Chapter 2—A Heavy Loss

We returned to America in August of 1887. Grandma began traveling immediately, for she was eager to attend as many of the summer camp meetings as possible.OMS 17.1

My mother was not well. Her long hours of labor in the Basel printing office and her failure to take sufficient rest had drained her strength. She had developed a persistent cough that continued to grow more and more severe. Tuberculosis was suspected. It was evident that no time should be lost in getting her to the Battle Creek Sanitarium in the hope that she might be treated for that dread disease, which was generally considered incurable.OMS 17.2

After mother’s examination Dr. John Kellogg made no comment. There could be no question about her having tuberculosis. However, he reminded us of Grandmother’s statement regarding sunshine, fresh air, and outdoor living. Sunshine! Was not California the land of sunshine? So after a short period of rest and treatment at the Sanitarium, mother hurried to the Far West, where she would receive good medical care and could take treatments every day.OMS 17.3

In California, Mother and I spent much time together outdoors. She would rest and read, enjoying the fragrance of the evergreen trees that covered the hillside, while I gathered Johnny-jump-ups and ferns in company with little Milton St. John, one year my senior. Where baby Mabel was at that time, I do not know—probably in the care of some relative. I only remember that in those unsettled days I could list nearly a dozen aunties and cousins and grandmas who cared for Mabel and me at one time or another.OMS 17.4

But what was it we were hearing about Burrough Valley, a prospective health resort north and east of Fresno in Central California? At the invitation of friends, Father and Grandmother visited this much-renowned place and found a few Adventist families living there. They were enthusiastic in recommending it as a quiet resting place for invalids wishing to regain their health.OMS 17.5

With borrowed furniture and dishes, Father helped Mother and Auntie McOmber,^{*The original publication had the spelling “McComber.”} her nurse, set up camp in a cottage in a retired spot. Grandmother secured the use of a pony and saddle for Mother, and Father invested a few dollars in a pony for me. Then, leaving us among friends, they hastened on to answer the call of duty and returned to their work. Daisy and Dixie, our mounts, took us for many a ride over the hills surrounding our little cottage, and Auntie McOmber^{*The original publication had the spelling “McComber.”} always had a good dinner for us when we returned at noon.OMS 18.1

When tired of riding, Mother would spread a blanket in some shady spot and read and rest, while I luxuriated nearby, burying my feet in the cool, moist sand of a dry riverbed or digging tunnels and building castles in partnership with Beulah, a little girl four years my senior. Possessed of a strong supervisor complex, Beulah set herself the duty of disciplining me in obedience. How I longed and sighed for the time to come when I should be “grown up” like Beulah! Then, oh, then! But in spite of it all, I loved her, and we had good times together. Burrough Valley made rugged children of us little girls, but did little to help Mother. It was too hot there, and the idea of making it a health resort was abandoned.OMS 18.2

In her recent travels among the churches, Grandma had visited Healdsburg, the town where she once lived and where, in 1882, our second Seventh-day Adventist College had been established. On the outskirts of town she found an old but roomy house with a flourishing fruit orchard attached, a berry patch, a windmill, several sheds, a farm wagon, harness and carriage, kitchen garden, and even some beehives. A horse, cow, and some poultry went with the place. In fact, almost everything required to make it a nearly self-supporting home for a large family was ready at hand. It would furnish a quiet retreat where Grandma could write her books in some seclusion when her public labors did not press too hard.OMS 18.3

Grandma bought the place and appointed Mrs. William Ings, who had returned with us from Europe, its caretaker. Mrs. Ings was now a widow; and with the help of a sturdy teen-ager who was working his way through college, she took on herself the responsibility of supervising the establishment. Father brought Mother and me and Auntie McOmber^{*The original publication had the spelling “McComber.”} from Burrough Valley, and Mabel came from wherever she had been sent. Father also engaged cousin Rheba Kelsey to care for us little girls. With Grandma and her helpers, and all the rest of us in residence, the house was pretty well filled. However, this situation did not last long. With her condition ever worsening, Mother was taken by carriage over the hills to the St. Helena Sanitarium, where she could receive good medical care. Mrs. McOmber,^{*The original publication had the spelling “McComber.”} of course, accompanied her.OMS 18.4

It was at Healdsburg that I attended my first day school. I was older than the average beginner, for our family travels had interfered with my formal education. The only book learning I had thus far acquired was a little jingle:OMS 19.1

“A-B-C-D-E-F-G, little Robin Redbreast sitting in a tree;
H-I-J-K-L-M-N, he made love to little Jennie Wren;
O-P-Q-R-S-T-U, I should like to marry you;
V-W-X-Y and Z [pronounced ZED in Britain], poor little Jennie blushed quite red.”OMS 19.2

Mrs. William Grainger, wife of the college president, taught the first four grades of the church school. This was conducted in a room of the college building. As a teacher she possessed a remarkable combination of sweetness, gentleness, and firmness. She insisted on courtesy and prompt obedience and managed to teach sewing and gardening along with the many classes concerned with the “three R’s.” We held weekly missionary meetings, as was then customary in all Seventh-day Adventist schools. How happy I was when we first-graders had our turn gathering flowers from the college garden on Sunday morning to take to the patients in the children’s ward of the town hospital! The missionary idea took us beyond the confines of our church institutions.OMS 19.3

In summertime the orchard at Grandma’s house was the scene of intense activity as we gathered, cut, and spread the fruit out to dry in the sun. Often neighbors would be called to help. During vacation time they would bring their children who were eager to earn a few pennies for Sabbath school offerings and spending money. After cutting for an hour or two, we younger ones usually wearied of the monotonous work and would receive an honorable discharge. Then we spent what time remained to us happily romping through the orchard and playing under the windmill.OMS 19.4

