Staunton Jan. 21st/66
My Dear Brother
I received a letter from you several weeks since. I would have replied sooner but for the fact, that having sent your letter out to David soon after I received [ it] , I was under the impression until yesterday that he had answered it. I was delighted to hear from you once more; and truly thankful to hear that you were all living and in your usual health. My little family are all in their usual health also. Em. and my two little girls returned from Wheeling, about ten days since, whither they had been on a visit since the last week in October. I took them out, and on my return home I met with a merchant from Chattanooga, who was on his way home from New York, whither he had been to purchase goods. I thought it a good opportunity to communicate with you, as it was then very difficult to send a letter directly through to Summerville. (Indeed I do not know that it is much
less difficult yet.) I accordingly wrote you on board the cars and gave the letter to him to mail in Chattanooga which he promised to do. That was written on the 2nd of November but I have never heard whether you ever received it.
   Feb. 3rd You will observe more than a week has elapsed since I wrote the foregoing. The reason of the delay in finishing my letter is this. I did not have time to finish it on the day I commenced it, and I concluded the next day that I would wait until there might be a decided change, one way or the other, in David’s condition, who was then quite ill. He has been very much better now for three or four days past, and, I think, with care will be well in a short time. He has had an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, but not near so severe an attack as he has had. But his nervous system seemed to become very much deranged, and he was in a state of delirium, most of the time, for three or four days. He has been sick about one month: suffered
a good [unclear: eal] with rheumatism in his arms, hands and legs, the first two weeks; but has been in a measure clear of pains for the last ten days. He has no negro men employed now: he has, however, two white men and boy about seventeen years old. Ann & Mary are still there, but I learn indirectly that they contemplate leaving in the spring. Ben still remains with me and also my woman, and are both doing well. Henry left David soon after the surrender, and is now living with William Guthrie. The negroes are very trifling, as a general thing; and none of them are willing to contract by the year, and a majority of them do not seem to be willing to contract at all for any length of time. Business of all kinds is very flat now, and there seems to be no money in the country. It is almost impossible now to collect a few Dollars from the best men in our community. And what is more the tax collector is here now gathering in the Land Tax. I very much fear many of our farmers will forfeit
their land from their inability to pay the Tax. The Tax here is 27 cents on the 100 Dollars on the assessment of 1860. And if the Tax is not paid in a [unclear: certain] time the government will sell the land and appropriate all the money arising from the sale. Aint the Yankees the most fiendish nation on the face of the earth? We have just got in money sufficient ($42.50) to pay the Tax on Father’s Estate. Write me and let me know whether you will be able to pay the Taxes on your land. If not, and the thing is possible, we must [unclear: assist] you in order to save your land. Em and the children send much love to you and your children. How much we all would be to see you and them. Write so soon as you receive this and find me all the news. And now I must close May a kind providence protect you and yours
I [unclear: am as ever] your affectionate brother
A. J. Gilkeson
Brookfield September 21st/58
My Dear Brother
We received your letter on yesterday. I would have written to you a week or two since, if I had known you would have expected another so soon. But I suppose that David has given you the full particulars of our dear Mother’s sickness and death; and that you would not expect another letter from us before you would write. David says he thought he had had been particular to state all the circumstances; but there are many things which might occur to your mind which would not occur to him, especially when writing at that particular time. I will attempt the mournful task of giving you the full particulars. Some time in the day on Tuesday, the 24th of August, I came down here and found Mother in bed quite complaining. David said that she had retired the night previous as well as usual, but [ in the morning] awoke quite unwell. I think she dressed herself that day, but laid on the lounge all day. She retired to bed on Tuesday night and never left it again. We wished to send for the Dr the first day, but she would not agree to it. On the following morning we sent for him, notwithstanding she still objected. He pronounced her very sick, and said he thought it was pneumonia. He visited her daily after that, and [ I] think he still adhered to his first opinion as to the nature of her disease. When she was first taken she threw [ up] some blood and once or twice afterwards, but the quantity at each time was inconsiderable. I think she gradually declined from the first. I had very little hopes of her recovery after the first day; and, I think, she was impressed with the belief from the
first that she would not recover, as she several times remarked to us that it was useless to give her medicine. She suffered no severe pain during her sickness. The first day or two she complained of pain in her breast and on side, but afterwards always told us that she had no pain. There was evidently a constant uneasiness in her chest, as she would often put her hand on her breast, even at the time she was saying that she had no pain. We thought that we could see that she was growing worse every day from the first. She did not rest well at night, yet it was not deemed necessary to sit up with her, although some one laid on the lounge at her side for several nights previous to her death. On Saturday we concluded that it would then be necessary to sit up with [ her] throughout the night, and on that day Emma and I came down to stay until there would be a change. Dr Watson (who you know has been practising in partnership with Dr Shelton for several years past) came to see her on Saturday evening, and told us when he left, that if she continued to be so restless and seemed as if she would not sleep that we must about 10 O’clock give her a few drops of the elixir of opium. David sat up with her the first part of the night, and I retired about 9 O’clock. At 10 she appeared so restless and uneasy that David administered the opium according to directions. She soon fell into a sound sleep. When I came down about 1 O’clock I found her sleeping very soundly; and I felt fearful from that time that she would never again open her eyes in this world. And, My Dear brother, my heart bleeds to say that my worst fears were realized. At early dawn father and I made use of every effort that affection could suggest or judgment could dictate to [unclear: arouse] her, but our efforts were unavailing. After breakfast we sent for one of the Drs: Shelton came, and, after inquiring what means we had used and making
