While they were playing with their dolls on the front porch and arguing about the possibility of Sandy Claws, a boy rode past, or pretended to ride past, a-riding a stick horse, a pretty fancy stick horse with a head cut in the shape of a horse’s and a mane made from a mop, and a real leather bridle. He waved at them, said “Giddy up!” and rode on up the road, even though the road past the Bourne place peters out before long.
Rindy said, “I know who that was. That was just Every Dill, who lives right down yonderways a little. That shore is a mighty fine horse that Sandy Claws brung him.” Since Rindy had claimed she’d never heard the name Melody before, now it was Latha’s turn to claim she’d never heard the name Every before and wondered if it was Every like in every thing, every where, every so often, and every which a way. Rindy said, “I aint never heard it said no other way.” Latha knew that there were other neighbors named Dill who lived south of them, almost as close as the Whitters. Latha’s mother had several times mentioned them because Every’s mother was a distant cousin of hers (Grandma Bourne had explained “first cousins” and “last cousins” and Every’s mother was a “second cousin twice removed”) and also was supposedly the only family hereabouts who were poorer than the Bournes, because the father didn’t do any farming, he was just a maker, he made wagons and wagon wheels and such, and apparently didn’t get much money. So how come he could give Every such a fancy stick horse for Christmas? Well, likely he made it himself…or maybe there was a Sandy Claws.
By and by here come Every riding the other way, and this time he pulled his horse into the Bourne’s yard and stopped, saying, “Whoa, Paint.” Then he said, “Howdy, gals, and merry Christmas to y’uns.” He was a bit older than Rindy and Latha, maybe a whole year older. He wasn’t much to look at, except for his horse.
They howdied him back and Rindy said, “That’s a mighty fine steed that Sandy brung ye.” And Latha asked why did he call him Paint. Every explained it was because his horse was painted, and showed how the stick part of the horse was actually speckled with white paint.
“You ladies keer to go for a ride?” Every offered. Rindy climbed on behind him with her hands on his waist, the horse’s stick pushing her dress up between her legs. When Latha climbed on behind Rindy, the tilt of the stick didn’t scrunge her dress up between her legs. Latha with her newly-mittened hands clasped Rindy’s waist, and Every clucked his tongue and said “Hi-yo, Paint!” and off they went, prancing down the road, although it took them a while to get their prances together. All three laughed from the sheer fun of it. “Fine day for a ride,” Every said. “Let’s us play-like we’re a-riding all the way to Jasper!” And then Every began pointing with his hand and uttering a string of “wry chonders.” He would point and say, “Wry chonder is the courthouse. That’s where they put evildoers on trial.” And “Wry chonder is the county jail. That’s where they lock up the evildoers.” And “Lookee, wry chonder is a automobile!” And eventually he said “Why, I declare, if that aint a rester ront wry chonder! Has you ladies ever been to a rester ront afore?” When they both said no, he said “Let’s us just stop in and have us a bite. Whoa, Paint.” He brought the horse to a halt right there in the road alongside a make-believe restaurant, and after he tied up the horse the three of them went inside and took a table, or rather they just sat on the ground and pretended it was a table, and the waitress came and gave them a sheet of paper that had a list of all the dishes on it. “I aint yet learned to read, myself,” Every declared. “I’m only in the First Reader at school. Has either one of you ladies learnt how to read?” They both shook their heads. Latha suggested that since they were pretending everything else, they could just pretend to read. Rindy said since it was Christmas day everything on the menu was Christmas food, and she’d already had plenty of chicken at dinnertime. Latha could boast that she’d had roast goose with lots of dressing. Every allowed as how he himself was pretty stuffed on ham. So they decided not to order a meal at the restaurant but only some desserts. Rindy chose the sweet potato pie, Latha picked the vinegar pie, and Every had the huckleberry cobbler. They swapped tastes, and the other two agreed they liked the vinegar pie best.
