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The Beginning . . .





September 27, 1916
Dearest Allivon,
I know this is not the way we envisioned beginning our new life together and that you must be disappointed in the rooming house.  I’m sure with the San’s help, you will be able to find a suitable apartment in town.
       Perhaps after the month of complete bed rest, I will be able to join you and we will set up housekeeping as a married couple ought.
       The bed rest cure is absolute, I’m afraid.  We are not allowed even to read or write letters, and certainly, I will not be allowed visitors.  This means, my darling, that after this brief correspondence, we will not have contact until November.  Please know that I will be thinking of you every minute and send you all my love as solace during this estrangement.
                                           Yours Truly,
                                           Bill


     Allivon crumpled the letter in her hand, almost without thinking.  She looked out the little window of her room into a glorious view of mountains burning with color.  Anger seized her like a sickness.  Fine pair, she thought.  Bill, with his drowning lungs, and she with her fury.  They were both choking, unable to breathe.  She knew, of course, what was expected of her . . . patience, nursing, optimism.  She felt none of it.  If she could, she would have run away as soon as she realized that Bill had tuberculosis.  She would have run far, far away and never looked back.
       All her girlfriends from the Normal College were jealous when she and Bill first became engaged.  He was handsome, he came from money, and he knew how to dress.  He was almost overwhelmingly charming.  He always seemed a little weary, with dark circles beneath his dark eyes.  It gave him a worldly air. 
       She felt she’d always been looking for him, her shining knight.  He reminded Allivon of her dashing father.  Only Bill was never going to leave her.  Bill would love and support her and take care of everything for the rest of their long, happy lives.
       She could still remember her mother’s terror when Del left.  His unemotional pronouncement that it was over and he was leaving Kentucky for Ohio.  “But what will happen to us?” Addie had beseeched him.  “Well, Allivon can come with me or stay with you – however you chose.  I will continue to provide for her and for you, to some extent.  You may want to move back into your father’s house for the time being.”
       If only she had her father’s courage, Allivon thought.  Or, if only Bill would release her – tell her to go and begin life afresh.  “My life may be over, Allie,” she could imagine him telling her, “but yours is just beginning.”  It would be romantic and it would allow her to leave forever the sickness and turmoil behind her in the mountains. 
       But Bill clung to Allivon as it became clear that he wasn’t just suffering a cold or influenza.  She struggled to be supportive and offer comfort, but she was frightened.  She was afraid that she would catch it.  She was afraid that he would die and she would be on her own.  She was afraid, now, that he would linger, and she would live her life out in Asheville, in a dismal rooming house, waiting for him to die. 

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The Project

I found the inspiration for Allivon reading a travel diary from 1924. I first got the idea for this project when my mother-in-law shared a travel journal from 1924 with me.  I read it cover to cover sitting in her front yard in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.  I found it completely captivating, and soon June was sharing much more - letters, postcards, menus, photographs - even a schoolgirl diary written in pencil in an old composition book!  I pored over these treasures for twenty years or more, always toying with the idea of creating a character and a story about what it meant to be a woman at that time.  Lying fallow (or so I thought) the idea developed and took wing.  Until at last, I feel it's time to tell Allivon's story.  

A Little Background . . .

      Allivon's mother, Adele          Allivon played on the floor in front of the iron stove, her paper dolls scattered all around her.  Outside the window, snow covered the wide lawn and sloping fields, and a dull gray sky promised more of the same.  From the dining room came the sound of her parents talking, her father’s voice firm and unyielding, and her mother’s plaintive.  She couldn’t make out the words and she didn’t want to.   Del had just returned from his work at the pharmacy, and soon enough she would be called into dinner.   Allivon was usually delighted whenever her father was home and Saturdays were always the best.  Since he only worked a half-day, Del often took her on an adventure after dinner.  Sometimes it was a sleigh ride or a visit to the library.  Today, however, he had not come into the kitchen where she was playing to toss her in the air and beg a kiss....