Faith - Seventy Times Seven: The Faith Chronicles, #3

By Sidney St. James

Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times?

 Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven. (KJV Matthew 18: 21-22)

Reverend Loyce Estes with the Cumberland Presbyterian Church at the funeral services on December 23, 1969, addressed the congregation. "The dignified First Lady of the Louisiana Presbytery is dead. Vibrantly alive are the articles of faith that constitute our legacy. May her mantle fall on us prayerfully."

Reverend Mrs. Ada Caston Slaton Bonds is one of the most colorful ministers ever produced by the great Cumberland Presbyterian Church. Beyond a doubt, she overcame more difficulties and passed through more heartaches than any minister ever known to preach the 'Whosoever Will' gospel. Miss Ada, as all affectionately called her, possessed countless prodigies. By way of the corridors of her ministerial career, she helped shape the lives and mold the character of a great number of young ministers, who, today, rise up and call her 'blessed.'

God sent her His Divine calling to preach. She then learned to preach. She carved out a place for herself among the clergy that was unique, without comparison. With bottomless emotion, genuine poise, and true dignity, Miss Ada became the First Lady of the Cloth in the Louisiana Presbytery and had the highest honor bestowed upon her, the title of Mother of All Presbyteries.

Brother Kerans finished the Sunday morning services by calling on Reverend Paul Covey Johnson, standing by her frail and physical body awaiting its final resting place in the Old Bethany Cumberland Presbyterian Church cemetery outside Coushatta, Louisiana.

He began her final epitaph. "I'm walking along the seashore. A ship is floating near to me, spreading her white sails as it begins a voyage that takes Miss Ada further and further out into the ocean. She's a powerful vessel, one of beauty and strength. I watch her until she looks like a disappearing speck of a fluffy cloud where the horizon of the sea and sky intermingle with one another.

Then I realized her diminished size is in me, not in her. 'Look there...She is gone!' Nelson, along with Ada's brother Lilburn are standing together with eager eyes watching from one of the twelve gates to heaven. There are beautiful angels stationed at each of the entrances. Looking more closely, she sees her mother and father standing near Lilburn. There are smiles on all of their faces and a happy and content look to their demeanor, standing and waiting there to take up the welcomed shout: 'HERE SHE COMES!'

Many times throughout the writing of her memoirs, I came to respect her inner strength, her compassion, and her gentleness. Never in my life have I delved into the scriptures and analyzed what each meant more so than when I put her memoirs on paper.

To bring these memoirs to a close, I attended the homecoming services at the Progress Cumberland Presbyterian Church in Pleasant Hill, Louisiana as they celebrated their 100th Anniversary. Miss Ada is still spoken of highly. Her last letter written to the church on December 10, 1969, still hangs on the walls of the sanctuary. Brother Lawson led the congregation in the singing of many gospel tunes and delivered the Sunday morning message.

I close this description with a quote from Brother Lawson. "Miss Ada set the standards high for being a minister in the Cumberland Presbyterian Church. She was an anomaly for her time. Still today, we find the bar for preaching the word of God set high for all young men and women entering the ministry!"

If one listened closely, they would have heard the words echo from my namesake, Sidney Slaton, "Mamma Was a Preacher!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: BeeBop Publishing Group
• Release date: Oct 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393477495

Sidney St. James

Sidney St. James is an extraordinary author who has made his mark in the world of science fiction suspense. With a creative mind that knows no bounds, St. James weaves captivating tales that transport readers to thrilling and otherworldly realms. His unique ability to blend the elements of science fiction with heart-pounding suspense has garnered him a dedicated following of readers eager to embark on their next exhilarating adventure. Born with an insatiable curiosity and a love for all things speculative, St. James found his calling in the realm of science fiction. From a young age, he was drawn to the limitless possibilities and unexplored frontiers of the genre. Influenced by literary greats and inspired by the wonders of the cosmos, St. James embarked on a writing journey that would push the boundaries of imagination and captivate readers with their visionary tales. St. James' science fiction novels are a testament to their boundless creativity and meticulous attention to detail. With each page, readers are transported to intricate and fully realized worlds, where technological advancements, extraterrestrial encounters, and moral dilemmas abound. His skillful storytelling keeps readers on the edge of their seats, as they navigate through a maze of suspense, intrigue, and thought-provoking concepts. In addition to his literary accomplishments, St. James is an avid pickleball player. This dynamic sport, which combines elements of tennis, badminton, and table tennis, serves as a source of balance and inspiration for St. James. The strategic gameplay and the camaraderie of the pickleball community provide a welcome respite from the boundless realms of science fiction that occupies his mind. As St. James continues to push the boundaries of the science fiction suspense genre, his unique blend of imagination, suspense, and pickleball prowess sets him apart as a true force to be reckoned with. With each new novel, readers eagerly anticipate the next thrilling journey that St. James will take them on, whether it's unraveling the mysteries of distant galaxies or engaging in a high-stakes match on the pickleball court. Sidney St. James is a true visionary and an author whose stories and pickleball skills will leave readers and opponents alike in awe.

