Changing Seasons

By Mel Stolhand

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Changing Seasons traces the lives of Warren and Arleta Martin as they seek a better life for their family. After their marriage, Warren goes to work for Arletas father on his farm, but Arleta yearns for something better. The whole country is struggling through the depression, and after Mother Nature ravages the area where they live in Texas, money for work on the farm becomes scarce. Leaving his pregnant wife at home, Warren travels out of state to find a job that will pay cash, promising to be home before the baby is born.
The story is told through the eyes of Mary, their oldest daughtera bright and precocious child who is the center of her Grandma Jamisons world. Mary feels secure and loved, even in a world on the brink of World War II. Then that security is snatched away when her parents decide to travel west seeking a better life for their small family.
The trip to California in a crowded car with the Jefferson family is a long, tiring ride in late December of 1941, especially to three-year-old Mary who has never seen these people before. When she realizes that this is not just a ride to town, but that they are leaving her beloved Grandma Jamison, she begs to return to Texas, but her wishes fall on deaf ears. When they finally reach their destination she discovers they have moved to what she describes as a wide spot in the road, and their new house isnt much better than the one they left in Texas.
Soon after arriving in California Mary is told she must learn to speak correctly, There is no such word as aint, she is told, and shes not to use southern slangwords like didja, gonna, gotta, and dozens of others. Its all very confusing, especially when she is informed that her Mama would henceforth be known as Mother.
Soon more of her fathers family joins them in California, and she doesnt feel quite so lonesome. Then she reaches school age, and comes face to face with a whole new world, when she discovers that she is just a small cog in the scheme of things, and she is forever falling out of sync.
Marys parents have grilled into her that she is never to get into a car with a stranger. So, when a car pulls to a stop and a lady gets out and approaches her, while she is waiting at the bus stop alone on the first day of school, Mary panics. She is sure that the lady is going to kidnap her, so she runs home, screaming all the way.
Things went downhill from there. Most of Marys pretty school dresses were made of printed flour sacks, but some of the girls referred to them as rags. Once the other kids realized that she was very smart, and always got top grades, she became known as smarty-pants, teachers pet, and other names that were not so nice. Mary began to think of herself as a country mouse in comparison to other girls. Especially since her hair was a plain mousy brown without any curl, while her cousin, Olivia, and her sister, Reba, both were curly headed blonds. So Mary withdrew and turned to books and a world of make believe.
However, there are happy times too. Once a month the Martins and Jeffersons go on a picnic to a local park, where the children play on the playground equipment and go for exciting boat rides. Another time they attend a war bond rally, where The Sons of the Pioneers, along with Roy Rogers and his horse, Trigger, are the main attraction. And theres the Fourth of July picnic, where one of the rockets went astray and caused all kinds of excitement.
Theres also travel. One Christmas, four families of the Martin relatives caravan by automobile to Texas to spend the holidays with the rest of the family. Along the road they run into all types of excitement; rain, wind, snow, ice, flooded roads, and even a cattle drive. Finally they reach their destination, and its a whirlwind of new experiences for Mary. The cousins join in building a snowman, and then proceed to have a snowball fight. Its a rare treat, since there is no snow in

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 21, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462814701

Mel Stolhand

Melba Stolhand was born near Aubrey, Texas, but grew up in the San Joaquin Valley of California. She is a widow, with two grown children, and decided she wanted her family to know their roots. Therefore, she began researching her family history and turned it into a collection of family stories. Changing Seasons is her first attempt at writing fiction. Melba has chosen to make her home in the delta area of Northern California where she is a member of the East Contra Costa Writers Group and credits them with giving her the courage to continue writing.

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by Mel Stolhand.

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 the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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Contents

Prologue

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Glossary

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven;

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn, and a time to dance;

A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and a time to lose;

A time to keep, and a time to cast away;

A time to rend, and a time to sew;

A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

A time to love, and a time to hate;

A time of war, and a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

PROLOGUE

TEXAS—1938

It had been a bitter cold winter. The coldest one on record, and so far spring didn’t seem to be in any hurry to make an appearance. The ice and snow that had kept the area around their home in Oakfort cut off from the outside world had finally melted. Then the rains came. It had been raining for over a week, day and night—and that together with the melting snow and ice, was the reason their home, which sat on a small rise, was surrounded by water. The lower half of the woods where the pecan trees grew was flooded, as well as most of the roads in the area. In fact they were cut off from everyone.

