Born October 15, 1893 – Died July 10, 1917
Named for her Mama’s sister, Jessie Lee Beaty, and for her Father’s sister, Catherine.
She was loved by all and she loved all fiercely and deeply. She would walk her younger brother, Harold, to school and found that her lunch pail made a very convenient weapon, when necessary, to protect her and her brother.
When Jessie was 12 years old or so, she was gravely injured while riding a horse to the Doctor while her Father was ill. Below is an excerpt from “Growing Up With The Country” regarding that incident:
'When Father's illness had continued for two weeks or more, Sister Jessie went as usual to take the chart to Dr. Collier and to get the mail. The Colliers were surprised one day to see her approaching the gate leading her horse. She was extremely pale and there were tear marks on her face. Upon investigation, they found that a neighbor dog had hidden in the weeds beside the road, then had sprung out suddenly and bit the horse's heels, causing him to jump from under his unsuspecting mistress. The doctor and his wife, who was a nurse, made an examination and found that the child had suffered internal injuries and he feared the injury was a grave one. He hitched up his horse and took Jessie home in the buggy. He told Mother his fears but said nothing could be done about it except have the child remain as quiet as possible until the soreness should leave. A few days later, Jessie developed typhoid fever and the injury was temporarily forgotten.'
Jessie regained her strength but would have lasting effects of the fall until she passed away. Her sister, Ermine, writes the following:
'The years of 1916-1917 brought about the marriage of Brother (Harold) and Sammie (Sister) and the death of Sister Jessie who had married two years before. Her death was the final result of the injuries received when the little dog had hidden beside the road and had sprung out and bit the horse's heels, causing the horse to throw her just before she contracted typhoid fever.
The whole family was shocked by our irreparable loss. Because of her intelligence, capabilities, and personality, we had more or less come to idolize her. It was a terrific blow to the family, but we held hands so to speak, and braced each other. I suppose that outsiders could see little difference in the execution of our plans or in the everyday progress that the family seemed to be making in one way or another. And to some, no doubt, the family seemed calloused and unfeeling, but they were perhaps the ones who had not faced some of the hardships, trials, and disappointments that we had known, especially before we left the homestead. By our associations, experience, and observation we had learned to accept death as a fact of life, regardless of how hard it might be and there was no way we could change it. We had also learned that the best way to endure things that cut us so deeply was to keep busy.'
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