The Seven Wonders of Sassafras Springs

by Betty G. Birney

  Well, the two of us walked and climbed and searched and explored but we didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. At this rate, at the end of seven days I’d have an empty tablet and a dog full of cockleburs.

  I sat down and tried to pick the ornery stickers out of Sal’s fur and she licked my hand in thanks.

  “Well, girl, guess we better keep on looking.” Then I remembered part of a verse I’d heard last week in Sunday school. “He that seeketh findeth.” That sounded encouraging. I recalled another part of that chapter said, “Ask, and it shall be given you.”

  Maybe finding Wonders would require some asking, though speaking up did not come naturally to me, as Aunt Pretty liked to point out.

  I craned my neck and glimpsed the very top of Redhead Hill, trying to imagine how much higher Silver Peak Mountain would be.

  “Come on, girl,” I told Sal, as I stood up and brushed off the seat of my trousers. “Let’s go seek and find some Wonders.”

  The farthest farmhouse belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Orville Payne. Once a month or so I saw Mrs. Almeta Payne in our parlor, along with half a dozen other ladies from the church sewing circle. How their needles kept up with their tongues was a mystery to me, but I thought I’d call on Mrs. Payne and see if she had anything astonishing to show me.

  There were two windows on the front of the Payne house, one on each side of the door. With the shades pulled halfway down, they looked like a pair of sleepy eyes. I took a deep breath and knocked. It was dead quiet inside.

  I thought Mrs. Payne might be out back and went to check. As I rounded the side of the house, I practically ran smack into Mr. Payne, and he wasn’t pleased to see me. Neither was his huge dog, who bared his yellow teeth at Sal. She stood her ground but kept quiet, as the Payne dog was double her size. Sal was brave but she wasn’t stupid.

  Orville Payne was a tall man—so tall that when I looked up at him I could see clear inside his nostrils. They were flaring like an angry bull’s.

  “What you doing here?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

  “Why, looking for Mrs. Payne. It’s me, Eben McAllister.”

  He frowned and blew his red nose on a ragged bandanna. “Why ain’t you home with your pa?”

  “Well, sir, I’m looking around Sassafras Springs for a Wonder. You know, like a Wonder of the World?”

  Mr. Payne spit on the ground. “More like you’re nosing around to see if anybody has anything worth stealing. Now you git out of here and stay out. I don’t want boys like you snooping around my house. Go on, now!”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. As Sal and I hightailed it out of there, my heart was leaping around in my chest.

  Folks in Sassafras Springs were usually friendly enough, but they expected their neighbors to mind their own business, which did not include asking about Wonders.

  When we were out of Orville Payne’s sight, I stopped to catch my breath. I was ready to give up and go home. I decided I’d try keeping my eyes open for Wonders while keeping my mouth shut.

  On the way back down the hill, I rounded a bend and saw somebody waving at me, friendly-like. I waved back.

  When Sal and I got closer, I saw that the arm was really the sleeve of a dress hanging on a wash line along with shirts and “unmentionables,” as Aunt Pretty called underwear. They were outside the house where Mrs. Pritchard, my Sunday school teacher, lived.

  Just then, Mrs. Pritchard herself stepped out from behind the wash and waved. She was small and round: round face, round curls, big round flowers on her dress. Neat as a pin, Aunt Pretty would say.

  “Is that you, Eben?” she called.

  Sal raced ahead but I was in no hurry. The house was so small, I don’t know how the Pritchards raised a family in it. Aunt Pretty said Mrs. Pritchard had no business putting on airs and graces when her house was no better than anybody else’s. Not that anyone would know, since it was about as hard to get invited into the Pritchards’ house as to be admitted through the Pearly Gates.

  I didn’t exactly expect to find a Statue of Zeus hiding behind the picket fence.

  “Howdy,” I said when I finally reached the wash line, feeling kind of shy. It didn’t seem right to be standing next to my Sunday school teachers bloomers. She asked how Pa was and how Aunt Pretty was and how I was, all the while pulling down sun-dried pillowcases and folding them.

  “We’re all fine, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Pritchard liked to get right to the point. “Well, what can I do for you?”

