by Jan Surasky
As I worked alongside Mama it only made me lonelier with the thought that Carrie would be going off to college in September. Mama never addressed anything unless you brought it up to her. And, I was determined not to bother her or look like a coward who couldn’t handle even her own problems. But, I sensed Mama could tell.
“You know, Annie May, I think we should make this a special holiday since it will be Carrie’s last Christmas before she starts college. But, I think she’s pretty set on Wells so she won’t be far. She can get a job on campus there and she can be home as often as she can. I know she’ll miss your steady hand when things pile up and I’m sure Georgie will be begging for her help in all his art projects.”
I felt better that Carrie would be that close. If she got homesick, I knew Uncle John would go fetch her for a home cooked meal. Uncle John had always spoiled Carrie and he was the only one who would put up silently with her sometimes flighty ways. As the oldest, Carrie had been close to Papa, and although he had never played favorites, I knew he had set his sights on Carrie.
Carrie did buy the crimson scarf in Mr. Harter’s window and it gave just the right touch to her deep blue snow jacket with the lavender trim. Carrie looked like a snow queen when she set out with Jamie for sledding on Strawberry Hill.
As we gathered around the table for supper the night Jamie arrived and waited to open presents after supper, I never did find out what words Carrie and Jamie had shared on Strawberry Hill or out back on the pond where they skated for a very long time. I only knew that as we sat, exchanging stories from the year since Jamie had left at the end of summer, Carrie sat next to Jamie and she looked very, very happy.
Chapter Eleven
Will was just as handsome as ever, and just as unassuming, as he helped Uncle John tow the tractor out of the barn for some much needed repair work. It was spring, and planting would soon begin.
Will’s muscles fairly rippled beneath his tee shirt as he sat in the truck with the tow on it and helped to haul the tractor out into the sunlight on a very beautiful spring day. I could hear the birds chirping non-stop as they issued directions to their mates and carried straw and twigs and whatever they could find to build a suitable nest to raise their young in. Nests were everywhere, under the roof of the barn, out back high up in the cherry tree and in the crabapple, both with their white blossoms ready to burst, and in many of the trees that grew out back on Strawberry Hill. It had been a regular spring activity in our younger years to drag a ladder to the back acres and search for birds’ nests to see the different colored eggs, with their pale blues and browns, some as pure as the blue of the robin’s egg, some as blotchy and spotted as the cardinal’s, the scrappy blue jay’s, or the chickadee’s and the nuthatch’s. If we were quiet in the kitchen we could often look out the window and watch them carry food to their fledglings who were chirping so loudly with hunger.
As I stood off to the side watching Uncle John and Will, and Georgie who was always ready to assist, struggling with the tractor to get it to behave, and pulling every tool they had out of the tool shed in hopes that one would work, I felt a certain pride. Although I wasn’t included in spring planting, I felt an excitement just as if I was. For spring planting was like welcoming a new baby into the fold, a newness that was filled with hope.
Our fields would soon be filled with the seedlings of beans and corn, hay and a small patch of pumpkins. Uncle John had even decided to grow onions and potatoes this year. And, we kids would have our own garden of tomatoes, three different kinds of lettuce, cukes and peppers. But, no matter how hard Uncle John and his hired hands worked, I knew we owed our harvest to the vagaries of the weather. I silently prayed for rain.
“Hey, Annie May, don’t just take up space. Go get my lug wrench out of the barn.” Uncle John was anything but gentle when he was preparing spring planting.
“Where is it, Uncle John?”
“After all these years you should know it’s hanging up over the work bench.”
I searched and searched the wall along the work bench but saw no wrench of any kind. I returned to look at the mess of tools at Uncle John’s feet and retrieved the lug wrench.
“Thanks, Annie May. If you work it right, you could be pretty good at farming yourself. My Aunt Bertha worked the land after my Uncle Calvin passed away and got a pretty good yield at that. She was the only woman in these parts to get out on a tractor and haul a spreader, but she could regale you with stories about how she outwitted the crows and the rabbits and just about every pesky critter that crossed her path.”
