The next letter comes from their new home in Greenwood, South Carolina (they’d been in Texarkana for 2½ years). January 1947: “Jim was properly and legally installed by the Presbytery commission last night and it was an inspiring and meaningful service. I sang the contralto solo in ‘Hark, Hark My Soul!’ yesterday morning, and people were very kind to say how nice for the preacher to have a wife who could sing!”
The family moved temporarily to Richmond for the summer, with Jim continuing to pursue his doctorate. Grace typed a note to herself: “A conglomeration of reading which has produced a strange mixture of thoughts has been my program for this 10 days or so we have been here at Union Seminary. ‘Your Carriage, Madam! A Guide to Good Posture,’ ‘Modern Parents,’ ‘The Psychology of Christian Living’ and a book on Reaching Maturity.“ As a result, I have had many unconnected thoughts held together only by one dominating idea— self-improvement ideals.”
Among these ideals, Grace wants to develop a “more smooth, graceful walking and sitting posture” and to remember that “an envious person is one who has not lived his life to its fullest.” But most of her reflections concern her interior struggles as a mother, a wife, a woman. “Looking back over this past year, I find myself filled with dismay at the way I have gradually fallen from my high aspirations in regard to the bringing up of our sweet daughter. The coming of Brubba has decreased the amount of time I had to give to introspection, and has, more than that, taken up my time to such an extent that I have struggled to be calm and patient and objective. I have lost perspective, too, and cannot often look at anything dispassionately.
“Jim and I very seldom discuss the children’s actions or our attitudes toward their actions before them, but we have been guilty, and I hope now that we can refrain from it altogether. And in matters that have to be decided, I must try to remember to defer to him at the moment. Later, perhaps, I can explain my position, and perhaps change the feeling for a later decision when it comes.”
Turning to a yet more painful (to me, reading it now) sentiment: “After observing some of the other women here, and some of the men also, I have reached several conclusions. I think men do not like to hear women talk very much, especially in a group, and I find myself feeling the same way. Yet, if she has something to say, and says it in a fairly intelligent way, without prolonging it, or using too many unnecessary gestures or repetitions, they will accept and admire. The moral, I guess, is to keep my mouth shut unless I can say something that is acceptable. And think before I speak — always, always.
“If there were only some way to avoid the few things which upset Jim so, I believe our married life would be a model of connubial bliss. Spending money in any way that seems to him useless or extravagant, even though it may not seem so to me, is perhaps the worst of all. I realize the only way toremedy it is to cease to want anything that I think he will be upset about paying for. He is not the least bit niggardly, but his conceptions of the way to spend the money we have do not include blowing it all on an odd meal, which though different may not be outstandingly good.”
Then, this textbook self-admonishment: “If I can remember to be calmer and quieter, and try to be neutral and detached, I believe I can produce a better atmosphere in our home. I know I am inclined to be positive and assertive and too quick, but if I can only keep my mouth closed until I know what is best, I believe everything will be calmer in the long run. Even though I hate to be stepped on, the upheaval which any protest produces is surely not worth it. And, object as violently as I will, still it is the woman’s place and responsibility to produce that complacency of spirit in a home which makes for the happiness of all therein. A man will not strive to do it, simply because he doesn’t know. I guess I can think of that as my career — to avoid any situations which may cause trouble, either for Jim or for the children.”
To think of that as her career.
Letter to her parents, September 1947, reporting on a church leadership meeting she went to in Columbia, S.C.: “The church here is strong, filled with fine people (I am speaking of the state as well as our own) but is certainly not the most forward-looking or aggressive section. Rather, I think it ranks with Mississippi as being the two states addicted to keeping the Presbyterian Church as it was 50 years ago. They don’t favor expansion. Complacency is rampant, and it’s all the worse because it is of the most pleasant sort.”
Grace’s third child (that’s me) is born in March 1948. In a letter to her sister in May she writes: “This is the first baby I’ve been able to nurse. She is happy and smiles and laughs a great deal. I’ve been lucky with this one as with the others and weigh what I did before she came. I have been amused lately by the comments which come about ‘How did you get back your figure so quickly?’ and ‘You must feel good to look like that after three children.’ You know how I smirk and pat myself on the back!”
Grace’s father dies of cancer in September. In November 1948, Grace writes to her mother, recalling the last Thanksgiving when the McSpadden family had all been together: “I remember quite vividly that Thanksgiving day in 1936 when we were all seated around your table heaped with good things and Daddy felt moved to make a ‘little speech’ in his quiet way. ‘This may be the last Thanksgiving dinner we will have all together, children. Here Grace is taking her wings out for her flight away from the family nest. Later you others will be doing the same.’ Then he went on to point out how much family life means and how fortunate we were to have had so much good experience in that way. We all felt sad but encouraged and we closed it by having each one of us give a prayer of thanksgiving with hands clasped around the table.
“He was right; it was the last Thanksgiving. And now, 13 years later, I can think of a major happening for almost every year since then. Seven grandchildren, 2 deaths, 4 marriages, numberless moves on the part of all, new friends, different ties — yet all of these do not dim the meaning and sacredness of that fine day when we sat together as the McSpadden family. Although it won’t ever come again, the memory is fine and strong and challenging; and I’m glad he was prescient enough to see where we were going and to say what he did.”