Annie's Christmas Memory
I paused for a moment after I managed to herd the children inside the depot where my sister Florence was waiting. The conductor handed down our bags. My nephew Wesley came out and carried the bags inside. I stayed on the platform for a minute to stretch my legs after the train ride. It was already starting to get dark. It was pretty cold. A light snow was falling.
When I looked east up the railroad tracks, I saw three figures in dark heavy clothing slowly making their way toward the station. It was December 22, that much I’m sure of, but I’m not certain now whether it was 1912 or maybe 1911. As they got nearer the depot, I could see they were wearing snowshoes and they were dragging two nice balsam fir trees. Of course, they had their rabbit hunting rifles, but no rabbits hanging over their shoulders. I recognized them from my earlier trips to Beaver River Station. The taller one was Willy Kempton, the railroad section foreman, and the woman walking next in line was Etta, his wife. A bit further back, teenage Gladys Kempton was kicking up clouds of fresh snow and singing “Silent Night.”
That’s how I always picture it. Every year the Kemptons went out a few days before Christmas to get a tree for the section house where they lived, and one for the waiting room in the depot. Gladys and Etta would decorate the trees with colored paper chains they made, strings of popcorn and wild cranberries, and a few shiny glass balls, saved from year to year. Etta told me that some of the store-bought decorations were a gift from one of the section hands that he got on a trip to Utica. The only other Christmas decoration in their house was a sprig of Mexican mistletoe they hung over the door to their parlor every Christmas, much to the amusement of their visitors. It was a gift from my brother-in-law.
My brother-in-law, John Dowd, was the station agent at Beaver River. He had been there ever since the station was first built back in 1892. This was to be his last Christmas at Beaver River because he was soon to take charge of a fancy new station being built a short way further north at Brandreth where a lumberjack town was growing. The Dowd family lived upstairs in the depot. Their home was roomy with two nice guest rooms, one for me and one for the children. It was a very cozy place to spend a few winter days.
We all remember how cold and snowy it was that Christmas. There was at least eighteen inches of snow in the woods, with a little more drifting down each day. This was fine for the children who went sledding with Gladys in the afternoon while the adults sat around the pot-belly coal stove in the waiting room. The day after we arrived it was ten below zero in the early morning. Some of the boys from the section gang shoveled off a little part of the beaver pond so Gladys, Wesley, and the children could go ice skating. Christmas day dawned clear and very cold. Soon the telegraph key let us know about the record low temperatures: 42 below zero at Beaver River, 48 below at Stillwater, and 38 below at Tupper Lake. Everybody stayed inside until the sun warmed it up to 10 above.
At noon, our family gathered around the Christmas tree in the waiting room and opened our presents. We ate some hearty potato and bacon soup my sister made. We didn’t have a big dinner because we were all invited to have Christmas dinner later at the Kemptons.
About three o-clock we bundled up and walked over to the section house. It was only about a hundred yards down the tracks next to the water tank, but it was so cold it felt like we were walking to the North Pole. Will Kempton welcomed us with a hearty “Merry Christmas,” took our coats, and led us into the toasty warm parlor where their Christmas tree could be admired. Etta was in the kitchen working on the dinner. Gladys was setting the table. They had added two extension boards to the table so we could sit together, except for Gladys, Wesley and the children who had places set at the card table over by the wall.
We sat in the parlor while we waited for dinner to be ready. Etta’s father Nicholas sat on the couch with her brother Herman. They had come from North Bangor where they both had farms. Gladys came down with them on the same train. During the school year she lived up there with her grandfather on his farm. When Gladys came in from the kitchen, my sister Florence urged her to play a few popular Christmas carols on the upright piano. You could tell she had been practicing. It was obvious that Florence’s piano lesions were really helping Gladys improve.
After a jolly round of carols, Etta appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and announced that dinner was ready. A big roast chicken from Etta’s flock was the centerpiece, surrounded by bowls heaped high with mashed potatoes, baked winter squash, candied carrots, and steamed green beans that Etta had picked and canned during the height of the summer. There was plenty of fresh bread, too. After we were all finished, Etta produced two beautiful apple pies for dessert. We somehow found a little room in our stomachs for that. There’s always room for pie!
