My Children Are More Precious Than Gold Page 10

A scurrying motion caught Bess's eyes off to the side of the pews. A small, gray squirrel descended from a hickory tree off to the edge of the clearing and perched at the tree's base in the fallen leaves. Standing upright, he placed his front paws together as if to pray. Bess grinned, wondering how many revivals of Preacher Irby's that squirrel had attended. Suddenly, he jumped sideways, chattering loudly. A terrapin moved slowly from under a gooseberry bush behind the squirrel and past him. Ifen that squirrel hadn’t gotten out of the way, that turtle would have surely ran him over, Bess mused.

  Hearing a soft drone that steadily became louder, Bess shifted on her slab seat and looked around to see where the noise came from. No one else seemed to notice the hum, because it was drowned out by the loudness of Preacher Irby's voice. Finally getting himself worked up into a real sweat, Preacher Irby unbuttoned his suit coat, slipped out of it and tossed it on the grass behind him. Bess knew from experience that this was the half way sign of the length of his sermon.

  Glancing around the clearing, her eyes lit on the outhouse. She suddenly felt the need to go there. When she stood up taking her weight off the end of the slab, it shifted off the center of the wood block leg underneath. The drone became louder, but Bess didn't hear that because she was already in the outhouse. What she did hear was the high pitch sound of excited voices and painful squeals. She peeked through a crack in the boards on the outhouse door to see what was happening.

  Everyone was waving their hands back and forth above their heads, swatting the air around them. At first, she thought the preacher’s sermon had finally filled the congregation with the Holy Spirit. Then she saw the problem. Small, black honey bees crawled, a few at a time, out from the hollow, wooden block under the end of the slab in the very spot where Bess sat.

  A black, buzzing, whirling cloud, the swarm of bees attacked the children first, causing them to yell in pain. Angry parents turned on their seats to glare at the noisy children to hush them up. Instead, they were horrified when they realized what was happening. They scrambled over each other to evacuate the brush arbor as fast as the children did.

  Some of the men headed for the river and jumped in, hoping to stop the pursuit of the bees by ducking under the water. The men and women who couldn't swim ran for the cover of underbrush nearest them and kept on going, headed in the general direction of their homes.

  Bess watched Lue and Don flash by the outhouse, trying to get out of their shirts to release the stinging bees trapped inside. The malay of screams from the women and children varied in pitch, depending on whether they had been stung or was just anticipating a sting when a bee flew near them.

  In mid scripture, Preacher Irby had been oblivious to the pandemonium around him, but with all the ruckus, he paused, trying to figure out what wondrous thing he said to cause such a lively reaction in his congregation.

  A loud buzz passed his ear sending a cold chill down his spine just before a sharp pain pierced the back of his neck. Then he realized his congregation’s reaction wasn’t coming from his sermon as he slapped the bee.

  “Meeting dismissed,” he yelled at the already dispersed crowd as if they needed his permission to leave. He looked around for some place to hide, swatting at the bees diving at his head, and decided on the outhouse. Preacher Irby jerked on the wooden square that served for a door knob, but the door didn't open.

  From inside, he heard a low frightened voice say, “Who's there?”

  “Preacher Irby, that's who! Let go of this door and let me in there quick afore I'm stung to death,” he demanded in a very unpreacherlike tone.

  “All right,"”Bess answered meekly, opening the door a small crack, “But don't let no bees in here with ya.”

  The preacher jerked the door from her hands to widen the opening enough to get inside. He slammed it behind him, turning the latch to lock it. Then he slumped down on the hole in the seat next to Bess. Rubbing the painful lump swelled to the size of a quail egg on the back of his neck, he listened for the commotion to quiet down.

  With a feeling of despair, he hung his head and thought about this revival not being one of his best or more profitable ones, either for that matter. First night, those ornery boys tried to discourage attendance by throwing rocks at his congregation. Today, it seemed the men had built the brush arbor on top of a bee hive stump. To make matters worse, here he sat alone in the outhouse with one of the pretty, young girls in his congregation. That wouldn't look too seemly to the rest of her family when they noticed Bess was missing and came back after her.