While they were eating their dessert, Rindy asked Every, “What’s it like at that there school?” and Every, first making sure she meant the Stay More school and not one of these here play-like Jasper schools, attempted to tell them about his one semester of experiences at the Stay More school. The teacher’s name was McWhorter, and he came from some place over in Madison County and was boarding with Willis Ingledew. Latha wanted to know what boarding was. Every explained that it meant you just slept in a spare room in the back of the house and got your meals, three a day, or just two, breakfast and supper when you were teaching and eating your dinner at school, but didn’t have to pay for them because it was part of your salary as the schoolteacher. Latha wanted to know what a salary was, but remembered that she wasn’t ever going to ask anybody any questions and she’d already violated that by asking what boarding was. Rindy seemed to read her mind and asked Every what a salary was, and he explained it was what you got paid in cash money for doing a job, like teaching school. Rindy said that none of the Whitters that she had ever heard tell on had ever got a salary from nobody for nothing. Every said that as far as that matter went, his daddy didn’t draw a salary neither, but he got paid by his customers for the wagons and the wagon-wheels he made, and that was practically the same as a salary. Anyhow, this Mr. McWhorter didn’t make much of a salary, after they took out his room and board, maybe just enough to buy hisself a new shirt. Mr. McWhorter—Every was sorry he never learnt his name—was a good enough feller, although he took the stick to you if you didn’t learn your lesson or if you talked out of turn. There wasn’t nobody in the First Reader but him, Every, and Lawlor Coe, who was Every’s only buddy. Latha, because she couldn’t ask questions, whispered into Rindy’s ear, “Ask him what a buddy is.” Rindy whispered back, “I don’t have to, I can tell ye. It means best friend. You are my buddy.”
The school desks, they learned, were made to hold two children side by side, so Every and Lawlor always sat together and did their readings together and shared their one book, which was called McGuffey. The only book that either Latha or Rindy knew about or had heard tell of was called the Bible, so Rindy asked Every how come the book to be named McGuffey. Every said that must’ve been the name of the feller who wrote it. He explained that before you could read it you had to learn the alphabet, which was mainly what him and Lawlor had pegged away at so far during the fall part of the First Reader. Every took a stick and scratched into the earth a figure that looked like a house with a gable roof. “Now that there is a A,” he said, “which is the first letter of the alphabet. By itself it just means a thing, like you say “a hat” or “a cat.” But with other letters it makes a word, like it’s the middle letter of hat and cat both!” Every’s face lit up with a big smile as if he had imparted some marvelous wisdom, and Latha realized he had indeed said something that was worth remembering, and she figured she could hardly wait to get aholt of a McGuffey for herself.
As that winter dragged on, sometimes Every would ride his stick horse over to Latha’s house when school was let out, just so he could tell her what all he had learned in the second part of the First Reader. More often than not, Rindy would be with Latha and they would be inside the house keeping warm by the stove and playing with Rindy’s doll and Latha’s rag doll. Every was reluctant to enter the house, so they would sit on the porch as long as they could stand the cold, which wasn’t too long. Every would tell them what had transpired at school that day, how the McGuffey was starting to tell stories, like one about a girl named Kate and her dog named Ponto, which was a funny name for a dog, but ole Ponto was a pretty peculiar dog.
One time Rindy wasn’t there, and Every said that suited him just fine, on account of he liked Latha a lot more than Rindy, who was plenty purty but wasn’t nearly as purty as Latha and not half as smart. Latha could feel hers
elf blushing when he said this. She thought Every was very smart but he just wasn’t anything to look at. Of course she didn’t have many other boys to compare him with, but Rindy had told Latha she thought Every Dill was “pickle-pussed,” not just on account of his last name. Still, Latha was glad to have him ride his stick horse over to visit whenever he could, and one fine day he had her ride behind him while he took the horse on another imaginary tour to Jasper, just up the road a piece and back. Latha’s mother was waiting on the porch when they got back and she told Every to get on home and then she gave Latha a real talking-to. Didn’t Latha have any better sense than to go off with a boy? Latha couldn’t ask questions but she wondered what was wrong with going off with a boy. “I go off with Rindy lots,” she observed.
