Creating Fiction from History: 4/6/2022

The following is part two of the A.B. Paxton story from the February 23rd edition of The Ledger.

I was born Eliza Jane Whitfirth in the early morning hours of April 1st, in the Year of our Lord, 1887. My parents were James and Eliza.

James was Mulatto and played baseball for Louisville Fall City, one of several teams in the League of Colored Baseball Clubs. My mother was the youngest daughter of one of the oldest families in Kentucky. Of course, they were thoroughbreds (horses).

When Eliza met James, he being Colored and she being not only White, but a member of one of the most affluent families in horse-breeding, even though it was love at first sight, one can only imagine the turmoil that they went through. It was in the midst of this turmoil that I was born. Thankfully (a bit selfishly as well), I favored my mother rather than my father, so when I became the wife of a preeminent politician some 30 years later, everything seemed to go smoothly.

The politician I married was A.B. Paxton, whose campaign for reelection was under close scrutiny at the same time. We had met when he was visiting his plant in Washington, Pennsylvania, where I had relocated to escape a similar type of scrutiny in my hometown. Again, it was love at first sight and though we spent the first several years of our married life in the wider area in which we had both grown up, it was not long before we retired to the warmer climes of North Central Florida.

There, on the shores of one of the many lakes in that part of Florida, we made our home and I gave birth to a daughter, Christina. During this time my husband embarked on his new career. Because of complications in childbirth, A.B. was to continue on this new, though similar path alone. I gave my last breath so that he might not be totally alone, though I'm sure it was not a great solace for the bereavement he must have felt when I left him so early in life. Christina Paxton was, however a great solace to my poor, bereaved husband in his later years after he retired, at the ripe old age of 83, from his position as Head Pastor at the First Presbyterian Church of Eustis.

By the way, everybody said that Christina was MY spittin' image!

If you would like to create fiction from history with one of the museum's photos, please contact the Ledger at (406) 287-5301 or email whledger@gmail.com.