A Family Album

By Patricia Randall

A FAMILY ALBUM follows three generations of the Kilmer family. Thea, the matriarch, is a remarkable woman who guides and loves her family from the late 19th century up to the mid 20th. Several members of the family as well as some collateral characters are heard telling their stories. They live in a small town in south central Kansas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491838518

Patricia Randall

Patricia Randall grew up on a farm in south central Kansas. After she was graduated from the University of Kansas, she married and began raising a son and two daughters. She had an opportunity to use her teaching certificate when her youngest was in the fifth grade. That year, she substituted for her favorite high school Latin teacher. She then continued teaching, switching to American history and world history in the seventh and eighth grades. Her final position was in eighth grade language arts. She retired after twenty-five years in the classroom and now lives in the farmhouse of her childhood. Patricia enjoys many volunteer activities, especially in her church and the local community. She is also quite popular among her family and friends for her annual Christmas stories.

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A Family Album

Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is above rubies.

Proverbs 31:10

Patricia Randall

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© 2013 Patricia Randall. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse     11/25/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3852-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-3851-8 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Foreword

Taking Root

First Fruit

Bonds for Life

Interlude

Irish Rose

Subtle Grace

Reluctant Alliance

Two for One

Tessa

Bitter Ice

Late Bloomer

Summer Adventure

Glory Above the Heavens

Innocence Lost

Second Time Around

Trick or Treat

V-Mail

A Personal Journal

Of Bombs and Men

A Question of Faith

Pictures from the Heart

After the Storm

Golden Sunset

Afterword

Foreword

Thea Spencer Kilmer

In the mid-1940s, I moved out of the house I had lived in for almost thirty years. My late husband, my beloved Charles, and I built it and lived in it together until his untimely death in 1919. After that I lived in it alone until World War II made it an impractical abode for a career woman who lived alone. I simply could not get the domestic help I needed.

When I was sorting boxes in the attic preparatory to moving, I came across a charming memoir penned by my husband at some time after our marriage. After I was settled in my new quarters, I decided to add my own memoir to his. Then, as time went by, I sought and received additional stories from various members of my immediate family and some contingent relatives as well. I have since had them printed in book form as gifts to my descendants. It is, perhaps, appropriate to mention here that my Charles and I founded Kilmer’s, a department store well known in our trade area for truly quality merchandise.

A FAMILY ALBUM

list of the principal characters

Kilmer-Spencer family

Charles Robert Kilmer (1866-1919)

          Thea Marie Spencer, wife of Charles Robert, (1871-)

                  Robert Spencer Kilmer (1900-) married Keara Riley in 1920.

                          Charles Spencer Kilmer (1922-)

                          Elizabeth Marie Kilmer (1922-)

Elizabeth married James Foster in 1945

Charles married Alexis Paget in 1946

Riley siblings

Francis Riley (1883-1946)

William Riley (1885-)

          Ruth Dunn Riley, wife of William, (1888-)

                  Colum Riley (1911-)

                  Sean Riley (1913-)

                  Gillian Riley (1915-1944)

                  Patrick Riley (1917-)

                  Morgan Riley(1921-)

Osbert Riley (1899-)

Keara Riley (1901-1933)

Taking Root

Charles Kilmer

Where in the world is everybody?

The porter who was swinging back onto the train looked down the empty street, then shrugged. I’m sure I don’t know, sir. Usually this town is real busy this time of a morning. Well, good luck to you, he finished as the train moved noisily out of the station, smoke pouring from the stack, the steam whistle sounding an urgent warning to anyone who might be in the way.

I picked up the two heavy sample cases and started toward the hotel. On previous trips I had stayed at the Ripley and knew it was not far either from the depot or the store where I would be making a call later in the day. When I reached Main Street I looked to my left and saw a large collection of wagons, horses, even a buggy or two, clustered around the Catholic church two blocks north of where I stood. Quickly I reviewed my early years in a Catholic orphanage. No, it’s not Sunday and March 30 was not a holy day of obligation. I surmised it must be a funeral. Someone mighty important, too, from the size of the crowd.

