Page 54 - Always Virginia
P. 54

42                                    Virginia Day Fritscher


             brothers weren’t allowed out after they outgrew the jack-o-lantern
             trip, as there was too much vandalism or maybe just devilment, and
             the local constable, whose name was Bennett, would make a few
             arrests if he found any culprits, and my Mom and Daddy didn’t
             want our family blamed.
                 We had another friend we visited frequently in Hamburg.
             Her name was “Mag Kelly,” a very dear old friend of my mother,
             and we always called her “Aunt Mag” even though she wasn’t a
             relative like our real Aunt Mag who lived in Kampsville, and was
             the only aunt we had by blood. In this very big interesting house,
             filled with beautiful antiques, lived Aunt Mag Kelly with her sister,
             Annie—and Annie’s husband, Tom—and her sister “Doty” Kelly
             who was a little slow, as well as her sister Kate Kelly who lived
             there occasionally, but worked in Staunton, Illinois, and in later
             days finally moved in full-time with Aunt Mag Kelly. Kate Kelly
             always told us Santa Claus lived in Staunton, and we believed her.
             None of those Kelly sisters had ever married, except for Annie who
             married Tom.
                 When we’d go over for supper at Aunt Mag Kelly’s on Sunday,
             she’d send us on a wonderful little errand. We’d cross the road, go
             up a steep hill, and to the Spring House, which was a big wooden
             box built over where ice-cold water seeped slowly out of the ground.
             That’s where Aunt Mag Kelly kept her butter, cream, etc. The spring
             itself and the Spring House were delightful. I don’t know what
             happened to Aunt Mag Kelly’s house or furnishings after they all
             died, but the antiques she had in there would be worth a fortune.
             I always remember the big picture she had in the living room of
             horses running in a storm. It always intrigued me. Aunt Mag Kelly
             lived, I’m sure, until after my older son, Jack, was about three in
             1942, when my younger son, Bob, was born. I guess none of them
             at Aunt Mag Kelly’s had a will and she was last to go, and every-
             thing just vanished, probably still floating around in flea markets.
             Nobody I knew seemed to know.
                 There was also a man and lady we visited named Frank and
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