Lizzie's Carefree Years

by Linda Byler

  “I’ll tell you one thing. You mark my words. Things are going to get bad. We’re absolutely sure to have another depression. You watch,” Aunt Vera said, shaking her head. She stopped talking long enough to take a bite of fried chicken, wipe her mouth, and swallow, before she started again.

  “Remember the Depression? Sure you do. You’re older than I am!” At this, Doddy Glick protested wholeheartedly. Mommy Glick smiled, and Uncle Homer shook his head, chuckling.

  “You didn’t have food like this then. You kept your chickens for the eggs—no chicken to eat. Beans. We ate a lot of pole beans. Annie, remember? No, you were just a little girl back then. How could you remember?” she went on.

  Mam laughed. “Oh yes, I remember. Mam made us dresses from chicken feed sacks. We only had two or three dresses, one for school and a few for everyday or Sunday. We almost never had any meat to eat.”

  “Or eggs,” Aunt Vera broke in. “You took your eggs to town, hoping to make enough money to buy flour and sugar. Yessir, we did! But the thing is, people aren’t happier nowadays, even if they have a lot more money. We were happy as polecats, weren’t we, Annie?”

  Mam smiled and acknowledged that fact.

  Lizzie looked at Elsie and smiled.

  “Is she always so fussy?” Elsie asked.

  “Oh, my, yes. Sometimes she talks more than this!” Lizzie said proudly.

  “She’s funny!”

  “You should hear her sometimes!”

  Watching Mam take away the dishes to prepare the table for dessert, Lizzie thought happy little thoughts of thankfulness, mostly for all the good food on the table, and everyone who was there.

  She loved all the relatives, on Dat’s side as well as Mam’s. They were very different, but the same in many ways, although there was no one like Marvin and Elsie. Since they lived here in Jefferson County, she supposed Edna and Debbie were just as dear, but Marvin and Elsie had lots of good memories for her.

  She leaned over and said, “Emma says I act like Aunt Vera sometimes.”

  Elsie giggled. “I never heard you talk that much!”

  Lizzie giggled back. “I’d love to be like her. There’s nobody I like to listen to more than her. It gives me a warm, cozy feeling when she says ‘Apps-olute-ly.’”

  They hid their smiles behind their hands. Aunt Vera saw them and said, “Now, look at that. They’re laughing at me. Yes, they are. Mousie! Now mind!” And she laughed.

  Lizzie’s eyes shone across the table, conveying all her love and admiration, Aunt Vera catching it and smiling back, returning all of Lizzie’s love.

  Relatives were better than bought doughnuts, Lizzie decided.

  chapter 16

  Driving Bess

  Spring came to Jefferson County, clothing the ridges and mountains in a new, light green veil of color. The bare branches of the trees didn’t really have leaves on them, yet everywhere Lizzie looked, the pale green color shone through. She supposed it was new little leaves pushing through the red buds of the trees.

  The air was soft and new, after the April rains had washed away all the dirty snow and mud. Mam said Mother Nature did her spring housecleaning, too, with the wind and the rain.

  Mam opened the windows of the house, letting the fresh breezes blow through. She washed curtains and bedspreads, quilts and rugs—even the doilies on the dressers. She washed walls, swept spiderwebs, and washed windows inside and out until they sparkled.

  The girls had to help in the evening, bringing in the clean curtains and bedsheets, babysitting the twins so Mam could finish a room, or starting supper if it got really late.

  Mam didn’t even have time to go to town for groceries, so one evening she asked Dat if the girls could drive Bess to Malone, the small town a few miles before the town of Marion, where the supermarkets were.

  Dat had bought Bess from Uncle Eli. She was an old black mare that was safe for Mam to drive. At the same time, he had bought a secondhand springwagon, just like the pony springwagon he had built for the miniature ponies, Teeny and Tiny, except it wasn’t nearly as fancy. It was just an ordinary springwagon for a horse, painted plain black with no ornate gold scrollwork.

  The difference between a buggy and a springwagon was the roof. There was no roof on a springwagon. Just a box with sides and one seat with a back on it. There was a dashboard on the front, so you wouldn’t fall off behind the horses’ feet. The seat was up higher than an ordinary buggy, so it was quite thrilling to ride in.

