by Alan Black
The Friendship Stones
(An Ozark Mountain Series)
Book One
by
Alan Black and Bernice Knight
THE FRIENDSHIP STONES is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or a used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The Publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
2013 Copyright by Alan Black
Cover Art by Amy Black
Cover Photo by Duann Black
Thanks to Dee Gormley and Duann Black for their editing services
All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Dedication and Acknowledgements
Chapter Sunday - Early Morning
Chapter Sunday - Morning
Chapter Sunday - Mid-Morning
Chapter Sunday - Noon
Chapter Sunday - Afternoon
Chapter Sunday - Late Afternoon
Chapter Sunday - Later Afternoon
Chapter Sunday - Evening
Chapter Monday - Morning
Chapter Monday - Late Afternoon
Chapter Monday - Later Afternoon
Chapter Tuesday - Morning
Chapter Tuesday - Afternoon
Chapter Tuesday - Late Afternoon
Chapter Tuesday - Evening
Chapter Wednesday - Late Afternoon
Chapter Wednesday - Later Afternoon
Chapter Wednesday - Much Later Afternoon
Chapter Wednesday - Evening
Chapter Thursday - Noon
Chapter Friday - Morning
Chapter Saturday - Morning
Chapter Saturday - Noon
Chapter Next Sunday - Morning
Glossary
About the Author
Other Books by Alan Black
Praise for Other Books
Dedication :
For my mother, Fern Esther Wikoff Hoffman, 1906 to 2000 -- Bernice Knight
And to my grandmother, Fern Esther Wikoff Hoffman who lived in and loved the Ozark Mountains for many years. -- Alan Black
Authors note: See the glossary at the end of the book. These words have been cross hyperlinked for your convenience.
S UNDAY - EARLY MORNING
Something woke LillieBeth with a start in the early morning gray. She listened to the cabin sounds, but did not hear anything. She might have awakened because she was tired of sleeping. That did not seem to be the case.
Last night Elizabeth ‘LillieBeth’ O’Brien Hazkit had been working to memorize her Sunday school scripture as she drifted off to sleep. This morning her ears strained for unusual sounds, but her thoughts flipped back to the ‘love your neighbor’ scripture. She did love their neighbor and landlord, the old widow Bailey. She even loved the McMahons who lived the next place over, though they were not good Methodists like her and her parents. They were not even Baptists like Mrs. Bailey. They were Roman Catholics. No one else lived really close.
Memorizing parts of the Bible was not just her desire. She knew it to be a necessity. To live rightly by the Word of God, one must know and understand the Word of God. She was torn between working to memorize the scripture and going back to sleep until sunrise.
She had almost drifted back to sleep when it happened again. Her eyes flew open at the thumping noise just above her head. She kicked the covers away from her feet, jumped from bed, grabbed her five-foot pig-staff leaning against the wall at the foot of her bed. A quick peek around the attic steps and there it was; the cause of the noise.
A roof rat was trying to wrestle a stolen potato up the stairs. The potato was as big as the rat. Halfway up, it would drop the potato, causing the spud to bounce down the steep stairs, thumping on every step. LillieBeth’s bed was under the attic stairs and the banging was more than an annoyance.
She wanted to bash the rat in the head with her pig-staff, but she did not. It wasn’t because she didn’t like rat meat. Rat meat was okay when Mama boiled it up in a stew. It wasn’t because it was an old potato, even though the potato was the last of last year’s crop and it was all the potato they had until a new crop came in. She did not bash it because it was still before dawn and she did not want to wake up Mama. Her mother had been sick in the mornings and LillieBeth thought it best to let Mama sleep.
She poked at the rat with the pig-staff. It looked back defiantly for a second. Then it quickly scampered away up the steps and back into the attic. LillieBeth slipped up the steps, pulled the attic trapdoor shut and latched it closed. She picked up the potato and dusted it off. Even in the pale light of the pre-dawn hour, she should see teeth marks Mama would have to cut away.
LillieBeth smiled and swung the pig-staff with a whoosh. She wondered if she should use her pig-staff on the Braunawall boys the next time they came around. Daddy would go after them with his shotgun if he ever caught them trying to corner her and paw at her as they did before. The staff idea would be better for Daddy. He had already had his fill of killing back in 1918 during the Great War. Putting the gun to Trance and Dangle Braunawall would not improve his nightmares. It was strange the Braunawalls never came around when Daddy was home from work, only when he had been gone for a few days.
She did not think the Braunawalls meant any real harm. She would not have been able to stop them if they really meant to hurt her. She knew what they wanted, but she was only twelve years old. There were enough young women their own age to go panting after. The Ozark Mountains were full of young women itching to get married and there were plenty of young widows whose husbands had not come home from the war. There were also many widows who did not worry about such niceties as a marriage before a preacher.