A pimply-faced youth, sixteen or so, was standing at the desk of the hotel when I entered. I’d seen him running errands for the regular clerk the last time I was there. Good morning, sir. May I help you, sir? I’m afraid we won’t be serving dinner until after the services but I can get a drink for you if you like. Or perhaps you would care for some coffee? The young man’s voice was in the process of changing and his nervousness aggravated the condition, causing him to end his little speech with a noticeable squeak.

Thank you, no. I don’t need anything until dinner time. But I would like the room down that hall. I pointed to my left. It’s the one I usually have when I am here. Jethro knows me… knows I’ll be in today so he most likely saved it for me.

Certainly, sir. Certainly. The young man wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. Mighty warm, isn’t it, for the time of year? He turned and plucked a key at random from the board behind him. Here you go, sir. Room down the hall, sir.

That’s not the right key, I remarked.

It isn’t? I mean, no, of course it isn’t. He turned to the board and studied it for a long moment. Finally he looked over his shoulder. Do you think, his voice was shakier than ever, you could tell me which one I ought to give you?

It’s that one. I indicated the key I needed with some small degree of comprehension. It wasn’t so odd that the boy couldn’t read. What was odd was that he appeared to be in charge of the hotel.

Whose services? It came to me suddenly that the funeral was for someone so important the hotel owner was in attendance.

Oh, Mr. Schmidt. You know, the man who owned the general store. Dropped dead Saturday evening right in front of Mrs. Dillon and the Schlumpett twins when they was doing their regular weekly trading. He busted ’bout half a crate of eggs Mrs. Dillon brung in to trade. Sure made a real mess. And Mr. Dillon says the store owes him for the eggs but ain’t no one to give him no credit ’cause Mrs. Schmidt is in bed and ain’t been able to talk to no one since it happened. She had some sort o’ attack when they brung his body in. Laid it right on the bed where they sleep and all. Mrs. Schmidt done took one look and keeled over too but she ain’t dead.

The fountain of information finally ran dry. I licked suddenly dry lips. Herman Schmidt was the man I had come to call on. He had been buying ladies’ hosiery, gloves and similar items from me for the three years I’d been traveling the Santa Fe. His orders were never very large, but they were as regular as clockwork and he had always paid on time. I had lost an important part of my livelihood. Not only that, I had genuinely liked the crusty old German. I felt as though I had lost a friend. Numbly I took the key and hauled the sample cases down to my room. Who, I wondered, would take over the store? It sounded as if Mrs. Schmidt was not physically able to do so. I had met the lady only once and had serious doubts that she could manage it under any circumstances. On that one occasion, when she learned that I had once lived in New York, she had plied me with questions about singers and music hall performers. It was a subject about which I knew virtually nothing, however, so she soon tired of our conversation, leaving her husband and me to our business.

Once in my room, having stowed the few items of clothing I had, I knelt beside the one chair in the room to say a quick prayer for Herman. Despite my earliest nurture in the Catholic orphanage, I had not been a faithful Christian during much of the four years since I’d left their care. Then one day a few months ago I had lamented to one of my customers the lack of good reading material with which to while away the tedious hours on the train as I went from one town to the next. When I returned to his place of business the following day for the final order, he placed in my hand a small, leather bound book. For the train, he said.

Once settled in my seat, I pulled the book from my pocket and discovered it was a Bible. During the remainder of that ride I got deeply into Genesis. I had always loved history and was entranced by the story I had found. As the days and weeks went by, however, I was drawn deeper and deeper into the Book and came to see that the Bible was much more than a story. I was awed by an awareness of God’s almighty power. The next time I saw my customer, it was in his church as I professed my faith in God.

Shortly after one o’clock the bar at the other end of the hotel was filled with mourners returning from the cemetery. I joined them and shared my grief with them. Herman Schmidt had been a generous man. He had never refused a request for help. More than one farmer couldn’t pay his bill until the crop was sold. I suspect, if the truth were known, some bills were never paid. Yet Herman gave credit without question whenever it was asked. He was a genuine Christian.

