Chapter 7Crowing roosters waked me. I rolled over and opened my eyes. What had happened to the top of our house? There wasn't any top! Just sky! Papa was right. He had been telling us for a long time that our roof was going to fall in if he didn't get good crops and build Mama a new house. Papa was 'shamed for Mama to have to live in an old dogtrot house built before the Civil War. The Civil War was Grandpa's war and it happened a long time ago, but we still talked about it. Now, for sure, Papa would build us a new house with a good top on it. Then I remembered! I didn't know where our house was! Nor Papa! Nor Mama! Grandpa, neither! I didn't even know where I was!I scrambled up from the pile of corn and ran outside.Right across the road stood a real house! With hound dogs on the porch. And a man. Chickens scratching in the yard. Smoke puffing out of the chimney. Everything a house is supposed to have!The dogs started barking at me."Hey there! Com'ere!" The man had seen me too.As I ran toward him he made the dogs hush and yelled back at somebody inside: "Set another plate, Mattie! We've got a sorta ragged little visitor! With one shoe on!"He squatted down to look at me. "Bless your little heart! Com'ere, sugar! My, my! Mud and leaves and tatters! No tears, now! Wearin' one shoe's all right! Hon, I wear just one—all the time."The breakfast tasted good, and the man and lady talked to me a lot and said for me to just keep on eating—as long as I could swallow a bite. But I couldn't get down but two biscuits and jelly and some salt meat and a cup of milk.When I'd finished, the man said, "Now, little girl, try to tell us where you came from.""Outta the corn crib! And the woods!"The lady smiled at me. "We can see you've been down in the river bottom. Your little cloak is just tore all to pieces, and your hair's got leaves and sticks all through it.""Where was you at before you got to the woods?""In the automobile.""Mattie, she must be from town. Sugar, do you live in Union City?""No, sir.""I declare, I wish I knew who you are. Your folks must be wild by this time—you bein' lost all night. Try one more time to tell me who your pa is, sugar.""He's Papa!""Yeah, I know. There must be some way to find out who you are.""I know who you are.""Who am I, sugar?""Uncle Hiram!""Lord, yeah! How'd you know?""One of your legs is just a wood peg. And I see your fiddle! Right yonder on the wall!""I'll be hanged!""Jim-Bo says you can sure scald-a-dog!""Jim-Bo? Jim-Bo Jones over at Drake Eye Springs? You know him?""Yes, sir. He's Aunt Vic's baby.""Mattie, this child belongs to somebody way over in Drake Eye Springs! 'Cross the Arkansas line! I'll go hitch up. Get on your good dress, and we'll take her home. I'll bet her pa's got the Law out combing the woods with bloodhounds! And every man in them parts helpin'! We'll go by to see sister Dink while we're over that way. Make haste, Mattie, 'cause you know if it was one o' our'n lost, we'd be outta our minds."Uncle Hiram hobbled out the back door before I could get a chance to tell him that Mister Ward fell in the deep river. Miss Mattie started washing my face, and then they bundled me up into the wagon, and away we went.The first house we got to, we stopped while Uncle Hiram went inside to see about using the phone. But when he came back, he was shaking his head."It wasn't no use, Mattie. Couldn't get nobody on the Drake Eye Springs line. I reckon they're all out searchin'.""Let's just go on, Hiram. It won't take more'n three hours."We rode and rode, up hills, down hills, around curves, across shallow streams—much longer than three hours, it seemed to me. About midmorning we came to low, red hills and pine trees and pin oaks that I'd passed before. Then we could see a fork in the road, where another road branched off. The new road looked a good bit like the way to go if you want to cross Rocky Head Bridge, but I couldn't be sure."Baby, you know this stretch through here?""No, sir. I just know the trees.""That's good!"There was a lot of mist everywhere. Fog, Uncle Hiram said. Miss Mattie took off her shawl and tied it around my head."No use a-lettin' you take your death of cold, sugar!"Before we got to the corner where the two roads came together we saw a bunch of men on horseback galloping toward us. But they didn't see us, and as they came to the split in the road, they turned their horses to go the other way. We were real close to them. Still, they didn't look toward our wagon!"It's Papa! Uncle Hiram, yonder's Papa! He's that'n on Jake! In front! Papa, stop!""Thank the Lord!" Miss Mattie squeezed me.Uncle Hiram stood up, yelling."Hey! Hey, there! Hey!"The horses kept loping up the other road. Papa and the other men wouldn't look back.Uncle Hiram sat down real quick and handed the reins to his wife."Mattie, make these mules move! When we get to the corner, cut over to that other road! They never seen us on account o' this thick fog risin' outta Rocky Head Bottom!"Uncle Hiram grabbed out his pocket knife. I couldn't imagine what he was fixing to do. He slit his britches leg, clear up above his knee! Then he snatched off his wooden leg and tied his pocket handkerchief to it! Next, he caught hold of his wife's shoulder, jumped up on the wagon seat, and started waving his peg leg in the air!"Hey! Hey, there! We've got her, y'all! She's all right! She's all right!"When Papa finally got me home, he toted me straight to Mama. She grabbed me into her arms and held me tight, a long time. And, for the rest of the day, she let me sit in her lap.And Mierd let me hold her best doll in my lap. And Wiley gave me his blue marble, for keeps.Mama said