A Sharecropper Christmas (Christmas Holiday Extravaganza)

by Carlene Havel

  Alice studied Eunice Martin as the older woman scratched her pen across the paper. She guessed Eunice’s age to be somewhere in her early forties. There was a sprinkling of gray in her dark hair, which was tucked into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her clothing was impeccably stylish, clean, and new-looking. Her skin was milky white, attesting to little or no exposure to the brutal South Texas sun. She must have plenty of money—her hands were smooth, with long, even fingernails. Alice glanced at the calluses on her own hands, built up from daily churning. She was embarrassed to think how backward she must appear to this refined lady.

  “Put your initials right here, Papa,” Eunice said, placing the pen in his hand and guiding it to the place where he was to write. Then she passed the pen and paper to Herbert.

  “I sure appreciate you driving all the way out here to get this squared away,” Herbert said. “Alice and I would have spruced up if we’d known you were coming.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Mr. Sweeney replied. “I guess we’ll be getting back to town now. Thank you for the buttermilk, Mrs. Shoemaker. Best I’ve tasted in a long time.”

  Alice and Herbert stood on the porch to watch Eunice Martin maneuver her father into his Model T Ford and drive away. “How did Mr. Sweeney lose his eyesight?” Alice asked.

  “Cataracts,” Herbert answered. “Once they get started growing, there’s no cure.”

  “Oh, how sad.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Cataracts are bad business. They blind an awful lot of people.”

  As the car kicked up a trail of dust on the road, James emerged from the crawlspace beneath the house. “David cut his arm,” he said.

  “Oh, no!” Alice said. “Where is he?”

  “Under there.” James pointed beneath the house.

  Since her advanced state of pregnancy kept her from moving up and down steps quickly, Alice waited on the porch while Herbert ran to the side of the house. “Let me see, son,” he coaxed. “Come on out.”

  Herbert carried David inside the house, followed by Alice and James. “How many times have I told you boys to stay out from under this old house?” she fussed as she wiped blood from a long, shallow scratch on the child’s forearm.

  Alice dipped a clean rag in the can of coal oil she used for the globed lamp and applied the oil to the cut. “This will keep down the infection.”

  Meanwhile, David sat without tears, watching his mother’s actions. “Can I go outside now?” he asked.

  Herbert laughed. “I guess I can go back to the field.” He kissed Alice on the top of the head. “See you at suppertime.”

  After satisfying herself that David was not badly hurt, Alice said, “All right, boys, you can go outside. Stay close to the house and do not crawl under it.”

  “There’s good stuff under there,” James protested.

  “You heard what I said.” She pointed an index finger at James. “If I catch you underneath this house again, I’ll tan your hide. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the boy answered. “Come on, David. Let’s go play behind the outhouse.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The thirty-foot-tall windmill squeaked as the relentless November wind made it spin like a child’s pinwheel. To Alice, the sound was satisfying evidence that water was being pumped into the reservoir. This modern convenience meant she could draw water from the wooden holding tank that sat about ten feet off the ground. Folks without a windmill either used a hand pump or pulled buckets from a deep, open well. Maybe that’s something to be thankful for, she thought, trying to block wistful thoughts of the farmhouse where she used to live.

  After a month at Mr. Sweeney’s, Alice absorbed a little of Herbert’s hopeful outlook. With the help of the little boys, countless fist-sized rocks sat piled against fences instead of lying strewn across Herbert’s neatly plowed furrows. If she could continue to sell eggs, her sons would each have a peppermint stick for Christmas. She might even be able to buy some oranges for the holiday season. She remembered holidays in the past, when she would cook a fat hen for dinner and arrange a few gifts under a decorated tree. Would she ever be able to give her children the kind of Christmases she remembered?

  “Something smells awful good,” Herbert said when he came in from the field for breakfast.

  “Biscuits and gravy,” Alice answered. “And a surprise.”

  Herbert prayed a blessing on their food. Ladling gravy over the biscuits he’d split into halves, he said, “We sure need a good rain. Crops are going to be poorly if we don’t get a good soaking.”

