“But we didn’t do nothing, Mr. Hinkle,” Cora Lee said, all big-eyed and innocent-like. You could of poured her words on flapjacks, they sounded so sweet.
Mr. Hinkle gived them girls one of his see-right-through-you looks. They just walked away. I knowed I had landed myself in big trouble, but a grin still tried to sneak onto my face when I got to thinking about them girls being put in their place.
When we got inside, me and Mr. Hinkle sat down at the round table in the back of the classroom. “Lydia, your aunt told me your situation before you came here. I’ve seen those girls teasing you, and I’m sure Cora Lee asked for what she got. I know you must have felt angry when Cora Lee tried to give you those dresses. You must know, too, that I can’t condone fighting. Can we figure out a better way for you to handle their teasing in the future?”
I bit my lip and didn’t say nothing. I looked down at the floor so I didn’t have to see his face.
Mr. Hinkle sighed. “Lydia, I care about you. I know you’ve had a hard time, but you’re very bright. I hope you’ll graduate from high school and maybe even go to college someday.”
I looked up at him. “Like Anne of Green Gables?” I said.
He smiled. “Why, yes, just like Anne Shirley.”
I looked down at the floor again. “Them girls made fun of my story on account of I used ain’t. I can’t figure that out. Maggie and Penny use ain’t all the time, too.”
Mr. Hinkle sighed and shook his head. “Knowing correct grammar and using it are two different things, Lydia,” he said. “Those girls were just looking for an excuse to give you a hard time. Almost all of your classmates and the people around here talk the way you do.”
He explained to me, “Most people don’t understand that mountain dialect is an earlier form of English, dating back hundreds of years. When your ancestors came to America from England, Scotland, and Ireland, the way they spoke English didn’t change much from generation to generation as speech did in other areas of the country. The mountains kept West Virginians from having contact with others from different states, where speech patterns were changing.”
Mr. Hinkle stopped looking at me and stared out the window. “I love the colorful, well-seasoned dialect of the Appalachian Mountains,” he told me. “That’s one of the reasons I decided to teach in West Virginia—that, and a very personal reason. I learned as much as I could about West Virginia before I came here.”
I wondered about the very personal reason, but I figured he wouldn’t want me to ask.
“Lydia, the way you use words echoes Chaucer and Shakespeare,” he said. “Did you know Shakespeare loved to write double and even triple negatives? He used multiple negatives to emphasize a point, just as mountain people continue to do today. A poet named Thomas Gray lived in the seventeen hundreds. He wrote a famous poem titled ‘Elegy Wrote in a Country Church-yard.’ Over the years, somebody decided the title needed fixing and changed wrote to written.”
Mr. Hinkle smiled. “I’m probably making you feel as though you’re getting a lecture. I promise I won’t give you a test.” That made me giggle. “I’m sorry to go on like this,” he said. “It’s just that it frustrates me to see my students feeling ashamed of their heritage.”
“I don’t care none, Mr. Hinkle.”
“You just gave a good example, Lydia. If you lived in Ohio and said ‘I don’t care’ to a teacher, the teacher would think you meant that you weren’t interested in what he had to say.”
I could feel my eyes get wide. “I’d like you to tell me more,” I said. “I be glad to know them famous people talked like I do.”
“I know, Lydia,” Mr. Hinkle said. “The way you use ‘I don’t care’ means it doesn’t upset you or even that you would be glad to do something. Those were meanings of ‘I don’t care’ in the days of the first Queen Elizabeth. Mountain people are not ignorant. Some of the wisest folks I’ve ever met are mountaineers. They’re merely using a way of speaking that other English-speaking cultures have forgotten.”
“You mean it ain’t bad to talk like this?” I asked, looking him in the eyes. Me and him both grinned when I said ain’t. I felt mighty thankful he didn’t call us West Virginians hillbillies. We sure ain’t, I mean aren’t, billy goats.