it would take her a solid week to brush the leaves and matted tangles out of my hair. It didn't. By Friday morning, when my two brothers got home from that World War that had stopped, Mama had my braids looking fine again. Besides that, the briar scratches on my face were gone, and I had me some new shoes!But Clyde and Walker came rushing in with so many suitcases and sacks and presents and there was so much kissing and neck-hugging that I didn't even think to show them my hair or my lace-up shoes.While we were getting ready to have our big celebrating supper, Mama thought of nothing except fixing good stuff to eat. At least, that's the way she was talking."I declare to my soul," she complained to me and Mierd and Clyde, "this supper table just ain't long enough or wide enough tonight!""How come, Mama?" I climbed up into Clyde's lap so I could see the peach pickles and jelly Mama had put on the table."I reckon, hon, I simply cooked too much. There'll be fifteen of us to eat—besides your Grandma Ming—so I knew it would take lots of vittles. But I've cooked more'n our old table can hold. Mierd, hand me the scuppernong pies. I can set both of them back in the safe for the time being.""Where're you gonna set the 'possum, Mama?""It'll have to stay on the back of the stove till we can—""Hot diggity! Look here, y'all!"Wiley was yelling so loud we couldn't hear what Mama was saying about the 'possum Black Idd had caught for my brothers."Look at this knife Walker just gim'me! See, Mierd!"I jumped out of Clyde's lap to run with Mierd to the other end of the kitchen. I got to Wiley first, but Mierd squeezed herself in front of me. I couldn't see the knife till I darted around Papa and Dorris and the cook stove. Even when I got to the other side of Wiley's elbow, I couldn't tell how the knife was made because of the way he was holding it."Lemme see!" Mierd shrieked."No, Mierd! It'll cut you! Bandershanks, get your hands off! Quit that! Girls don't know how to handle pocket knives. 'Specially one with four blades!""I know how just as much as you do!""Mierd, you do not! Hot diggity, look at the middle blade! Old Wallace Goode will have a fit when he sees this!""You'd better not take it to school.""Yeah, Walker, I've gotta take it to school! Wallace and all the rest of 'em will wanta see it! Just think! I'll be the only boy there with a pearl-handled knife! Clyde, what'd you bring me?""Well, now, Wiley, I'll tell you. When I stopped in Little Rock the day before yesterday, I saw something that reminded me so much of you I just had to buy it.""What?""Go in yonder and look in the top of my knapsack and get that yellow box, the one that's not wrapped up."As soon as Wiley ran out the door, Clyde cupped his hand against the side of his lips and whispered, "Mierd, it's a monkey on a string!"Wiley came racing back into the kitchen, holding a yellowish looking pasteboard box, which he was ripping apart. "What's in here, Clyde?""Open it up! As I said, it looks just like you."Wiley gave a loud whoop when the tin monkey fell out on the floor, and everybody in the kitchen laughed."Aw, I ain't no monkey! Say, what's this string going up through his stomach for?""Careful! Don't yank so hard, Wiley—you'll get him all tangled up. If you'll just read the directions, you'll see how he climbs up the string.""Yeah! Look at him! I don't need no directions!""Mierd. Com'ere. You're next on the presents. I bought this for you in New York City the day after the Armistice was signed."Mierd grinned as our oldest brother handed her a small, slick, black box not more than half the size of a biscuit. I could hardly wait for her to open it!She didn't know how."Mash the little brass catch on the side," Walker told her.As soon as Mierd pushed in the little knob, the lid flew up. She started squealing and jumping!"It's a ring! A gold finger ring! Gee, thanks, Walker! Oh, ain't it pretty!""Let's hope it fits."Mierd slipped the ring on her middle finger and dashed back over to the supper table to hold her hand close to the lamp. She turned her finger from side to side, making the gold ring shine and sparkle. To get a close look at it, I had to jump up on the end of the bench and lean across the corner of the table."Lemme wear it a little bit, Mierd.""No, Bandershanks! I'm not gonna ever, ever take it off.""Stingy!""I'm not stingy. It's my ring! And it's pure gold! Anyhow, Bandershanks, they brought you lots of pretties, too. Look there spread out on the table: a beaded purse with real money in it, and a yellow soap doll, and pink beads to wear around your neck!""I want a ring.""You ain't big enough yet to wear rings!"I picked up my doll. Walker had said it was solid soap, through and through. Poor little thing. She smelled sweet, but she was as naked as a jaybird. I covered her with my napkin, and once I had it folded and patted down, it looked just as good as a sure-'nough doll blanket.Where could I put my new doll to sleep when bedtime came? And where were all the rest of us going to sleep? Mama had said before all my big brothers and sisters came home that we didn't have but seven beds, counting the narrow cot in the side room."Where're we all gonna sleep?" I asked Mama as soon as she came over to bring the stack of corn bread.Gertie heard me. "Oh, you don't have to worry, Bandershanks. We can slip you down in a tow sack and hang you in the corner!""No, y'all can't neither! I don't wanta sleep in no sack!""Well, good gracious! Don't get so mad. I was just teasing. We're gonna make a nice big quilt pallet down on the floor for you and Farris and little Cleburne.""Where?""Right in front of the fireplace. You