  Holding his head between his hands, he tried to ward off the throbbing headache he felt coming on. Please God, he prayed silently, let me get out of this outhouse afore Bess Bishop’s family comes looken fer her. I kin jest imagine the tales that would spread about the preacher and one of the Bishop girls sharing the outhouse. Those were the kind of tales that would stretch out of unseemly proportions when the story passed along the Blue Ridge. Please, God, settle em bees down fast. Amen.”

  Finally, all was silent on the other side of the outhouse door. Bess looked through the cracks in the outhouse at the clearing. It was empty except for the praying squirrel chattering excitedly from a branch high up in the hickory tree where he felt safe. The terrapin had froze to his spot when human feet ran by him. His head peeked out of his shell now that it was quiet around him and moved his head slowly from side to side to see if it was safe to go on.

  The once angry bees had settled down, flapping their wings as they slowly crawled over the vacated slab seats. Softly, they buzzed proudly among themselves about their recent victory.

  Slowly, Preacher Irby opened the outhouse door and stepped out. “I reckon it's safe to leave now, Bess. As quick as we kin, let's go off down the road to keep away from those bees so as not to stir them up again.”

  “All right,” Bess agreed, following the preacher.

  “Y'all be able to get home by yerself from here, youngun?” The preacher asked.

  “Sure, I will,” Bess nodded.

  “All right. I’ve been thinken, y'all reckon it might be a good idea to not mention where we have been hiden together today. That is if the subject ever comes up. Ya understand?” The preacher raised his eyebrows and waited for Bess’s reply.

  “Sure I understand,” Bess replied, but she really didn’t see why it mattered where the two of them hid to get away from the bees. If Preacher Irby was worried about it, she might as well go along with him.

  “I think that would be best. I’ll seed ya all and yer family soon. Good day.” The preacher parted from Bess as quickly as he could after looking around to make there was no one near by watching him emerge from the outhouse with the girl. He could only pray everyone in the congregation had been so excited by the bees the subject of where Bess hid and who hid with her would never come up.

  Chapter 12

  The Burial

  Thudding horse hooves caused Nannie to straightened up quickly from rekindling the fire under the large, black, iron kettle full of steaming, wash water. Frowning because of the kink she felt from bending over, she rubbed her back then untied her apron strings and turned the apron over to the clean side as quick as she could. An ominous feeling came over her as she watched the rider's fast approach. Something bad must have happened. Elmer Litwiller would never run his horse like that unless he had urgent news to pass along the neighborhood. Pulling on the reins, Elmer brought his horse to a skidding halt at the edge of the waddle fence.

  “Mornen, Nannie!” Elmer touched the brim of his straw hat and nodded to her.

  “Mornen, Elmer. Get down and come in. Sit a spell and tell me what yer lathering yer horse up fer on a hot mornen like this.”

  “Cain't do it, Nannie. Deliveren sad news to the neighborhood so I have to hurry on.”

  “Mercy sakes, Elmer. What is it?”

  “Doak Woods passed away early this mornen kinda sudden like.”

  Nannie gasped at the news. “Oh no!” She moaned.

  “Otillie think
s Doak's heart gave out. Her sister, Addie Cox, sent me to fetch ya to hep with the funeral preparations.”

  “Mercy sakes! Of course I will, Elmer. I'll leave fer the Woods directly.” Tears welled up in Nannie's eyes. Before she spoke again, she put fingers to her trembling lips to still them. “We'll miss Doak. He was a good friend to us.”

  “To all of us that knew him. That's fer sure,” Elmer said sadly. He kicked his horse in the sides and took off down the road.

  Nannie wiped the tears from her eyes while she watched Elmer disappear from sight. Taking a deep breath, she hurried to the house, stepped up on the porch and stop to look at the wash tub, waiting to be filled with hot water so she could wash clothes.

  That tub did double duty, because on Saturday nights, the family used it for a bathtub so they would all be clean for church on Sunday. Each one of them used the tub full of water with some hot added from the tea kettle now and then to take the off the chill, starting with the littlest member of the family. It took most of Saturday evening for all thirteen of them to take a bath.