“No, Lydia. It ain’t bad.” He winked at me. “It’s just different. But you need to learn Standard English, too. Standard English will help you go to college and get you a job anywhere in this country. Will you keep working on that? You can use your beautiful mountain language at home and with friends. At school, I want you to practice Standard English.”
I told him I would. We made us a plan. He would scratch his ear when I used mountain dialect in class. That would remember me—remind me—to try again.
I hoped Mr. Hinkle would forget about what happened with them girls after all that talk. But he didn’t. He told me I would have to stay after school ever day for four days on account of pushing Cora Lee. He had a appointment tomorrow, so I would have to stay after for the first time on Wednesday. He told me he would of made me stay for a full week, but the last day of school afore Christmas break is Monday. I didn’t mind so much. It was worth it. I think Anne of Green Gables would of been right proud of me.
15
It’s about talking back.
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1953
Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae was as mad as all get-out that I got myself in trouble and have to stay after school. I couldn’t make myself show Mr. Hinkle’s note to them yesterday. I thought iffen I gived it to Aunt Ethel Mae this evening while she was busy with her embroidery, she might not pay it too much mind. But she got all watery-eyed. “William, come look what this child has gone and done now,” she hollered.
Uncle William stormed in the back door, wearing his heavy coat, his hands all greasy from working on his car. “What are you jabbering on about now, woman?”
I could feel my hands getting all icy cold. I clenched them behind my back and stared at my shoes. I wished I could drop clean through a hole in the floor.
She handed him the note, and I could see him getting greasy smudges on it as he read. Aunt Ethel Mae looked up at me from her chair, her eyes all glassed over with tears. “Lydia, I told you to ignore them girls. This will all go away in time if you pay them no heed.”
“But you …,” I started.
Uncle William grew to the size of a grizzly bear. His face got all red and blotchy. “Don’t you dare sass your aunt!” he yelled. He raised his hand up high.
I figured he would be like Daddy and whup me upside the head. I squinted my eyes real tight and turned my face away from him.
Nothing happened. I finally peered up. Uncle William was a-staring at me, all sad-like, his hand back down at his side. “Lydia, don’t disgrace this family,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Haven’t we had enough of that already?” He headed out the back door to work on his car again. Aunt Ethel Mae turned back to her embroidery, and it was like I wasn’t even there no more.
I almost wished Uncle William had hit me instead. I don’t think it would of hurt near as much as them words. I walked to my bedroom, laid myself down on my bed, and stared up at the ceiling. My bedroom’s so tiny that it can only fit a bed and a little table Uncle William brought from our house in Paradise. All of a sudden, them walls seemed to close in on me, tighter and tighter. I started up panting like a hound in summer. My heart commenced to racing. After a time, I turned over on my stomach and cried so many tears that my pillow was sopped. After I was cried out, I got up to write in this here notebook.
I recollect what Mama used to do when me and BJ got in trouble. She didn’t yell. When the weather was pretty outside, sometimes she took us by the hand and said real soft, “Come with me.” She’d march us down to the little swinging bridge that stretched across the creek behind our cabin.
“Five times,” she might say. We knowed that meant we had to go back and forth across the bridge five times. The first time across was always the hardest. Me and BJ didn’t want to walk i
n step. We’d have to hold real tight to them rope handles. That bridge would slither back and forth like a snake.
But after a while, like magic, we’d start to march, even though we tried not to. The bridge would stop slithering and slide back and forth like Gran’s rocking chair. We’d sing jump-rope songs like this one:
Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn around.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, touch the ground.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, tie your shoe.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, that will do.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, go upstairs.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, say your prayers.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn out the lights.
Teddy bear, teddy bear, say good night.
It’s right tricky to turn around and touch the ground like that teddy bear on a swinging bridge! We’d laugh so hard we forgot all about being mad at each other. When we finally got offen the bridge, we’d still feel like we was a-swinging, and we’d stagger for a time like we had got ourselves ahold of some of that raisin root beer BJ tried to make.
