News from Texas

December 15th started out like any Sunday. I awakened, got dressed, and headed down to the kitchen to have coffee cake with Mother and read the paper while we waited for Dad to telephone us.

Except Mother wasn’t in the kitchen. She was sitting in the parlor. She was sitting across the room from Aunt Helen. What was Aunt Helen doing here? How did she get here? When did she get here? Those reporter- type questions came so naturally. ‘How curious of a development,’ I thought to myself. Something strange was up. Was Uncle Albert here somewhere, too?

“Hello, Aunt Helen. Good morning, Mother. Is Uncle Albert around here also?”

I was getting more curious by the minute. Aunt Helen looked at Mother, and Mother looked at Aunt Helen. Neither one of them was looking at me or answering even one of my questions.

Mother finally spoke to me, saying, “Please come in here and sit down, Mable. We have the coffee cake in the oven already.”

I went in and sat down, uneasily, because Mother’s voice did not sound right.

Mother continued, “Aunt Helen is here because something terrible has happened. We need to tell you about it, so she came to be with us.” Her voice was shaking more with each word that she spoke.

“Oh dear,” I said, my own voice was starting to shake. “Has something happened to Uncle Albert, Mother?”

“No, Mable, nothing is wrong with Uncle Albert. He just went over to the church this morning. He’ll be back later.”

Aunt Helen spoke next. “Mable, I’m here because something has happened to your father. He won’t be calling this morning.”

“What? Did he get hurt? Is he in the hospital?” I pleaded for information. “Is he going to be okay? Is he coming home?”

“He was in the hospital, dear,” Aunt Helen said. Mother had her head buried in her hands. Aunt Helen continued, “He passed away yesterday. Late yesterday. He had a massive heart attack.”

Mother was sobbing now. Aunt Helen went over to the davenport and sat next to her, with her arms around Mother.

I stood up and wailed, “Oh, Mother! Daddy’s dead? It can’t be true!”

I sank back into the nearest chair and slumped over the arm of it. This was not possible. Dad was healthy. He was working on skyscrapers. He was coming home in January or February. He couldn’t be . . . dead.

Now Aunt Helen and Mother had their arms around me. Aunt Helen was saying, “Just go ahead and cry, Mable. Just go ahead and cry, Henrietta. We’ll stay here and hug each other as long as we need to.”

I kept crying. I wanted my daddy. I wanted a bear hug. I wanted to talk baseball and football with him. I wanted him to see me graduate. I wanted him to see me swim. I wanted him . . . to come home, but not come home dead.

Aunt Helen, Mother, and I hugged and cried until Uncle Albert came back in the front door.

“I’ve talked to the minister. I caught him before church started. Some church ladies will come over later this afternoon to help you gals with arrangements.” He added, “I’m so sorry Henrietta and Mable. John Henry was a wonderful man. He’s gone way too soon. Only, what was he? Fifty-six?”

“Hush now, Albert,” said Aunt Helen. “Not now. Let these gals be. Maybe you could take that coffee cake out of the oven? I’m sure it’s about to burn. We might feel like eating later on.”

Uncle Albert replied, “Sure, Helen. I’m sorry. Then I think I’ll go over and let the neighbors know, if you think that’s a good idea?”

“That would be fine, Albert. Thank you. Also, someone has to tell Grandma. Maybe you should go upstairs and tell your mother before you go next door.”

“That’s true. I’ll do just that. See you in a bit,” he said as he went into the kitchen.

I heard him take the coffee cake out of the oven. Then I heard him go up the stairs. I couldn’t bear to open my eyes. I just wanted to go back upstairs, get back in bed, and start the day over, like this terrible morning never happened. Mother was still moaning and crying. She was kind of lying on the davenport, and Aunt Helen had gotten a throw to put over her.

I looked up at Aunt Helen and asked her, “When did you get here? How did you know?”

She explained, “The company called us last night. About midnight. They tried your telephone first, but there was no answer. You were probably all in bed and didn’t hear it ring. Your father had also put our telephone number down in case of emergency, so they called us.” She paused, and then continued, “I told Uncle Albert that we had to come right down here and be with you two. We got in the car and drove all night. I did not want those people to tell Henrietta on the telephone. I wanted her to hear it from us. I got here as your mother was waking up and putting the coffee cake in the oven. We will stay and make sure your father gets back to Iowa and has a good funeral. That’s what family is for, Mable.”

From upstairs, I heard Grandma exclaim, “Vat Thunder!” Then there was a lot more German, and she kept calling Henrietta’s name. My mother went to the stairs and started to slowly climb up them. “I need to go see Mama,” she said sadly. I knew her Mama would give her hugs and try to comfort her, too.

Aunt Helen came back to me and put her arm around me again. “I am so very sorry, Mable. Your Dad was such a good husband and father. We will help you and your mother. You can count on that.”

“Aunt Helen, this just can’t be true. Are you sure? What happened? Daddy was fine!” I argued.

