Editor's Note: Georgia Brake Todd was the eldest d/o of James Austin and Laura (Brake) Todd.(1844-1886). She was the gr.-gr.-granddaughter of Abraham (1763-1842) and Mary Elizabeth (Jackson) Brake (1767-1862). Georgia was educated at Springfield Seminary, Springfield, OH, Wittenberg College and was graduated from Museum School of Fine Arts, Boston, Massachusetts. This article was taken from Georgia's book God's Infinite Variety- An American, National Americana Publication, Inc., 1939, pp. 15-18.When I was a child one of the joys of my life was to get my great-aunt Celnira (Guthridge) Green to tell me stories about our family and their friends. She lived in the house next door to my Grandmother Brake[1], who was her sister. When I remember her she was an old lady and spent most of her time in bed, which was a great four-post affair, at the head of which were two large pillows and a bolster. The pillows were covered with old fashioned pillow-shams with her monogram embroidered in the center, and around the edges were rows of insertion and lace ruffles. After we had had some sand-tart cookies and a glass of buttermilk, old Hester, Aunt Celnira's colored maid, would bring out her best silk quilt and put it on the bed. That was the beginning of a time of enchantment for me, because the quilt was divided into two parts - the North and the South. The pieces in the North were the bits of silk from the dresses, bonnet-strings, cravats and sashes of the family who were Yankees, and the pieces at the bottom were those which belonged to our family and friends in the South.
Aunt Celnira had a remarkable memory and never forgot a date or a name, and she enjoyed telling the stories about the people to whom these silks belonged. So this gay silk quilt was the magic carpet on which an old lady and a little child were carried back through the years into the romance and charm of the past.
One Sunday evening just after the Civil War, in 1864, my mother, Laura Brake[2], and her sister, Mary Bell Brake, whom we
always called "Taunty B, " were entertaining their friends and beaux on the
front porch of their home in Osborn, Ohio. At this time my mother was engaged
to marry Frank Woodbridge, who, this night made the fatal mistake of bringing
James Austin Todd[3], a new-comer to town, to
call on these two young ladies. It was dark, but there was something about the
stranger's voice which so fascinated my mother that she asked him to help her
serve some refreshments as an excuse to see what he really looked like, and then
and there it was a case of love at first sight -- that thing so much laughed at
by the skeptical, but in this case it not only endured, but each year they grew
more and more devoted to each other. Frank Woodbridge never married or ceased
to be not only my mother's devoted friend, but my father's also, and many times
was a guest in our house. I called him "Uncle Woody," and I still have a
little bracelet and ring which he gave me.This love match was unusual in many ways, for mother was typically Southern, and father was a Yankee, born in New London, New Hampshire. My mother's hair was black, her eyes deep violet-blue; she was very slender and vivacious, and had a fascinating charm, which people who knew her always remembered and spoke about. In Aunt Celnira's silk quilt there were many pieces of her clothes. The white satin was a piece of her wedding gown made with a long train with panniers on the sides, and the point lace collar and skirt were caught up with forget-me-knots. I remember as a child trying in vain to get its eighteen-inch waist fastened around me. The dark blue velvet in the quilt was part of my mother's riding habit, which had a long flowing skirt, and with it she wore a silk hat with white plume at the side. Compared with the riding togs of today, it not only illustrates the great change in fashions but also the change in the psychology of the times.
When mother was married, "Cinderella," a negro cook, who belonged to the family before the war, adored her so much, that my grandmother gave her to mother, and she took entire charge of her house and really raised her family, for my mother died when we were small children.
" Cinderella" was a character, the typical old-fashioned negro of the South -- a wonderful cook, devoted and loyal, who managed us with such common sense and tact that we children loved her and did what she told us to do. She was not very tall but she was mighty. Her hair was pure white, and one of her peculiarities was that she got religion twice a year, spring and fall. When she attended the old-time religious camp-meeting she always wore a deep purple dress and a long crepe veil, which some member of the family had discarded, and to complete her outfit she put on a pair of men's Congress gaiters, because she said "her feet felt `oneasy' unless she wore `Gentimen's shoes'." For days after she got religion she was so "Elevated" as she called it, and angelic, that she stuffed us with cookies and molasses taffy -- let us go on picnics and have a glorious time - and father said it was better for her to get religion twice a year than not to get it at all. One of "Cinderella's " accomplishments was preserving fruit. She made brandied peaches that were famous, but she would never tell her receipt for making them. I only remember that they were put in great stone jars - I always thought that she buried them in the ground, but I am not sure of this.
We have a daguerreotype of my father taken at the time of his marriage in 1864; he had a high silk hat, a long black broadcloth coat, striped trousers, a flaring collar and a black silk stock. His hair was reddish brown, his eyes deep blue. "Cinderella" always said he was the finest and handsomest Yankee that ever lived and I heartily agree with her, for I adored my father. He talked very little and was very dignified, but there was a quiet kindliness and strength about him that made every man, woman and child his friend, and I never remember hearing him say an unkind thing about anyone. He allowed us to have a wonderful time, but when he told us to behave we had to obey. When we were naughty, my sister Laura looked so beautiful and sad if scolded, that I usually got the spanking instead. I loved to talk and giggle, and when I went through the "whopper" stage, I used to tell about going with my father and mother on their wedding trip. They drove "Old Nell, who had been my mother's saddle horse before she was married, on part of this journey." I said "I sat on a little seat between them and that a terrible storm came up and we drove under a big tree and `Old Nell' was so scared that she almost shook the harness off." Another version I told was "that she was struck by lightning," but whenever I told this one I was spanked, but after many trials and tribulations I finally got over this disgraceful period - but to me these tales were absolutely true, although I was not born until many years later.