  Emma and Lizzie were hardly ever allowed to take Bess by themselves, mostly because of Mam. She was afraid one of them would fall off, or they couldn’t handle Bess. Dat always said something like, “Phsaw!” a bit like a snort.

  “These girls are easily old enough to drive Bess to Malone. She’s such a ‘plug.’” That was Dat’s word for a slow, lazy horse, which he had no patience for. Red was his horse, head held high and trotting along so briskly he had to keep a firm grip on the reins.

  So that was how it all came about on Saturday morning. Emma and Lizzie were allowed to hitch up Bess to the black springwagon and drive to the small town of Malone to buy groceries.

  Emma was taking her own shiny black purse, and Mam gave her the money and shopping list, which she folded carefully in different compartments of her wallet. They put on freshly ironed coverings, pinned securely, and black aprons, which were dressier than their gray everyday ones.

  Mam told them the springwagon had no lights on it, so they had no turning signals. If they wanted to turn left, whoever wasn’t driving had to extend their arm straight out to the side, in case there was a vehicle behind them. That was so the person would know they were turning in, and he would not try to pass from behind, perhaps hitting them if he was unaware of their turning.

  “That’s too embarrassing,” Lizzie muttered.

  “But you have to, or I won’t let you go!” Mam said sternly.

  “We will,” Emma assured her.

  Dat had put Bess’s harness on before he left for the day’s work at the pallet shop, so all they had to do was slip on the bridle and hitch her to the springwagon. Bess was so docile, she hung her head meekly, opening her mouth obediently as soon as the steel bit of the bridle touched her teeth. They backed her easily between the shafts, fastened the leather straps used to pull the buggy, and clipped the snap shut on the backhold straps.

  Emma was allowed to drive on the way to town, so she fastened the rein attached to the bridle. Unwrapping the reins, Emma stepped back, checking every buckle and snap to make sure Bess was hitched up properly. She climbed up beside Lizzie, lifted the reins, and clucked her tongue, telling Bess to go. Bess stood there, quite content not to move an inch. They giggled.

  “Come on, Bess,” Emma said, slapping her lightly with the reins. So they started off at a slow walk down the gravel drive, turning right before Bess fell into her gentle, rocking trot.

  This was wonderful. Lizzie took a deep breath of pure exhilaration. Sitting way up high on this wooden seat, and the horse so far below, with the warm breeze flowing through her hair—this was her idea of a fun thing to do on Saturday. It was much better than helping Mam clean house all day.

  They went past Uncle Eli’s place waving to Edna, who was raking the yard.

  “Where are you going?” she shouted.

  “To Malone for groceries!” Lizzie yelled back happily.

  “Lucky!” Edna answered.

  They waved again, and passed the shoe store where a new Amish family was moving to from Ohio. They had an odd name that Lizzie couldn’t remember.

  “When are those people moving in?” she asked Emma.

  “Don’t know. Soon,” Emma answered.

  Bess trotted on, down a small winding hill. Emma drove with her left hand, applying the brakes with her right. The brakes were a block of heavy rubber that rubbed against the steel rim of the wheel, pushed back and forth by a lever beside the driver. You had to push the lever out of one notch and push it into another, however you wanted th
e brakes to be, only a light pressure or a hard one, depending on how long and steep the hill was. Brakes were a very good thing on a buggy. They always made Lizzie feel more secure. If a horse wanted to run and keep on running away, you could always apply the brakes, which made it much harder for the horse to get out of control. So Lizzie could rest easy, hearing the grinding sound on the back wheel.

  They passed Hetrick’s pond, which was shining blue from the sky’s reflection. Small green grasses grew in profusion, with the yellow color of the dandelions and the purple of the wild violets adding a colorful touch, much like an artist’s palette. There was a blackened spot in the middle of the grass and dandelions, remnants of the bonfire that burned night after night in winter.

  “Makes you feel like going skating!” Lizzie said.

  “You wouldn’t get very far,” Emma said dryly.

