Diary of a Wildflower (9 page)

After
Sam and Henry,
a news show featuring our president, Calvin Coolidge,
comes on.  Dad doesn’t miss a word.

As
Bea, Jewel and I clean up the kitchen everybody is still sitting around the
table listening to the radio.  I catch Samuel’s eye and we smile at each
other.  He is happy.  I am elated.  Tonight there is laughter in
this old log house, and music for the first time ever.

April, 1928

I
move through the chilly spring with my radio, and with
Emma, Northanger
Abbey
and
Persuasion
.  I’m disappointed that Jane Austen wrote
no more, but the six books she did write are enough to change me.  I read
Pride
and Prejudice
for the third time.  The mountains melt away before my
very eyes and are replaced by a picture show screen, where I see myself in Jane
Austen’s world.  There I am, a lovely British aristocrat, wearing my
stylish 1810 gown with its high waist and low neckline.  I am gliding
through an English garden with Mr. Darcy, and he is taking my soft, white hand
into his.  With his other hand he touches my cheek and we gaze longingly
into each other’s eyes.  Now his lips are against my lips.  His kiss
lasts even longer than Rudolph Valentino’s screen kiss at the end of the tango
scene.

May, 1928

On
a beautiful spring day Mr. Harmon takes our junior Biology class on a field
trip, the objective being to collect specimens in identifying the indigenous
plants of Southwest Virginia.  I learn that mountain laurel, rhododendron
and azaleas are all in the same family.  If I had not become a highschool
student, I would have to spend my whole life in ignorance of this fact.  I
also learn that the bloom of the dogwood tree is a protected species, because
it’s the state flower.  It’s against the law to cut it.

More
important, I learn that when you get Mr. Harmon out of the classroom, he is not
at all stuffy.  He wears corduroy britches and a red plaid shirt instead
of his usual suit and tie.  He laughs and jokes with us, and shows us that
he is warm and funny.

We
go up the Gospel Road creek, carefully walking on its slippery banks, gathering
specimens.  We are scattered all over the place so that I find myself
nearly alone when we reach that special site which I have christened Roxie’s
Park.  It’s where Trula and Ford met me and Samuel and Jewel on that April
day when my heart was breaking for Roxie.  We have since met here often in
warm weather.  One time Mack came along.  He and Trula and their two
boys seemed like a perfectly normal, happy family that day.

I
sit down on one of the flat rocks and look at the spot in the woods where Trula
and Ford came out from hiding that first day.  I remember our joy at
seeing  each other again, and the picnic on this very rock.  I am
deep in reverie when somebody sits down beside me.

“A
penny for your thoughts,” says Mr. Harmon.

“Oh,
I was thinking of another day when I was here at this place,” I say.  “It
was a nice day, but also a sad one.”

“Why
was it sad?”

As
I start to tell him about Roxie, my lip begins to tremble.

“It’s
okay, Lorie.  You don’t have to go on.”

“But
I have to learn to talk about it without crying.”

“Why?”
he asks.

“Because
it happened.  No matter how hard it was, it happened and it’s part of my
life story now.”

I
manage to get the rest of it out without falling apart.

“I’m
sorry you had to go through that, Lorie,” he says, and touches my hand where it
rests between us on the rock.  “Truly sorry.”

We
sit in silence for a few moments.

“Lorie!”
Opal calls me from the woods.  “Come see this huge lichen!”

“In
a minute!” I call back.  “I’m resting.”

Mr.
Harmon says, “Lorie, I consider you a very special friend.”

My
heart swells with pride.  It’s such an honor to have an educated man like
Mr. Harmon consider me a friend.  “Oh, thank you, sir.  I think
you’re special too.”

“Come
on, Lorie!” Opal calls again.  “You’ll want to get a sample of it.”

“Okay!”
I call back.  I leap to my feet, feeling re-energized.

Mr.
Harmon remains on the rock, staring at the sparkling water.  “I’ll be
along in a minute,” says he.

********************

When
the novelty of the radio has worn off for the kids, I am able to spend time
alone with it, listening to the news and interviews with famous people such as
Charles Lindbergh.  He talks about his flight to Paris in
The Spirit of
St. Louis
a year ago.  I look at the far horizon.   God, I
want to soar with the birds too!

