My Children Are More Precious Than Gold (17 page)

In those days, the girls were given
three dress and two Mother Hubbard aprons. One dress was for good
and the other two for ever day. One of the ever day dresses was
worn to school for a week. The first two days an apron covered it,
then the last three days the dress was worn without the apron. The
next week, Bess wore the other ever day dress and apron while that
dress and apron were in the wash.

Looking at the dried brown ring
crusted on the top of the fifty gallon iron kettle left as the
apple butter boiled down, Bess wondered if the apple butter wasn't
thick enough to empty out of the kettle so they could start over.
“Jimmy Bob, go to the kitchen and tell the women one of them should
come take a look at the kettle and see if this apple butter is
done.”

As she watched Jimmy Bob scurry for
the cabin, Bess listened to the sounds of happy voices and laughter
coming from the kitchen while the women worked together. The
neighboring farmers dropped their women, children and apples off
early that morning. As soon as two or three big wooden barrels of
apples were pared, a fire was started under the iron kettle, the
apple slices dropped in, and a little apple cider added to keep the
apples from scorching. While they shared stored up gossip and
family happenings, the women peeled apples and prepared a noon meal
of smoked ham, sweet potatoes, corn, boiled potatoes, turnip
greens, and of course, apple pies.

Outside the children played games
while waiting for their turn to stir the apple kettle. For some
reason, the children were always paired, a boy and a girl, to take
turns. Bess suspected it was because the boys didn't like to work
so this was the way the women made sure the apple butter wouldn't
burn.

Stick thin Mrs. Parkins came from the
house, carrying a large crock to ladle the apple butter into. “Sit
down, younguns and rest while I empty this kettle then we'll bring
out more apples for ya all to start stirren again.” She talked so
slow that Bess wanted to finish her sentences for her to hurry the
conversation along, but Mrs. Parkins had always been a hard worker.
Jimmy Bob’s looks favored his mother, but he sure didn’t inherit
worken from his mother, Bess thought.

Sometime later as she wipe sweat from
her brow, Bess pleaded, “Jimmy Bob, take a turn stirren. I got to
get away from this fire fer a minute.”

“
I reckon I kin take a
turn,” Jimmy Bob drawled out.

Forgetting about keeping her dress
clean, Bess flopped down on the ground in the shade of the mulberry
tree so she could stretch her dusty, tanned legs out before her.
She spotted the blue-gray blur of a mockingbird when it fluttered
through the branches above her, causing almost as much of a gentle
swinging motion to the tree limbs as did the light
breeze.

“
Jimmy Bob, feel that cool
breeze. It's comin' off the ridge. I kin hardly wait fer evening to
bring some coolness, then it won't seem so hot by the kettle fire
directly.”

“
Yep,” grunted Jimmy Bob
as he half heartily moved the T- paddle around in the kettle and at
the same time wishfully watched the children playing by the
smokehouse.

It’s somethin’ how quiet
Jimmy Bob gets when he has to work a little
, mused Bess while she watched the boy. “Jimmy Bob, did ya
ever see so many apples as people brung this time This year must
have been the biggest apple crop in years. My Pap said there must
have been ice hangin' on the tree branches on Valentine Day fer
sure this year. He says that's a sign of lots of fruit in the
fall.” She shifted positions, then continued, “I didn't think the
men were ever goen to get all those apple barrels unloaded and
carried up by the house this mornen.”

“
Yep. Sure was a lot of
apples. Is it yer turn now?” Jimmy Bob backed away from the kettle
and quickly sat down before Bess could answer.

Late that evening in the yellow glow
from the pitch pine torch stuck in the middle of the yard, the
younger children listened to ghost stories told by the older
children. From the underbrush on the ridge, whippoorwills cried
their lonely cries of whip - poor -- will. The resounding hoot of a
barred owl echoed across the ridge, adding to the uneasiness the
children felt from listening to the ghostly tales. They watched
weird shadows rise up, grow, disappear and reappear on the cabin
wall as the women moved back and forth from the kitchen to across
the yard, emptying the kettle for the last time.