Mama had another trick up her sleeve. Iffen BJ felt too sick for the bridge or it was rainy or dark outside, she brought out a dulcimer wrapped in a special quilt. Now, this weren’t just any old dulcimer. Nosiree bob! We believed it was magical! That dulcimer shined reddish brown and gleamed like sassafras tea in a glass mug. And this dulcimer had two fret boards so that two kids could play at the same time.
After Gramps made it, he took Mama and Uncle William to the woods. Gramps gathered pollen from lady slippers, looking around to make sure that no haunts listened in. Then he whispered to Mama and Uncle William that lady slippers really be fairy slippers, and the pollen be fairy dust. He blowed the fairy dust onto the dulcimer. Then he waved his hands over the strings, closed his eyes, and chanted:
“Fairies high and fairies low,
Come this day, your powers bestow.
Bring peace and calm and music sure,
Tranquil words and melody pure.”
I was seven and BJ was three the first time Mama brought it out for us to play. I already knowed all about playing a dulcimer. Mama said it was up to me to learn BJ how to play. So all three of us said the magic chant, and I showed BJ the right way to strum. I learned BJ to play real good. And we never fussed when we strummed the magic dulcimer together. Ever time we finished, my mama always smiled and said the same thing, “My young’uns make such beautiful music together.”
I just heard Aunt Ethel Mae and Uncle William outside my bedroom door. “Maybe I should go in and check on her,” she whispered.
“Leave her be,” Uncle William said.
I should stop writing in this notebook and go to bed. But it sure is going to be hard to get to sleep, fretting about having to stay after school tomorrow.
16
It’s about Maggie pestering me and having to stay after school.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1953
The way of women came on me for the first time today. I’m glad Mama and Gran done talked to me about it a long time ago. Gran, with her midwifing and all, said ever girl should ought to know how God made her body and what all the parts is for.
Mama said my first time would be real special. That we would fix us some sassafras tea and figure out something fun for us two women to do together. But Mama and Gran ain’t here. There ain’t no way I’m going to tell Aunt Ethel Mae what happened. I figure she would probably just start up crying. I pulled a few rags out of the rag poke, sneaked some safety pins out of her sewing basket, and took care of things myself. Then I went on to school.
I’m starting up to feel pulled ever whichaways by them girls in my class. They’s as fickle as the sun in January. I’d a heap rather they’d make up their minds to be mean or nice or just leave me alone. Maggie sauntered up to me at recess today whilst I read. My stomach felt all crampy, and I sure didn’t need her messing with me. I figured she would bless me out real good for shoving her friend. But she said, “That was right funny what you said to Cora Lee.”
I didn’t answer.
“Are you deaf or something? What did Mr. Hinkle say to you? I think he is so dreamy, don’t you?”
I just shrugged.
“Suit yourself, Miss High and Mighty. You think you’re better than the rest of us on account of being the teacher’s pet.”
I still didn’t say nothing. But I did look up from my book and watched her walk off in a huff.
Now first off, Mr. Hinkle’s my teacher. You ain’t supposed to think of your teacher as dreamy. I feel right certain about that. Second off, I ain’t never thought of myself as better than Cora Lee and her two shadows. Never ever. I ain’t got nothing. Mama’s in jail. I won’t never see BJ and Gran and Daddy in this world again. Them girls has everthing, and they don’t even know it. I guess I’m going to have to puzzle on this a spell more.
I stayed in my seat after school today, waiting for my punishment. Mr. Hinkle handed me the want ads from his Charleston Gazette newspaper. “Here, Lydia,” he said. “I want you to read these and write down ideas about what you might want to be when you grow up. You need a dream, and you need to start thinking about your future.”
