My Children Are More Precious Than Gold

by Risner, Fay

  “Tutt, I seed big snakes afore,” Dillard declared and snickered. “I ain’t ascared of any ole snake.”

  “Ya ain’t seed one like this one. No sir, ya ain't. I heard tell this one could likely swallow ya whole if he be a mind to. He's bigger around than a man's arm and has a stub tail. Reckon he must have caught it in a trap or got it mowed off. That ole snake kin stand straight up on that stub and look ya right in the eye.”

  “Aw, Tutt! Did ya ever seed him yerself?” Asked Dillard, doubtfully.

  “Nope, not yet, and I don't much want to meet up with him either.”

  “if I run into that ole snake, I'll be sure glad to let ya know his where abouts so ya can steer clear of him,” Lue teased, getting up to refill his plate.

  Later, the women covered almost empty food kettles with dish towels to keep the flies from lighting in them. Everyone, with bellies full, sat peacefully in the shade. The smaller children napped on the quilts, but the older ones sat impatiently, waiting for the grownups to tell them it had been long enough since the meal so they could go back to the swimming hole.

  Near the middle of the afternoon, Jacob and the rest of the men agreed that it should be safe for the children to swim. Letting out war hoops of joy, they stampeded down the bank and splashed into the river. Some time later, above the children’s screams and laughter came a cry for help.

  “Look, Jake!” Is that yer youngun, Don, waven his arms around off in that corner by hisself?” Doak shouted. “He looks like he's in trouble fer sure!”

  “Jacob, go hep Don!” Screamed Nannie.

  Jacob and Tutt jumped up to run toward the river while the rest of the group followed behind them. The two men stepped off the bank and waded into the shallow, muddy water. They swam across the deep hole to where Don was waving his arms up in the air. Before they could get to the boy, his head went under the water, then coughing and sputtering he came back up. That time no sound came out of him as his blue face went under again. Grabbing hold of the boy, the men lifted his head above water and swam for the shore. Two other men rushed to the water's edge to help drag Don onto the bank.

  Jacob rolled Don onto his stomach and began to pump up and down on his back. Suddenly between coughing and gurgles, red, river water spurted from the boy's blue lips. Turning Don over, Jacob propped him up in his arm. “What happened out there, son? Ya okay now?”

  “I got cramps so bad I couldn't move. Sure scared me!” Don declared, coughing. He spit out a mouthful of water.

  “By gum, it scared us, too,” laughed Doak as he fondly roughed up Don's wet hair. “Tutt, hep Jake get this boy into the shade over there. Lean him against a tree to rest fer a spell. The lot of us kin go back to haven a good time. No harm done now that the excitement is over. I don't know about the rest of ya men, but heat or no heat, I'm goen fishen. I want to catch that big fish yet this afternoon soen I can win the contest again!”

  Chapter 10

  The Blackberry Patch

  Bess, Don, and Dillard trekked up the pasture hill toward the blackberry patch with their coon hound, Jasper, trailing along sniffing the path behind them. Bess set the pace by walking briskly. She wanted to get to the patch, get the berries picked and get back home before the heat of the July midday became unbearable. Don moved his portly frame along as fast as he could, waddling somewhat like a duck. With his short legs, Dillard skipped to keep up with the other two, having a young boy’s enthusiasm about starting another day of adventure.

  “Did ya hear Tutt tellen at the picnic about that big, ole, black snake folks seed here abouts?” Asked Dillard.

  “Sure I did,” Don grumbled, wishing he was somewhere else that morning. He hated berry picking.

  “I didn't,” said Bess. “What about it?”

  “Jest a big ole snake that's the granddaddy of em all, crawlen around in the pastures here abouts, Tutt says. He's as big around as a man's arm and has a stub tail he can sit up on ta look ya right in the eye.”

  “Ah, Dillard, did Tutt say he'd seed this snake hisself?” asked Bess, dubiously.

  “Nope, but he said plenty of other folks did,” admitted Dillard.

  “Where did they seed this snake?” Questioned Bess.

  “I told ya. In pastures around here abouts. It gets around fast.”