All the women furnished a portion of
molasses or brown sugar to flavor the apple butter before they
ladled the thick, brown mixture into one and two gallon crocks.
White cloth lids were cut and securely tied on to prepare for the
journey home on the dusty roads. Once home, the apple butter would
be stored in the cool underground storm cellar, or in a spring
house where it would stay while portions of it were ladled out to
use on hot biscuits.

Around eleven o'clock the party began
to break up. Bess, head nodding, roused at the creaks and groans
from horse drawn jolt wagons and oxen carts coming down the lane.
The ridge farmers were returning to pick up their families. The
empty apple barrels were loaded on the wagons by the men while the
women brought out their crocks of apple butter, then gathered their
children to settle them in the wagons. Wveryone was exhausted from
a long day of work and play and ready to go home to their beds.
Bess, along with her brothers and sisters, headed to bed too as
soon as everyone left.

Chapter 15

The Husking Bee

Waken by the smell of salt pork and
eggs frying in the big iron skillets in the kitchen below the girls
bedroom, Bess wiggled out from under the tangled mass of arms and
legs belonging to her two sisters -- Cass and Veder. She slid off
the wooden joint bed (made from willow branches tied together),
feeling the morning coolness on the rough, board floor under her
bare feet. On the other side of her bed was another bed. Under that
heaps of quilts were Lillie, Alma and Lydia.

Lifting the wooden latch on the
bedroom's only window, Bess threw open the shutters. “Close that
window!”

“
Burr, that air’s cold!”
Came with groans of protests from the wiggling mounds under the
brightly pieced quilts as the crisp mountain air and the bright sun
rays flooded the room.

Bess stood at the window, arms folded,
hugging her faded, pink nightgown to her with all her attention
focused on the view outside.

Frost sparkles glinted on the foliage,
and the morning air held the crisp bite of early fall. Two white
tail does, trailed by half grown, spotted, tawny fawns, cautiously
stepped out of the smoky ground mist to stop by the fenced in
spring. They lowered their heads to sip the clear spring water
where it trickled down the hill, lifted their heads high, looked
around with ears perked to listen for danger then sprang off into
the underbrush.

A mourning dove cooed plaintively in
the distance.

Mama always said when she
heard cooing early in the morning like that it was a sign of rain.
I sure hope that dove’s wrong,
thought
Bess.
Today is the husken bee so it needs
to be a pretty day.

Down by the barn were the piles of
corn stalks put there by Pap and her brothers in readiness for this
day. With long bladed corn knives, they had cut the corn tops off
just as the bottom leaves had began to yellow. That fodder was
bundled to feed the cattle. The bottom leaves were stripped off and
bundled for the sheep to eat. The bare stalks, with the ears
dangling, were left in the field to dry. Lately, Pap and the boys
had been cutting the stalks and leaving them in piles in the field.
The boys used a horse and sled to pile the corn stalks on and haul
the load out of the field since the corn field was too hilly to use
a wagon.

That afternoon, the neighbors began to
arrive in their wagons and carts or on foot. The women, with
bonnets and shawls on to protect them from the chill, went into the
cabin laden with food to help provide the evening meal. Through the
next few weeks, other ridge farmers would have a husking bee and
Bess's family would go help them, because that was how it had to be
done to survive in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The men and children headed for the
piles of corn stalks, eager to choose up sides and let the contest
begin. The team with the pile of corn stalks that disappeared first
was the winner. Tin pails and wooden bushel baskets were set around
to sort the corn into as the ears were husked. Each time the
containers filled up, it was the smaller children's job to dump the
corn in the barn bins. There were three grades to be sorted: the
best for cornmeal, the second for horse feed, and the nubbins for
the cows and pigs. The husk and stalk piles were cow fodder, and if
there was a shortage of straw, some of the husks would be used in
mattresses.

