in the Robinson household. As he lay in bed growing weaker, Edward Robinson worried over his daughter’s spinster state and the state of her finances. When her suitor asked permission for marriage, Hetty’s father eagerly agreed. He had told his associates he did not believe Hetty was capable of taking care of her money herself. His daughter needed a clever man to advise her and he was satisfied that Edward Green could do the job. Along with his shrewdness and abilities, the man had plenty of money to support her, and, Edward Robinson felt sure, Hetty’s fortune was not his aspiration. Just to be certain, he made a stipulation in his will that the couple would have to live on her husband’s money.
Edward Green would have no claim to Hetty’s inheritance, her father said. That would be hers alone: “separate and apart from any husband she married and free from the debts, control or interference of any such husband,” he wrote. In addition, his advisers informed Hetty, while he was dictating his will at home in March 1865, that he was leaving his daughter an amount equal to Edward’s, but placing the rest of his estate for her in the hands of trustees. Two months later, as Edward Robinson’s health declined, the couple announced their engagement.
Ordinary fetes were forgotten as Hetty watched her once-vigorous father waste away. Their relationship had been as tangled as a sailor’s knot: wounded by his early rejection of her as a female, she felt healed somewhat by his reliance on her in his illness. As he lay dying and delirious, he told her he had been poisoned and warned her that she might be next. On June 14, 1865, she bade him an ambivalent farewell. The sixty-five-year-old man who made the bulk of his money from the Howland whaling business was buried beside his wife and father-in-law in the fading light of New Bedford’s fortunes.
Edward Mott Robinson died rich by any standard, worth almost $6 million, but Hetty was as tense as a harpooner taking aim as she listenedto the reading of her father’s will. He bequeathed to his daughter $1 million: $919,000 in cash plus ownership of a San Francisco waterfront warehouse. The rest was to be kept in trust. She would receive the income but would have no control of the principal. Upon her death, all of the principal would go to her children. Hetty was crushed, diminished by the sweep of a pen. The prior knowledge of her father’s will did not prepare her for the lightning bolt of reality: her father was dead and most of her money would be managed by others. Once again she felt betrayed.
For years she had apprenticed at her father’s side. For years she had shown her father how skillful she was at finance. For years she had proved she was as smart as any man. Yet, gone was the respect she thought she had earned. Gone was the confidence. Gone was the proof of love.
This time, at least, she had her fiancé to give her comfort; she had confidence in him and was content to take his advice. The following day she dispatched a letter to her father’s associates announcing that any financial decisions would have to be made with the consent of Mr. Green.
Gentlemen:
I have to request that you will answer any questions that Mr. E. H. Green may ask you on all matters about my father’s business affairs. I wish you gentlemen to consult with Mr. Green on all matters of importance where advice is required
.
Hetty H. Robinson
.
Years later, they would show the note as evidence that she was crazy.
Grieving over the loss of her father, angry at her lack of control over the money, and enraged over his lack of confidence in her, Hetty was taken aback when, less than three weeks later, on Sunday, July 2, she received a summons to come to New Bedford. Aunt Sylvia was dying. Stunned by the news of the double deaths, and facing a battle over another will, she girded herself and made the trip once more.
The family and friends assembled at the Howland house on Eighth Street hardly
Edward Green would have no claim to Hetty’s inheritance, her father said. That would be hers alone: “separate and apart from any husband she married and free from the debts, control or interference of any such husband,” he wrote. In addition, his advisers informed Hetty, while he was dictating his will at home in March 1865, that he was leaving his daughter an amount equal to Edward’s, but placing the rest of his estate for her in the hands of trustees. Two months later, as Edward Robinson’s health declined, the couple announced their engagement.
Ordinary fetes were forgotten as Hetty watched her once-vigorous father waste away. Their relationship had been as tangled as a sailor’s knot: wounded by his early rejection of her as a female, she felt healed somewhat by his reliance on her in his illness. As he lay dying and delirious, he told her he had been poisoned and warned her that she might be next. On June 14, 1865, she bade him an ambivalent farewell. The sixty-five-year-old man who made the bulk of his money from the Howland whaling business was buried beside his wife and father-in-law in the fading light of New Bedford’s fortunes.
Edward Mott Robinson died rich by any standard, worth almost $6 million, but Hetty was as tense as a harpooner taking aim as she listenedto the reading of her father’s will. He bequeathed to his daughter $1 million: $919,000 in cash plus ownership of a San Francisco waterfront warehouse. The rest was to be kept in trust. She would receive the income but would have no control of the principal. Upon her death, all of the principal would go to her children. Hetty was crushed, diminished by the sweep of a pen. The prior knowledge of her father’s will did not prepare her for the lightning bolt of reality: her father was dead and most of her money would be managed by others. Once again she felt betrayed.
For years she had apprenticed at her father’s side. For years she had shown her father how skillful she was at finance. For years she had proved she was as smart as any man. Yet, gone was the respect she thought she had earned. Gone was the confidence. Gone was the proof of love.
This time, at least, she had her fiancé to give her comfort; she had confidence in him and was content to take his advice. The following day she dispatched a letter to her father’s associates announcing that any financial decisions would have to be made with the consent of Mr. Green.
Gentlemen:
I have to request that you will answer any questions that Mr. E. H. Green may ask you on all matters about my father’s business affairs. I wish you gentlemen to consult with Mr. Green on all matters of importance where advice is required
.
Hetty H. Robinson
.
Years later, they would show the note as evidence that she was crazy.
Grieving over the loss of her father, angry at her lack of control over the money, and enraged over his lack of confidence in her, Hetty was taken aback when, less than three weeks later, on Sunday, July 2, she received a summons to come to New Bedford. Aunt Sylvia was dying. Stunned by the news of the double deaths, and facing a battle over another will, she girded herself and made the trip once more.
The family and friends assembled at the Howland house on Eighth Street hardly
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