HER SISTER, LAVERNE’S MEMORIES

Years have a way of racing by so swiftly, that we are unaware of their speed until suddenly we have occasion to stop and think. How long ago was it? Or, how old was I then? It shocks us sometimes into wondering what has become of all those intervening years and more often than not, we wish we had them back again, to maybe do a little differently than we have done. If she had lived, Merla would have probably been the mother of a young family, which is such a wonderful challenging mission in life. But in his wisdom, and for a purpose which we will undoubtedly understand ourselves someday, God had another mission for her in another place, which must have been more important, although I am sure she will still have the privilege at some future time of fulfilling a mission in motherhood.

I was the oldest, and Merla came third in our family. There were five girls of us at first. But, Merla was a boy at heart. The outdoors and the things her Daddy did seemed to hold her greatest interests. I can remember one morning when she was only 3 or 4 years old, we suddenly missed her. We searched everywhere, around the house and in it. We combed the yard behind every tree and bush, and down the cellar. Up at the corral we looked from pig pen to chicken coop. We ran to the neighbors, even down to Grandma’s. No one knew where she was. Finally, a neighbor, Lester Ballingham, found her about three-fourths of a mile from home, trudging along the dirt road, leading up the draw behind the neighborhood. She was attempting to follow her Daddy who had left earlier to walk the 3 or 4 miles through the hills to Etna. It was no easy task for Lester to forcibly bring her back home. Between her kicking and scratching at him she screamed, “I want to go with my Daddy. I want to go with my Daddy.”

Merla was always so healthy. It seems to me now that even the communicable diseases treated her kindly, while the rest of us really suffered from them. Her appetite was healthy too, but so was all our appetites. I especially remember that so often when she came home from school, she would get a slice of Mom’s homemade bread to piece on. She wanted no butte, no trimmings, just a slice of bread. And, if Mom didn’t happen to be home, I would often use unwisely my big sister attitude or authority in trying to deny her that piece of bread, and to get her to wait until supper time. So many things I would do differently if I had the chance again.

As sisters growing up we had many experiences in common, some shared happily, and some spiced with arguments and ill feelings, which always were patched up and forgotten in a short time. When playing house and dolls, Merla usually chose to be the Daddy. We’d herd cows, help with chores, and weed the garden occasionally. And, we organized the “Happy Flower Committee.” What a committee. We’d meet in the garage twice a week during part of that particular summer and we’d sing and pray, and always had wild flowers on hand that we had gathered while herding cows. We’d probably even bear our testimonies. I’d like to be a spectator and look in on one of those meetings again.

Merla was fond of animals, partial to pet lambs and dogs. And, yet when an animal was butchered, it didn’t seem to bother her while I would be in the bedroom with a pillow over each ear, she’d be out with Dad, or within easy calling distance of him. Once at the Hales place, when Dad had decided to kill a sheep, and had difficulty in catching it, she and Evva helped him hold the rope, while I ran clear across the lane to the potato patch.

All of us envied her and Irene of their fishing skills. How Grandma’s eyes would light up when they’d take her a nice long trout they had caught. I used to think if they could do it so could I. But, I always made sure I wasn’t alone when I went angling. Somebody else had to thread the worms for me, and if I was lucky, which wasn’t often, somebody else had to take by catch off the hook. It was usually Merla. I could never understand why those wiggly things didn’t bother her.

When Ray was born, I’m sure no little Mother could have been more proud of a son, than she was that brother. Weren’t we all. He was a real novelty in a family of girls. Our other brother Russell, she never knew. She died before he was born. It wasn’t so odd really that Russell should look so much like her. Especially after she was hurt and had to go to the hospital, did she miss and long for Ray. Grandma Richins took care of us children during that trying time, but finally because Merla missed him so, they took Ray to Ogden. In her last letter to me, written on Mom’s birthday in 1935 and which I still have, she wrote, “Daddy is coming out to clean the turkeys and when he comes back he is going to take Ray away from you for a while and bring him down here for me.” With money kind friends had given her, she instructed that a little red wagon be bought for Ray.

Only 10 years old, she was indeed very brave, and asked me in that last letter, “Please don’t tell anyone that I had to have my leg cut off.” If only the wonder drugs of this day had been discovered earlier, she might still have been with us. But, knowing as we do that this life is but a short span in the oceans of eternity, what a comfort it is to realize that we shall see her again and that our lives then can be, if we truly deserve it, a rich continuation of all the choicest experiences we have ever known or can imagine.

LaVerne once wrote a poem as a tribute to Merla. 

And we would laugh and play and sing.

We made our childhood playtime ring,

With voices gay and chattering.

We’d dare and do most everything.

But suddenly you went away.

Instead of blue our skies were gray.

We cried for you snd folks would say,

We’d meet again some distant day.

But I —I could not understand.

I longed to feel and grasp your hand.

Kind people said the place was grand,

Where you had gone — a better land.

And I wondered if your playmates there,

Had laughing eyes and golden hair.

I wondered if you’d ever care,

Or think about us while you were there.

Dear Sister, that was long ago.

I’m older now, and now I know,

That life — the life that you loved so,

When once is breathed, must always go.

But tho’ it’s short, I now can see,

That every day may worthy be;

That I, in my own life can leave,

A sweetness like your gave to me.

And if I do live right and true,

Like you dear sister tried to do —

Then when my journey here is through,

God again will give me you.