Book preview

THE FAITH CHRONICLES

BOOK 3

FAITH

Seventy Times Seven

MOTHER

OF ALL

PRESBYTERIES

By

SIDNEY ST. JAMES

A true story - a pure and inspiring story of the life and work of the Reverend Ada Mentora Caston Slaton Bonds, First Lady of the Louisiana Presbytery. A woman of the cloth. A servant of the people. One who by word and example taught us the beauties of life and the glories of the Christian faith.

Published by BeeBop Publishing Group

Georgetown, Texas

SECOND EDITION

2019

Re-written and expanded version as told memoirs of Ada Caston Slaton Bonds of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church.

This is a historical creative non-fiction novel based on the autobiography of Ada Mentora Caston Slaton Bonds 1892-1969. Every effort to preserve her inspirational and true to life story is depicted in this book and comes from her own writings in numerous five-cent paper tablets found in old cedar chests after her death.  These words found their way, thanks to her son, the Reverend Sidney Elwood Slaton, the namesake of the author, in his earlier historical accounts in his paperback titled Mamma Was a Preacher in 1971.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, come from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible in the public domain.

Numerous letters, newspaper articles, photographs, and conversations with family members and the Reverend Ada Slaton Bonds add substantial support in these writings to enhance the narrative style of this manuscript by the writer.

All lyrics from gospel hymns are from before 1923 and are public domain and not copyright protected.

Copyright © 2019 by Sidney St. James

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Sidney St. James, except where permitted by law.

Manufactured in the United States of America

PAPERBACK EDITION

ISBN-13: 978-1976011467

ISBN-10: 1976011469

DEVOTION

"Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet

sheds on the heel that has crushed it."

-—Mark Twain

FOREWORD

Is it abnormal for a son to love his mother with such intensity that he would publish a book about her life? No, indeed not—-if he were born in struggle, nurtured in poverty and reared in the confines of lovelessness, sickness, conflict, and a broken home.  When a family suffers together, especially mother and children, love will likely become a cementing factor in its continuity.  The deep love and devotion which we children had for our mother evolved from various family circumstances.

First, the tender nurture of Mother’s love made a lasting impact on our lives. Secondly, our early observations of Mother’s heartaches, struggles, and sacrifices were unforgettable. Thirdly, Mother’s pulpit ministry was like unto a weeping prophetess emptying her compassion, and sending forth her warning of the wrath to come. Like a child struggling to be born, she fought as if to break a barrier which would pave the way for the conferment of women to the gospel ministry.  Her unconquerable belief in her Divine Call to the ministry enabled her to withstand the opposing factions, not only in her own denomination but outside, as well.

—-Reverend Sidney Elwood Slaton (1911-1974), Cumberland Presbyterian Church, Lexington, Tennessee

PROLOGUE

GOD TESTS US EVERY MORNING

What is the man that You make so much of him and You give him so much attention and You examine him each morning and test him every moment?

The woods surrounding the Cumberland Presbyterian Church in Pleasant Hill, Louisiana were filled with an ominous brittle silence.  The parking lot was full, except for one spot left unfilled by the side door. There was a loud screech from the nearby magnolia tree where a branch twisting under the sheer weight of ice screamed for warmth.

Inside the country church, a fireplace mimicked the heat of a summer day. As people came in, they walked by and rubbed their hands together before taking a seat in the nearby pews. Even though the air wasn’t smoky, the congregation could smell the pine as it burned, just a fragrance to reassure their senses there would be comfort in the Sunday morning services.

Brother Elza Cargill sat in a wheelchair at the end of the front pew in the church. The door opened and closed, reminding everyone that it was definitely a cold and miserable Sunday morning, December seventh, 1969.  His chin tilted down, resting firmly on his chest. The top of his head reflected the dim light that shined from the ceiling above him. The small one-room sanctuary was almost full for the first of the month Sunday services.