  It was Mrs. Pritchard who’d taught me that Bible verse about asking and receiving, so I took a deep breath and summoned up a chunk of courage.

  “Maybe you could help me find something, ma’am. You see, I made a bet with Pa.”

  “I do not approve of gambling.” Mrs. Pritchard’s voice was firm. “Neither does the Good Book.” The woman looked harmless, but one time she caught Albert Bowie making faces behind her back during class. She yanked his ear hard until he cried “uncle.” Albert’s acted like a genuine angel ever since, at least on Sunday mornings.

  “Not a gambling kind of bet,” I explained. “I’m trying to find a Wonder here in Sassafras Springs. A man-made Wonder. Something amazing and awe-inspiring.” I stopped to draw a breath. “Like the pyramids—but it doesn’t have to be that big.”

  “What a funny idea,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “I think you are on a fool’s errand looking for Wonders around here! Better you go home and study that Sunday school lesson. Book of Mark, Chapter four, Verse thirty. The Parable of the Mustard Seed. Study that, Eben, instead of bothering folks for Wonders.”

  Clutching the pillowcases close to her chest, she walked toward her house.

  “See you on Sunday,” I called to her. Sal had already beat me to the road.

  I hated to think of that train to Colorado leaving the station without me, but I didn’t hold out a lot of hope. My mind was fixed on snow-covered mountains, so Sal heard her calling before I did.

  “Come back, Eben McAllister! Come on back here!”

  Suddenly Mrs. Pritchard was racing down the road after me.

  “I just remembered something! Don’t know how it slipped my mind.” Mrs. Pritchard was a mite plump, so she was breathing hard by the time she caught up with me. “I don’t have some fancy pyramid. But if you want to see the greatest Wonder of this world or any other, well, just follow me. Don’t dawdle, now!”

  She marched to her house like a soldier, and you can bet I followed her. I didn’t want to get my ear pulled.

  “Not you,” I told Sal when we got to the door. Sal’s not one to get her feelings hurt. She lay down in the cool shade outside as I stepped through the doorway. Wouldn’t Aunt Pretty be surprised to know I was being invited into the Pritchard house! Wouldn’t she like to know every last detail!

  Mrs. Pritchard went straight to a tall cabinet, opened a drawer, and picked up something wrapped in tissue paper. “I haven’t shown this to anyone in years. But you asked for a Wonder. Eben, you’ll never see more of a Wonder than this.” She carefully peeled back the paper.

  The shriveled-up face staring at me sent shivers up my spine. I knew it was an applehead doll, but it reminded me of the shrunken head I’d seen in my exploring book.

  Aunt Pretty told me that when she was growing up, the only dolls country girls had were made of rags, dried apples, or clothespins. Mrs. ( Pritchard’s doll had yellow yarn hair, an old-fashioned dress, and two hollows carved out of the leathery apple for eyes. Why anybody—even a girl—would take a fancy to a doll was beyond me, but this one was something special. This one was ugly as sin.

  “I see you don’t fully appreciate Miss Zeldy,” said Mrs. Pritchard. “Still, I promise you, this doll is a Wonder, formed by the hand of man with a spirit that goes beyond anything man can understand.”

  She cradled the doll and sat down. “Only a doll, you may be thinking, Eben. An old woman’s doll at that. However, once you hear Miss Zeldy’s story, even a young man like you will sit up and take notice.”r />
  I was already taking notice, especially when Mrs. Pritchard held Zeldy on her knee like some hideous child. I half expected the doll to start talking. I felt those hollowed-out eyes staring right through me and the hairs on the back of my neck tingled.

  Mrs. Pritchard pointed to a hard green sofa opposite her. “Sit down now, Eben McAllister, and pay attention to what I have to say,” she ordered me.

  So I sat. Because when folks in Sassafras Springs start to tell a story, it’s likely to take a while.

  Mrs. Pritchard’s Story

  Miss Zeldy’s Message

  I grew up over on Lead Ridge. My papa was the preacher there. You didn’t know I was a preacher’s daughter, did you? Papa was an educated man, been to Seminary. He read books, even though we didn’t have two pennies to rub together, ministering to the poor miners. We thought we were as rich as kings, the way Mama sewed and cooked. Papa was handy too, carving up tops and other toys for us. Most years at Christmas, we were lucky enough to get an orange, a peppermint stick, and a new pair of socks or a handkerchief embroidered with Mamas fine stitching—more than most. Not like you young people today who get store-bought gifts.

