My great-grandparents Henry Austin Carringer (1853-1946) and Abbey Ardelle "Della" Smith (1862-1944) married on 11 September 1887 in Wano, Cheyenne County, Kansas. I told their life stories in ABC Biography of #12 Henry Austin Carringer (1853-1946) of Pennsylvania, Iowa, Colorado and California and ABC Biography of #13 Abbey Ardelle "Della" (Smith) Carringer (1862-1944) of Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, and California based on my genealogical and family history research over 38 years.
I don't have any "family stories" about their early life except what is in the records I have from family sources, books and periodicals, and online record collections. Fortunately, I have Della's scrapbook and a number of records about their life in San Diego.
This is a series of short stories. The earlier stories are:
This is Part 3, courtesy of Anthropic Claude Sonnet 4:Joy and Sorrow
The Story of Devier David Carringer - 1889-1890
The Blessed Arrival
The August heat shimmered off the railroad tracks beyond their small National City home when Della's labor pains began. It was barely dawn on the 19th of August, 1889, and the Pacific breeze carried the scent of salt and the distant whistle of the morning freight train.
"Austin," Della whispered, gripping his hand as another wave of pain washed over her. "I think... I think it's time."
Austin had been pacing the small front room since midnight, his carpenter's hands useless for once. "Thank God your mother arrived last week," he said, rushing to the bedroom where Abbie Smith was already preparing hot water and clean linens.
"Everything's going to be just fine, dear," Abbie said calmly, her experienced hands gentle as she helped Della through each contraction. She had made the long journey from Kansas when Della's letter arrived announcing the pregnancy, arriving just in time with a carpetbag full of baby clothes she'd been knitting through the winter and spring months.
When the sun was high overhead, their son entered the world with a lusty cry that seemed to fill their small house with joy. Austin stood at the foot of the bed, tears streaming down his face as Abbie placed the tiny, perfect baby in Della's arms.
"Hello, little one," Della whispered, her voice hoarse with exhaustion and wonder. "You're finally here."
"What shall we call him?" Austin asked softly, reaching out to touch his son's tiny fist.
"Devier David," Della said without hesitation. "Devier for strength, David for the beloved. Our little prince."
Austin nodded, overwhelmed. "Devier David Carringer. Welcome to the world, my son."
(Devier David Carringer - about 1889, from family sources)
Golden Months
The months that followed were filled with a happiness neither Austin nor Della had ever imagined. Little Devier was a content baby with his mother's dark eyes and his father's strong chin. Austin would hurry home each evening from the railroad yards, his pockets often containing small wooden toys he'd carved during his lunch break.
"Look how he watches you work," Della observed one evening as Austin sat on the floor, rolling a wooden train car back and forth while Devier reached for it with chubby fingers. "He's going to be a builder like his papa."
"Or maybe a performer like his mama," Austin replied, making silly faces that sent the baby into fits of giggling. "Listen to that laugh! He'll have them rolling in the aisles."
Abbie stayed on to help, reluctant to leave her daughter and her first grandchild. She helped Della learn to nurse and bathe the baby, showed her how to make his food when he was ready, and rocked him to sleep while singing the same lullabies she'd sung to Della years before.
"You're natural mothers, both of you," she told Della one evening as they watched Austin playing peek-a-boo with Devier. "That child is blessed to have such loving parents."
The letters home were filled with joy: Devier said his first word yesterday - 'Papa!' Austin nearly fell off his chair with delight. He's crawling everywhere now and getting into everything. Mrs. O'Malley says he's the most beautiful baby in National City, and I quite agree!
The Shadow Falls
Spring came early to Southern California in 1890, but with it came a fever that swept through the growing community. Other children in National City had fallen ill - some recovered quickly, others lingered with weakened constitutions.
When Devier's fever began on the morning of May 8th, Della tried not to panic. "Children get fevers," Abbie told her, bathing his small body with cool cloths. "It will pass."
But by evening, the baby was listless and refusing to nurse. Austin sent word to the railroad that he wouldn't be coming to work, and all three of them took turns holding Devier through the long night.
"He's so hot," Della whispered, her own face flushed with worry and exhaustion. "Austin, I'm frightened."
