Child of the Mountains

10





It’s about what happened to Gran.




SATURDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1953

Gran left this world two years ago today. Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae ain’t said nothing about it. Maybe they done forgot. I wish I could go up to the cemetery on Paradise Hill, where Gran be buried, but it’s too far a piece to go by Shank’s mare.

Sometimes when I first wake up in the morning, I think I hear Gran a-calling to me like she used to: “Lydia, get them lazy bones up out of that bed. The day’s a-wasting!”

I’d open one eye up and look at her. The morning sun always sparkled out of Gran’s eyes. She’d flash me one of them toothless grins and say, “Up and at ’em. Rise and shine. Get some peppy, grandchild of mine!” Then she’d lean over and give me a kiss right smack-dab on my nose. Her knobby finger would reach up under the cover and give me a tickle under the arm.

I’d start up giggling. “Okay, okay, Gran. I done gived up. I’ll get up!”

One time I told her I was too big to get kissed on the nose and tickled. “Oh, so someone’s getting too big for her britches, is she?” she said. “We’ll just see about that!” She started giving me smoochy kisses all over my face and tickling me with both hands. We both laughed so hard we was a-crying.

“You win! You win!” I said. “I ain’t too big! I ain’t too big!”

“And you just see to it that you never get too big for some lovin’, Miss Smarty-Pants!”

“I promise, Gran,” I told her. “Not never.”

I sure wish I had me some of her loving right now.

My favorite times was our walks in the woods. From when I was tiny, I remember how Gran would pull her long salt-and-pepper hair into a bun, throw on Gramps’ old overalls and boots, and grab the tote she had sewed for carrying herbs. She’d throw in some gardening tools to help her get them out of the ground. Mama would dress me in blue jeans, a shirt, and some rain boots from the Salvation Army thrift store.

I asked Mama why she didn’t go with us. She said she wanted me to have the same special time with Gran that she had when she was a little girl. Mama said her part of the walk to the woods was to make us a good lunch. She would tuck sandwiches and pieces of pie or cake wrapped up snug in wax paper in Gran’s tote. She’d also tuck in jars of root beer or sassafras tea.

Gran would sling the tote over her shoulder, and off we’d go. I’d stick my hand in her overall pocket to keep close to her while we walked. We’d sing songs. The one I liked best was about a dog named Rattler, I guess on account of wishing I had me a dog. That’s why I liked playing after school with that big brown dog that lives down the street. I sure wish he was mine. Anyways, the song me and Gran sang goes like this:

Rattler was a good old dog, as blind as he could be.



But every night at suppertime, I believe that dog could see.



Here, Rattler, here! Here, Rattler, here!



Call old Rattler from the barn. Here, Rattler, here!



Rattler was a friendly dog, even though he was blind.



He wouldn’t hurt a living thing, he was so very kind.



One night I saw a big fat coon climb into a tree.



I called old Rattler right away, to fetch him down for me.



But Rattler wouldn’t fetch for me, because he liked that coon.



I saw them walking paw in paw, later by the light of the moon.



Here, Rattler, here! Here, Rattler, here!



Call old Rattler from the barn. Here, Rattler, here!



We’d pretend like we was really calling Rattler when we come to that part. Gran and me would put our hands up to our mouths and yell real loud. Sometimes I expected old Rattler to come a-running through the woods.

Gran always said she was taking me to nature’s school, and she was my teacher. She learned me real good. I know about good mushrooms and bad toadstools. I know that the milkweed’s root can be used in a tea to help you breathe better, but the sap is dangerous for your heart. Heal-all is a mint that can help a sore throat. Dandelion leaves be good to eat in salads or boiled. They help clean the poisons out of your system.

Bittersweet is a devil’s weed. They’s nice to look at and have pretty berries, but them berries could kill a young’un. Bittersweet also strangles other plants. Gran heard that it was used in witch’s brew. And the devil’s trinity is three leaves. I stay away from them plants.

Gran also learned me about animals. Sometimes we would stop what we was doing and just listen. Then I’d know we wasn’t alone in the woods. We’d hear chipmunks arguing about a acorn. Sometimes we’d follow some tracks and find a deer drinking water from a creek. My favorite was the birds. We’d see cardinals, whippoorwills, chickadees, bluebirds, and nuthatches. Their whistles and calls filled up the woods with songs. The woodpeckers’ rata-tat-tat kept the beat.

BJ comed with us on the walks when he was old enough. But sometimes I was glad that BJ was in the hospital so’s I could have Gran to myself. I feel like crying just thinking that I felt that way.

Losing Gran was real hard for me and Mama, but I think it was hard on BJ most of all. Gran tried her best to help him get better.

We had to take BJ to the hospital in Ohio more and more. And he stayed longer and longer each time. Uncle William finally got so tired of driving back and forth that he learned Mama how to drive.

