by Alan Black
She wondered about Steve Buckner, the man on the tall Percheron horse. He was handsome. She could have given him leave to call on her. Instead, she had sent him and his brother to court her friends Fern and Magnolia. She wondered why she had done that when she would have loved to have such a man as a beau. She realized he might not have been as wonderful as he seemed if he was friends with the Braunawalls.
There was so much in her mind she did not know what to do. She could not even tell Mama everything. She had promised to keep Susanne Harbowe’s secret. Mama and Daddy did not know they were losing their home.
She wanted to tell Mama how she felt about Reverend James, but she had not. For the first time in her life, she had not told Mama something because she was afraid Mama would laugh at her for loving an older man. Mama had never laughed at her or made fun of her. She knew it was wrong to think Mama would do such a thing, but she could not help but feel that way. She could not even tell Mama about feeling bad for not telling.
It was all so confusing. She just wanted to go into the woods, sit on a rock and cry.
She could not, because she was standing at Fletcher Hoffman’s gate. It was wired shut. It would be rude to untwist the wires and open the gate.
She would have been stumped as to how to get through the gate and fence if she had been riding one of the mules, but she was on foot. There had never been a three-strand barb wired fence strung in Missouri that could contain a twelve-year-old. It would do no more than slow down a twelve-year-old in a dress.
She checked the chamber on the rifle, making sure it was empty and locked open the breech by pulling the pump handle back. She reached between the wires and set the rifle carefully on the ground. She took her time, doing every step exactly as her father had taught her. Safety with tools was important. A man could lose a finger if he handled his saw carelessly. A man could lose his foot if he handled his ax carelessly. A man could lose his life if he handled his gun carelessly.
LillieBeth eased between the wires. She watched to make sure she did not snag her dress on any of the barbs. She would have to start sewing patches on the patches if she tore this dress one more time.
She picked up the rifle and wondered if she should leave it by the gate. It was only a .22, but it was her father’s gun. She did not want to take the chance it would be gone when she came back for it. It was a slight chance, but it was not her rifle to take such a chance. She was sure Hoffman did not have problems with guns. She had never seen him without his rifle and hers was just a little varmint gun.
She propped it on her shoulder, leaving it in clear view with the breech locked open. It was more than her fondness for the rifle that made it feel wrong to leave it in the dirt. Having the gun meant eating or not eating. Of course, today they could have eggs and biscuits for supper, but tomorrow was always a new question.
The yearling colts were gone from the meadow and two of the mares had foaled since yesterday. She stood and watched the new colts wobble about on spindly legs. Someday she wanted her own horse. She wanted a horse like the painted quarter horse trying to prance about next to his mother. It was pretty, spotted brown, black and white. Even from across the meadow she could see that it was perfectly formed. It did have three white hooves. Some said three or four white hooves was a sign of a weak horse, but she did not believe that.
The gray mule was not in the meadow. She could see it tied up by Hoffman’s lean-to. Hoffman was throwing a saddle on the mule. She walked up toward the man.
As soon as she was close enough to hear, he said, “I ain’t got time for your foolishness, child.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, “I won’t keep you from your chores.” She continued walking until she was almost within arm’s reach of the mule.
Hoffman swung up in the saddle with the ease of a younger man, sitting tall and straight, regal in bearing and ferocious in countenance. He looked down at LillieBeth from his great height.
Hoffman said, “You planning on shooting me with that little toy gun?”
LillieBeth laughed. “No, sir. The thought never occurred to me. I planned on harvesting a squirrel for supper on my way home. You do not look one teeny bit like a squirrel.”
Hoffman snorted and said, “Now ain’t that a comfort. But today I don’t have rocks or switches, so I guess I will just have to ride you down and let my mule stomp you into the mud.”
LillieBeth said, “I will be going directly, but I wanted to give you this.” She held out a small bundle wrapped in an old kitchen rag.
Hoffman did not take it. He looked at her. His gaze was a mix of uncaring hostility and angry indifference.
She retracted the bundle and opened it carefully. She held up the small stone. “I brought you another friendship stone. This one is just as pretty and solid as the other two I gave you. It is just as permanent no matter what you do with it.” She put the stone on top of a half-broken, wooden crate in the corner of the lean-to.
She pulled three eggs from the bundle. “I brought you these.” She held them up to show him and set them on the crate next to the stone. “You can give those to your dog, if you do not like eggs. I never heard of a dog that did not like eggs.”
“Them chicken eggs?” he asked.
“Yes sir, Mr. Hoffman,” she replied.
She had gotten him to ask a question. Mama always said the best way to hold up your end of the conversation was to keep the other person talking by asking questions. Getting them to ask questions of you was a sure sign of interest. Hoffman was not much of a talker, but a question was a question.
She said, “Mrs. Bailey, up near our place, gave us a bunch this morning, more than we can use. I do not see any chickens around here and thought you might like some eggs.”
“I might at that. What other magic you got in that there wrapping?”
“Mama picked a bunch of feverfew for Daddy’s headaches. I brought you some. You just-” she finished with a shout as Hoffman, spurring the mule, rode off across the meadow, “make a tea and drink it.”
