by V. J. Banis
“Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my mom was alive and we would be living together again. I dream about our old house and her room and how it smelled with the perfume she wore. When it was time for my dad to get home, she ran upstairs to put on a clean blouse, and she always combed her hair and put on lipstick for him.
“When he opened the door, she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and said, ‘we missed you, but Woody and I managed to survive without you.’ She always said the same thing and laughed.
“My dad would laugh too, but he saw through her, that she wasn’t so tough. She worried about him going away. It was just a good front she put on for him and for me, I guess.
“Our world stopped the day we learned my dad was killed in the Pacific,” Woody said as he leaned back and put his arms over his eyes to shade them from the sun.
Woody sat back up, and we both watched the creek gently flow by in front of us without interruption as though it had the ability to mesmerize us.
I didn’t know if he wanted to talk about his family or needed to say the words out loud. I thought Woody’s world must have stopped when his mother died, but I could not say it. I didn’t want to talk about losing my dad, and I didn’t want to talk about losing my mother, Lucy, even though she was still here. In my family, we don’t let other people know what we really feel when it comes to our painful memories, so this was something else about Woody that was different than us.
“I don’t have any memories like that,” I said to Woody. “Come on, let’s get outta’ here.”
“I know you do and one day you’ll tell me,” Woody said with confidence, still watching the creek. I knew he was right.
* * * *
If we weren’t over at Woody’s, we spent time behind Kenneth’s and George’s house climbing pecan trees, messing around in the woods or playing ball in the pasture next door.
Woody and I were pretty good, but Kenneth was the best. Even when we were in elementary school, he could run, throw, catch and hit better than anyone else. He began putting on some weight and grew more than an inch or two so far. He was dark tan from being outside, and his blue eyes and black hair made him look almost foreign. The girls noticed him more and more. He was sweet on Suellen Faircloth, but when I joked about it, he got mad and punched me in the arm.
“Don’t say it, Robert. If George hears you, he’ll tell mama, and she’s likely to cause a fuss with Mrs. Faircloth and embarrass me even more.”
I got angry. “You’re going to have to stand up to your mother, Kenneth, and make her stop treating you like a sick child. Don’t you get mad at her?”
“She can’t help it—she has a rotten time with my Dad. You don’t know what she goes through.”
“It’s not your fault. Even Woody asked me why Aunt Edith treats you like you’re dying of something. You got to say something to her.”
Kenneth turned away from me and I thought the conversation was over like so many times before.
“You guys gonna play some ball?” Woody asked walking up to us.
“I’m done with it,” Kenneth said, giving me a hot look and started to walk off.
“You gonna go home to Mama?” Woody said, baiting him and I knew trouble was coming.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Woody,” Kenneth scoffed.
“I know you’re a mama’s boy and don’t want to be.”
“Hey, Woody, that’s kinda mean,” I said.
Woody kept baiting him. “Don’t you want to change things, Kenneth? Don’t you want to do what we all do without having to be tied to the apron strings? We untied them a long time ago; what’s taking you so long,” he shouted.
“Aren’t you even gonna take a swing at me?” Woody leaned into Kenneth without touchin’. Kenneth didn’t say a word back. I knew he could have beat Woody up pretty good; I’ve seen him fight. But he didn’t and he wouldn’t, and I knew this was turning out all wrong and was bigger than I imagined.
He walked away and Woody looked at me shaking his head. “The boy’s got trouble,” he said.
* * * *
My Granddaddy and Grandma Lott, Lucy’s parents, were coming for Sunday dinner, and Grandmother Boone and Delia were all in a tizzy getting ready for the visit. Everything had to be “just so,” Grandmother Boone said, and we all knew what that meant.
The after-church dinner menu was already planned by both women of the house—Grandmother and Delia—and that was something to look forward to. Ham, roast chickens, sweet potatoes, cornbread dressing, giblet gravy, field peas, collards, slaw, and heavenly hash, which is that perfect combination of fruit, nuts and sweetened whipped cream. The dessert table was a stand-alone set up featuring pecan and chess pies and a coconut layer cake, a Delia specialty.