  Lizzie lifted her head, laughing. Birds twittered and chirped, flying in little arcs overhead, wheeling and dipping, either catching insects or busily gathering material to build nests. There were clumps of cotton candy clouds, as they called them, drifting lazily far above the birds. The sun shone warmly, caressing their backs with its warmth.

  “Here we turn in,” Emma said.

  “Do I have to stick out my arm?” Lizzie asked.

  “Mam said to. Of course!”

  “That’s so dumb.”

  “Come on! I’m turning!”

  Lizzie swiveled quickly to see if a car was approaching from behind. Sure enough, a pickup truck was fast closing in on them, so there was nothing for Lizzie to do but extend her arm, holding it straight out and as rigid as she could.

  Emma pulled on the right rein, and Bess clopped steadily to the left, gravel spitting out from under the steel rim of the wheel. As soon as they had turned, Lizzie clapped her arm securely to her side, her face flaming.

  “That’s so stupid, Emma. I’m not going to do it one more time.”

  “We don’t have any turning signals, Lizzie. Stop being so thick-headed.”

  Lizzie didn’t answer. She was going to have to talk to Dat about putting turning signals on the springwagon. It was just too embarrassing holding out your arm. It would be her turn to drive on the way home, so Emma would have to hold out her arm. She hoped sincerely a vehicle would come from behind, and Emma would see how it felt. But she said nothing.

  Bess slowed to a walk, pulling them up a steep hill. Emma relaxed, letting the reins hang loosely, sitting back against the seat.

  “Boy, she’s slow. If she’d be going any slower, we’d be backing down this hill. Make her walk a little faster, at least,” Lizzie said.

  “You’re just like Dat,” Emma said, laughing.

  Dat had told them where to tie the horse when they reached town. They were not supposed to cross the main highway that went through town. There was a hitching rack across the highway from the little general store under a large maple tree. Emma had gone with Dat to Malone, so she knew where it was, only she had never parked there herself. They were a bit nervous as they approached town, with more traffic on the road. Cautiously, they turned in to the hitching rack, expertly driving straight up to it before they stopped.

  Bess came to a halt, happy to have reached her destination. The minute Emma loosened the reins, she lowered her head gratefully, rubbing her nose against the steel pipe. Emma slipped the neck rope around Bess’s neck, tying the other end securely around the steel pipe.

  Dat had shown both of them the right way to tie a knot in a horse’s neck rope, so that the horse could not get loose and run away. It was a knot that only pulled tighter if the horse jerked on the rope. Emma could tie it properly, but Lizzie was still a bit unsure of herself. She didn’t tell Emma, though, because she didn’t need to know that.

  Emma grabbed her purse, and they walked to the highway. Looking both ways, they dashed across when there was no traffic in sight.

  The bell above the yellow wooden door tinkled when Lizzie opened it. Actually, it was quite noisy, more like a jangling, and it startled them both.

  “Good morning, girls!” A small round man approached them, his white teeth flashing under a coal black mustache. His head was bald, with a ring of black hair surrounding the shiny dome of his head. He was wearing a clean white apron over a red-striped shirt. Lizzie thought he looked exactly like a picture in her Mother Goose book of a grocer in a store.

  “Good morning!” they answered in unison.

  “Fine morning, eh?”

  “It is,” Emma said.

  “If you need any help finding your things, let me know.”

  “I will.” Emma propped her purse on a shelf, extracting her wallet and finding the grocery list. “Butter and margarine first,” she muttered, heading toward the coolers lined up along the back wall. She kept finding items written on the list, so Lizzie decided she didn’t need to tag along with her; she’d find some other things to look at.

  She checked out the candy display, selecting a Fifth Avenue bar. Mam always let them buy a treat, and these candy bars were her absolute favorite. Sometimes it was hard to decide between a Fifth Avenue and a York peppermint patty, but usually the Fifth Avenue won over. They were so rich and chocolaty and crumbly. After you ate one, you could eat another one right after it—that’s how good they were.

