The Augusta Cemetery Family Trees

Raymond HyattAge: 3 years18911894

Name
Raymond Hyatt
Given names
Raymond
Surname
Hyatt
Birth July 1891 33 30
Publication: 1959, Exposition Press, New York
Citation details: Page 133
Text:
The second mortgage was held by the family, bigger now since the baby had been born in July. ...Edward named the boy Raymond after his pupil, Ray Cree. "He's going to be all right if he turns out like Ray," he said. "That boy's a go-getter." Now there were five young Hyatts -- Inez, Shirley, Margharita, Eddie, and Raymond.
Birth of a brotherVictor Hyatt
December 1893 (Age 2 years)
Death August 1894 (Age 3 years)
Publication: 1959, Exposition Press, New York
Citation details: Pages 170-174
Text:
It was the first week of August, too, that Raymond took sick. Three-year-old Raymond was well on Monday, playing all day with the other children, but the next day he whined to stay on Carmelita's lap and his flushed face was hot to the touch. The fever went down, but Raymond still whimpered and turned his head from the cup Maggie offered. "He doesn't act like any sick child I ever saw," Maggie fretted on Thursday. "I can't see what's the matter with him." In the evening she told Edward that Raymond seemed awake, but asleep. "He has not made a sound since this morning," she said, puzzled. Edward felt him all over, hunting for pain. He looked down the boy's throat and into his ears; gently he pressed the round, babyish belly. There was nothing -- no outcry, no twitching or squirming to indicate the source of the trouble. Edward rose and looked briefly at Maggie. "I'll telegraph Dr. Browning," he said. Maggie drew a sharp breath. "Yes," she whispered, for the first time afraid. The long hours dragged themselves through the night. Twice Edward drove up to the telegraph office at the depot, and the second time the message had come. "He's coming," he said. "He's on the way." Maggie lay down in an effort to sleep, hoping Edward would sleep. But it was a time of suspended animation; sleepless, she rose and knelt by Raymond's bed, listening. He lay quiet, without need of compress or poultice, unable to swallow the teaspoon of water she brought him. She tiptoed into the other bedrooms, drawing the blankets higher on this child or that, and Edward followed her, silent as a shadow. The blessed sound of hoofbeats came long before dawn; they slowed to a walk and turned into the driveway. Maggie held the lamp high to make light on the path as Edward brought Dr. Browning to the house. "He's just the same," she said in a level voice. Edward and Maggie watched silently while the doctor examined their child, and he, too, was silent as he applied one test after another. He straightened at last and met Edward's eyes. "Come in the kitchen, Mr. Hyatt. Mrs. Hyatt will want to stay with the boy." She stood as though paralyzed by Raymond's bed, aware of the rumbling monotone of men's voices, and aware, too, of their import. Dr. Browning could not save Raymond. She raised her hands slowly and covered her face, fiercely rejecting the knowledge. If Raymond must die -- lovely, intelligent, healthy Raymond -- then life was a farce... She felt her way to the door of the kitchen; groping, her eyes sought Edward. He looked very strange with his head down on his arms on the table. She wondered whether he slept. He raised his head slowly and looked at her with agony in his eyes. "Sit down, Mrs. Hyatt," Dr. Browning said gently. He pulled a chair toward her. "The boy has spinal meningitis. Far-advanced." She tried to concentrate, to find meaning in meaningless words. "Spinal meningitis," she repeated like a dull pupil learning by rote. "Why?" Dr. Browning went to the stove and lifted the lid. The fire was burning; he replaced the lid and moved the teakettle forward. He turned to face her and again she saw agony, and helplessness, and infinite sorrow. "We don't know why. We don't know. It comes in a wave across the country -- not like an epidemic, but striking here and there in quite isolated cases. And when it strikes, few recover." "If we had called you sooner..." "No. No medicine, no treatment could have stopped the disease." The ebbing of Raymond's life was hardly perceptible in the slow hours that followed. Dr. Browning stayed on. He had no real hope, but he had seen miracles and he determined to stand by until the end. He kept Edward company on the errands Maggie contrived; they took Eddie and the baby across to Grandma Gill's and they drove the little girls up to spend the day at Wardrobes'. And they came back to sit silent, tortured by impotence, by Raymond. Raymond's breath fluttered into final silence as the dusk melted into night, a silence that seemed universal in the warm August evening. For no children played Run Sheep Run in the Hyatt yard and the neighbors talked politics on some other porch. "It's all over, Mrs. Hyatt," Dr. Browning said quietly, replacing the pulseless hand on the coverlet. Maggie's sigh was more piteous than tears. She rose and the two men watched as she bent to kiss Raymond's forehead, turned, and walked to the door. "Edward, I..." She paused and looked back to face him. Her face was still, expressionless, her voice remote. "Will you tell the children? And please bring them all home." They heard the back door close quietly after her. "Will she be all right?" Dr. Browning asked uneasily. "She will be all right," Edward answered. "She wants the children home. Life will go on."
Family with parents - View this family
father
mother
elder sister
2 years
elder sister
3 years
elder sister
2 years
elder brother
3 years
himself
3 years
younger brother
3 years
younger sister
3 years
younger sister
sister
Private

