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From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:

This morning, while I was writing a letter to my father, Grandmother came in and wanted to see my diary. I didn’t answer her, so she told me to bring it out right away, as she wanted to see what I had written. I told her that I couldn’t, it was only for me to read when I was eighty years old and my grandchildren maybe, but no one should read it now. Then Grandmother began to scream and cry. She said that I had written nasty things about her and Grandfather and that is what they got in return for taking in a poor orphan and she would write a letter to my father to come and get me if I didn’t let her see the diary, or else she would put me in an orphan asylum and I would have to wear one of those ugly dresses and not have any hair ribbons. She said that she didn’t know that she was nursing a viper in her bosom and why did God punish her so. I wanted to show her the book, just to show her that I hadn’t written anything bad but I couldn’t. I don’t know why, it just seemed important not to. Then Grandfather came in and she told him all about it and he said that he didn’t believe that I wrote anything bad about anyone and to leave me alone with my book. Then, Grandmother began to yell all over again. She said that she hoped one day someone would be as mean to me as I was to her and she hoped that when she was dead that everyone would remember what a very good woman she had been and that she had been a good wife and mother and he didn’t take her to the theater like other husbands and she had to put up with this and hadn’t she always taken care of his house and seen to it that he had clean underwear and clean clothes and on and on she went. Then I took out my little pink book and gave it to Grandfather. He said, “No child, this is your own book and you may write anything you please in it. I know you didn’t say anything bad about your Grandmother or me..” Then Grandmother said that it seemed in this house only the child counted and she hoped that she wouldn’t awaken the next morning as no one seemed to care about her.

Hilda’s description of her grandfather Jacob sounds a lot like how Helene’s wrote about of her father (Jacob’s brother) Adolph – kind, sensible, smart, with an innate love for and understanding of children. Hilda and Helene also were both very alike — intelligent, sensitive, and very emotional. Hilda’s grandmother was at least as emotional and had never gotten over her grief at losing her daughter soon after Hilda was born.