Chapter 44: Good Times, Bad Times, and Life Changes

October 29, 1886 – Across from the Statue of Liberty

The day was near perfect for this time of the year, known by the phrase “Indian Summer.” But it was coming to a close. Temperatures were starting to drop, though the sun still shined brightly.

People flocked closely around where the Lady of Liberty stood and watched as the last marvel of the century was put in place. A plaque was installed that was inscribed with words by Emma Lazarus:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Celebrations were everywhere. President Grover Cleveland officially dedicated the Statue of Liberty. The festivities included a land parade through Manhattan, a naval parade on the Hudson River, and an unveiling ceremony on Bedloe's Island, everyone stood in awe.

But the plaque was a truly crowning moment, that ever-final attachment as a symbol for freedom for all people. And as people shifted here and there, Cora Mae, just like the throng of people, did her best to get the best view possible. In so doing, not watching her step, she tripped over a man’s foot and was ready to plummet to the street.

But the man caught her as she was going down and righted her back to her feet.

“Oh my, thank you, sir. How clumsy of me. I should have watched where I was going.”

“I think everyone here is having too much excitement to notice where they go or what they do, young lady. This is a momentous occasion.”

“That it is.”

It was then that she took stock of the man who had saved her from embarrassment: a tall, strapping man, well taller than most of her family, and dark-brown, unruly hair; but it was his eyes, like a velvet-blue if there be such a color, which held her transfixed far too long.

“Miss, is something wrong?”

“No, nothing at all. I just find you attractive.” Then she clamped her hand over her mouth and blushed a deep scarlet. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that!”

The man laughed, shaking his head, and said, “You would be the first lady ever to tell me that. And I will tell you I find it refreshing that a young woman such as yourself would utter such words in public. I find that courageous. My name is John Anderson Truman. I came all the way from Missouri to see this event. And in doing so, I have met two beautiful ladies. Her,” he said pointing to the Statue of Liberty, “and you.”

Cora Mae blushed even more before introducing herself, telling this man she came all the way from Virginia.

It was then that Oliver, Azalea, and Charles Henry walked over.

“Cora Mae, we thought we lost you in this crowd. You really need to stay closer to us so we don’t lose sight of one another,” said Azalea.

“Oh, Mother, I was fine but—were it not for this gentleman, I may have returned with a bruise I would have deserved having.” Then Cora Mae made the introductions between her family and John Truman.

“Mr. Truman, I…”

“Please, call me John. Most folks back home just use my first name.”

“Good enough for me, John. You can call me Oliver, then. But I would like to invite you to the Stafford Hotel where we are staying and join us for dinner tonight. It’s the least I and Azalea can do for you in saving our daughter from unwanted grief.”

“It would be an honor, and since we happen to be staying at the same hotel, this should work out nicely.”

“Then say seven this evening?”

As they parted in separate ways, while walking, Oliver went into another deep, hard coughing spell. Each one came a little harder, with a little more blood coming as well. He had seen three different doctors. Two back home and one in New York City. The prognosis was the same each time: he had throat cancer that had been gradually spreading into his lungs. He’d been told that surgery wouldn’t correct the problem because of the quickening rate of the spread of cancer. Oliver knew his time was short, just as did Azalea, Cora Mae, and Charles Henry, but it didn’t make the waiting for the day to happen any easier on any of them.

Often Oliver would say to them, “Let us not think about what will happen, but rather think about all we do instead.”

March 18, 1887 – Dublin, Virginia

The winter weather was all but a bitter memory. Fortunately for Oliver and his family, they were safely home from their excursion in New York, for the city itself was inundated by the worst winter storm ever. Over two feet of snowfall and winds created fifty-to sixty-foot snowdrifts; over two hundred people had lost their lives. The New York Times dubbed it “The Great White Hurricane.”

That particular piece of news they’d learned from the letter William received from Randolph. At least he knew his son was well.

The last two letters William had received from his sons were good ones. Randolph now had five students he taught music, and overall, the academy had nineteen students.

According to Randolph, “Father, in the short span of time we have been here, Dr. Damrosch has done exceedingly well in gaining students. Five have already graduated from short courses taken, and with those we have, graduations will be within the year for the majority, and we have a waiting list for another thirty-two to enter the academy. Already Dr. Damrosch is in communication with a bank for a sizeable loan to expand and turn his idea into a musical university—Julliard. And from what I have gathered from him, there are two banks willing to offer up sizeable loans. It will be a dream come true for Frank, I mean Dr. Damrosch. I’m not certain if I said this in my past letter about being fortunate enough to meet another man, but he was an American clergyman and reformer—Henry Ward Beecher died at seventy-three only a few miles outside New York City. I have considered him to be a great man, like you. And before I forget, Father, I will be giving my first public performance at Symphony Hall April fifth and do hope you can attend.”

William always smiled with Randolph’s words for he always knew the right things to say and do, and now he was not only a teacher but a performing artist as well.

When it came to the last letter from Frank, it, too, was uplifting. William knew his own father would be proud of his grandson. Frank had graduated from Naval Academy, with no less than the highest honors.

