Letters to Missy Violet

by Barbara Hathaway

  In the Book of Judges there was a bramble tree, an olive tree, a fig tree, and a vine. One day the trees asked the olive tree to be king over them. But the olive tree said it didn’t want to give up its fatness to be king over the other trees, so they asked the fig tree to be queen over them. And the fig tree said she didn’t want to leave her sweetness to be queen over them. So they asked the vine and the vine said no too, because it didn’t want to leave its wine to rule over them.

  So then all the trees got together and asked the bramble to be king over them and the bramble said yes. “Put your trust in my shadow.” But the funny thing about that was the bramble tree was a short tree that people only used for kindlin’ wood. I think this story was talking about the kings and people back in early times, but I don’t know which ones.

  I think I would like to be a preacher when I grow up. Not the kind that holler and stomp but the kind that teach people the Bible.

  Wasn’t that a good story about trees? My favorite story in the Bible is Daniel in the lion’s den. If I was Miss Battle I would give Cleveland first prize.

  Here is my essay:

  This summer I learned where babies come from. I used to think they came out of tree stumps and cabbage patches. But your mama just tells you that so you won’t get grown too fast. Babies come from inside their mothers. I can’t explain how they get there, but I think it has something to do with the daddy. Then the midwife catches the baby when it comes out.

  Miss Viola McCrae is the midwife in our community. Sometimes people call her the granny, but she doesn’t mind. Most folks call her Missy Violet. She is like a doctor and knows how to make people feel better. She knows how to turn plants into medicine. I asked her how she learned so much and she said from her mother. She said her mother was the granny on a plantation back in slavery time and her mother used to take her in the woods with her to gather roots and herbs. So Missy Violet was a little girl when she started learning about plants.

  Missy Violet showed me how to dry plants and grind them into tea. She has lots of plants in her kitchen hanging from the rafters and in a big glass cabinet. I liked learning about the plants and what they can be turned into like teas and creams and syrups, even candies. Missy Violet said the Lord made all these plants to help us.

  Everybody keeps coming up to me asking me did I really see the babies come out of the mothers? And I have to say not exactly, but I was there. All I know is when we came to the house there was no baby and when we left there was a baby. Kicking and squalling all over the place. Sometimes I would sit on the bed and press the pillows behind the mama’s back. If Missy Violet didn’t need me I’d go outside and play with the other children. At other times Missy Violet tells me to make tea or to slice up the sweet bread she makes. She always brings sweet bread for the family to eat and a little wine or brandy for the new papas to drink.

  When Missy Violet and I are not catching a baby we visit the sick and shut-in. She takes them teas and poultices and creams. Sometimes she just sits and talks to them. I like that part of helping the sick. I like helping people get better. It gives me a good feeling inside. And I like to hold the new babies after they are born.

  When Missy Violet cannot go herself she sends me to deliver medicine to the sick. I feel happy she can trust me to do a good job. One time when Missy Violet was away I helped another midwife catch a baby. Missy Violet was real proud of me.

  I want to be a midwife or a nurse when I get big. I used to want to be a teacher. Both are important, both help people.

  Missy Violet, what do you think? Did you like the essays? I hope all of us will get a good mark.

  Yours truly,

  Viney

  Always Happy to Hear from You

  October 15, 1929

  Dear Viney,

  I am always happy to hear from you children. I was really surprised when I received such a fat envelope. But I enjoyed reading every word of those fine essays you and Arma Jean and Cleveland sent. I read them to my brother and he enjoyed them very much. He was having a bad day but when I read him the essays I think they lifted his spirits. I know Miss Battle is going to be pleased. I am sure you will all get a high mark.

  Where is Charles’s essay? Tell him that I am waiting to hear from him. And encourage him to work on his spelling.

  How is the family? How is your daddy’s foot coming along? Are you still treating it with the cayenne liniment? I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but I am so proud of the way you took charge when he had his accident. Keep up the good work. Give your sisters and your brothers my love and tell Arma Jean and Cleveland that when I come home we will all get together at my house one Saturday for some coconut cake and lemonade.

  Please write and tell me who won the essay contest. God bless you sweet children.

  Yours very truly,

  Missy Violet

  The Essay Contest

  October 22, 1929

  Dear Missy Violet,

  Miss Battle held the essay contest this past week. It was on a Wednesday, part in the morning, part in the afternoon. Arma Jean and I thought she should have held it on a Friday so the losers wouldn’t have to look at the winners the next day. Especially if somebody like Margie Poole or my cousin Charles won.

