Crossing Stover Creek: Ella's Story

By Lisa Lamar

Some children have two childhoods, a point where their lives become drastically different than what they have known. Sometimes there is a dividing line, a date clearly marking when a life changed. For Ella, it was a series of events.
Ella Langston is the youngest of her loving, hard-working family. In early twentieth century, life in rural Texas is simple, yet hard. Work is never ending, but the family enjoys a balanced life of daily chores, Sunday services, and a community of friends and neighbors. Ella knows love and a strong sense of belonging. Then tragedy strikes again and again. She learns to look for happiness in each day and to rely on her faith in God and belief in herself.
If somewhere in your family tree, your ancestors were farmers, owned a small town mercantile, or pastored a country church, then you will feel like Ella’s story is your story. You may not know much about your ancestors, but the lives they led set the opening chapters of the life you lead today. Like Ella, you can choose the direction your story takes, but we all started somewhere.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Lamar
• Release date: Aug 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005498375

Lisa Lamar

Like my main character, I was born and raised in rural Texas. My grandmothers really did raise chickens, make quilts, and milk their own cows. One always wore a bonnet to protect her skin from the harsh Texas sun.After marrying, my husband and I moved with his job from Texas to New Mexico to Wyoming. When it came time to retire, we chose our native Texas. A few years ago, I visited a cemetery where my grandmother’s older brother, older sister and mother are buried. I knew growing up that they had all died in a short period of time when my grandmother was quite young, but it had never occurred to me how devastating and life changing that had to have been. Before I realized it, the idea of Ella Langston came to life.Crossing Stover Creek is my first novel and the first book set in the fictional towns of Stover and Stover Springs.

Book preview

1987

Lisa

Thanks for volunteering to sort through the stuff in Grandma’s storage unit. I think a lot of what’s in there just needs to be thrown away. If you find something you want, I don’t imagine anyone will fight you over it. Mom looks up from her to-do list and smiles at me. I know looking through a storage unit in June is not anyone’s idea of summer vacation. It’s too hot already. I can’t imagine what July and August will be like.

I look up from my own list and shrug my shoulders. It’ll give me a break from cleaning out the old store. I’m at a point where I need help from Alan and Bertie with the heavy stuff. I took the last load I can handle by myself to the landfill this afternoon. I’ve been there every day for the past two weeks, except Sundays, of course. I’m sure I’ll have another load from the storage to take Monday. Max will probably wonder where I am today.

Who’s Max?

Max. The guy who looks at your utility receipt to make sure you’re a resident of Stover County so you can take stuff to the landfill. I’ve been there so many times now, he doesn’t ask to look at a receipt, he just stops me to visit. He’s the one who told me to check with the Parkers down the street if we need a good plumber. They’re remodeling their bathrooms based on what Max sees them bringing to the dump. I don’t know his last name, but he sure knows a lot about what goes on around here. When I took a load this afternoon, he asked me when you’re going to open the café and wanted to know if you were any closer to getting a liquor license.

What did you tell him?

The usual—information like that is above my pay grade. He said he was looking forward to having a good catfish place out here, especially since you’ll be using Leon Thurmann’s catfish recipe. He said you won’t be open long though if your customers can’t have a beer to wash it down. His actual comment was—if you ain’t got cold beer, there’s no point in the catfish.

I suppose that’s true, Mom agrees. Did you tell him that we’re opening a café that serves catfish, not a catfish place?

No. I think Max is just interested in catfish. And beer.

Well, the next time you go, tell Max we are getting close. Both to opening the café and getting the liquor license. Sounds like when we’re ready to open, we can count on Max to help with the publicity.

So, are you okay with me loading up stuff from the storage to take to the dump on Monday, or do you want to look through everything first? I ask.

Your judgment’s been spot-on with the old store. I think you have a better sense of what’s worth keeping than I do. Please keep an eye out for anything of Memaw’s. Some of my cousins think the old family Bible might be in there with Grandma’s things. I don’t know why it would be, but keep an eye out. If you find anything that looks like old cookbooks or notebooks that might have Memaw’s recipes in them, I really want those. I’m hoping we find some of her dessert recipes to use at the café.