When BJ had to go to the hospital, Uncle William would bring the car to the cabin. Mama would take him home, and we would drive to Ohio.

Gran hated them doctors at that hospital. Gran’s mustard plasters and special tea helped BJ a whole lot more than them doctors did. Gran worked real hard on that tea. Me and Mama helped her gather up coltsfoot, horehound, lungwort, licorice, and pleurisy roots. She added some honey to it so it would taste sweet. BJ started drinking it when he was real little, and he drank it like most grown-ups drink coffee.

But the first time BJ went to the hospital in Ohio smelling like a mustard plaster, them doctors and nurses got real perturbed. “You’re not going to cure that boy with witchcraft,” one of them doctors told Gran.

Gran raised herself up real tall so she could look him square in the eye. “I ain’t no witch, you sorry excuse for a no-account doctor,” she said. “I’m a God-fearing woman who loves the Lord with her whole heart. I sure ain’t seen you doing nothing to make this boy right.”

Mama had been real quiet around them doctors until then. “We have had us enough of this foolishness,” she said. “I’m taking my son out of here.”

Gran smiled at Mama, real proud-like.

“You’re not taking Benjamin anywhere,” the doctor said. “You signed papers giving us the right to treat him and stating that you would not interfere.”

“Well, we’re changing our minds,” Mama said.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy. Benjamin’s care has been paid for by a research study. If you pull him out now, you’ll owe us thousands of dollars. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you do not put that child in danger by removing him from this program.” He looked at each one of us. “Now, if you don’t want to lose your house and land, I strongly suggest that you go back to West Virginia and let us treat this boy properly. When he does come home, there are to be no more homemade remedies. Do I make myself clear?”

Mama and Gran didn’t say nothing. They got up and left. I followed behind them.

When we got in the car to drive home, Mama said, “I guess there ain’t nothing we can do. We’ll just have to hope and pray that them doctors know what’s best for BJ.”

Gran looked out the window of the car. “Lord have mercy, what have we got that child into?” she asked. Me and Mama didn’t have no answer.

Some of the spitfire went out of Gran that day. When BJ would start up a-coughing, sometimes I would see Gran reach for her herbs. Then she seemed to think twice about it and turned to do something else.

BJ was all bothered by it, too. “Please, Gran, can’t I have a cup of your tea?” he asked one day when he was a-coughing. “Maybe just a little?”

“That doctor can go to blazes in a handbag for all I care,” Gran said. “Iffen my grandbaby needs some of my tea, he’s going to get it.”

“I’ll help you,” Mama said.

“Me, too,” I added.

BJ smiled. We all did. BJ drank up his tea and stopped his coughing. We decided the tea and mustard plasters would just have to be our secret. BJ said he would even take a bath in lavender oil afore heading to Ohio iffen he needed to get rid of the mustard plaster smell. That was agreeing to a lot for BJ. He sure didn’t want to smell like no girl!

Gran hated that hospital, but she always went with us—excepten one time. We was getting ready to drive to Ohio and bring BJ home for Christmas. “I’m a-feeling a mite poorly today,” Gran told Mama and me. “You two go on and pick up BJ. I’ll have the house all fixed up for Christmas by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself?” Mama asked.

“Now, don’t you fret none about me,” Gran said. “William is bringing up a Christmas tree from the woods later on. I’ll put the ornaments on the tree and whip up a batch of gingerbread cookies. Then I’ll take me a little nap until you get home.”

When we got back from the hospital, BJ ran through the door. “Gran, Gran, I’m home! Did you miss me?” Mama and me followed behind. We smelled the gingerbread and pine, and the tree was all decorated with paper ornaments and popcorn strings, just like Gran promised. Then we saw BJ standing in the doorway of Gran’s room.

His voice sounded real soft. “Gran?” It was a question this time.

Mama and me runned to the bedroom. When I seen Gran, I stood froze up like a statue, but my heart beat so fast and hard that I heard it inside my ears like a ticking clock.

Mama sat on the bed and stroked Gran’s hair. A tear like a tiny drop of dew rolled down Mama’s cheek. She pulled the cover up over Gran’s head.

BJ runned to a corner of the living room. He curled hisself up in a ball on the floor and sobbed. Mama walked over and sat on the floor beside him. She put her arm around his shoulders. Then she motioned for me to come sit with them. I did, and she put her other arm around my shoulders. By then, I was a-crying, too, like my heart would break, because it did. Even being huddled so close together couldn’t fill up the emptiness we felt.

“I know it hurts something fierce,” Mama told us. “But your gran had a good, full life. She died in her sleep real peaceful-like. And right now, she’s probably up in Heaven filling God’s ear about how He can make the place better.”

BJ grinned just a little. Then he started up sobbing again. “But, Mama,” he said. “She died all alone. No one should die without kin. No one.”

“I know, I know,” Mama said as she held us in her arms.