“Thanks, Uncle John, but I’ll stick to my plans for college. I want to be a teacher.”
“Well, you’ll have to be good with the books and study hard. But, I know you can do it. You’ve got a will of iron, Annie May.”
“I want to teach in college.”
“Well, you always did have big ideas. But, nothing wrong with big ideas. Your Papa was a dreamer too. He had in his mind to buy the Taylor farm next door, hire more hands and be part of a big supply chain to keep all the upstate supermarkets in produce.”
At the mention of Papa my heart went mushy because every day I wished he was here. But, instead, I asked Will if when he was finished he would walk back with me to Strawberry Hill and help me pick some berries for pie tonight. Though he was oozing sweat and his muscles were straining to tighten the bolts to fasten the new hydraulic cylinders Uncle John had just purchased down at the new Agway just put up on Route 34 and to get the old crankshaft purring, he looked up and nodded with his usual, agreeable smile.
I went in to the barn to fetch the tin pail we used to use to milk Maizie before Mama decided it was cheaper to buy milk from Alton’s down the road and Maizie went to a large dairy farm upstate. We missed her, because she was every bit our companion as well as our milker. She would begin to slowly chew her cud and let out a long, low moo when she saw anyone of us even though it was three o’clock in the morning.
Will was relaxed as we headed back toward Strawberry Hill but I could see he was full of excitement. I tried to keep up with his long, loping strides but it was no use, so he shortened them to fall back along with me.
“Hey, Annie May, what’s eating you?”
“Everyone’s leaving me. Carrie’s made up her mind on Wells. And, Uncle John will have to hire someone to replace you because it won’t be long before you’re a big college man and you’ll forget all about us locals in the boonies.”
“How could I forget you, Annie May? Who would scold me and set me straight when I needed it?”
“Oh, quit your teasing, Will Vanderwort. I know you’re going to be very busy and won’t have time for Georgie or me.”
“I couldn’t leave Georgie just to you. Who would teach him all that man stuff?”
“Well, I know Georgie’s going to miss you. He doesn’t say because he keeps a lot inside, but I know he hangs his head and looks sad whenever Uncle John talks about going into town to post a notice at the new Agway for a new hired hand come September.
“Did you hear from Cornell yet?”
“That’s what I was going to tell you, Annie May. The Ag school accepted me. I got my letter in the mail last Tuesday.”
“Congratulations, Will,” I said in a voice that sounded more like an echo, “I know you’ll do well. And, they’re lucky to have you.”
“Thanks, Annie May. I’ll write when I can and I’ll tell you what it’s like because you’ll be going off soon yourself.”
As we reached Strawberry Hill I looked for the ripest and the plumpest berries on the wild plants that were scattered about the hill. But, as always, Will was way ahead of me. As he dropped berry after berry into the pail, I saw my pie come out of the oven. I would taste the berries and add just enough sugar to add to the sweetness they already had.
“Hey, Annie May, if I pick all the berries, you’re going to have to save me a piece of the pie.”
“Oh, Will, you know I always save you some pie. You’re the only one who can
wheedle a piece of Mama’s strawberry rhubarb pie without saying anything.”
Although we all knew that Mama saved the choicest part of the pie for Georgie, Will ran a close second. She knew that his folks had it hard, never having lived long enough in one place to soak up the country, to be a part of it.
The sun was setting and I knew we had to get back, but I felt we could stay here forever. I stared at the sky with its broad sweeps of mauves, pale yellows, and brilliant orange-red, some of it borrowed from the arc of a beautiful, pale rainbow against a light blue sky and fluffy white clouds and the burst of sunlight after a drenching downpour.
We walked back silently, each of us lost in our very own thoughts. The moon would soon be up and it would be a new moon, a sliver. I knew the phases of the moon like I knew arithmetic and which way the rivers run.
I said goodbye to Will, promising him the best piece of pie and trying not to cross my fingers behind my back. I made a mental note to include some for Jester.
