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Who of us has
not been deeply moved on finding and reading an old letter from
a now-distant or deceased relative or friend? I would guess that
each of us has safely tucked away a note from someone dear that
still, with each reading, warms our heart with its caring.
Some of us
who think we don’t have time for family history do make
time for letters. How meaningful it could be later, if we now
resolve to share more of our hearts and lives in correspondence—and
save ourselves a copy.
I have a friend
who has a hard time keeping a daily journal, so decided to print
or copy for herself some of her more meaningful electronic or
posted correspondence. She was amazed at the end of the year
to review these letters to and from those who mattered in her
life and see how much of what that year had brought was now on
record.
Making time
to review Christmas cards and letters, respond to some, and read
replies to my own holiday greetings is a sure way to cheer cold,
gray winter days. I save such letters alphabetically in binders,
along with photos sent, for retrieval when friends and family
come to town. A quick review gives lots to talk about at an
impromptu lunch—and friends think that my memory is so much better!
Best yet are
those love-filled letters that somehow were preserved through
generations. This month might be the one to free these from
their attic storage, preserve them in archival protectors, and
bind them to the memory of future generations.
A Family
Courtship
I have carefully saved in my family records a letter from
my Uncle Wendell Hall, of Wallsburg, Utah, in which he tells about
the courtship of my great-grandparents, Helon Henry Tracy and Emma
Maria Burdett. This is a story I doubt Emma would have told herself,
but I’ve heard it from several family sources, as told by Henry. By
now I’m sure she wishes she had told it herself!
Henry, whose
parents knew the Prophet Joseph in Nauvoo and mourned his death
greatly, was carried across the plains as an infant by his parents. Emma’s
parents, on the other hand, joined the Church in England and
in April, 1861, when Emma was ten years old, set sail on the
ship Manchester and then crossed the plains to
Utah, burying one of Emma’s three sisters on the way. Shortly
after their arrival in the Valley, when Emma was in her early
teens, her mother died after giving birth to a stillborn child. While
her father, Thomas Burdett, Jr. was occupied on the farm, trying
to support what was left of his family, Emma, as oldest child,
cared for the household and her two younger sisters, until kind
Mrs. Ann Bickington took them in.
As Uncle Wendell
tells it, it was the custom of the day for area neighbors to
help each other with the wheat harvest. Since the farms were
large and homes far apart, each family provided lodging for those
who came in to help, often giving up their own beds to sleep
on straw mattresses on the floor.
That year the
Burdett harvest surpassed all expectation, so an unprecedented
number of workers came to help with the crop. Several of them
took a fancy to lovely, young Emma and gave her their attentions,
but the one she noticed, Helon Henry Tracy, seemed oblivious
to her existence. Uncle Wendell tells it in Emma’s words, as
though she were giving a nephew advice on matters of love, in
a letter (as translated by him later—it was first written in
Wendell’s youth, to fill a class assignment to write a letter
in Spanish). As is true with such projected letters, it perhaps
tells more about my beloved uncle than about our ancestors, but
is still based on his mother’s account and counted as a family
treasure:
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Emma
Maria Burdett Tracy
in
later years.
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At the
time I was sixteen years old and, though you may find it
hard to picture this to yourself, looking at this silver
hair of mine, very pretty. If not, then the young men around
there were great experts at flattery. A lot of them showed
interest in me but my heart found in none of them the affinity
of souls hinted at by my yearnings and promised by my hopes. In
what could this affinity consist? In the physical attraction
of noble, attractive good looks, of glowing, vibrant health? In
aptly expressed elevated, beautiful thoughts? In the expressive
gaze of mild, gentle eyes serenely plumbing the depths of
the soul? If so, in this and much more it made itself felt
on that harvest day when I met Henry Tracy. From the moment
I first saw him in the refulgent light of dawn till the day
came to its close marking an end to our labors, he was ever
present in my thoughts. And I anticipated he’d be with me
also in my dreams.
Time
to retire for the night, and I found my room invaded by sisters
whose rooms had been given over to the accommodation of the
workers. It was my custom never to go to bed without saying
my secret prayers aloud, but with my sisters there, nothing
could remain private. So I decided to go out to the granary,
where with perfect peace and tranquility I could express
my innermost feelings in prayer. With this surety, I directed
my footsteps there, entered, and was met with perfect silence
and total darkness. I knelt on the bare floor next to bins
and sacks filled with grain and in fervent tones began to
render my devotions to the Almighty. With youthful candor
I expressed the hopes and yearnings of my soul and pled,
as so many times before, though never with equal fervor,
that the constancy and fidelity which I had shown during
my life up to that hour might be rewarded with the love of
one able to appreciate the best in me and reciprocate it.
My prayer
ended, I said amen. “Amen!” echoed back a voice. Never
had a prayer a more inspired response. It was the voice
of my Henry, your beloved grandfather, who for lack of room
in the house had found a place to make his bed in the granary.”
Marriage!
The
way my mother heard the story from Grandma Florence Tracy Hall,
Henry and Emma’s daughter, is that Emma actually mentioned Henry’s
name, as a likely marriage prospect, in her prayer!