  “Dillard, don't ya know when Tutt's funnen y'all?” Don scoffed, puffing to catch his breath.

  “No sir! Not this time. He was serious,” defended Dillard.

  “If ya say so,” Don said, shrugging his shoulders. He willingly gave up on the argument. “There's the berry patch. Let's get to picken our pails full and head back home afore it gets any hotter out here.”

  “Do snakes like berry patches, Don?” Dillard asked. He stared at the large, tangled maze of brambles loaded with white blossoms. A mass of green, red, and black berries shone among the leaves like Christmas ornaments.

  “Sure they do. Fer shade to sleep in mostly when it's hot. So watch yer step. Scatter out and pick around the edge where it's easiest then step into the middle to get the berries ya can reach.”

  “All right, but -- but what do we do if we scare up that big, ole snake?” Worried Bess.

  “Sick Jasper on him then run fer home, I reckon,” said Don, grinning at Bess and Dillard before he walked away.

  Bess looked around for the coon hound. Jasper had sank belly deep in the shade of the tall foxtail grass to cool off. At the moment, the only thing moving on him was his ears as he perked up to listen to the sounds around him. She turned and walked in the opposite direction around the thicket.

  If he needed help, Dillard could see both Bess and Don while he picked, but he felt uneasy about walking into the snarled vines in front of him. He couldn't see what was underfoot. Standing in knee deep grass along the berry patch’s edge, he carefully reached for a blackberry, trying not to get stuck on the sticky vines. He didn't blame the cows for not grazing around the blackberry patch. It was impossible to pick the shiny, elongated berries without getting stuck or have the stickers attach themselves to his clothing.

  For some time, the only break in the silence was the soft thud of berries hitting the bottom of the tin pails. While he picked, Dillard imagined he could smell a hot pan of berry cobbler with bubbling blue-black syrup seeping out around the edge of the thick, golden brown, lard crust, baking in Mama's oven.

  Pop! Pop! The jerking motion of a black popping beetle riding on a berry caught Dillard’s eye as he was about to drop it in his pail. He flicked the bug off with his finger, turned loose of the berry over the pail and reached for another.

  Bess edged slowly through the tall foxtail. She had come close to stepping on snakes before so she knew to be cautious. Looked to her like the berries were plump and plentiful this summer so it should be easy for them to get their pails filled in a short time. Trouble was blackberries ripen slowly a few at a time so there would be several trips to the berry patch. Mama would want all the blackberries the children could pick. What she didn’t use of the berries fresh would be dried for use in the winter.

  The slight summer breeze wasn't much relief from the rising heat shimmering across the grass. The midmorning sun beat down on her bare head, and sweat beads broke out on Bess’s forehead. She could imagine her mother’s voice, scolding her that Bess should wear her bonnet when she was in the sun. A gray stink bug fell off the vine and disappearing into her pail of berries. Bess riffled among the berries, wrinkling her nose at the awful smell the insect left on her fingers when she flipped it out into the grass, then she continued to pick.

  A loud caw broke the silence. Bess looked above her to see a crow, flying overhead, chased by a chicken hawk. Suddenly, the hawk gave up pursuit and glided gracefully in an arc back the direction he’d come. Now that is a pretty sight, Bess thought. She watched the flight of the hawk when he flapped his wings fast then spreading them out to glide over the patch. The snow white of his stomach and red on the tip of his tail feathers made a pretty contrast against the cloudless, a
zure blue sky.

  Don listened to the soothing sounds of a mourning dove cooing and then another one answered. Further away, a bob white called to its mate. He relaxed as he daydreamed of a large bowl of sweet, thick blackberry jelly sitting on the table next to a platter stacked high with Mama's hot, slug biscuits made possible by all his hard work, picking blackberries. Trampling down some young, green berryless shoots, he reached further into the patch for another plump berry.

