ESTELLE BUSH

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THE BUSH FAMILY
ESTELLE BUSH

    I first remember Estelle, the eldest of the Bush children, when she was about 72 and I was 11 or 12. It was in 1928, when she happened to be in Oakland where we were living at the time.
    When my mother and I entered the lobby of her hotel, she was seating in an easy chair facing the door and waiting for us; a slender lady wearing a long, full-skirted, black taffeta dress, her delicate face topped with snow-white hair, her erect bearing softened by her natural grace. In her lap she held a large box of chocolates; this, you can imagine won me immediately. At all later meetings with Aunt Estelle she wore a similar all-black Victorian costume, and always brought chocolates! I remember deciding, even young as I was, that this was a lady who knew what suited her best, regardless of fashion's dictates: in those days short skirts or long, slinky gowns. Aunt Estelle seemed like a princess from a fairy-tale with manners to match her beauty.
    After a brief conversation Aunt Estelle suggested we go shopping for a present for me; delightful prospect! So off we went in search of a department store, instead we round a drug store which carried cosmetics. After browsing a bit she chose a grand case fitted with grooming things: comb, brush, manicure tools. For this budding teen-ager it was a perfect gift; I could not have been more pleased. My mother thought it extravagant for her daughter, who had been brought up so simply, but our delight easily overcame her resistance.

    In 1897 Estelle and her husband, Claudius Thayer adopted a baby girl; they named her Eugenia after Estelle's mother and sister.
    My mother told me that she worshipped this child, and that no effort or expense was spared to give her every advantage. She was sent to an exclusive girls' school. Her mother frequently visited there, sometimes unbeknownst to Eugenia. To make certain that she did not see her, on those occasions, she would stand at the playground fence, and hidden by bushes, watch for as long as she pleased.
    "It would upset her," she explained, "to think I was spying on her, but you know I love to watch her running and playing with her friends."
    Then, how sad it was to lose her; she died at the age of 21 at the threshold of her life. And only 5 years later Claudius died.
    I wonder now, did she dress always in black as an expression of grief over the loss of those two dearest ones in her life? What I do know is that she remained gracious and generous in spite of it.
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