Child of the Mountains

9





It’s about giving and getting.




WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1953

Cora Lee walked into Mr. Hinkle’s class today with two dresses over her arm. I tried to figure out what in the world she’d need them for. She had this evil grin on her face, the kind where the grin looks happy, but the eyes look mean.

She walked all biggety right up to my desk in front of everbody—excepten Mr. Hinkle. The bell hadn’t rung yet, and he stood out on the porch talking to a parent.

“Lydia, my mother said I should give these here dresses to you,” Cora Lee said in a real loud voice. “They’re out of style now, so I don’t wear them. Your mother’s in jail, so we decided you probably need them more than anybody else.”

My face got real hot. I wanted to do what Anne of Green Gables would do. I bet she would have grabbed them dresses and shoved them in Cora Lee’s face. She would have said, “I don’t want your dresses. If I washed them fifty times, I’d never get your stinky smell out of them.” I didn’t say nothing, though. I grabbed me a book out of my desk and started up reading. I pretended like she weren’t even there.

Mr. Hinkle walked in the room just then. Cora Lee throwed them dresses on my desk and runned to her seat. I tossed them on the floor.

“Whose clothes are those?” Mr. Hinkle asked, pointing to the heap on the floor.

“I gave those dresses to Lydia, Mr. Hinkle,” Cora Lee said with her eyes all sad and her mouth puckered up. “But she won’t take them. She threw them down.”

“Did Lydia ask you to bring her some dresses?” Mr. Hinkle asked.

“No, but I know she needs them because of her mother being in jail and all.”

“Lydia looks fine to me, Cora Lee. She’s neat and clean. I think that dress she has on is pretty. I suggest you take those dresses and put them in your locker. Maybe you can take them to your church charity collection.”

Cora Lee had to pick up them clothes with everbody watching. I didn’t look at her, but I could feel a grin creeping up my lips.

That’s just not right what Cora Lee done. Me and Mama had us a talk about giving and getting one time.

Each and ever Christmas, Mama and Gran always made toys for two kids named Betsy and Sylvia that lived down the road from us. They’s real poor. Their daddy’s been real sick for years and their mama is so sad she ain’t up to doing much for her young’uns. When I was in first grade, I seen Betsy stealing and eating food that other kids had throwed in the trash after lunch. I cried when I told Mama about it.

“She didn’t steal iffen she took it from the trash. That means it didn’t belong to nobody no more. You didn’t say nothing to her about it, did you?” Mama asked me as she wiped my tears with her apron.

“No, Mama,” I said, all choky.

“Good. That was right kind of you, Lydia. She’d have been real ashamed and embarrassed iffen you had. You was real little when the church took up a collection for us. Do you recollect that?”

“I recollect. Brother Andrew had us stand up in front of everbody. You had BJ in your arms. Me and Gran stood next to you. Brother Andrew said how hard up we was on account of you and BJ being at the hospital in Charleston. He said everbody was real good to help us out and that the Lord would be pleased. Then he counted the money out loud afore handing it to you.”

“That’s right. How did you feel?”

“I was glad they was a-helping us out, but I also felt kind of sick to my stomach.”

“I felt the same way. Pastor John apologized later. He said he didn’t know Brother Andrew would call us up to the front like that.”

Mama sat down at the dining room table, and I sat beside her. She covered my hands with hers on the table. “Lydia, the Lord says it’s better to give than receive. For most of us, it’s also easier. But they be times we all need help,” Mama said. “Your gran and me was always used to making do for ourselves. When BJ got sick, we come to realize that we needed help. I ain’t sure why it’s so hard to ask for it. Pride, I guess. But we come to recollect that God doesn’t want us to be alone in this life. He gives us other people to teach us, support us, and comfort us. It ain’t right to build a wall around ourselves. Needing help reminds us that we are not sufficient in ourselves, as the Good Book says. That keeps us humble.

“They also be times we can give help to others,” Mama went on. “We must be just as humble at those times. Do you remember the story Jesus told about this very thing?”

“The one about them men making sure people watched when they prayed real loud and gived some money to beggars?” I asked.

“That’s the one. Jesus said they didn’t need a reward from God. They got their reward from making people think they was special and better than everbody else.”

“Mama, I don’t want Betsy to be hungry.”

“I know,” Mama said. “I don’t want her to be hungry either. Let’s make us a plan to help that won’t hurt her feelings. How does that sound?”

“That sounds real good, Mama.”

So here’s what we done. Mama would pack a little something extra in my lunch poke. After I ate my lunch, I’d tell Betsy that I felt full and Mama would get mad at me iffen I wasted food. I asked her iffen she could eat it so’s I wouldn’t get in no trouble. It weren’t no lie. Mama didn’t want me to waste food.

Betsy always said yes, she’d be glad to help me out. One time, I asked her why she always saved most of it in her pocket. She told me it was for her little sister. Mama started packing even more food after I told her about that.

At Christmas, me and BJ—when he felt good—got to be secret elves. Gran and Mama always made Betsy’s family a couple of quilts for Christmas. On Christmas day, we’d wrap up the presents and food in them quilts. Then, all four of us, we’d sneak over there afore the sun come up. Gran and Mama would hide in the woods. Me and BJ would tiptoe to their house and leave them bundles in front of the door. We would have to keep a hand over our mouths so’s the giggles wouldn’t come out and wake them up.

It was almost the best part of Christmas. We could picture them opening up them quilts and thinking Santa had brought all them goodies. We kept it a real good secret.

I pray for Betsy and her little sister sometimes. I hope that somebody else will be secret elves for them now that Mama and Gran and BJ and me won’t be around at Christmastime.

Mama and Pastor John taught me that giving ain’t about showing off. Giving is about getting a real good feeling for reaching out to somebody in a humble way. I feel kind of sad for Cora Lee. She missed out on that real good feeling.