Kentucky Sky

by R. David Anderson

  Papa came into the barn to get something. He grabbed some reins.

  “Ginny, you makin’ over those horses again? You should be in the kitchen helpin’ your ma!”

  “Papa, is it okay if I go with you and Uncle Jed to the corn fields?”

  “Hmm...well…” he stammered. “Go ask your Ma. If she says yes, you can go.”

  I ran excitedly back to the house. Ma had her wash pan out and she was washing dishes.

  “Ginny! What in heavens’ name took you so long to slop those pigs? And where’s my slop bucket?”

  “Sorry, Mama. I’ll go fetch it right now.”

  I ran back to the pig sty and grabbed the slop bucket, then ran back to the house at full steam and put the bucket where it belonged on the porch. I glanced towards the barn. It looked like Papa and Uncle Jed were about to go. I ran back into the kitchen.

  “Mama, may I go with Papa and Uncle Jed to the corn field?”

  “You have house chores to do, Ginny. You’ll just get all dirty and I’ll have more dirt to clean up.”

  “Please, Mama. I promise that I’ll do all my house chores when I get back.”

  Mama was silent. “You dry these dishes, then I might think about it.”

  I dried the dishes quickly and put them away. Then I grabbed a broom and swept the kitchen floor for good measure, hoping that would persuade Mama to let me go.

  I glanced out the window. Papa and Uncle Jed were finished hitching up the draft horse to the hay wagon. They were about to leave without me.

  “Mama! Papa and Uncle Jed are leaving! I’m gonna get left behind!”

  Mama looked out the window. “Okay, Ginny, you’re excused. Remember to bring me some corn for the table tonight.”

  I propped the broom into the corner and dashed out the door. I was excited to go with Papa and Uncle Jed, and to be free from my chores for once.

  Jed sat up on the driver’s bench seat. I hopped up onto the back of the hay wagon just as he shook the reins and sounded out two rapid tongue clickers to signal the horse to go. The horse moved forward at a steady pace. Papa came from the barn with a stack of bushel baskets which he placed on the wagon. He walked to the barnyard gate and opened it wide, closing it once we had cleared the corral area.

  We traversed open pasture towards the corn field. Once we reached the corn, Uncle Jed slowed the wagon to a crawl, while Papa entered the field, squeezing the green plump ears to see if the crop was ready.

  About halfway up the field I jumped down from the wagon onto the dusty, rutted lane, worn by years of wagon wheel impressions in the ground. I walked behind the wagon for a ways, then I ran behind Papa.

  “Mama said to pick some corn for dinner!” I blurted.

  “There’s some good ears in here, “Papa smiled. “Let’s get the bushel baskets and pick some for the table.”

  I followed Papa, holding the bushel basket. He squeezed many ears, picking the ripe ones. The basket filled quickly.

  Papa showed me how to pick an ear of ripe corn. I looked for ears with dark brown silk, and then I squeezed the ear to check the plumpness of the kernels. I was proud to have picked many “ready” ears of corn for Papa. We had two bushels filled for the table in no time.

  I was about to pick another ear when Papa said, “that’s enough for now.” As I pulled away from the stalk, a corn leaf swung upwards and hit my left ear. I heard a buzzing and felt the vibration of an insect near my ear opening, then a sharp pain. I cried out in agony, holding my ear.

  Papa rushed over and looked at my throbbing ear. He picked me up and walked back to the wagon.

  “What’s the matter?” Uncle Jed asked.

  “She’s been stung on her ear by a yellow jacket,” Papa answered.

  He put me back on the hay wagon, loaded the corn, and we headed back to the house.

  My ear was still stinging when we were back in the kitchen. Mama put some soothing salve on the sting.

  After the bee sting incident, I continued to help Pa out in the fields. I especially liked helping him with the animals. I loved being with the horses, goats and lambs. When I was in the barnyard Miss Muffin and a pack of goats would always follow me everywhere I went.