  She wandered over to the magazine rack, selecting one and flipping through it. She loved to look at all the fashionable girls in magazines. They were so fascinating, with long, shining blond hair, wearing all kinds of beautiful clothes. She wondered how it would be to look like that. When she was a little girl, she longed for high-heeled shoes. She did anything in her power to attain a pair of shoes with heels on them. She was still intrigued by beautiful women dressed in fancy clothes and shoes that clicked when they walked, but she knew there was no way she could be like them.

  For one thing, she was Amish, and Amish people dressed plain. She didn’t think about it very much at this age. She was happy to dress in the clothes Mam made, pin her covering on, and go. There was a lot more to life than trying to get Mam to buy her a pair of high heels.

  Being Amish kind of settled that sort of thing. To look so nice was beyond her reach. It was quite unattainable, so she admired the girls in the magazine and was actually fascinated by them, even wishing she was half that pretty, but it didn’t make her feel disobedient or discontented. That was just how life was if you were Amish, and Lizzie did not wish to be anything else. The secure circle of family and friends was quite fulfilling, and besides, she could never hurt Mam and Dat by telling them she was going to be English now. Her parents had often told them there was nothing wrong with English people being English. They were raised that way, and lots of them were good Christian people. So Lizzie never thought English people had to be Amish in order to get to heaven. God loved everyone, Mam said.

  “Lizzie!” Emma hissed. “Get over here and help me.”

  Lizzie put the magazine away and hurried over where Emma was placing items in a small grocery cart. She looked a bit flustered, her note wrinkled, and her pen poised to cross off another item.

  “I can’t find vanilla,” she said.

  “I’ll get it.” So Lizzie walked up and down the aisles twice, checking all the shelves, but could find no vanilla extract. So she walked up to the counter and asked the grocer if he had any.

  “Vanilla?” He wrinkled his brow, and Lizzie was quite alarmed to see his whole head slide back. It seemed as if the skin on top of his head was loose when he did that.

  “Yeah, I’ve got that somewhere.” He hurried around the corner of the counter, his portly frame careening around a stack of boxes. “Here. Here you go. Right here by the rest of the baking supplies.”

  “I’m sorry. I must have missed it,” Lizzie said. She carried it triumphantly back to Emma, holding it directly in front of her face.

  “I asked.”

  “Did you? Boy, you have nerve!” Emma said, amazed that she had enough pluck to ask the storekeeper. Lizzie just smiled.


  They found everything on Mam’s list, and were ready to check out, when Lizzie spied marshmallows. They reminded her of Rice Krispie treats, which she just loved.

  “Emma, let’s get marshmallows and Rice Krispies to make Rice Krispie candy,” she begged.

  “No, Lizzie, it’s not Christmas. That’s about the only time Mam makes that.”

  “It doesn’t have to be Christmas.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Lizzie, no. Now stop it. I’m not buying them.”

  “I’m going to, then.” Lizzie marched back to the cereal, grabbing a box of Rice Krispies and three bags of marshmallows. She threw them in the cart, her mouth in a determined line, her eyes flashing.

  “Lizzie! Get them off the bread. You’re smashing it.” Emma flung the Rice Krispies out, setting them on a shelf. She fairly threw the marshmallows out as well. So Lizzie calmly gathered up the items and held them to her chest, walking behind Emma the whole way to the counter. She was so bossy. Lizzie didn’t even have a chance. She was hungry for Rice Krispie Treats, and Emma could just give up this time.

  “All done?” the storekeeper asked, sticking a pencil behind his ear. How he balanced that pencil behind his ear was quite beyond Lizzie, but she guessed if the pencil stayed there his ears were pretty tight to his head. Maybe that was why his hair fell out.

  Emma loaded everything on the counter. The cash register pinged, adding up every item. Lizzie clutched the Rice Krispies and marshmallows until she was finished, then she stepped forward and put them on, too.

  “Making Rice Krispie treats, are we?” the storekeeper said, smiling. “I love them things.”

  “Me, too!” Lizzie beamed enthusiastically.

  There was not one thing Emma could do. Not one. Lizzie could tell she was aggravated by the way she sniffed and lifted her chin, but that was alright. She was going to have to give up.

  Emma paid the bill, putting the change carefully in a little compartment of her wallet for Mam. See, she had plenty of money, Lizzie thought.