He raised his head and watched Brother L. C. Kerans come in and take a seat in a large-back chair behind the pulpit in front not more than fifty of the attendees in the quaint little country house of worship.

The side door opened.  A rush of bitterly cold wind whipped into the sanctuary. Two men were fast to enter, their hands cupped under the arms of a small, frail woman, assisting Miss Ada into the church.  Her entrance was as though another candle was lit and glowing next to the wooden cross hanging on the wall at the front of the room.  

Brother Cargill knew her well. He entered the ministry while she was only a few feet tall. His start began by preaching Sunday sermons at the Old Bethany Cumberland Presbyterian Church near Coushatta, Louisiana when Ada was not much older than six or seven.

Elza leaned over and began to ask the people on the first pew if they would scoot down and make room. While making his request, the people had already noticed Miss Ada and were scooting down, opening up space for her to sit.

The piano was playing an instrumental of the Old Rugged Cross in the background, accompanied by a thirteen-year-old playing the violin.  The congregation always liked when the boy came and played his violin. They loved the crescendo coming out of the violin because it reminded everyone of a beautiful sunrise and waking up after a sweet dream. The magical shoulder instrument brought relaxation and moments to the congregation. The sound of the strings’ vibrations touched the inside of their hearts.

Brother Cargill watched Ada slowly turn around and take a seat on the front row next to him. With a shiver of vivid recollection, his thoughts reel back to 1918 when he witnessed one of the most enthusiastic revival services near the church he ministered at the Pate Springs Schoolhouse near Coushatta, Louisiana, within a stone’s throw from the Red River.

Ada preached and sang hymns, not to the congregation but with the congregation.  I observed most of the group, if not all, bathed in tears. I will never forget the warm glow which flowed through my body that day.  

Each thought barely crossed Elza’s mind before another, and another followed.

Heartfelt religion...that’s what it was...during the evening, many repented.  I, along with everyone else, could scarcely distinguish Miss Ada for the tears that filled our eyes.  Each person attending yielded to the compulsive sobs that shook their souls.  I bowed my head between my knees and poured out my heart in emotion. I took a shower in my tears before God. The services blossomed with healing.

Brother Cargill, as he drifted away with his memories, felt a hand disrupt his thoughts, grabbing and squeezing his fingers. He turned and leaned over. A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. Good morning, Miss Ada.

Good morning, Brother Cargill. It’s so pleasant to look upon your smiling face. Her usually lively eyes sparkled with weariness. However, the warmth of her smile echoed in her voice.

Ada turned to the other direction and greeted the people on the pew next to her. Elza smiled with his eyes half-closed and a look of satisfaction while he returned to his thoughts.

I remember well that night in Pate Springs. Times were simpler in 1918. Not many had automobiles, and if they did, there were few roads available for driving. We didn’t have picture shows. There were no televisions or radios. Some might have had a Victrola, but not many. Anybody who was anybody came to the revival.  You were at the resurgence of the Christian faith if you were a Methodist, a Baptist, or a Presbyterian, it didn’t matter.

Today, we sit quietly in church. Our outbursts of emotions nowadays are set aside for watching our favorite team competing in the many sports arenas. This open outburst of emotion is, for the most part, unheard of in our place of worship today. I surely miss them.

How well I remember the days when Miss Ada led revivals at Old Bethany and other places not much further down the road. It was a day a good deal like today, cold and dismal outside. Most of the trees appear as skeletons with their leaves covering the ground around them. Several of the men sitting in the chairs in the revival would get up during the services, drowning in their brown saliva juices, walked over to a pot-bellied cast-iron stove, removed one of the burner tops, and almost drowned the fire getting rid of a mouthful of tobacco juices.

Elza started laughing lightly to himself as he turned and watches the raindrops pattern the windowpanes of the church.  His reminiscing ended. He gazed back up to the front as Pastor Kerans stood and approached the pulpit.

The Reverend commenced his services. Brother Cargill was still roaming around with his memories. His recollection of the good old days came to an abrupt stop.

Praise is to God! Ada shouted aloud sitting next to Brother Cargill. Her words reverberated gracefully in the still air of the sanctuary. You could hear light whispers. Others repeated the same acclaim as Miss Ada, but in a loud whisper, Praise God!  

Brother Kerans was momentarily speechless in his surprise. He jumped in the lectern. His heartbeat raced. He lost his place on his sermon outline in front of him. After locating his whereabouts on the paper, he raised his head before continuing and smiled in Miss Ada’s direction.