  By early September I would have apples to give as a treat. Thunder, our brown quarter horse, would rub his muzzle against my cheek and neigh softly when he knew I had an apple to give him.

  Late September Mama told me that it was almost time to go back to school. She had been working on a new school dress for me all summer. It was a beautiful blue gathered dress with ruffled sleeves and border lace.

  The dress was ready; and so was I.

  I enjoyed going to school. My Mother encouraged me to go, as she felt it was important to learn to read and write. She was schooled at home by her Mother, so when the new school house was built over by Wolf Pen Creek, she sent me there right away. That was in 1857. It was now 1859 and my little brother was starting school. He did not want to go.

  Andrew cried on the first day of school as Mother got him ready. I had on my new dress and blue ribbons in my hair, ready to go. Mother marched Andrew over by my side and she demanded that I hold his hand. She handed me our lunch which was in a knapsack.

  I could hear the school bell ringing from the schoolhouse bell tower as we went out the front door. The summons was being sounded out that school would be starting at nine o’clock sharp.

  The shortest route to the school house was a rugged wagon road that cut through some fields and woods. The road ended at a narrow path, which we took to the Wolf Pen Creek Road. The one room school house was a short way up the road.

  As Andrew and I arrived we saw other children walking across the front yard into the wide open front door. Miss Greenly stepped outside and waved at us, greeting every child with a smile. I was very happy to see Miss Greenly. She was my favorite teacher.

  Andrew and I climbed up the wide steps and crossed the narrow porch and entered the school. We came into a small entryway that had two closets on either side, and the long rope which hung from the bell tower up on the roof. We entered the long classroom and Andrew stopped to look around. There were four rows of student desks, ten in each row. Towards the front were two rows of benches. That’s where the youngest children sat. Miss Greenly’s desk was just beyond the benches, and behind her desk, on the back wall, was a wide blackboard.

  High windows were on both walls to our left and right. A wood stove sat snugly in the center aisle, unlit of course. It was too warm on the last day of September to fire it up.

  Miss Greenly gathered the first-year students up front. She saw my brother holding onto my hand. He was trembling and looked terrified. She walked up to us and smiled.

  “Ginny. I am glad to see you back for the start of the new school session. Is this your brother?”

  “Yes.” I replied. “This is Andrew.”

  “Andrew! I like that name. How old are you, Andrew?”

  Miss Greenly placed her hand on Andrew’s shoulders. “Well, you need to come and join our first-year students. I will show you, Andrew. Follow me.”

  Andrew went with Miss Greenly to the front and joined the other students his age. I went to my desk near the wood stove and sat down.

  The day’s lessons for each level were written on the board. There were several math problems written in chalk for the upper level students. Multiplication and division. I started working the problems on my slate board. Miss Greenly’s helper, an older boy, checked our answers and recorded our progress in the teacher’s grade book. I had them all correct. I knew that Miss Greenly would call me up front to work some of the problems after she finished teaching the younger children.

  I sat next to Pelina, my best friend, and we often compared answers. A skinny girl with straight light brown hair, she was very precocious and at times down right daring. Last year she got me in trouble by insisting we take a short cut across the creek. We both ended up covered in mud and my mother was furious when I got home.

  Miss Gre
enly was reading a story to the younger children. I glanced up to see how Andrew was doing. He seemed to be feeling better about school now. An eighth-grade girl took over instruction of the primers while Miss Greenly started teaching the upper graders.

  She called the middle grade students one at a time to go up to the black board to solve the math problems. Then she put some fractions on the board and I was the first to be called up to give oral responses as she tapped each fraction with her long pointer stick. I had to quickly reduce each fraction to lowest terms in the mental exercise. I made some miscalculations and I turned red in the face. Miss Greenly tapped the fraction as I hesitated; it seemed like my mind just went blank as I started to panic. I was excused to sit down. I was not ready for drills on fractions on the first day! What made it worse was when Jimmy Skinner covered his mouth with his hand and let out a low laugh. Emma Taylor suppressed laughter, shook her head and stuck out her tongue at me.