We need that store and we gotta get the right man in there, Jethro Mullins remarked. I nodded in agreement. Getting the right man was as important to me as to them. Jethro’s gaze skimmed the room and then lit on me. He looked thoughtful for a brief moment, rubbing his chin with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. And I do believe we may have found him.

A moment of panic touched my heart. Huh? Who you got in mind, Jethro? Milton Frost, owner of First State Bank, asked. Then he followed Jethro’s aim with his own gaze. Both men were looking straight at me.

Are you suggesting I take over Herman’s business?

Yes, I think we are, Milton said, Jethro nodding in agreement. The widow certainly isn’t in any shape to do it, even if she was of a mind to. We want some one we know we can trust to be as honest and square as Herman was. Treat folks as good as he did.

Gentlemen, there is one big drawback. I have practically no money. I plan to own a store someday, sure, but I’m not even close to having a nest egg big enough for this venture.

That’s not a problem. We can advance you the money. The thing is, the town needs that store. We’ll work out a deal. Jethro and I will buy the building and current stock from Mrs. Schmidt. For five years we’ll keep you going. At the end of that time you start paying us back. We won’t charge interest until then, either.

I stared at the two men in amazement. You know nothing about me… where I came from… nothing at all. Besides, I am barely twenty years old. I haven’t had any experience in managing a store.

We know Herman spoke highly of you. Thought the world of you, in fact.

That’s true, Jethro chimed in. He once said he wished he had you for a son. And I’ve seen how you act here in the hotel.

Gentlemen, I’m tempted to take your offer before you have a chance to back off. May I ask you for some time to pray about it? I must admit that the opportunity is nearly irresistible.

In my room I knelt again beside the chair. Almighty Father, Thy ways are indeed mysterious. It would seem that my presence here at the moment of need must be more than chance. I feel that Thee must be guiding my footsteps this day. If I am wrong, I pray Thee will forgive my error. I can see nothing but good to come from the offer the men of this town have made. Please, dear Father, if this is not to be, may that understanding come into my heart. I continued kneeling, trying out any possible contradictory aspects of the situation. Finding none, I rose at last and made my way back to the group of men in the bar.

I am delighted with the offer you have extended to me. How soon may I see the establishment?

Milton grinned and dug into his pocket. Here’s the key, Charles. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all yours.

What about the widow Schmidt, though? Jethro worried.

We’re going over there right now. We’ll make her a fair offer for the building and contents. She’ll take it. There seemed to be no room for doubt in Milton’s mind.

As we rose and started toward the door that exited onto the street, a young man across the room reached out a hand to detain me for a moment and handed me a sketch. I saw a drawing of a young man. Long legs stretched out from the table and slim fingers toyed with an empty coffee cup. An angular face, adorned with a short, brush-like mustache, peered out from under a thick thatch of dark hair. The seriousness of expression was countered by a glint of humor in the eyes.

I smiled at the young man. He was bone thin and his skin was pasty white. His hands shook almost uncontrollably. How had he managed to draw, I wondered.

I had hoped I was better looking than this, I remarked. How may I pay you for this?

You are better than good-looking, he replied. You have an air about you. You’re the kind of man who deals squarely and fairly with everyone. And you clearly are a man who will someday be important. And you can pay me by buying me a drink.

I glanced at Jethro and caught an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I’d rather buy you a meal, I said. I’ll stop in the cafe and tell them you are to have whatever you want to eat and they are to put it on my bill. A wonderful sense of well-being sprang from those simple words. I was going to be a businessman and I could run a bill in another business without question.

It’s a sad case, Jethro said once we were outside. His family sent him out here for his health but the drink is here too and that’s what’s killing him.

Widow Schmidt turned out to be less of a problem than anyone had anticipated. Jethro knocked, then led the way into the room in back of the store where she and Herman had lived. The old man’s clothes and personal belongings were scattered around as though some one in a great hurry had been packing. One small valise lay abandoned in the middle of an alcove that had served as parlor and kitchen. A sheet of notepaper covered with scrawled writing lay in the center of the small worktable by the stove.