  Alice caressed his shoulder as she set a generous portion of dessert before him to top off his meal. “I’m sure the rain will come,” she said, hoping what she said would prove to be true.

  “Oh, boy!” James exclaimed. “Look, David, pudding! For breakfast!”

  David wasted no words but attacked his portion enthusiastically.

  “This is good,” Herbert said between bites. “Real good. How did you do this without a cook stove?”

  “I experimented with that Dutch oven pan in the fireplace, the same way I make biscuits and cornbread,” Alice replied, pleased that her family liked the results of her resourcefulness. “We don’t have to live on soup now that we have plenty of eggs and milk and butter.” She rested her hand on Herbert’s back as she cleared his plate from the table. She noticed that the skin on his neck was hard and leathery again from his habit of securing the mule’s reins around his neck, leaving both hands free to guide the plow. “If I had a proper oven I could make a pie, but I can’t bake a good crust in the Dutch oven. The flavor of this pudding should be about the same as your favorite chess pie.”

  “It tastes mighty fine to me,” Herbert said. “I have to go in to town to pick up supplies this morning. Do you want to come along?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Alice replied. “That’s a long ride in my condition, and besides, Monday is my wash day. You could bring back some flour, though. I like the sacks with the little pink flowers, if they have them.” Alice made shirts and dresses from flour sacks.

  “Can I go, Papa?” James asked.

  “Me, too?” David pled.

  “I reckon you boys better stay around the house and help Mama with the washing.” Herbert reached and patted his son on the head. “Maybe next time.”

  As soon as Herbert left, Alice told James, “Go and put some firewood inside that ring of rocks in the backyard.” She bundled the sheets pulled from the bed that morning with the family’s Sunday clothes. “David, bring the broomstick,” she instructed as she waddled through the door. She dumped the laundry into the washtub and set the tub over the fire pit. Alice rubbed her back, grateful for the cool weather if not the occasional gust of wind that seemed to slice right through her. After she and James each carried several buckets of water the short distance from the windmill, she lit the wood. She stirred the sheets and clothes with the old broom handle until the water was warm. “You boys can run on and play now,” she said. “But stay close enough so you’ll hear if I call you.”

  “Can we go under the house?” James asked.

  “No. How many times do I need to tell you not to get under there?”

  James frowned and headed to the barn, with David following close behind.

  With the end of the broomstick, Alice lifted Herbert’s Sunday shirt from the water. She would need to turn that collar soon to hide the wear her husband’s rough neck imposed on his beloved white shirt.

  She sensed more than saw a slight motion to her left. Glancing in that direction, she decided her attention was captured by the breeze moving the grass. She almost looked away when the unmistakable markings of a diamondback rattlesnake sent splashes of fear over her body. She backed away from the wash tub for a few paces and then ran to the barn. “James, David, get in the house! Right now!” she yelled.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” James emerged from a straw-filled stall.

  “Rattler,” was all she said. “Come on.”

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nbsp; Inside the house, she climbed onto the raised hearth and took Herbert’s shotgun from above the mantle. “Now you boys stay inside until either your father or I come for you,” she said. “Don’t you stick your nose outside that door, no matter what.”

  “I can shoot the snake,” James said.

  “No. You stay here and take care of your little brother,” she replied.

  Alice took her time going down the porch steps to keep the heavy shotgun from making her lose her balance. She walked to a spot where she could see the backyard but could not be certain whether the viper was still there or not.

  Creeping closer, she finally spotted him. It was the wrong time of the year for them to be out, but she was certain this was a rattlesnake nevertheless. If I shoot from here, I might miss the critter, she thought, and if I get close enough to get him, I’m going to blow holes in my wash tub. Alice circled and calculated from a distance, but it seemed no matter how she approached the snake, she put her precious washtub in jeopardy. Frustrated as much as frightened, she retreated to the barn to look for a different weapon.

  “Mama,” James called from the porch.

