Child of the Mountains

5





It’s about Thanksgiving.




FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1953

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, and I had me a plan to call Mama at that there prison in Ohio. I sure am glad the coal company don’t pay folks in scrip no more or they wouldn’t have real money to give me when I done chores for them. And I sure wouldn’t be able to use scrip in a pay phone.

Uncle William says he’s right proud to be a member of the union that helped get rid of scrip. He showed me some pieces that he keeps as souvenirs of the time he felt more like a slave than a wage earner. A miner got paid in scrip for how much coal he dug out of the mine each month. Each mine had its number cut out of the middle of the scrip coins. That way, there weren’t no mixing them up with real money.

The coal company said they was a-paying miners in scrip on account of it being too hard to keep all that real money on hand for payroll. But Uncle William said they really done it so’s they could cheat people. You could only use it at the company store and they could charge whatever they wanted for stuff the miners needed. Iffen a miner didn’t mine enough coal to buy food for his family that month, he had to ask for store credit. I think Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae went through real hard times when they had to use scrip. I figure that’s why Uncle William likes to sing this song about mining sixteen tons of coal just getting a man deeper in debt when he works on his car. He sings real loud when he gets to this part:

Saint Peter, don’t you call me, ’cause I can’t go;



I owe my soul to the company store.



Uncle William says he thinks the company store with their high prices will go out of business soon. I sure hope somebody else puts in a store close by. Some folks around here ain’t got a car.

I been saving my money from raking leaves for the neighbors. I even got twenty cents once for watching the foreman’s little daughter when him and his wife went to a movie. After I bought my spiral notebook, I had me thirty-seven cents left to call my mama. She asked a policeman to write the phone number down for me after they took her out of the courtroom. I was glad Aunt Ethel Mae didn’t see him give it to me, or she would have tooken it. She won’t even let me write to Mama. “Now, Lydia, it’s just going to make you feel worse,” she told me one time. “The best thing is just to put it all out of your mind. We don’t want you getting all stirred up over what happened. Ain’t that right, William?”

Uncle William had his nose buried in the Charleston Gazette. I sat beside him on the couch. I saw him roll his eyes, but he didn’t say nothing. I thought it was a good thing that Aunt Ethel Mae didn’t see him do that. She just went right on running her mouth, so he didn’t have no time to say nothing anyways.

I got this big ache inside from missing Mama. I just wanted to hear her voice on Thanksgiving. My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest when I thought about it. Mama would be so surprised and happy. I knowed I had to wait till just the right time to sneak out of the house to use the pay phone outside the company store.

I helped Aunt Ethel Mae with the turkey and fixings all morning. Me and Mama and Gran and BJ used to fry up chicken on Thanksgiving. Mama would fix some of her yams, green beans, and potato salad. Gran made pie that tasted like a pumpkin cloud. She told me the secret was to whip up egg whites and fold them in real gentle-like.

We didn’t have as much stuff to eat as Aunt Ethel Mae and me cooked up, but we sure had us a lot more fun putting it together. After we got done cooking, we’d hold hands around the table and thank the Lord for the good things that made us glad and the bad things that made us strong.

But it wasn’t like that this time. Uncle William kept a-harping at Aunt Ethel Mae while he listened to football on the radio. “When you going to get that meal on the table, woman? A man could starve, you know.”

Me and Aunt Ethel Mae worked as fast as we could. Aunt Ethel Mae got all teary-eyed in the kitchen. “I don’t know what that man wants from me,” she whispered. “I think I should of went out and bought us three of them new-fangled TV dinners from the big grocery store in Charleston. Maybe that would suit him better.”

I patted her on the shoulder. But I kept on thinking maybe she should be patting me instead. I was a-swallowing tears of sadness from missing my closest kin. It felt good to let some of them tears come out when I cut up the big store-bought onions for the dressing and green beans.

When we sat us down to eat, Aunt Ethel Mae said the same grace she always says afore we eat. “God is great, God is good. And we thank him for our food. Amen.”

“Amen,” Uncle William said. “Pass me them taters, Lydia.”

I passed him the taters, and the gravy, and the turkey, and the dressing, and the green beans, and the butter, and the yams, and the corn, and the peas, and the biscuits, and the strawberry preserves.