The minister continued his oration and mentioned the praise of God. Ada, again, sat up tall in the pew and shouted. Amen!

Again, many of the congregation in the church yelled with a louder, more enthusiastic voice, Amen!

Once more, Brother Kerans lost his place, but now he had learned to keep his finger on each line of his outline and found his next starting point quickly. He finished his message, raised his head, and looked over the congregation.

Ada began applauding, clapping her hands together with the strength of an eighteen-year-old, not a seventy-seven-year-old, frail preacher lady. Her heart sang with delight.  Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Members of the congregation all joined in clapping, and began shouting, Praise the Lord! Amen! Hallelujah! The animation of Ada’s character was enchanting. Two dimples on her face appeared as if loving fingers of God was squeezing her cheeks.

Brother Kerans was a younger minister, not from the period of heightened old-time religion. Never had he witnessed such a flow of emotion spread across his congregation. He closed his Bible and gazed over the group. Everyone was standing. Everyone was clapping. There was not a dry eye in the small one-room sanctuary at Progress Cumberland Presbyterian Church. All eyes were focused on the frail preacher lady.  

The Reverend raised his hand into the air at the pulpit.  Goosebumps ran up and down his arms, rejuvenated by the adrenaline passing through his body.  Most of the people attending worship began to quiet down.  He had no desire to be anywhere else, simply to be right where he was standing and live in the moment.  He gazed over at Miss Ada and took a deep, satisfying breath.  Miss Ada, will you do the honor in leading us in the final hymn for our services today? His smile brought an immediate softening to his features.

A total silence spoke far more precisely at this moment than words ever could among the people attending worship. Every eye in the sanctuary focused on Miss Ada, living in this exact moment in time, not acknowledging the past or the future.

Ada rose on her own accord from the pew. She had a glow about her not seen since the passing of her husband Nelson Bonds six months earlier.  She stood tall, reflected no weakness in her frail body, walked grandly to the dais, and gazed out over the worshipers.  

Her many years of tragedies and hardships have etched composure and dignity into her face. Ada knew a smile was an inexpensive way to change her looks. She glanced around the sanctuary.  Possessing more strength today than she has had for several months, her thoughts began to revolve back and forth through her mind.  Jesus is in my heart. He gives me strength once more.

She opened her hymnal, the congregants in the house of worship began loudly clapping. Many of the older folks started saying, Miss Ada, we love you! We love you!

Ada gazed around the assemblage and vigor filled her veins.  She thought of her first time to preach in Progress in 1919 before she was ordained.  Those days and that revival will forever live in her heart and in her mind.

"Thank you, Brother Kerans. Friends and family, I have been your pastor here at Progress for over thirty years. You have brought back pleasant memories and tears to my eyes as you unite with me today in filling our hearts with the Lord. I would like to ask the pianist to refrain from playing the piano for this next hymn.

Please, will each of you stand and make beautiful music with me with the grace of God in your hearts. Brother John Newton wrote this hymn almost two hundred years ago. Please, rise and join me while we sing together, Amazing Grace."

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me...

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now, I see.

T'was Grace that taught...

my heart to fear.

And Grace, my fears relieved.

How precious did that Grace appear...

the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares...

we have already come.

T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...

and Grace will lead us home.

The Lord has promised good to me...

His word my hope secures.

He will my shield and portion be...

as long as life endures.

When we've been here ten thousand years...

bright shining as the sun.

We've no fewer days to sing God's praise...

than when we've first begun.

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me...

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now, I see.

THE NINETY-SEVEN-YEAR-old minister, Reverend Elza Cargill, again, transports back in his mind to those days when religion overflowed one’s heart. Everyone at this moment in time cannot help but notice their heartbeat racing. Most have goosebumps running up and down their arms. 

The Lord is in the house! Yep, those were the good ole days of Old Time Religion.  

Brother Cargill was smiling, clapping, shouting, and not having a care in the world about who might be watching or what they might be thinking. He reached up and lightly began to tap his loose fist against his heart.

Miss Ada had the congregation buzzing and all in a religious frenzy in the tiny Progress Cumberland Presbyterian church building outside Pleasant Hill, Louisiana.

Louisiana’s First Woman of the Cloth realized early on in her life, God tested each moment of her existence. She knew the trials outlined in front of her were only a temporary assignment until her time concluded in this physical world. It seemed each day on earth God would present Ada another trial after she awakened and climbed out of bed.

