December 27, 1988

December 27, 1911
Dear Diary,
Another exhausting day. I do feel so very tired all the time. The constant worry I carry around daily…and how quickly everything seems to be happening. I feel I have no control over my life--that it has been scripted for me, like a play, and I am an actress that just stepped onto the stage and must act the part of the happy bride to be.

My old school chums, my childhood friends, are to be my bridesmaids. We had another fitting at Le Monde for their dresses. My Mother insists on calling the color lavender, but it’s not lavender, it’s a new color in the fashionable world called ashes-of-roses. It is a lovely shade of grayish rose, and it is flattering to any girl’s coloring. Catherine is a red-head like me, Lillian and Elizabeth are both brunettes, Chloe has coal-black hair, and Maude and Yvette are blondes. This fitting should be the final one, unless someone gains or loses a massive amount of weight. Madam La’Chartene (I just know that is not her real name, she adopted that when she opened her oh-so-exclusive boutique) had her assistant fit everyone for shoes today, as well. This are silver brocade, with a one-inch heel, and a silver satin bow across the back of the heel.


Six dresses, six pairs of shoes--we of course, are paying for them. Who came up with the tradition that the bride’s family pays for the wedding? I could throw that person off a cliff. The bill is being sent to the accountant, and my college money will be walking up a church aisle on the back of my friends.
After we got their fittings done, it was mother’s turn to be fitted. As you can see, dear diary, this was an all-morning thing. One of Madam La’Chartene’s shop girls brought an enormous tray of champagne glasses and a large pitcher of Mimosa’s. This is a new drink in society--a morning drink of orange juice and champagne. The fitting became much more merry after these got passed around, of which I was very glad. I do love my friends, and I am glad they are being a part of my wedding---I just wish I were marrying someone else under different circumstances.


Mother always favors shades of green, to offset her green eyes and auburn hair. I think some of these shades are just ghastly, never mind they are the rage right now. But she chose a very delicate shade of rose, called shell pink. It is a watered silk, with satin trim, and yards of brocade trim in various shades of silver and green. (She had to get her green in there somehow!) The dress did flatter her. I think Mother is beautiful, and considering what she’s been through, she has held her age extremely well. She looks like a delicate flower, but underneath she is made of solid steel.


Then my wedding dress was brought out. It is halfway done. The dress itself is a shade of the whitest silk, with a square neckline, and three-quarter length sleeves. The skirt fits in a straight line from the hips to the hem. It is hand-embroidered with Alencon lace, and the lace is hand stitched with faux pearls and iridescent sequins. The train right now has not been sewn on, it was pinned in place. Sixteen yards long, with the same embroidery as the dress. On the left of the waistline are three satin roses with large pearl centers. The gloves are elbow length, of the same Alencon lace.

My veil is very sheer silk tulle, with a two-inch edging of pearl-beaded Alencon lace. The blusher veil reaches down to my waist, is gathered and very puffy. The back of the veil extends one foot beyond the train in back. It is lovely, and I chose the design myself. At least I won that battle, as well as my bridesmaids gowns. I guess since I’m being forced into this, Mother is picking her battles.

I asked Mother on the way home about our mourning clothes. Are we going to have them remade or not? She said, for now, we’ll pack them away. No, we won’t have to have those remade now, that my college money will tide us over until we have been established into Cal’s family.

December 26, 1911

December 26, 2006
Dear Diary,
A very busy day, and one that did not bring good news. Mother and I met with the accountant, once again. Our household is now living off the interest of my trust, and Mother is moving the money Father put aside for my college education into our household account, for us to live off of until I marry Cal.

I had a long argument with Mother when we got home. It has been my dream to attend the University….however, she made it plain, and I have to agree with her, that with any degree, I would not be able to work and support us in the manner to which we are accustomed. Women of our station in life do not work outside the home, unless hard times befall them.

Well, hard times have befallen us. It is hard to keep up the pretense that everything is as it was before Father died. We are in dire straits. The letters from the creditors and Father’s business partners are coming more frequently and the tone is more harsh. I would, oh I would rather work as a governess, or in a girl’s school, than to marry Cal. But, that would not pay the enormous bills we owe. We could auction off everything in our home, and sell our home to boot, and we would still owe money, much more than I could provide on a governess’ salary. And it would absolutely kill my Mother. Pride goeth before a fall, as the saying goes, but my Mother would die along with her fallen pride.