The road that ran between their house and the home of Warren’s family crossed Elmwood Creek, and that small stream was now a raging torrent. The fields that weren’t under water were so soggy that even the mules couldn’t stagger through them—so plowing was out of the question. Warren spent his time in the barn repairing harnesses and sharpening the plow, but if it didn’t quit raining soon he would have to find another way to make some money. Spring plowing was already late, and if he didn’t get the crops planted before long, the harvest would be slim to nothing.

Arleta was busy hanging the wash on lines that she had strung across the lower level of their home. This is a poor excuse for livin’, she thought as she stooped to get another of her husband’s shirts to hang it on the line to dry. The weather is terrible, but this here ole barn of a house is even worse. I cain’t even get from the kitchen ta the bedroom without gettin’ soakin’ wet, she grumbled. She hung up a few more pieces, all the while thinking about everything that was wrong with her life. Here I was thinkin’ that gettin’ married would solve all my problems—no more havin’ to do all the mendin’ and sewin’ for those ornery brothers o’ mine. Now Maddy and Viola will just have ta learn how ta patch their britches and sew up the holes in their socks. That’s good ’nough for em, they was always complainin’ ’bout everythin’ I done anyways. Still muttering to herself she stood back and surveyed her finished work. Clothes hung from lines stretched all around the room, and back and forth across the center. In fact, only the area around the cook stove was clear.

This shore ain’t what I thought bein’ married would be like, she said as she added another stick of wood to the stove. I thought I’d have more time ta get used ta bein’ a wife afore becomin’ a mama. Just my luck! ’Spectin’ right off the bat! Why couldn’t I be one o’ them what sail right through it? But oh no—I’m sick ever mornin’, food don’t even taste good, and afore long my clothes won’t fit nomore! Then looking up toward Heaven she said, I surely do want a baby Lord . . . just not right now.

They had only been married a little over two months, and she should still be a smiling bride, but with the morning sickness, she felt tired and weepy all the time. She had never liked the cold of winter, and the grey and gloomy skies didn’t help any either. When her father had offered this house to her and Warren as a wedding present, she had visions of fixing it up, but she hadn’t realized how much work it would take. The only way ta fix this here house is to tear it down and start all over! she shouted at the walls. Then pulling a shawl over her head she climbed the stairs to the bedroom.

The house was a small, square cracker box, two stories high, built of unfinished wood. The inside walls were lined with newsprint to keep the wind out, but it did little to keep out the damp. One corner of the downstairs portion of the house contained the kitchen, which consisted of a cook stove, a narrow shelf that allowed room for storage of dry goods underneath, and a small table with two chairs. The remainder of the room was used as a storage bin for much of the year. There sacks of peanuts or pecans were stacked to dry while waiting for shipment. Upstairs was the bedroom, but the only way to reach it was by an outside staircase that was open to the elements, and right now it was raining. By the time she climbed the stairs and got inside out of the storm, she was soaking wet. I’m wet clear down ta my skin! she shouted. She pulled off her wet things, hung them over the back of a chair to dry, and put on another complete set of clothes.

She looked at the bed, longing to stretch out, but realized it was beginning to get dark outside. Warren will be comin’ in soon, and he’s gonna want somethin’ ta eat, she muttered to herself. What am I gonna fix? I guess I can make a pan o’ cornbread and warm up the stew left from last night’s supper. Then it dawned on her, I gotta go back outside ta fix supper, and I’m gonna get wet all over again. She sighed . . . but then remembered seeing a large piece of canvas among some boxes stacked in the corner. No . . . not this time, she told herself as she dug it out. She folded it so that she could wrap one edge over her head, and using the rest of it as a long cloak, once again braved the rain.

Back in the kitchen area, she shook out the canvas and set about fixing supper. She quickly mixed up a batch of cornbread and put it into the oven, then set the pot of stew on top of the stove to get hot. This don’t look fit ta eat ta me, she thought, but Warren, he don’t never complain. She smiled to herself as she remembered the time she had burnt the beans so bad that the whole house smelled like a pig pen, and instead of being mad, he had just put his arms around her and said, We’ll just have cornbread ’n milk fer supper. I don’t feel like eatin’ beans tonight anyways.

