Over My Shoulder

Chapter 1—To a Far Country

As I trotted along beside the high board garden fence, trying to catch a butterfly that had no intention of being caught, I became aware of someone on the other side. OMS 11.1

“Ella,” called a little girl’s voice, “can you come over and play with me?” It was Beth, my little neighbor. OMS 11.2

“I can’t,” I replied, peering through the slats. “My mamma won’t let me. You come over to my house.” OMS 11.3

“No, my mamma won’t let me come to your house today.” OMS 11.4

Realizing that it was no use trying to have those profound decisions reversed, we settled down to make the best of a bad situation and carry on our play without actually being together—a difficult undertaking even for two imaginative children. Fortunately there was a fairly large knothole in the fence low enough for us to peek through, so we brought our dolls and attempted to conduct our routine game of playing house. We visited and shopped and, most important of all, disciplined our obstreperous children, singing them to sleep, petting them when they were good, and spanking them when they were bad. OMS 11.5

Neither of us had a fancy doll. My Katheryn was only a poor raggie, stuffed with sawdust. Friends of the family had given me a beautiful doll, but Mother said that Angelina didn’t have good health, and so I was not allowed to take her outdoors. Beth’s one child boasted a china head. Since both of our “babies” were larger than the knothole, we were not able to exchange them. In spite of these difficulties, we had a wonderful time, as only 3-year-olds can. OMS 11.6

One day I invited Beth to come to my wedding. Before my third birthday I had attended, with my parents, three weddings at the Pacific Press Publishing House in Oakland, where my father and mother were both employed. OMS 11.7

“We had the nicest parties that I ever went to,” I told Beth. “And I’m going to have one all my own, and I want you to come.” OMS 11.8

“Yes, I’ll come if my mamma will let me. Will it be a picnic party?” OMS 12.1

“No, it will be a wedding party. They’re the nicest kind. I’m going to marry Bobbie, the boy that lives up the street. My mother knows how to make nice parties. She’ll help me.” OMS 12.2

Disappointment! My wedding never came off, probably because of a lack of cooperation on the part of our parents. Soon great changes came into our home, and Beth and I lost track of each other. For days our house was the scene of intense activity—dressmaking, packing trunks and suitcases, farewell visits, then a long ride with Father, Mother, and Grandma White on the train. Grandpa James White had died in 1881, the year before I was born. OMS 12.3

I don’t remember much of that journey from California to Battle Creek and on to the East Coast, for I was only 3½ years old. But I do remember how it hurt when a cinder flew into my eye as I looked out the train window. I also remember climbing up the gangplank to the steamship Cephalonia in Boston. It looked enormous to me. On it we took a boat ride that lasted ten days. I recall a woman on board fed me soda crackers and broth. During the trip Mamma was terribly seasick and spent much time in bed. But Papa and I had a marvelous time looking at the engines and the other interesting things on the ship. One day I saw a whale that I insisted was “a mile long,” because “Didn’t I see its head way over there and its tail way, way over there?” OMS 12.4

As all things do, the voyage came to an end. And we continued on by train. My next vivid recollection is of standing in a large room in a noisy building, clutching my mother’s hand. Machinery roared all around us, and people spoke a language I did not understand. We were in the pressroom of the Imprimerie Polyglotte—the multilanguage printing office—in Basel, Switzerland, and Elder B. L. Whitney was showing our party through the building. He called for the pressmen to stop operations; then two young men came forward, bowing and smiling their welcome. OMS 12.5

“I have seen this press before,” said Grandma, looking around the room. “This room looks very familiar to me. But where is the other worker? There is an older man who works in this office, and I have a message from the Lord for him.” “Oh, that must be Brother Albert Deichy,” said Elder Whitney, a bit surprised. “He is in the city on business today. You’ll see him tomorrow.” Grandma did see him the next day and delivered to him the message that God had given her in a vision in Battle Creek, Michigan, ten years before. Both Father and Grandma had often wondered when she would actually see those young men and the presses that God had shown to her so vividly. Here in Basel she saw the machines and talked with the same men, and she noticed that one member of the group, the older man, was missing. OMS 12.6

Besides Father, Mother, Grandma and me, our traveling party included Sara McEnterfer, Grandma’s secretary and traveling companion; Marian Davis, her literary assistant; and Kristine^* Dahl, our cook and housekeeper. Miss McEnterfer was to be with Grandma for thirty-three years. To us she was always Auntie Sara. OMS 13.1

The Basel printing establishment was in a new, four-story building that also furnished living apartments for the few mission families, as well as for those who worked in the press. Father, Mother, and I were soon settled in an apartment next to Grandma’s. OMS 13.2

Father and Grandma were away from home much of the time, traveling throughout the countries in Europe, visiting the scattered Sabbathkeeping churches and seeking to encourage the few ministers who were laboring to build a firm foundation of Bible truth on that continent. Grandma’s sermons were unique and so powerful that she was sometimes asked to speak in the large popular churches and in public halls. On such occasions she usually chose as her theme “Christian Temperance” or “The Christian Home” or, very often, “The Love of God as Revealed in the Plan of Salvation.” She became accustomed to speaking with an interpreter. I can remember seeing her standing before a multilingual audience in the auditorium of the printing office, where our Sabbath meetings were held. A little man, no taller than she stood by her side, and as she spoke a sentence in English, he would repeat it in French. Then it would be relayed to a group in German in yet another part of the room. OMS 13.3

It was just outside this assembly room that Father administered to me the first spanking of which I have any memory. I had promised to be very quiet if permitted to play in a corner during a committee meeting. But, forgetful, I dumped my box of small stone building blocks, clittery-clattery on the tile floor. My tears were copious, but they abated when I was finally able to grasp the fact that punishment was necessary to help me remember never again to be noisy during a meeting. OMS 13.4

