In a small Massachusetts town, a deaf, unmarried woman in her sixties faced a dilemma most people would envy: she inherited a family fortune with no one to pass it on to. The decision she made in her final years opened the doors of universities to thousands of American women.
A Daughter in the Shadows of Sons
Hatfield, Massachusetts, had just 153 homes in 1800. Eleven of them belonged to relatives of young Sophia, who was born four years earlier as the fourth child of wealthy farmer Joseph Smith. She was the first daughter after three sons, which in those days meant caring for younger siblings. Three more sisters fell under her responsibility almost automatically.
Girls’ education usually ended with the basics, but Sophia proved insatiable. She devoured books, newspapers, literary and political magazines with a hunger that revealed ambitions impossible to fulfill in her era.
She attended schools in Hatfield and Hartford, later moving on to Hopkins Academy in nearby Hadley. By the standards of her time, her education was respectable, though still meager compared to what was offered to her brothers. This disparity must have bothered her for her entire life, as forty years later she cited it in her will as her main motivation.
Deafness and Loneliness
When Sophia turned forty, the world began to grow quieter. Progressive deafness gradually cut her off from conversations, neighborhood gossip, and Sunday sermons. The ear trumpet she tried to use didn’t help much. Doctors attempted surgeries, all to no avail.
Imagine the isolation: a middle-aged woman, unmarried, increasingly confined to her family home at 22 Main Street, where she lived with her sister Harriet and brother Austin.
She kept a diary for the last nine years of her life, mostly recording spiritual reflections, but also impressions from her reading and travels.
Harriet died in 1859. Austin passed away two years later. Sophia was left alone with her brother’s fortune, which he had spent his life growing.
The Dilemma of a Wealthy Woman
Nearly $390,000 in 1861 was a staggering sum—the modern equivalent of millions. Sophia had no children, no nieces or godchildren. Her only married brother had left no heirs. The money had to go somewhere, and as a deeply religious woman, Sophia saw the decision as almost a duty to God.
Her first thought was a school for the deaf. Who better understood their needs than she did? But in 1868, the Clarke School for the Deaf opened nearby in Northampton, filling that gap.
Her spiritual advisor, Reverend John Morton Greene, suggested another idea. They considered a donation to Amherst College, his alma mater. They thought about Mount Holyoke Female Seminary, which already educated women, though not as a fully-fledged university. Sophia chose a third way: to create something entirely new.
The Will That Opened Doors
The thirteenth paragraph of her will reads like a manifesto. Sophia wrote directly: she wanted to give women the same educational opportunities as men in their colleges. She believed higher education for women would remedy their injustices, equalize pay, and increase women’s impact on reforming society. As teachers, writers, mothers, and community members, women would become an undeniable force for good.
She died on June 12, 1870, not living to see her dream fulfilled. Smith College was granted its charter a year later, and its first students walked through its doors in 1875—fourteen women.
Today, the college educates thousands of women annually and remains one of the most prestigious women’s universities in the United States. Sophia also left funds for a coeducational high school in her hometown of Hatfield, as if she wanted to repair a childhood she could never reclaim.
Margot Cleverly
Margot's journey into women's history began with a box of forgotten letters in a Cambridge archive – suffragettes whose voices had been silenced for over a century. Since then, she's been on a mission to uncover the stories history overlooked.
What she writes about: Queens who ruled from the shadows. Scientists whose male colleagues took credit. Revolutionaries who risked everything. But also ordinary women – those who survived wars, raised families through upheaval, and shaped their communities in ways no one bothered to record.
Margot turns historical figures into real people. She writes with warmth and detail, making centuries-old stories feel surprisingly relevant. Rigorous research meets accessible storytelling – no dusty academic jargon, just compelling narratives backed by solid facts.
When she's not writing, you'll find her in regional archives, collecting oral histories, or visiting sites connected to the women she writes about.