A Sharecropper Christmas (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza)

by Carlene Havel

  “I’m taking some of them home,” Alice announced. She returned Frances’ glare. “They’re all mine, but I’m only taking a few.”

  “Are you going to stand for that, Mama?” Frances demanded, still standing on the stoop.

  “I reckon Herbert and Alice did give me them birds in the first place,” Myrtle replied. She looked down and shifted her feet.

  Frances whirled and flounced back inside the house. As she went in, little David brushed past her coming out. “Papa’s smoking a cigarette!” he shouted as soon as he cleared the door.

  “Tell him it’s time to go home,” Alice said. “Come on, James.” She held the bound rooster at arm’s length, both to avoid his talons and to keep from dripping blood on her Sunday dress. “Goodbye, Mama,” she said to Myrtle. “I’ll get back over here as much as I can. Maybe you can come and help me when the baby’s born.”

  Myrtle’s eyes still rested on the door through which Frances had disappeared. “We’ll see.”

  Alice walked through the narrow strip of yard at the side of the house. “Goodbye Papa, Frances, Arnold, Uncle John,” she said through the open window. “Let’s go, Herbert. We got to get these boys something to eat.”

  Myrtle followed behind her daughter. “I figured you had dinner after church,” she said.

  Alice put the rooster in the wagon bed and found a rag for her bleeding wrist. “Now, Mama, when could we have had dinner? You know how longwinded Brother Reynolds is. Besides, you know good and well Herbert doesn’t have the money to take us to a café.”

  Herbert ambled out the front door, carrying David in his arms. He held the door open, still conducting a conversation with someone inside. “Herbert!” Alice said. “Come on. Let’s go. Get in the wagon, James.”

  “I’m coming, dear,” Herbert said without making a move. He was still talking when Alice went to the porch, took his arm, and practically dragged him away.

  As the wagon rolled south, Alice passed out cold biscuits for dinner. “Were you smoking, Herbert?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said with a grin. “Charley offered to roll me a cigarette. So I took him up on it. I haven’t had a smoke in nigh onto a year.”

  “Papa and Mama spend too much money on tobacco,” Alice replied.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alice sat up, stretched, and yawned. Herbert was nowhere in sight. She guessed he was already working in the field. How like him to let her and the boys sleep late after getting to bed after midnight. Pulling on her shoes, she dug her house dress and apron from the pile of clothing. She retrieved her hair pins from the mantle, braided her waist-length hair, and wrapped the long braid into a bun. Then she began to survey her new dwelling.

  The house was what some folks might call a shack. A rectangular structure with a wooden porch running its full length, the house rested on a foundation of piers set about eighteen inches off the ground. The interior was one long room, with a single door connecting to the front porch. A massive stone fireplace with a raised hearth sat directly across from the entrance, and each of the side walls held a window. Wooden shutters could be closed over the window openings in case of rain or cold, since there was no glass. Any paint the house ever had was long since worn away. The wooden walls, floor, and porch were a uniformly weather-beaten grayish-brown. Cracks between the wooden planks of the exterior walls were big enough to let in the breeze, sunlight, and insects. The only furniture was an iron bed frame pushed into a corner by the fireplace, opposite where Herbert placed their mattress on the floor last night.

  Although the morning coolness hung in the air, Alice opened the shutters, both to catch a cross-draft and to let in additional light. There was no screen, but she pulled the front door wide open anyway. She stepped onto the porch, shaded by the overhanging tin roof. Alice gingerly kicked at the neatly stacked pile of kindling. When no varmints leapt out of the woodpile, she brought two sticks of wood inside. She thought briefly of the wood-burning cook stove left behind at her lost farm, wondering if some other woman was using it to make breakfast this morning. With a sigh, Alice started a fire. Herbert frequently reminded her to give thanks in all circumstances. She considered it a great improvement to live in a house, any house, even this one. Plus she could now prepare meals in a fireplace rather than over a campfire outside a tent.