  In spite of Mama’s good care I was a sickly child and always small for my age. One year, when I was about six, I guess, a cough took hold of me and wouldn’t let go. Mama tried everything: red alder bark tea, hot water with onion juice. Once Mama even made Papa get me a little whiskey to drink in hot water. It would have been a scandal if his congregation found out, but they were desperate to cure me. How people get to liking the taste of spirits, I’ll never know. And I certainly hope you resist that temptation!

  Anyway, Mama’d rub my chest with a mixture of kerosene, turpentine, camphor, and lard. Still, my cough got stronger and my body got weaker. My folks didn’t think I’d last through the winter. Until I took sick, I slept upstairs with my sisters where it was cold as the devils heart. So Mama fixed me a bed downstairs in front of the stove, trying to keep me warm, and Papa carried me wherever I needed to go.

  Around Thanksgiving the coughing got worse. At Thanksgiving dinner after Pa said grace, Ma choked up and got tears in her eyes.

  “I don’t feel as thankful as I might,” she said.

  “Be thankful she’s still here, Libby,” Pa told her.

  I knew he was talking about me.

  A while later they got the doctor to come. He had the sad look of a man who’s given up. When he took Mama and Papa aside to talk, he shook his head, like there was nothing he could do.

  “The fever’s taken hold. If only she’d been stronger to start with,” I heard him say. “She’s in the Lord’s hands now.”

  Sure enough, I had a fever that left me shaking one minute and burning up the next. In between I dreamed that I was floating in the air, right up near the rafters of the room.

  On Christmas Eve, like in a dream, I heard Papa tell Mama to pray with him that I’d make it to Christmas morning. It was a rough night, and Mama never left my side a minute. The next day when I woke up, the first thing I laid eyes on was my stocking. Peeking up over the top was my very own baby doll. My precious Miss Zeldy.

  Oh, and there was a tiny chair and bed for her, carved by Papa. Mama had made her all kinds of hats and aprons and such. Pretty things—even a coat with a real fur collar. I thought Miss Zeldy was the most beautiful doll in the world. Little did I know what power she held.

  I cuddled her and kissed her. Papa teased me by calling me Little Mama. I liked that. I thought of Miss Zeldy as my own baby, as much as any of my six children were later on. That’s the gospel truth.

  That night at bedtime I heard Mama tell Papa, “She made it through the day! That doll has worked a miracle.”

  Of course, he reminded her that only the Lord can work a miracle. Mama said she didn’t care who made the miracle, she only cared that I was alive. I’d never heard Mama talk back to Papa like that before.

  I rocked Miss Zeldy and tucked her in her bed next to mine. I left a thimble full of water next to her tiny bed, like my Mama left a cup of water by my bed. And later, when my fever rose and I felt that floating feeling again, I reached over and held on to Miss Zeldy.

  No matter how much I loved my doll, I still kept getting weaker and weaker. When Mama put a piece of flannel cloth on my chest with the kerosene and turpentine remedy on it, I made her put one on Miss Zeldy, too. Every night I put out her thimble of water and kissed her good night.

  Sometime between Christmas and the New Year, the doctor came to call, and he still had that sad look.

  “Her heart is weak,” I heard him tell Mama and Papa. “Keep praying, but you’d best prepare for the worst.”

  It was odd, because even though I could hear them talking, I felt like I was floating on a cloud above them. What they said didn’t seem to have anything to do with me.

  Floating felt nice. I was drifting farther and farther away, like I was gliding up to heaven. I’d always liked to watch the barn swallows soar and swoop across the sky. That’s what I was doing, soaring and swooping, flying farther and farther away from Earth.

  Then I heard a voice. Although I’d never heard it before, I knew right away who that voice belonged to.

  “Little Mama, I’m thirsty! Little Mama, I want something to drink!” the voice called.

  I didn’t like being interrupted. I wanted to float forever. But that funny voice kept calling me.