Slender, little, red headed Jennie May
Jones helped by entertaining everyone with her dulcimer until after
the husking bee. Then some of the men would liven things up with
their banjos and fiddles at a hoe down. Never full of life like the
other children, Jennie was gifted with an ear for music. Sitting by
the barn so she had something to lean against, Jennie May covered
the faded, once pink flowers of her cotton dress with the long,
wooden stringed instrument she played. Lydia, always attracted to
Jennie, sat down beside her to watch her strum.

As she strummed, Jennie nodded toward
the ridges. “Have ya ever seen anything prettier?”

Lydia took the time to look where
Jennie nodded. She had never paid attention to how the ridge looked
before. Running along behind the cabin, it had a gray blue mist
forming near the bottom as the afternoon cooled off from which the
mountains got their name. Above that mist, the trees melted
together into brilliant, fall colors --scarlet maples, vivid orange
sassafras, copper gums, yellow tulip poplars, red oaks, and dark
green pines. Here and there was sprinkled the crimson of Virginia
ivy trailing over the tree tops. All those colors cascaded down the
ridge to meet the misty covered brambles, ferns and wild flowers
that made up the undergrowth.

Bess watched the bustling activity
around her; the fast flying ears of corn and bare stalks with small
children dodging in and out, playing tag. She could see a few of
the older children had socializing on their minds rather than
winning the husking bee. Boys! Bess thought in disgust.

Above the chatter, Bess heard the
flirting tone in Cass's voice as she talked to her boyfriend.
“Jacky Taylor, ya all sure are quiet tonight. Are ya feelen all
right?”

“
Jest fine.” Jacky
hesitated, then added. “Until now that is.”

Overhearing them, Sid butted in, “Ya
been sickly, Jacky?”

“
Nope, jest had a bad
scare is all. Been off my feed ever since,” Jacky admitted
reluctantly.

All ears now, the other Bishops
quieted down to listen to Jacky. “What kind of scare was it?” Asked
Don.

“
Somethin' I seed down on
Lively Lane a couple nights ago.” Jacky’s face grew pale as he
thought about it.

“
Ya went down Lively Lane
after dark? Alone?” There was a note of admiration in Lue's voice
as he gave Sid a hard glance. No one ever traveled on Lively Lane
after dark anymore. Moonshiners used that road to transport and
sell moonshine. They made short work of anyone they didn't
know.

“
Yep, I did. Alone!” Jacky
declared defensively.

“
What happen to ya, Jacky.
Tell us!” Cass declared impatiently.

“
I was walken home late
and thought I'd take a short cut through the lane. I heard sticks
snapen like somethin was a followen behind me in the trees along
side the path. I figured it fer a deer or a bear by all the noise,
but when I turned to look I seed a light comen toward me. In that
full moon, I thought as how it was strange anyone would be burnen a
torch even with the ground fog beginnen to rise. I'd been hearen
Lutrelle Smith’s coon hounds from off aways bayen at the moon, but
all of a sudden everythin got real still. The mockingbirds quit
chirpen.

I called, “Who is there?”

The light I seed turned into a blazen
ball and seemed to get bigger and brighter. It moved around in a
wierd circle. Outside of the light, I could seed arms waven as if
tryen to becken me to come to it. Then this long pitiful moan let
loose, starten out low and getten louder. The hair on the back of
my neck stood up, and right then I took off fer home as fast as I
could go. That's when I heard real spooky laughen, but I just kept
runnen. I didn't bother to look back either. Fell down twice and
skint both knees.”

“
Who ya reckon the haunt
was, Jacky?” Asked Tom.

“
Don’t rightly know fer
sure. He didn’t appear to have a head, but I think it was ole Man
Simmon’s haunt. They say he shows up in the fall ever year down in
Lively Lane looking fer his head or his murderer cause that’s where
he got killed.”

“
That’s right he got
murdered there. I’ve heard that story about his haunt, too. By the
way, what were ya doen out that way so late at night anyway,
Jacky?” Lue grinned slyly, feeling he already knew the
answer.

“
I’d been over to Spring
Hollow,” Jacky offered nervously.