But when she turned around to put a couple of plates on the table she realized there was no place for them to eat. Clothes hung over the table, and water was dripping everywhere—the table, the chairs, and the floor. That was just too much, and she sat down in one of the wet chairs, put her arms on the table, and cradled her head while she broke into sobs. I have ta take some of them clothes down an’ wipe up all o’ this water or we cain’t even have a place for supper, she wailed. Then I just have ta hang the clothes up again! and she pounded her fist on the table and cried.

Warren found her there when he came in a few minutes later. Boy howdy, he said as he pulled off his wet coat and hung it on a nail just inside the door. It’s a regular gully washer out there. I don’t know . . . Then realizing that Arleta was crying, he went to his knees beside the chair and folding his arms around her asked, What’s wrong darlin’? Are you hurt . . . or sick? Whatcha cryin’ for?

Oh Warren, I’m jest a fellin’ kinda puney, an all this rain is makin’ me sorta weepy. I fixed ya some supper . . . well . . . I did start it . . . but then I saw we didn’t have nowheres to sit an eat but what we’d get all wet!

Is ’at all? An’ here I thought the end o’ the world had come, he said with a grin while rubbing his hand up and down her back. Tell you what . . . we’ll just move the table n’ chairs ’tween the door an’ the stove? We’ll be a little scrunched up, but I think there’d be ’nough room fer tonight anyways. I’ll even wipe the water off’n the table n’ chairs while you russle up sum’pin for us to eat. Gently reaching out to cradle her face in his hands, he used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Okay sweetheart? Then after giving her a kiss he helped her up from the chair.

Supper that night was rather quiet, and no matter what Warren did or said, nothing seemed to improve Arleta’s frame of mind. And when they climbed the stairs to their bedroom things didn’t get any better. The rain was still coming down, but now it was mixed with hail, as well as lightning flashes to the west, and that usually meant more foul weather on the way. Later, when Warren reached for her as they lay in bed, she seemed cold and distant. He finally gave up and turned to his side of the bed. Try ta git some sleep Arleta. Mayhap the rain’ll stop afore long and the sun’ll be shinin’ in the mornin’.

But that isn’t what happened. During the night Warren awoke to hear the sound of hail on the roof. That don’t sound good, he thought as he got up to find the chamber pot to relieve himself. Then he noticed the lightning seemed to be closer. There was one strike after another, but at least the rain and hail had stopped. Maybe it was letting up. But suddenly he heard something much worse. It sounded like a freight train coming at them, but there were no train tracks within miles of where they lived. He stood stunned for a moment, and then he realized what he was hearing. Arleta, wake up! There’s a twister a’comin’. Arleta! he yelled as he yanked the covers off of her and started pulling her out of bed.

Huh . . . what’d you say? she asked half asleep as she reached to find a robe.

You ain’t got time to sleep. There’s a twister a’comin’ and we’re a gonna have ta run fer it, he said as he wrapped the quilt around her and pulled her after him out the door. Suddenly Arleta realized what he had said, and hearing the roar of the wind, she stopped, frozen in place. Oh God, I didn’t mean it, she whispered. I love our house.

Warren, realizing she was in shock, gave her a quick shake, and yelled, Come on Arleta! We gotta hurry! Then helping her down the stairs, they stumbled across the yard to the storm cellar. There Warren found the lantern stored in one corner for just this type of emergency, and after lighting it, he took her in his arms and they sat wrapped in the quilt while the storm raged around them overhead.

Neither of them got any more sleep that night. Instead they prayed for the storm to pass, and dreaded what they would find the next morning. Do you think we’re gonna have a house left after tonight? What’s gonna happ’n ta the mules . . . an’ my chickens? Warren the twister will carry ’em off! And she buried her head in her lap and sobbed.

Warren tried to console her with soft words of encouragement, while trying not to think about the last time he had been in a tornado. He had been a child, but he remembered coming out of the storm cellar when it was over, and finding nothing left of their home, not even a pile of lumber—just his mother and two of his sisters wrapped in a quilt on a bed where the house had stood. No one was hurt, but they had lost everything they owned—livestock, crops and all.

