From the Journals of Clara Whitmore, November 14, 1895 - Walnut, Iowa
The wind has not ceased its mournful cry since yesterday afternoon. It rattles the windows of the Hinckley boarding house and seems to slip beneath the doorways like a restless spirit seeking warmth. Winter has come early to Walnut…and with it a heaviness that seems to settle over every rooftop and every heart.
It seemed as soon as the Webster barn was completed…the weather on the plains turned cold, chilling to my bones even in my thickest cloak.
As I sit beside the lamplight, I write tonight with trembling hands recalling the recent events.
Yesterday morning as I was teaching the students, little Anna Mae Turner, only eight years old, fell gravely ill during our lessons. She had been unusually quiet, her cheeks flushed a deep, unnatural red. When I touched her forehead, the heat of her skin startled me. Before I could fetch water, she began to sway, and I caught her just as her knees gave way. I held her and prayed as the class watched. I sent Joseph Sheldon and another older student to get Anna’s father at the nearby lumber yard.
By the time her father arrived with the wagon, the rash had begun to appear across her neck and chest…angry, scarlet patches that spread with frightening speed. Anna Mae’s father whispered the words none of us wished to hear.
Scarlet fever.
The school board wasted no time. By evening, the schoolhouse was shuttered. Mrs. Harrow helped me to scrub the desks with lye. We nailed a notice to the door warning families to keep their children home. Walnut has known sickness before, but for me…I have not been part of this prairie community during previous outbreaks. The cold, the early dark, the wind that howls like a warning…it all presses upon me with a bleakness I have not felt since leaving Beatty Creek and coming to Walnut, Iowa.
I realized how these people and places have grown into my heart in ways I did not realize until I was holding Anna…listening to her shallow breathing…while the other students were watching me with questioning and fear in their eyes.
Sleep was very difficult in coming last night as my mind replayed the events, and look on the children’s faces and Anna‘s father as he held his daughter.
Yet I could not have peace knowing the Turners were facing this alone.
This morning, before dawn, I wrapped myself in my thickest shawl and walked the mile to their farm. Frost clung to the grass like tiny shards of glass, and the wind stung my eyes. When I reached their home, I found baskets of food…potatoes, bread, jars of broth…left on the porch by neighbors who dared not enter but could not ignore the family’s need. The church women had organized it quietly, each taking turns to leave provisions at first light. Walnut may be small, but its heart is large.
I knocked softly. Mr. Turner cracked the door only a few inches, fear and exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He thanked me for coming but warned me sternly not to step inside. “I cannot in good conscience let you risk yourself, Miss Whitmore,” he said. “We have three other little ones to tend, and Anna Mae…well, the Lord must intervene.”
But I insisted. I could not turn away. The Lord calls us to serve…even when the cost is dear.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of vinegar and carbolic acid…Mrs. Turner had boiled water with both, as the doctor instructed, to cleanse the air. Anna Mae lay upon a small cot near the stove, her breathing shallow, her small hands twitching with fever. My heart felt the pain of her sweet mother. Mrs. Turner bathed Anna Mae gently with cool cloths, whispering prayers between sobs…asking God to heal her child.
I knelt beside them, praying silently, my heart aching with helplessness.
Hours passed. The doctor returned with his leather bag, his face grave. He applied mustard plasters to the Anna’s chest, hoping to ease her breathing, and left powders to reduce her fever. There is little more that can be done for scarlet fever but wait, watch…and pray.
There was a lot of prayer being lifted, even her young siblings seemed to be praying with words only their Father in Heaven could understand.
As dusk fell, Josiah arrived at the Turner farm. I had not expected him, yet there he stood…hat in hand, coat dusted with frost, his expression calm but troubled. He stepped aside with me near the doorway, speaking in a low voice.
“Clara…you must be careful. This illness has taken many before. I fear for you.” His eyes held a quiet earnestness that unsettled me more than the storm outside. “Your heart is good, but goodness does not shield the body.”
I told him gently that I could not abandon the family. That the Lord had placed me here, in this moment, for a purpose. He did not argue further, but the worry in his eyes lingered like a shadow.
Tonight, back in my small boarding room, the wind screams against the windowpane. The lamp flickers, and the cold presses in from every corner. I feel the weight of fear…not only for Anna Mae, but for Walnut, for the children, for myself.
I reached for Great Grandmother Esther Mae’s journal, as I always do when my spirit trembles. Her words, written in her sure, looping hand, steadied me: “Better to be a servant of the Lord in danger than a servant of fear in safety.” I closed the journal and bowed my head.
I prayed for Anna Mae, for her parents who keep vigil through the night, for her siblings who huddle in the loft whispering frightened questions. I prayed for Walnut, for protection from the spread of this terrible fever. And yes…I prayed for my own safety, though I know my life is not my own, but the Lord’s.
Outside, the wind howls like a living thing. But within my heart, a quieter voice speaks softly…
“Fear not, for I am with thee.”
And so I cling to that promise as the night deepens. God is with me. I will not be afraid.
The wind has not ceased its mournful cry since yesterday afternoon. It rattles the windows of the Hinckley boarding house and seems to slip beneath the doorways like a restless spirit seeking warmth. Winter has come early to Walnut…and with it a heaviness that seems to settle over every rooftop and every heart.
It seemed as soon as the Webster barn was completed…the weather on the plains turned cold, chilling to my bones even in my thickest cloak.
As I sit beside the lamplight, I write tonight with trembling hands recalling the recent events.