After dinner we went back into the parlor to visit for a little. Will told us about his failed attempt to hunt rabbits that morning. “I didn’t see any because it was so cold. It froze ‘em in their burrows.” Gladys told the story about how she and Etta went to Utica on the train two Christmases ago to see a vaudeville show at the Shubert theater and had a grand time.
I asked Gladys to tell us what Christmas gifts they got. She excitedly told us about her new sled that was shipped up from a store in Utica. She also got lots of new clothes. Etta made her a nice new apron out of gingham. She also got a fur muff, a pair of slippers, a navy-blue shirt and two cuff and collar sets. She turned her head so we could see the new braid pins that glittered with rhinestones. She told us that her mother Etta got a pretty kimono robe, two new aprons, two white centerpieces, one batten bird and one crocheted, a meat fork, a percolator, and eight handkerchiefs from her sister Aggie. Her father Will got five nice handkerchiefs, a bottle of after shave, a necktie, two boxes of cigars, a pocket level and a new mackinaw from Herman.
Will got up to crank the Victrola and put on a record of Christmas music. Wesley set up the card table with four chairs and asked who wanted to play a little pinochle. Gladys, Herman and Will joined Wesley in a spirited game or two while the rest of us sat around the parlor stove.
Etta came in from the kitchen after a while and asked who wanted some special Christmas treats. The kitchen table now held a yellow cake with cream cheese frosting, nuts of all kinds and little dishes of vanilla ice cream topped with strawberry preserves that Etta made back in the spring. There were glasses of wine for the grown-ups and soda for the children. Florence remarked that it must have been a big chore to stay out on the porch in the cold for so long to crank the handle on the ice cream machine. Etta replied that she, Gladys and Herman took turns so they each didn’t have to be outside for too long. She added that there was plenty of snow to pack in the ice cream freezer and the cold air made the ice cream set up in only twenty minutes.
After we had our ice cream, Florence got the children into their coats and mittens and took them back to the depot to go to bed. Everybody else settled down in the parlor and the pinocle game started up again. There was a loud knock at the door, and there stood Dave and Mabel Conkey, with a dusting of snow on their hats and coats. They had dinner at the hotel and stopped in to admire the Kempton’s Christmas tree. Etta got them some ice cream and cake. Will handed them each a glass of wine and gave Dave one of his Christmas cigars.
It was full dark now. We said our thank-yous and goodbyes. As John, Wes and I headed back to the depot, Will called after us, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.” It was a Christmas I’ll always remember.
Notes
The story’s narrator is Annie Marshall, sister of Florence Dowd, wife of John Dowd, the Beaver River Station Agent. Etta Kempton’s journal records that Annie was present at the Kempton’s 1912 Christmas gathering.
Etta Kempton’s daily journal, the factual basis of this story, is used courtesy of Donald and Scott Thompson. That journal is fully described in my post of 8/16/23, see https://beaverriverhistory.blogspot.com/2023/08/stories-from-etta-kemptons-journal-part.html. This Christmas story is historical fiction, but the events described all actually occurred, just not all in one year. I have written previous blog posts that more fully describe each character in the story.
Etta Wagner Kempton, see https://beaverriverhistory.blogspot.com/2023/08/stories-from-etta-kemptons-journal-part_17.html
William Kempton, see https://beaverriverhistory.blogspot.com/2023/08/stories-from-etta-kemptons-journal-part_27.html
Gladys Kempton, see https://beaverriverhistory.blogspot.com/2023/10/stories-from-etta-kemptons-journal-part.html
Members of the Dowd family, https://beaverriverhistory.blogspot.com/2024/12/the-station-agents.html
Dave and Mabel Conkey, see https://beaverriverhistory.blogspot.com/2022/03/dave-and-mabel-coney.html
On Christmas 1912 Will Kempton was 44 years old, Etta Kempton was 38 and Gladys Kempton was 14. John Dowd was 53, Florence Dowd was 51 and Wesley Dowd was 27. Dave Conkey was 42 and Mabel Conkey was 38. I don’t know Annie Marshall’s age, or anything more about her or the children that accompanied her to Beaver River that Christmas.
The snowshoe photograph above is of the actual snowshoes made by Dave Conkey once owned by Etta and Will Kempton. Their initials can still be seen on them. They are now the prized possession of Don Thompson, Gladys Kempton Thompson’s surviving son.
What a wonderful Christmas memoir!
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