🕊 A Legacy of Courage and Connection: The Leete Line
William Leete (c. 1613 – April 16, 1683) stands as a pillar in the early governance of colonial Connecticut. He served as Governor of the New Haven Colony from 1661 to 1665, and following its merger with the Connecticut Colony, he was elected Governor of Connecticut from 1676 to 1683. A devout Puritan and principled leader, Leete is remembered not only for his political service but for his moral courage: he harbored Edward Whalley and William Goffe, two judges who had signed the death warrant of King Charles I. Branded as regicides by the restored monarchy of Charles II, Whalley and Goffe found refuge in Connecticut thanks to Leete’s quiet defiance and deep convictions.
Though one of Leete’s descendants would later leave Connecticut as a Loyalist during the American Revolution—settling in New Brunswick—my branch of the family eventually came ashore in Maine. There, Thomas Leet, my great-great-great-grandfather, became the great-grandfather of Evelyn, my great-grandmother, who died tragically at age 30 while pregnant with her fifth child.
Evelyn had four children, one of whom was my grandmother, Joyce Clark. Evelyn’s father, Thomas, crafted a hope chest with his own hands—a humble, unadorned piece of woodwork that carried more than belongings. It carried intention, love, and legacy. That chest was passed from Evelyn to Joyce, then to my mother, Penny. One day, it will be mine.
The chest itself is worn and plain, but its meaning is immeasurable. If my house were burning, I’d grab my dogs first—but I’d risk everything for that chest and the dolls my grandmother gave me. They are sacred artifacts of a lineage shaped by hardship and grit.
My grandmother Joyce became an orphan at age seven and went on to raise five children. She died in her early seventies from cancer, and my grandfather followed, passing away from Parkinson’s disease. I never understood how common cognitive decline is among elders until I studied aging more deeply. That knowledge gave me new compassion—not just for my grandparents, but for all who walk the long road of aging.
I was spiritually close to my grandparents. Their love and strength shaped me. When my time comes to transition from this life to the next, I pray my grandmother will be there to walk with me to the Pearly Gates. I hope all my guide dogs will be waiting too—and that Charlie, ever the exuberant soul, won’t knock me over like he used to.
I come from a long line of tough women. Women who endured loss, built legacies from splinters and sorrow, and passed down not just heirlooms, but heart. And though I may resemble Evelyn in the face at age 30, the deeper resemblance lies in the spirit I carry forward.
I just learned about Evelyn’s participation in her community that likely gave her purpose. She belonged to the The Antonia Rebekah Lodge. She lived during the Great Depression and died the last year of World War 2. In short, she did not get to see the prosperity that would follow the war. The few letters we have of her contain information regarding her need to survive during winters likely around the years of the Great Depression. I am proud of her , the Flynn's, and the Clarks. All of them had a direct or indirect influence on who I am today.
The Antonia Rebekah Lodge was a local chapter of the Rebekahs, the women’s auxiliary of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (IOOF)—a fraternal and charitable organization founded in the early 19th century. The Rebekah Lodges were officially established in 1851, thanks in large part to Schuyler Colfax, who later became Vice President of the United States.
 Community Service: Members engage in charitable work, including support for veterans, scholarships, and aid to families in crisis.
Intergenerational Bonds: Lodges often foster strong ties across generations, with older members mentoring younger ones and preserving traditions.
Spiritual Fellowship: While not a religion, the Eastern Star blends spiritual themes with civic engagement, offering a space for reflection, prayer, and shared purpose.