She would have looked for the dog, but it was already underfoot, nuzzling at her hand waiting to be petted. She scratched its ears.
“Well, dog, your master is a bit short with his goodbyes. At least today I did not get switched or pelted with stones. I am making progress.”
TUESDAY – LATE AFTERNOON
LillieBeth finished her homework, all except her math workbook. She tossed it aside. She knew Mama would have to help her with it. She liked math okay, but it was hard for her. She liked history, reading and writing. She loved geography the best, tracing the parts of the world from the big pull down maps at school, trying to pronounce the strange names from strange far off places, looking at strange people in strange clothes imagining what they were like.
The school did not have its own subscription to the National Geographic magazine, but Sheriff and Mrs. Grissom did. They let the school borrow old copies for study. Miss Harbowe carefully taught the younger children to read the magazine without tearing the pages, always giving them back to the Grissoms in as good a condition as they got them.
She was equally careful keeping certain articles on African native tribes away from the prying eyes of the boys. The older girls, allowed access to the hidden pages, were amazed at the dark skinned natives going around without dresses, letting anyone and everyone see their naked breasts. It was just as shocking to realize these natives had allowed someone to photograph their uncovered bodies, showing the whole world.
The Schmitt girls had been photographed once, but it had been a family photo and everyone had been fully dressed. They had all been surprised to see that fully dressed in some Arabic countries meant covered even more than the decent womenfolk in the Ozarks. It meant being almost completely covered, showing a person’s eyes with no way to tell if it was a woman or a man. Of course, Miss Harbowe pointed to the men in the pictures, noting they wore long dress-like robes, but their faces remained uncovered.
LillieBeth wondered if she would ever
get the chance to go visit such odd and wonderful places. Daddy had gone to France, but he said he did not get to see Paris. He said the parts of France he saw were ugly and he was sure no one would ever put pictures of such ugly things and places in a magazine where women and children might see them.
LillieBeth also knew that someday, somehow she would be rich enough to get a subscription to the National Geographic magazine all her own. Many of the pictures were even prettier than the roses on Mama’s old calendar. With her own magazine, she could carefully cut out pictures from around the world and put them up on the walls of her own house.
For now, all she could do was learn about such places, handling the pages gently so as not to damage the borrowed magazine, matching the curious places in the magazine to locations on the big maps, and learning not just the differences in people, but their similarities.
Geography was a happy challenge for LillieBeth. Math was a not-so-happy challenge. All learning became a bigger challenge on warm spring days. Mama had not gotten home by the time she had studied all she could.
LillieBeth raced down the hill to the mule corral. She still had to stretch the squirrel skin from today and the rabbit skin from yesterday. She might get a penny or two for the rabbit skin down at the general store in Oasis, but the squirrel skin would not be good for anything other than a few short straps, strings, washers or a gasket. Once she had the skins stretched as tight as she could on wooden frames, she hung the frames in the sunny side of the mule shed. She pulled down a few dried, older skins, untying them from the frames, pressing them tightly in a stack, and weighed the pressed down skins with as many rocks as she could stack.
Mama called from the road. She was sitting on Ruth and waving hello. “Good afternoon, great hunter. Do we eat rocks or rabbit tonight?”
LillieBeth laughed. “I got a squirrel today.”
“Even better. I do like rabbit, but we had one yesterday and again this morning. Squirrel is a good change.” She kicked her foot out of the stirrup and slid to the ground.
Mama grabbed LillieBeth in a huge hug, kissing her on the cheek. “How is my favorite daughter?”
“Your daughter is glad to see her mama,” she kissed back. “I have so much to tell you that I am just about to bust.”
“Well, you just keep holding it in. Chores first. Can you take care of Ruth while I go start supper?”
“Yes, Mama. I also have to do the evening chores for Mrs. Bailey. Oh it is just horrible-”
“She sick?” Mama interrupted.
The news from around the world about the millions dead from Spanish influenza worried everyone in the Ozark Mountains. The epidemic that started in Haskell County, Kansas and spread around the world had not ended. The worry only increased with the news of over 4,000 dead in Philadelphia. Pennsylvania was a long way away, but it was not too far for panic to spread.
Everyone looked at any illness with a wary eye. Rumors of flu outbreaks had caused the burning of people’s homes as they were driven from the hills. Sick folks and strangers were encouraged to move on. The encouragement was not a gentle nudge, it was often edged with panic and violence. It would not be good news if Mrs. Bailey’s kin had the flu. Even visiting folks with the flu and then coming back home would not be tolerated by most.
LillieBeth shook her head ‘no.’ “Her daughter-in-law and grandchildren down on Lake Taneycomo took sick.”
“She say what the illness was?” Mama asked. “Was it the Spanish flu?”
“She said they were plagued with a rash that will not heal as long as they were living near the water. The doctor said to move them away from the lake. Mrs. Bailey said it was not the influenza. She went to help them, so I said I would help her, but-”
Mama interrupted again. “No buts.” The relief in hearing the Spanish influenza had not come to the hills was evident in her voice. “You get to it. I will start supper. One squirrel might be best to do into a stew for the two of us.”
LillieBeth said, “Mrs. Bailey gave us some eggs and goat milk too.”