The next morning Arleta and Warren emerged to find that indeed the rain had stopped, and the house was still standing—although it was minus a few shingles, and the outhouse had been tipped on its side, but not destroyed. One wall of the henhouse had collapsed, but they found most of the chickens had been trapped in the rubble that saved them from the storm. Likewise the mules were still there, thanks to the lean-to attached to the other side of the henhouse. Even Arleta’s flowers had survived, but looking to the south, Warren realized that the woods and the pecan trees had not fared as well. There many of the trees were broken, and limbs were scattered everywhere. Well, there went the pecan crop, he sighed, what’s next?

Once the water had gone down, they set to work and over the next few weeks got the debris cleared away, the henhouse repaired, and at least some of the pecan trees staked and tied up. The ground had dried out enough to get some work done, so Warren helped Arleta’s father and brothers get the fields in shape and they planted them all in peanuts, because there was not much hope of a good pecan crop that year.

Arleta realized that money was going to be scarce for a while, so she let her flowers go, at least long enough to put in a good sized garden. She planted a rather large area of potatoes, a few rows of corn, black-eyed peas, okra, onions, peppers, some tomato vines, and a patch of watermelon. Then she turned her attention back to her flowers.

Soon green sprouts appeared and everything seemed to be renewing itself. The pecan trees were healing up, so maybe there would be at least a few pecans to sell. However, the rain that had been so devastating during the spring, failed to come at all that summer. The peanuts, and even Arleta’s garden began to shrivel up and die. If something didn’t happen soon . . . and then it did. Swarms of locust came through the area and soon devoured the few peanuts that had survived the drought. Now there was nothing left.

A few weeks later, Warren sat at the supper table slowly moving his food from one side of the plate to the other, while trying to decide how he was going to tell Arleta that he was leaving. It wasn’t that he wanted to leave, but he couldn’t think of another way to make some money. He had heard they were looking for help in the panhandle to harvest wheat, and he had decided to go and find some work. He knew Arleta wasn’t going to be happy with his decision, but he didn’t see any other way. With a baby coming, he didn’t feel like they had a choice. Everyone in the area was in the same shape, and there was no work anywhere nearby.

I’ll be back home afore the baby comes, he promised as he held her in his arms that night after they had gone to bed. With a baby comin’ we’re gonna need ta have some cash money on hand, and there just ain’t any work ’round here. The weather hit everbody bad, he said as he tried to console her. Now don’t cry darlin’. You’ll be okay. Your mama and daddy are just down the road, and they promised ta check on you ever day. Your mama wants you ta stay with them, but I know you and you won’t want to. But, if’n you decide it’s what you want ta do, it’ll be okay with me. Fact is . . . it might be a good idear.

No, I ain’t gonna move back home! she said with conviction. I don’t want you ta go, but I know you think ya has to. Just be careful, and promise you’ll be home afore the baby comes, she said as the tears started again. I’m worried that somethin’ bad’ll happen, and I don’t want ta be here by myself.

Now don’t worry yourself sick. Everything’ll work out okay . . . I promise, Warren said as he held her tight. I’ll be back afore the baby comes, even if I got ta crawl all the way.

Arleta knew he was trying to reassure her, but it wasn’t working. All she could think about was . . . what if the baby comes early?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First I want to thank my family for their love and support in this endeavor. Their encouragement and enthusiasm have been invaluable. My daughter, Jan Day, has been especially helpful. She never complained when I would have her sit and listen as I read certain chapters over and over again, until we agreed that it was right. Two of my granddaughters, Joy Stokes and Melissa Stutz, were always eager to hear the next chapter, and I think without their interest I might still be struggling.

I also want to thank my friends and relatives for their help in critiquing the finished product. Rena Baker, Ilene Copping, Pat Miller, Jeanie Perdue, Oleta Smith, Willa Tilford, and Kathy Walters each took time out of their busy lives to read the chapters I sent them and made corrections and/or suggestions where needed.

The members of the East Contra Costa Writers Group showed their support by being willing to listen and help with spelling, punctuation, and wording, even when I read the same chapter over and over again until I got it right. A special thanks goes to Sarah Jacobson and Carol Lindahl who read and critiqued the complete story. Without the help and encouragement of this group of people, I might have got discouraged and never finished Mary’s story.