After the hymn had finished, she closed her hymnal and began to step down from the pulpit. She noticed Brother Kerans remained standing by his chair. He gave her a smile, beaming from ear to ear, and gently nodded over at Ada.  Thank you, Miss Ada.  People here today, Brother Kerans raised his palm, turned it over and pointed in Ada’s direction. Our Mother of All Presbyteries.  The pastor formed a steeple with his hands and pressed them to his lips. He didn’t move from his spot near the lectern.

Miss Ada turned around and walked to the center of the aisle. Her legs were shaking with fatigue. She came to a stop and slowly raised her hands, clinching a white handkerchief in her left hand.  

Ada took a deep, satisfying breath and released a long gratifying sigh. As she did this, her weak and frail body began to crumble. Elder Gewin, standing near the front pew, rushed up quickly to keep Miss Ada from falling. Ada lowered one of her hands and turned her white palm up in his direction, indicating to him not to continue any further.

The elder froze in his steps and backed up slowly to where he was standing. Miss Ada took another long breath. She straightened her back and held her arms and hands in the air, her palms faced the flock.

With a voice lacking the same volume but reflecting the equivalent dominance as it had for over fifty-seven years, she delivered her last Words to the Progress Cumberland Presbyterian Church parishioners.

"The Lord bless you and keep you.

The Lord make His face shine upon you and

be gracious unto you.

The Lord lift up His countenance upon you.

And, may the Lord give you peace. Amen."

IN SEVENTY-SEVEN YEARS, Miss Ada’s faith with God challenged her seventy times seven times. The difficulties and trials she experienced face-to-face came into her life to put to the test her conviction and to prove her commitment to God almighty, every single day of her life.  

After passing many assessments of her faith, she once responded to a question of how she could persevere through so many run-throughs.  Ada’s thoughts rambled as the elders assisted her in returning to her space on the pew.

I know my God is with me. He sits beside me. My Lord fills my soul. He has a purpose much greater than the trials and tribulations he placed along my path in life. He tested my faith, not in how natural and beautiful life was, but in the most difficult of times.  

The following words represent a true story of the first ordained woman minister in the state of Louisiana, First Lady of the Louisiana Presbytery, Mother of All Presbyteries, and the longest active female minister in the Protestant denomination in America.

Sister Ada began preaching the Word of God when she was eight years old in Red River Parish, Louisiana. She had put a Number Two pencil to a five-cent Chief paper tablet since she learned how to write. Ada enjoyed and excelled in her two favorite classes at the Pate Springs School, English, and Composition.  She celebrated her fifteenth birthday when she began putting words on paper for the Mansfield Enterprise Newspaper. Every notebook, every sermon, every meeting of the Louisiana Presbytery never found a trash receptacle, but instead stored in an old dusty trunk stuffed in the back of one of her closets. Through these documents and further modern-day research, the life and times of the Reverend Mrs. Ada Mentora Caston Slaton Bonds unfold in the following pages.

Ada’s struggles were many over the years. Beginning when she was forty years old, Dorothy, her youngest child, gave her one of her favorite books that remained on her bookshelf until her final days, Gone with the Wind.

With her separation from her first husband, raising five children, and surviving the depression, the book, along with God’s guidance, she discovered more light glowing at the end of the tunnel.  Besides, a robust factor of the novel gave strength to Ada when she read about a resilient female protagonist. After her separation from her husband, Sidney Slaton, Ada took on even more unfamiliar roles, some of which relate to Scarlett because of so many responsibilities.

God was Ada’s first and most significant role model, but in the physical world, Scarlett O’Hara was in the group of runner-ups. Scarlett crossed into an all-male dominated society, and she did it successfully. Ada entered the church many years earlier, similar to Scarlett, but even until the 1960s, she was still succeeding in a world subjugated by men.

Miss Ada once told the author of these writings about one of her favorite sayings in the novel, Gone with the Wind, one that held so much truth to it in the 1930s.  Scarlett was standing alone in the field.   The sun sank down and gently kissed the horizon.  Twilight arrived, and the sounds of hundreds, if not thousands, of katydids, surrounded her. She lifted up her fist, looked up at the heavens, and confessed. As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again!

CHAPTER ONE

ADA LEARNS THE POWER OF PRAYER

Daddy! Daddy! Stella is Dying.

Mary Lucenda Caston , known by family and friends as Lucy, sat in a jumbo rocking chair on the front porch of their home on a high hill overlooking the Red River, several miles outside of Coushatta, Louisiana.  The rocker had been in the family since her cousin Thomas Brumby first produced it in his woodworking shop in 1875 at Marietta, Georgia.

