In the Valley of Hope Read online

  In didn't happen overnight, but gradually civility returned to Strathmore. Frank, Jr. and John learned to tolerate one another, and Ada and Carrie, well, their improved relationship was more about show than substance.

  Once a week, on Sunday after church, the family carried on the tradition started by Frank Sr.'s late wife, Mary Anna. From her deathbed, she made Frank promise that the extended family would dine together every Sunday evening come hell or high water.

  On this chilly Sunday afternoon in October, 1907 they were together yet again, doing their best to take to heart the minister's message of how we are to “love one another, even the unlovable.”

  The usual topic of discussion began with who they saw at church and what they were wearing. Gradually business concerns entered the conversation followed by the local news delivered by the Shenandoah Valley's premier gadabout and social butterfly, Ada Wissler.

  On this occasion, there was a stranger at the table and the object of a great deal of curiosity. She was the guest of John Wissler, Jr. and one of his classmates at St. Marks Episcopal School in Alexandria where the two attended. John's unannounced visit home from school with a friend in tow, especially of the female variety, prompted many probing questions.

  “Weren't expecting you home until Thanksgiving,” said the senior Frank. “To what do we owe this surprise pleasure?”

  “Nothing special really,” replied John quite obviously keeping tight-lipped about the real reason for his visit.

  The younger John and his traveling companion were both seventeen years of age and Ada had already had a private discussion with her son about the inappropriateness of a train trip with a person of the opposite gender. John assured her that they were not a couple, and there was no romantic interest between the two of them to which she replied, “It still doesn't look right. What will people say?”

  “Where do you call home, dear?” inquired Frank senior.

  “I'm from Rappahannock County,” replied Marie Johnson while carefully unfolding her napkin on her lap.

  Then came the all-important question of her pedigree. “What's your daddy do?”

  “He was a dentist.”

  “Was a dentist?”

  “He died when I was twelve.”

  “Very sorry to hear that,” said the elder Frank.

  Ruthy, the cook, emerged from the kitchen pushing a cart loaded with the evening meal. “Got your favorite, Mr. Frank, but guests get served first.”

  “Fried liver and onions with mashed potatoes and gravy!” beamed Frank.

  As Ruthy placed the serving dishes on the table, Frank continued his role as a gracious host. “I've known a lot of Johnson's in my time. Was your daddy any kin to Senator Percival Johnson in Charlottesville? He's helped me out a time or two. A fine man.”

  “No, sir. Never heard daddy mention that name,” said Marie as her face became as white as the tablecloth under her plate. “If you'll excuse me.”

  Suddenly Marie jumped up from the table and rushed out of the dining room.

  “Lawd, is that girl sick? Hope she didn't go bringing some flu bug into this house,” said Ada looking extremely concerned.

  “Not everybody likes liver,” said Frank, Jr. while pointing at Frank III.

  “John, Jr. are you going to check on your friend?” asked Ada irritated at her son's seeming insensitivity to the putrid condition of his guest.

  “Mama, I'm pretty sure she's in the bathroom, and it wouldn't be good for appearances if I went in there with her,” John said sarcastically.

  “Then I'll check on her,” snapped his mother as she pushed her chair back and bound out of the room.

  “You all right in there, Marie?” asked Ada hoping to avoid having to witness what she perceived to be happening in the water closet.

  A moment later Marie emerged looking very pale.

  “Darling, you look plum awful. Why don't you lay down?”

  Marie was quick to follow Ada's suggestion and headed straight for an upstairs guest room.

  When Ada returned to the dining room desert had just been served. “Hope you saved a piece of apple pie for me,” she said while returning to her seat.

  “Is the girl all right?” asked Frank senior. “If we'd known she was coming, Ruthy could have fixed something more to her liking.

  After the meal, the family filed into the parlor except for the elder Frank, who retrieved a large Cuban from a cigar box on his way to the porch.

  “Uncle Frank, I wonder if I might have a word,” said John, Jr. still standing as Frank plopped down in a crimson velvet Queen Ann chair.

  “Of course,” said John.

  Ada listened intently for the gist of John's unexpected visit.

  “Could we step away?” asked John.

  “Suppose so,” replied Frank, who led John, Jr. down the hall to his office.

  “Did you need me to come too?” Ada was about to bust a button because she wasn't offered an invitation to a private meeting with her son.

  The two men remained behind closed doors for quite some time sufficient for Frank, Sr. to return from his smoke on the porch and retire to his quarters for the evening.

  Frank III and his little brother Harold played a board game on the floor while the ladies tended to their doily hoops and the men engaged in telling old stories. All the while Ada wondered what her son was up to and why he left her out of the meeting. She, after all, had knowledge of all the news that was news in the Valley and was being left out of the loop by her own flesh and blood.

  Frank, Jr. entered the parlor and called for his wife, Carrie, to join him in the office.

  Nothing agitated Ada more than thinking that Carrie was getting preferential treatment. “What is going on in there?” whispered Ada to her husband John who was now snoring in blissful slumber. “Well, I never. How can you sleep at a time like this? Wake up!”

  Frank opened his eyes briefly and sighed with displeasure at the interruption.