  “There's no such thing as a granddaddy snake,” he muttered aloud, trying to convince himself not to be scared. “Tutt was jest funnen Dillard. Ouch!” Don stuck his finger into his mouth. He pulled it out to checked to see if the sticker was still in his finger. “I hate berry picken,” he grumbled. Just then the foxtail grass heads in front of him began to wave back and forth as the long stems on the grass parted at ground level. “What's that comen? Oh, jest a rabbit,” sighed Don. The rabbit froze at the sound of a human voice, looked at Don and sped away. Don, watching the departing rabbit, reached for another berry and felt a cold, slick surface twitch under his fingertips. He quickly glanced down and realized he'd touched a small, green, grass snake that was quickly slithering out of reach. “Whew! It's jest a harmless little snake.” Don took a deep breath to help steady his flip flopping stomach. He watched the snake disappear into the thicket. Suddenly, an idea popped into Don’s head that he hoped would get him out of this hot job.

  “A snake! He's headed yer way, Bess!” Don yelled, backing out of the patch with berry vines tugged at his clothes.

  “I'm getten out of here!” Bess shrieked, struggling to get past the vines she had waded into.

  “Is it black stub tail?” Dillard called to Don as he raced past his brother.

  “Ah -- ah -- sure it was!” Don lied. “I seed him up real close,” he puffed, trying to keep up with Dillard. “Keep runnen fer home. Ifen Mama wants more berries picked to dry to use later on, she can send Lue or Sid next time.”

  “That's all right with me,” Bess panted as she ran along side Don.

  The rustling of grass and loud voices woke Jasper up. He stood, stretched and looked over the tall grass. He realized the children were running for home without him. He took off after them.

  “Me too,” Dillard yelled back at Don and Bess as Jasper caught up to him then ran along side the boy. Dillard tried hard not to spill the berries bouncing up and down in his pail. After all, he wanted to make it home with what berries he had so Mama could make him that cobbler he wanted so bad. He just hoped he had picked enough berries to make one.

  Chapter 11

  The Brush Arbor Revival

  The hot sun glared down on the Bishop family. All of them dressed in their Sunday best as they walked along the dry country road. With each step Bess took to keep up with her family, she watched fine, red, dust puff up, powdering her shoes. Pap had blackened all their shoes last night with soot from the inside of the heating stove lid. Now no one would be able to tell it by the time they arrived at the revival.

  The blue dress with all different sizes of white circles Bess wore, though clean, had faded from years of use so that the edges of the circles widened to blend into the blue. It had once been Cass’s but as long as the dress lasted, each of the girls would get a chance to wear it. At one time, Bess thought it was a pretty dress when she choose it from the pile of hand me downs. The large, medium and small white circles scattered over the blue background reminded her of the sudsy bubbles along side the spring where the water bumped into a rock and churned before it ran down the creek.

  “I'm glad this moring is the last revival meeten. By the end of the week, Preacher Irby's sermons stretch out longer and longer. I get so tired of sitten on em hard slab benches all that time,” complained Bess.

  “Now, Bess, all in all this has been a good revival as revivals go. Be thankful the Lord has provided us with tolerable weather and there's been a respectful turnout,” Jacob commented, switching Lydia from one hip to the other. “Besides it only lasts a week and its about over now,” he muttered under his breath in Bess's direction.

  “Jacob, I heard that. Behave yerself!” Nannie admonished with a shake of her head at her husband and Bess to dry up the grin on their faces.

  When the family came around the last bend in the road, they saw horse teams tied to the tree branches close to the brush arbor. To make the arbor, four corner posts had been set in the clearing. A layer of smaller poles tied together across the top of the posts, and the top of this framework was covered by the leafy brush cut from the poles. A red kerosene lantern hung on each of the four corner posts for light during the evening services.

  Bess looked over the congregation already seated. Most of the children liked to sit toward the back away from their parents watchful eyes. Bess spied Bertha Ramsey. “There's Bertha. Lillie and Alma, let's go sit by her.”

  “Member, I expect ya younguns to behave yerselves,” warned Nannie.

  “Yep, Mama,” they agreed in unison and scattered to find seats next to their friends.

  Bess motioned Bertha to scoot over so she and her sisters could sit down just as Preacher Basil Irby stood, holding up his hand for silence. “Good mornen, this fine mornen,” he boomed.