She tried explaining, “You know he had not been feeling well, Mable. He went to the doctor again about two weeks ago. They couldn’t find anything wrong. He was getting ready to go to bed for the evening at the boss’s house, and just keeled over. They took him to the hospital, but they couldn’t get his heart going again.”

I didn’t hear much of that. I had to cry. My head and body ached and my heart hurt. Daddy was gone. I loved him so much. What was to become of me and Mother? How could we get along? It was too much. It was too hard.

Uncle Albert came back downstairs and started out the front door to go to tell the Orwigs. They were like us; they mostly went to church on Christmas and Easter, so they would be home. I thought for a minute that I should go tell Burnie about Dad, but I knew it would be too much. I felt like I could stay in that one chair in the parlor all day, all curled up, and just keep crying. Uncle Albert could tell them. I knew Burnie would understand how terribly sad I was. He was like a son to Dad, and like a brother to me.

I eventually went back up to my room. Mother and Grandma were in Mother and Dad’s room. Aunt Helen was answering the door and the telephone. Friends and neighbors were calling, and bringing over salads, and sandwiches, and desserts. Mrs. Orwig was there helping make tea for people. Mother would go downstairs once or twice an hour to visit with the people who came to the house. No one stayed very long. They just wanted to say they were sorry and make an offer to help in some way.

I never realized my parents had so many friends. There were the neighborhood ladies, of course. Many people who worked for the city over at the Waterworks and Street Department also came. Folks from church came, and some of my friends’ parents. Miss Hawn came and so did my girls’ swim coach. I wondered how the news traveled so fast. I’ll bet we had at least twenty-five or thirty people stop by our house before it got dark on Sunday. It still didn’t seem real.

At one point, Uncle Albert had gone down to the railroad station. He had to make arrangements to have my father’s casket sent back to Iowa. An undertaker in Houston was doing all the arrangements on that end. Not surprisingly, I found it impossible to picture what that might involve. I knew it was going to cost money, because I heard Mother ask Uncle Albert about that. I was so relieved when he told Mother that the owner of the construction company was going to pay for those expenses, and she burst into tears. That made my tears start coming again. It was about time for me to start getting ready for bed, when I heard Mother calling me from downstairs. I went down, and Burnie was standing in the entry way. He looked so sad. I took the clean handkerchief that Mother held out to me and followed Burnie into the parlor. We sat down on the davenport together.

“I was waiting until other people were done going in and out,” Burnie spoke softly. “I wanted to come earlier, but my mom and dad said to wait. I’m so sorry, Mable. Being so sudden and all, this is just awful. I don’t know what to say. I’m just so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Burnie. I can’t believe this. I’ve been crying all day,” I started crying again, and Burnie put his arm around me.

“My mom said you would be crying, and that it’s good for you. This is so sad and, well, just awful. Your dad was the nicest, smartest fella I knew. I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything I can for you and your mother, Mable.”

“There’s nothing anyone can do, Burnie. My dad is gone and it hurts so much. I just ache all over. It’s the worst thing ever,” I said quietly. Then I just buried my face in the handkerchief Mother gave me, and sat there, not really crying; just sighing.

We sat there for at least thirty minutes. I kept my face buried and prayed this would all be a bad dream. I prayed for my dad to make the telephone ring and talk to me. I prayed the most that Mother and I would be okay. Burnie sat there with me. When I took my face out of the handkerchief and finally looked at him, it looked like he had been crying some also, and his forehead was all wrinkled, and he looked. . . so sad. He said goodnight and went home, slowly closing our front door behind him. I watched him cross my yard and his yard, and then go up his steps. I don’t think I had ever seen him walk so slow. Burnie was such a good friend. I knew we would be friends for the rest of our lives.

Aunt Helen and Uncle Albert had calmed Grandma down. She was worried about Mother, and how she was going to pay for the funeral and pay all the bills. However, just like he was paying for Dad’s trip home, the owner of the construction business was going to pay for the funeral, also. At least we had a burial plot up in Steamboat Rock, where Grandpa Von Dornum and Uncle Wiard were buried. There was plenty of room for Dad up there. Mother got a telephone call from the Rock Island Line, as well as a telegram from the construction company owner, telling her that Dad’s casket would be arriving on the 21st of December. Our pastor was helping Mother and Aunt Helen plan the funeral for December 23rd.

If there was anything good about all of this, it was that I was going to get to see Aunt Hazel for the first time since I was seven years old. She was coming to be there with Mother. Mother told her that she didn’t have to come, but Aunt Hazel insisted that since it was Christmas vacation in the Chicago schools, she had plenty of time. On the phone, she told Mother that she was looking forward to seeing the whole family and would help in any way she could. She was arriving on the train the afternoon of the 20th, so Mother made arrangements for her to stay in the Orwig’s spare bedroom.

I was not looking forward to the funeral, but Mother was. She wanted to see Dad again. I did also, but I did not want to see him in his casket. I was afraid it would just be too hard. Aunt Helen said that Dad was at peace now, in Heaven, with Jesus, but that was little comfort to me. I wanted Dad in the parlor, with me, reading the sports page.