The Friendship Stones (An Ozark Mountain Series Book 1)

by Alan Black

  “Wild strawberries ripe yet?” Mrs. Bailey asked.

  LillieBeth said, “No. It looks like it will be another week or so. The berries still look a little too green.”

  “Green is good if’n you’re makin’ a pie, just have to add more sugar s’all.”

  LillieBeth disagreed, but did not say anything. Why buy sugar to add to a pie, when you could just wait a week and the fruit would be sweet enough by itself? Rather than disagree with an adult, she simply changed the subject.

  “Have you heard from your children?” LillieBeth smiled. That was always the easiest way to distract the old widow Bailey. The woman could talk about her children all day long.

  Mrs. Bailey’s son worked as a fishing guide for big city tourists down on Lake Taneycomo in Taney County, Missouri. Her daughter was the young widow Bailey. It was not that unusual for there to be a young and an old widow in the same family with so many young men who had not come back from the Great War in Europe. The young widow Bailey lived with her ex-sister-in-law up in Springfield and worked in a dry goods store. It always made LillieBeth laugh to think how old widow Bailey had one child who worked wet and one who worked dry.

  There must not have been much news from her children, because Mrs. Bailey ran out of words long before LillieBeth started squirming. The squirming was not a sign of boredom or disinterest. LillieBeth squirmed because she was just one of those squirmy youngsters.

  LillieBeth was surprised and a little disappointed when Mrs. Bailey quit talking. She was practicing to be a better listener like her teacher said she should. The old widow Bailey was a good one to listen to when practicing listening.

  “Boars next?” Mrs. Bailey asked.

  “Boars next. I brought my staff,” LillieBeth said. She turned and dashed across the yard to the pigpen. It was still early, but daylight was fighting its way through the trees. She opened the pen gate, swinging her pig-staff. She whacked the old boar across the nose to wake it up and whacked it again across the rump to get it moving. The hog grunted, heaved himself to his feet, trotted out of the pen and into the forest to dig for acorns and roots. His wives and offspring followed him.

  She said with a shout, “You and yours do not go far. Mrs. Bailey will not want to chase you halfway to the river come nightfall.”

  It did not take long to finish her other chores for Mrs. Bailey. She grabbed the lidded pail of goat milk off the back porch. She ran across the road to Naomi and Ruth’s corral, swinging the bucket of milk in a wide, straight-arm circle. She found she spilled only a tiny amount, keeping the milk trapped in the bottom of the bucket. Carrying it straight up made anything in the bucket slosh back and forth until it spilled over the rim.

  Ruth and Naomi’s home was a good shed and corral. Daddy had worked on it as soon as he had fixed the lean-to for him and Mama. The shed had three sides closed in to keep the winter hay, any grain, and the mule’s tack dry. The south wall was open with a long overhanging roof, giving the mules shade in the summer and a dry place to stand in the spring and winter. Daddy had extended a pole roof on the north side to keep their two-wheeled mule cart under cover.

  She vaulted the corral rails, balancing the milk pail with an experienced hand. She leapt on Naomi’s back, riding the mule up to the house and leading Ruth.

  She stopped Naomi beside the house. She leaned down and hung the pail of goat milk on the water well’s pump handle. She would take it into the house after she completed her outside chores.

  The mule did not wait for a command to move, but walked up the hill. Ruth trailed along behind. On a normal weekday, LillieBeth would have taken the mules to graze along the side of the road, tying them with long leads. They did not have pastureland around their cabin, so the mules fed on free grazing wherever she could find grass. Since it was Sunday, they would feed on hay. It was the remainder of their winter hay and with spring grasses fighting their way skyward in every sunny patch, the hay was past due using. The mules would get a handful of grain in their corral trough on Sundays as a reward for a good week’s labor, if Daddy had bought any grain.

  The only flat spot on the Hazkit place was near the back of their five-acre lot. Many years before someone had cleared the land, built a cabin and dug a well. That was long before old widow Bailey bought the place, had a new cabin built next to the well and rented it to the Hazkits.