The house would be thoroughly cleaned, although no one went anywhere but the dining room and the porch and maybe the bathroom because the Lott’s haven’t had their indoor plumbing installed yet.
It felt like Grandmother Boone had gathered cut flowers from every neighbor in Chester County and the house looked like a funeral parlor, but she was happy and Delia was happy in the kitchen and I was happy about seeing my grandparents, and Woody was going to meet them.
Lucy and I lived with Oscar and Sara Lott when my father was in boot camp and then in flight school to learn to fly airplanes in the Army Air Force.
Their house was on Lott Hill, and my grandfather farmed the land for a living and they raised eight children there. The kitchen was in the back of the house and a porch or gallery ran along three sides. I remember getting up in the middle of the night and peeing off the porch into the boxwood bushes. I didn’t kill the bushes, so I guess my grandmother never knew.
“Lucy, don’t put so many quilts on top of that boy that he cain’t move; no wonder he pees the bed,” Grandma would say.
The winters were cold because the house was not insulated, and I remember my grandfather getting up early in the morning before anyone and getting the house warm by lighting the fireplaces. I would dress for school in front of the one in the living room.
If you stood too long in front of the fire, he’d pull the back of your pants leg to remind you that you might be standing too close.
“Grandpa,” I would yell out indignantly, and he would bellow a laugh.
He’s the one who helped me with homework, and we worked at the kitchen table by the light of a kerosene lamp. Grandpa taught me how to memorize spelling words by using word associations. Preface equals Peter Ross eata fish alligator caughta eel.
He raised pigs and one of the piglets became my 4-H project. Betty was like a pet dog. She was smarter than any dog I ever had, and even embarrassed me by meeting the school bus at my stop. There she’d be, sitting and waiting like she could read a clock. The kids on the bus really jabbed me, but secretly I admired Betty for being so smart. We’d walk home together, like family.
I was not smart, though. My grandpa told me I was overfeeding her, but I would not listen. She got too heavy and after her piglets were born, she accidentally smothered them by rolling over on them.
My grandparents lost that income from the sale of the piglets, which would have helped them through the winter. I got off the bus one day and Betty didn’t meet me. As I walked closer to the house I saw her hanging upside down from a pecan tree with her throat cut. She would be the meat that would get the family through the winter. I could not eat pork for a long time.
* * * *
We got home from church and my grandparents were due to arrive soon, along with Aunt Edith, Kenneth and George and Woody. It was like a holiday gathering.
“Robert, don’t go putting on your play clothes. Stay looking nice for your grandma and grandpa. Your hair needs combed,” Grandmother Boone said as she removed her hat and walked toward her bedroom. “Oh, some of the petals are falling already,” she said disappointedly and absently to herself, still fixated or obsessed with perfection for the Lott’s visit.
Delia and I looked a
t each other and I had to muffle a laugh as she rolled her eyes. We both wanted this ordeal to be over with before Grandmother started to wring her hands over God only knows what else. A spot on the tablecloth or is that just a shadow?
We were all waiting for them to arrive, and the dinner meal was almost ready.
“I hear them comin’,” George yelled from the porch to Grandmother and Aunt Edith inside. Woody, Kenneth and I were glad they finally arrived since we could not stand the dinner smells coming from the kitchen, and we were downright starved.
“Woody, you’re in for a real treat,” I said, “you haven’t been here for a big dinner like a holiday, so I hope you’re hungry.”
“I imagine from the smells Delia’s created in the kitchen, it’s much better than any church potluck supper, and I haven’t tasted anything yet I didn’t like at those. I am hungry!”
“They’re here,” George ran to the Lott’s car and jumped up on the running board on grandma’s side.
“Hi, sweetie,” Grandma said to George. “Now let me get on outta’ this car. You’ll have to get down so’s I can open the door, right?”
Sara Lott was still small after bearing eight children. Her long black hair was pinned up on her head, which showed off her high cheekbones, and you knew right off she was part Indian.