Kind of like what I’ve been doing with the stuff in the old store; sort into keep, donate, and trash. I stand and stretch both arms above my head. I’ve been sitting too long, but I think I’ll turn in early. I’m only planning to work until noon tomorrow. Bertie and Alan should be here around then and we plan to go tubing all afternoon. Good night, Mom.

~

The next morning, I get to the EZ Storage just a little after 7:00. The early morning air feels good as I slip the key into the padlock on the overhead door. It’s going be a fun day, finding treasures this morning and tubing this afternoon. The sliding door opens easily.

Well, there goes any chance of fun! I take a deep breath as I get my first look inside. This is worse than the old store! I’m not just looking at stacks of moving boxes and a few old bed frames. The storage unit is stuffed with every imaginable cast off. To make it worse, it looks like people have been shoving their trash in the unit. Sturdy black garbage bags are scattered throughout and nothing is organized. Considering myself lucky that nothing fell on me when I opened the door, I take a minute to just stare at the jumbled stacks of odds and ends. Somehow it reminds me of the Jenga game Mom got us at Christmas, just not as organized. If I grab the wrong thing, it will all tumble down.

I start by carefully pulling out a few of the garbage bags and stacking them in front of another storage space, out of the way. It takes over an hour to clear a path to where two old armchairs take up the middle of the floor. It takes another fifteen minutes to wrestle the chairs outside. They are bulky and hard to scoot, but there’s no way to get around them. With the second chair out of the way, I’m ready for a break.

Grabbing my water jug from the truck, I look around for a place to sit. It’s already too hot to sit in the truck. Walking over to the armchairs, I notice that not only are they covered in a layer of dirt, but they also boast a generous sprinkling of mouse droppings. A lopsided metal lawn chair appears to be the cleanest place to sit. Not that it matters much. My arms and legs are already streaked with dust and sweat. My tee shirt has a hole that hadn’t been there before.

Leaning forward, I take a look at the scrape I now have on my right leg. I got that when I separated an old bicycle from some rusty bed springs. It’s a good-size scrape, but it’s not bleeding. Good thing I had a tetanus shot before starting college last fall. I should be good to go for tubing. The bike’s a keeper too. It looks like something out of Leave it to Beaver. It will be fun to ride from Grandma’s old house down to the store. Definitely needs new tires.

With the middle of the unit now cleared, I notice a row of moving boxes stacked along the back wall. Just walking up and grabbing them is still not an option due to an old kitchen table and half a dozen chairs in the way. The chairs can easily be moved, but not the table.

I think this is the table Grandma used in her kitchen. I remember a formica table with chrome legs. Maybe everyone’s Grandma had a table like that. Wonder if I can stand on it to reach the boxes?

Grabbing the table top with both hands, I shake it as hard as possible. No creaking and the legs don’t try to buckle. I move the dining chairs outside, leaving one to use as a step. I cautiously place both feet on the table top and stand still. Nothing moves. This is one sturdy table. Maybe Mom can use it at the café. Confident that my makeshift scaffold will hold, I grab the nearest box.

Not much worth saving, but it’s not like I can pitch the box in the back of the truck to take to the dump. Like the storage unit itself, the box is a jumble of good and bad. How do items end up together in a box? This one holds mismatched kitchen utensils, a plastic bag filled with what looks like girl scout patches and old calendars from the Stover State Bank, all from 1953. Pink foam hair curlers are sprinkled among the other items.

A bundle of papers in the bottom of the box are bound with a rubber band that falls apart as soon as I pick it up. Report cards. I open the top card from Milam Elementary dated October 1954. Look at this! Maggie Harper got a C in Deportment in fifth grade. A comment in the notes line stating talks too much explains the C. The only things worth keeping in this box are the girl scout patches and the report cards. An antique store might want those calendars. I’ll bet Mom trashes her old report cards.

The next box reveals a few interesting items. A tarnished brush and comb set deserves a second look along with a lot of paper booklets filled with old stamps. These aren’t postage stamps. Each page is filled with identical stamps, all the same color. The stamps are loose and falling out since the adhesive that held them in place for so long has passed its useful life. S&H Green Stamps is printed on the front cover. Interesting, but no treasures.