One Sabbath afternoon Mother and I went for a walk with some of the mission workers to inspect a cave said to be the home of a “petrified monk.” The cave reverberated with moans and groans whenever the shabbily-dressed wooden figure held out his hand for a gift. With childlike curiosity, I slipped in behind the scene and saw a decidedly unpetrified man turning a crank to extend the hand. OMS 14.1

“Oh, Mamma, they’re fooling everybody,” I blurted out. OMS 14.2

“No, dear, they’re really not fooling anybody. It’s just a game they’re playing,” she said, trying to hush me up. OMS 14.3

The mission workers usually spent Sabbath afternoons in the homes of church members, helping them find Bible answers to their many questions. Generally my parents took me with them on such visits, and often we were invited to dinner. I always closed my eyes and bowed my head when the blessing was asked. But I soon learned to give thanks again to God at the close of the meal. OMS 14.4

One day Sister Whitney and her two little girls, Jean and Lenna, had an errand with the dressmaker, who lived a few doors from the mission. It was a pleasant afternoon and she asked Mother and me to accompany them. Someone living at the home owned a little dog and a pet fox about 6 months old. We three girls went into the field back of the house to watch the fox and dog perform. They were chained together and were romping playfully. Jean held the chain while we stood in a circle watching their antics. Suddenly the fox darted at me and knocked me over. His mouth was open, and his lower teeth split my upper lip, and his upper teeth made an ugly gash above my left temple. Mother picked me up and quickly carried me home. OMS 14.5

Someone was sent to call a doctor at once, but it was Sunday and none could be found. While waiting, Mother applied hot fomentations and stopped the bleeding. Then, without further ado, she cleaned the wounds, drew the split lip together and fastened it with court plaster (something like adhesive tape). OMS 14.6

Mother put me to bed with a prayer of thanksgiving that the accident had been no more serious. Within three weeks the wounds were healed, but I carried the scars for eight years. OMS 14.7

One morning a few weeks before my fifth birthday I was taken to Mother’s room. She was in bed, and when I entered she turned back the sheet and showed me a tiny, pink baby doll that was alive and all our own. Auntie Sara McEnterfer, who was filling the role of family nurse, told me that the doctor had brought the baby in his satchel, which enlightening bit of information left me for years under the impression that Mabel was an adopted sister. Auntie Sara was young and had been with Grandma’s family only four years. She had not yet learned that Grandma did not approve of such fabrications. OMS 15.1

One night when Father was away from home Mother woke me in the middle of the night. “Run to the kitchen quickly and get a crust for Mabel to nibble on while her bottle is heating,” she said. “Her crying will waken everybody on the floor.” I slid out of bed and timidly started down the long, dark hallway. As I passed Grandma’s room I saw a light shining out from under her door, and all my fear vanished. I knew she was just a few feet from me, wide awake and busy with her writing. It must have been sometime between two and four in the morning, for that was the time she usually began her day’s work. OMS 15.2

For my fifth birthday Grandma gave me a large, beautiful picture album. Inside was a package of colored pictures waiting to be cut apart and pasted in. I spent many delightful hours filling my album with lovely scenes of lakes and mountains, flowers and birds. OMS 15.3

When my mother was a girl working at the Pacific Press in Oakland, she had learned shorthand by correspondence. Now she was able to take down Grandma’s sermons in shorthand and then write them out. OMS 15.4

While we were at the Basel printing office a class was begun in speaking and writing French, and Mother joined it and worked with the translator in getting Grandma’s sermons into tract form for circulation. When help was short, as it usually was, Mother would take it upon herself to set the type, also. This helped her make more rapid progress in learning the French language. With so much important work to be done and few people to do it, Mother was always busy. Little did any of us realize that she was setting the stage for tragedy, for the long hours broke her health and cut her lifework short. With everyone busy I was often left in the care of Kristine^*, our cook. One of my chief delights was to watch until she was absorbed in some kitchen task; then I would slip out into the hall and tiptoe along until I came to Grandma’s door, where I would knock. At her invitation I would enter and stand quietly by her side until she laid down her pen. OMS 15.5

That was her signal for one of those delightful visits I enjoyed so much. She would tell about her childhood—her twin sister, Elizabeth, her big brother, Robert, or perhaps about her pets. Sometimes she described children she had seen on her many train travels. She was too busy writing to visit long with me; so after a short chat, she would hand me a pair of small, blunt scissors and some pictures she had saved out of a magazine. I would sit on a footstool at her side and cut around the edges carefully as she had shown me. OMS 16.1

When she saw I was getting tired she would hand me an apple or a peppermint and tell me to give it to Kristine^* to put away till dinnertime. One day she said, “When you have done this, come back and we will go for a walk around the block.” That day we ventured too far and got lost. Not being acquainted with the city and not speaking French, German, or Italian, we were a long time finding our way home and were late for dinner. OMS 16.2

For two years Mother, Mabel (my little sister), and I lived at the Basel printing office, while Father and Grandmother, accompanied by Miss McEnterfer, traveled through Europe. They encouraged and counseled the workers and helped them organize churches and establish mission centers. About this time Mother became ill, and when baby Mabel was 5 months old all of our party except Father returned to America. He was detained for a time in Europe by council and committee meetings. OMS 16.3

The activities of the return voyage are nearly a blank in my mind, except for the fact that my childish heart felt responsible for the safety of the vessel and its passengers. The sea was rough, and at times the ship rolled heavily. If this happened while I was on the lower side of the deck, I would hasten with all speed to the upper side with the conviction that my weight would help to balance the steamer. Then in another two or three minutes I would be running frantically back. This went on for hours. My efforts to prevent the vessel’s capsizing proved successful, and the City of Rome finally entered New York Harbor right side up. OMS 16.4