In
preparation for my own journey, I decide to concentrate on learning to speak
properly, as Samuel suggested.  I listen very carefully to the announcers
and repeat back to myself what they are saying in precisely the way they are
saying it.  The first thing I notice is that the people on the radio are
not lazy about enunciation the way mountain folk are.  I learn that it is
important to pronounce every syllable of a word.  You can’t drop your
ing’s, and there is a right and wrong way to say your vowels.

********************

With
blond hair and shining blue eyes, Uncle Ben’s Opal has always been the
brightest Starr on the mountain.  Now she is seventeen, almost eighteen,
and has developed into a real beauty.  Uncle Green’s Vic is also a
good-looking boy and pursued by every girl who isn’t related to him.  Yet,
like me, neither of them has a sweetheart.  With this in common and the
three of us being serious students in the first highschool class at Deep
Bottom, it’s inevitable that we come together like the three musketeers as
final exams approach.

Both
Vic and Opal want to meet in the kitchen of my house to study together.  I
have never had friends to visit before, and even though they are kin and live
on the mountain, I am thrilled that they have chosen my home.  Of course
the radio helps.  Uncle Green, who is always ahead of his brothers in
everything, has had electricity at his place for a long time, and he had a
radio before we did, but his house sits down in a hollow, making his reception
poor.

Dad
is friendly to Vic and Opal.  They are, after all, his brothers’
children.  I think he is actually pleased to have them here.  He and
Bea and the kids leave us alone in the kitchen.  We turn the radio on low
and listen to music while we study.  Sometimes we tune in to a funny show,
and we start laughing so hard we forget to be quiet.  At these times Dad
might come in and tell us he is trying to sleep, or if he hasn’t gone to bed
yet, he’ll say this does not sound like studying to him.  We apologize,
but I can tell he is not really mad.

One
night Vic and Opal decide to teach me the Charleston.  The first thing I
learn is that being quiet is next to impossible while doing this dance. 
Still I am doing great until we get so tickled we have to slip out the kitchen
door and walk around in the dark to stop our giggling.  The next Saturday
in class Vic and Opal tell Mr. Harmon that he should have seen Lorie doing the
Charleston.

“She
picked it up like a pro,” Vic says.

“She
looked like she was born to dance,” Opal agrees.

Mr.
Harmon smiles at me.  “I’d like to see that.  Maybe I will someday.”

The
evenings with Opal and Vic turn out to be some of the happiest times of my life
so far, and I am almost sorry to see the school year end.  We three, along
with the Cole twins, pass our exams, thus becoming proud seniors.

June, 1928

Nell
has almost quit corresponding, but she can’t resist writing to tell me that she
has finished her training to become a nurse’s aide.  The sanitorium has
released both her and Helen as patients, and has hired them as staff.  Now
they are looking for a place to live away from the institution.  I guess
she wants me to be jealous, and I am, but I answer her letter with
congratulations and good wishes.

I
tell her that I have only one more year of highschool before I too will go away
and seek my fortune.  After sealing the letter in an envelope I take my
money from its hiding place and count it.  I have seventeen dollars. 
I can go anywhere I want.  But I know even that much money won’t support
me for long in a strange place.  I really must have a job or the promise
of a job waiting for me.  That’s the hard part.

********************

After
bathing at the spring on a soft, summer night, I go to the loft and find Jewel
sitting cross-legged on her bed going through her drawings.  She has maybe
fifty of them that she has found worthy of saving over the years.  She
does not use scrap paper anymore.  I told her long ago that somehow we
will find the money for her to use clean paper for her art, and we have done
that.

“Can
I see?” I ask, and sit down on the bed beside her.

“Sure,”
she says, seeming pleased.

Caroline
and I are the only people who encourage her drawing, and I feel guilty that I
don’t do it more often.  She has a lot of sketches that I haven’t seen
before – one of the mountains and one of our house, others of Mutt the dog, Abe
the mule, also Barney, who died a year ago, and Molly, one of the cows. 
She has kept her best birds, chickens and pigs, some of which are new to
me.  She still has the one of Rudolph Valentino doing the tango, and of
Sylvia the beggar in her shawl, holding out her cup.