I still am unclear how our family came into this financial disaster. Father never discussed his business with us; said it was up to him to provide for us. I trusted him. I can’t understand that he knew we were in this situation, and hid it from us. He must have known sooner or later all would be reveled, and then what would happen? I do believe the worry of that is what killed him--gave him that massive heart attack. My poor father…I feel so angry and sad and betrayed all at the same time. Were he still here, there is a chance I could go to University and postpone marriage until I wanted to marry. I just turned seventeen, and I think that is too young to marry. But Cal, an excellent financial prospect (though fourteen years older than I) is to be my Mother’s financial savior.

We still have our good name. No one in our circle knows how broke we are. Cal and his family do not know of our financial situation. And after the dust settles, when the big society wedding and honeymoon are over, it will fall on my shoulders to tell Cal of our financial predicament. It will be up to him then, and his family, to pay our debts and see us to solvency. Right now, that is all I can think of; that confrontation. When will it happen? The honeymoon? When he carries me over the threshold to our new home? How will I bring it up? “Cal, by the way, my family is totally broke, we are in horrendous debt, and now that my Mother has forced me to marry you for your money, you’ll have to bail us out.” Not exactly in those words, but that will be the gist of the confession I’ll have to make. Mother is the one forcing me into this, I feel it is her duty to do the dirty work here.

I dread it. I think of it daily. Cal has no idea what he’s taking on. He will be beyond furious. I am sure---well, somewhat sure, he will not divorce me--on what grounds could he do that? What a scandal that would be. But I do know--oh I do know this; he will take it out on me in every way he can. I’ll never live down the fact that I brought an impeccable name to his family, but brought nothing but debt. He will bring up the fact that I knew this when he asked me to marry him, but I did not level with him about my family’s predicament. I know Cal well enough now to know that, all through our marriage, he will use my deception against me again and again.

And it is a deception. I told Mother we needed to level with Cal about this from the very start. She about pinched my arm off--actually left a black and blue mark on my arm. She hissed that I was still a child in the matters of the world, and not to breath a word of this to Cal.
I feel I am suffocating underneath the weight of all this. The wedding date has been set for June 21. Plans are underway…..the invitations have been ordered, my bridesmaids gowns are being made, my wedding gown is being made. Tomorrow Mother and I will meet with the florist, and later this week with (of course, the most expensive) dressmakers and milliners to make our European Tour outfits, and my trousseau.

I find myself being more depressed by the day. I dread my coming life. Nothing is happening as I dreamed it would.

Christmas Day

Christmas Day, 1911

A long day, dear diary.

After a meager breakfast of old, dried ham (one of the last in the larder) and some tea with biscuits, Mother and I opened our Christmas gifts that were under the tree. My most precious one was from Father…..one that he had bought from his last business trip to the Orient. It is a beautiful butterfly comb, of translucent Jade, held together by fine gold filigree. The teeth are tortoiseshell. It is the most lovely, delicate thing. I wore it to the dinner.

The day was long, and dreary. We attended Church service at 11:00, then visited Father’s grave to lay a bouquet of red roses and white lilies. It was so very sad…..I prefer not to go so often, but Mother insists. Were his grave not in the Church graveyard, and within view of the departing parishioners, I wonder would we make this weekly visit after church.

After Church, we had lunch at home, then began preparing for the festivities at Cal’s home. How much time we must spend on a toilette for a special occasion. After bathing, powdering, curling and twigging up of hair, then comes the iron maiden (my name for this horrible corset). I thought I looked presentable, and made my way down stairs for Mother’s inspection. The look on her face was thunderous. She called for Trudy, then marched us all upstairs. She undid the buttons on the back of my green velvet dress, then showed Trudy how to pull the corset strings more tightly. Rebuttoning the dress, my waist now looked about six inches smaller, and I really could not breathe. Mother looked respondent in a wine velvet gown, but I do wonder how she paid for it.

Cal’s buggy came for us at seven this evening. As we passed thru the snowy streets of Philadelphia, many of the churches were lit, and evening services were being conducted. It was lovely---the choirs singing, church bells peeling, the stained glass windows throwing patterns upon the snow. If only we were taking in the sights of the city before going home and retiring to our cozy beds, it would have been a good day. All too soon, though, we pulled up at Cal’s Father’s house.