When we all had our plates loaded up and they started to eat, I bowed my head and prayed my own prayer in my head:

Dear Jesus,

It don’t seem like I got much to be glad about. I guess I should be thankful that Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae be good enough to take me in, even iffen they don’t know much about having young’uns around. And I’m glad my mama is still here in this world with me and that I know she loves me. And thank you for taking good care of BJ and Gran and Daddy up in Heaven. Please tell them hello and that I miss them something fierce.

And, Jesus, you must want me to get real strong, ’cause there sure is a lot of bad stuff right now. You said in the Good Book that you ain’t never going to leave me or forsake me. Please stay close and help me get strong enough to find a way to get my mama out of jail.

Amen.

I was afeared that Uncle William and Aunt Ethel Mae might ask me why I was a-sitting there with my eyes closed instead of eating. But when I looked up, I saw they’s too busy stuffing their faces to pay me any mind. I ate a few bites and then moved the food around on my plate some with my fork. The few bites I ate felt like rocks in my stomach.

When they got done eating, I jumped up to clear the table so they wouldn’t see all the food left on my plate. Aunt Ethel Mae cut up store-bought pecan and pumpkin pies and set them in front of Uncle William. He took a heaping slice of both. Aunt Ethel Mae took a slice of pumpkin. I was glad she also had pecan pie. I didn’t want nobody’s pumpkin pie but my gran’s. I forced down a few bites and jumped up to clear off the table again.

Uncle William let out a loud belch. “That there cooking was mighty fine, Ethel Mae,” he told us. “You, too, Lydia.”

My jaw just about dropped open. Aunt Ethel Mae’s face lit up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. “I’m glad you liked it, William,” she said, grinning over at him.

I saw my chance. “Why don’t the two of you go sit on the couch and listen to the radio,” I said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

Aunt Ethel Mae didn’t look at me. Her eyes stayed on Uncle William. “Are you sure you can manage, Lydia?”

“I’m sure. You two go on ahead.” I didn’t have to tell Uncle William. He already headed toward the couch. Ain’t no way he’d do women’s work. Aunt Ethel Mae followed him like a puppy. Iffen she had a tail, she would have been a-wagging it off.

I remembered something else to be thankful for as I headed toward the kitchen. I looked up to Heaven and whispered, “Thank you, Jesus, that Uncle William has running water in his house.” Then I set about doing all them dishes and pots and pans.

When I finally got everthing washed and dried and put away, I peeked in the living room. Uncle William had his head leaned back, snoring with his mouth drooping open like he was a-catching hisself some flies. Aunt Ethel Mae fell asleep with her head on his lap. The man on the radio still shouted football scores.

I already had my money and the phone number of the jailhouse in my apron pocket. I slipped out the back door. It’s been real dry and warm lately, not like wintertime. Most of the leaves still clung on to the trees, all brown and dried up. I felt awful glad the sun warmed up the earth. I outgrowed my winter coat last year, and I been afeared to ask Uncle William for another one. My sweater was a-plenty today.

I got to the phone and looked around. I didn’t see nobody. The store was closed. Just like I figured, everbody stayed home a-feasting with their families.

I read the directions on the phone: Remove receiver and deposit five cents. I picked up the receiver and put in a nickel. A lady come on and said, “Happy Thanksgiving. How may I help you?”

She sounded right nice, but I didn’t want to tell her I needed to call a jailhouse. “I’d like to call my mama in Ohio, please.” I gived her the number.

“All right, darling,” she told me. “That will be fifty-five cents for the first three minutes.”

I thought I would be able to talk to Mama for a long time. I couldn’t talk to her at all. “But I only have thirty-seven cents,” I said.

“I’m so sorry, honey, but that’s not enough. Is there someone who can give you more money?”

I been holding back them tears real good, but now they started pouring down my face like a waterfall. “No, there ain’t no one who will help me,” I sputtered out. “My mama’s in jail, only she didn’t do nothing bad. And I just got to talk to her on account of it’s Thanksgiving.” I sobbed so hard I don’t know how she figured out what I said.

“What’s your name, child?” she asked, real gentle-like.

“Lydia.”

