At times she found refuge in the home of one or the other of Patterson’s brothers at Saco, Maine, conveniently near to Portland. To James Patterson she wrote in November, 1863:
When I get able to go I want to return at once to N. H. My son startted by slow travelling a fortnight ago to come North this makes me very anxious to return, he may have reached Sanbornton. . . . I cannot live here as sick as I am. . . . I am homesick—almost. O! I want to see my Daniel so much. I cry half the time.111
The report about George Glover turned out to be untrue, one more in a series of disappointments. Instead of returning East after being discharged from an army hospital, he re-enlisted.112
When Christmas Day came, Mrs. Patterson wrote a poem in which the words “Merry Christmas” echoed with a sort of wistful irony. Remembering the “blank despair” or “trembling joy” to be found at “bier, or banquet,” she broke out suddenly: “What is thine, my soldier-boy?” All the loss and failure of the past seemed to haunt her:
How my sad eyes, dim with tear-drops,
Long to gaze upon my son;
Gazing back upon his childhood,
Wishing more I could have done.113
Quimby’s “wisdom” had no comfort for an ache like this. It was to Christianity she turned for the deep and abiding solace that had nourished her darkest hours. In one of her articles in the Daily Press she wrote:
112 According to his daughter, Mrs. Billings, he re-enlisted on January 15, 1864. Mary B. G. Billings, “Memories of my Grandmother,” 2 August 1941, Reminiscence, MBEL. Mrs. Billings states that he corresponded with his mother fairly regularly at this time and adds, “Father also carried a photo of his mother throughout the entire war.” Mary B. G. Billings to The Christian Science Board of Directors, 3 July 1932, p. 2, Subject File, Mary Baker Eddy - Family - Glovers - Mary B. G. Billings - Correspondence with Christian Science Board of Directors, MBEL.
↑113 Mary M. Patterson, “Christmas Day,” Portland Daily Press, 31 December 1863, p. 4. The published version differs slightly from the one in her notebook. [Cf. Mary Baker Patterson, entry c. 25 December 1863, poem, A09001, pp. 95–96, MBEL.]
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