LillieBeth shook her head. It did not make sense to come chasing around her. She still had another year or two years before she became of marrying age. It was true her breasts were starting to strain against her dress, but that did not make her a woman yet. She was pretty in her own way, if someone was not too put off by plain brown hair plaited into a single plain braid, plain brown eyes and more freckles than bare skin. She had too much of her father’s blood in her to ever be a beauty like her mother.
She put the potato in the bin and closed the lid. A heavy pot from the stove set on top the bin lid would act as a weight. She smiled thinking that if the roof rat could get through the attic trap door, move the pot, open the lid and drag the potato out, then it probably earned the potato. After eating a potato, the rat would be all the fatter for it when she finally did chase it down for supper.
She glanced up at the calendar on the wall. It was still too early to see the picture of the red roses in the white vase, but the pale glow from the eastern window stretched across the room to light enough of the calendar to read the date, 1916. The calendar was four years old, but Mama said the picture was too pretty to take down. Being able to see well enough to read the date was LillieBeth’s cl
ue it was coming on to dawn, and near enough time to get up.
The water bucket on the kitchen counter was still full from last night. Filling the bucket was one chore already accomplished this morning. It was not a hard chore since the water well was just outside the sunset door. A quick sip from the bucket using her own tin cup was all she needed, so she splashed the rest of the water in her cup on her face, neck and behind her ears. A kitchen rag worked fine to scrub and dry at the same time. She put the tin cup back carefully in its place on the nail. It was her personal cup. Mama and Daddy had given her a matched set of cups last year for her twelfth birthday. She was too grown up to share a cup with Mama and she had a cup of her own for use at school, on the few days she went.
She slipped out of her night gown, hanging it on a wall peg and dropped her work dress over her head. It was Sunday, but there were chores to do before getting into her good dress. She shook out her boots, watching for any bugs that fell out, and slipped them on. She took the time to clean her bedroom. It did not take long. She pulled the blanket up on the bed and smoothed it down. She unhooked the curtain tacked to the attic stringer and let it hang. Her Sunday dress hung on a wall peg along with her nightie.
Under the bed was her box of possessions. She had her doll, a copy of the four gospels, a harmonica and her collection of Sunday school scripture cards. She loved all four of the items. Daddy had made her doll when she was small and it seemed she had had it forever. She loved reading the gospels even when Mama forced her to practice her reading. She loved the harmonica Daddy and Mama had gotten her for Christmas last year. Someday she would learn to play it if she could find someone to teach her. She loved her Sunday school scripture cards and saved them each week, working to memorize every one for recitations the following week.
She grabbed a twig from a small pile on the dry sink set against the sunrise wall. She spun about as she used the twig to clean her teeth. It was still too dark to see herself in the mirror above the sink. She glanced at the north door to Daddy and Mama’s bedroom. Mama would be getting up soon, but the door remained shut. Her parent’s bedroom was not much more than a lean-to shoved up against their log cabin. It was a snug lean-to since Daddy had dug into the hillside to keep the floor of the bedroom level with the floor of the cabin.
The cabin was perched on a hillside, with its back end jammed into the Ozark red clay and rocky hillside. The front porch, facing south, was five feet above the ground. LillieBeth grinned; this was the first year of her life she had to duck to walk under the porch. She did not need to duck far to make room between her head and the porch floor, but any room at all meant she was growing up.
The west door, or the sunset door, led to the deep, cold water well, just off the kitchen area of their two-room cabin, three rooms if she counted her curtained off room under the stairs. The doorway was close to the wood burning fireplace they used to heat and to cook. It was still too dark to see the two pictures over the mantle. She did not know the older folks in either picture, since they were long dead before she came along, but she knew their faces intimately. The one on the right was Daddy’s parents, Grandpa and Grandma Hazkit. The left picture was Mama’s parents when she was no older than LillieBeth. Grandfather and Grandmother O’Brien had given LillieBeth her middle name and they had given LillieBeth her mama.
Both sets of grandparents seemed to stare down at the wood box that was LillieBeth’s job to keep filled. She had filled the wood box from the outside pile on the west side of the house before going to bed last night. That was another chore already done this morning.
She grabbed her pig-staff and continued brushing her teeth as she slipped out the sunrise door. It was a short walk to the outhouse. She did not need her pig-staff in the outhouse nor did she expect to run into the Braunawalls this early, but she did have chores to do and it was a pleasant spring morning to be up, about and doing.
She tossed away the tooth twig and raced up the path to the outhouse. She was glad for the warming spring weather. A trip to the outhouse was not so unpleasant that anyone would have needed to use the chamber pots in the cabin. That was a chore she would not have to tackle this morning.