I hurried into the house. I knew Mama would need some help with supper and although it was planting time and the whiff of spring was in the air, the annual siren song for poor struggling students, I went directly to the kitchen. I knew my homework would be waiting for me after the chores were done and the last supper dish was dried and neatly stacked in the old pinewood cupboards.
Chapter Twelve
It was a beautiful spring day when Mama and I spent the morning cleaning and dusting. The windows were open and the scents of spring wafted through, the cherry blossoms hinting at the small luscious fruit they would bring, the apple blossoms the delicious smell of a newly ripened McIntosh, and the crabapple tree the memory of tart jelly spread on a freshly baked slice of sourdough on a cold winter’s morning.
The chatter of men wafted in as well, their voices full of cheer as they dragged the spreader from the barn to hook onto the tractor and fertilize the new seedlings that had already sprouted up. The sun shone fully today, its rays the harbinger of hope.
“Mama, have you ever thought of marrying again?”
“Why, no, Annie May, I have not given it a thought. Your Papa was man enough for me and then some.”
“The widow Perkins just married Mr. Ambler, the blacksmith who has that shop in town. I hear they had a big, old-fashioned wedding and all their kinfolk came, even those who lived two states away.”
“Well, I’m not sure I could handle another man with all I have to do.”
“Lucy said it was a fancy wedding with flowers all over and plenty to eat. Little tea sandwiches, barbecue chicken and salads, pies and cakes, and toasted marshmallows in the evening over a great big bonfire. They had square dancing in the afternoon, with Hallie Perkins fiddling and Dusty Perkins calling.”
“It sounds like a hoot and I’m happy for Mazie Perkins but she’s going to have her hands full with seven children between them.”
“Lucy says they have it all fixed up. Hallie’s old enough to handle the little ones, and the blacksmith business and the shop in town bring in a pretty good income.”
“Hank Peterson at the dry goods store has hinted for years that he would be interested in marriage. But, all he was was at loose ends when Dorrie died, what with three kids and a store to run. I don’t think I can take on that kind of work. And, besides, your papa’s memory suits me fine.”
I set my feather duster back into the closet in the kitchen, its feathers duly shaken in the soft, mellow outdoor air.
“You go along, Annie May. I’m going to work on that pie. I’m going to make a chocolate custard pie until we get some fruit to shake off those trees.”
“I know Georgie loves your chocolate custard, Mama. He’s going to find it a real treat after those men get through making him do all the gofer work.”
“Uncle John does a good job looking after Georgie. I know he rides him hard, but he’s trying to make a farmer out of him. And, Georgie loves the land.”
“Well, Will will take up the slack where Uncle John lets off.”
“Georgie adores Will, Annie May. I don’t know what I would have done, with all us girls around here, and no men for Georgie to look up to. But, Will has been a lifesaver. I’m going to miss him.”
I put back the vacuum and folded up the dust cloth. I gave Mama a hug.
When I heard her safely clanging the sifter and pulling the pie plates and the rolling pin out of the cupboards, I crept up the back stairway to the attic. It was time to dig into the stash of neatly stacked journals willed to us and so lovingly preserved by Granny Rosie.
The third was bound in faded red leather and contained a loose, tattered, and yellowed first page in the hand of Granny.
The following passages are taken from the memoir of Thomas Wilkes, whose many descendants include my great-grandfather Alfred Maynard Adams in direct lineage. Although the full text of Thomas Wilkes’ memoir has been lost, Charity Adams, wife of Alfred, preserved the following passages in this small bound volume and has passed them down.