CHAPTER 1

1938

By the mid 1930s, World War I had ended and the stage was set for World War II. The Wall Street Stock Market had crashed in 1929 and banks closed their doors. Companies went bankrupt, farms were foreclosed on, and millions of people were out of work. Bread lines were set up in most of the major cities to feed people who had no money for groceries. In other areas, people went from farm to farm, offering to work for food, in order to feed their families for that day; and in some cases they asked to sleep in the barn so their children would be warm and protected from the weather. In Europe, Hitler and Mussolini were busy gobbling up whole countries. That is the state of the world when my story begins.

The sky was a faded blue, with very little color to it, as though the Texas heat had drained all the dye out. The oppressive humidity was especially hard on Arleta, as her time was drawing near. She sat on the porch, looking down the muddy ruts of the road through the pecan trees, shelling black-eyed peas she had picked from the garden that morning. If that lazy Berta’d drag herself out o’ bed, she could dig up that last hill o’ taters, she thought to herself. There’s a little more o’ that salt pork left in the cellar, an’ if’n we add that ta the peas an’ taters, it’ll do fer supper. Fer my own self, I ain’t hungry. It’s jest too hot ta even thank ’bout cookin’, but I have ta eat ta keep up ma strength. The baby needs the food ta be healthy.

Berta! Are ya gonna’ sleep all day? she shouted. I ain’t not never in ma life knowed a lazier woman, she muttered. All she does is moan an’ groan, an’ complain ’bout everythin’. Mayhap I should jest let ’er stay in bed—at least I git some peace when she ain’t aroun’. But I’m gonna need those taters, an’ I’m afeerd if I git down on ma knees ta dig ’em, I may have ta stay there ’til the baby comes, ’cause I don’t thank I could git back up agin.

She’d been feeling poorly all day. She had a terrible headache, and there was an ache in her lower back that just didn’t seem to ease up, no matter what she did. Even the baby seemed especially heavy today, not kicking so much as just in a position that made it impossible to get comfortable. I shore hope Daddy comes over afore long. He said he’d bring some milk by, and maybe Mama’ll send a few aigs with ’im. That darn fox got our last hen durin’ the night, so all we got left is what little garden hasn’t up an’ died in this heat. I swear, it’s hotter’n a fresh-fried-fox in a forest fire.

Arleta sat there feeling sorry for herself, and wishing her husband would come home. After they lost the peanut crop to the locust, they had to make some money somewhere, so Warren had gone to the panhandle to work in the wheat fields. But I sure wish he hadn’t a gone, she said to herself. I got a bad feelin’ ’bout this. There I go agin she thought, talkin’ ta myself. If’n I don’t stop this, people’ll think I’m crazy, and mayhap I am. Oh God, please bring ’im home soon. I need ’im ta be here when the baby comes. I’m afeerd somethin’s wrong. I know ya said ya’d supply all our needs . . . and Lord . . . I need ma Warren.

She sat rocking with her eyes closed for a few minutes, then looking up, she spotted a wagon coming down the lane. Oh, thank ya, Lord. There comes Daddy—and Mama’s with ’im. It ain’t Warren, but it’s next to it. Arleta had been worried all day that the baby might decide it was time, and she didn’t think Berta would be any help. I should git up an’ at least comb ma hair, she thought, but I jest ain’t got no energy.

How’re ya feelin’ taday? asked her mother as she walked up onto the porch and sat down in the other rocking chair.

Oh, I don’ know. Fair ta middlin I guess. It don’ do no good ta complain, she said with a heavy sigh.

I see yer feet aer still swollen, fact is, they looks worse’n ’ey did on Sunday, and leaning over for a closer look she said, an’ yer face is a little puffy taday too.

I know, but I don’ know what ta do ’bout it. My feet’r so swollen I cain’t wear ma shoes. I tried ta put ’em up on that there chair earlier, but it makes me too uncomfer’ble ’cause o’ where the baby’s at.

Mayhap you should lay down.