  “What did I tell you?” Alice yelled, all the while watching to see if the snake moved. “Get back inside that house this minute. And stay there.” The sound of her voice did not seem to affect the rattler’s position. Inside the barn, she quickly sorted through various tools. The rakes, hoes, and saw felt too flimsy to pierce a snake’s thick skin. The axe was heavier—almost too heavy—but it would have to do.

  She dragged the shotgun and axe into the backyard, keeping the washtub between herself and the snake. It seemed to take forever to get herself situated into a good position. “Lord,” she prayed, “I haven’t talked to You much lately. But I sure could use Your help right now.”

  Alice eased the shotgun to the ground behind her. Creeping closer, she took the axe and swung it over her head in a great arc. The force of the blow almost caused her to fall forward, but she could see the snake’s head was neatly severed. She could never remember exactly how she got back inside the house.

  She slammed the door shut, put Herbert’s shotgun on the table, fell to her knees, and gathered her little boys into a hug.

  “What’s the matter, Mama?” James asked.

  “Don’t cry,” David said, wiping her tears with his little hand.

  “Everything’s all right,” Alice managed to say. “The rattlesnake is dead.”

  “Are you going to finish the washing now?” James asked.

  “Yes,” Alice said, thinking about her sheets and clothes still simmering in the intact tub. “Sure enough, I am. Right after we say a little prayer, thanking God for taking care of us.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Herbert, I don’t feel like riding all the way to town in the wagon,” Alice said. “You go on to church and take the boys.” The combination of the cold December weather and the lurching wagon were more than she felt she could tolerate on this overcast morning.

  Herbert looked up from his breakfast of scrambled eggs. “Why don’t we all stay home? I’ll read from the Bible, and—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to be the cause of keeping the whole family away from church.” What she said was true, but she also thought how nice it would be to lie in bed in a quiet house. Maybe she could curl up on her side and get comfortable despite the heaviness of the child inside her. Only last Sunday Victoria Breinig asked if there were twins in her family. Alice wondered how she could endure another month before the baby was born. It seemed as if she’d been pregnant forever.

  Herbert kissed her goodbye at the door. “Pray for a good rain while we’re gone,” he said, looking up at the gathering clouds. “That dark sky makes me think it might finally come.”

  “I’ll do that,” Alice said. “Behave in Sunday school, boys, and stay close to your papa.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James and David answered in chorus. Alice hoped they would obey her admonition. Herbert wasn’t exactly lax, but he was inattentive. When he was immersed in a conversation with other men, he seemed not to notice what the children were doing.

  After gathering eggs, feeding the chickens, and churning, Alice made an attempt to lie down. As so often happened, the baby kicked until she gave up and arose. She went outside to sit on the porch steps, wondering if her parents received the postcard Herbert sent more than a month ago, giving them directions to the Sweeney farm. Aware that all of the nearby farmhouses were deserted on Sunday morning, she felt a deep sense of aloneness.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as the sky grew darker. Remembering she’d promised to pray for rain, Alice began to speak out loud. “Lord, I sure wish You would send that soaking rain Herbert has been wanting.” She looked up quickly, almost certain she’d felt moisture on her cheek. Sure enough, another raindrop splashed on her bare foot. A gentle sprinkle started up, sending Alice into the house. Before long, the deafening roar of rain pelting the tin roof drowned out all other sounds. However, the loud noise was not disquieting. She was relieved to know Herbert’s beets and cabbages were being watered.

  Alice was mixing cornbread for her family’s Sunday dinner when the first pain struck. She almost had herself convinced it was merely a severe cramp when the second labor pain caused her to bend almost double. Alice knew her babies came fast. She’d been in labor only four hours with James, half that time with David. Herbert will be back from church soon. He can get Victoria to come and help me.

  Determined not to ruin her sheets, she pushed the bedcovers onto the floor and covered the bare mattress with a ragged quilt she’d been saving for this occasion. She held her good butcher knife in the fireplace flames long enough to be satisfied it was sterilized, and put it beside her on the bed. She remembered her papa’s tales of how the Comanche women would often deliver their own babies. If I could kill a rattlesnake with an axe, surely I can have this baby by myself if I have to.

