Edmund then lived with Lola and her husband, Walter Harms, in Globe, where their first baby, Lorene, was born. He worked as a carpenter with the Inspiration Mining Company. How I missed him, but was glad he was so near home. Then Lola wrote that he had gone to California to work. I couldn’t understand why he felt he had to go farther away. He had said he liked his work in Miami and that his job paid well and was permanent.

It was months before I learned the truth. As usual, he was trying to spare me worry. Lola told me later that he came home from work as usual, but paced the floor from one room to the next, finally calling her into the room. “Lola,” he said, “Promise me that you won’t tell your Mother this, she needn’t know and it will save her worry. Today I went to the company doctor in Miami about my old trouble. He says that I must have an operation or I can’t live more than a year, so I am leaving in the morning for California where I will have this done.” 

Edmund had the operation for prostitis, which was not a success. Besides, he got out too soon and tried to work and had a relapse and had to return to the clinic. Finally, his Doctor advised him to go to bed and remain for three weeks, letting a catheter drain away the poison from the affected parts. Edmund agreed to do this, but insisted that he go home to his family in Arizona for those three weeks. The doctor objected, but he came home anyway. (Meanwhile, Walter and Lola had purchased a home and moved to Thatcher several blocks from my home.)

Of course I knew nothing of this latest development. I planned to leave on the 23rd of July with Walter and Lola to go to Duncan to spend the 24th with Edna and Orson. The day was hot until mid-afternoon, when a terrible storm arose and, just as they came for me, the rain came in torrents. I’ve seldom seen such a downpour. We were all ready to go, but waited in the house for the rain to let up a bit so we could make a run for the car. As we waited and watched, the passenger train pulled into the depot a short two blocks from our home. Someone who had met the train came by the house and told us Edmund was at the depot and wished someone to come and help him home. By this time the rain had diminished somewhat, and we were just at the point of leaving for Duncan.

I shall always be thankful to the Lord for that rainstorm. Otherwise, I’d have not been there to receive and care for my beloved and ill husband. The Lord had blessed us further in having Walter’s car ready to help. Walter went immediately to bring Edmund home to us. 

How happy I was as I hurried around, putting away the things I was to have taken on the trip and getting ready to welcome him home. Then the car drove up and with a great deal of help from Walter, Edmund got out of the car. Oh, my darling!! My glad heart was almost broken at the sight of him. He staggered up the slippery path on Walter’s arm. So thin, pale and weak he was-completely drenched from the rain, and covered with mud. Only his dear eyes seemed the same as they smiled into mine. He was trembling when he took me into his arms and said, “It’s good to come home to my dear little Becky.” Then, “Could you find me some dry clothes and let me lie down?”

As quickly as possible I got dry garments and had him in a warm bed. He told us that when he got off the train he attempted to climb the five or six steps of a platform to get out of the rain, but just as he was almost to the top, he had fallen backward down into the mud. When I asked what made him fall, he smiled weakly, trying to make it seem rather like a big joke. “Imagine a man my age falling down stairs.” Then said, “I suppose I was weak from hunger. You see, I haven’t had anything to eat since I left Los Angeles.”

“Why? Why?,” I cried. “No money for food?”

“No”, he answered, “It was that I couldn’t eat what they brought me. Later I asked them to bring me a box of soda crackers, but they were sprinkled with salt, and I can’t eat salt, so I just had to go hungry.”

When Edmund found we’d planned the trip to Duncan, he urged that we go ahead with our plans, as he didn’t want to spoil our fun. He said he could take care of himself until we got back, etc, etc. But nothing on earth could have enticed me away from his side. My only thought was to make him comfortable and nurse him back to health. I could make him comfortable that night, but the next day was so hot that my house soon became like an oven. The fire had killed all the trees so there was no shade to protect the thin board walls and tin roof, and the sun beat down unmercifully. In his weakened condition he suffered terribly, lying there in bed.

Before the first day was over I was frantic to know what to do for him. He fairly panted with the heat and couldn’t move since he was wearing the catheter and must remain flat on his back. My boys made a willow shade outside the window that helped a little. Then I sprinkled the sheet and we fanned him, especially little seven-year-old Nelma who sat with him for hours. It was so hot the sheet dried quickly and must be sprinkled every little while.

I fixed all his food without salt and it was so hard to find anything he could eat because after once or twice, any dish nauseated him, and he had no taste for it again. I jokingly told him he was worse than any woman with morning sickness.

I soon sent for Doctor Platt, who prescribed all the root beer it was possible for Edmund to drink. We had no ice box, but the boys brought ice from the store and I kept his root beer cold with the ice wrapped it blankets in a tub. How he enjoyed that! It was the only thing he didn’t get sick of.

Aunt Sadie was away at the time, so we sent for her. I knew she would wish to be with him the same as I, and her house had a shady screen porch. We sent for Aunt Sarah, who lived in Snowflake and Mark and Mary brought her to see him. They stayed a few days, then Mark had to return and took her back with him.

It was a comfort to have Edmund get a little rest and sleep through the day because of the cool porch, yet our hearts were heavy as we saw him fail a little each day. We three women had many consultations while he was sleeping as to how we might best help him. We tried ideas of our own, but strictly followed the doctor’s instructions as to his treatments. Nothing seemed to help much.

Edmund was a fairly good patient, though sometimes he balked at our suggestions. One day we decided that some whipped eggs whites would be good for him, if mixed with a little milk.

“No, I don’t want it,” he said. We still thought it was a good idea and Aunt Sade fixed it, and brought it to his bed.

“No, I wunt take it,” he declared, shaking his head. (He pronounced the word “won’t” as “wunt”.) We tried again, but all the time he was shaking his head and saying emphatically, “I wunt! I wunt!”

Coaxing was of no avail, and since we were sure he needed the nourishment, we proceeded to force it into his mouth, working one on each side of him. “I wunt, I wunt,” he repeated, trying to fight us off. But in his weakened condition, he soon submitted, opened his mouth, and we poured it is, grateful that he had seen things our way. Then as we leaned lovingly over him, he blew all that frothy egg white right into our faces! Fairly blinded, we jumped back, wiped our eyes and looked down at him. There, for a moment, was our dear husband of old, quietly laughing at us. The same smiling twinkle of mischief in his eyes, which said as plainly as his lips could have done, “No two women need think they can get the best of me!”
We both sat down on his bed and laughed heartily as we wiped the frothy mess from our eyes and faces. How good it seemed! We were reminded of our early married life when we three had lived, played and laughed together. Our hopes for his recovery rose a little, only to fade as the days passed. He left us on August 7, 1925.

With his passing, the light of the world seemed to go out, leaving me in darkness. I don’t know how I would have stood it, but my fifteen and one-half year old son, Vernon, stepped in and took charge of affairs, shielding me from the pain of meeting the business world. He seemed to change from a boy to a man overnight and I grew to depend upon him for counsel in everything.

My dear son, Lamar, had been a help in many ways: getting wood from Haven and chopping it, milking and herding the cows, hoeing weeds, helping with the wash fires and other chores and errands. But he had not been able to assume responsibility. (In early 1938, it was decided by Dr. Platt and other townspeople that he should be cared for by the state in Phoenix. So from that time forth he was never in the home.)

Each of my children have their own special place in my heart—my love for one is no greater than for another—but this dependence I felt upon Vern, at a time when my heart was crushed and broken, built a close tie between us. I was dreading the time when Vern would go away to college, but Ivan (Chad) stepped right in, assuming equally well the responsibility of the family. His cheerfulness and sunny ways taught me how to make a second great adjustment to life.