  Earlier Nannie carried the tub from the smokehouse, and placed it on the wash stand that sit on the porch. The she took the wooden framed scrub board down from its nail on the porch wall and placed it in the tub. Nannie shook her head sadly as she thought about how the common place routines of the day can be replaced so quickly by a sad event like Doak’s passing.

  “Younguns, Elmer Litwiller jest stopped to tell us some sad news. Doak passed away early this mornen. Poor Tillie needs my hep preparen him fer the funeral. In this heat, we don't have no time to waste. Cass, ya can do the wash today? The water is about ready.” Without waiting for an answer, Nannie continued, “Look see how that rabbit stew is comen on the stove, Cass. Ifen it's done, ya can dish up a stewer full for me to take along while I change clothes. Dillard, run find one of the boys to hitch up a horse to the cart fer me while I put on my Sunday outfit, and get word to yer Pap about what's happened. Tomorrow ya girls fix up a big kettle of beans to eat and bring that along to the funeral.” Nannie was almost to the bedroom door when she turned to face the girls. “Oh, I won't be back tonight so don't ferget to gather in those flour sacks of apple slices dryen on the smokehouse tin roof and lay em back there in the mornen. Bess, y'all hurry and get cleaned up and come with me to the Woods.”

  “Me, Mama? Why me?” Squeaked Bess.

  “Yer old enough to hep out, and Tillie likes ya. Maybe yer being around will be some comfort to her.”

  The morning heat sent shimmering waves dancing across the red dust on the rock strewn road in front of the horse and cart. Bess watched sweat trickle down the side of Nannie's somber face beside her bonnet tie as they bounced along traveling as fast as Nannie dared to drive the horse.

  When they approached the Wood's homestead, the rhythmic strike of hammers against nails broke the gloomy silence. A couple of men were building Doak’s coffin in the barn. Hollow echoes bounced off the ridge and back to Nannie and Bess. A small herd of milk goats, their bags uncomfortably full, milled in front of the closed barn door, loudly protesting that it was past milking time.

  Neighbor Cox had parked his flat bed wagon and horse along side the barn. The horse's reins were tied to a large metal ring attached to the barn wall. Nannie parked by the Litwiller buggy at the hitch rack in front of the house. The Litwiller’s dark brown horse drooped his head in the heat and methodically stomped one foot then another, trying to dislodge the large, horse flies, biting him on the legs.

  Walking to the house on the grassless path that Doak Woods had used his whole life, Bess noticed a black kettle sitting in the center of the yard with wood stacked under it. A wooden pail of lye, made from water run through wood ashes in Otillie's ash hopper set by the kettle. Tillie must have been planning to make a batch of lye soap that morning.

  Bess knew how to make lye soap. She had taken her turn learning how when she helped Nannie. All the ashes from the fireplace and the cookstove were dumped in the ash hopper until it was full. Nannie poured pails of water on the ashes and let that drain through. The liquid was lye. The lye was poured in the kettle and brought to a boil then the washed and dried intestines from a hog Pap butchered for meat was added to the kettle and cooked. The solution was tested for doneness by sticking a goose quill into the solution. When it quit eating the feathers off a goose quill then it was ready. The soft soap was cooled and stored in barrels to use.

  Coming from outside, Nannie and Bess blinked to adjust their eyes to the dimness inside the cabin. Addie, Otillie's sister, nodded at them from across the room where she was stirring a large pan on the cookstove.

  “Mornen, Addie. Mattie.” Nannie greeted, removing her bonnet. She combed her fingers through the short strands of sweaty hair pasted to her forehead and ran them back to the top of her head. “Sad mornen ain't it, ladies? Where's Tillie?”

  “In the bedroom yonder with Doak.” Mattie Litwiller, seated at the table with her hands around a cup of coffee, nodded her head toward the bedroom door without looking up from her cup. “We haven't been able to get her out of there so we can work on him. I think she's been waiten fer ya all so maybe ya can talk her into comen out so we can get started. With as hot as it is, we need to get Doak done.”

  “Addie, fix a bite of breakfast fer Tillie. Mattie, come with me. We'll get her to come out of there. Bess, put that stew on the work counter yonder and set a place for Tillie at the table then hep Addie with whatever she needs done.” Nannie, taking charge, talked while she headed for the bedroom door.

