by Janie DeVos
When I wrote the article, I wondered if city folks would think it was too wild and gory, but apparently it wasn’t. The editor at the newspaper told me it was just the kind of thing they loved to put in their special Sunday edition and to send any more stories like it. Though I was plenty pleased he liked it, I thought it a bit strange that the readers in Marietta liked blood-and-guts tales on Sunday. And I wondered if they read them before or after church services.
Leaving all gruesome memories of poor Gene Pinder behind, I put on my wide-brim straw hat, smoothed down my green-and-white gingham dress, and left the stateroom. Walking out on the promenade deck, I was immediately startled by the sharp blast of a steamboat whistle. Looking off to the right, I watched the large Cedar Queen come around a bend in the river.
At eighty-two feet long and twenty-two feet wide, it was the largest steamboat on the narrow Ocklawaha. My brother, Joseph, was the boat’s engineer. It was his job to make sure that the boiler was operating at the right temperature, for if it went past its limit, an explosion would likely occur.
I quickly scanned the porch in front of the general store to see if Mama was there. Spotting her, I headed in her direction to put my purchases in the wagon she always parked behind the store. Once I was rid of those, I would go see Joseph. He was working the run up the St. Johns River to Jacksonville. He’d been gone a long time because a new boiler had been installed while they were in port. I loved my older brother and missed him dearly when he was gone. I was getting used to his absences though, which was a good thing because come springtime, he and Regina Freeman were getting married and would build a home about twenty miles north of us near Eureka Springs. Not only was it closer to Regina’s parents, but it was also closer to the St. Johns River, which would open greater opportunities for my brother. Since the St. Johns flowed into the Atlantic, far larger boats worked the St. Johns. Larger boats meant larger paychecks, and Joseph had his heart set on working for one of the big Atlantic steamship lines that ran north to New York and south to Savannah.
After placing my packages under the wagon’s seat so that they were out of sight, especially from my parents, I started to make my way toward the Cedar Queen. I took my time so that I wasn’t in the way of the flurry of activity going on around the large boat. As I walked along, I watched the comings and goings of a variety of different people. Some of the faces were familiar, while others were not. Some folks looked as if they knew exactly what they were doing, while others looked almost bewildered, as if they’d stepped off the boat onto the shores of another planet. Most of the newly landed tourists were polite, but there were a few who felt as if they were superior in every way to the people of Florida.
I couldn’t help but smile when I overheard a man with a hard northern accent arrogantly arguing over the value of a deer skin with one of the area’s best hunters, Max Harjo. If the Yankee didn’t back off, I thought, then Max might take a notion to skin him. From what I’d been told, he was half Creek Indian and half something else, which made him big enough, and dangerous-looking enough, that people knew not to mess with him; at least the locals did.
Just as I started to look away from their argument, I spotted my sister sitting on a barrel tucked back by the side of the store, directly behind Max. From the look on her face, I could tell she was bemused by the men’s heated negotiations. I started to go over to her, but something stopped me. I felt that she wouldn’t necessarily be glad to be interrupted from watching the two men. Just then, the tourist threw his hands up in the air and stomped away. Max watched the man retreat with hard eyes before turning his attention to my sister. His expression immediately softened, and he grinned as he said something to her that made her laugh. She then extended a jar of honey to him. Taking it from her, he reached out and tugged a lock of her blond hair in a familiar and playful way. Feeling as though I was watching something I shouldn’t, I turned away before she could see me.
I had never seen Ivy talk to Max before. In fact, other than knowing him by sight and reputation, I wasn’t aware she was acquainted with him. However, there were probably a lot of things I didn’t know or understand about her, even though I wanted to. Ivy had a way of shutting herself off from people, even those she was closest to.
There were times when she felt like a stranger to me or, if not a stranger, then just plain strange. I hated the distance between us, but I knew we both felt that way about each other sometimes. The truth was I loved her deeply, probably more so than anyone else on God’s green Earth. However, James and I were much closer and much more alike. We were considered “reliable and hardworking,” but we also shared a creative side. I loved writing, and he had a passion for drawings and designs.
James and I had been the only two of the four siblings who had wanted to finish school. His hope was that he could go to college to study structural engineering or architecture. To do that, he needed money for tuition and board, so he’d found work with one of the local timber companies. He spent long, hot days cutting scrub pine and oak trees. With each tree that fell, he envisioned himself going off to school at the University of Georgia next year. I promised to help him write his admission’s letter once he was sure he had enough money together. I tried to help him with the financial part of it, too, with money I made from my sewing and quilting, as well as from any articles I sold. James refused my help at first but relented when I told him I was keeping a record of what he owed me and that I expected him to pay me back when he designed his first building. I kept no such record, of course, but I knew he wouldn’t accept my help if I didn’t assure him I was keeping track. He did refuse to take any money from our parents, though. He said that they’d already raised him to be a decent enough fellow and that they shouldn’t have to see to it that he became a highly educated one, as well.
Joseph had dropped out of school at the end of eighth grade after hearing the call of the river, but he’d worked hard, and we were proud of what he’d accomplished so early in life.