  “Our son is up to something, and we have a right to know what it is. I'm going in there.”

  “Leave it alone, Ada. You'll get the news in due time.”

  Moments later Frank, Jr. again appeared in the room and extended an invitation to his brother John to come with him.

  Ada grabbed her husband's hand to stop him. “I need to go back there, John.”

  “Give it a rest, Ada. They'll get you if they need you,” said John as he pulled away from her grip and caught up with his brother in the hallway.

  Ada was enraged. Next they'll come ask for the children, she thought. It's just not right. Just not right. She stood up and paced about the parlor, frustrated that her son left her out of the loop. Just not right. That boy’s going to get a piece of my mind. That’s it. I’m going in there, and off she went, stomping so hard that the floor shook. Just as Ada reached for the door knob, the door swung open and just about knocked her down.

  “I'm sure I still have some things she could wear,” she heard Caroline say. “She's about my size.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Caroline and Uncle Frank. Can't thank you enough,” said John, Jr.

  Ada grabbed her husband’s arm. “Well, are you gonna to tell me what's going on, or not?”

  “Come to bed, Ada. We'll talk about it in private in the bedroom.”

  As they passed an upstairs bathroom, they were interrupted by a very unpleasant sound.

  “Lawdy, John. She's upchucking again!”

  “I'd say so,” said John seemingly disinterested in his guest's sickness.

  As soon as John opened the bedroom door Ada lit into him. “Why didn't you stand up for me down there? I'm the boys Mama. I have a right. Why didn't they call me in there to begin with? Why was Carrie in there? I want answers, and I want them now!”

  John was in no hurry to respond to Ada's tirade. “When you calm down I'll tell you what's going on.”

  “Very well, then. Talk to me.”

  “Frank and Caroline have hired Marie Johnson as a private teacher for th
eir kids,” said John while unfolding pajamas he had pulled from a dresser drawer.

  With her hands on her hips and nostrils flaring it was obvious that John's answer did little to calm Ada. “A teacher? A teacher? You expect me to believe that? The girl is no more than seventeen. Hasn't even finished her schooling.”

  “That's right. A teacher. She'll be living here until the kids move off to boarding school. Junior said she was the smartest student in his school. It'll be good for the kids, and they won't have to hang around the riff-raff and that awful teacher at the Stover School anymore.”

  “I still don't understand why you all left me out of the conversation.”

  “You should be proud of your son. John, Jr. was just trying to do a favor for a friend from his school. Marie's family has hit some hard times, and they can't afford to send her to school anymore. Junior knew that his Uncle Frank was looking for a teacher to get his kids out of Stover School. That's all there was to it.”

  “Still should have included me.”

  “Maybe so, but it wasn’t intentional. Your name did come up, though.”

  “Oh? What did Carrie say about me this time?”

  “She just said that you knew somebody at the Woodstock paper, and it would be good if you let them know that Frank has hired a private teacher for his children.”

  Ada did just that. Next morning, she informed the newspaper, announced the good news at the ladies prayer breakfast at St. Andrews Church, and told the blue-haired ladies getting their weekly perm at Millie's salon. She also added that her son had been home for the weekend from one of the finest boarding schools in the country and that she would soon be visiting friends in Washington.

  Reflections – December 24, 1907

  When the Christmas decorations went up at Strathmore House, it was like living in a festive greeting card. Not a room, nor a hallway, door, or window remained without adornment. A fine cedar tree was cut on the property and placed in the parlor then decorated with an assortment of colorful balls, ceramic angels, and popcorn garland hand-strung by the Wissler children. Ruthy the Cook added her special touch to the celebration as the sweet aroma of cookies, cakes, and pies filled the air.

  By all appearances, this was to be a perfect holiday celebration but looks can be deceiving. There was also sadness in the great home because the elder head of the household was bedridden with pneumonia. Doctor John Koontz was just leaving when John Wissler parked his buggy beside him.

  “Hey, Doc. How's dad today?”

  “None better. He's not out of the woods yet.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Pretty bad. I told Frank, Jr. if he gets any worse we'll need to check him into the hospital over in Woodstock. Right now, though, it's just wait and see.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Never a problem. Your dad and I go way back.”

  As the doctor's buggy maneuvered down the hill to the main road, John pulled two boxes wrapped in bright red Christmas paper from the buggy and then headed up the walkway toward the house. Frank, Jr. was standing on the front porch smoking a pipe.

  “Looks like snow,” said Frank, Jr. “We're due a white Christmas.”

  John stopped on the third step and kicked against it. “Did you know this step is loose?”

  “Yeah. Keep forgetting to get one of the men over here to fix it.”

  “Carrie sent over some gifts for the boys.”

  “I'm sure they'll be happy about that.”

  “Anybody sitting with daddy?”

  “Carrie sat with him a spell this morning. I'm fixing to go up in a bit.”

  “I told Ada to go on to the Christmas program without me. I can spend some time with him.

  “Nonsense. I'll sit with him. Hear you got a house full of company over there.”

  “Some of those oddball friends of Ada's from Washington came down to hear her sing in the Christmas program at church. Once they've heard her sing, don't expect they'll be back next year.”