She put the cloth-covered basket down on the hood of the car, and grabbed George to her chest and hugged him, smothering him into her bosom.
“I miss seeing you; you’re getting so big. Where does the time go,” she said rhetorically for probably the five-hundredth time to all of us. But I believe she meant every word.
Grandpa greeted me and Kenneth as we walked up to him. We shook hands now, but he still tousled my hair afterwards.
“How you boys doin’, you stayin’ outta trouble?” Grandpa said to us, as he walked to get Grandma’s basket and greet George.
“Yessir,” we all said in unison.
Woody was standing on the porch and watching us and we started up the steps.
“Grandpa, Grandma, here’s Woody; he’s a friend that lives with his grandparents down the road. He’s from up north. We all hang around together,” I said.
Woody outstretched his hand to my grandfather and he shook it.
“That’s an unusual name. Only Woody I know of is the singer Guthrie.”
“It’s my last name, sir. It’s Cecil Woody. I go by Woody.”
“We have a lot of Cecil’s down in these parts. A good idea to go by Woody. I like it.”
Woody smiled and I knew my grandfather made a friend. He was a charmer.
I looked at Kenneth and could see he was still smarting from his blow with Woody, but I was hoping having a good time together today would ease some of his anger.
Aunt Edith looked drawn and sad in the parlor. She was alone on the sofa twisting her handkerchief, one of the signs of her “nervous condition,” she called it. Edith did not enjoy Boone family gatherings, and she looked uncomfortable.
She wore a shapeless navy blue dress that was too big for her, since she had lost a lot of weight, and her thin brown hair was uncurled and needed some attention.
Oscar Lott walked into the parlor and spotted Edith sitting by herself. “Edith, I didn’t know you’d be here. Well, how are you honey? You wanna go dancin’ later?” he laughed.
“Phew, Mr. Lott, it’s Sunday. You better not let the Lord here your blasphemy.”
“O’lordy, Edith, He knew I was jokin’. Your boys look good. Kenneth is growing up, lookin’ mighty handsome like his daddy.”
She tightened a grip on the handkerchief. “That’s a curse, Mr. Lott. I don’t want him to look like Mr. Boone,” she said as she scurried nervously by him into the dining room.
Oscar Lott was always a little stunned by Edith’s outburst, but he had seen her overreact before. “My God, that woman will never change. I’d stay into the likker, too,” he said sadly.
* * * *
We sat down to the table that was laden with food. Grandmother Boone sat at the head and Grandpa Lott was at the foot. Grandma Lott, me, and Woody were on one side and Aunt Edith, George and Kenneth on the other.
All the platters and bowls were passed and the plates were filled. We dug in, and the quiet comfort overtook us all while we sampled our choices and ate silently.
“This is very nice, Ida,” Grandma said. “Everything is delicious.”
“Thank you, Sara. Did you notice the wallpaper in the bathroom” Grandmother answered.
Woody, Grandpa and I giggled.
“What is funny?” Grandmother demanded.
“Boys can be coarse, Ida. Some boys,” Edith said as she took a tiny bite of ham.
“Oh, we were not being coarse, Edith, what’s happened to you, don’t you laugh about anything anymore?” Grandpa said.
“I’m grateful my son is not being raised coarse,” she sniped.
“What do you mean,” both grandmothers said.
“Kenneth is not coarse. He’s gentle and considerate; things I’ve taught him.”
“Robert is being raised properly, Edith Boone, and you know it,” Grandmother said firmly with a touch of ire in her voice.
“Is he?” Edith answered rhetorically.
“I don’t think this is the proper place to be discussing this,” Grandma Lott said to Edith, “and I’d like to continue this in private with both of you, Ida.”
“I don’t plan on discussing this with either of you. I don’t know how to raise a child? I raised eight of them and lost one to the War. At least you didn’t lose a child, Sara.”
“My daughter lost her husband, your son, who was our son-in-law, Ida.”
“You raised my husband, who’s a drunk and spends his money on other women, Ida. You call that a good job raising a son?” Edith said, her voice shaking with emotion.