When finished, she ran down the hill. She ignored the path between the cabin and the road, but dodged around the scrub oak and loblolly pines growing all around. The old widow Bailey’s place was out of sight from their house, but it was just across the road. She was about to leap over the corral fence around their mule shed, but stopped. There were two mules in the shed. Daddy was home.
Daddy always rode one of the mules to work and left the other for Mama and LillieBeth. Then he would switch out mules and take the other one the next week. Each trip was to a different place depending on where the work was for that week.
Sure as daylight in the morning, Ruth stood next to her sister Naomi. Just like their Biblical namesakes in the Biblical book of Ruth, the two mules worked well together, a matched set, a duet of strength building upon strength, each one working harder than the other. In the Bible, Ruth and Naomi were not really sisters and neither were the Hazkit’s mules.
Ruth looked tuckered out. Daddy must have ridden hard to get home last night, because it took a lot of hard riding to tucker out a Missouri mule. Naomi looked up at LillieBeth as she raced past, but did not whinny or bray. She was a good mule, keeping quiet so her sister could sleep a little while longer.
LillieBeth cut across the road without looking. It always amused her to read in schoolbooks about children stopping to look before crossing a road. That was plain foolishness on this road because there would not be more than a half a dozen people pass by in a week or more. None of the passersby would be going faster than a quick walk in a slow buggy.
She did not slow down until she reached the gates to old widow Bailey’s goat pen. She was not breathing hard. After all, she practically ran everywhere she went and it had been downhill the whole way.
“Lazy goats,” she said. “It is past time to get up. Come on. Get lined up to be milked. I have things to do today. It is Sunday and Daddy is home. If I do not get my chores done here, then I cannot get my home chores done. And if I do not get my chores done at home, we will be late for church.”
LillieBeth liked working with the goats. They were her favorite chore, even though she liked old widow Bailey’s horse better than the goats. Each goat seemed to have an individual personality, some were affectionate, always nuzzling, always rubbing against her, always giving her wet, juicy goat kisses, some were impatient, wanting to return to grazing, to get the milking finished, to get back to napping, and some were indifferent, or stubborn, or down-right bossy as if they were miniature furry people.
She liked working with all of old widow Bailey’s animals. She especially liked the horse, as did most young girls her age. She liked the chickens, gathering the eggs, spreading feed and listening to the clucking, sounding as if they were a group of old women at a quilting bee. She even liked the pigs, when they behaved themselves. The pigs could be as ornery as the Braunawall boys could. The only thing the old boar ever seemed to think about was eating.
She thought about how, one day, maybe not too far in the future, when she was older and married; she would be doing these chores for her own critters; well, maybe not so much the pigs. Pigs were wonderful for all sorts of meats and other products, but they were just too smart for their own good.
She wondered if her children would enjoy the animals as much as she does. She could just picture all five of them helping her with the chores. Young Susie liked the goats the best. Little Jacob liked the horse, of course. Sarah was a wonder at finding hidden chicken eggs. Pearl, named after her friend at school, could be found toddling after her brother Jacob and the horse. Junior was off hunting with his father.
She had an easier time picturing her children than she did her children’s father. Trance Braunawall was such a handsome young man, but he seemed to be a little bit too tempted to seek out trouble. His brother, Dangle, was not quite as handsome, but
he was also a little nicer, not teasing her quite as often. There was also the young fellow, Pete, down at the feed store in Oasis. He was big and strong, hauling sacks of grain and hay bales without effort, but he wasn’t very handsome at all.
SUNDAY - MORNING
LillieBeth put the bucket of goat milk on old widow Bailey’s back porch. She set a board over the top and put a heavy rock on it. She was about to skip back down the steps, but stopped when the door opened.
The old widow Bailey said, “Good Lord, child. How is a body supposed to sleep with you banging around and getting those goats all riled up?”
“Good morning, Mrs. Bailey,” LillieBeth said. “They may be loud, but they gave you almost a full bucket today.”
“Really? Well, I guess I better send some home with you. Either that or I’ve got to throw it to the pigs. Since I heard your father coming home last night, he might like something to go into his coffee this mornin’.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bailey.” LillieBeth liked goat milk, but she knew Daddy did not. Mrs. Bailey’s goats only ate weeds. Weeds made their milk bitter in the spring. Not that it mattered, as they had not had real coffee in the house since Christmas time. The goat milk might improve the chicory and acorn tea Mama boiled up for Daddy. She always boiled in a bit of feverfew collected from the woods to help with Daddy’s headaches and occasionally some mugwort to help with his cough.
“You tell your father that rent is due, hear?”
LillieBeth nodded, “I sure will. You be sure to mark the goat milk down in your rent book so we can pay for it right and proper.”
LillieBeth knew old widow Bailey would not forget to mark down anything in her book. She would not forget to charge them for the goat milk any more than she would forget to credit LillieBeth for doing the milking to get the goat milk.