Mama looked surprised, “Gave? You know I won’t have any cash money to pay her until Daddy gets home.”
LillieBeth said, “Gave, Mama. She said they were free to take until she gets back. I am keeping track of how many we get, but she did say free.”
“Well, now I am even more curious to hear about what went on with you today; still, go do your chores first. I will unsaddle Ruth, brush her down and take her to the trough by the garden. There is a small patch of grass there to the west she can graze on for awhile. You can lead her back to the corral when you finish with Mrs. Bailey’s chores.”
LillieBeth flew through her chores. She was amazed she did not even have to chase the pigs into the corral. They must have had their fill of acorns and roots, because they were all resting in their pen when she got there. She almost left her pig-staff by the pigpen. She would not need it until tomorrow, but out of habit she carried it with her. She had carried the rifle all the way to Hoffman’s and back. The staff felt like a fine replacement. The rifle was in its usual spot over the fireplace.
She made sure all of the animals had their water troughs filled up. She tossed a few handfuls of feed on the ground so the chickens had plenty to peck at and hunt for in the dirt. She milked any goat close enough to grab, mixing the milk with pig feed and dumping it in the trough for the pigs. She poked the old boar gently with the end of her staff as a reminder to treat his sows nice. The boar ignored her and slurped at the trough.
The pigs would get full on what they could find in the woods, but they would not get fat without extra slop in the evenings. It made sense to raise pigs to be fat. Bacon without fat was silly and not near as tasty. Ham would be dry without a nice fat covering to keep it moist during smoking. Without pig fat, there would be nothing to drip through wood ashes to make lye soap.
She raced up hill, past the house to the water trough by the garden and rode Ruth back down to the corral. She raced up hill again to the well beside the house. It was only Tuesday, so she had no plans to take a full bath. With no one around but Mama, she unbuttoned her dress, pulling it down to her waist. She stood, naked to her hips, holding her pig-staff in her hand as if it was a spear and she a native African woman.
She looked around her domain, her own country with small borders, her castle, her mansion and her little home. She ruled by her own iron fist and with the wisdom of Solomon. She shook her spear, daring anyone to try and take her home from her, invading forces would be repelled, attacking hordes of pirates would be defeated, and marching rows of British regulars would be laid low by her mighty spear.
She wanted to cry, knowing she could crush any army. She was losing her home anyway, defeated by one widowed woman with sick grandchildren. She had held this news all day. Now she could share it with Mama. She did not want to share it with Mama. She would do anything to spare her mother from the gnawing worry of losing their home, but she had to tell. She knew she was stalling for time.
She pumped a bucket of water and scrubbed her neck, her hands, her arms, both on top and under, her face and her ears, scrubbing extra hard behind the ears as that was most likely where Mama would check for accumulated dirt. She pulled up the hem of her skirt and used it to dry off as best she could.
Once she was dressed again, she went into the house.
Mama had supper already on the table, waiting on her. Mama was looking at the math workbook with a puzzled look on her face. She tossed it aside with relief.
“Are you all washed up? Good. Sit, honey. Let’s eat before it grows cold.”
LillieBeth was surprised. Mama had not made squirrel stew. She had used a bit of flour and an egg, frying the little pieces with a thick, heavy crust like chicken. There was a bowl of fresh greens. And in the middle of the meal, on a plate of its own was something LillieBeth had never seen outside of a church picnic. Mama had taken the three remaining eggs, boiling them hard, cutting and mashing the yokes to make dressed eggs.
Aft
er listening to her mother say grace, LillieBeth said, “Mama, those eggs look wonderful.”
“Well, thank you. My mother always called them deviled eggs. I don’t know why, maybe because they take a devil of a time to make. Still, we have enough for three pieces each. I managed to scrape enough honey out of the last jar and used a sweet pickle we still had left from Christmas. It won’t taste like the ones from church, but I’ll bet they taste as good as they look. Shall we save them for dessert?”
Dessert came around quickly, but not quickly enough for LillieBeth. She could hardly take her eyes off the dressed eggs. It was wonderful to have such a treat after such a trying day. Maybe it would soften the blow when she told her mother about having to move.
After the meal ended, Mama fanned herself with the hem of her dress. “It is going to be a hot summer.”
“Are you alright, Mama. You look flushed,” LillieBeth said, the worry creeping into her voice.
“I am fine, just excited. I have two surprises for you. Let’s play a game. I hold one surprise in one hand and one hand is empty. I will hold my second surprise in abeyance. Which hand holds the first surprise?”
LillieBeth studied her Mama’s hands. Even though it was make believe and there was nothing there, it was always fun trying to imagine what Mama might be holding. All worry slipped away as she slid backwards into being a child again, playing games with her mother.
“Right hand.”
“Good. Let me grab my sewing.” Quick as a breath on a cold morning, Mama was back to the table. She opened the bundle and pulled out LillieBeth’s Sunday dress. She shook it out and held it up. It did not button up the back, but now had a row of buttons down the front. It had a high collar and long button down cuffs at the wrist, both of bright blue cloth with little, yellow flowers. The hem had a row of cloth matching the new collar and cuffs.