Father learned from our medical doctors that the climate of Colorado was considered especially beneficial to tubercular patients. So, when he made his next Eastern trip, Mother and Auntie McOmber^{*The original publication had the spelling “McComber.”} accompanied him as far as Boulder, where they boarded with friends of the family for a while. At this time a person, Mary Mortensen, entered our lives and became very important to us.OMS 20.1

For a long time I wondered where and when Father met Mary Mortensen, who mothered Mabel and me for four years while he and Grandma were in Australia. Recently I discovered the answer in an old letter. Aunt Sara McEnterfer had taken Mother’s mother, Grandma Kelsey, by horse and buggy to Lake Goguac, three miles out of Battle Creek, in search of a certain young woman who was cooking for patients at the Sanitarium’s lakeside summer resort. Mary Mortensen had the reputation of being an expert cook, a good seamstress, and excellent with children. She readily consented to come to Colorado to help us as soon as she could secure a release from her present position. Father rented a house at the foot of the Rocky Mountains near the future site of the Boulder Sanitarium, and there, with Grandma Kelsey and two of our friends, he established a home and sent to Healdsburg for Mabel and me.OMS 20.2

How happy we were to be near our dear mother again! Although she was much thinner and weaker than when we had parted several months earlier, there was still the old ring of courage and cheer in her voice. As we rode out together in the carriage or sat on the front lawn in the sunshine, she would often talk to us little girls of the time when Jesus would come to take us to the beautiful mansion home the angels were helping Him prepare for us in heaven. We might be separated for a time; she was going to take a long sleep, but Jesus would wake her up, and then we could be together; and she would never, never be sick again.OMS 20.3

When he could be with us, Father would often tell us about the missionaries who were carrying the good news of Jesus’ soon coming to all parts of the world, including the faraway countries across the seas. He would soon come to get His friends and take them to the beautiful homes He was preparing for them.OMS 20.4

One day in Sabbath school we were told that a boat was needed to carry missionaries to the many islands in the Pacific Ocean. All the Sabbath school children were invited to earn money to pay for building the boat. When I came home I told mother about it, and she said she would help me make pen wipers and potholders that Mabel and I could sell and so earn money for our ship.OMS 21.1

This project kept us very busy for a while. Mother helped us, of course, and did most of the hard part. Then we went around to the neighbors, selling the things we had made. We also sold popcorn balls and cookies. Mother bought us a small account book and helped us record our sales. At the end of each week we would stack our nickels and dimes and, under Mother’s direction, I would make the proper entry in the account book. This task was as profitable as any lesson in arithmetic or writing. How delighted we were each Sabbath morning when we could place our earnings in the collection plate. Finally the Pitcairn was built. Then, to our joyful delight, “our” ship carried missionaries to the South Sea Islands.OMS 21.2

Since there was no Adventist school in Boulder at the time, I finished my first grade in a public school. The schoolhouse stood on a hill, about a six-minute walk from the house where we were living. From our front window, Mother could watch and wave to me all the way until I entered the school building.OMS 21.3

One day I had an exciting experience. The children in our first-grade room were lined up and marched double-file through the streets to a shop in town. There we were permitted, one by one, to hold a tube to our ear and listen to voices that seemed to come from a little box, which we called “the talking box.” The voices were those of some other first-graders “way over on the other side of the city,” and they answered us when we talked to them! Our excitement called forth shrieks of delight. What a story I had to tell Mamma and Mary that day! I told Grandma Kelsey and anybody else who would listen about it. I even tried to explain it to Mabel.OMS 21.4

During Mother’s long illness, Grandma White wrote many comforting letters to our father, who bore a heavy heart because the interests of God’s work required a separation from his precious Mary at a time when she needed his companionship. But whenever he suggested staying home to be with her, Mother would say without a trace of repining in her voice, “No, Will, you know I wouldn’t want you to neglect God’s work in order that we might be together, not while souls are at stake and your help is needed.” Then I would sometimes hear them talking together of the reunion beyond the grave.OMS 21.5

Grandma White also wrote Mother many letters full of love and tenderness and bright with the hope of an eternity spent with lovely King Jesus, whom she had served so faithfully. Often I could see Father weeping as he and Grandma Kelsey talked together.OMS 22.1

One evening Father called Mabel and me to come to him. Very gently he told us that Mamma had fallen into the long sleep that she had told us about. He took our hands and led us into the front room, where Mother lay in a pure-white casket. In a trembling voice he read to us the words printed in golden letters on the side of the coffin: “Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.” “Blessed—happy, eternally happy,” said Father, “because when Jesus comes He will wake her up. Then if we are faithful we shall all be together again.” He paused for a moment and then continued, “See, her hands are now at rest. For her, there are no more heartaches, no more weariness or disappointments. When she wakes, it will be in response to the voice that calls the righteous of all ages from the tomb.”OMS 22.2

In writing to friends of her death, Father said that Mother had suffered considerably during the last three weeks, but that she had fallen asleep with a clear assurance of God’s blessing and a bright hope for the future life. He explained that she had been brought to Battle Creek and buried in Oak Hill cemetery amid flowers and evergreens.OMS 22.3

And now our father had to take up his duties with a sense of loneliness, brightened with the thought that the time of separation would be brief. He knew that when Jesus comes to take His faithful ones home there would be “no more sickness, no more weeping, no more sin or sorrow.”OMS 22.4