Storytelling

Where Did The Stories Come From?

Many of the stories and vignettes among these reminiscences are not based upon my own observations. I met Zora and Hughberta in October, 1970: as I noted earlier, I knew them later in their lives. A few documents and photographs were tucked into the bundles and boxes, plastic bags and suitcases left in the basement of the last house they shared. Most of what we recovered was- thank goodness- art work. However, amid sheaves of textured watercolor paper profusely embellished in masterful designs and yellowed drawing paper tenderly exposing "life" figures, I retrieved a handful of notes, letters and documents: just enough biographical information to give credence to some of the anecdotes told to me by their sister-in-law, my mother-in-law, Vera.
Had the Steenson sisters not been unique personalities who unapologetically followed their own drumbeats, I wouldn’t be writing about them and you wouldn’t care whether anyone wrote about them. They were, and are, interesting. But the independent mindedness that in retrospect seems somewhat charming was not always so delightful to those who were more or less impressed into relationship.
If we do, as some assert, bring into this life vestiges of a prior life-span: left-over attitudes, expectations and a certain bearing, then, without a doubt, Zora in a former life was born to the Court. An erect posture, high forehead and cheekbones and an imperious nose bespoke an interior dignity. She was the kind of classic beauty one might imagine in a deposed aristocrat- Anastasia, say. That chronology doesn’t quite work, but there was definitely a sense of superior breeding emanating from Zora, especially in relation to her brother’s wife.
With a few rough spots along the way, and the blessing of geographical distance, Zora and Vera managed an accommodation of amicable familial relations. But the original impression was just below the surface and even fifty years out, little asides and innuendo alluded to her disappointment in DeVern’s unfortunate choice. Which, on the face of it, was patently absurd. Vera’s father was a 20th century entrepreneur- holder of hundreds of patents and owner of several fine pieces of real estate while the luckless Steensons were pretty much raised single handedly by their mother, barely making ends meet. Their father who was divorced from his first wife, married Christine, twenty-five years younger that he. Orlando Steenson, “Orrie”, followed railroad lines across the prairie as a contractor of sorts. He was an alcoholic, and by his son’s account, a poor excuse for a parent. All reasonable considerations aside , Zora felt that DeVern had married “beneath him.” This position may have originated with Zora, but Hughberta obviously concurred.
I have imagined a telephone conversation in the Spring of 1933:

"Oh, sister, I'm sorry to bring you this awful news."
"That hussy! How could he get mixed up with that strumpet!"
"Well, they're married now."
"Poor little brother. I hope he sees through her soon enough, before it's too late."
"Maybe it is too late."
"She probably is. I don't doubt it for a minute. Mark my words, Huberta: there’ll be a nine-pound “premature” baby in six to seven months!”

Robert was born a respectable thirteen months later, and, as a growing boy, became the apple of his aunt’s eye, but his mother was never disabused of Zora’s stinging condescension. Many years later, those bitter perceptions erupted, fracturing fragile cords of courtesy and mutual concern that had held them all in familial grace.
Given the thinly disguised disparagement that Vera endured- endured,
with some humor, she could hardly be faulted or be considered malicious and catty for passing on a few interesting details of the foibles- particularly regarding the romances- of her sisters-in-law. Personally, I’m grateful.
My embellished account of Hughberta’s love life gone awry begins with the next post.