  Miss Greenly called Jimmy to go to the board next. He made many of the same mistakes that I had made. Miss Greenly shook her head and said that we were “rusty” after the long summer break, so we practiced reducing fractions until lunch time.

  Andrew and I ate our lunch in the play yard in the shade of an old oak. Mother had packed us some rolls and cheese slices and juicy apples.

  After lunch we practiced penmanship and then we read from our McGuffey Readers. At times, when I finished the story, my imagination allowed me to pull Emma Taylor’s blonde hair and kick Jimmy Skinner in the seat of his pants. Pelina could think of some prank to pull on them later.

  It was a good school year. My reading and writing had blossomed. Miss Greenly was a good teacher.

  We learned in April 1860 that Miss Greenly was getting married. Women teachers were not allowed to be married. This would therefore be Miss Greenly’s last year at our school. I was very upset when I found out. What would I do without Miss Greenly?

  School was never the same again. We had Mr. Bowles in the next school term. He was a terrible teacher. He did not care about teaching, he was doing it until he got a better job as an accountant.

  Mr. Bowles was also a mean teacher. He had a leather strap hanging on the wall next to his desk and he did not hesitate to use it. He kept the bigger boys in line with it, even some of the girls. He showed no favorites. After a hard thrashing from Mr. Bowles, it was difficult to sit down.

  War

  It was a warm day in August 1862, Father had gone to the fields to work, Mother was in the house cooking as usual. I was able to slip away without her noticing, out through the side yard. I climbed the fence rails and walked out into the pasture. I found one of my favorite spots where I sat down on the grass. I saw the horses grazing in the distance. A slight breeze blew in my face and gently brushed my hair across my cheeks. I saw clover! I began to pick the clover flowers and braided the stems together to form a ringlet. This took me a long time to get a strand long enough. When I had completed a long enough strand of woven clover, I tied it around my head, wearing the clover like a crown. Now I imagined that I was a queen living in a palace!

  Then I wandered down to the banks of the creek, and I looked into the murky waters. I could see some tadpoles swimming around. There were hoof prints in the sandy loam. I picked up a long stick and poked it into the mud, then into the water, stirring it around. This made ripples in the water that sparkled in the bright sunshine.

  Mother was calling my name. I ran to her and listened as she told me to clean the house. I dusted all the rooms. I went into the parlor and dusted all the furniture in there. The room had two English windows side by side that faced towards the front of the house. This gave my favorite room plenty of light. This was the only room where we had fine furniture, like an upholstered love seat and chair, and side tables made of exquisite wood. I did a thorough job with my dusting, as I knew that Mother would run her fingers over the smooth wood to check for any dust residue. I swept the floors many times over to make the place look tidy; we were having company tonight.

  Mother made a fancy meal of savory beef roast with all the trimmings. Our guests arrived, some country gents and their ladies from the church. I helped mother serve the meal, then sat down to enjoy a rare feast.

  There was much conversation, but what really caught my ear was the talk about war. I did not understand what was going on, but the talk began to get heated, something about the North and South not getting along. Now the Union was sending an army to Louisville. An army in Louisville. I could not believe this! All this talk frightened me. I wondered what was going to happen. I felt very uneasy as I cleared the table.

  It was now late August and we had brought in most of the field crops. I was thinking about starting school in a few weeks and hoping that we would get a nicer school master.

  I got out of bed and pulled on my green plaid dress and ran down into the kitchen to see what was for breakfast.

  Papa brought in the milk container; he had been out in the barn milking cows this morning. Mama was cooking on the pot belly stove. We sat down to a breakfast of ham and eggs, biscuits and milk. The fresh milk tasted so rich and smooth. My little brother sat across the small kitchen table from me and stuck out his tongue. I made a funny face and he giggled.

  The biscuits were best smothered in honey and butter. The butter was running out. Today I would be at the butter churn, making a new batch.

  I helped Mama clear off the table, while little brother ran off somewhere to play, and Father went back out to the barnyard to work.