To whoever it may consern. By the time you rede this I will be a long ways away. I plan to catch the noon train heddin East. I have took all the money from the till and the little bit Herman had hid in the floor bords. Some day you are gone to be saprised to here about me bein a famus singer in New york.

Milton and Jethro looked at the letter, each other and finally at me. Then we all burst into uproarious laughter.

Over the next three years I made a lot of changes in Schmidt’s General Store including the name, which I changed to Kilmer’s Mercantile right away. I kept the food stock for almost a year but then a man named Thaddeus Becker moved into town to set up a grocery. I was more than ready to get out of that aspect of the business and concentrate on dry goods where I had the most experience. I wasn’t making a big profit yet but I was keeping my head well above water.

If I were setting up a new dry goods store, I’d stock plenty of edgings and ribbons to match the fabrics. And I’d price the fabric a penny or two higher and then throw in the matching ribbon or edging for nothing. The words interrupted me as I stood talking to a clerk who was writing down the order for goods I’d be stocking in my store. I turned to confront the speaker. A graceful young woman, or more accurately a girl, stood in the doorway. I had the distinct impression that she had not had her hair up for very long. She was nearly as tall as my own six feet. A cloud of red gold hair crowned her head under a ridiculous hat. Fine features were set off by delicate, fair skin and eyes that may have been gray, or may have been blue. She was lovelier than any woman I’d ever met.

That way, she went on, they’ll have a good feeling about you and come back to you instead of going to your competition.

There isn’t much competition where I am, I said. The town is way out in Kansas where stores stocked as well as mine are still rather uncommon.

There may not be any competition today, she retorted, but if the location is any good at all, there soon will be.

I frowned at the young woman, a trifle annoyed at what seemed to me an impertinence from one so young, even though she was obviously quite intelligent. Still, she was lovely.

Mr. Kilmer, please forgive Thea. The owner of Spencer’s Dry Goods Supply had entered the office during our colloquy. I’m afraid my daughter has a tendency to interfere. It’s her firm belief that she knows more about running a mercantile than the owners do.

I think she may be right in this case, I admitted, a bit reluctantly, to be sure. Almost every settlement along the Santa Fe route is booming. Not all of them will survive, of course, but those that do will become, at the least, large towns. Maybe even small cities. Our greatest asset is easily available water and so, since my location is good, it’s inevitable that I will soon have competition.

Then it would seem to me you can help your town become one of the winners by establishing a thriving business there, the young woman said. Tell me why you decided on that particular location?

I’d been a drummer along the railroad route for two years, selling ladies’ hosiery and gloves. I’ve taken my sample cases into every village large enough to have a hotel or rooming house. I’ve set up shop in every public parlor from Atchison to Dodge City and talked to men and women. The store I’ve taken over was a general store, but the owner has passed on, so I’m buying it for a relatively small investment of money and a huge investment of time and labor.

Thea Spencer’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm as I spoke.

Would you come to dinner this evening, Mr. Kilmer, and tell us all about it? It sounds tremendously exciting.

Now, Thea, I think your mother…

Thea interrupted. Mother won’t mind. She won’t mind in the least. And Thea was right. I was to learn that she nearly always is.

Dinner in the Spencer’s grand house in north Chicago was an eye-opener. There were several other guests and it was obvious that one more didn’t cause Mrs. Spencer any concern in the least. She simply told the maid to set one more place. I hadn’t brought dinner clothes with me on this trip. Well, to tell the truth, I didn’t own dinner clothes, but Thea had assured me that I would not be out of place. Because I was beginning to trust her, I believed her, and she was right again.

One male guest was a painter who dressed in a style he seemed to think appropriate to artists. That is, slightly shabby, slightly effeminate. A woman who sang at the opera house came in her costume, declaring that she did not have time to change after her matinee performance. Thea herself, though she had changed, was dressed rather more for the day than the evening. After an excellent dinner we men had port and cigars in the dining room, then joined the ladies in the parlor. Thea took my arm at once and led me to a small alcove off the main room.

