913: Expected company today, but was doomed to disappointment, no sign of cousin Alma appeared.

Grandma probably looked out the window, across the frozen filed.s, as she waited for the train (that hopefully contained Alma) to come down tracks. — Grandma probably looked out the window, across the frozen fields, as she waited for the train (that hopefully contained Alma) to come down tracks.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

A hundred years ago visits were often planned via letter—and when plans changed at the last minute there was no way to let the other person know.

Grandma’s cousin. Alma Derr, lived on a farm in Montour County, Pennsylvania near the hamlet of California. Alma was the daughter of Judson Derr. He was a brother of Grandma’s mother.

Grandma probably expected Alma to come on the Susquehanna, Bloomsburg, and Berwick (S. B. & B.) train. There was a whistle stop for the train at a feed mill near the Muffly farm.

Alma was 15-years-old—and was three years younger than Grandma; but despite the age difference they apparently were good friends.

The previous summer Grandma spent several days at Alma’s. For example, on August 16, 1913 Grandma wrote:

Went out to Alma’s this morning on the train. We went to a festival over at California this evening. That was the first country festival I was ever to. We went up to the Hall this afternoon to tap the packers and then we swiped a dish of ice cream. When we finished it, we washed the dish and spoon in salt water.

A White Christmas After All

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Friday, December 26, 1913: My music teacher didn’t come this morning, perhaps on account of the snow. There was a white Christmas after all. It came in the evening.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Snow! What a beautiful way for the 26th to dawn. The beauty of fresh snow after a brown Christmas (at least during the daylight hours) must have been wonderful antidote to any post-holiday blues.

Music Teacher

The music teacher came to Grandma’s house to give her piano lessons? When Grandma had previously mentioned the lessons, I’d always assumed that she’d gone to the teacher’s home.

Sometimes I don’t even realize what I don’t know something until I read a diary entry that makes me realize that I’d previously misinterpreted it.

It’s amazing how a word here and there over multiple diary entries across the course of time fills in the pieces of the puzzle.

Hundred-Year-Old Holly Centerpieces

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Sunday, December 21, 1913: Went to Sunday School this morning. Spent the day in a lonesome way, any how this afternoon seemed that way.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Sounds like a boring Sunday. Did Grandma consider making of the holly centerpieces featured in the December, 1913 issue of Ladies Home Journal?

Two Unhappy Sisters

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Saturday, December 20, 1913: Ruth and I had a sorry time of it this evening. It was a tongue fight.

Source: Kimball's Dairy Farmer Magazine (April 1, 1913) — Source: Kimball’s Dairy Farmer Magazine (April 1, 1913)

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Whew, what anger! What did Grandma and her sister Ruth fight about?

Sometimes when I read a diary entry, I can’t help imagining a story in my mind even though it’s probably wrong.

Here’s the story I imagine—

I think that the fight was about who was going to milk the cows. Ruth went to Sunbury from December 15 to December 19. On the 15th Grandma wrote:

Ruthie left for Sunbury this morning, also left me all the milking, but I’m pretty hardened to that.

Since Grandma did all of the milking for four days while Ruth as gone, I think that she wanted Ruth take a turn at doing all the milking so that Grandma could go somewhere and have a little fun. . . but Ruth refused.

. .. . Or maybe Ruth just took off to visit friends or attend a show without doing her share of the milking, and Grandma was once again forced to do it all. . . . . . . Or. . . .

Hat Blew Off and Almost Landed in a Mud Puddle

18-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today:

Sunday, December 14, 1913: Went to Sunday School this morning. My nice new hat blew off. By good fortune it didn’t land in a mud puddle, but on the grass. Came back and pinned it on for I hadn’t gone very far. Mother doesn’t know it.

Hat.Pin.crop — Grandma probably used a hat pin similar to this one when she pinned her hat on after the near catastrophe.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Whew, thank goodness it didn’t fall into the mud puddle.

It’s probably the hat that Grandma bought on November 15, 1913:

. . . I went to Milton this morning on a shopping tour. I got the daintiest hat I’ve ever had for a while. It is black velvet, trimmed with old rose ribbon and pink velvet flowers.

Sometimes I wish that I was an artist. Somehow the picture I used to illustrate this diary entry seems particularly lame when the descriptions were so vivid.

I can picture it in my mind—the beautiful black velvet hat trimmed with ribbons and flowers, the expression of horror on Grandma’s face as a gust of wind tore the hat from her head (and then the look of relief when it landed in the grass), ominous black clouds, the trees with bare branches (and Grandma’s coat and skirts) blowing in the wind. . .