The next box is heavier than the others. This one is full of old magazines from the1960s. Most of the magazines are a publication named McCall’s, but quite a few issues of Life Magazine are mixed in too.

One more. I grab the closest box and almost put it back down. It’s even heavier than the last one. No magazines; these look like journals. Maybe this will be what Mom is hoping for. I drag the box over to the lawn chair and sit down to take a better look. Flipping open the first one, I find an entry dated September 22, 1930. The writer talks about Neil and what a good baby he is and how much she misses having the older boys and Rachel home all day now that school has started back.

Rachel was Grandma’s first name. These must be Memaw’s journals. A quick glance through several notebooks tells me that the same person wrote all of them. Memaw must have kept a journal for years! Hopefully, there will be a lot of family stories as well as recipes in these. This is exciting! I can’t wait to look through them. I shove what I can back in the unit, load what I’m taking in the truck, and go meet my brothers.

~

Late that night, I find the oldest journal in the box. The pages are yellowed and fragile, but with patience and a magnifying glass to help with faded ink, the words are still legible.

A morning spent cleaning a storage unit and an afternoon on the river will make anyone tired. Although I’m tired, I find I’m not sleepy. My hands begin to shake slightly as I settle in with the first journal.

Reading about the lives of family members I never knew is like stepping back in time. In my mind, the light from my bedside lamp fades to the dim glow of a kerosene lantern. Chirping katydids and the soft creaking of a windmill in the distance replace the steady hum of cool, refrigerated-air blowing through ceiling vents. Street lights and locked doors become night skies and open windows. Memaw’s journal pages come alive for me. In no time, I feel like I’m part of a simpler world and I envision her life as a young girl. I read and read.

Chapter Two

Ella

This Book is the Property of Ella Ruth Langston, Age 10

December 25, 1910

I love my diary! It’s my best present ever. Last Christmas I got a new pair of church shoes and some hair ribbons. They were nice, but this is better. I’m going to write down all my secret thoughts and prayers. Well, not all of them. I can’t use it up too fast. It will be like having a best friend who’s always with me. I have friends at school and church. Oleta Black and Shirley Timmons have been my best friends since we started school. We tell each other secrets, but not everything. My sister Lena is my very best friend, and I don’t tell her everything. I don’t really have a lot of secrets, but sometimes there are things you just can’t talk about. Like today. Everybody did their best, but it didn’t really feel like Christmas.

We went to church and gave each other gifts. Mama made her special thin pecan cookies, and I made two pies. One custard and one peach using peaches we put up last summer. The house smelled like Christmas. It looked like Christmas too. Lena put little pieces of possomhaw holly on the mantel and in the little cedar tree that Papa brought in for us. The red berries of the holly were beautiful; we always have a little tree. I made popcorn, and we strung it on the tree. Well, Mama and I strung the popcorn while Papa and John Wesley ate popcorn. It just didn’t feel right without Henry, but nobody talked about it. Everybody misses Henry, but it’s hardest on Mama. This was our first Christmas without him.

I worry so much about Mama too. She’s always had her weak spells, but since Henry died there are more and more times where she sits and stares off at nothing. Sometimes it feels like she’s left too. I’ve told Lena how worried I am about Mama. She always says we just need to help her all we can and pray for her health, so I do.

Here’s another secret—a big one. Sooner or later, Lena is going to marry Mr. Oscar Sims, and I don’t really want her to. I know that’s mean and selfish of me to feel that way. They had planned to get married last summer, but then after Henry died, she didn’t think it was the right time. All my life, Lena and I have shared a room and our little jokes and a few tears. Lots of tears over Henry. Lena is the best sister I could have, even though she’s a lot older than me. I don’t want her living someplace else with Oscar Sims. I don’t want my own room all to myself.

So…here’s my Christmas prayer. Thank you, Jesus, for my home and family, and please keep us together. Please help Mama get stronger and Lena to stay close even if she does get married. Please bless Papa and John Wesley. And I guess, please bless Oscar, just in case.

Thank you, Jesus. Amen

Chapter Three

Daisy, it’s just for a week or so. Papa and John Wesley should be back before school starts, but I’ll be taking care of you this week. Daisy stands quietly grazing on the hay I put in the trough, swishing her tail.

