A Secret Life_ The Lies and Scandals of President Grover Cleveland - Charles Lachman [32]
Several weeks after Frances’s birth, Cleveland and Lyman K. Bass paid a congratulatory call on the proud parents. They were living in a picturesque little red brick house on Edward Street, just north of downtown, on the border of a Buffalo neighborhood known as Allentown, named after Cleveland’s uncle Lewis Allen. Cleveland arrived bearing a generous gift—a baby carriage for Frances, an adorable child with a perfectly round head and deep violet eyes. Cleveland was utterly charmed by this enchanting little creature and, it was said, beheld her in wonder as she lay in her crib.
Over the years, Cleveland watched Frances blossom into a charming young lady, popular with her classmates and “very pleasing in appearance.” Cleveland visited the Folsoms frequently and doted on the girl, who called him Uncle Cleve.
Once when Cleveland’s sister Susan Cleveland Yeomans was nagging her bachelor brother, she asked him whether he had ever thought of getting married.
“A good many times,” Cleveland said, “and the more I think of it, the more I think I’ll not do it.” Susan did not find his answer amusing.
Several years passed, and during another conversation with her brother, Susan again pressed him on the subject of marriage. Would he ever consider it? She really wanted to know. This time Cleveland had a different response.
“I’m only waiting for my wife to grow up,” he told her. At the time, it seemed an off-the-cuff dodge, which, though a little creepy, was not to be taken seriously. One wonders how Susan would have responded had she realized that Grover was not teasing; he was speaking the literal truth.
Frances was seven when Cleveland became sheriff, and ten years old when he returned to private practice. Tall for her age, she was an agile and healthy child with a generous personality, and she shared her father’s enthusiasm for sports. Frances preferred the name Frank, though once it caused confusion on the school roster when she was misidentified as a boy. On that occasion, she grudgingly consented to being called Frances. She spent her summers at her father’s family farm in Folsomville, her favorite place in the world. It was a happy home.
Maria Halpin was doing well in Buffalo. After her bosses at Flint & Kent had started her off making shirt collars, they’d realized her worth and promoted her to head of the cloak department. She also had a wide circle of fashionable friends, mainly through her affiliation with St. John’s Episcopal Church; and after two years in Buffalo, she seemed content with her new life.
On December 15, 1873, all around Buffalo, friends were getting together to celebrate the Christmas holiday season. On this evening, Maria, still living with her son Freddie in rented rooms at Mrs. Randall’s boardinghouse, had been invited to a birthday party for a friend, Mrs. Johnson. She left her apartment and was walking down Swan Street when she ran into Grover Cleveland, who lived just a block and a half away. In those days, Cleveland was always correct in his dress, in the office and out, which meant he was almost certainly wearing black broadcloth and a top hat. They exchanged friendly greetings. Cleveland had been courting her for several months now, and it was obvious that he was interested in getting to know her better. Physically, they looked good together. Cleveland was thirty-seven; Maria was a year younger. The bulk on Cleveland’s six-foot frame projected a figure of unusual might and virility. Maria was a worthy complement to an outsized man like Cleveland. She had matured into her beauty, with a cascade of dark hair set against pale skin, a rounded chin, and a mouth cut into