  “Good mornen, Preacher!” The crowd responded back.

  “Bow yer heads fer a prayer,” the preacher instructed.

  Head bowed, Bess twisted one way then the other on her seat, all the while wishing she could find a comfortable position. While she fidgeted, she felt the unlevel block of wood used for a leg on the seat she sat on rock back and forth under the end of the slab seat.

  The preacher ended his prayer, and Bess tried to turn her attention to his sermon. Enthusiastically, he shouted verses from the bible, fervently pacing back and forth. Because of the heat and how hard the preacher worked at his sermon, glistening sweat beads popped out on his forehead and trickled in a steam down the side of his face.

  Bess felt a wet tickle of sweat ooze down her cheek, too. She smeared it across the side of her face with the back of her hand, not minding the damp, cool feel that the little dab of moisture brought to her skin. Too late to move now since all the other seats are full, Bess thought, squinting to keep the sun beam out of her eyes that streamed down on her through a hole in the brush top.

  The roof had several places where rays of dusty light beamed down on the congregation. Holes made by rocks that had sailed through them the night before. Rocks thrown by three mischievous boys. They would arrived into the meeting grounds before everyone else and hid in the nearby trees. That night as darkness enveloped the arbor, the preacher nearing the end of his sermon suddenly stopped shouting and grabbed his right shoulder.

  That's when everyone heard the loud rustle of the dried leaf roof as the rocks shoot through to bounce off the congregation. Shrieks under the brush arbor mingled with blood curdling, Indian like war cries in the nearby tree tops. For a moment, the congregation froze to the spot, stunned, then people rushed out into the open. The women bunched their children up with them while Jacob and three other men grabbed the lanterns from the corner posts, lifting the lanterns high over their heads to illuminate the darkness.

  “There they be! Grab the rascals!” Jacob yelled as he spied the mischief makers sliding down the backside of the trees.

  Surrounded by men, the boys were taken to the front of the brush arbor. While the men held the struggling boys by their shirt collars, the preacher forced them each to face the now seated congregation. He demanded that the boys apologized to everyone before he'd let them go. Bess didn’t think the apologies sounded sincere, but she figured the boys were glad to make them just so they would be turned loose.

  Suddenly realizing the congregation was singing her favorite hymn, In The Garden, Bess tried to sing along, but all the while she watched the gentle ripple of the river behind Preacher Irby. In this heat, a swim in that cool water would feel right good about now, she thought, listening to the river whispering its invitation to her.


  The revival was held in the same place every summer, because the shallow spot in the river was just right for baptismal dunks. That event would take place for everyone to witness at the end of this sermon. Bess wondered who would come forward today. There had been several people in the congregation pronounce to be sinners and go forward at the end of the evening services throughout the week. She liked to watch Preacher Irby's baptisms, because she had the feeling he held some sinners under the water longer than others, depending on how great he felt the sins were he had to wash away.

  Smiling to herself, Bess was reminded of last summer's revival when Tutt Jones was baptized. Preacher was well aware of the degree of Tutt's sins. While he took his time shouting to the Lord to wash Tutt’s sins away, the preacher held his head under so long that Tutt’s arms flapped up and down in the water as he struggled to come up for air.

  Finally, he shook free of the preacher's grasp and came up spitting water, coughing and sputtering as he gasped for breath. His face was as beet red as his bloodshot eyes when he glared at the preacher.

  The congregation grew quiet. Everyone knew Tutt well enough to know even though he had just supposedly gotten religion, he wasn’t a person to cross. Finally, a nervous giggle from amid the congregation broke Tutt's concentration on the preacher. He must have decided as he looked over the crowd that he was outnumbered if he thought about doing anything to the preacher. He wadded slowly out of the river and without a word to anyone walked toward home.

  Tutt didn't come to the revival this year. Mama said she reckoned that last year's meeting was probably enough religion to last Tutt for the rest of his natural life. She suspicioned that he had only come for the free meal anyway and got caught up in the moment. Bess figured Mama was probably right. She had Tutt pegged most of the time.