I grab the small milk stool and begin washing Daisy with the warm water I brought from the house. All right, are you ready? I pour out the water I don’t need and get busy. Maybe if I keep talking to her, Daisy won’t know how nervous I am.

You know, Daisy, we really appreciate the milk you give us. I don’t know if you know this, but your milk is much richer than Gertie’s. Of course, Gertie is dry right now, so I guess there’s not really a contest. But if there was, you would win. This is working. Milk is going in the bucket. I keep talking.

I know you’re probably wondering why Lena isn’t milking you since Papa’s not here. She’s feeding all the other livestock and checking water troughs for ice. I don’t know how cold it got last night, but it is January, so the water could have frozen during the night. Today is January first. I’ll bet you didn’t know that!

Swish, swish, swish. The tail keeps moving, Daisy keeps chewing, and I keep milking.

And thank you for not hitting me in the face with your tail like you’ve done before. We are getting much better at this. The amount of milk in the bucket is getting close to what Papa always brings in. Are you about finished, girl? We need to be really careful now. You remember the last time I did the milking? You kicked the bucket over just as we finished up!

I stand and put the full bucket on the outside of the fence, out of Daisy’s reach. I open the gate to let Daisy in with her calf and head for the house.

It feels good in here! The kitchen is warm and I love the smell of coffee and toasted bread. I hurry to pour the milk through the old dish towel we use as a strainer. I feel like yelling, I did it! but I know Mama will get on to me for raising my voice in the house, and I don’t want her to know how nervous I was about milking in the first place.

I glance over where Mama is sitting at the table with her Bible and a cup of coffee. She’s not drinking or reading. Just sitting.

I can finish tidying up the kitchen if you want to go change for church, I offer. Based on the rapid rise and fall of Mama’s chest, it’s clear she is short of breath.

I think I’d better stay home today, but I want you and Lena to go. She’s already changed into her good dress and is bringing Myrtle up to the house.

Do you want me to stay home and get dinner ready while you rest? Oscar’s coming here for dinner, isn’t he? I hate leaving Mama home alone when she’s not feeling good.

I’ll be fine. We’ve got beans simmering and ham ready to warm when you get home. Run and change.

I run upstairs and quickly change into my good Sunday dress and shoes. Nobody argues with Mama.

Is it just me, or is it really cold this morning? I ask Lena. My coat feels good, but I still snuggle up to Lena’s back as we ride to church.

A lot colder than it has been, but it didn’t freeze. I didn’t have to bust up any ice this morning. Myrtle sure doesn’t like cold mornings, do you girl? From time to time, Myrtle looks around in the direction of home, causing Lena to have to nudge her along.

We only live a few miles from the church but at this rate, we’ll be lucky to be there on time. Did John Wesley tell Lavenia he would be gone for a week or so? I just wonder if she’s planning to come over for dinner today too.

I know they talked about it last Sunday. Of course, she’s welcome to come over, Lena says, but she knows John Wesley won’t be there.

So, are they officially courting again, or are they really just friends?

Lena takes a deep breath before answering. Who knows with those two? Given that she’s been at our house most Sundays after church for dinner and that John Wesley goes over to her house most Saturday nights, I’d say they are officially courting again.

Then why don’t they officially get engaged or even get married? What do you think they are waiting on? I’m not as worried about John Wesley getting married as I am Lena. John Wesley won’t be leaving the farm if he gets married. Lena will. That’s what’s wrong with having a brother and sister so much older than me. Things get complicated.

You know our brother. John Wesley doesn’t like to rush things. It may take something really big to make him think he needs to make any changes in his life, Lena adds.

Myrtle knows the road into town. About halfway there, she stops trying to go back to the house and heads directly to church. The Caufield Methodist Church currently shares their building with the Caufield School. Myrtle always brings me and Lena to school, so this is her second home. As we ride into the church yard, I can see that most people have already tended to their horses and gone inside. I can also see Oscar Sims visiting with a few other men who are trying to wait until the last minute to go inside. He’s easy to pick out of a crowd, being so tall and skinny. He walks toward us.