  “Wake up, boys. You’ve slept long enough,” she said. James stirred and rubbed his eyes while David turned and pulled the sheet over his head. “Come on, up and at ’em.” She tugged on David’s foot until he roused. Then she took tin plates and dished up a serving of cornmeal mush for each of her sons. While the boys sat cross-legged on the floor and ate, Alice smoothed the quilt on the mattress her family shared. She and Herbert slept with their heads at one end. James and David crept under the covers at the foot, positioning themselves on either side of their father’s long legs. She told herself she should be thankful this crowded arrangement kept everyone’s feet warm.

  Alice sent James to fetch wood from the porch and stack it by the fireplace. As she expected, Herbert soon came in from the field for breakfast. “I saw smoke from the fireplace,” he said. “So I figured you were stirring. Give me some sugar.” He kissed Alice and sat on the hearth. “This is pretty good land, rocky though. Lord willing, we’ll make real good crops this spring. A third of fifty acres would be mighty fine.” Thirds and fourths were common arrangements for sharecroppers—with two thirds of what the land produced and three fourths of the livestock going to the landlord.

  “How many cows are there?” Alice asked.

  “Four,” Herbert answered between bites of his corn meal mush. “Jerseys. I milked them before I started plowing this morning. Mr. Sweeney said the Williamsons had some regular dairy customers before they up and left town. Maybe I can get a route set up this afternoon, and start delivering milk tomorrow morning.”

  Cows meant a continuous supply of milk for the family through the barren winter months. “There is a churn sitting by the side of the house,” Alice said. “I’ll get it cleaned up and make some butter.”

  “Jersey milk is good and rich.” Herbert scraped the last of his breakfast from the plate and then licked it clean. He stood and beckoned to the children. “All right, boys. Come on with me now. I’m going to put you to work carrying rocks out of the field while I plow.”

  After the children and Herbert went to the field, Alice drew water from the tank of the windmill in back of the house. She set some dried pinto beans to soak in her big iron cooking pot. Then she gave up trying to hold back her tears, letting them flow while she went to the barn to fetch cream for butter.

  I should be grateful for this house, even if it is the ugliest place I’ve ever seen.

  The double barn doors creaked noisily on their rusty hinges. As the sunlight invaded the dark corners, the relaxed housekeeping habits of the previous tenants became obvious. Although the farm had only four cows now, there were stalls for ten. One vacant stall contained a stack of old newspapers, while another was filled with a haphazard pile of lumber. As Alice surveyed the space, she saw rolled-up chicken wire, lengths of rope, and milk cans strewn here and there. She surmised Herbert must have started putting the barn in order, since the areas around the entrance and the active stalls were neat and clean.

  Alice always found a barn a refuge, a peaceful place during the day while the dairy stock grazed in the pasture. The familiar scents took her back to her childhood on her family’s farm, before her father sold his land for enough money to buy a house and a barber shop in town. Her sisters disliked animals and teased Alice for her love of cows. Frances and Mary were particularly amused when she confessed she enjoyed the smell of the livestock. She took one last look around the quiet barn and returned to the house with the can of cream to be churned into butter.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Hello, I’m your neighbor, Victoria Breinig. We live down the road about a half a mile.” The tall, thin woman standing on Alice’s porch had dark hair and warm brown eyes. Her
thick chestnut braids were pulled across her head from ear to ear, creating a tiara-like appearance. “I’m sorry I didn’t get over here sooner. I got busy, and time just slipped away.”

  “Please come in.” Alice stood aside from the door. “I’m Alice Shoemaker, and I’m so pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure. Shoemaker,” Victoria repeated. “English name?”

  “Yes. My husband’s grandparents came from Cornwall.” Alice was careful not to mention her own parents were of Irish descent, with a touch of Comanche blood on her father’s side. “Won’t you sit down?”

  Too late, Alice remembered she had no chairs.