The porch stretched the entire frontage of the house. Lucy continued rocking back and forth and smelling the freshness of the white paint from Seth Perry recently giving it a fresh coat of paint. She gently moved back and forth to get comfortable on her aunt’s floral-cushioned wicker rocker.

In the summer, the gray slate roof kept off the harshness of the sun. In the fall, she could sit back and watch the endless rain. In the winter, she would curl under a blanket with a good book to read and listen to the hail bounce off the shingles. Then, in the springtime, she would get her a warm mug of tea and look around the prairie for the new flowers to poke up through the grass. 

Her loving partner, Seth Perry Caston of eleven years, whom she called SP, instructed her to keep off her feet.  They were expecting their fifth child any day now. He was in the field picking cotton on the land once owned by his father-in-law, Doctor Lawrence Brumby.  Due to not having sufficient help in the many rows of cotton, Seth needed to work longer and didn’t arrive home until after dark.

High hills divided the Caston Plantation. They lived at the top in an old-fashioned log house surrounded by enormous oak trees that had stood the test of many storms and furnished shade for their four young children to play.  The home was quite spacious, thanks mostly to the experience Seth gained from building other homes on the farmstead for his father-in-law.  Seth maintained the ranching operations started by Lawrence and his wife, Lucy.  On their passing in the early 1880s, Lucenda, being the only child, inherited the entire plantation.

Lucenda, while rocking on their broad veranda, gazed off at three of her children playing, Leona, Lawrence, and Alberta, also called Bert.  Ada Mentora and two-year-old Estella were sitting next to her on the porch playing with small dolls received on their birthdays.  Stella received hers on the first day of October 1899.

Fall arrived early. The temperatures dipped below fifty degrees for the first time of the year. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, scattered around them on the ground. A black crow, the size of a small chicken, dared to break the silence overhanging the home place and delivered a long call. A patchwork blanket wrapped Stella keeping her warm in the coolness of the approaching evening.

WHILE ROCKING AND LOOKING after the baby, Lucy knew Seth would be home soon.

Her usual lively eyes sparkle with weariness. Children, run down the knoll to the big spring and get me a pail of water. Lucy noticed Leona was not swinging on the ropes. Lawrence. Where is your sister?

She is playing down the hill in the treehouse by the old black walnut tree at the lake. Do you need me to go get her? His eyebrows raised inquiringly.

No, that’s okay. Will you take two pails and fill them. That should be enough water for supper?

Not only do the walnut trees act as residences for clubhouses for the kids, but they were also an excellent source of delicious nuts. A natural spring feeding the pond was not far from the grove of trees.  

On the mornings when the family went fishing, the water shivered by the touch of a breeze slicing through the surrounding trees.  This sloping area near the river was where the children met many of their friends for picnics and entered their make-believe worlds every chance they could get.

Lawrence and his friend, Jerrie Grantham, returned with the pails of water. Mother, should I go and get Leona?

No, thank you, dear, let her play. She is probably down at the creek inspecting the water’s edge for high chimneys of mud growing up from their small holes.  No doubt, she is digging up crawfish. I asked her to take her friend and gather as many as they could for supper.

Okay, Mom.

Lawrence and Jerrie ran back to the pond and began playing again.  Jerrie ran in haste to a nearby sycamore tree. The tree lifted its branches to the sky as if its very presence was just the right amount to beat back the darkness and command daylight to fall of its late summer leaves.

Standing just beneath the tree, Lawrence’s playmate shouted.  Hey, Lawrence!

When Lawrence turned around, Jerrie reeled back, tossed a giant sycamore and hits Lawrence in the chest.  Knowing quite well two could play this game, he wasted no time and ran over to the large black walnut tree.  The nuts were large and as hard as the end of a hammer. They made great projectiles. He picked one up from the ground, gazed over at Jerrie who was not looking and shouted his name. Jerrie!

The Grantham boy turned around, and Lawrence fired his bullet. It found a place smack dab in the middle of Jerrie’s forehead.  Jerrie fell to the ground, grabbed his head, and began crying. Why, Lawrence? Why did you hit me in the head? He swallowed hard trying to bite back the tears.

Lawrence rushed up to Jerrie. I ‘m sorry, Jerrie! Let me see if it is bleeding.

Jerrie removed his hand, and Lawrence knew right away there was gonna be no way to hide that wallop on his head.  There was a bump the size of the walnut itself on his forehead just above his right eye.  Jerrie, don’t tell your dad and mom what happened or we will both get in trouble.