"The doctor will come again in the morning," Austin said, though his voice betrayed his own fear. "Dr. Morrill knows what he's doing."
The doctor came, examined little Devier with gentle hands, and spoke in quiet tones that offered little comfort. "Keep him cool, keep trying to get liquids into him, and... pray."
For two days they battled the fever. Abbie shared the care with Della, Mrs. O'Malley brought soup and offered to help, other railroad families stopped by with remedies and kind words. But on the morning of May 10th, 1890, as the sun rose over San Diego Bay, their precious son drew his last breath in Della's arms.
The silence that followed was deafening.
The Mourning
Austin had built many things with his hands - train stations, freight cars, their little home - but the small pine coffin was the hardest thing he'd ever crafted. His tears fell onto the wood as he worked, and his fellow carpeners came by in shifts, offering quiet support and helping with the details their grieving friend couldn't manage.
The funeral was held at the small Protestant church in National City. Rev. Patterson, who had baptized Devier just three months earlier, spoke gentle words about children being called home to God, but Della heard none of it. She sat between Austin and her mother, feeling as though part of her soul had been torn away.
The grave in National City Cemetery was small and lonely under the California sun. They placed wildflowers they'd picked that morning - orange poppies and purple lupine - on the fresh earth.
"My sweet boy," Della whispered, kneeling beside the small grave marker Austin had carved with his own hands: Devier David Carringer, Beloved Son, August 19, 1889 - May 10, 1890. "Mama and Papa love you so very much."
(Devier David Carringer memorial card, from family sources)
Learning to Live Again
The weeks that followed passed in a gray haze. Austin returned to work because they needed the income, but his heart wasn't in it. Della couldn't bear to pack away Devier's clothes, leaving his cradle in their bedroom and his toys scattered on the floor.
Abbie stayed an extra month, cooking meals they barely touched and gently encouraging them to talk about their feelings.
"Grief isn't something you get over," she told them one evening as they sat on the front porch watching the sunset. "It's something you learn to carry. That child was loved every moment of his life, and that love doesn't die just because he's gone."
Austin found solace in work, volunteering to help other families build cribs and children's furniture. Della slowly began giving piano lessons again, finding that music could express the sorrow she had no words for.
They visited Devier's grave every Sunday after church, bringing fresh flowers and sitting quietly in the shadow of the pepper trees. Sometimes they talked to him, telling him about their week, about the ships they'd seen in the harbor, about how much they missed his laughter.
"Do you think he knows we're here?" Della asked one Sunday in late summer.
Austin took her hand. "I think love like ours crosses any distance, even death."
Finding Hope Again
By winter, they had learned to smile again, though the sadness never fully left their eyes. They received a letter from Della's Kansas cousin announcing her own pregnancy, and instead of bitterness, they felt a surprising surge of joy.
"Life goes on," Della said, folding the letter carefully. "Maybe... maybe someday we'll be blessed again."
"Would you want that?" Austin asked quietly. "After..."
"Because of," she corrected. "Because we know how precious it is. Because Devier taught us how to love completely, even knowing we might lose everything."
They began talking about the future again, making plans and dreams. The little house in National City would always hold memories of their first son, but it would hold hope for the future too.
As 1889 drew to a close, Austin and Della Carringer had learned one of life's hardest lessons - that love and loss could coexist, that joy and sorrow were often intertwined, and that the human heart was both more fragile and more resilient than they had ever imagined.
Their love story would continue, marked by this profound loss but not defined by it. In the years to come, they would be blessed with other children, but Devier David would always be their first, their angel, the child who taught them that love transcends even death itself.
I can imagine the excitement ans joy of the birth of a first child. I cannot image the sorrow of my great-grandparents when they lost this child at the age of nine months. I want to believe the above fictional account is realistic, but it is historical fiction. The account is touching and heartfelt. I do know that Austin and Della renounced their religious beliefs after this event.
This is a series of fictional short stories (but based on actual events in their lives) about the lives of Austin and Della (Smith) Carringer. Getting married in Kansas in 1887, the honeymoon trip to San Diego, raising a family, owning and building their own house, having a grandchild, and living their lives for almost 60 more years!
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