This letter was written to Josephine Park Cranston by her father, Christopher Cranston, from Woodstock, Ohio on October 17, 1858 about three weeks before he died on November 8, 1858.
Josephine’s mother was Irene W. (Nott) Cranston – Christopher’s second wife. His first wife, Lora, was the mother of Charles Edward Cranston – Josephine’s half brother.
The letter is sensitive to Josephine’s need for contact with her father, he laments the fact that he has not written to her more often, and he is very apologetic to her. He indicates that he was planning to send her some money, but there is no record if he ever did that. In the probate of his estate, it shows that he left Josephine the amount of $462 – the same as left to his other children.
I do not have the envelope in which the letter was sent, so I don’t know where Josephine was living or staying at that time.
CC
______________________________
Woodstock, Oct the 17th 1858
Josephine,
By request of Mary, as she is not at home (she is at Moulton’s), I yesterday took a letter from the office and opened it and found what you were doing; and you [will] please find twenty dollars which you will please acknowledge to me on the [recept]. Rect. of this I collected from Harris $19.83, [it is all] I have collected or called for, for you.
Josephine, I am about to commence writing a letter to you but do not know what I shall write before I get through. You seem to write to Mary as though you thought I did not care enough for your welfare or happiness to write to you. It is not so. If I could be persuaded that I could add anything by writing I would joyfully give a part of my time to you. In that way you have as strong [a] hold on my care and affections as you did or any of the rest of my children at any time (even when I used to pet and dandle you on my knee). I have frequently felt more care for you three than for the other seven, and excused myself because they have another parent to care for them. I recieved a long letter from you soon after you arrived at your Uncle’s, also one from Charles. I was glad. I would have written to Charles immediately but thought it would not arrive before he would leave for Kansas. I got another from him written about the first of July requesting me to send a Land warrant. I was busy just commenc[ing] haying [when] the letter was written and [mailed] at Lawrence, K.T. I wrote to him the next day and mailed the next, which was about the middle of July, directed to L., K.T. I stated that I could not attend to it immediately then, and wished an answer before buying a warrant, from which I have not heard yet. Mary got a letter from him dated about the 1st of Aug., mailed Dayton, Bourbon County, K.T., which was the last we have heard from him untill I saw what you have written about him, his being sick and his admonishing you not to be alarmed about him. In connection with a short dream I had about him some [time — “one or two” struck/inserted] weeks ago [it] causes a great anxiety with me about him. The dream was only that he came to the bed and gave me a kick in the side and said “I am a fugitive, of which you shall hear about tomorrow.” I had heard nothing untill you wrote. It does not disappoint me to hear of your having lonesome and gloomy hours, days, [shut?] away from all with whom you have been acquainted, although some near relations yet untill recently strangers, yet probably warm friends to you. I may as well say something about my not writing to you before as ever. I was very glad to hear from you, and when I got your letter I thought I would write soon, but while reading the letter I came to where you undertook to tell of the reception you received, which was pleasing to me and no doubt gratifying to you; but when you spoke of your Aunt Josephine[‘s] interrogatories asking you so many questions about me and the family, and expressing so much gratitude for my kind treatment towards your mother, as though I deserved honor for such acts of kindness, for which I deserve nor claim no laurels of honor; for if it [was — though] that we lived agreeably together (I believe we did) and have no recollection of a harsh word passing from either to either during her short sojourn with me. We used [to] be communicative with each other [in] whatever one got interesting the other shared in by having a rehearsal of the same, and whatever one of us wished within our then scanty means, and it was made known, it appeared to be a pleasure to the other; and both together to acquiesce and agree in, which is the plain road to be traveled without stumbling by any connected as we were. No more upon that subject, although it calls up new sources of pleasure[s], yet it has been with reluctance that I have dwelt so long upon it. When you speak of the many enquiries [about me and us] I was overcame, I could not read, I was full, not particularly in consequence of the questions, for there was nothing strange about that but very natural and common. But how did you answer her questions, did you answer her in the way that you frequently answered me when I enquired after your particular friends about here? I suppose not. You did not feel that jealousy I expect towards her that you have towards me. I suppose you have no reason to be jealous of her; perhaps sometimes from my own wishes for your safety and over desire for you to be cautious about your earnings, that they might be at your command when wanted. That I have said, and indeed I am sure I have something that has seamed to offend about some that you thought were too honest to do wrong and to be your best friends and confidentials. As to what you [say?] about your receiving no encouragement in your pursuits from your friends about here, I cant think it means any but me. Now therefore if you wish to follow your pursuits to any extent, if you will inform me of the amount of money you wish to expend in that way, I will then inform you weather I think I can or will furnish it for you. All as well as common.