  She could hardly hear herself cry out because of the heavy rain still hammering the tin roof of the farmhouse. She braced her feet against the heavy iron bedstead. For the first time, Alice was genuinely grateful for the shelter of the old house. Despite its shortcomings, it was greatly superior to the best of tents. “Lord,” she prayed, “just let me get through this and have a healthy baby. That’s all I ask.”

  When the baby was born, Alice barely had the strength to tie and cut the umbilical cord. To her relief, the infant started to cry right away. A girl! I’m going to name her Elizabeth. Alice cuddled her newborn daughter to her breast and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sitting in a straight-backed chair by the bed while Alice let Elizabeth nurse, Victoria Breinig leaned forward and touched the baby’s cheek. “She’s so beautiful.”

  Alice smiled. “Thank you. I really expected another boy. That’s all the Shoemakers ever have, just boys.”

  James came bursting in the door. “Mama, David is hiding under the house again,” he said. “I told him he’s not supposed to go there, but he went anyway.”

  Alice looked up. “Tell him I said to come out from under the house.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said, flying out of the door again.

  “I don’t like for them to play under the house,” Alice explained to Victoria. “There could be snakes or spiders, or goodness-knows-what in that dark space.”

  Victoria laughed. “My boys always wanted to climb on top of the windmill. William broke an arm one time when he fell off the ladder. Of course, we had the money to go to the doctor and get him patched up back then.” She lifted her chin. “I brought some biscuits and ham for your supper tonight. Herbert and Willard should be back from town by then.”

  “What did they go to town for?” Alice asked. She was certain Herbert had mentioned nothing about being gone this afternoon.

  “Oh,” Victoria said. “Well, they had to go pick up something or other.”

  “Both of them?” Alice asked. “What are they picking up?”


  Victoria shifted in her chair. “It’s good you’re making plenty of milk for the baby. With my last two, I just about ran dry.”

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “Victoria, why did the men go to town?”

  Not a single hair escaped Victoria’s braids, but she patted them anyway. “I guess you heard about one of the Anderson boys starting to spark my Catherine. He’s not much to look at, but she’s never had a beau before. I do hope—”

  Laying a hand on Victoria’s forearm, Alice said, “Where is Herbert, and why did he go to town without telling me?”

  “Oh, dear.” Victoria covered her forehead with a hand. “I didn’t mean to let that slip.”

  “Let what slip?” Alice demanded.

  “Well, now, you have to act surprised when the men get here.” Victoria lowered her voice, as if someone might hear. “They went to Mr. Sweeney’s house.”

  “Why? What kind of secret are you keeping?”

  “Do you know Eunice Martin? Mr. Sweeney’s daughter? Now there’s a woman with a mind of her own.” Victoria nodded. “According to what Willard told me, Eunice flew all over old Mr. Sweeney about his sharecroppers not having decent places to live and all.” She paused and bit her lip. “Anyway, I guess she pestered him until he agreed to put a cook stove in all of his farm houses. Herbert went to get yours, and Willard went to help him.” She sat back with a big smile. “Now don’t forget what I said about acting surprised.”

  “A stove? That’s wonderful. I could cook all kinds of things with a stove.” She moved Elizabeth to the other breast. “I wonder why Mrs. Martin would care about Mr. Sweeney’s sharecroppers. I mean, she’s a really high-class lady. I wouldn’t think she’d know what a good cook stove means to a farmer’s wife.”

  “Eunice has had her share of trouble,” Victoria replied. “When her husband died, people tried to take advantage of her. Nobody in Garza’s Crossing would help her, because they were scared of that no-good banker who wanted her land. So Eunice and her papa went to San Antonio and got her a lawyer and fairly whipped the britches off the Garza’s Crossing Bank. At least that’s what I heard.” Victoria leaned forward. “Elizabeth has gone to sleep. Let me hold her for a while.” After she took the tiny bundle in her arms, she asked, “What’s the first thing you’re going to cook on your new stove?”