When THE LAST LETTER launched in 2011 I was struck by two types of reactions from readers. One was that many people wanted to know more, they wanted to SEE more about how the Arthurs lived in the seventeen years between the two plotlines. And the second bit of feedback I got from some very angry readers was that they could not believe that Jeanie Arthur had, nor would they, as mothers, EVER board their own children out like the main character did in the novel, like the real Jeanie Arthur (my great-great grandmother) did over one hundred years ago.

At first comments like this panicked me. Had I been sloppy with my research? Had I been too inventive in a genre that requires the author to be simultaneously creative and “stuck” to historical facts? But as I considered the response to this idea of boarding children out I decided, no. I have personal/familial/anecdotal evidence that mothers boarded children out so that they and the larger family would survive. And there are mountains of data that reveal that living at the turn of century required families and mothers to make decisions that we 21^st century moms never would, that we would rarely be asked to.

The photo above shows my great-great grandmother and her six living children after her husband and their father left them—after they formally divorced. The man in the photo is Jeanie’s father. That home behind them was the center of their lives and Jeanie did everything she could to be sure that she kept that house in the family, stowing money away in banks where it would be safe from people who wanted to spend it for her. . . But keeping the house in the family meant all the children had to contribute financially. For the younger girls that meant they were often boarded at other homes. For the older children it meant they sent home money for the household. And, it often mean Jeanie took in boarders of all ages—infants to the elderly.

Like Jeanie Arthur the character, the real woman worked a multitude of jobs, scraping and scrapping together enough money to feed her children, pay for their school (yes, high school required payment in those days), and keep that house. Her letters to her son, James, are full of details related to the care and maintenance of this home, the problems with it, the endless race to secure enough in tax money that no one could take the property from her… Likewise, her letters show just one way parents thought of and discussed their offspring that was so very different, starkly so, than today (see above quote with the photo). The “quarreling daughters” stand the test of time, but we’ve certainly changed our perspective on what is required of kids today. Stay tuned for more on how divorce in early 20^th century America shaped the way the Arthurs lived their lives.

And if you love fiction woven into your history, take a look at THE ROAD HOME (Book 2 in The Letter Series), a recent gold medal winner in the Readers’ Favorite Book Awards.

I’m going to take a look over my shoulder, back into 1890 when The Compendium of Cookery and Reliable Recipes was written. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am sharing some of the research I’ve done in order to shape the character and plot of The Road Home and The Garden Promise.

While this cookbook covers every imaginable type of food preparation known at the time it was written, it includes other topics for homemakers as they cobble their lives into pleasant existences, encouraging women to make the most of their circumstances no matter what they are.

There’s a section on “How to be Handsome.” And as you can imagine, the authors, Mrs. E. C. Blakeslee of Chicago, Miss Emma Leslie of Philadelphia, and Dr. S.H. Hughes of Boston, weren’t referring to how a man might keep himself attractive. It was the housewives they were speaking to.

“… the power of beauty has controlled the fate of dynasties and the lives of men. How to be beautiful, and consequently powerful, is a question of far greater importance to the feminine mind than predestination or any other abstract subject.” (Page 299)

I suppose this perspective explains the need to actually address a woman’s appearance in a book mostly devoted to caring for one’s home. As I first read this section I was surprised to find that the authors suggest “The first step to good looks is good health, and the first clement of health is cleanliness.” (Page 299)

Cleanliness! As germ theory was further developing, the idea that bodies needed to be fresh became more and more important. “Keep clean—wash freely, bathe regularly.” (Page 299)

I know that women have always taken care with their appearance, but I knew that “life circumstances,” like no running water, spare wardrobes, lack of money, no feminine products might have kept women from keeping “clean” as we think of it today. I had also been under the assumption that people bathed less—years less over a lifetime less—than we do. This then had me primed for surprise to see that this cookbook included instructions on how to bathe and its importance. “It is well to use a flesh-brush, and afterwards rinse off the soap-suds by briskly rubbing the body with a pair of coarse toilet gloves. The most important part of a bath is the drying. Every part of the body should be rubbed to a glowing redness, using a coarse crash towel at the finish. If sufficient friction can not be given, a small amount of bay rum applied with the palm of the hand will be found efficacious.” (Page 299)

I thought this was all very interesting (especially the use of Bay Rum which is a type of cologne/deodorant/astringent/ made originally in St. Thomas from bay leaves and rum.) even if it seemed a bit aggressive for self-care. I assume the scrubbing to redness perhaps had to do with the relative filthiness that 19^th century women contended with on a daily basis (coal heat, industrialization without any pollution controls, making every blessed thing from scratch). But then I read this sweet little, gentle bit of information and it did indeed floor me, then inspired me to include elements of this in my work… hold onto your hats, dear readers…