think that'll be all right?""Yeah, I reckon."Mama told me there would be plenty of beds for everybody, and Gertie didn't say anything else about a sack. She started talking to Grandpa and her husband Henry about how dim the lamplight seemed."We oughta've had this celebration supper before dark. I can't half see what I'm doing.""Ah, Gertie," Grandpa told her, "your eyes are just spoiled to them electric lights.""I guess so, Grandpa. Electric lights are wonderful.""It's all in what you're used to. Our coal-oil lamps still seem bright to us poor country folks."Mama was crowding more and more food on the supper table. Bess was fixing the tray to send out to Grandma, and Gertie had started dishing up some things in saucers for her young'uns."Bandershanks, you go with me into the fireplace room and eat with Farris and little Cleburne at Mierd's and Wiley's study table."I couldn't do that! Gertie hadn't noticed that I was too big to eat with little kids!"See, Gertie. I'm big! I don't wanta be with them babies! And I just ain't!"She didn't answer me."Soon's I eat 'nough 'taters, I'm gonna get real, real big. And my legs will get long and fat! And y'all won't call me Bandershanks no more! And I can go to school!""Bandershanks, I don't know when Mama and Papa are gonna start you to school, but you're big, all right! You're just about too big for your britches, I think!"I lifted up the bottom of my dress and looked at my bloomers. They weren't too tight!During supper Walker and Clyde asked questions and questions. Clyde said he'd like to know everything that had happened in Drake Eye Springs while he was off in the army."There's not been much going on," Papa told him, "except my knock-down-drag-out fight with Ward and the store burning. Then the kidnapping! And we've already told you how bad all that was. 'Course the fight and losing the store was nothing compared with that ordeal last week. Me and Nannie aged ten years apiece Saturday night while the baby was gone.""I can imagine.""Yeah, what a time! Every soul in the settlement came, trying to help, all night long. The women, in the house with Nannie, crying and praying! The men, out in the woods with me, searching and cussing! Reckon I ought not say it that way. We was praying, too. But we was all disgusted with ourselves for letting a snake like Ward live among us.""Papa, what was Ward wanting so much money for?""To get him a automobile! The man was obsessed with the notion of buying one. That's what started the whole trouble. You see, first, he took it in his head he could make big money with moonshine whiskey. The fool, he came to me wanting money to buy a copper drum. That's when we had the fight! Then—out of pure spite—he burned down my store! Next thing you know, he had his whiskey still in operation. But I reckon money wasn't coming in fast enough to suit him, so he got this fellow Hicks's automobile and carried off Bandershanks!""He figured Jodie would pay a fortune to get her back alive. He would have, too!""Yes, Pa, I'd 've paid. A man will do most anything to save his young'un. I just thank the Good Lord things didn't turn out no worse than they did. Doctor Elton and the schoolteacher say that if Ward's not dead and if the Law ever finds him, he could be locked up for over twenty years, but I can't help that. Oh, well, let's try to forget the whole business for tonight. Pass me some more of that 'possum."The talk around the table went on and on. I got so sleepy I couldn't listen to what Mama and Papa and Grandpa Thad and all my big brothers and sisters were saying. Not till Wiley started telling about school did I rub my eyes good, yawn, and try to pay attention again."School just ain't no fun, this year. The new teacher don't never whip a soul! Does he, Mierd?""No.""Not even the Bailey boys?""No," Mierd told Walker, "they don't seem so bad no more.""You mean those big rascals haven't set fire to the schoolhouse this year?""No. First day of school they hid a dead rat in the teacher's desk, but since then they ain't done nothing. And you know what?""What?""Mister Shepherd won't ever make Bud, the oldest one, read. He's been in the third reader ever since I can remember, but every morning when it's time for the little kids in the third reader to go up front to the recitation bench, the teacher will say, 'Bud, looks to me like the fire's half out. Would you mind tending to the heater?' So Bud goes out behind the schoolhouse to the woodpile and brings in a turn of wood and pokes up the fire.""Yeah, but you know what I found out just yesterday?" Wiley asked. "Wallace Goode told me that every Saturday morning Mister Shepherd rides over to the Bailey house and goes hunting with them boys. And Wallace says he's learning all three of 'em how to read plum good, while he walks through the woods with 'em!"And I bet can't none of y'all guess how Mister Shepherd punishes you if you don't get up your piece to say for Friday! Now, Mierd, don't you tell!""You've got my curiosity aroused, Wiley. What does he do?""Bess, he makes you learn a whole chapter outta the Bible, by heart!""I'll have to remember about this next summer when I start teaching. I sort of dread the Friday programs, especially when the parents will be coming.""Have you got you a school already, Bess?""She sure has," Papa told Walker. "Come June, Bess is gonna get her high school diploma in one hand and her teaching certificate in the other! And the folks over around Ellen School want her to teach their three-month summer term.""Gee, that's good! How much are you gonna make?""I'll get fifty dollars a month, but of course that won't all be profit. I'll have