“Ladies, we have children at this table, remember?” Grandpa said quietly and looked at all three women.
Nobody said anything for a few minutes and continued to try to eat, but the family meal was ruined.
“We may still be children, Mr. Lott, but we see things too,” Woody said.
I didn’t like where this could go now, but I held my breath and waited for the next words. Woody was braver than all of us.
“What are you doing to Kenneth, Mrs. Boone?” Woody said to Aunt Edith. “He’s so gentle he won’t even fight me when I called him a mama’s boy. Because he knows he is a mama’s boy.”
Edith stood up and threw her napkin into her unfinished plate. “You can’t talk to me that way. We don’t talk to each other down here that way.”
Kenneth was finally angry but not at his mother. “Why don’t you leave us alone, Woody? I wish I never met you. I don’t believe your father died in the War or your mother even. They just left you, that’s what I think.”
It was cruel, and I never before heard Kenneth say such a hurtful thing. I looked at Kenneth and held his stare. “Apologize to Woody, and take back what you just said,” I whispered.
Everyone was quiet and waiting for Kenneth to answer, but he didn’t, and Woody got up from the table and left.
Edith sat back down thinking Kenneth’s remarks had somehow defended her.
Kenneth sat directly opposite from me and looked down at his plate. George began to eat.
My grandmother Boone held her napkin against her mouth as if she was holding back vomit.
“I’m really sorry Grandmother,” I said, as I picked up my plate, which was still pretty full, and threw it at Kenneth. It landed on his face and all meat, potatoes, gravy and vegetables were dripping off him.
Grandmother Boone screamed and drooped in her chair as if she fainted, and Grandma got up and ran over to her. Grandpa didn’t say a word and watched.
Kenneth picked off some of the food from his face and slowly picked up a big handful of sweet potatoes from the bowl between us and threw them toward me with a force from that pitching arm we all knew. But I ducked and it knocked over a vase of sn
apdragons on the sideboard and landed on the pale cream wall and began dripping down.
Aunt Edith began shouting, “Stop it. Right now. That is enough.”
I took the whole bowl and hit him in the chest with it, and the orange potatoes and butter stained his white shirt and splattered the wall behind him.
“Kenneth, don’t do this; you don’t act like this, Baby; you’re picking up bad habits from these hooligans,” Edith was sputtering now.
I felt good since I was two for two and Kenneth was the big pitching star.
“Come on, baby,” I said to Kenneth. “Babies are allowed to say cruel things, like you said to Woody, because they don’t know any better. So you’re still a baby, huh, Kenneth?”
He picked up his plate to throw at me, but George bumped into him. Kenneth’s food fell on George while George was in the process of picking up his own plate to get out of the fray.
When George jumped up, he dropped his plate in Edith’s hair and the contents ran down her back, and since the dress was so loose on her, sweet potatoes, gravy, meat and vegetables ran inside her clothes.
“Aaah, George!” Edith cried out.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” George said, astonished by his mistake.
Delia came out from the kitchen and stood with her mouth wide open but she was lost for words. She stared at Edith, George and Kenneth, all covered with food.
Grandma was fanning Grandmother Boone who had not fainted but had turned herself away from the table in disgust.
No one spoke, and no one moved until my grandfather broke the spell.
“I think these boys are through, Delia, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to clean up this mess,” Grandpa said, nodding at Kenneth and me.
“Are there any more sweet potatoes?” he added.
THE CHILD BRIDE OF LESTER COOLEY, by Calvert Estill
This happened in Braxton County about the turn of the century. It was pretty much written up in the Gassaway Centurion, and checked out by the Presbyterian minister at Sutton. Nowadays, the only people who have heard about it got it from their grandparents and the tale varies some in the telling.
Lester Cooley was a small farmer who lived about three miles up Dead Bear Creek. He scratched around on sixty-five acres, more or less, of hillside pasture, and had a respectable cabin that was fairly tight in the winter. One thing Lester was proud of having was a good well. He dug it himself and bragged on the pure water and the fact that you couldn’t bail it dry.