I Was His Wife, by S.E. Crie
Dead to Me
Chapter Seven
The shock of seeing his name rendered me senseless.
I wrote to Richard in care of the Oneida Community in New York, but Mr. Noyes, their leader responded, informing me that Richard was no longer with them.
I wrote again, explaining that I was his wife, hoping for more information. Mr. Noyes did not state why Richard had not remained, but sent me copies of letters Richard had written when he desired to join their community. In giving Mr. Noyes a statement of his past life, Richard made no mention of his marriage to me, nor that he had ever formed any such relation.
French’s Hotel, N.Y. City
July 2, 1866
President Perfectionist Association — Sir:
I have the honor respectfully to apply for information respecting the nature, character of government, and conditions precedent for membership of the Perfectionist Society.
Not being thoroughly informed upon these matters I trouble you with this communication to state that, recently at Vicksburg, Miss., I learned from a former comrade in arms of the existence of your society. That I am 34 years of age, pretty well educated, that in various grades of private, non-commissioned officer, and officer, I served four years in the volunteer army of the Union, that I have in my possession the official proofs of this, besides the proofs of the recommendation of seven general officers, of my appointment to a First Lieutenancy in the regular army of the United States — from which my refusal to endorse the policy of President Johnson barred me — that I am an occasional contributor to the Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s Monthly and Weekly, that since my muster out of service three months ago, I have resided near Vicksburg, Miss., that I came north partly on account of pecuniary losses sustained in consequence of the proscription to which loyal men are subjected, and partly for the purpose, if it were possible, of associating myself with your own or some other communistic society.
“Far off from the clamor of liars, belied in the hubbub of lies,
Where each man walks with his head in a cloud of poisonous flies.”
I arrived in this city this morning, and I hasten to address you this brief note, trusting to elicit from your courtesy a reply to the request I have preferred, as well as a statement whether and under what circumstances I should be eligible for membership.
I am quite poor, and unaccustomed to manual labor. I am willing, however, to overcome my ignorance, and I should not at all object to pay my board until I learned to make myself useful. If you give me the information sought for, and accord me permission to hold a personal interview, I will bring with me letters and papers corroborative of all the statements I have made. Please address me by next mail at French’s Hotel.
Most respectfully,
Richard Realf
By these letters, if Noyes could be trusted and Richard's words could be believed, I learned that he had stayed near Vicksburg for three months after his discharge, then went to New York City, then to the Communists in Oneida. No one seemed to know where he'd gone to next.
After reading this, I determined that if domestic ties were burdensome to him, he should never be annoyed or troubled by me. He might seek me if he chose, but I would never go to him. I knew that I had made a marriage that could only bring misery in some form or other, and I accepted the penalty without a murmur.[1]
He was dead to me.
I never spoke of him. My friends, and only my nearest relatives, knew whom I had married. They waited for me to speak; I did not, and they were silent.
In the course of reading periodicals, my eyes fell upon a poem written by a poet named Carl Spencer. It was the same poem that Richard recited to me before he left for the South. When I had collected more of the Carl Spencer poems, I put them before Edwin and Louisa. They were not convinced that the Spencer poems were written by Realf.[2]
In any outward appearances, I tried to look happy. I put myself heartily into every work for the good of our community, acted as superintendent for the school, and oversaw the building of a new schoolhouse. But notwithstanding my efforts to lose my trouble in work, the thought that my husband had abandoned me wore upon me.[3] And while I never made a public complaint of abandonment, I broke beneath the silence. The sadness enveloped me and finally, I fell terribly ill and seemed to hover between this life and the next. The doctor decided that it was brain fever, but I was sure it was a broken heart.
NOTES
1 Nineteenth-century Indiana divorce law included abandonment among the recognized grounds for divorce, along with adultery, bigamy, cruelty, felony conviction, and other causes within the court’s discretion. Sophia’s phrase “without a murmur” should be read in that context: she did not mean that she suffered lightly, but that she made no public complaint and sought no legal remedy for Richard’s desertion.
2 Letter from Sophia to R. Hinton, March 18, 1879
3 Sophia to Sarah Realf Whapham, March 26, 1879