to pay out at least ten a month for room and board.""Oh,well, you'll still have plenty left. How 'bout making me a little loan?"Mama started passing around the pies and cakes. All the laughing and talking died down for a few minutes as we raked the bones and scraps to one side of our plates to make room for the sweets.Dorris was the first one to start talking again."Clyde, your girl up and got married!""Which one? You know I had me several when I left here!""I'm talking about Lucille.""Oh, Lucille! Yeah, Mama wrote me about her and Ollie Goode jumping the broom. Too bad. You can tell I'm plain heartbroken, can't you?""Ah, I tell y'all, the Goodes had an infare to end all infares!""What was so special about it, Mama?""Folks told that Mrs. Goode baked five different layer cakes, and then she thought that wouldn't make a big enough show. So, at the last minute, just before Ollie brought his bride home, she dashed in and iced three stacks of corn bread to make them look like three more layer cakes sitting on the sideboard!""Sure enough, Mama?" Gertie asked."That's what they told on Mrs. Goode. She does like to put on the dog whenever there's any sort of a to-do.""Now, Mama, you can't talk about infares," Walker said. "You fixed quite a dinner yourself the day y'all welcomed Anna into the family. Remember? You had enough grub cooked up for a log-rolling?"It was nice," Anna told Mama."Aw, I'm afraid it wasn't much!""Walker, is Lucille anybody I've met over here?""No, Anna, you don't know her. She's a girl Old Man Hawk and his wife raised. She's their niece. Mama, did Lucille and Ollie have their wedding at Mister Hawk's house?""Why, no. They were just like nearly all the other young couples around Drake Eye Springs. One preaching Sunday they come driving up to the church in Ollie's buggy. It was right after services. And they didn't even step down outta the buggy. Folks who hadn't already gone home lingered around 'cause they saw something was up. Both Lucille and Ollie were dressed fit to kill. As soon as the preacher came outta the meeting house, he took his stand by the side of the buggy and started the ceremony. It didn't last two minutes! He just had Lucille and Ollie join right hands and repeat the 'I will's.' He then pronounced them man and wife, and that was the end of it. As soon as Ollie could hand the license papers to the preacher, he gave his old horse a slap with the reins, and off they went!"Dorris pulled his chair over closer to the corner where Clyde was sitting. "You just oughta've been here for their shivaree, Clyde! Man, we made enough racket to wake the dead!""Yeah?""We didn't shivaree 'em till they moved out to themselves. Old Ollie thought we'd forgot 'em.""Who all was in on it?""Oh, me and Bess and Jim-Bo and Hi and Casey and the Hansen girls—the whole gang of us young folks. And we took along everything we could lay our hands on: cow bells, washtubs, five or six syrup buckets with rocks in 'em! Captain Jones even let us borrow that fife and bugle of his!""Don't forget that I was blowing Papa's hog-calling horn!""Yeah, Bess had that steer horn Papa's got. Man, we nearly scared the daylights outta Ollie and Lucille! They admitted the next day that they thought the world was coming to an end!""Y'all sure enough surprised 'em?""And how! See, we waited till about nine o'clock that Saturday night, when we knew they'd be sound asleep. Me and Jim-Bo and Hi climbed up on the roof with the washtubs and hammers while the rest of the boys and all of the girls were easing their way up through the hall. Then, when Jim-Bo let out the whoop, we all cut loose! Wow! What a din!"We heard Lucille scream! Next minute, Ollie came running out in his nightshirt! Then they saw who it was. As soon as they could pull on some clothes, we all went in. We stayed and stayed. I reckon it was nearly midnight when we left, wasn't it, Bess?""Yes, Lucille cooked us so much ham and battercakes and stuff it took a long time to eat it all up.""Did y'all ride Ollie on a rail?""No. We boys threatened him. Then we told him that since he'd married himself such a fine cook, we'd postpone his ride. But 'course he knew as well as the rest of us that the riding on the rail part of a shivaree is sorta passed over nowadays. Still, he made like he thought he'd had a close call.He told Lucille that only her good cooking had saved him from a nightmarish ride through Rocky Head Bottom!""Foot dool!" Grandpa told Dorris. "When I was young, we rode 'em all on a rail! Many's the shivaree I helped pull off! But you know something, boys? We've been laughing a good bit here tonight about weddings and infare dinners and shivarees and all. I'm here to tell you—laying all jokes aside—that the day a-body marries is just about the most important day of his life. My advice to you, Clyde, and you too, Dorris, is to look around. If a man wants to enjoy his daily bread after he's prayed for it, he'd sure better be particular who he picks to stir the dough!"
Crowing roosters waked me. I rolled over and opened my eyes. What had happened to the top of our house? There wasn't any top! Just sky! Papa was right. He had been telling us for a long time that our roof was going to fall in if he didn't get good crops and build Mama a new house. Papa was 'shamed for Mama to have to live in an old dogtrot house built before the Civil War. The Civil War was Grandpa's war and it happened a long time ago, but we still talked about it. Now, for sure, Papa would build us a new house with a good top on it. Then I remembered! I didn't know where our house was! Nor Papa! Nor Mama! Grandpa, neither! I didn't even know where I was!