“But Rindy’s a gal,” her mother said. “That’s different. In my day, gals and boys couldn’t never be alone together without some grown-up watching every move they make.”
Latha was desperate to ask “How come?” but she could never ask questions. She managed to figure out that it might have something to do with wickedness.
Chapter five
Her sisters sure weren’t much help getting Latha ready to face school. And since she couldn’t ask questions, she couldn’t even ask them for their opinions of this man McWhorter, who was in charge. Mandy was already in the Third Reader and Barb was in the Fifth Reader and in bed at night they whispered and they whispered to each other about the goings-on at school that day, but Latha could hear only a word or two that teased her because it was just by itself and didn’t mean anything. As the new school year drew closer, Latha discovered that every day she thought of something that she had to know to keep her from being too nervous about going off to school. Did Mr. McWhorter eat his dinner by himself at his desk or did he sit with the children? Did they have to wait until Mr. McWhorter had done finished eating before they could eat? Where did the children sit for dinner? Was there any water to drink, or what?
In time Latha came to realize that while she must keep her solemn vow never to ask anybody any questions again, there was a way to get around that. Instead of asking a question, she could simply announce, “I wonder me if….” So one night in bed she declared, “I wonder me if Mr. McWhorter eats his dinner all by himself or with the kids.” And not only did Barb and Mandy answer (that he ate by himself) but they filled in lots of details, such as what he usually had for dinner (a couple of boiled eggs, a sweet potato, a biscuit, and for dessert another biscuit with sugar on it.) He had a toothpick made out of ivory. Sometimes he burped, which made the little kids giggle. And he always went off into the woods to do his business after dinner. There was only one outhouse at the school, and that was for the girls only. The boys, and Mr. McWhorter, had to use the woods. Yes, the girl’s outhouse had two holes in it, although you weren’t supposed to go with a buddy except in an emergency. That simple “I wonder me if…” proved very useful to Latha in finding out whatever she needed to know about the school.
Her grandmother made Latha a new dress of her own to wear to school. All her other dresses were hand-me-downs from her sisters. This one was made from the calico cloth that had been a flour sack, and it had bright colors of yellow, pink and orange. It was finished weeks before school was due to start, but Latha was so impatient that she tried it on for Rindy, and Rindy nearly died of envy. Latha’s grandmother also helped Latha get ready for school by telling her all of the beliefs she needed to know for good luck and bad luck: If you should ever drop your McGuffey, be sure to kiss it when you pick it up or you’ll have bad luck. Hearing the school bell ring is always good for warding off evil spirits. If you should happen to see a white cat on the way to school that will bring you very bad luck unless you turn around twice and then spit.
Latha and Rindy discussed these. They didn’t know offhand of any white cats around Stay More, but you never could tell, so it would be a good idea to learn how to spit. Neither Latha nor Rindy could do it, but Every showed them how. In fact, Every was real good at spitting, and could hit a mark from several feet away. He pointed out to them that there was a certain kinship between spitting and whistling, and since neither of the girls knew how to whistle, Every patiently tried to teach them how to do that too. Rindy never could get the hang of it, but before long Latha was even able to whistle a tune, “Little Brown Jug.” And thereafter she whistled all the time, even in bed at night, which annoyed her sisters and made their whispering inaudible to each other. I’d rather whistle than whisper, she told herself.
