Isabel Woods Edwards was born in St. Louis in 1865 and died
of tuberculosis in 1897 after nursing her mother and her mother-in-law as they
each succumbed to the same plague. Isabel was married to Ben Edwards, the first
of the “sons” in A.G. Edwards and Sons, the investment firm started by his
father. Isabel was the mother of Albert. Her other children died in infancy and
she died when Albert was three. My mother-in-law was Albert’s daughter and she
is the person who gave me a set of letters written by Ben to Isabel in 1887
before they were courting describing his observations on a train journey from
St. Louis to San Francisco and back. Isabel kept these and a few other letters
which are rich in details about trains and banks and churches but devoid of
emotion and with scant if any interest in what she may have been doing. My
mother-in-law knew Ben (she called him Grandfather Edwards) and Flora, Isabel’s
younger sister who married Ben soon after Isabel died and who raised little
Albert along with her own children. The stories she told about Ben combined
with how the letters provide a window to his mind and heart make me think that
he would have been diagnosed on the Autism Spectrum had he lived today. In
addition to the letters, I own a dresser that was Isabel’s and the little spun
silver purse described in the book.
I wanted the story to function as Isabel’s last week
choreographed. As she fades further and further into the world of stories and
in the certainty that her death was imminent, she faced death with dignity and
grace knowing her future lay with her Savior. Her only fear was that Albert
would grow up in a world without stories. I layered the stories of the family’s
past into the week’s news. I envisioned Ben, always concerned for his health,
visiting Isabel’s bedroom doorway each morning before he left to work at the
bank. I spent time in the newspaper archives hunting for news about banks,
trains and churches from the last week of Isabel’s life. Ben reported the news
to Isabel in the doorway. Flora and Albert also visited from the hallway. Only
Lizzie, the African American maid, Isabel’s brother, Matt, and Dr. Barker ever
entered the room. After Ben left, Isabel recalled, reread and reflected on
passages from Ben’s actual letters that happened on the same day of the week.
Monday’s news reflected letters written on a Monday, for example. Isabel died
on a Sunday. “Safe in the Arms of Jesus” is inscribed on her tombstone in
Bellefontaine Cemetery in St. Louis – the photograph on the book’s cover.
Whenever I work in fiction, my goal is to juxtapose
dysfunctional families with authentic faith and to continue to explore an
academic interest of mine in the history of race in America. I work with four
main values. I want to demonstrate honor for every person involved even when
they act in ways that are troublesome. I want to redeem the lost stories that
did not make the typical American historical canon. I want the story itself to
be a transformative experience for the characters, for myself, and for the
readers, and I want the story to diffuse wisdom. I hope that my readers will
find that I begin to succeed in these goals.
By Lesley Barker c. 2025