  “Wake up, Little Mama, I need a drink. Give me a drink now, Mama, please!”

  She was thirsty, you see? And I had to be a good mother like my own mama was. I had to stop floating and come back down to Earth and get Miss Zeldy a drink. I was as certain of it then as I am now. When I opened my eyes, her thimble of water had tipped over and was bone dry.

  I sat straight up in bed, like I’d never been sick, and from that minute on I got better and better.

  The doctor said I was just out of my head until the fever broke. Papa called it a miracle and preached about it in church. When I tried to tell them I’d heard Miss Zeldy, they smiled and said it was the sickness.

  “Why won’t anyone believe it was my doll?” I moaned in frustration.

  “I believe you,” Mama said. She kissed me good night and she kissed Zeldy too. I’ve never forgotten that she believed that this humble doll came to life for a few sweet moments to save my life.

  Yes, young man, to this day I know I wouldn’t have ever awakened in the glory of this world again if she hadn’t called for that water. I wouldn’t have married Hank Pritchard, raised six healthy children, and taught Bible stories to young folks like you.

  The doll’s a Wonder of the world—maybe not of this world but of the next one. You write that down, Eben McAllister. When I tell you this is a Wonder, you’d better listen. Because just as miracles were worked with loaves and fishes, one was worked through this doll. If anybody says it’s not true, you have them come talk to me.

  There was no arguing with Mrs. Pritchard when she took that tone. I picked up my tablet and began to write. Even though her story was peculiar, by jiggers, it amazed me, and it might even get me to Colorado.

  Even so, I knew that I couldn’t ever sit in Sunday school again without seeing that shriveled-up face and those hollow eyes. I decided not to think about it for a while.

  Instead I flew back down the hill with Sal at my heels as if there was no such thing as gravity to hold me to the earth.

  Day Two Jeb Joins In

  “Did you bring us one of those big statues for the yard?” Aunt Pretty asked at dinner that night.

  I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “She means a Wonder, son,” said Pa.

  I wasn’t ready to share that crazy doll story, not yet. I knew Aunt Pretty would want to know all about the curtains and fancy doodads at the Pritchards’, but I hadn’t noticed a thing but the doll.

  “I’m going to wait and see what I’ve got at the end of the week,” I told them.

  “Oh, and you just know I hate to w
ait,” Aunt Pretty fussed.

  Pa changed the subject. “Mighty fine eats. Eben may sail the seven seas, but he’ll never find as fine a cook as you, Pretty.”

  I looked down at the plate of ham, boiled beans and fluffy biscuits. I knew a peach pie was waiting on the windowsill. “Yessir,” I agreed.

  For an instant I felt a pang, picturing myself in Tokyo or Timbuktu, craving one of my aunts peach pies.

  Aunt Pretty said, “Oh, go on now,” and plopped a big heap of beans on my plate. “Have some seconds.”

  I didn’t want to disappoint her, no sir, so I had my second helping and put Timbuktu clean out of my mind.

  When you’re weeding corn, up one row and down the next, you have a lot of time to think. So all Thursday morning I thought of that faraway mountain in Silver Peak, Colorado. The more weeds I dug up, the higher that mountain got. With one Wonder under my belt, I was itching to go in search of more, but Pa was working extra hard and I didn’t have the heart to ask to take time off.

  Around half past three, Pa stopped abruptly. “That’s enough, Eben,” he said. “I won’t be needing you till milking time.”

  I didn’t waste a second. I splashed the dust off my face at the pump and took a nice long drink. I checked that my paper and pencil were in my back pocket and headed for Yellow Dog Road with Sal tagging along. When I reached the edge of the Austins’ farm, Jeb came racing toward me, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  “Wait up! I’m coming with you!”

  I looked around. “Where’s the rest of the brood?”

  “Maggie said she’d watch them, but I’ve got to dry the dishes tonight in her place.” Jeb didn’t want to waste time talking about chores. “Any luck with those Wonders?”

  I thought his big brown eyes would pop right out of his face when I told him about Mrs. Pritchard. “A doll? What kind of a Wonder is that?”

  “A doll that saved somebody’s life!” I told him. “I think that’s a Wonder, even if it is a peculiar one. You got any better ideas?”