some more efforts himself, told us that human skill could avail nothing. She slept on in this way, without changing her position, until about half past four in the afternoon, when she calmly and sweetly passed from this world to, as we hope and trust, a better and a happier one. I am sorry I cannot tell you her last words. A short time before I retired on Saturday night I was sitting by her side, when she asked me if it was Emma who was coughing: she had, I think, heard some one coughing in the adjoining room. These are the last words I remember to have heard her utter. I think she made some remark to David about taking the opium; and if so, they were her last words. I do not know know that she said any thing during her sickness in reference to her approaching end. But I do not wonder at that, as her mind has been very much of a wreck ever since the severe spell of sickness she had three years ago. And, as a matter of course, when she became sick her mind sympathized with her body, and was proportionally weaker. Yet, I do not think her mind was as much affected by her last sickness as by her sickness in 1855. Mother has never indeed been herself since [ the] the severe spell of sickness she had in the beginning of the year 1850. We buried her by the side of your little daughter, leaving room enough between the graves for another grave; thinking that the ground would not be as likely to be occupied as if it had been left on the other side of Mother’s grave. You are mistaken in supposing Mother to have been a few months older than Father. She was just one month younger. Father was born on the 21st of February 1785, and Mother on the 20th of March of the same year. I can scarcely realize even yet, that our dear Mother is no more. Mother, Dear Mother! Thou art gone: may all thy family be re-united to thee in another and a better world. The thought is truly distressing that the opium we administered for her relief should have, in all likelihood,
hastened her death. But, there is some relief in the thought that it, very likely, saved her some hours severe bodily suffering. After death she wore the calmest and sweetest expression I ever saw. I have thought for years that she could not be with us long; but O! I did not think that I could feel her loss so much. Father bore up at first very well, but I think, within the last few days, he seems to feel his loss more sensibly. He is truly one of the best of men Oh! may he be spared to us yet a long time, with his physical and mental facilities unimpaired. His health is very good at present. He was at the springs when Mother was first taken sick, but returned the next day. That was the time appointed for his return when he left home. He has been troubled some this summer with the eruption in his face, but it has not yet been near so bad as it has been at this season for several years past. His eyesight is very much improved: can read with the assistance of spectacles nearly as well as he ever could. You asked in a former letter what the Dr charged for the operation: his charge was $500. We paid him $200, with the understanding that we would pay him another hundred at a future day if [unclear: we] might see [unclear: proper] . This was the compromise I dont think I could ever see [unclear: proper] , for I consider him amply paid already. You will probably be surprised to learn that I have changed my business. Mr Woods (who married cousin [unclear: Lucy] Gilkeson) [ and I] have bought out a hardware store in Staunton. Mr Woods has been engaged in the shoe business there since last spring. He sold out his shoe store, or rather put it in as part pay for the hardware. We will move to Staunton in the course of two or three weeks: expect to board for the present. We would have bought land but could not do so without going in debt several thousand dollars, and were afraid to rent[illeg.] for fear of the effect upon Father. You doubtless remember how uneasy he was after purchasing the [illeg.] farm, & [unclear: tho ] yearly payments there were not half as heavy as they would have been if we had purchased now. And it was necessary that we should make some change, as there were too many of us here to think. There is another hardware store in Staunton. It is generally thought that we will do well. The stock cost a little over $5000, and we will make an addition of another thousand soon.
   You ask our opinion about selling some land and taking a mortgage on a negro woman. We do not know what advice to give. I did not know that you had any more land than you want. If you should take a mortgage on the woman, what would be your situation if the woman were to die? or would you take a lien [illeg.] the land besides? Another thing, I do not believe, as a general thing, that it is desirable to own both husband and wife. I, however, do not pretend to offer any advice, but just throw out these hints for what they are worth. Mr [unclear: Mogers] and wife are here to-day . He will start for home in the morning. I will send this letter by him, as you will no doubt get it earlier than by mail. Do write as soon as you receive it. Cant you come to Va & spend the winter with us? We would be so glad to see you. David & wife, I think, have declined going to Georgia this winter. Come if you can, I think it would cheer Father up very much. And you know he [continued on top of first page] is now getting quite old, & if you do not get to see him soon you may never see him. It has now been a lonely time since you were here, hence, we would all be delighted to see [ you] and your children if you could bring them.
All desire to be affectionaly remembered to you and your dear little ones.
Do write soon and often. You know not how glad we are always to receive a letter from you.
I am as ever your sincerely attached Brother
A. [illeg.]. Gilkeson