Lawrence, you don’t have a big knot on your head.  How could we both get in trouble? Jerrie took a deep, unsteady breath and began running to his home. Lawrence ran back to his house, wondering how long it would be before everyone found out what happened. He assumed he would only wait for his punishment when his daddy got home.

Jerrie showed up moments later. Lawrence, it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore.  He rigidly held his tears in check.

Lucy was having trouble standing for long periods. The baby was larger than her previous children.  She gained an extra twelve pounds and experienced difficulty in moving around.  She was seven months with child. She did get the bread baked earlier and only needed to boil the water when Seth gets home for the crawfish.

Seth learned a lot about medicine over the years living around his father-in-law. Although he did not have the formal training, he had years of hands-on experience from his tagging along with Doctor Brumby.

He came from a modest upbringing, enjoying the simpler things in life, and found it delightful his children and family took pleasure in nature’s beauty, providing them plenty of fun without the cost.

Daddy, Daddy! shouted Lawrence, come and look at all the beans Jerrie and I picked while you were in the field. His heart was thumping. He tried to preclude the bad news of Jerrie and him with the wonderful news of picking all the beans.

Hello, son, give me just a moment. Let me check on your mom first. Jerrie, you should be getting on home. It is getting late, and your mother and father are probably looking for you. Jerrie turned and began running. His footsteps could be heard thundering down the hill.

Lucenda, how’s my girl and baby doing today?

The little one on the porch is fine. She’s been quiet most of the afternoon. I guess that means she’ll be awake all night. Lucy smiled and laughed lightly. Your other one will not stop turning over and over. He’s making me sick at my stomach. Her tired eyes smiled at Seth.

"Ah, you called him he. Do we have a boy’s name picked out?"

"Just saying he because he won’t stay still."

Well, we don’t have you a namesake yet, maybe we should call him a junior? We passed up the opportunity with the first two boys. How ‘bout we call him Seth Perry?

Not a bad idea Lucy, but we will need to give him a good nickname, so I know when you are calling his name, it’s not me you want, Seth laughed. He leaned close, their breaths were mingling. He kissed her, short and sweet. I love you, dear. I love you very much.

SP! We will call him SP.

That’s agreeable to me, sweetheart.  What if it’s a girl?

Let’s think about it a while. Go make yourself comfortable and see if you can help with the crawfish. She gave a gentle smile to Seth while he left the room to check on his older kids.

I need to find out how many crawfish Leona dug up and get them ready to boil. Let me go change clothes and look in on her and see how she’s coming along.

Okay.

Seth goes to the kitchen, located next to their home to find Jemima, a darkie who cooks the meals for the Caston family.  Fannie, will you find Leona down at the creek and see if she has found enough crawfish for supper?

Yes, sir, Cap’n.

Fannie removed her apron and went out the back door and down the trail to the fishpond. Not far from the house, as she ran through numerous twittering birds, she could hear the laughter of youngsters up ahead. Even though their mother said Leona did not need help, the children all went down to the pond to find out if they could aid Leona in finding crawfish. They all picked up their strings and a chunk of bacon tied to the end and were ready to go crawfishing.

Fannie walked in a lightning-fast motion and first noticed Ada. Her dress had mud on the lace along the bottom. She had a string with a piece of bacon tied to the end and was lowering a chunk of pork down into a burrowed hole next to the pond. Ada, have you snared any crawfish?

Yes, Mammie. I caught three, but Leona and Lawrence have a bunch.

Good! Where is Bert?

She is on the other side of the water. Edward came over, and they are talking.

One look at Alberta and there was no doubt her face blossomed each time she caught a glance of Edward.

That Edward Grantham boy?

Yes, ma’am.

It’s okay, Mammie, Bert doesn’t like to get dirty, especially when Edward is around.

I am aware of that young lady. Leona, how are you and your brother doing catching crawfish?

We got over thirty Mammie. Is Mamma ready to start cooking?

I believe so. You children take your buckets of bugs up to the kitchen and go get yourselves clean. And, Ada...do something with your dress before your mother finds out how dirty you got it, okay?

I sure will, Mammie.

The household gathered back at home, and after freshening up for supper, sat down together at the dining table. There was plenty of room for the family. The ten-foot-long dining table filled the room.  Lucy sat in the chair that was missing the side arms.  She needed extra space.