  Before Daddy had gone off to the war, he had cleared the old cabin’s remains, using the rocks from its half-collapsed fireplace to build a water trough. Daddy, Mama and LillieBeth had struggled to clear the flat space of enough rocks to turn almost a full acre into a garden. It had provided well for Mama and LillieBeth while Daddy was gone to France. Even after he came home, year after year it still yielded more rocks than vegetables. LillieBeth figured, given enough time, they would eventually remove enough rocks to lower the garden so they would not have to walk uphill from the cabin to reach what vegetables did grow.

  LillieBeth tied both mules next to the trough and let them drink their fill. It did not look like it was going to rain at all, so while they were drinking she pulled the plug at the trough base. The water flowed from the trough and downhill into garden channels, watering each row. Once the trough was empty, she re-plugged it and began pumping it full again. The well was downhill from the pump, but Daddy had run a pipe to the trough. LillieBeth had to pump the water uphill; it was hard, but less taxing than carrying bucket after bucket up the rocky path. Even though she did not have to water the garden on rainy days, she still liked it when it was sunny.

  Today was Sunday and Daddy was home. They would be going to church and it was a long ride in the mule cart. She would put the mules in their traces after breakfast.

  She skipped down the hill to the house, stopping only to pick up rocks and throw them at imaginary indians, bandits, and since it was Sunday, all manner of evil doers, sinners and godless heathens. She grabbed the goat milk pail and an armful of firewood, and slipped into the kitchen through the open door.

  “What are you two doing smooching in the kitchen on a Sunday?” she said with a smile in her voice.

  “There’s my little scamp,” Daddy said.

  He grabbed her, picked her up and spun her around. Firewood flew everywhere. She managed to hold onto the milk pail and passed it off to Mama as she spun past her.

  “You smell like smoke, Daddy,” she said as she kissed him on the neck.

  “And you already smell like goats, pigs and that old mule,” Daddy said. “And on a church Sunday, too. That new circuit preacher will think we don’t ever bathe you.”

  Mama said, laughing, “I will have you know, Mister Hazkit; I get my daughter to bathe at least once every three or four years.”

  Daddy held all LillieBeth’s ninety pounds over his head, “That often? Wife, you will rub her skin right off with that much washing.”

  “Ah, Daddy. I got a bath last night,” LillieBeth said. “I am just as fresh as a sweet pea in the morning dew.”

  “And just as pretty, too.” He wrapped her in his left arm and grabbed his wife with his right. “Both my girls are just too pretty for words.”

  Mama kissed Daddy hard on the lips. He kissed back and then pushed them both away hard. He held up his hand to stop the conversation. He grabbed one of his knees and squeezed.

  “I, uh-h-h-h…” he said. His voice became raspy.

  Mama laid a hand on his back, but she did not move closer.

  “I…” he tried again and stopped. “Bath.” He pointed up the hill and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  LillieBeth heard him cough as soon as the door slammed shut. The cough was a cross between a wet hack and a dry heaving. It hurt her to listen to him struggling to clear his lungs and take a breath of clean air. Her mother said nothing. She turned away and began fixing biscuits for breakfast.

  Her father had not come home from the Great War in France the same man who left. Some German gas had gotten into his lungs. He had not breathed enough gas to kill him, just
enough to cause spasms and an occasional cough. The Army doctors had said there was nothing to do, but the clean, country air of the Ozarks should help. They dismissed him from the Army before the war was over and sent him home. The small ‘benefit’ they sent every month would not be enough to cover a doctor and medicine, that is if someone could have convinced Daddy to go to a doctor and take medicine.

  However, the Army doctors had not counted on the fact that there were no jobs in the Ozarks for veterans coming home from the war. The only work Daddy could find was with the Blue Oak Charcoal Company of Little Rock. Daddy spent five and a half to six days a week clearing stands of oak bought by the company. He and the other men cut it to lengths and stacked it in piles. Daddy was fine on the days they cut trees and stacked wood, it was hard work, but he could handle hard work. He could even put up with being far from home for six days a week, depending on where they were cutting. He would just ride Ruth or Naomi home as quickly as he could on his days off and then ride back just as fast, trading between mules every other week.