  “I brought you a quart of peaches,” Victoria said. “My daughter and I did a lot of canning this summer.” Her brown eyes darted here and there. Finally she took a seat on the raised hearth and removed her bonnet. Alice sat on the opposite end of the fireplace, carefully placing the quart jar of peaches beside her. She wished she had some coffee to offer her guest.

  “I didn’t think old Mr. Sweeney would ever sell this farm,” Mrs. Breinig said.

  Alice felt her face warming. “Herbert—my husband—is sharecropping for Mr. Sweeney. Would you like a glass of buttermilk, Mrs. Breinig?”

  “Please call me Victoria. We are neighbors, after all. I don’t believe I’d care for anything to drink, thank you. Do you have children?”

  “We do,” Alice replied. She could not keep herself from smiling at the thought of her little boys. “We have two sons. James is five, and David is three, almost four. Now, as you can see, I’m in the family way again. What about you?”

  “Willard and I have six children. My daughter, Catherine, is seventeen. The younger boys are eight and up, all two years apart—George, Ellwood, Martin, and William. They help Will run the farm. Our oldest son, Willard Junior, is married and lives in Garza’s Crossing. He has a good job working for the railroad. I keep hoping he and his wife will make me a grandmother. When do you expect your little bundle from Heaven?” Victoria asked.

  “Mid-January, nearest I can reckon.” Alice smiled again.

  “Are you hoping for a little girl this time?”

  Alice longed for a daughter, but she didn’t want to say so. It might seem as if she would be unappreciative if God blessed her with another son. “Oh, as long as I have a healthy baby, I’ll be pleased,” she replied.

  “Every baby is a joy,” Victoria said, absently brushing cinders from the hearth with one hand. “I wouldn’t take anything for my kids. Do you have family near here?”

  Alice tucked a wisp of escaping hair behind her ear. “Herbert’s mother and father passed away before we married. My folks live in Von Ormy. We used to live near enough to visit them at least once a month, but I guess I won’t see them that often now.” The story would get out anyway, Alice thought. I may as well be the one to tell it. “We lost the farm Herbert’s father left him. I was beginning to worry he would never find work again. We appreciate Mr. Sweeney giving my husband the chance to sharecrop here.”

  “Times are hard.” Victoria pursed her lips and nodded. “We barely made ends meet the last few years. I pray we can hold onto our land, but...” Her voice faded away. The woman shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “We planned for all of our sons to finish high school and maybe even go to college. But there’s so much work to be done, and we can’t afford hired hands anymore. Martin and William have already quit going to school, and I don’t know if the little boys will be able to go back in the fall.” Victoria covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  “Don’t cry,” Alice said. She moved next to Victoria and put her arm around the older woman’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry.” Victoria pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from inside her cuff and wiped her tears. “I came to say hello and now I’m making a fool of myself.”

  Alice fought to keep herself from crying along with her neighbor. “It’s all right.” She squeezed Victoria’s shoulders in a half-hug. “I understand. We don’t mind scrimping, but we don’t want our children to do without.”

  “We were doing so well until this crash thing happened,” Victoria said with a trembling voice. “A couple of years ago, county agents came out and shot our cattle. They said the government decided there was too much livestock, and that’s why the economy was in such bad shape.”

  “How awful,” Alice said. “You know, when I feel sad, Herbert reminds me that we are supposed to give thanks in all things. That’s somewhere in the Bible, but I don’t remember exactly where. Herbert knows a lot about the Bible.” She took her arm from Victoria’s shoulder. “I try really hard, but I haven’t felt thankful in a long time. If God really cares about us, I don’t see how He could let the bank take away our farm.”

  Victoria turned to look directly into Alice’s face. After a moment, she said, “I thought maybe I was the only one who felt that way. I can’t even find the words to pray anymore. I don’t know what to say.” She sat up straight. “You must never tell anyone I said that. Willard would be so embarrassed to find my faith is faltering.”

  “It’s our secret,” Alice replied.