BirthThe Hyatt Legacy
Publication: 1959, Exposition Press, New York
Citation details: Page 133
Text:
The second mortgage was held by the family, bigger now since the baby had been born in July. ...Edward named the boy Raymond after his pupil, Ray Cree. "He's going to be all right if he turns out like Ray," he said. "That boy's a go-getter." Now there were five young Hyatts -- Inez, Shirley, Margharita, Eddie, and Raymond.
DeathThe Hyatt Legacy
Publication: 1959, Exposition Press, New York
Citation details: Pages 170-174
Text:
It was the first week of August, too, that Raymond took sick. Three-year-old Raymond was well on Monday, playing all day with the other children, but the next day he whined to stay on Carmelita's lap and his flushed face was hot to the touch. The fever went down, but Raymond still whimpered and turned his head from the cup Maggie offered. "He doesn't act like any sick child I ever saw," Maggie fretted on Thursday. "I can't see what's the matter with him." In the evening she told Edward that Raymond seemed awake, but asleep. "He has not made a sound since this morning," she said, puzzled. Edward felt him all over, hunting for pain. He looked down the boy's throat and into his ears; gently he pressed the round, babyish belly. There was nothing -- no outcry, no twitching or squirming to indicate the source of the trouble. Edward rose and looked briefly at Maggie. "I'll telegraph Dr. Browning," he said. Maggie drew a sharp breath. "Yes," she whispered, for the first time afraid. The long hours dragged themselves through the night. Twice Edward drove up to the telegraph office at the depot, and the second time the message had come. "He's coming," he said. "He's on the way." Maggie lay down in an effort to sleep, hoping Edward would sleep. But it was a time of suspended animation; sleepless, she rose and knelt by Raymond's bed, listening. He lay quiet, without need of compress or poultice, unable to swallow the teaspoon of water she brought him. She tiptoed into the other bedrooms, drawing the blankets higher on this child or that, and Edward followed her, silent as a shadow. The blessed sound of hoofbeats came long before dawn; they slowed to a walk and turned into the driveway. Maggie held the lamp high to make light on the path as Edward brought Dr. Browning to the house. "He's just the same," she said in a level voice. Edward and Maggie watched silently while the doctor examined their child, and he, too, was silent as he applied one test after another. He straightened at last and met Edward's eyes. "Come in the kitchen, Mr. Hyatt. Mrs. Hyatt will want to stay with the boy." She stood as though paralyzed by Raymond's bed, aware of the rumbling monotone of men's voices, and aware, too, of their import. Dr. Browning could not save Raymond. She raised her hands slowly and covered her face, fiercely rejecting the knowledge. If Raymond must die -- lovely, intelligent, healthy Raymond -- then life was a farce... She felt her way to the door of the kitchen; groping, her eyes sought Edward. He looked very strange with his head down on his arms on the table. She wondered whether he slept. He raised his head slowly and looked at her with agony in his eyes. "Sit down, Mrs. Hyatt," Dr. Browning said gently. He pulled a chair toward her. "The boy has spinal meningitis. Far-advanced." She tried to concentrate, to find meaning in meaningless words. "Spinal meningitis," she repeated like a dull pupil learning by rote. "Why?" Dr. Browning went to the stove and lifted the lid. The fire was burning; he replaced the lid and moved the teakettle forward. He turned to face her and again she saw agony, and helplessness, and infinite sorrow. "We don't know why. We don't know. It comes in a wave across the country -- not like an epidemic, but striking here and there in quite isolated cases. And when it strikes, few recover." "If we had called you sooner..." "No. No medicine, no treatment could have stopped the disease." The ebbing of Raymond's life was hardly perceptible in the slow hours that followed. Dr. Browning stayed on. He had no real hope, but he had seen miracles and he determined to stand by until the end. He kept Edward company on the errands Maggie contrived; they took Eddie and the baby across to Grandma Gill's and they drove the little girls up to spend the day at Wardrobes'. And they came back to sit silent, tortured by impotence, by Raymond. Raymond's breath fluttered into final silence as the dusk melted into night, a silence that seemed universal in the warm August evening. For no children played Run Sheep Run in the Hyatt yard and the neighbors talked politics on some other porch. "It's all over, Mrs. Hyatt," Dr. Browning said quietly, replacing the pulseless hand on the coverlet. Maggie's sigh was more piteous than tears. She rose and the two men watched as she bent to kiss Raymond's forehead, turned, and walked to the door. "Edward, I..." She paused and looked back to face him. Her face was still, expressionless, her voice remote. "Will you tell the children? And please bring them all home." They heard the back door close quietly after her. "Will she be all right?" Dr. Browning asked uneasily. "She will be all right," Edward answered. "She wants the children home. Life will go on."