In his own words, that William had read many times, “I have graduated at the top of my class, Father. Mother would have been proud. In so doing I received the rank of Lieutenant. This is a huge honor. But of course, I haven’t, as of this writing, learned my new set of orders, but I could be second in command aboard any of the small naval ships, including frigates and destroyers, or possibly the senior Division Officer on a larger vessel. According to the rank and file, Lieutenant is the 18th rank in the United States Navy, ranking above Lieutenant Junior Grade and directly below Lieutenant Commander. Far be it for me to say, but I may be on the rise with an incredible organization. I can see why Grandfather loved the Navy so much…”

How William missed both his boys. And in many ways, William missed his bygone youth. He missed far too much. The hole in his heart had never sealed since the day Anna died. Emotionally, his world crumbled.

And William was ever grateful that neither his sons nor any members in the family had called on him as of late. For in his present state, the spirits had become the only thing that took his mind off of the many losses he had seen in his lifetime. Surely, had Oliver been there as he poured another glass of brandy, he would have scolded him until hell melted away.

Late June 1887 – Chalfin Springs, Colorado

Etta had done all she could for James. But it seemed just when she was nearing the end of a hurdle, another would come from nowhere.

James had had a terrible fall with his horse. The horse had spooked when faced with a rattler in the middle of the road as they were returning from town one day, throwing James off and causing him to land hard on his back. The doctors did all they could, but the facts remained fact: James would never walk again or have the use of his left arm.

Now, two months later, James had a severe case of pneumonia he couldn’t seem to shake, and Etta used everything at her disposal to help him fight this battle.

Chadlynn, Sam, and the girls would be arriving by the first part of July for a visit so that Etta and James could see their granddaughters. But Etta still feared James would not last for that brief period of time until they arrived.

July 2nd, 1887

Dearest Oliver and William,

I write you both to tell you James passed away last evening. Our daughter Chadlynn arrived just hours before, and James did get to see his granddaughters before he passed on.

This wasn't the joyous occasion I had hoped for but at least James smiled as he held each child with his good arm and made all the little fussy sounds we do with our babies.

I am deeply sorry to tell you this way, and Oliver, I know that as his brother, this will be a tremendous loss for you and wish I had better news to tell you.

William, I know the loss over Anna has cut you to the core, and that this telling doesn’t make your loss any easier to bear.

The pastor in town will hold services in two days before we bury him on our land. Our land? His land. I cannot accept this to be my land without him. Chadlynn and Sam have offered to let me stay with them in Wyoming and I have accepted.

Once everything here is settled, the land will be put up for sale and I intend to make sure that the money from the sale will go to our granddaughters. They are, in a sense, our legacy, our future. I’m sure James would agree.

I wish I had better news for you both and please convey this to the rest of the family for me.

With Much Love,

Your Sister In Law,

Etta

August 1887 – Outside of Galena, Virginia

John Truman would mark his third visit to Cora Mae. Since that day in New York he felt it deep in his bones that Cora Mae was the woman he wanted as his wife and the mother of his children.

Before, as with the last two visits, he left Peter Rains in charge of his ranch and livestock, which numbered close to eight hundred head of cattle, of which half would be shipped east that fall. The cattle industry paid well, but John was to the point, the money wasn’t enough to fill an empty stomach or for that matter, an empty house. John owned 2,000 acres of prime land and made him the third richest man in Missouri. Rich was a good thing, but it was time to add to that richness. This time he would ask Cora Mae to marry him and get her parents’ blessings.

January 1888 – Galena, Virginia

Charles Henry greeted the postmaster as he was coming up the road with the family’s mail. To save Harold Anderson a trip, Charles took the mail from him.

As he looked through the letterheads, he noticed one he’d been expecting. Not waiting until he got home, he tore open the envelope, read quickly, and gave a shout: “YIPPEE!”

He ran the last two hundred feet and burst through the front door, shouting for his mother and father.

“Slow down boy,” said Oliver. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“This.” Charles thrust out the letter so Oliver and Azalea could read together.

When finished, Oliver said, “I am very, very proud of you, Charles. That’s a pretty good university to be accepted into for law school.”

“It’s been a dream I’ve had for four years, Father. It’s finally come true. And mark my words, one day I will be a judge.”

Azalea smiled. “Son, I think you have to be a lawyer first and work your way to being a judge.”

“Oh, I know, Mother, but I will be a judge one day and maybe, after time, I can be a sitting judge on the Supreme Court, though I know that means a good twenty or thirty years from now…but it’s something I want to work toward.”

“High ambitions, Charles, and I, for one, won’t discourage you, nor will your mother. We both have wanted the very best that life can offer to you and…”

Oliver started coughing again. Longer and harder. Azalea and Charles helped him to his favorite chair and Azalea brought him a glass of water and some pills the doctor gave them to quell the pain.

This time, the pills didn’t work. The pain seized all over Oliver and the blood came in a thick mucus flow.

Azalea screamed.

Charles stood there frozen.

This was not how you should see someone you love die.

Written By: Danceinsilence