“Well, Lydia, I wish I could connect you, but I can’t. I want you to listen to me, dear. You’ve saved thirty-seven cents. That’s a lot of money. It won’t be today, but you keep saving your money. You sound like a smart girl who has been really strong. I know you’ll be able to talk to your mother soon. I want you to know, though, that you should plan to save at least a dollar. It will probably take them a while to get your mother to the phone before you can start talking. Now, are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, choking out the words, but I weren’t too sure.

“All right, Lydia. I’m going to disconnect now. You take good care of yourself. I know your mother would want that.”

“Thank you, Operator,” I said as I hung up the receiver. Then I sat down on the steps of the store and had myself a good cry.

After all them tears got pushed out of my eyes, I thought about what the operator said—that I sounded strong. Anne of Green Gables stayed real strong when she had to take care of them twins by herself. But I ain’t strong. I feel all mushy inside. That operator sounded awful nice, but she don’t know nothing about me being so weak. I expect everbody would be ashamed of me, including Mama and that operator, iffen they saw me blubbering like a baby.

Well, as Gran always used to say, there ain’t no use crying over spilled milk. I knowed I would have to go back to Uncle William’s house afore they missed me. I wiped my eyes real good with the sleeve of my sweater and stood up. “I’m just going to have to make me some more money,” I said out loud as I started up walking.

When I got back to the house, I peeked in on my uncle and aunt. They still sat on the couch, sound asleep. I went out on the back porch to set a spell in the creaky swing so’s I could think. When we found out about BJ being sick, Gran said God would make us strong. I had plumb misremembered about that.

It seems like a long, long time ago. When we got back from church that Sunday, we laid BJ down for a nap.

He acted all better when he woke up. He weren’t sweaty no more either. We sure felt mighty relieved. Mama and Gran put dinner on the table, and I bounced BJ on my knees.

“Buttermilk, buttermilk, trot, trot, trot.



Spill the buttermilk, every drop, drop, drop!”



On the last drop, I’d stick my feet out and BJ would slide down my legs. He’d always sparkle with a giggle when I done that. Excepten this time when he giggled, he commenced to coughing real hard. “Mama,” I said. “What’s wrong with him?”

Mama put her hand on his forehead. “He’s a little warm now, but not too bad,” she said. “Still, that’s a mighty nasty cough.” She turned to look at Gran. “Do you think he might have a case of the croup?”

Gran felt his forehead and shook her head, all puzzled-like. “I’m going to fix him up a mustard plaster. Iffen that don’t take care of the cough, I think we best get Doc Smythson in the morning.”

I put my pinkie close to BJ. He wrapped his little hand around it like he wouldn’t never let go. “It’s okay, little man,” I told him. “You’re going to be just fine.” But I knowed it was something real bad. Gran didn’t never ask to get Doc Smythson. She liked to fix folks up herself. And she liked to fix kinfolks most of all.

The next day, Doc Smythson comed to the cabin and checked BJ over from head to toe. Gran said, “Lydia, tell him what you noticed about BJ at church.”

I felt real growed up being asked to talk to the doctor. I told him all about figuring out about BJ being sick. Doc studied me for a time. Then he looked back at BJ. “I think we need to run some tests at the hospital,” he said.

So Mama and BJ went back to the hospital in Charleston, and me and Gran stayed home just like we done when Mama birthed him. Doc Smythson had a woman cousin who lived close to the hospital, and Mama stayed there when she wasn’t with BJ.

Me and Gran sure did miss them. When they finally got back, Mama and Gran tried to tell me about BJ’s sickness. I thought they said he had Sissy Fie Broke It. I figured some lady named Sissy broke his lungs. I used to get afeared that she would sneak into our house some night when we was all asleep and break my lungs, too.

When I got bigger, Doc Smythson talked to me about it one time. He explained that BJ had cystic fibrosis. Ain’t no one that broke him. He got borned with it. Doc said BJ would always have that sticky, nasty stuff in his lungs that people get when they have a cold or the flu. And he would catch colds and flu easier than most people and get sicker when he had them. BJ’s body wouldn’t be able to use all the stuff it needed from food. That’s why he stayed real skinny, even though he always ate like he was half starved. Sissy Fie didn’t break his lungs, but that sickness sure broke all our hearts.

God made Mama and Gran strong enough to bear their burdens. BJ stayed real strong about bearing his sickness. I wonder why God ain’t made me strong.