“Poor
Sylvia,” I say, as I look at the picture.  “Imagine having to beg for
food.”

“Bea
told me that Sylvia had a good man who was a coal miner,” Jewel says, “and they
had four little girls.  They lived in a camp where the coal company owned
all the houses, so when her man was killed in the mine she had to find another
place to live.  She had no family to help her out.  She tried to find
a job, but couldn’t.  So when she ran out of money, she took to begging.”

If
Mack should be killed, I am thinking, Trula would be like Sylvia.  Dad
would not let her come home.  In fact, he would be gleeful in saying that
she has made her bed, and now she must lie in it.  Mack’s wife and first
three kids would get his part in the store, and Trula would get nothing. 
What would my poor sister do?

Jewel
has sketches of me and other members of our family, and I can actually tell
which one is which.  The ones of Trula, Nell and Mommie are not quite as
good as the others because, as she explains, “I couldn’t draw people real good
when they were living with us, so I did them later from memory.”

Suddenly
I find myself looking into the face of Roxie.  It is so like her it makes
my heart ache.  There’s that golden hair, that sweet smile.

“When
did you do this, Jewel?”

“Christmas
before she died.”

“It’s…it’s
simply wonderful.”

Jewel
is beaming.

“Will
you do me a favor?” I say.

“Anything,”
she says.

“Will
you make copies of this picture?  One each for me and Samuel and
Trula?  I don’t want us ever to forget her face.”

“Yes,
I will.”

I
shuffle through the sketches.  At the bottom of the stack there is a
drawing of a man I can’t identify.  I hold it close to the lantern light.

“Who
is this, Jewel?”

“Oh,
that’s Randal, but it’s not much like him.  I had to do it from memory
too.  And this is his wife, Doris, and their little girl, Willa.”

“But
who are they?” I ask.

“You
know!  It’s Randal and Doris and Willa.  Remember them?”

“No. 
I don’t know these people.”

“We
used to know them!” she cries, seeming a bit agitated.

“But
when?” I ask.  “Where?”

Her
pretty face takes on a confused expression.  She begins to tug at her
blond hair nervously.  “I don’t know, Lorie.  Didn’t we used to know
them?”

“I’ve
never known anybody with those names, Jewel.”

“Well,
I...I did,” she says hesitantly.  “But I don’t know where they went to.”

We
sit there looking at the drawings of Randal and Doris and Willa, then at each
other.  We put out the lantern and climb into our beds.  We don’t say
anything for a long time.

Finally
I say, “I think they were your imaginary friends, Jewel, when you were little.”

“Oh,
yeah,” she says. “I reckon so.”

“When
you started school, you told me that Doris taught you to read.”

She
does not answer, but I don’t think she is asleep.

Yes,
here is the person I will miss most of all when I go – Jewel, sweet mysterious Jewel. 
Will I be able to leave her?  Only if it’s not forever.  By the time
she is old enough to work, I will have a job somewhere and a place for her to
come to.  Then if anything should happen to Mack, we will send for Trula
and her boys to join us.  We will be three sisters living together happily
ever after.

July, 1928

On
my way to Deep Bottom I come upon some men working on Gospel Road, filling in
the ruts and potholes with tar and gravel, and building up the shoulders.

“This
is good!” I say to one of the men, who is a stranger to me.  “Now folks
will be able to drive an automobile up here!”

“That’s
the idea,” the man says.

“It’s
about time the state did something for us,” I say.

“Not
the state,” the man says.  “Ben Starr is footin’ the bill for this road.”

In
the evening I mention to Samuel that Uncle Ben is paying a crew of men to fix
Gospel Road so that an automobile can drive up it.

“Yeah,
I saw them, but the improved road will end at Uncle Ben’s trail.”

“Well,
at least we’ll have a good road that far.  Maybe you and Dad and Uncle
Green can finish it up to Uncle Green’s road and Willy’s Road.”

Samuel
sighs heavily and says, “Lorelei, Uncle Ben is up to no good.”

“No
good?  He’s improving the road.  How can that be bad?”

“Just
don’t talk to any strangers you see on that road.”

“Why
not?”

“Trust
me.  Do as I say, and don’t go to Uncle Ben’s house anymore either.”