Can I help you ladies down? Oscar smiles at both of us. Why don’t you both go in and get us seats. I’ll take care of Myrtle.

I quickly slide down, unassisted. Good morning, Oscar.

Happy New Year, Oscar! Lena takes his hand as she steps down from the horse. Isn’t it wonderful to begin the new year on a Sunday?

Indeed, it is. Where are Mr. and Mrs. Langston today? I know John Wesley went to Stover to check on your Grandpa Bennett. Is your mother feeling all right?

Mama’s fine, just a little short of breath this morning, so she stayed home to rest. Papa went with John Wesley. Mama wanted both of them to go check on things there. She hasn’t had a letter from Grandpa Bennett since late November, and she just wants to set her mind at ease.

I grab Lena’s hand. We’d better hurry. We probably won’t be able to get our usual spot as late as it is. Oscar, we’ll save you a seat.

Sure enough, our usual row behind the Coats family was already taken by the Loudermilks. They always sit on the back row! What are they doing in our seats? Maybe there’s room by the Timmons family.

Over here. Lena pulls me toward three empty seats on the back row. She pitches her coat over the chair on the end of the row for Oscar. Her hands on my shoulders direct me to the empty seat beside Erma Poole. Oscar joins us as Pastor Gage stands to start the service.

I like church. I can’t remember not knowing most of the songs we sing. I even like Pastor Gage’s sermons. He has a way of speaking that makes me think God really does love me and is not just waiting for me to mess up.

Of course, he’s the only preacher I’ve ever had except for the ones who come through in the summer for revivals. That’s a whole different story. We had one last summer who kept asking if we were ready to join the Church Triumphant. I had to ask Lena what that meant. I thought he was trying to start a new church, but she explained it was where believers who have died are already enjoying their time with God.

As soon as the final amen is said, I look for Shirley. I’m anxious to get away from Mrs. Poole before she has a chance to say something mean, but no such luck. Lena and Oscar are blocking the end of the row.

Where is your sweet mother this morning? Mrs. Poole asks. She must be feeling under the weather if she’s missing church. I imagine she overdid everything making sure you had a nice Christmas. You can’t let her do that, you know.

Yes ma’am. Mama’s all right, just a little tired.

And your father and brother? Surely, they’re not skipping church, are they?

No ma’am. They’re out of town. Papa and John Wesley left Friday to go over to Grandpa Bennett’s. I know they probably are skipping church this morning. The few times I’ve been around Grandpa, I’ve noticed that he refuses to go to church. Mrs. Poole doesn’t need to know that though.

Good for them. I know Ruth worries about her father, and she’s unable to go see him herself. It’s funny, when we were younger, she was the lively one. So much energy and focus in such a small woman. You look so much like her, you know. And you’re the ONLY one who does. I swear your father found your brothers and sister out in the pasture or turnip patch. It’s like Ruth had nothing to do with them.

I can’t think of a polite response. I know Lena, John Wesley, and Henry all took after Papa. They all got his dark hair and gray eyes and his height. Everybody knows that, but she makes it sound like there’s something not right about it. I glance back at Lena, hoping she and Oscar have moved enough to let me out.

Did I hear my name just now? Lena takes my hand and begins to pull me away from Mrs. Poole. How are you today, Erma? I hope you’re having a good start to the new year.

I am. You tell your mother I plan to get by to see her this week.

I surely will. Ella, we’d better be going.

Just as we reach the door, Alma Walker, another of Mama’s good friends, stops us. Good morning, Langston ladies. Good morning, Oscar.

I like Mrs. Walker. She always has kind things to say and she works so hard. She’s a widow trying to raise her son, and he’s a handful. I smile at Mrs. Walker.

What happened to your hand? Lena asks, pointing to the bandage wrapped around Alma’s wrist.

I slipped this morning trying to bring in firewood. I’m fine. There was a little swelling, so I thought I’d better wrap it.

Benny Joe needs to take care of the firewood for you. He helps you with chores like that, doesn’t he? Lena speaks in her school teacher voice when she mentions Benny Joe.

He did bring in what I thought was plenty of firewood yesterday, but we went through it.

Lena nods, Just colder than expected?

"It is cold, but no. The Murphy’s used up most