Up the Hill to Home. Jennifer Bort Yacovissi

me, but she is too young yet, to know me or to miss me. It is only mamma that feels the loss of the sweet little face and the touch of her little warm hand.

      Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 28, 1895: Baby is four months old today, a very pretty day. After dinner we took baby out for a walk. We had not gone two squares when baby went to sleep, as usual. She was perfectly happy to be out and laughed and cooed until she went to sleep. Then I tucked her under my cape and she slept until I got into the woods in the rear of the house. Then baby stretched herself, looked around, up at the trees and the sky and laughed as much as to say, Well I declare, here I have been asleep and dreaming under mamma’s cape, when I ought to have been sitting up looking around and enjoying the beautiful sunset and the lovely woods.

      Wednesday December 24, 1895: Warm as a spring day and baby’s first Christmas Eve. Papa and Uncle Louis went to the woods Sunday evening and brought greens to decorate the house and a pretty little tree for baby. We brought baby down Christmas morning and put her in the large rocking chair in front of the tree. She looked at the bright things and was very much taken with a little Chinese baby that was hung up by its neck. The little thing would go around and baby would laugh.

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      January 12, 1896: Baby is very bright and has been laughing and romping all day, but it is Sunday and that accounts for it, for Sunday is baby’s day. Mamma is home with her all day and baby just has a good time.

      Monday, August 3, 1896: Mr. Claughton sent his carriage over this evening for grandma and baby to go out riding, so cousin Lil, Joe, grandma, mamma and baby went out riding. Baby enjoyed it very much.

      Friday ,August 14, 1896: Today baby walked for the first time alone. When I came home she walked to me, then hid her little head in my lap and laughed, she thought it was fine fun. Now I think baby will have a gay time, and oh my, won’t she be getting into mischief. Papa says he will have to tie her to the windmill to keep her from getting away.

      Sunday, December 13, 1896: A beautiful warm day. A friend came out to take baby’s picture, and oh such a time as we had trying to keep baby quiet for just a second. She would not keep still, so I guess we did not get a good one of her. We wanted to have the cat’s picture taken, but Tom was nowhere to be found, but just as Mr. Heilman was getting ready, here comes Tom up the road. We hustled him up on the porch by the side of the baby, then baby began hugging Tom. Well, that would not do, so we gave baby a graham cracker to eat to keep her quiet. When Tom saw the cracker, he wanted it, so we gave him a piece, then baby would stoop down and get the cat’s cracker, and so, between the baby and the cat, we had a perfect show. The cat would sit still a minute, then the baby would move, when the baby was still the cat would move, we laughed and laughed, and it was about an hour before we had the picture taken.

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      Sunday, January 10, 1897: Papa and I took baby out to the zoo. It was a beautiful day. The park was very crowded, everyone noticed baby, and said what a cute, lovely baby. She would laugh at everyone, go up to all the children she would see, and want to kiss them, or shake hands with them. She was just as happy as could be. We got home about dark, but baby did not even get tired. When we got out of the car at Flint Street, papa said to baby, If you are tired and sleepy, Lillie, lay your head on papa’s shoulder and go to sleep. She laid her little head down and sang to herself all the way down to the house. Then when we got in the house, she played a little with Cousin Lil and Joe, I nursed her, and she went right to sleep.

      Tuesday, February 2, 1897: Groundhog Day, and such a day: rain, hail, snow and wind, all day and all night, so that the little fellow did not see his shadow, and if he stepped out that day he got pretty cold and wet. Baby is well and at night when I go home I do nothing but romp with baby, and she enjoys it. I tell you, Uncle Henry was out last night, he played the mouth organ and I took baby under the arms and danced with her in the dining room out into the kitchen and hall, until mamma was nearly exhausted, but baby thought it was fine fun, and cried as though her little heart would break because I did not keep it up. Then we went upstairs and played hide and seek until nine o’clock. Oh, but we have lots of fun, baby and I. She is just beginning to say little things: mamma, papa, Harry, ice, pap, but she understands every word that is spoken to her, and is a sharp, cute, sweet little rascal that laughs and romps all day long. What would I do without her? What if I should have to leave her? It would be terrible.

      Sunday, April 25, 1897: Papa and mamma took baby for her first long walk in the woods, over in Browns woods. Baby had her supper, then we gathered some violets. Papa carried baby home, we planted the violets, and today they are holding up their little heads, as bright and happy as can be, although I think they would rather have stayed down in the violet dell, where the ground was just covered with them. I guess they had a real jolly time down there, and at night, I expect the little fairies would come out to dance and have a good time with them, so it does seem a shame to bring the little things from their sweet home to adorn baby’s garden. But then baby is so sweet and loves them so, and waters them and cares for them, that I am sure when they look up into her sweet baby face, they forget all about their fairy dell and think she is one of the little fairies that has come up from the dell to minister to their wants.

      Thursday, October 28, 1897: A rainy day, has been raining for eight days, and I have been home sick for eight days. Baby was perfectly happy and wild with delight, she never left me for a minute. She would sit on the bed and have her breakfast and lunch with me. Sometimes she would sit in her little rocking chair, but she would always put it close to the bed, then she would say, Right here, where mammie can see baby. Ma taught her to say Rock a Bye Baby, I wish anyone could hear her. After she had said it two or three times, she insisted that baby could do it, in this way: I would tell her a line, she would say it after me, then when I was about to say the second line, she would say, Baby dood it.

      Sunday, November 28, 1897: Baby is twenty-eight months old, still the same happy little darling. When I leave her in the morning she will kiss me and say, Mammie go away and lead the baby all day, in the most woebegone little voice. She can help me do everything, her little hands are in everything. She can make bread, she can cook, clear off the table, set the table, wash the dishes and wipe them, in fact baby can dood it all. She is a perfect picture with her little apron on, her sleeves rolled up, and standing on a chair by the sink, turning on first one spigot then the other, to get hot water or cold just as she wants it, washing her hands, washing out the dishcloth, washing off the table and other things too numerous to mention.

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      Monday, February 7, 1898: A beautiful day. I guess baby is out walking with Aunt Lizzie. I wish I could be with her everyday. She said to me this morning as I was leaving her, Don’t lead the baby, mammie, stay with me. And so it is every day.

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      Saturday, January 28, 1899: Baby is well, and such a sweet little romp, still as happy as a bird, and three years, six months old. How very fast my baby is slipping away from me. Sunday when I am home with her, she says, looking out of the window, Sunday, you must stay longer, the other Sunday wasn’t long.

      Sunday, January 29, 1899: Took baby out for a walk. She insisted upon a car ride, she wanted to go to the city, to her new green house, to see her children that were sick. Well, we took a short ride and came back, when we got out of the car she burst out crying and said, Mamma you did not take me to my new house.

      June 3, 1899: Saturday I was swinging baby in the hammock when she said, Ain’t I growing mamma? Stretching herself out. I said, Yes, you are darling. She said, Ain’t you sorry? Indeed I am, said I. Well, never mind, mamma, when I grow up I will get you another baby. Well, I may not love that one as I do you, said I. Oh, never mind, mamma, yes you will. I will get you six of them. Ha!ha!ha! Poor little darling, and so she thinks it is all right, and so she chatters away. She says she doesn’t want her new mamma, she loves me, and I am so good to her. I said, Where is your new mamma? Oh! she says, Down in my new house.

      Monday, October 30, 1899: A hop will be given for the purpose of raising money for the Catholic church to be built at Brightwood. Baby doesn’t know what a hop is, as she has never been to anything of the kind, but she hears everyone talking about it so she says she is going. So of course that settles it. When papa and I go Monday night, we will take her up for a little