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Show 232 parties, and where each of us had taken a course in first aid administered by a man from the Department of the Interior. We boasted an eight-grade school with one teacher in another structure where we were allowed to also have Sunday School. In addition, the women evolved a bridge club and played for prizes under the tutelage of the more cosmopolitan townsfolk, Mrs. Turnbull, Mrs. Young, and Mrs. Dunyon, wife of the shop foreman. We played by Ely Culbertson's rules and became quite proficient. In fact, we became so enraptured with the game that women got their husbands off to work, their children off to school and trailed to each others' houses for coffee, played until noon, met again and played all afternoon and again at night (joined by their husbands). Fortunately I did not live close enough for these all day sessions, but went to the weekly club, sometimes entertained, and often joined another couple with my husband for an evening of bridge. So it was that, with the blizzard still raging, we were at the home of the Menlove's for bridge on Monday night, when there came a timid knock on their door. It was the new bride's husband, hunting me. "I_uh-well. My wife is sick. Will you come?" "What's the matter with h e r ?" " S h e - s h e - I - w e 1 1 -" "Is she having her baby?" "I guess so. " "Go up to the lodge and call the doctor. Ask him what to do. " |
