Molly, Nell, Patrick, and Lizzie, all grew to marry.

May never married. Instead she taught school right in Bennington, NH – much to my mother’s everlasting shagrin. (Pretty difficult to get into any trouble at school without your mother knowing when your mother’s sister was the teacher.)

Alice, died at an early age as the result of an accident that had to be kept secret from her father. She and the others were at home while great grandfather was gone for the day. The orders were that the elder children should mind the others. There was nothing unusual in this. Children were not the same at that time as they are in this. Innocence was preserved much later, especially for girls. Even to seventeen, and sixteen, and on down through their ages, these were children. They laughed and played together, games of hide and seek, tag, and the like.

The older ones were expected to be on top of everything. Certainly their mother couldn't keep a house and do all the yard chores as well. No one else was permitted to answer for another’s shortcomings. If anything went wrong, Molly and Nell would answer for it. But it was just play, what could go wrong?

However, on this particular day, temporarily free from the oppressively strict supervision of the father - they played a lively game outside. The oldest girls actually became involved. They were running and playing in the barn as well as outside. They all knew the loft of the barn was off limits. But, while father wasn't home, what could be the harm? He'd never know when he returned, and the excitement of the game was heightened by the additional space (and, I'm sure, by doing the forbidden).

But, as these things usually do, something went wrong, and Alice fell from the loft. She was unconscious for a time. All the children were in a panic, and much relieved when she regained consciousness before their parents found out. They were concerned for Alice's well-being, of course. A reasonable consideration for their own well-being was also in order.

For a time after the accident Alice complained of headaches and dizzy spells. The doctor was brought in, but he could find nothing wrong, unless she'd taken a serious blow to the head. (There wasn't much, at that time, that medicine could have done in the way of correction or cure. But the problem was compounded by the fact no one dared tell of the incident.) Alice herself insisted nothing of the kind had happened.

Within a short time beautiful, gentle, little Alice, with her coal black hair and her alabaster skin with shockingly violet eyes, was dead. No one could break the silence and tell what had happened in the barn. Clearly, from the way in which she told it to her own children, Ellen never got over the sense of guilt that she'd failed her responsibility. I strongly suspect that Molly never did either, just from the way she raised her own children.

That Alice was exactly as described by Ellen is totally borne out by my mother’s description of her own mother and aunts. Lizzie was a small, blue eyed, coal haired, wisp, like her mother and sister Alice. Ellen was no more than four feet, nine inches (of very tiny build even in her old age), and red-haired like her father and brother. May was slight with black hair and strikingly deep blue eyes. Molly was tall and angular, like her father and brother, with soft blue eyes that evidenced the kind and gentle soul behind them like that of her mother and sister Alice. Elizabeth and Ellen had more than a little of their father in personality. But those traits didn't dominate in youth, there was only the tendency toward independence and inflexibility. Patrick was his father's son, carried to an extreme in later years.

Despite the fact that the Cassion elders were not prone to "socializing" with their neighbours the children did go to school, and to some community functions. This impression is borne out by the fact that Nell Cassion was well known to be a wonderful dancer. She even knew how to dance a jig. She loved music and it flowed through her. She had quite a lovely singing voice, as well. One of her favourite songs was "Tenting Tonight". She was a Moxie drinker (like her great granddaughter - me) a beverage whose birth year is closely related to her own. It's those sorts of tidbits that make her more alive and a real person. None of these people should be just words on a page. I hope they will not be.

I have no idea how Margaret (Molly) Cassion met Patrick Cody. I do know he was not of an approved family. This liaison was frowned upon (to say the least). Snobs? Did I say they were a family of snobs? Did I have to say it? I guess, at that time, and in that place, it was a necessity, but it has always annoyed me. Patrick Cody did not come from that region's version of "high society". He was a poor, honest man. He dearly loved Molly, and she him. How that marriage ever took place is quite beyond me to even guess. Thank God, it did. Even though life for Molly was unbelievably difficult as a consequence, she did have the best sort of husband. They truly loved each other, and their life together was made pleasant through the joy they found in sharing it.

It was Patrick Cody's early and unexpected death that left Molly with "all those children" and no help forthcoming. Molly took in laundry to make a living for her very large family. She had, I believe, nine or ten children, who survived to adulthood. Dick Cody was my mother's all time favourite. She and he had a rapport that transcended normal human cousin type relationships. They were friends, confidants, practically siblings(did I mention – very often partners in “crime”?). She told of having had a huge, leghorn hat which she wore to church. The hugeness was the brim, which was very wide (I believe we're talking probably 1917-1920) and flopped up and down as she moved her body. At the time pews were reserved by the year. Naturally the Maillettes had their pew. Cody, because of financial circumstances, did not. But, from where she sat in the pew, my mother could see her friend/cousin Dick Cody. Uhoh! He would get her laughing with some antic calculated for that result. Her parents would never have known about the "diviltry" going on, but for that d---ed leghorn hat. The brim of the hat did a telltale up and down dance as my mother shook with silent laughter. And, after the Mass....? "And what did you and young Cody find so incredibly amusing that you had to disgrace us all by laughing in the Church?"

The list of Cody names I can recall includes, Dick (Richard, who never married), Marge (Margaret?)Brade, Hazel Skinner, young Pat, Will, Tude (Gertrude), James, and perhaps, as time goes on, some more names will suddenly dawn on me. These kids, left with a youngish mother, and no father, got the best of care and a double measure of love. Their mother had no money -- save for the laundry income -- but she did have a great and kind heart. She loved each of those children with her life -- consequently -- they her. She worked hard to earn their living. Yet, she found time to spend with them. She would play games with them, help them with homework, listen to them, and teach them. They were, in every sense, a family. As the children grew older, and she grew old, the children reversed the situation and took care of their mother. She had both needs and wants met as they were able to provide for her. She died a happy woman. In a very real sense, a rich one.

Oh, I'm sure there were the adolescent tantrums, etc., that are a normal part of human development. By and large though, they had a happy, harmonious family life. A life which my mother envied, you'll see why, though you may already have it divined.