  Miss Battle split the class up into three groups: lower, middle, and upper. Everybody had to read their essay in front of the class. The lowers read first. Those are the little ones who are just learning how to read and write. Most of them wrote one or two sentences about a pet or a toy, or the sun or the flowers. They were real cute. One little girl wet on herself when she got up to read.

  Next was my group’s turn. I was so nervous, I couldn’t eat and I thought my stomach would fall out. I even asked Mama if I could stay home from school. Mama said, “Eat your breakfast, honey, you’ll be all right. Besides, you have a new dress to wear.”

  “And new ribbons, too,” Savannah said. I had forgotten about the new dress Savannah and Mama made for me to wear to the contest. At least I would look nice when I got up in front of the class.

  “That’s right, I get to wear my new dress today!” I said, and tried to sound all excited because I didn’t want to hurt Savannah’s or Mama’s feelings. Mama and Savannah smiled.

  When I got to school Arma Jean met me in the schoolyard.

  “You scared?” she asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “A little,” Arma Jean said. “You look nice.”

  “You do too. I like your hair,” I told Arma Jean. She also had new ribbons.

  Class started and Miss Battle asked who wanted to go first. Nobody raised a hand. So Miss Battle called on Winsome Blue. Winsome is the prettiest girl in my group. She is a good reader too, but this morning her eyes were all red like she’d been crying and her hands were shaking and her voice came out all squeaky. She looked like I felt. She read through her essay real fast, then rushed back to her seat and started to cry. Maybe she didn’t read so well because Miss Battle called on her first.

  Next Miss Battle called on Charles’s friend Jeff Brown. When Jeff got up to read, Charles started smacking himself on the head and making the other children laugh, but Jeff did better than we thought he would. Jeff’s essay was about a trip down to New Orleans with his grandfather. When he sat back down Miss Battle said, “Very good, Jeff Brown. You surprised me.”

  She called Arma Jean up next. Arma Jean read her essay about her mama’s new washing machine and she wasn’t nervous at all. She was bold as sunshine, just like she always is. When Arma Jean sat back down, Miss Battle didn’t say a word. I don’t think Miss Battle likes Arma Jean very much. One time in front of the whole class she told Arma Jean she was “too forward.” I guess that’s because Arma Jean has a quick tongue and a smarty answer for everything. Some folks say she’s got grown folks’ sense. But she’s still my best friend.

  Cleveland was called up next and he read his essay about the trees in the Bible. I thought it was beautiful. Miss Battle was smiling when Cleveland sat back
down. Margie Poole came up next. She walked up to the front of the class all superior, like she thought she was a queen. And Arma Jean looked over at me and rolled her eyes.

  Margie is one of the smartest kids in the class, always raising her hand. She gets the right answers too. Showoff! She even won first prize last year in the essay contest. But that’s no reason for her to be all stuck-up.

  Margie read her essay like she was in a play, throwing her hands all out to the sides like she was on a stage, singing a song. She even curtsied before she sat back down. Her essay was about her visit to the Statue of Liberty in New York City. Arma Jean says she tells everybody she goes up there to visit her grandparents, but she really goes up there to see her father because Mister Poole is not her real daddy.

  “Thank you, Margie. That was well done,” Miss Battle said when Margie sat back down. I bet she’ll win first prize again this year.

  Miss Battle called Charles up next. He always acts like a clown in class and tries to make people laugh. So he walked up to the front of the class with his hands folded like in prayer, then made like he forgot his essay and hurried back to his seat. Everybody laughed except Miss Battle.

  Charles kept cutting up, but I could tell he was scared because of the way his eyes looked. His essay was about his trip to New York but he read it so fast, it didn’t make much sense. He didn’t look up from the paper one time, and he kept shuffling his feet. At the end he let out a great big sigh and hurried back to his seat. Miss Battle just rolled her eyes. She called me up next.

  My stomach hurt, my knees wobbled, my hands got sweaty. And Margie Poole was looking at me with that smirk on her face. The look she had when I told her babies came out of a tree stump. My heart started pounding in my ears as I walked up to the front of the class. When I got up there I looked in the back to see if I could see my sister and my brothers. I did, and Savannah gave me a smile. Lincoln winked and Antonio made a silly face. All of that made me feel better. Claude Thomas just sat there looking out the window, but that was all right. He was still my brother.

  Then all of a sudden, I couldn’t see them anymore. Something was happening to my eyes—they felt like they were getting smaller and smaller. I could hear myself reading and my voice sounded a little funny, but at least I wasn’t reading too fast. I stopped and started over again and my heart started to slow down.

  I hoped I wasn’t looking funny like Charles did when he was up there. I didn’t want them to laugh at me. I felt hot circles growing around my eyes, but I was getting near to the end and I wasn’t stuttering, so I was glad. Finished! Phew!