  His problems came on the days they fired the wood for charcoal. The smoke and charcoal dust got into his lungs, burning and irritating the scars left by the German gas. Some weeks he could hardly catch a breath. Now that the war was over, there were not enough jobs for the healthy men, let alone a man who was not well. Daddy kept working and he kept coughing.

  A new job opportunity had opened up since the first of the year. The onset of prohibition brought a fresh crop of moonshine stills springing up every month. It would be easy enough for Daddy to get on with someone making the raw corn who-hit-john or taking it to Springfield, Memphis, Little Rock or even as far away as St. Louis. Daddy did not like the idea of working against the law, even if it was a law he did not like. He kept making charcoal.

  The coughing was only part of what had changed with her father. Even after two years, he woke up screaming from nightmares, sweating and shaking so bad Mama could not hold him. All she could do would be to sit on the end of the bed and try to be there for him. LillieBeth had continued doing the family hunting duties as the sound of a gun still gave Daddy a start. She hunted when he was not home. He would laugh it off, but he would turn pale and could not force himself to pull the trigger, even on a squirrel.

  It was not that he had turned afraid. There was that time a few months ago when Sheriff Clayton Grissom brought Daddy home after work. The sheriff had lost his baby brother in the Argonne Forest, so he felt protective of war veterans. Sheriff Grissom was also the lay preacher at the Methodist Church and was just as protective of his own church members. Daddy had gotten mad at some tourists from St. Louis down near Lake Taneycomo. They had been laughing and making fun of the ‘country yokels’. Daddy had thrashed three of them so bad they had to call a doctor. It was as if Daddy had lost his hold on the reins to his anger. It would flare, die out and flare again at the silliest things.

  LillieBeth could hear her father trying to clear his lungs and catch a breath all the way up the hill to the garden trough. She prayed silently “Help him, God.” Her father was hurting. She did not know what else to do.

  SUNDAY – MID-MORNING

  LillieBeth sat on the back of the mule cart. Her legs swung as the cart bounced on the road. She had a small pile of rocks next to her. She would watch the woods with care, grab a rock and throw it at a Philistine. She was not sure why the Philistines were bad, but if Samson went after them with the jawbone of an ass, the least she could do was to fling a rock or two. Most of the time she missed her target as the cart bounced and rolled over the road that was more rocks than dirt.

  Mama and Daddy sat together on the front seat of the cart. LillieBeth listened carefully to Daddy’s breathing in between slaying Philistines. His voice was still raspy, but his coughing had eased off. Mama had taken a special drink to him as he soaked in his bath. She had brewed up a thick tea of mullein root and made Daddy drink it whether he liked the taste or not.

  Mama was not a healer. But she had made it a point to talk to anyone with knowledge of the healing arts since Daddy had come home from the war. Mullein root was not easy to find, but Mama and LillieBeth spent long hours in the woods. LillieBeth hunted for supper and Mama hunted roots and herbs. Yesterday, LillieBeth had harvested a squirrel for Saturday supper and two fat hares for their Sunday picnic lunch. Mama had harvested a fresh batch of mullein root, some feverfew, and a whole passel of elder for healing. Mama had also collected some dittany and wild sage for seasoning when she cooked. Plus, they had brought home enough wild greens for salads and side dishes to last until Tuesday.

  Mama and Daddy were holding hands, leaving the cart’s guidance to Naomi and Ruth. The mules knew the way to the church as well as any of the humans. The Methodist church used the community school for their meetings. The Baptists had a new church in Oasis, the little town down on the banks of the White River. The Baptists did not have to share their building with the town’s school as Oasis already had a school building. The Roman Catholics had put up a new building over in Eureka Springs. It was a long drive for the McMahons. They did not share their full-fledged cathedral with any school either, but the gossip was they were planning to build a school just for Catholic children.