Yesterday morning as I was teaching the students, little Anna Mae Turner, only eight years old, fell gravely ill during our lessons. She had been unusually quiet, her cheeks flushed a deep, unnatural red. When I touched her forehead, the heat of her skin startled me. Before I could fetch water, she began to sway, and I caught her just as her knees gave way. I held her and prayed as the class watched. I sent Joseph Sheldon and another older student to get Anna’s father at the nearby lumber yard.
By the time her father arrived with the wagon, the rash had begun to appear across her neck and chest…angry, scarlet patches that spread with frightening speed. Anna Mae’s father whispered the words none of us wished to hear.
Scarlet fever.
The school board wasted no time. By evening, the schoolhouse was shuttered. Mrs. Harrow helped me to scrub the desks with lye. We nailed a notice to the door warning families to keep their children home. Walnut has known sickness before, but for me…I have not been part of this prairie community during previous outbreaks. The cold, the early dark, the wind that howls like a warning…it all presses upon me with a bleakness I have not felt since leaving Beatty Creek and coming to Walnut, Iowa.
I realized how these people and places have grown into my heart in ways I did not realize until I was holding Anna…listening to her shallow breathing…while the other students were watching me with questioning and fear in their eyes.
Sleep was very difficult in coming last night as my mind replayed the events, and look on the children’s faces and Anna‘s father as he held his daughter.
Yet I could not have peace knowing the Turners were facing this alone.
This morning, before dawn, I wrapped myself in my thickest shawl and walked the mile to their farm. Frost clung to the grass like tiny shards of glass, and the wind stung my eyes. When I reached their home, I found baskets of food…potatoes, bread, jars of broth…left on the porch by neighbors who dared not enter but could not ignore the family’s need. The church women had organized it quietly, each taking turns to leave provisions at first light. Walnut may be small, but its heart is large.
I knocked softly. Mr. Turner cracked the door only a few inches, fear and exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He thanked me for coming but warned me sternly not to step inside. “I cannot in good conscience let you risk yourself, Miss Whitmore,” he said. “We have three other little ones to tend, and Anna Mae…well, the Lord must intervene.”
But I insisted. I could not turn away. The Lord calls us to serve…even when the cost is dear.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of vinegar and carbolic acid…Mrs. Turner had boiled water with both, as the doctor instructed, to cleanse the air. Anna Mae lay upon a small cot near the stove, her breathing shallow, her small hands twitching with fever. My heart felt the pain of her sweet mother. Mrs. Turner bathed Anna Mae gently with cool cloths, whispering prayers between sobs…asking God to heal her child.
I knelt beside them, praying silently, my heart aching with helplessness.
Hours passed. The doctor returned with his leather bag, his face grave. He applied mustard plasters to the Anna’s chest, hoping to ease her breathing, and left powders to reduce her fever. There is little more that can be done for scarlet fever but wait, watch…and pray.
There was a lot of prayer being lifted, even her young siblings seemed to be praying with words only their Father in Heaven could understand.
As dusk fell, Josiah arrived at the Turner farm. I had not expected him, yet there he stood…hat in hand, coat dusted with frost, his expression calm but troubled. He stepped aside with me near the doorway, speaking in a low voice.
“Clara…you must be careful. This illness has taken many before. I fear for you.” His eyes held a quiet earnestness that unsettled me more than the storm outside. “Your heart is good, but goodness does not shield the body.”
I told him gently that I could not abandon the family. That the Lord had placed me here, in this moment, for a purpose. He did not argue further, but the worry in his eyes lingered like a shadow.
Tonight, back in my small boarding room, the wind screams against the windowpane. The lamp flickers, and the cold presses in from every corner. I feel the weight of fear…not only for Anna Mae, but for Walnut, for the children, for myself.
I reached for Great Grandmother Esther Mae’s journal, as I always do when my spirit trembles. Her words, written in her sure, looping hand, steadied me: “Better to be a servant of the Lord in danger than a servant of fear in safety.” I closed the journal and bowed my head.
I prayed for Anna Mae, for her parents who keep vigil through the night, for her siblings who huddle in the loft whispering frightened questions. I prayed for Walnut, for protection from the spread of this terrible fever. And yes…I prayed for my own safety, though I know my life is not my own, but the Lord’s.
Outside, the wind howls like a living thing. But within my heart, a quieter voice speaks softly…
“Fear not, for I am with thee.”
And so I cling to that promise as the night deepens. God is with me. I will not be afraid.
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Shelly Thompson, Owner of an 1875 historic Bank Building in Walnut, Iowa, that housed the Boarding Rooms in the late 1800's.
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Shelly Thompson is the Publisher for The Notebook Cafe -- Inspired Words for the Journey, and owner of Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor and Coffee Bar located in the quaint historic town of Walnut, Iowa. 'The Gathering Room' offers a place where women gather to share a time of fellowship, devotion, and a tour the circa 1875 historical bank building restored by Shelly and her husband. Shelly is the author of two books. Entwined; now in its fourth printing; and Heart of a Warrior - A Legacy of Faith; in its sixth printing. Her current writing project is 'The Boarding Room Journals'. Taking a giant leap of faith Shelly left the corporate world in 2015 to pursue a dream God gave her of developing a monthly inspirational faith based online reading café of words and encouragement. Today, The Notebook Café reaches over one million people each month. Shelly has also developed The Notebook Cafe Annual Woman's Conference and women's retreat. In addition to operating The Notebook Cafe shop, Millie McKeever's Vintage & Home Decor, Shelly and her husband, Dave, spend time with their family and many weekends working on home renovation projects…that thankfully never seem to end.
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