“Ladies who have ample leisure and who lead methodical lives take a plunge or sponge bath three times a week, and a vapor or a sun bath every day.” (Page 300) Sunbath? Vapor bath? A little time in the fresh air sounds nice, doesn’t it? A little tea on the veranda or coffee on the back porch while the servants toil in the kitchen garden… sounds reasonable, sounds like something that fits the 19^th century, American way of life… but then there was this:

“To facilitate this very beneficial practice, a south or east apartment is desirable. The lady denudes herself, takes a seat near the window and takes in the warm rays of the sun. The effect is both beneficial and delightful. If, however, she be of a restless disposition, she may dance, instead of basking in the sunlight. Or if she is not fond of dancing she may improve the shining hours by taking down her hair and brushing it, suing sulphur water, pulverized borax dissolved in alcohol or some similar dressing…” (Page 300)

Naked dancing at noon, brushing hair while clothed in nothing but the midday sunrays! Prudish Victorians? My naked, sunbathing ass, they were! I love, love, love that this is in a source that I can use without worry that I’m being anachronistic. There is nothing I love more than stumbling across research that flies in the face of what we believe about a certain era or class of people.

This is what makes the work so much fun for me. So… what kind of vapor bath girl (or guy) are you? Dancing, lounging, brushing your hair, something else? I think if I’m vapor bathing I’m going all out dancing. Perhaps that’s where that quote “Dance like no one’s watching,” originated? Oh, how I love this cookbook.

In The Last Letter Jeanie and Frank Arthur had a son named Tommy. He and his twin, Katherine were ten-years-old when the book opened in 1887 timeline. Tommy was a bit of a curmudgeon who felt the weight of losing his pampered boyhood to the mean prairie lands that brought fire, famine, and death as often as it did an edible crop. Tommy turned to Bible verses in times of trouble, but he really took a backseat to his siblings Katherine, James and even baby Yale who was born later in the novel. In the 1905 timeline, Tommy arrives on scene, an unhappy man whose life has not gone the way he wanted. He’s an ordained minister, yet he can’t seem to find the smallest sliver of forgiveness for his mother or peace for himself…

So, as I planned The Road Home and The Garden Promise, I wanted to have Tommy play a more primary role than he did the first book and I wanted his character to change. Part of bringing a more fully realized Tommy to life involved the family letters. So much of Jeanie Arthur’s correspondence centered on her second son’s (Gale) mischief, “I don’t know whether Gale will ever write to you or not… he won’t do much of anything only what he pleases. I hope he will act better after Jamie Coman goes home, he is always teasing him and bossing and fussing with somebody. I hope I will get a rest when they are all away to school I feel on the border of nervous prostration now. I won’t be boarding any more children while Gale is around he would make an angel disobedient and unruly.” In addition, Jeanie often noted sixteen-year-old Gale lacking ambition as she referred to him being “…a first class loafer.”

As Jeanie chronicles Gale’s attempts at finding and keeping a good job, she describes her son as he was hired on at the Savery Hotel. “(Gale) started today to work at the Savery Hotel as a bellboy but the elevator boy quit then they put him on the elevator. He says he does not like it as it is an old elevator, runs hard and the strands of the cable were breaking today so he is afraid of it. He is going to tell them tomorrow that he had rather be bellboy so he may get fired. On the elevator you get fifteen dollars a month and board, bellboys get twelve dollars, board and tips. He works from 7 until 7.”

This little elevator strand of information came in handy when I was looking to thread historical flavor into the novel when employing the character of Tommy. Research revealed why an elevator boy would make so much more money than a bellboy—it was dangerous. Gale’s discomfort with the hard-running elevator and unreliable cables was a legitimate concern at that time in history.

While the facts about the jobs that my great uncle won and lost over the years were helpful in crafting the plot, I found that I wanted to steer away from my great, great grandmother’s characterization of her son as only lazy. And yes, that is the primary “theme of Gale” throughout the body of letters. And that was similar to how Tommy was portrayed in The Last Letter as a young male living up to his golden-boy, brother James. But in writing The Road Home, I wanted Tommy to embody the complexity that all people do. Part of Tommy’s transformation involves his attempt to be the man his father could not be for his family. In the 19^th century a fourteen-year-old boy would be much more like an adult than a child. However, I knew I could use elements of Gale in Tommy as he took two steps forward into adulthood and slipped one step back into boyhood…like any teenager would.

Be sure to pick up your copy of The Road Home and check out the “Evolution of Tommy Arthur!”