I scrambled up from the pile of corn and ran outside.
Right across the road stood a real house! With hound dogs on the porch. And a man. Chickens scratching in the yard. Smoke puffing out of the chimney. Everything a house is supposed to have!
The dogs started barking at me.
"Hey there! Com'ere!" The man had seen me too.
As I ran toward him he made the dogs hush and yelled back at somebody inside: "Set another plate, Mattie! We've got a sorta ragged little visitor! With one shoe on!"
He squatted down to look at me. "Bless your little heart! Com'ere, sugar! My, my! Mud and leaves and tatters! No tears, now! Wearin' one shoe's all right! Hon, I wear just one—all the time."
The breakfast tasted good, and the man and lady talked to me a lot and said for me to just keep on eating—as long as I could swallow a bite. But I couldn't get down but two biscuits and jelly and some salt meat and a cup of milk.
When I'd finished, the man said, "Now, little girl, try to tell us where you came from."
"Outta the corn crib! And the woods!"
The lady smiled at me. "We can see you've been down in the river bottom. Your little cloak is just tore all to pieces, and your hair's got leaves and sticks all through it."
"Where was you at before you got to the woods?"
"In the automobile."
"Mattie, she must be from town. Sugar, do you live in Union City?"
"No, sir."
"I declare, I wish I knew who you are. Your folks must be wild by this time—you bein' lost all night. Try one more time to tell me who your pa is, sugar."
"He's Papa!"
"Yeah, I know. There must be some way to find out who you are."
"I know who you are."
"Who am I, sugar?"
"Uncle Hiram!"
"Lord, yeah! How'd you know?"
"One of your legs is just a wood peg. And I see your fiddle! Right yonder on the wall!"
"I'll be hanged!"
"Jim-Bo says you can sure scald-a-dog!"
"Jim-Bo? Jim-Bo Jones over at Drake Eye Springs? You know him?"
"Yes, sir. He's Aunt Vic's baby."
"Mattie, this child belongs to somebody way over in Drake Eye Springs! 'Cross the Arkansas line! I'll go hitch up. Get on your good dress, and we'll take her home. I'll bet her pa's got the Law out combing the woods with bloodhounds! And every man in them parts helpin'! We'll go by to see sister Dink while we're over that way. Make haste, Mattie, 'cause you know if it was one o' our'n lost, we'd be outta our minds."
Uncle Hiram hobbled out the back door before I could get a chance to tell him that Mister Ward fell in the deep river. Miss Mattie started washing my face, and then they bundled me up into the wagon, and away we went.
The first house we got to, we stopped while Uncle Hiram went inside to see about using the phone. But when he came back, he was shaking his head.
"It wasn't no use, Mattie. Couldn't get nobody on the Drake Eye Springs line. I reckon they're all out searchin'."
"Let's just go on, Hiram. It won't take more'n three hours."
We rode and rode, up hills, down hills, around curves, across shallow streams—much longer than three hours, it seemed to me. About midmorning we came to low, red hills and pine trees and pin oaks that I'd passed before. Then we could see a fork in the road, where another road branched off. The new road looked a good bit like the way to go if you want to cross Rocky Head Bridge, but I couldn't be sure.
"Baby, you know this stretch through here?"
"No, sir. I just know the trees."
"That's good!"
There was a lot of mist everywhere. Fog, Uncle Hiram said. Miss Mattie took off her shawl and tied it around my head.
"No use a-lettin' you take your death of cold, sugar!"
Before we got to the corner where the two roads came together we saw a bunch of men on horseback galloping toward us. But they didn't see us, and as they came to the split in the road, they turned their horses to go the other way. We were real close to them. Still, they didn't look toward our wagon!
"It's Papa! Uncle Hiram, yonder's Papa! He's that'n on Jake! In front! Papa, stop!"
"Thank the Lord!" Miss Mattie squeezed me.
Uncle Hiram stood up, yelling.
"Hey! Hey, there! Hey!"
The horses kept loping up the other road. Papa and the other men wouldn't look back.
Uncle Hiram sat down real quick and handed the reins to his wife.
"Mattie, make these mules move! When we get to the corner, cut over to that other road! They never seen us on account o' this thick fog risin' outta Rocky Head Bottom!"
Uncle Hiram grabbed out his pocket knife. I couldn't imagine what he was fixing to do. He slit his britches leg, clear up above his knee! Then he snatched off his wooden leg and tied his pocket handkerchief to it! Next, he caught hold of his wife's shoulder, jumped up on the wagon seat, and started waving his peg leg in the air!
"Hey! Hey, there! We've got her, y'all! She's all right! She's all right!"
When Papa finally got me home, he toted me straight to Mama. She grabbed me into her arms and held me tight, a long time. And, for the rest of the day, she let me sit in her lap.
And Mierd let me hold her best doll in my lap. And Wiley gave me his blue marble, for keeps.