My sister[4] and I had two games we loved to play; one was "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and the other "Stage-Coach" The first time we were allowed to go to the theatre was to see "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and from that time on it was our one passion. We would put newspapers on the library floor; these were the blocks of ice; my sister, who was younger than I, would be Eliza, and carry a sofa-pillow for her child, and hop from paper to paper crossing the ice. "Bessie B." "Cinderella's " granddaughter, a little "pickaninny," was "Little Eva", and I was the bloodhound who chased them and bit their legs or tried to. We would get so excited that father would have to put a stop to the racket. To this day "Uncle Tom's Cabin" gives me a thrill.
"Stage-Coach" we played for days at a time. A family carriage which was too dilapidated to use, "Old Sim," our gardener, would pull out under a tree in the yard for us -- then we would pack valises, dress up in long skirts, wear hats and veils, take our dolls and the dog and some of the children in the neighborhood, pile into the carriage, close the doors and travel the world over. Sometimes it was a "stage-coach," sometimes a "covered wagon" and the boys would be Indians and chase us, and we lived through the daring, harrowing adventures of our ancestors. We drove the dashboard and carried wooden sticks for guns and pistols. Sometimes the old carriage was a train and to ride on it we had to have long paper tickets, and the one who was the conductor punched them with a card tally punch. Our money was cigar coupons and Confederate bills, carried in an old "wallet" which had belonged to Grandfather Brake[5]. Very often we took a lunch and played all day. Sometimes we were our great-great aunt, Elizabeth Brake, or one of her brothers. Aunt Celnira used to tell about her coming in the big family carriage with four horses from Virginia, to Fairfield, Ohio, to visit our great-grandfather George Brake[6]. Her horse-hair trunks and hat boxes were piled on the back and top of the carriage, and Uncle Robinson, her old darky slave, drove the horses on this long trip, and "Celie," her colored maid, came with her. "Celie" was very accomplished for she could make `stick candy,' with little red lines running around it, and she could sing "both high and low." Great-great-aunt Elizabeth wore "hooped-skirts" and mitts; and her hair in a "Chignon" with curls at the side, and whenever she and her brothers made a visit it was a very great event indeed.[7]
[2]Laura Brake (1844-1886) gave birth to five children. 1) James Abram Todd, b. 1866 Osborn, OH; d. Aug. 12, 1892; unmarried. educated at Yates Institute, PA and Wittenberg College, Springfield, OH; 2) Harry Dodge Todd b. June 9, 1871; educated in Springfield, OH; married, May 24, 1892, Lyda Stewart; she was born Mar. 21, 1875, issue, one daughter; Esther Alda Todd b. March 2, 1893; m. Aug. 3, 1917, Indianapolis, IN, John Robb Taylor, b. Nov. 5, 1888; d. March 12, 1932. 3) Georgia Brake Todd; 4) Daughter b. 1880, died at birth; 5) Laura Washington Todd (below).
[3]James Austin Todd (1834-1901).
[4]Laura Washington Todd was born in Springfield, OH, Feb. 22,. 1882. She was a student at Miss Phillips' School, Springfield Seminary, Wittenberg College and was graduated from Colby Junior College in New London, Conn. She married. Robert Schey on Nov. 27, 1918. Laura was a member of the Ancient and Honorable Artillery, and a Daughter of Colonial Wars. She had one child: Theresa Todd Schey.
[5]This would be Abram Brake (1818-1894) who married Margaret Eliza Guthridge (1825-1901).
[6]George Washington Brake (1789-1864) m. 1813 Jane McClure (1779-1855).
[7]Great Aunt Elizabeth Brake was the daughter of John and Elizabeth (Weatherholt) Brake. She was the second wife of Col. Edward Jackson with whom she had nine children, all of whom lived to maturity. Uncle Robinson and Celie were known to have lived with the Jackson family at Jackson's Mill, Lewis Co., WV. They are probably buried in the "colored" cemetery behind the family burying ground at Jackson's Mill.
The American of today lives in such a whirl of events and excitement that it takes the daring and fortitude of our forefathers to cope with the ever changing, overpowering problems of life which confront us. The interesting thing is that in our veins flows the blood, not of one nation, but of many; therefore, we react to life with the characteristics of many people, instead of one, and our industry, pride and shortcomings are blended with a sense of humor, and the ability to understand another's viewpoint, which alone will enable us to overcome our many mistakes and weather the perilous seas ahead.
The simple facts about the loves of our ancestors, the ones who braved high seas, starvation and savages, who fought, bled and died for this country of ours, is a tale more thrilling, more interesting, than any romance.
The following is a true history of the ancestors of one American child. In it I have told the unimportant things, as well as the important, for they are what give the color and the meaning to the facts. I have written it so that this child will know what it means to be a real American, what our obligations are to these wonderful people, whose deeds are written in their blood across the pages of the history of this country; these staunch people who have set us such a high standard of honor and valor, which we must carry on. Georgia Brake Todd - 1939