My Children Are More Precious Than Gold

by Risner, Fay

  “Cain't hep that. We had our turn and then some. Come on, Jacky.” Bess watched wistfully while Alma and Jacky ran to join the fun around the smokehouse.

  Arms full of wood, Jimmy Bob returned. He threw a stick at the fire under the kettle then dropped the rest, scattering it on the ground.

  “Jimmy Bob, don't throw that wood down like that. Ya jest got ashes all over my apron.”

  “So? It will wash.”

  “Wash day's not fer two days yet. I'll jest have to turn it over and use the clean side when we're done, but I'll know it has ashes all over it on the underside,” growled Bess.

  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.

  “Nuthen over at Spring Hollow,” mused Cass, “Cept the Brown’s place.”

  Looking uncomfortable, Jacky concentrated on husking the ear of corn in his hands. Lue could see that Cass was close to the truth, and he couldn’t resist pushing on. “How’s that Miss Mary Jane Brown these days? I heared tell she’s growed up right pretty with that curly hair of hers as yellow as gold and those spring water, blue eyes that sparkle like diamonds.”

  Jacky, a red blush creeping up his neck and across his face, stole a sideways glance at Cass, and a pained expression crossed his face as he saw she glare at him.

  “So it was Mary Jane ya went to see, was it? I hope ole Man Simmon’s haunt gets ya next time ya go over there!”

  Swinging the corn stalk she held, Cass struck Jacky behind the knees, causing his slender frame to buckle backward and slide seat first into an empty pail behind him. The force of Jacky’s fall tipped the pail over causing him to collide nosily with the line of full pails and baskets, sending them scattering in all directions, spilling ears of corn.

  Laying on his back up to his waist in the bucket with only the bottom half of his long legs protruding out of the pail, Jacky’s dusty, bare feet kicked frantically in the air. Helplessly doubled over with laughter, the Bishop boys were unable to control themselves long enough to rescue him. His arms were thrashing about as Jacky rolled over and then tried to stand while doubled up in the bucket. He slipped on the ears of corn rolling underfoot which sent him colliding with the pile of baskets and pails again, sending them scattering. The sight caused the boys to go into a renewed spasm of laughter.

  The sounds of raucous laughter along with the noise of tin crashing against tin caused the members of the other teams to glance around. To them it looked like the Bishop boys were fooling around instead of working. The commotion seemed to be over the Tyler boy trying to get unstuck from a pail he had sat in which didn’t seem all that amusing to the others. The teams resumed husking as fast as they could, determined to get ahead while the Bishops goofed off.

  Bess watched her brothers laugh at Jacky, and she was standing close enough to hear Cass fume under her breath, “Serves ya right, Jacky Tyler!”

  With the other team still in action, Bess felt this horseplay had gone on long enough. “Boys, please hep Jacky out of that bucket so ya can get this corn picked up and get back to husken. How can our team win if yer goen to keep this foolen around up?”

  At Bess’s suggestion of losing, the boys calmed down, looked around at the other teams hard at work and decided Bess was right. Sid and Lue sprang to help Jacky out of the pail.

  “Are ya all right, Jacky?” Asked Sid.

  “Sure.” Jacky nodded sheepishly, rubbing the places that smarted behind his knees where Cass had struck him with the corn stalk. He squatted down to pick up the spilled ears. The rest of the team went back to work on the pile. After all, everyone wanted this husking bee over no matter who
won so they could get to all the good food and the hoe down.

  Vowing never to speak to that no good Jacky Tyler again, Cass moved down on the far end of the line and turned her friendliest smile on a newcomer to the area. She reached for a stalk, pulled the golden ear out of the shucks, and wondered to herself if the man, working beside her, was a good dancer.

  Through all the fuss, Jennie May never missed a beat. Her blue eyes widening in amazement at the fun and clatter as her fingers flew over the strings, ever livelier to fit the action.

  Chapter 16

  The Bee Tree

  Dillard pitched a wooden tinged, pitch fork full of loose hay down through the loft opening into Daisy’s manger. She moved her head slightly to the side, keeping her eyes shut as she tried to avoid being hit by the hay while she continued to munch. Don, his head resting against her flank, sat on a small three legged stool that all but disappeared under him except for the bottom of the legs. Streams of milk shot into the pail under Daisy as Don gripped the teats. He took comfort from the wispy vapor that hovered over the pail, because it warmed his hands as the squirts of milk swished rapidly into the pail. It created a fluffy foam which threatened to run over the bucket’s rim before Don finished milking.

  Lue and Sid got an armload of ear corn from the bin to give to the work horses, and in the loft, Dillard moved over above the horse stall to pitch hay into their managers. Looking down at his brothers, Dillard stabbed a pile of hay with his pitch fork, but instead of picking the fork up, he stopped and leaned against the long handle.

  With a worried look on his small, round face, he said, “Sid, do ya think Mama’s real sick? I figure she must be to let the girls cook and her stay in bed all the time like she does.”

  “She’s not feelen too good that’s fer sure, but she’s not sick exactly,” hedged Sid.