Mama said it would take her a solid week to brush the leaves and matted tangles out of my hair. It didn't. By Friday morning, when my two brothers got home from that World War that had stopped, Mama had my braids looking fine again. Besides that, the briar scratches on my face were gone, and I had me some new shoes!
But Clyde and Walker came rushing in with so many suitcases and sacks and presents and there was so much kissing and neck-hugging that I didn't even think to show them my hair or my lace-up shoes.
While we were getting ready to have our big celebrating supper, Mama thought of nothing except fixing good stuff to eat. At least, that's the way she was talking.
"I declare to my soul," she complained to me and Mierd and Clyde, "this supper table just ain't long enough or wide enough tonight!"
"How come, Mama?" I climbed up into Clyde's lap so I could see the peach pickles and jelly Mama had put on the table.
"I reckon, hon, I simply cooked too much. There'll be fifteen of us to eat—besides your Grandma Ming—so I knew it would take lots of vittles. But I've cooked more'n our old table can hold. Mierd, hand me the scuppernong pies. I can set both of them back in the safe for the time being."
"Where're you gonna set the 'possum, Mama?"
"It'll have to stay on the back of the stove till we can—"
"Hot diggity! Look here, y'all!"
Wiley was yelling so loud we couldn't hear what Mama was saying about the 'possum Black Idd had caught for my brothers.
"Look at this knife Walker just gim'me! See, Mierd!"
I jumped out of Clyde's lap to run with Mierd to the other end of the kitchen. I got to Wiley first, but Mierd squeezed herself in front of me. I couldn't see the knife till I darted around Papa and Dorris and the cook stove. Even when I got to the other side of Wiley's elbow, I couldn't tell how the knife was made because of the way he was holding it.
"Lemme see!" Mierd shrieked.
"No, Mierd! It'll cut you! Bandershanks, get your hands off! Quit that! Girls don't know how to handle pocket knives. 'Specially one with four blades!"
"I know how just as much as you do!"
"Mierd, you do not! Hot diggity, look at the middle blade! Old Wallace Goode will have a fit when he sees this!"
"You'd better not take it to school."
"Yeah, Walker, I've gotta take it to school! Wallace and all the rest of 'em will wanta see it! Just think! I'll be the only boy there with a pearl-handled knife! Clyde, what'd you bring me?"
"Well, now, Wiley, I'll tell you. When I stopped in Little Rock the day before yesterday, I saw something that reminded me so much of you I just had to buy it."
"What?"
"Go in yonder and look in the top of my knapsack and get that yellow box, the one that's not wrapped up."
As soon as Wiley ran out the door, Clyde cupped his hand against the side of his lips and whispered, "Mierd, it's a monkey on a string!"
Wiley came racing back into the kitchen, holding a yellowish looking pasteboard box, which he was ripping apart. "What's in here, Clyde?"
"Open it up! As I said, it looks just like you."
Wiley gave a loud whoop when the tin monkey fell out on the floor, and everybody in the kitchen laughed.
"Aw, I ain't no monkey! Say, what's this string going up through his stomach for?"
"Careful! Don't yank so hard, Wiley—you'll get him all tangled up. If you'll just read the directions, you'll see how he climbs up the string."
"Yeah! Look at him! I don't need no directions!"
"Mierd. Com'ere. You're next on the presents. I bought this for you in New York City the day after the Armistice was signed."
Mierd grinned as our oldest brother handed her a small, slick, black box not more than half the size of a biscuit. I could hardly wait for her to open it!
She didn't know how.
"Mash the little brass catch on the side," Walker told her.
As soon as Mierd pushed in the little knob, the lid flew up. She started squealing and jumping!
"It's a ring! A gold finger ring! Gee, thanks, Walker! Oh, ain't it pretty!"
"Let's hope it fits."
Mierd slipped the ring on her middle finger and dashed back over to the supper table to hold her hand close to the lamp. She turned her finger from side to side, making the gold ring shine and sparkle. To get a close look at it, I had to jump up on the end of the bench and lean across the corner of the table.
"Lemme wear it a little bit, Mierd."
"No, Bandershanks! I'm not gonna ever, ever take it off."
"Stingy!"
"I'm not stingy. It's my ring! And it's pure gold! Anyhow, Bandershanks, they brought you lots of pretties, too. Look there spread out on the table: a beaded purse with real money in it, and a yellow soap doll, and pink beads to wear around your neck!"
"I want a ring."
"You ain't big enough yet to wear rings!"
I picked up my doll. Walker had said it was solid soap, through and through. Poor little thing. She smelled sweet, but she was as naked as a jaybird. I covered her with my napkin, and once I had it folded and patted down, it looked just as good as a sure-'nough doll blanket.
Where could I put my new doll to sleep when bedtime came? And where were all the rest of us going to sleep? Mama had said before all my big brothers and sisters came home that we didn't have but seven beds, counting the narrow cot in the side room.
"Where're we all gonna sleep?" I asked Mama as soon as she came over to bring the stack of corn bread.