  Frank, Jr. laughed as he thought about Ada's singing. “Aww, it ain't that bad.”

  “Keeps the critters away from the house,” said John.

  “About all dad's been doing is sleeping. Not much we can do but wait unless you can get him to eat or drink something. Run on up there and check in on him and then I'll come up and relieve you in a bit, and you can get back to your family.”

  The friction typical of their relationship remained on hold in respect for their father's well-being and the spirit of the season. By January, they would be back to bickering if even talking at all. From the time they came into the world, they were destined to butt heads because, as their mother used to say, “God made you both different for a purpose. Just don't know yet what that purpose might be.”

  Frank, Jr. was a tireless worker and expected that same work ethic from everyone associated with Strathmore enterprises. He was even more demanding and passionate about the family business than his father, and that was saying something. While Frank Senior was the undisputed head of the household Frank, Jr. was the chief controlling officer of the corporation.

  Oddly enough, even though Frank, Jr. clearly ran the business, John was viewed by the public as the leader. He was on a first-name basis with everyone from the local barber to the Governor. When something new came along like a new automobile or electrical appliance John would be the first in Shenandoah County to have it and then he would use it to call attention to himself.

  The contrast in life objectives was at the heart of their strained relationship. Frank, Jr. did the work, and John got the glory. John's spending habits also irked his brother. Frank, Jr. feared that as Treasurer, John was dipping into the company till.

  Their wives perfectly complemented their husbands’ roles in life. John's wife Ada was as ego-maniacal as her husband, highly opinionated, and the self-appointed belle of every ball. Frank, Jr.'s wife, Carrie, was hard working, reserved, and a great manager of the household. Carrie was also younger and considerably more attractive than Ada.

  “How you feeling, dad?” asked John as he entered his father's room.

  “Feel like hell,” muttered Frank Senior while coughing. “Been thinking a lot about your Mama. Might be going to see her again soon.”

  Frank's wife, Mary Ann Wissler, died unexpectedly in 1901 which is when Frank turned over the reins of Wissler enterprises to his sons. He was still listed on the company letterhead as President but had little to do with the day to day operation.

  John chose to ignore Frank's thoughts on dying. “Doc Koontz says you need to get your strength up. How about I bring you some chicken broth or apple sauce?”

  Frank just shook his head no.

  “Then at least take a sip of water. Doc said you're dehydrated.”

  Frank, Jr. entered the room quietly and watched as his father fell into a deep sleep.

  “First time he has slept peacefully like that since he fell sick,” said Frank, Jr. “He have anything to say?”

  “Talking nonsense about going to see Mama. He's a tough old man. He'll make it.”

  “Why don't you get on back with your family and have your Christmas? I'll call you if there's a change.”

  When John stepped onto the front porch snow was falling and accumulating rapidly. No Christmas program tonight, he thought. Unfortunately that won't stop Ada from screeching out the high notes on O Holy Night.

  Frank, Jr. sat in an overstuffed easy chair by Frank, Sr.'s bed. With his father resting peacefully, Frank began to reminisce about all he had learned and experienced while working at his father's side.

  It was often said of Franklin Erb Wissler, Jr. that he was “a chip off the old block.” He was the spitting image of a younger version of his father, had the same mannerisms, the same good sense for business, and the same grumpy disposition.

  In 1874, at age nine, Frank, Jr. was already showing an interest in the family enterprise at Columbia Furnace, which his father owned and managed. Nothing pleased his dad more than having
one of his sons willingly tagging along.

  Frank, Jr.'s greatest lesson came through an unforgettable experience on January 26, 1880, when his father was nearly killed in a riot at the Furnace. On that day, the young teenager gained indispensable knowledge of the courage and tenacity required of a great leader. He also learned that workers are expendable, but the business operation is not.

  By 1880, Columbia Furnace employed nearly 200 workers, some of whom were black men. At about 2:30 in the afternoon five armed men entered the casting room of the furnace and demanded that work cease immediately. Moments later the troublemakers were joined by at least 30 others demanding, “Nobody works until you send the niggers home.”

  Frank found a place for his son to hide in an adjacent storage building then ordered an office worker to ride into Woodstock with a message for Captain J. W. Magruder, commander of the local militia. After issuing a strict directive to Frank, Jr. to stay hidden until his return Frank, Sr. headed out to confront the mob. Moments later shots were fired followed by a period of silence and then more angry yelling.

  Fearing something awful may have happened to his father Frank, Jr. left his hideaway moving swiftly yet cautiously toward the commotion. He soon caught sight of his father who was standing all alone atop a platform, fully exposed to the hostile mob. However, they paid him no mind. All eyes were focused on a group of about forty black workers on their knees with hands clasped behind their heads and the screams of a wounded man on the ground.

  “If you get back up I'll kill you this time!” yelled one of the armed men.

  Frank Wissler, Sr. attempted to get the attention of the gunman but his voice was lost in the roar of the angry crowd.

  One of the black workers could take the screaming of his wounded compatriot no longer, so he stood up then rushed to render aid. The ring leader of the mob lifted his rifle and fired a shot into the man's back instantly knocking him to the ground.