  I went back to my seat and sat down. Miss Battle nodded her head. “Very nice, Viney,” she said. I couldn’t believe my ears. Miss Battle said my essay was “very nice.” Maybe I wouldn’t win a prize, but I could get a good mark. I took a deep breath. I felt good all over.

  Cleveland won first prize for his essay about the Bible trees and the nice pictures he drew to go with it. He won a fountain pen and a bottle of India ink. I won second prize! A package of green writing paper with matching green envelopes, just what I need to write lots of letters to you, Missy Violet. Ruby Dean Baker won third prize, a set of composition books. She won for best effort and best penmanship. Her essay was sad—it was about her mama and papa getting drowned in a rowboat while they were out fishing and how she and her sisters and brothers had to come live with their grandma.

  Ruby Dean didn’t really read her essay—she mostly just told it. The class was real quiet while she was talking, even Charles. We all felt sorry about what had happened to her mama and papa. Maybe that’s why Miss Battle gave her third prize. Margie Poole was soooo jealous. Arma Jean and Jeff Brown received As. I got an A. Charles got a C, mostly because of his bad spelling and his clowning.

  Essay time is all over. Miss Battle said next month we will be doing a lot of arithmetic. I used to hate arithmetic, but now I want to learn it because I want to be a nurse or a midwife like you, Missy Violet. And I must be able to weigh and measure when I make tonics and poultices and catch babies. I have to know how to put in so much of this and so much of that. I am going to try to like arithmetic now.

  Oh, Missy Violet, I almost forgot to tell you about the new girl. A new girl started school with us in August. Her name is Easter Brownlee and she is eleven years old. She said her mama named her Easter because she was born on an Easter Sunday. Mister Brownlee the undertaker is her uncle and she came to live with him and Missus Brownlee after her mama ran off with a married man. Everybody gathered around her at recess time because they all wanted to know what it is like to live in a funeral home.

  Easter told us her uncle learned the undertaker business from his father, who learned it from his father, who was born in slavery time. His master used to hire him out to a white undertaker who lived in his town. She said the white undertaker used his stable for his undertaker business and he taught the slave “the business of the dead.” That was just the way she said it: “the business of the dead.”

  She said she hated living in a funeral home. She said it gave her the creeps. She gave us the creeps too. “There’s two bodies down in the basement right now while we standin’ here talkin’,” Easter told us.

  “You ever see any of them dead folks down in the basement?” Charles asked, with his mouth hanging open like a catfish.

  “My uncle took me down there to see a little girl one time,” Easter said. “She just looked like she was sleepin’.”

  “Were you scared?” somebody asked.

  “Yeah,” the new girl said. Then Miss Battle came over and broke us up before she could tell us what happened.

  “You wanna walk home together?” Charles asked the new girl as we were going back into the schoolhouse. He wanted to hear more about the dead people. Easter nodded her head yes. So Charles and I and Arma Jean and Cleveland and Jeff and Ruby Dean walked home from school with her.

  Charles was full of questions as we walked along. “You ever hear them dead folks walkin’ around down there in the basement?” he asked. “Do they really moan and groan while the undertaker workin’ on ’em?”

  But Easter cut him off with a question of her own. “Are you the kids who broke into the church and tampered with that body a few weeks ago?” she asked. Charles’s face turned bright red. Arma Jean poked me with her elbow.

  “What you got to say, Charles,” Arma Jean said, all calm and cool.

  “Oh, shut up, Arma Jean! Just shut up!” Charles squawked.

  “Yeah, it was us,” Arma Jean said. “But Charles was the ringleader.”

  “It wasn’t a very smart thing to do. You know you could go to jail for that. Or catch some kind of germ,” the new girl said. And I knew I was going to like her from that day on, because she had made Charles look stupid—him and his prank. Miss Battle would call this girl “apt.” I invited Easter to come to knitting lessons with Arma Jean and me when you get back from Florida, Missy Violet. I hope you don’t mind. I think you will like Easter. She made Arma Jean and I see how lucky we are to be living in a regular house with regular people instead of in a funeral home with dead folks.

  Please write back soon.

  Your best helper girl,

  Viney

  October 30, 1929

  Dear Viney,

  A salute to you and your friends. You all worked hard on your essays, and see how it turned out? I am sure all of your parents are so proud. I hope you children will work just as hard for the rest of the year.

  Where is Charles? Give him my love. Tell him to write me.

  If all goes well, I should be home before the new year.

  Yours very truly,

  Missy Violet

  A Sad Tale