Gertie heard me. "Oh, you don't have to worry, Bandershanks. We can slip you down in a tow sack and hang you in the corner!"
"No, y'all can't neither! I don't wanta sleep in no sack!"
"Well, good gracious! Don't get so mad. I was just teasing. We're gonna make a nice big quilt pallet down on the floor for you and Farris and little Cleburne."
"Where?"
"Right in front of the fireplace. You think that'll be all right?"
"Yeah, I reckon."
Mama told me there would be plenty of beds for everybody, and Gertie didn't say anything else about a sack. She started talking to Grandpa and her husband Henry about how dim the lamplight seemed.
"We oughta've had this celebration supper before dark. I can't half see what I'm doing."
"Ah, Gertie," Grandpa told her, "your eyes are just spoiled to them electric lights."
"I guess so, Grandpa. Electric lights are wonderful."
"It's all in what you're used to. Our coal-oil lamps still seem bright to us poor country folks."
Mama was crowding more and more food on the supper table. Bess was fixing the tray to send out to Grandma, and Gertie had started dishing up some things in saucers for her young'uns.
"Bandershanks, you go with me into the fireplace room and eat with Farris and little Cleburne at Mierd's and Wiley's study table."
I couldn't do that! Gertie hadn't noticed that I was too big to eat with little kids!
"See, Gertie. I'm big! I don't wanta be with them babies! And I just ain't!"
She didn't answer me.
"Soon's I eat 'nough 'taters, I'm gonna get real, real big. And my legs will get long and fat! And y'all won't call me Bandershanks no more! And I can go to school!"
"Bandershanks, I don't know when Mama and Papa are gonna start you to school, but you're big, all right! You're just about too big for your britches, I think!"
I lifted up the bottom of my dress and looked at my bloomers. They weren't too tight!
During supper Walker and Clyde asked questions and questions. Clyde said he'd like to know everything that had happened in Drake Eye Springs while he was off in the army.
"There's not been much going on," Papa told him, "except my knock-down-drag-out fight with Ward and the store burning. Then the kidnapping! And we've already told you how bad all that was. 'Course the fight and losing the store was nothing compared with that ordeal last week. Me and Nannie aged ten years apiece Saturday night while the baby was gone."
"I can imagine."
"Yeah, what a time! Every soul in the settlement came, trying to help, all night long. The women, in the house with Nannie, crying and praying! The men, out in the woods with me, searching and cussing! Reckon I ought not say it that way. We was praying, too. But we was all disgusted with ourselves for letting a snake like Ward live among us."
"Papa, what was Ward wanting so much money for?"
"To get him a automobile! The man was obsessed with the notion of buying one. That's what started the whole trouble. You see, first, he took it in his head he could make big money with moonshine whiskey. The fool, he came to me wanting money to buy a copper drum. That's when we had the fight! Then—out of pure spite—he burned down my store! Next thing you know, he had his whiskey still in operation. But I reckon money wasn't coming in fast enough to suit him, so he got this fellow Hicks's automobile and carried off Bandershanks!"
"He figured Jodie would pay a fortune to get her back alive. He would have, too!"
"Yes, Pa, I'd 've paid. A man will do most anything to save his young'un. I just thank the Good Lord things didn't turn out no worse than they did. Doctor Elton and the schoolteacher say that if Ward's not dead and if the Law ever finds him, he could be locked up for over twenty years, but I can't help that. Oh, well, let's try to forget the whole business for tonight. Pass me some more of that 'possum."
The talk around the table went on and on. I got so sleepy I couldn't listen to what Mama and Papa and Grandpa Thad and all my big brothers and sisters were saying. Not till Wiley started telling about school did I rub my eyes good, yawn, and try to pay attention again.
"School just ain't no fun, this year. The new teacher don't never whip a soul! Does he, Mierd?"
"No."
"Not even the Bailey boys?"
"No," Mierd told Walker, "they don't seem so bad no more."
"You mean those big rascals haven't set fire to the schoolhouse this year?"
"No. First day of school they hid a dead rat in the teacher's desk, but since then they ain't done nothing. And you know what?"
"What?"
"Mister Shepherd won't ever make Bud, the oldest one, read. He's been in the third reader ever since I can remember, but every morning when it's time for the little kids in the third reader to go up front to the recitation bench, the teacher will say, 'Bud, looks to me like the fire's half out. Would you mind tending to the heater?' So Bud goes out behind the schoolhouse to the woodpile and brings in a turn of wood and pokes up the fire."
"Yeah, but you know what I found out just yesterday?" Wiley asked. "Wallace Goode told me that every Saturday morning Mister Shepherd rides over to the Bailey house and goes hunting with them boys. And Wallace says he's learning all three of 'em how to read plum good, while he walks through the woods with 'em!
"And I bet can't none of y'all guess how Mister Shepherd punishes you if you don't get up your piece to say for Friday! Now, Mierd, don't you tell!"
"You've got my curiosity aroused, Wiley. What does he do?"
"Bess, he makes you learn a whole chapter outta the Bible, by heart!"
"I'll have to remember about this next summer when I start teaching. I sort of dread the Friday programs, especially when the parents will be coming."