My name is Thomas Wilkes and I was born in the small town of Lowestoft on the eastern shore of England in 1730. At the age of seven I was taken from the quay where I was playing along the wharf and shoved into a boat by some rough and evil men. After a very stormy and rough crossing, I was taken to America and sold as an indentured servant to a plantation in Virginia. I was ill-used and suffered constant sickness and hunger. Neither scurvy or bloody flux were strangers to the many indentured servants working there, and we worked long hours every day for a mouthful of bread and sometimes bits of beef and a small amount of daily gruel. My clothes were rags, no shirt or shoes or cap, and the only cloak I had was stolen by a fellow worker who sold it for some bread down at the docks. I worked for many years like this and all around me fellows cried out they would rather be back in England without their limbs and live as beggars than live like this.
When we went to the boats to deliver and unload, we were bade to lie in the boat all night without shelter until morning and Goodman Johnson, a local man, made me a covering and his wife was kind to me and gave me comfort. He said it would rather I had been knocked over the head than sold as an indentured servant.
After a number of years like this and no sign of reprieve since the master kept finding reasons to increase the number of years of our servitude, Goodman Johnson took pity on me and helped me escape, first hiding out in the cellar of his small house, then going north to the state of New York where a friend of his was looking for an apprentice to his printing company. I was given a suit of clothes so as not to be noticed and I was told how to travel by night and how to travel by the north star. I was given a small compass and food to last and the knowledge of how to catch fish should I come upon a lake or river. I also had a trap which I could use if I was near a woodland and a gun for my protection.
I reached Albany County in the state of New York where Josiah Alexander, the friend of Goodman Johnson, lived. He was happy to see me and he and his wife Mary welcomed me warmly and immediately gave me shelter. He was an established printer and as such offered me an apprenticeship which would give me room and board and the opportunity to learn a trade. I accepted with gratitude.
As I understood it, the house had been lonely before my arrival. Josiah and Mary Alexander had been the parents of six children, two who died in infancy, and four who were lost to either tuberculosis or rheumatic fever. Although both Josiah and Mary were both strict Baptist fundamentalists and attended church every Sunday where I was bade to go as well, and although they did not allow playing cards or dancing, there was much that was pleasant in their house. Our evening meals were bountiful and Mary spent the day baking the most delicious bread, pulling from her cast-iron oven the most mouth-watering pies, and the aroma of her stews and soups often drifted from her kitchen to the print shop out back.
It was at the age of sixteen that I was given the offer to remain in Josiah’s printing business and receive a very small salary or to go off on my own with a small sum that Josiah could afford to
part with. I chose to stay and save the money I earned as a stake toward a print shop of my own. I left Josiah and Mary’s small farm at the age of eighteen and set up shop in the nearby small town of Lufton. I chose that location rather than strike out for the west to seek my fortune because I knew Josiah and Mary would need looking after in their old age.
I found a room in town over the general store and settled in there while I opened a print shop. Life in Lufton was very different from the life on the Alexander homestead. It was filled with gaiety and constant bustle, what with townsfolk and farmers coming in daily for supplies, chatter on the sidewalks, and fights in the saloon after dark.
I kept to myself and opened my print shop which was soon thriving due to the arrival of merchants anxious to open shops free of the competition of bigger cities and due to the political climate of neighboring metropolises.
When I was about a year with my print shop a woman who was about the best looking I had ever seen entered my shop. She was there to purchase labels for her father’s herbal medicine shop. Since he had developed business in far flung places about the country and had to ship to those places he also needed a constant supply of shipping labels and labels for the many bottles he kept on his shelves. We struck up a lively conversation and recognizing that I was alone in my living arrangements started bringing me occasional pots of the most delicious stews and sometimes a peach or apple pie.
She was a kind woman and her long dark hair which fell beneath her bonnet seemed to match the gaiety in her face and the sparkle in her eyes which were as clear and blue as the prized agates the village lads rolled about as shooters in their zeal to win at a game of marbles. I took to getting a length of satin ribbon down at the general store so that when she came in I could give her a present when she brought me a pie or a slice of fresh baked bread.
It was soon that I realized that she would make a perfect wife but I wasn’t sure if she would have me or if her father would give his consent. After all, I was nothing, an indentured servant and apprentice and it is true, a successful print shop owner, but I was fearful my severe background would be held against me.