Ivy had disliked school the most out of the four of us and had dropped out halfway through the seventh grade. She’d followed her own path, but sadly, my sister’s road seemed to lead away from our family. Even though Ivy and I didn’t spend a lot of time together anymore, or see eye to eye on a whole lot, we still shared an unquestionable bond, one I knew I’d never share with anyone else.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that we’d been side by side since the moment of conception and breathed our first breaths just seconds apart. Whatever the reason may be, there was an undeniable bond between us. However, I wouldn’t lie to myself about the fact that there was also a gulf widening between us. As we became more aware of who we each were as individuals, with differences in opinions, tastes, attitudes, and interests, the chasm that those differences created was beginning to water down the fact that we were twins. And the truth of that stung me far worse than a whole hive of her beloved bees ever could.
Chapter 3
Mother River
I smoothed down the corners of the brown-and-white linen tablecloth over the long table made of pine planks set on top of several sawhorses. We didn’t care that our tables were nothing fancy, just as long as the food was good and plentiful, and because it was Thanksgiving, it was bound to be.
It was our usual community Thanksgiving picnic, and every family in the area was bringing dishes that showed off their culinary skills. While much of the nation crammed into overheated and overcrowded dining rooms, many in Florida celebrated outside, taking advantage of its nicest season. The morning had actually been chilly. It was cold enough to necessitate keeping a small fire burning in the stove, even after all the cooking was done. But the southern sun had worked its magic and had warmed everything by the afternoon.
More and more people were arriving at William Moseley Park, which was named after the state’s first governor. The park wasn’t like the manicured ones I’d seen once in Savannah. There were no squares with statues, or mean
dering groomed pathways with iron benches. Instead, there were the typical white sandy trails, dotted with scrub pines, oaks, and palm trees, as well as one low-rising Indian burial mound that we stayed away from simply because it wasn’t a flat enough area to erect our makeshift tables on. I, for one, though, thought it might be rude to be laughing, drinking, and eating on top of dead Ocklawaha and Seminole Indians, so staying away from it was just fine with me.
The south boundary of the park was the river, which continued her steady movement as though it was just another day. She was a constant, and the most important thing to our community. She was our life blood, and our crops’ life line, and we loved her, yet feared her. She was like a strict mother who set down her own rhythm and rules. When the fish weren’t biting so well, or when her banks overflowed, flooding the towns, which had happened many times in the past, though not while I’d lived by her, we still clung to her, waiting for her to find favor with us again. And she always did.
I walked over to the river to wash gravy off my hands after spilling some from an overly full bowl. Squatting down, I hiked up my new deep-blue wool dress, so as not to wet it, and smiled down at my old, dirty laced-up work boots poking out from underneath the red scrollwork I’d embroidered on the hem. The ground was muddy in places from a cold front that had come through the day before, bringing rain with it, and I wasn’t about to get my only good pair of shoes muddy.
I was peering into the water to push back strands of my copper-colored hair, which had pulled loose from my long braid, when I saw a familiar reflection in the water. It was Ivy. Teasingly, she gripped my shoulders and gave me a slight shove forward. I grasped her wrists tightly. “If I go in, you go in!” I laughed. I let go of one of her wrists, and as she pulled me up by the other, I was disappointed to see that she was dressed in a pair of James’s old overalls. Our father hated it when she wore them, which was nearly every day, and I knew he would be especially unhappy about it when she showed up at the Thanksgiving table in them.
“Where’s your new dress? I thought you wanted to wear it today.” I smiled, trying not to sound or look the way I felt. I’d finished it late the night before because she’d said she wanted to wear it, and I’d gladly obliged her to help prevent more friction between my father and her.
Papa was beyond frustrated with Ivy. He was unhappy she’d left school to become an herbal healer. It just didn’t sit right with him, and he hated that she spent most of her time with the Haileys. Even though he thought a lot of them, he still thought of them as beneath us. They were colored, and we were white. Right or wrong, Papa felt that Negroes had a certain place in society, and whites had another. And it was only through work that the two groups should mix.
Ivy had tried to reason with him that what she was doing was work, not socializing, but Papa didn’t see it that way. He felt that being a medicine woman was just short of practicing some form of witchcraft and something that only “Injun squaws, Voodoo Hoodoo women, and Negresses do,” as he rather crudely put it.
To those on the outside, it might have seemed as if our father considered Ivy the black sheep of the family, but the truth of the matter was he had a soft spot in his heart for her because she was the spitting image of his mother, except for having our mother’s blond hair. But as Ivy got older and continued to do exactly as she pleased, there had been many a ruckus in our household between the two of them. Mama tried to argue on behalf of Ivy, that at least my sister was doing something helpful for folks instead of making life harder for them, but the argument went in one of Papa’s ears and out the other. I was absolutely convinced that there weren’t two people more stubborn and hard-headed on the face of the good Earth than my father and my sister.
Ivy looked down at her overalls. “Mayoma and I were making an elixir using beets, and I didn’t want to stain my new dress with the juice. I want it to stay green, not be purple and green.” She laughed, though a bit awkwardly.
