Excerpt:
~ ~ ~
Stark County News / Toulon, Illinois / October 10, 1917
Miss America Swango and Alpheus
Appenheimer, both of Toulon, were joined
in marriage early on Thursday morning
at the home of Mrs. Ida Egbert
by Reverand Colby of the Baptist Church.
Miss Lucy Hull played the wedding march
and during the ceremony performed
“The Flower Girl.” The bride is a daughter
of Mr. and Mrs. B.F. Swango
who recently removed to Montana.
Miss Swango has lived here for some years now,
making her home with Mrs Fred Dexter
and Mrs Egbert, and has made many friends.
She is a young lady of pleasing address
and sterling qualities. ~~ The groom is a son
of Mrs A.W. Appenheimer
of Toulon. He was born in Leoti,
Kansas but has resided here from
the age of three. He is one of Toulon’s
finest young men. He enlisted in the
U.S. Marines in the last week of June
and had only been home on furlough with
just enough time for a brief ceremony
before getting word to report for duty
back in Virginia. He left by train
on Thursday, accompanied by his wife
who intends to visit for several weeks
among relatives in eastern Kentucky.
~ ~ ~
Al to his mother / Quantico, Virginia / October 7, 1917
We had a delay in Peoria
till the evening train and missed our connection
in Louisville where we had to wait
over nine hours. At first we had planned
that I would go straight from Peoria
to Quantico, as the most direct route,
while America would continue on
alone to Kentucky. But I decided
to stay with her all the way and to face
the Sergeant Major if I should be late,
as I didn’t like her to travel alone.
We got to Mt. Sterling about 9 o’clock
and I helped her off and kissed her good-bye.
and hopped back onto the train as it left.
The last thing I saw of her in the dusk
was the sight of her going up the street
in the company of a red-caped man
who carried her suitcase. She was hoping
to hire a man with a rig to take her
the nine or ten miles to her Aunt Nora’s
and I'm anxious to hear if she made it.
— I found some rice in my pockets today.
America had a quart of the stuff
in the top of her hat and spilled a good bit
on the car floor. The conductor took
our tickets and stuck a slip in my hat
and looked us over and chuckled and said
I guess one will do for both of you now.
~ ~ ~
America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 8, 1917
Apart from Aunt Nora who's just as kind
as she
can be, all the old women here
are spiteful
and mean and even make fun
of the
way I talk, but I don’t much care.
They
say I am foolish to promise myself
to a
soldier who’s going straight to war,
but I said
I would marry no one else
for if
a man doesn’t have life enough
to
fight for his country he isn’t likely
to fight
for me. — Another old lady
said
what a disgrace it was that I
should
get myself into trouble like that.
What
trouble? I asked, but she wouldn’t say.
I no
longer listen to them at all.
But my
little cousins all like me fine.
They snuggle
up close and sleep with me too
and follow
me everywhere that I go,
but the
older women just criticize.
They say
my dresses are much too short
and more
becoming to a girl of twelve
than a woman
of twenty. The young girls here
go
around all day on Sunday with
their
sun-bonnets on, but I refuse
to wear
them at all. And in one house
where I
visited there was one little girl
so
drunk she could hardly stand up straight.
She was
only three years old. That hurt me
worse
than anything I have seen.
And Al,
the chickens just strutted around
on the
table, scratching and pecking for crumbs
like
they owned the place— and then I met
a young
husband and pretty wife so poor
they lived
in an actual chicken coop.
— I
would have given most anything
if you could
have been with me yesterday
and
seen the old cabin where I was born—
I couldn’t
find it at first, so hidden
in
nettles and horseweeds as it was.
I thought
I would step inside for a bit
and say
hello to an old ghost or two,
but the sadness was more than I could bear.
~ ~ ~
America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 9, 1917
I don’t
know if you will get this or not.
You
thought you would maybe leave on Monday--
you
didn’t say where, but I suppose France.
I got
some sugar and nuts yesterday
to make
you some candy but now I don’t
know whether
or not to make it at all.
If you do
go to France, you shouldn’t worry
about
finding some way to send me your pay.
I can
get along all right, as you know—
but how
are you? I expect you’re completely
worn
out for you looked as if you could hardly
sit up
when I saw you last on the train.
They work
you so hard it’s a wonder you ever
manage
to get any bedrest at all.
~ ~ ~
America to Al / Jeffersonville, Kentucky / October 11, 1917
How I
wish you’d been with me yesterday
when we
went for apples and had to climb
a hill
so steep that our wagon and mules
nearly spilled
over backwards. The little road
was so narrow
there wasn’t any room
to walk
alongside to drive and the banks
so high
the mules couldn’t possibly
turn
out on either side — so we simply
let go
of the reins and followed behind.
Never seen
such a road in all my life
but,
Al, the apples were just wonderful
and I’m
going to send you some. I got
a
bushel for 50 cents and fourteen
more for
a dime, so I did pretty well.