"Have you got you a school already, Bess?"
"She sure has," Papa told Walker. "Come June, Bess is gonna get her high school diploma in one hand and her teaching certificate in the other! And the folks over around Ellen School want her to teach their three-month summer term."
"Gee, that's good! How much are you gonna make?"
"I'll get fifty dollars a month, but of course that won't all be profit. I'll have to pay out at least ten a month for room and board."
"Oh,well, you'll still have plenty left. How 'bout making me a little loan?"
Mama started passing around the pies and cakes. All the laughing and talking died down for a few minutes as we raked the bones and scraps to one side of our plates to make room for the sweets.
Dorris was the first one to start talking again.
"Clyde, your girl up and got married!"
"Which one? You know I had me several when I left here!"
"I'm talking about Lucille."
"Oh, Lucille! Yeah, Mama wrote me about her and Ollie Goode jumping the broom. Too bad. You can tell I'm plain heartbroken, can't you?"
"Ah, I tell y'all, the Goodes had an infare to end all infares!"
"What was so special about it, Mama?"
"Folks told that Mrs. Goode baked five different layer cakes, and then she thought that wouldn't make a big enough show. So, at the last minute, just before Ollie brought his bride home, she dashed in and iced three stacks of corn bread to make them look like three more layer cakes sitting on the sideboard!"
"Sure enough, Mama?" Gertie asked.
"That's what they told on Mrs. Goode. She does like to put on the dog whenever there's any sort of a to-do."
"Now, Mama, you can't talk about infares," Walker said. "You fixed quite a dinner yourself the day y'all welcomed Anna into the family. Remember? You had enough grub cooked up for a log-rolling?
"It was nice," Anna told Mama.
"Aw, I'm afraid it wasn't much!"
"Walker, is Lucille anybody I've met over here?"
"No, Anna, you don't know her. She's a girl Old Man Hawk and his wife raised. She's their niece. Mama, did Lucille and Ollie have their wedding at Mister Hawk's house?"
"Why, no. They were just like nearly all the other young couples around Drake Eye Springs. One preaching Sunday they come driving up to the church in Ollie's buggy. It was right after services. And they didn't even step down outta the buggy. Folks who hadn't already gone home lingered around 'cause they saw something was up. Both Lucille and Ollie were dressed fit to kill. As soon as the preacher came outta the meeting house, he took his stand by the side of the buggy and started the ceremony. It didn't last two minutes! He just had Lucille and Ollie join right hands and repeat the 'I will's.' He then pronounced them man and wife, and that was the end of it. As soon as Ollie could hand the license papers to the preacher, he gave his old horse a slap with the reins, and off they went!"
Dorris pulled his chair over closer to the corner where Clyde was sitting. "You just oughta've been here for their shivaree, Clyde! Man, we made enough racket to wake the dead!"
"Yeah?"
"We didn't shivaree 'em till they moved out to themselves. Old Ollie thought we'd forgot 'em."
"Who all was in on it?"
"Oh, me and Bess and Jim-Bo and Hi and Casey and the Hansen girls—the whole gang of us young folks. And we took along everything we could lay our hands on: cow bells, washtubs, five or six syrup buckets with rocks in 'em! Captain Jones even let us borrow that fife and bugle of his!"
"Don't forget that I was blowing Papa's hog-calling horn!"
"Yeah, Bess had that steer horn Papa's got. Man, we nearly scared the daylights outta Ollie and Lucille! They admitted the next day that they thought the world was coming to an end!"
"Y'all sure enough surprised 'em?"
"And how! See, we waited till about nine o'clock that Saturday night, when we knew they'd be sound asleep. Me and Jim-Bo and Hi climbed up on the roof with the washtubs and hammers while the rest of the boys and all of the girls were easing their way up through the hall. Then, when Jim-Bo let out the whoop, we all cut loose! Wow! What a din!
"We heard Lucille scream! Next minute, Ollie came running out in his nightshirt! Then they saw who it was. As soon as they could pull on some clothes, we all went in. We stayed and stayed. I reckon it was nearly midnight when we left, wasn't it, Bess?"
"Yes, Lucille cooked us so much ham and battercakes and stuff it took a long time to eat it all up."
"Did y'all ride Ollie on a rail?"
"No. We boys threatened him. Then we told him that since he'd married himself such a fine cook, we'd postpone his ride. But 'course he knew as well as the rest of us that the riding on the rail part of a shivaree is sorta passed over nowadays. Still, he made like he thought he'd had a close call.
He told Lucille that only her good cooking had saved him from a nightmarish ride through Rocky Head Bottom!"
"Foot dool!" Grandpa told Dorris. "When I was young, we rode 'em all on a rail! Many's the shivaree I helped pull off! But you know something, boys? We've been laughing a good bit here tonight about weddings and infare dinners and shivarees and all. I'm here to tell you—laying all jokes aside—that the day a-body marries is just about the most important day of his life. My advice to you, Clyde, and you too, Dorris, is to look around. If a man wants to enjoy his daily bread after he's prayed for it, he'd sure better be particular who he picks to stir the dough!"