The dinner was scrumptious---I ate quite more than usual, considering our stock of truly good food at home was practically gone. The only thing that stopped me from making a pig of myself was my corset. Why do women have to torture themselves with these silly things? Do you see men wearing them?

After dinner, the men and ladies did not depart for different rooms as usual. We sat in the drawing room with brandy and sherries, singing Christmas Carols as Mrs. Hockley accompanied us on the piano brilliantly.

Soon after, talk of our upcoming European tour came up. Cal, Mother and I are to leave for a European tour the second week of January. We will depart from the States on the Mortina, and return on the Titanic. Cal’s steel company contracted with the White Star Line, who owns this ship, and from what I gathered of the conversation most of the double hull is made of Hockley Steel. Must be seen to be believed, I’ve heard.

When we come back, it will be only a month and a half until we are to be married.

A month and a half.

December 24, 1911

Dear Diary,

It is Christmas Eve night. I am sitting on the hearth in the drawing room as I record this, by the dying embers of the fire. It is the warmest spot in the house, since Mother gave strict orders to the servants (the few that we have left) that no coal fires be lit, nor gas lights be turned on, in any unoccupied rooms in the house. My room is like ice, so I came down here, picked the lock on Father's drinks cabinet, and took a bottle of the few brandies we have left. Mother will certainly know it's missing in the next few days, as she has been partaking of spirits quite frequently since Father's death. This has been such a dreadful day, though, that I am willing to deal with her wrath later.

This time last year, Father was with us. It is hard to believe that he passed away only 4 months ago....it seems like it has been years. I do miss him so very much.....but I am so angry with him at the same time. This churning of different emotions has been so difficult to manage...why he led us to think everything was fine as it always has been, never involving Mother or I in any of the family finances.....and now, on top of losing my Father, I find out we are destitute. Why did he do this to us? Mother, especially after downing her first few brandies or glasses of wine, has done nothing but lambast him over our financial situation. To speak ill of the dead.....of my Father......I could slap her. Of course, in front of everyone else, she speaks of him as though he was perfect---the perfect husband, the perfect father, our Rock of Gibraltar. And to me, he was. I still do not understand everything about our financial situation, and Mother is just beginning to understand it herself.

Up until this holiday week, there has been an almost constantly, daily visiting to and fro between the house and the lawyers, the accountants, Father's business partners.....I haven't been privy to any of these closed-door meetings, but Mother, along with Uncle Albert and Father's lawyers have been very busy. I do know what destitute means, but I don't know exactly how desperate our situation is, or will become. This has been uppermost in my mind these past few weeks.....

We are not having a big dinner, or party, this year, since it's only been four months since Father's passing.....we are on the tail end of mourning. My heart still mourns for my father, but the complete absence of anything except for those dreadful condolence calls by our social circle.....mostly mother's cronies, is crushing to the spirit. Mourning, especially in our social circles, seems designed to pin you down, and keep you down. Life does go on!

I will especially enjoy getting out of these black morning clothes....I'd like to throw them away....or give them to Trudy, but Mother said we will most likely be making them over into new gowns. Something we've never done before, making over an old gown. Mother is hiring a new dressmaker, one outside of Philly, to do our clothing now. You do hear every tidbit of gossip about every woman from the prominent dressmakers in Philly. I think it's not professional to gossip, but it seems they can't help themselves, so I'm always careful in what I say around them. I can see exactly the gossip they would be spreading around when Mother and I would bring in some old black mourning gowns to be chopped up and made over into new frocks. "Headed for the poorhouse, those Bukater women....." They would so enjoy cutting Mother down to size, for she has been the biggest society queen Philly has ever known. And, she knows it, and also lets everyone else know it.

And tomorrow, Christmas. Mother and I will open our gifts here (what few we have under our tree), and then on to Cal's family home for Christmas dinner. I do dread it--I can't stand his family--they are pompous, arrogant, and cruel. His Father, especially, is an outlandish, hypocritical old thing. He makes me quite uncomfortable.....he hints about inappropriate things, his eyes linger where they shouldn't....I've no doubt he has a string of mistresses he's keeping up, and Cal will surely follow in his footsteps...now why can't women decide to do the same when it suits them? It's so unfair.

I wish Father were here.

Good night, dear diary.