  LillieBeth had never been to the Baptist Church in Oasis. She and Mama did not get into town very often. It was as far to Oasis as it was to her school and the Methodist church. She had never been to Eureka Springs. She would like to see the cathedral. She was not sure what a cathedral was, but it sounded exciting. Mama would have a fit if she heard that LillieBeth had set foot in a Catholic church.

  She spotted another Philistine hiding behind a bush and threw a rock at it. She missed again. She did not know what a real Philistine looked like, but the ones she saw had horns and a tail, just like old Beelzebub. She was not surprised Samson had used the jawbone of an ass to slay a whole army, because they were sure hard to hit with rocks.

  She closed her eyes and recited her Sunday school scripture. “Matthew 22:39. And the second is like unto it. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” It was an easy scripture to recite, but it was harder to understand than she would have thought. She was sure she loved her Mama and Daddy more than she loved herself, but they were not neighbors, were they?

  She did love the old widow Bailey. She did give up her own time to help the woman with her chores, and would have done so even if the woman did not give the Hazkits a discount on their rent. She always tried to be helpful. She did love the McMahons, even though she did not do anything for them. She certainly would be hurt if they were hurt. How was she to know if she loved them as she loved herself when she was not sure how much she loved herself?

  She would have asked their lay preacher, Sheriff Clayton Grissom. However this was a special Sunday; a circuit preacher was coming by. This month they were supposed to get the Right Reverent David James, a real ordained preacher. LillieBeth was looking forward to hearing a real preacher. Sheriff Grissom was full of fire and always took the time to explain things to anyone who asked, but he was only a lay minister.

  LillieBeth wanted to ask the preacher about the her scripture, but she would be too embarrassed to ask a real ordained man of God. Maybe she would ask Sheriff Grissom, even if he was not wearing his frocked preaching coat.

  She bounced high in the cart as it rolled through a deep rut in the road. Her dress flew up and she landed hard on her bottom. It was not ladylike, but she laughed. She almost yelled at Daddy to do it again, but she held her tongue as Mama and Daddy were hugging and smooching again. She smoothed her dress out and flung another rock, smacking the Philistine dead center in the forehead.

  “Take that, Goliath,” she said.

  She wondered what the new Sunday school scripture would be to memorize. She liked to memorize the scripture from the cards. It was easy. With the little cards, she did not have to sit down at a table and open the Bible. She could hang on to her card and run through the woods, chasing Yankees, carpetbaggers and all manner of bad
men. In the woods, she could shout her scripture at the top of her voice, trying to convert the squirrels and rabbits into being Methodists.

  She saw the big, grey boulder at the edge of the road. The next bend would bring them into the churchyard. She jumped up and stood behind Mama and Daddy. At the feel of her hands on their shoulders, they stopped spooning and looked up at her.

  She smiled and said, “We are almost there.”

  Daddy slapped the reins against Naomi’s back. He said, “Let’s just pick it up a bit and make an entrance shall we?”

  Mama grabbed his leg and said, “No racing on a Sunday, Arthur.”

  Daddy said, “These are mules, Mama. Racing is not in their blood.”

  LillieBeth said, “Daddy! Ruth and Naomi are good mules.”

  Daddy said, “I did not say they were not good mules, LillieBeth. But, they are not thoroughbreds. Racing is not in their blood. Hard work and a loyal heart is their lot in life.”

  They trotted into the churchyard. It only became a churchyard on Sunday. Monday through Friday, it was the schoolyard. Off to the side of the building was a set of swings and a row of teeter-totters, empty and unused on Sundays. No one would risk their Sunday clothes, tearing them, getting them dirty, or ruining them on the homebuilt, rough wood and unpainted equipment.

  Back along the far tree line was a pair of outhouses. The boys’ building had a star cut in the door. The girls’ building was a two-holer with a half moon cut into the door. Both outhouses had last year’s Sears, Roebuck and Company catalog hanging on twine for uses other than reading and looking at pictures.

  The community church and school building was a simple structure, whitewashed wood slats, shake roof, clear glass windows all brought together to make a multiple-functioning hall. It was almost a one-room building, having only two other small rooms, a small office for the teacher during school days, and a small vestibule for the preacher on Sundays or for Saturday weddings.