Fannie prepared a marvelous supper, and Seth was able to sit down and catch up on the local news from the Shreveport newspaper when finished. The sun melted slowly below the horizon, changing its color from creamy yellow to multiple shades of glowing orange.  The kids knew it was time to make their way to their sleeping quarters.

The young ones wanted to get up and vamoose.  They asked politely if it was okay to leave the table. Seth glanced at them. Tomorrow morning, we must get up and dress early. Our journey will be a few hours' trip to Sunday morning services.  We need to travel more slowly. Your mother is not feeling too well.

The peak of dawn came earlier than the children expected.  The stars that were once brilliant seconds ago began to grow dim. Sunlight splashed through the window panes signifying they were burning daylight while still in bed. 

The early morning hours came with a musical silence, the soul hearing the melody that the ears couldn’t hear. A new day had arrived with new possibilities. A fresh page was yet to be written.

The yard rooster already warbled his morning song. They all hopped in an elegant carriage, the larger one the family possesses, for the growing family, and traveled for about an hour to the Pate Springs schoolhouse.  The brougham passed the small pond during their departure. The Wood Storks who made a home already left to go scour the countryside for food.

The family arrived in plenty of time for the young ones to attend the first hour of Sunday school. Seth, Lucy, and Stella remained outside and under a large walnut tree sitting at a picnic table.

Mister Ben Jones walked up to Seth and Lucy before going inside the schoolhouse to teach Sunday school. Seth, how are you and Miss Lucy this beautiful day?

We are fine, Benjamin, and you? He put his hand up to brush the hair off his face.

The morning air is so fresh today. I already smell the morning glories in bloom today.  But, my leg still gives me a problem now and then, other than that, just fine.

Next Sunday we are going to attend services at Old Bethany Cumberland Presbyterian Church. It’s quite a trek from our house, but we are so emotionally inspired by God’s presence every time we attend. Satisfaction pursed his mouth.

I am looking forward to joining you there next week. I got to get going, the children’s Sunday morning lessons are beginning soon. I am going to read to them the newest novel by Sidney St. James called Hallelujah. It’s a story about the life of Jesus Christ.

Ben Jones entered the schoolhouse, looked around at the many children anxiously waiting for Sunday school to begin. Ada jumped out of her chair, ran up to Mister Jones, and gave him a small bouquet of wild blossoms she picked along the trail outside the schoolhouse.

He stared at Ada, the warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. Ada, you are so sweet. Thank you.  The flowers are stunning. One can get lost in the sight of them and can only think of the divine power which created them. Ada took her seat.  Mister Jones gave a morning prayer to begin class.

He glanced around the classroom full of children and all at once, he began singing aloud, so loud his echo rings back through the still and quiet of the room.

After the morning lessons, Ada remained, enthusiastically moved by the song he sang to begin the class. Mister Jones that was the most beautiful hymn I have ever heard. What was the name of it?

"Just Over in the Sun Bright Clime."

That song...it was so beautiful. The words seemed to flow effortlessly from your heart. The lyrics will remain stamped on the walls of my memory as an everlasting impression of Heaven. I will never forget such a beautiful hymn.

I dearly love the song too, Miss Ada.

After Sunday school, the children go out under the shade of the old crab apple trees to play as the adults, waiting until Sunday school to complete, came inside for the preaching of the Word.  Seth Perry, an elder in the Bethany Cumberland Presbyterian Church, presented the worship services.

Hello, friends. Thank you for coming. Before I begin my message this morning, I wish to share information with you on some exciting events happening next weekend.  An end of summer revival is going to take place at Old Bethany and devotional services for sinners. We will be blessing the completion of our harvest season. We hope everyone can attend.

After the services had been completed, the Caston family enjoyed a few hours of visiting at the schoolhouse.  The family returned home late in the afternoon.

Daybreak on Monday came quickly. Before the sun rose, it turned a soft blue and began shining its warmth down on everything. Enough light filtered into the room where Ada, Bert, and Lilburn were starting to get out of bed.  Ada stopped, lied back down, and pulled the covers back over her head. 

Children, get up, it’s a school morning. Come on now, you girls, get up, you too, Lilburn. You need to eat some breakfast and be on your way. Joy bubbled in her laugh and shined in her eyes.

The kids cleaned up, dressed, and came to the dining room for morning mealtime. Bert, after rubbing her eyes a few times, asked her mother a question. Mamma, when we came home yesterday, Daddy said we were going to a revival on Saturday and Sunday at Old Bethany.  Is that right?

We sure are dear.

Oh, I can’t wait. There’s a boy from school who will be coming-. She was stopped in the