Mr. Hinkle went back to his desk, and I started looking through the want ads. I was trying to find the list of jobs when my eyes fell upon this ad:
FOR SALE
SASSAFRAS ROOT
10¢ A BAG
It all came flooding back—Gran drinking her sassafras tea, BJ’s first word, and what Mama told me about us doing something special together. I felt the hole in my heart from missing them grow so big that I thought I would die right then and there. Afore I knew what happened, tears come pouring out of my eyes like a dam done broke. The sobbing caused me to shake all over. I put my head down on the desk, cradled up in my arms, to hide my shame of not being able to stop. I could feel the ink from the wet newspaper sticking to my skin. I shoved the newspaper onto the floor.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, real soft-like. I looked up over my arm, and Mr. Hinkle knelt down beside my desk. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me. I didn’t want to get it all soggy. I reckon he figured that out. He said, “Go on and take it, Lydia. It’s a gift. You don’t have to give it back.”
I took it and wiped my eyes and nose, but I still couldn’t stop the crying. The more I tried to pull the tears back in, the louder my sobbing got. Mr. Hinkle kept patting me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Lydia,” he said. “Let the tears come. Remember, sometimes it’s in our weakness that we are made strong.”
So I didn’t fight the tears no more. I cried and cried and cried and cried until all the tears had drained out of my heart. Then I felt tireder than I ever been. I think I must of slept a little. When I looked up, Mr. Hinkle had pulled a chair up aside me.
“Lydia, can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
I already disgraced my uncle and aunt by carrying on with all them tears. I bit my lip and turned my face away from him. I shook my head no.
Mr. Hinkle sighed. “Lydia, I’m here for you if you change your mind. If you don’t want to talk about what’s troubling you, maybe it would help if we discussed your assignment. Have you found your dream job yet?”
I didn’t say nothing.
“Lydia? I need you to talk to me. Can you tell me about your dream?”
Mr. Hinkle is my teacher. I figured I had best answer him and tell the truth. “I only got one dream,” I whispered, still not looking at him.
“What is that dream, Lydia?” he asked, his voice also real soft.
“To get my mama out of jail.”
“Then when you’re ready, Lydia, let’s talk about that dream,” Mr. Hinkle said. “But now, it’s getting late. You had better go on home so your aunt and uncle don’t worry.”
I think Maggie must have put a hex on me. I looked up, and Mr. Hinkle smiled. I don’t reckon I ever paid much attention to his face afore. He’s got hazel eyes about the same color as Da
ddy’s. He’s right tall and strong like Daddy, too. But Mr. Hinkle ain’t never been mean like Daddy—never ever! I’m afeared Mr. Hinkle’s what I’m a-going to dream about tonight.
Most of the times when I been walking home from school I get real cold. My coat I brung from Paradise keeps getting tighter and tighter on me. I can’t get it buttoned up. I don’t want to say nothing to Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae about it. I figure I done caused them enough grief as it is. Besides, Gran made this coat for me. I feel like she’s walking right along aside me when I wear it.
After making such a scene in front of Mr. Hinkle today, the cold air felt real good on my hot cheeks. It snowed hard, like God was a-covering up the world with a downy blanket. I picked up a handful of snow and held it against my eyes so they wouldn’t be so swolled up when Aunt Ethel Mae saw me. The snow smelled clean and fresh, like Mama’s hair after she just washed it.
But the heaviness inside weighed me down. I wondered if the sin of what I done to my mama could ever be washed away. It’s on account of me that she’s in jail. Mr. Hinkle wants me to tell him about my dream to get my mama out of jail, but iffen I tell him, he’ll hate me for what I done.
Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae told me I ain’t never supposed to talk about Mama. They won’t let me write her any letters, and I don’t know iffen Mama’s ever tried to write to me. I know Aunt Ethel Mae would never give me them. She thinks it’s best to try to forget about the past so it don’t pain me. But how could I ever forget about my mama? And how could I forget what happened at that trial?
Aunt Ethel Mae don’t understand that not hearing from my mama just makes the pain worse.
And how will I ever find a way to get my mama out of jail iffen I don’t talk to somebody about it?
Everthing is all catawampus.
17
It’s about not telling Mr. Hinkle, and my hope chest.
Child of the Mountains Page 9