  Bess wrinkled up her nose as she neared the fermenting smell of the two gray crocks with blue number six on the side of them. From around the cracked plates covering the top of the crocks, she could see dull green pickles soaking under frothy, white mold that floated on top of the salt brine in one crock and shredded cabbage darkening into kraut in the other. Bess eyed the apples stuck among the kraut and wished she could eat one, but she knew from the light green look of the cabbage the kraut apples weren’t ready to eat either. She sat the pot of stew down beside the crocks and back away.

  Sitting on the bed beside the lifeless body of her husband, Otillie, smaller and frailer looking than usual, held his limp hand. Her head was bowed, and in the dim light, it was hard for Nannie to tell if she was praying or dozing.

  “Tillie,” Nannie said softly so as not to startle her, reaching out a hand to pat the older woman's shoulder.

  Otillie sluggishly raised her head at the sound of her friend's voice. “Nannie, I'm so glad yer here.” She let go of her husband's hand and grabbed Nannie's. “Doak’s gone, Nannie. He’s gone.”

  “I know Tillie, and I’m powerful sorry, but we have to get Doak ready fer the funeral now. Why don't ya let Mattie take ya out to the kitchen while Mattie and me do that. Addie's fixen a bite of breakfast fer ya, and my Bess is heppen her. Ya go along and sit with the women for a while why don’t ya.”

  Otillie rose slowly, patted Doak's bald head, then let Mattie guide her to the door. She stopped, and turned to look back as if she was about to change her mind.

  “Come on, Tillie,” urged Mattie, tugging on the older woman's arm.

  “Go with Mattie,” Nannie insisted gently.

  When Mattie returned she brought a wash pan full of water and a stack of wash cloths and towels. Together the women set about taking the nightshirt off the body, washing and redressing Doak with his Sunday best that Otillie had laid on the foot of the bed.

  “This red and white plaid shirt is one Tillie gave Doak fer Christmas a while back. I remember how he liked to wear it to church. He'd be pleased to be laid out in it,” Mattie said as she pushed the last button through the buttonhole.

  The women struggled to roll Doak from side to side to slip his one pair of new jeans over his hips, then Mattie held the waistband together while Nannie buttoned it. They had just finished the dressing task when Mattie and Addie's husbands carried the newly made, pine scented coffin into the bedroom. They set it down by t
he bed, removed the lid and stood it against the wall. The women helped the men lift Doak from the bed and gently place him in the coffin. Nannie laid the lid back on, then picked up one end to help Mattie and the two men carry the coffin through the kitchen into the pallor. Four chairs had been lined along one end of the room for it to rest on.

  As the others departed, Nannie followed them to the pallor door. “Bess, dump that wash pan we left in the bedroom and fill it with cold water. Bring the rest of that stack of wash rags along with the pan to me.” Nannie lifted the coffin lid off and placed it behind the row of chairs. Then she opened the room's two windows to let in fresh air. The pallor was only used once in a while on special occasions, and the last one had likely been a ways back according to how stale the air in the room seemed.

  Tillie came in with her eyes glued to the coffin, and slowly crossed the room toward it. She stood looking down intently at her husband as if to make sure he was never going to move again, then she reached into the coffin to pat his folded hands. The flap on his shirt pocket was curled up so Tillie reached over and smoothed it out, then slowly brought her hands down to her sides and walked over to sit in the chair that had been placed near the coffin for her to use.

  By early afternoon a steady flow of relatives and neighbors began to arrive. They handed over a variety of food to Addie, who placed each vessel on the work counter until she ran out of room then she began to fill the table. Subdued chatter remained constant in the kitchen, but a respectful hush fell over the mourners as they came through the pallor door. They nodded somberly at Nannie, stopped to give their sympathy to the widow and then turned to bow their head at the coffin for a moment before turning to leave.

  Late that evening after people stopped coming, Addie persuaded Otillie to lay down, leaving Nannie to continue her all night vigil alone with her old friend Doak. As hard as she fought sleep, Nannie sometimes nodded off. Her head would jerk, waking her up. In the middle of the night, Bess slipped into a chair next to her dozing mother, and accidentally bumped her arm. Nannie jumped.