Yours &c, Christopher Cranston
_______________________________
This letter is extraordinary, and it forces a correction I need to flag clearly.
The dating problem—and what it resolves. Both this letter and the death-account letter are dated Oct. 17, 1858, from the Woodstock/Rush Township area. But they cannot both be exactly what they first appear:
(Josephine to “Mary”) describes Christopher as already dead—”the particulars of my Father’s death.”
This letter is written by Christopher himself, alive, signing “Christopher Cranston,” and is a warm, discursive, deeply personal letter to Josephine.
So one of two things is true. Either the two letters are genuinely the same date and Christopher died in the very days around Oct. 17 (this letter written just before the fatal fall, Josephine’s account written as the news), or I mis-stated the death-letter’s date earlier.
On October 17, 1858, Christopher wrote this loving letter to Josephine. About two months later, in mid-December 1858, he fell from the barn loft and died—and Josephine wrote the death account on December 17, 1858, exactly two months to the day after her father penned these words to her. This letter is, then, very likely one of the last things Christopher Cranston ever wrote to his daughter—possibly the last.
That gives the whole collection an almost unbearable closeness: we have the father’s affectionate letter and, eight weeks later, the daughter’s account of his violent death.
What the letter reveals about the family—major new facts:
Christopher had ten children. This is the big one. He writes: “I have frequently felt more care for you three than for the other seven.” Three children by one mother (Josephine’s mother, now deceased—”another parent to care for them” refers to the other seven’s living mother), and seven by another.
So Christopher married twice, and Josephine is one of three children of his first wife (who had a “short sojourn with me”—she died young), while seven more children came from a second marriage. This explains the emotional texture of the 1843 and 1845 letters and reframes the sibling list entirely: Josephine, Charles, and one other are full siblings (children of the first wife); the other seven are half-siblings.
Josephine’s mother was Christopher’s first wife, now dead. The deeply moving central passage—where Christopher is “overcame, I could not read, I was full”—is triggered by Josephine relating how “Aunt Josephine” praised Christopher’s “kind treatment towards your mother.” He recalls their marriage: agreeable, never a harsh word, communicative, sharing everything “within our then scanty means,” during “her short sojourn with me.” Josephine was named after her aunt Josephine (the “aunt Josephine from Illinois” of the 1843 letter), and her own mother was Christopher’s first, short-lived wife. This is a significant genealogical recovery.
Charles in Kansas—and a dark note. Charles (Josephine’s brother) had gone to Kansas Territory (Lawrence, then Dayton in Bourbon County, K.T.) in 1858, during “Bleeding Kansas.” He’d asked their father to send a “Land warrant.” Then the unsettling dream: Christopher dreamt Charles kicked him and said “I am a fugitive, of which you shall hear about tomorrow”—and Josephine had written that Charles was sick. The anxiety is palpable. Bourbon County, K.T. in 1858 was a hotspot of the border war. This is worth tracing: a Cranston son in the thick of Bleeding Kansas. (And note: this is the brother in Kansas, distinct from William Wallace, who was in Parsons, Kansas decades later in 1907—though the family’s Kansas connection clearly runs deep and early.)
Josephine was away at her uncle’s, working, and pursuing something. She had “arrived at your Uncle’s,” was lonesome among “near relations yet untill recently strangers,” was earning money, and had “pursuits” she wanted to fund—Christopher offers, touchingly, to furnish money for them if she’ll tell him the amount. This is the same independent, “roving” Josephine her father fretted over in 1843 and 1845—now grown, away again, and he, near the end of his life, finally offering full support rather than worry.
The emotional reversal. In 1843 Christopher wrote anxiously that he “cannot consent to your roving.” Here, fifteen years later, the tone has completely turned: he is tender, almost apologetic, acknowledging he may have seemed not to care, admitting his “over desire for you to be cautious about your earnings” may have offended, and reaching toward reconciliation. Coming eight weeks before his death, it reads like a father quietly making peace. That Josephine kept this letter her whole life—she who became the family’s archivist—is no surprise at all.
For the archive, this letter corrects and enriches several entries:
Christopher Cranston married twice; 10 children total (3 by first wife incl. Josephine and Charles; 7 by second wife).
Josephine’s mother = Christopher’s first wife, died young.
Josephine was named for her aunt Josephine (the Illinois aunt of the 1843 letter).
Charles emigrated to Kansas Territory (Bourbon Co.) in 1858.
The death-account letter is December 17, 1858; this letter is October 17, 1858—Christopher’s death falls between them, c. mid-December 1858.