  Now was the time to churn the butter. I sat at a wooden stool in the middle of the kitchen and churned the cream with the plunger. It took a long time before the cream began to thicken into the consistency of butter. Mama sat in her rocker next to the kitchen window. She was sewing a new quilt. She was humming an old folk song as she worked. I loved to listen to her hum, it was so lovely as the melody carried throughout the entire house.

  A slight breeze came through the open window, moving the lace curtains just a little. I could smell something sweet on the morning breeze, like freshly cut pine wood. Papa was sawing some wood.

  Suddenly we heard shouting coming from the barnyard. It sounded like Papa was angry at someone. Mama and I stepped over to the window to see what is happening. There were soldiers out back in the barnyard, about four of them, all dressed in dark blue uniforms. What were these soldiers doing here? What did they want from us simple country folk?

  We saw Father walking out of the barn towards the soldiers holding a riffle. He shouted, “Get off my land, you won’t have my horses!”

  One of the soldiers shouted back, demanding to have our prized horses. Mama looked so frightened.

  A soldier pulled his pistol from the holster. “Stay back, or I’ll put you in the ground!” he yelled.

  Father did not back down. He continued to walk towards the soldiers, riffle pointed directly at the man with the drawn pistol.

  I began to tremble, and my heart raced.

  The soldier fired his pistol and father fell backwards, blood gushing from his forehead. Mama screamed. She ran out the back door, across the back yard to a wood pile next to a shed. She grabbed an axe from the wood pile and charged at the soldiers, screaming hysterically; shouting, “Get out of here, you devils!”

  I have never seen such rage on Mama’s face. She ran towards the men with the axe upraised, ready to strike them down. The same soldier who shot Papa drew his long curved-edged sword above his head, then swung it in a wide arc. The sword struck Mama’s neck, slicing right through every muscle and tendon. Her decapitated head fell one direction, and her limp body immediately dropped to the ground.

  I watched all of this in horror from the kitchen window. I was stunned, frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do. I realized that these soldiers would probably come to kill me too if they saw me, so I ran into the front room and grabbed my little brother, then escaped out the front of the house, running as fast as I could towards the corn field. I never looked back.


  “What can I do? Where do I go? Run! Run for your life! Run silent, run swift!” a voice inside me cried.

  I ran until I was out of breath, until my lungs were bursting for air. I tripped and fell, tearing the hem of my dress. I lay in the dirt, face down, and tore at the loose soil with my hands, sobbing.

  “Ginny, don’t cry!” I looked up and saw my little brother next to me. I felt like I must be strong for him. I stopped crying and raised up, looking into his eyes. He didn’t know.

  I got up and reached my hand out to him. “Come, we must get help!”

  “What happened, Ginny? Where’s Mama and Papa?” Andrew asked.

  “We must get help!” I repeated.

  We continued to walk through the corn to our neighbor’s farm. I saw Ma Brown near her house washing clothes. We ran to her.

  “Ma Brown! Ma Brown! Please help us! Please!”

  “What’s wrong, child?”

  “Mama and Papa are hurt bad. Soldiers came and took our horses and....” My voice trailed off and I began to cry.

  Ma Brown dropped what she was doing, told me and my brother to stay at her house, then she ran to get help. She ran to the grist mill and got several men to go with her. They found my Mama and Papa where they had been slain. Their bodies were placed in pine coffins and taken to the church cemetery. There was a funeral the next day and the pastor said some kind words, and everyone prayed at the grave site.

  I noticed that there were mostly women at the funeral. Most of the men folk had left to fight in the Civil War, including my uncle Jed. He had joined the Union and was somewhere in Maryland. My Uncle Will, my Father’s youngest brother, joined the Confederacy.

  My little brother and I stayed with Ma Brown for a while, but she could not care for us. There was nobody working the farm; her husband and sons were fighting in the war. Arrangements were made for us to go to an orphanage in Louisville. I went back home to gather what I could… clothing, keepsakes and the like. Then I went and rounded up the farm animals that remained after the soldiers stole our horses.