“I figured you were at the Haileys.” I was irritated. Aside from the fact that I knew Papa would take one look at her and the sunny celebratory day would suddenly become overcast, it really bothered me that she hadn’t been home to help Mama and me with the cooking. Though Mama had never said it, I felt there were times when her feelings were hurt because Ivy spent most of her waking hours with Mayoma, even when Mama needed help with something. Mama didn’t say anything to Ivy, but I could see the hurt in her eyes at those times.
While I knew that learning the art of medicine making did involve many hours, I also knew that Ivy didn’t feel that she had much to learn from our mother. My sister had told me once that she felt Mama should have done more with her life than to simply be someone’s wife and the mother of his children. Stung by her prickly arrogance, I’d responded by saying that it had taken a special woman with enormous courage to travel hundreds of miles into an unknown wilderness with a large family to care for and that she’d made sure none of us had ever gone hungry or gone without, even when Mama probably had.
My sister changed the subject. “Mama said to come get you. Reverend Troxler is about ready to say the blessing. Lord, there’s a mountain of food! Mayoma and I brought two chocolate pies and a coconut cake to add to it. Two of the tables are covered with desserts alone!”
“Ivy, would you do me a favor—’specially since it’s Thanksgiving?”
“What?” She actually leaned slightly back from me, as if she was already getting defensive over what I might ask her to do.
“Stay home tomorrow. Just spend some time with us, with Mama.”
“Well…I…maybe, Eve, but I’ve got things to do with Mayoma, and we—”
“And you hardly have anything to do with your family, Ivy.” I could hear the anger creeping into my voice, but before I could say anything more that would send Ivy off in a huff, I took a breath and then her hand. “C’mon,” I said, forcing my tone to be lighter. “Let’s talk about it later. For now, let’s go eat. We’ll pass on the turkey and head straight for one of your pies.” I smiled. Ivy laughingly agreed, obviously relieved that I’d changed the subject.
As we got closer to the picnic tables, we realized that everyone’s head was bowed and only Reverend Troxler’s voice could be heard, and he was just finishing the blessing. We quietly joined the gathering in time to add our own “Amen” and then walked over to where Mama had fallen into line at one of the buffet tables.
“Oh, good, there you are!” Mama said as she let us cut in.
“Where are Papa and Joseph?” Ivy asked, scanning the crowd.
“They’re saving room for all of us at the table with Captain Franks and his daughter Ursula. It’s been hard for ’em since Mrs. Franks died last year from that stomach abscess. Your father wanted to make sure we’d be sittin’ together.”
“Oh, wonderful,” James said sarcastically as he cut in line with us after getting himself a glass of iced tea. “That’ll make for fine dinner conversation. We’ll be stuffing our guts while Ursula tells us for the hundredth time about her mother’s rotting one.”
“James, hush!” Mama looked around to see if anyone had overheard.
“Well, Mama, it’s true.” I laughed. “Bless Ursula’s heart, but throughout the school year she’s been telling anyone who’ll listen about how ‘God awful it was’ and ‘how bad the smell was’ and—”
“Y’all are gonna go sit under that tree and eat if you don’t hush your mouths. Lord, I thought I raised you better ’n that,” Mama threatened, keeping her voice low so that no one else could hear.
“You did.” Ivy laughed. “That’s why we know better than to go spilling our guts to everyone who’ll listen.”
That was it. We all started laughing, Mama included. “All right, that’s enough! Stop laughing. Think terrible thoughts,” she suggested, which only made us keep laughing. Then she tried pinching us, which made us laugh harder.
I pulled myself together by the time I fi
lled my plate and wound my way through the crowd toward my father, who was waving me over to his table. “Afternoon, everyone. Happy Thanksgiving,” I said as I set my plate down next to Ursula, while Captain Franks, Papa, and Joseph all politely stood to greet me.
“You, too,” Ursula mumbled, hardly glancing up. Instead, the large girl kept her eyes glued to her plate as she shoveled a forkful of corn pudding into her mouth.
Soon, Ivy, Mama, and James arrived at the table, and the look that Papa gave my sister was unmistakable. There was no question that he was unhappy with her overalls. There’d be a heated conversation between the two of them when we got home. But, for the time being, everyone was cordial with each other, including my father and sister.
After greetings were exchanged and remarks made about how nice the weather was and how much food had been brought, Papa returned to the conversation he’d been having with the captain. They were talking about the near certainty that Henry Flagler’s railroad would work its way through Florida. Word had gotten around that he was eyeing the St. Augustine area and had decided to build a big hotel there. He saw great potential in developing Florida into an enormous tourist destination, but Flagler knew that there needed to be a solid transportation system in place first. His beloved railroad was the answer, and we knew it was just a matter of time before it arrived. It came to Ocala in 1881 and had taken away some of the steamboats’ business. It was a subject that was constantly on the minds of those employed or impacted by the steamboats servicing the Ocklawaha River, and many people had great misgivings about the inevitability of the railroad crisscrossing all of North and Central Florida. There was no doubt that the prospect of the enormous progress that the railroad would bring to our area was exciting, but it would also mean that some of the old ways were bound to disappear, and that could mean some real hard times for a lot of people.