When the big day came, Latha’s grandmother made Latha’s dinner and put it in a dinner bucket, a tin lard pail with a tight lid and wire handle: there was a pair of roasting ears, one for her to give to a friend, a biscuit with a piece of pork, and for dessert a chunk of cornbread with molasses. Her mother brushed her hair and washed behind her ears. Her father said, “My, aint you a big gal now!” and then he said he was sorry he couldn’t’ve bought her a pair of shoes to wear. But Mandy and Barb were going barefoot anyway, and if Latha would do her best to keep up, she could follow them to school. They set off. The dog Rouser wanted to go with Latha, and she let him, but told him he’d just have to sit outside the schoolhouse all day long.
“Here comes the hard part,” said Barb, as they passed through the village and took a path down to Swains Creek. It was the first time Latha had ever seen a stream of water, and there was a lot of it, all blue-green, and it was running fairly brisk. Latha said, “I wonder how we’re going to get across that,” and dreaded the thought of having to get her new calico dress wet. But downstream a bit, the path led to a kind of swinging foot-bridge, a pair of cables anchored up high on either shore with wood planks laid across them and two more cables up above to hold on to. “This is the hard part,” Barb declared, and Latha was so scared of crossing the bridge that her sisters had to take each of her arms and practically drag her up the steps that led to the bridge and then tug and shove her to get her to walk out onto the planks.
For all of the eager dreams that Latha had had about going to school, she decided on the spot that it wasn’t worth the effort of crossing that bridge, and she would just as soon go back home and stay there for the rest of her life. But Rouser had other ideas. He went prancing across the bridge, reached the other side, woofed once, and came prancing back, as if to demonstrate how easy it was. He had four legs, though, and Latha decided the only way she could cross the bridge was to get down on her hands and knees and crawl across. When she tried to do this, Mandy and Barb on either side yanked her back to her feet and practically carried her out onto the bridge.
They’d hardly reached halfway when some boys at the far end of the bridge began to jump up and down and swing and sway and made the whole bridge start shaking like crazy. Latha closed her eyes and began whimpering. Barb hollered, “You boys stop that!” The boys laughed and went on making the bridge shake. Latha had both hands gripping one of the cables as tight as she could. But she lost her grip on the dinner bucket that Grandma Bourne had fixed for her, and it fell into the creek and went bobbing off downstream a ways before it sank. Not the loss of the food but the loss of what her grandmother had so carefully prepared for her made Latha begin to cry.
“Shush,” Mandy said. “You can just eat some of ours.”
The bridge kept on swaying and bouncing until one of the boys cried “OUCH!” and then another one hollered “OW!” and Latha saw that Every on the other shore was throwing rocks at the boys. He was hitting them too. The boys climbed down from the bridge and one of them said, “Let’s git the bastard!” and they took off after Every, who easily outran them.
When the bridge stopped swaying, it somehow seemed not so scary, and Latha was able to go on across it, although tears were still running down her face from the loss of her dinner bucket, and she needed to blow her nose but had to keep her hands holding tightly to the cable as she walked on across the bridge.
The path went on for a far little piece on the other side of the bridge before it r
eached the schoolhouse, which struck Latha as the mostest building she’d ever seen. It was white! None of the other buildings she’d ever seen was white. Steep steps led up to either side of a high porch that ran along the front, under which a number of dogs were lolling. Then there was a pair of tall doors that hadn’t been opened yet and had many children lined up waiting to get in, girls at the left door, boys at the right. There were tall windows with many panes on either side of the doors and all along both sides, more window lights than she’d ever seen or could have even imagined. There was a little tower up on the roof that had a bell in it. Latha had often heard that bell from afar, but now she was up close to it, so that when the man began to pull the rope that made it ring, it sounded full and loud and grand. The doors were opened and the children began to march into the building.
The man was nearly as tall as the windows of the school, and skinny, probably because nothing but sweet ’taters and hardboiled eggs for dinner wasn’t making him fat. He looked down at Latha as she climbed the steps and said, “Now here’s a real purty ’un. Come right on in. You’re number eleven. Don’t forget it. Just leave your dinner on that bench yonder. Wait a minute. You don’t have any dinner!”
The Nearly Complete Works, Volume 3 Page 47