  “I’ve got to get back and make sure Catherine has dinner ready on time.” She wiped her eyes again. “Here I am feeling sorry for myself when you’ve lost your land. I’m so ashamed. Please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.” Alice patted her new friend’s hand. “Promise you’ll come and visit me as often as you can. I know I’ll get lonesome so far from my kinfolks.”

  “I will do that.” Victoria put on her sun bonnet and tied it tightly under her chin. “If you ever need anything, let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Alice said. “I will.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Look what I have,” Herbert announced. Alice looked up to see her husband carrying ladder-back chairs into the house. “I guess the people who moved out didn’t want to take these with them. They were piled up beyond the fence out yonder in the pasture.”

  There was a time when Alice wouldn’t have permitted such battered furniture in her house. She inspected the chairs one by one. “The frames are sturdy. Maybe I can fix up something to cover these holes,” she said, sticking her hand through a sizeable opening in a chair’s original cane bottom.

  In the next few days, Herbert built a rough eating table from the cedar posts that once supported their tent. Alice fastened ropes across the chair bottoms and then covered the seats with thick, hand-quilted cushions. She inspected the iron bedstead the previous tenants left behind. It certainly seemed to be serviceable. Taking a handsaw to boards she’d found in the barn, she cut wooden slats to support her mattress. The sawed ends of the slats were somewhat rough, but Alice decided that wouldn’t matter because they wouldn’t be exposed. The sawing took some effort, but she didn’t want to ask Herbert to perform work she could get done by herself. Her husband already had enough to do, managing the farm work without hired hands.

  After Saturday night supper, Herbert brought the big, round tin washtub into the house and poured water in it to a depth of three or four inches. Alice heated water in pots in the fireplace, adding hot water to the tub to remove the chill from the family’s weekly bath. Herbert took the boys outside while Alice had the first bath. She enjoyed the warmth of the water, soaking until she began to feel guilty. She stepped out of the tub and dried her body. After hastily slipping on her long-sleeved flannel nightgown, she opened the door and called out, “Your turn, boys.”

  Herbert came inside, carrying David in his arms and dragging James by the hand. “Do we have to take a bath?” James protested. “We just had one last Saturday.”

  “Yes, you do.” Alice said. “Get undressed and I’ll help you bathe in a minute.”

  Herbert kissed her as she reached to take David. “My, oh my, you sure smell good,” Herbert said. “Just like gals going to meeting.”

  Alice smiled at her husband and undressed her little boy. “Go ahead and get in the tub, James,” she said.


  “The water’s cold,” James complained, trailing his hand in the tub.

  When David was naked, Alice took the pot of water from the fireplace and poured its contents into the tub. After testing the temperature of the bathwater with her elbow, she said, “Now hop in, both of you.” She refilled the iron pot from a five-gallon water can and hung it from a strong hook embedded inside the fireplace. Alice bathed the boys, ignoring their protests when she scrubbed them with lye soap.

  “It’s all yours,” she said to Herbert. He closed his Bible, stretched his long arms, and poured the last of the heated water into the tub. After Herbert bathed, Alice washed her underwear in the used bathwater, using a small bucket to rinse the soap from her housedress, brassiere, petticoat, and bloomers. She draped the damp clothing over the porch railing, making a mental note to bring the underwear inside first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t do for people on their way to church to ride by and see her unmentionables flapping in the breeze.

  At last Alice tucked James and David into bed and joined Herbert on the front porch. “Someday we’ll have rocking chairs to sit on out here,” he said.

  “I hope so,” Alice replied, as she sat on the wooden steps beside her husband. He put an arm around her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, Alice felt safe and protected by Herbert’s strength.

  “I reckon we need to leave right after I get through delivering milk in the morning to get to Sunday school on time,” Herbert said. “You can crawl back there in the wagon and sleep with the boys on the way to town if you want to.”

  After watching the sunset, the couple went inside. Alice eased herself into bed gently, fearful of awakening her little boys. However, neither child stirred when Herbert flung himself down on the bed. “Good night, dear,” she whispered.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he mumbled, already sounding half-asleep.