Content to be OCRed. See attachment
I got the photocopied pages from a book called
"Memories to Share" by Lillian Elizabeth Hurler Millett
It was published in 1974. I was unable to find any other publishing information in the book and believe it was privately published. The book is located at Brigham Young University, Harold B. Lee library. I am unaware if it can be found anywhere else.
Kenneth and I were born in a small house on our fruit ranch, which we called the "farm". My first memory of Mother is of a cultured, intelligent, beautiful woman trying to get her husband and children to use proper table manners.
“Madeline’s Dream,” was published in the Friend, Nov. 1971
Madeline, her clothes under her arms, ran down the stairs and into the kitchen where her mother was preparing breakfast. Mother looked up to say good morning to her little girl, but when she saw how pale and breathless Madeline was, she asked, “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
When we entered the Salt Lake Valley, Mother found herself in a difficult position. Neither she, Uncle Dan nor Mary could speak English, and I only a little. And we no longer had Father to help us. How to live was a problem. Aunt Susette went to work for a family, I no longer remember the name. Aunt Mary, who was eleven, was taken by Mrs. Alfred Randall to take care of her sick daughter, who was seventeen. She was treated by Mrs. Randall, who desire to adopt her, as one of the family. And though Mother wouldn’t consent to the adoption, she remained with Mrs. Randall until she got married.
The full caption from the BYU Studies journal reads:
The Ether Blancard family, Springville, Utah 1902. Left to right: Achilles Blanchard, Ether and Sylvia Blanchard, and Margaret Goff. Achilles holds the homemade harp he constructed from a bicycle frame; his father holds his fiddle. Photo by George Edward Anderson. Courtesy BYU Archives.
Our first child, a girl, was stillborn. She had died just a little while before birth due to toxicity. From my bedroom window – I was so very ill – I could look out and see Henry, my husband, carrying the tiny casket on his shoulder to the wagon and then on to the cemetery. Uncle Orson [Hickenlooper] [tried] to comfort me.
[Two years later, we had another daughter, and], I thought Margaret was beautiful as a tiny baby – yet my mother said on seeing Margaret: “She will look much nicer when she fills out.” I thought she looked alright then!