Now, do tell me about your town, she demanded.

It’s about halfway across the state, I said. It began almost ten years ago, when a cattle trail met the end of the railroad there but now the rails have been extended farther south and west. Even so, the town is a division point for the Santa Fe as well as a county seat and it is prospering. Plenty of good, rich farmland surrounds the entire area.

I paused for a moment, gathering my feelings about the place I loved. You have never seen a sight more beautiful than a field of green wheat the week before it begins to ripen. The wind stirs it and the colors shift like a lovely piece of changeable taffeta. Then the field turns the most glorious shade of gold.

I suppose most of the people are farmers or railroad workers, then, Thea offered.

That’s true. Honest, hard working men and women, everyone. A lot of the farmers are Mennonite, coming mostly from Russia. They brought the wheat with them. Turkey Red, it’s called. They plant it in the fall and harvest in early summer, before the hot winds dry it up.

What about churches and schools? she asked.

I suspected I knew what Thea’s questions meant. A growing, vital town would have wives and mothers who would insist upon the presence of religion and education in their children’s lives.

"There are eight churches in their own buildings right now. I was one of the group of men who established a Presbyterian congregation. We were the first Protestant assemblage in town.

Two new grade schools of brick and stone are going up to replace a couple of old frame structures. There’s another grade school which shares space with a high school. In fact, the first high school class will graduate this year. There are ten graduates."

By the end of the evening Thea and I were fast friends. I knew she was barely seventeen, almost ten years younger than I, but we were so companionable it seemed as though we were contemporaries.

Charles, I shall wait two years for you, she said as we shook hands upon my departure, and then I shall expect you to come back for me. We will be married at St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church in a simple ceremony. In the meantime, I shall write to you weekly, and expect the same from you. We shall come to know each other better through the written word than ever we would through a more traditional courtship.

I stared at this remarkable young woman in complete astonishment. Miss Spencer, I hardly know how to respond.

Forgive me for being so bold, she said. You will find that it is my nature to be forthright. Since I came out last year, I have met many young men who would like to become my father’s son-in-law. You are the first one who has something more than his own promotion in mind. I do not want to run the risk of losing one so worthy of my esteem.

I smiled at Thea. In that event, Miss Spencer, I should be allowed a kiss, I said with as much aplomb as I could muster and proceeded to put action to the words. It was a satisfying kiss, especially in view of our inexperience, and it gave promise of passions to come.

Two years passed quickly; not as swiftly as I would have had them go, had I had a choice, but they did pass. I went to Chicago every spring and fall to buy for my store and spent many bliss-filled hours with my intended bride. In addition, as she had predicted, we came to know each other more intimately than I would ever have expected through our letters. We both wrote far more frequently than the promised weekly missives.

I’m sure I don’t need to say that our wedding was exactly as Thea had planned. Her father would have preferred a fashionable affair at a big, downtown church but his daughter was too strong-willed for her parents. The ceremony was simple, followed by an equally simple reception in the Spencers’ home. During those two years Thea had reached her full height of five feet, eight inches. Her figure was slim and willowy with well-defined breasts. She was ideally suited to the elaborate styles of the period. Her wedding gown of royal blue silk taffeta and velvet was fashioned with a draped bodice and a short train falling from a small bustle. The long, close fitting sleeves had a short puffy cap of blue taffeta. It would stun the ladies in Kansas when she wore it to parties in our honor. It would cause waves of envy in town. Women would hurry to our store to buy fabrics and do their best to emulate her. I saw an opportunity and seized it, ordering several extra bolts of taffeta and velvet in a variety of glowing colors.

Our wedding night was spent at the Palmer House in the city and the promises of passion that had seethed in our kisses were fulfilled. Despite our mutual lack of experience, we were both satisfied and I had every anticipation that our relationship would only grow more exciting as we became more proficient.

And so it was that in late March of 1890 I brought my bride home. Home was a frame building which had begun life as one