HER SISTER, EVVA’S MEMORIES

What things can I remember about Merla? One thing, she was a most wonderful sister, and I don’t think we understood how sweet she was until God called her home. When we were at the Hales place in Etna she’d be gone for some time, and when she returned her arms would be loaded with wild flowers. And, they were always the same beautiful flower, the sweet little sego lily. And, she’d place them in bottles, vases, or whatever she could find and put them all over the room, on the table, radio, in the window, and on whatever, would hold a vase. We always had plenty of lilies. She was a lover of nature. Remember how attached to a fishing pole she used to be? She really caught some whoppers. Mostly her fishing equipment consisted of a willow, string and a bent pin. She must have loved Dad very much, because she always wanted to do what Dad did, anything pertaining to the outdoors. Even as we’d play house, as all girls, she’d want to be Daddy. She loved animals too, and birds, especially blue birds, the bird of happiness. Seems as though she was very ambitious too, and in school she was a whip. She was a good sport too. At our Christmas parties, always seemed she’d receive a handkerchief, until the year that Wendell Ballingham gave her a book.

HER SISTER, IRENE’S MEMORIES

I guess Thanksgiving Day is a good time to write down what I remember about Merla.

There are those things that make her memory sacred, but there are also things about her that I’ve tried hard to forget. If Dad ever had a feeling of guilt about her death, because it happened while we were preparing for a deer hunt, mine was tripled. Because, I was the one she was racing with to the car, and in the confusion and in the hurry, trying to be first in, she stepped on the nail.

Then there was the time we were quarreling. As an outlet for my temper I hurled the scissors at her. I remember I hit her in the head. I don’t remember if I hurt her really bad, or if it was the sight of blood that made me sick, but I chose to go to bed until the news had been broken to Dad.

She always seemed more of a companion to Dad than Mom. She seemed to be the boy only in the respect that she preferred the out of doors, and being with Dad more than she did being around the house.

She was my biggest rival. When we went fishing together over on the Hales place, I always used to pray under my breath, that the fish I caught would just once be bigger than hers. The only big one that I ever caught was after she died. It was one who apparently had never came in contact with her hook, because she was a natural at it, and what she hooked she caught.

I remember once, she invited me to a party she had planned with Nina and Thelma Hadfield. We had it in the old band wagon, that Hadfield’s brought the kids to school in. I envisioned ice cream and cake, and all the things that a party would suggest, but instead the kids had saved jelly sandwiches from their lunch. We ended up having a talent show, I hadn’t started to school yet and didn’t want to participate, and Merla had me sing the ABCs.

We used to go picking flowers a lot when we were over on Etna. Her favorite flower was the sego lily.

When the folks took her to Ogden, after she had stepped on the nail, Evva and I went over to Aunt Ella’s to stay. Dad came out on the train to get Ray, and brought some Shirley Temple paper dolls to Leola and I, that Merla had sent us from the hospital. So many people took gifts and money to her.

I remember Evva and I took turns eves-dropping on Aunt Ella’s telephone and one day I heard two people talking and they said Merla was, “very low.” I didn’t know then what it meant so I didn’t tell Aunt Ella about it. But, it was only a few hours until we had got word that she had died. The night before she died Eileen Warburton and I wrote a letter to her. We never did send it. Aunt Ella said she’d keep it and someday we’d read it again. All the kids in school donated a nickel a piece and bought some flowers for the funeral.

I don’t remember too much more. I was only 8. I had been baptized in August before she died in November.

HER SISTER, JUANITA’S MEMORIES

About the first thing I remember is when we were living in the garage at the Hales place. No one was living in the old house, and Dad had put up a swing from the rafters for us girls. We would carry water from the ditch and put on the floor, then skid our bare feet across the cool water as we swung. It seems that Merla was the only one that would surrender the swing, when it was someone else’s turn. The rest of us would want just one more turn.

There lapsed a lot of time that was filled with fun, especially, “mud crawling.” The name we had for our daily dip in the bubbling little irrigation ditch. As we got bigger we had to find a bigger hole in the ditch, farther up in the field.

I remember especially one morning after she had stepped on the rusty nail as we were getting ready for school. The usual rush prevailed in getting five little girls ready for school. Merla had been the one nominated to open and close the gate, for our old Ford to pass through. After she had closed the gate she came running to the car, saying her foot hurt. On our way to school Merla took her shoe off and when we got to our home in Grouse Creek it was decided that she would not go to school. I can’t remember what happened between the time that Dad and Mom took Merla to Ogden, and the time they came back.

When the news came that our sister and playmate had died, it really didn’t reach me until I was in school and the teacher got up in class, and said there had been a death in our family, I think then as a small child of 6 would, that I though death was such a final thing. I remember crying all that day in school.

The day arrived that the little blue coffin was brought home. I remember walking down to Grandma Richins home. I was anxious to see Mom and Dad, but I knew that if I had to see Merla I would cry again.

As I walked in, I looked for Mom. She was by the stove in a favorite chair. Her eyes were swollen with tears but a smile greeted me, “Do you want to see you sister?” She said. I immediately said, “No.” dreading the tears that had already started to take shape. Gently she took my hand and together we walked into the old fashioned front room. Here was my sister, and as long as she was here, they just couldn’t take her away and bury her.

The day of the funeral came. I remember gazing into the pretty blue box that held my sister. I thought, what a terrible thing to be shut up in a box like that. At that instant someone lifted me up and to me seemed to be putting me in with Merla. “I don’t want to get in.” I said. But, it was only Dad, asking me to kiss my sister for the last time.

I was with Aunt Annie in the church as the solemn music was playing. It seemed as if the funeral lasted all day, and I was so exhausted. At intervals I would sleep with my head in Aunt Annie’s lap and then wake up only to hear again the sad and solemn music of the organ, and to release again the great flood of tears.

Ours was a very quiet home, as just four little girls and one small brother proceeded on. Their journey through life, ever to remember the sister and playmate that would always remain in their hearts.

She died November 16, 1935, from the infection and is buried in the Grouse Creek Utah Cemetery.