Eighteen-year-old
Henry knew how to take a hint, so wasted little time asking for
Emma’s hand in marriage. On February 16, 1867, they were married
in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City. They traveled there
from Ogden in a covered wagon, with Sister Elizabeth Marriott
as their escort. Mabel Thompson wrote this account of what happened
the night before their marriage at the home of a Sister Wheeler:
After
going to bed the night they arrived in Salt Lake City, Sister
Marriott lay talking to Emma. All at once the room became
as light as day, and Sister Marriott began talking in tongues. She
told Emma that the Lord was pleased with what she had done
and that she was getting the right one for her husband. She
said that Emma’s mother had watched over her, and she told
her other things pertaining to her well-being. (Daughter
of the Pioneers account filed with
Lone Rock Camp of Weston, Idaho, May 2, 1940)
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Elder
Helon Henry Tracy
embarked for England
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In time, Henry
entered into polygamy and married Emma’s sister, Mary Jane Burdett. In
1881, with encouragement and support of his family, Henry went
on a mission to the Eastern States and then to England, as he
tried to gather family history and sought to teach the gospel
to their relatives.
With gnarled
hands and stiff fingers, Henry’s mother, my second great-grandmother
Nancy Naomi Alexander Tracy, slowly and painstakingly formed
words in letters of encouragement to her son Henry. As was often
the case in early pioneer families, Nancy also wrote Henry letters
on behalf of other members of his family who had less education
and could not write, themselves. Henry suffered terribly while
serving in Leicestershire, but did glean important family information
and was blessed to teach and baptize some of his own family. He
wrote in his journal about how much letters from home lifted
his spirit, giving him the strength to carry on, despite failing
health and often miserable weather, persecution, and other trials.
Nancy’s lines,
as written during several heart-wrenching times in her life,
did not win accolades then and would not now. The faith and
sacrifice behind her written thought does, however, make her
verse sacred in the memory of us, her descendants. I include
some of it here, with slight editing, to ease reading:
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Nancy
Naomi Alexander Tracy
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"Lines
to Henry from his Mother –
“When
you are sailing o’er the dark blue sea, Your native land
fast sinking from your sight, Friends--anxious friends at
home are breathing Silent prayers to God above,
That
His protecting hand will guide you safely on
To other
lands that ne’er you trod before--
There
to do what you have long desired,
To search
the records for our dead.
God grant
this mission you may nobly fill
For sure
we know it is His will
That
those that died in ages dark,
In the
resurrection morn shall have a part.
Thus
God has planned that those that live
Shall
for their dead this work fulfill,
That
they with us may perfect be
Through
ages of a vast Eternity.
God grant
that you may favored be
In all
your labors while you are away
And then
return to friends and home--
To Utah
vales, where saints reside,
Temples
are reared, and nations come
To bow
and worship at His shrine.
"So
good by, and God bless and preserve you."
Regular Mission
Updates
On the current
scene, my husband Dan and I look forward to regular mission updates
from our friends, Elder Norton and Sister Gloria Chaston, who
graciously copy us in to their regular family correspondence. Their
principal activity involves preservation of family history records
in Edinburgh, Scotland--a place where their own ancestors walked.
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The
Norton Chastons, now in Edinburgh, Scotland
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We were deeply
moved by this letter that they came across and appreciate their
having obtained authorization for us to share it here. Write
the Chastons:
" . . . Our team imaged the two millionth page last August. The
records are available on the internet at ScottishDocuments.com
"Our team consists of four other couples, who are also paying their own
way and donating their time; we feel a special spirit that our time is well spent. We
get a glimpse into the lives of those who have passed on before us as we search
the testaments for information to record in the indexes that we are compiling. We
have been touched by the sentiments of some testators as they express their belief
in God and love for their families. One holograph testamentary letter from
a young father to his wife, in which he contemplates parting from her and their
two children, is particularly moving:
Bothwell 25 May 1845
My Dearest
Fanny,
. . . [P. 429] . . . To anticipate the separation of our fond, fond connection
by death and from these two dear Immortals whom our Heavenly Father has so Graciously
given us is trying very trying to poor human nature and makes me indeed dull
a little sometimes for we have been so very happy in our Dear Family that if
it were the will of God, I would willingly remain for a time to Comfort my Dearest
Fan, and seek the spiritual as well as the temporal welfare of our Dear Children.
Be this
as it may Dear, my prayer, is not my Will but "thine" be
done . . .
[P. 430] . . . My Hope is confidently placed and fixed in my Redeemer and though
separated for a time yet I look forward to that blessed consummation when we
shall meet in our Fathers House to go no more out but to dwell for ever
in the Mansions of Eternal Glory where no imperfection can be because No Sin
is there
O may you and I and our Dear Dear little ones be all found on the Right Hand
of our Blessed Saviour on that Great Day when an Assembled World shall be Summoned
to the Judgement Seat of the Infinitely Holy God.
O may the Infinitely Blessed Spirit Sanctify these Meditations to my Soul and
Yours when you peruse this Letter from your
Dear
Affectionate Henry.
[SC36/51/21/429, Testament (will), which contains other
letters to his family (some paragraphing is added to the parts
used here), signed by Henry B. Duncan, 3 Nov 1845. Also
of interest in this will is Henry's devising of part of his estate
to Mission, Christian Instruction, and Bible Societies in London
and Glasgow.]
Inspired by
such letters from the past, I hope this February 14th to
observe the anniversary of my ancestors, Emma and Henry, in a
lasting way. I want to write a letter from my past, as a Valentine
to my grandchildren’s future. I plan to tell them my version
of Dan’s and my courtship, so they won’t hear it (as I did about
Emma’s) from other sources like (perish the thought), Dan.
I hope to make
a greater effort to post ancestral letters in my own collection,
so that all in our family might experience first-hand the faith,
strength, and love of these, our people, as preserved in their
own words. What a blessing it is that they helped us know them
better by taking care to write and, again, cared enough to save,
their detailed, heart-felt letters!
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