No, I shore cain’t do that. I thought I was never gonna be able ta git out o’ bed this mornin’. I twisted and turned and most pulled the head rails off o’ the bed tryin’ to pull myself up, she wailed. I feel like a fat sow stuck in a mud hole! With that she broke into tears.

Now, now, stop yer blubberin’. It’ll all be over in a day r two. Then you’ll have that baby and you’ll fergit all ’bout yer problems. I see yer flawrs are holdin’ up in this heat, she said hoping a change in subject would help. Them roses are ’special nice. The blooms on that there yeller rose bush are the biggest I ever did see.

Yeah, they seem ta be a thrivin’, said Arleta as she wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron. And look there at them thar red roses . . . don’t they look soft as velvet?

They sat rocking in companionable silence for a few minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes her mother said hopefully, I did a little bakin’ early this mornin’, and brung over a lemon cake. I thought mayhap it’d sound good ta ya—yer daddy said ya ain’t had much appetite lately.

No, I don’t. It’s jest too hot ta even bother, she said, as she wiped the perspiration from her forehead. Jest a couple a days ago I had all kinds a energy. I stripped the bed, did the washin’, even worked in my flawrs fer a while. Mayhap I done too much—I don’ know. But I ain’t been worth a hill a beans ever since.

Where’s Berta? Ain’t she a helpin’ ya a-tall?

No, she’s been complainin’ ’bout a headache, so she’s a bed.

The other rocker came to an abrupt stop as her mother asked, At noon?

Yeah, she’s been there all mornin’. But even when she’s up, she just mopes ’round moanin’ and groanin’. She’s beginnin’ to git on my nerves, so I jest let er sleep.

Her mother muttered something unintelligible, and then looking at Arleta suggested, "I brung over a gallon o’ buttermilk from the ice house, how’d ya like a big glass a that?

Oh, that does sound good, Arleta said, as she struggled to get up.

No, you jest stay there, insisted her mother as she quickly got to her feet. I’ll git it. You’re lookin’ kinda puney.

I know it. I’m sa tard my butts’ a draggin’ my tracks out. Arleta resumed slowly rocking back and forth, the peas in her lap completely forgotten, as she closed her eyes, tried to relax, and prayed for a cool breeze.

About that time, her daddy came around the corner of the house, It shore is hot taday, he stated, removing his straw hat and running his fingers through his damp hair. A little rain’d feel mighty good ’bout now. He sat down on the porch step beside her chair and taking his pipe out of his pocket, prepared to have a quiet smoke. Using his pocketknife he cleaned out the bowl, then after knocking out the ashes by tapping it on his shoe, he packed it with fresh tobacco and struck a match. Once he had his pipe drawing to his satisfaction, he leaned back against the porch rail and before long his head was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly realizing that someone was missing, he asked, Where’s yer mama?

She’s gone ta git me a glass a buttermilk. Would ya like some?

Hey, Mildred, he called to his wife. How ’bout bringin’ me a glass too?

Before long Mildred appeared in the doorway with three tall glasses of buttermilk. She handed a glass to each of them and then sat down with a huge sigh and resumed rocking. The three of them sat in the shade of the porch, enjoying the sharp taste of the cool buttermilk, while the creaking of the two rocking chairs, and the hum of bees in the roses that grew at the side of the porch, soothed their souls.

This tastes larrupin’ good, said Arleta, breaking the silence with a smile for her mother. I jest wish Warren’d get home. I’m beginnin’ ta get worried ’bout im. He knows the baby’s due any time, an’ he promised he’d be home in time fer the birth.

He’s pro’bly on his way now, said her mother. But, jest ta be on the safe side, ah’m a gonna send that Berta home ’n I’ll stay with ya ’til he gits here. I don’t want cha ta be by yerself, and we both know that Berta’s as useless as tits on a boar hog. I declare, that’s the laziest woman I ever did see. Why Warren thought she’d be a hep ta you, I’ll never know, she said, shaking her head in frustration. Caleb, why don’t ya take er back ta her mama’s, and I’ll have supper ready by the time ya git back.

She’s not gonna wanna leave ’afore supper, said Caleb.

I don’t care if’n she don’t! declared Mildred as she slapped her knee. She’s laid in that there bed all day, and I’ll be doggone if I’m a gonna cook er supper!

So, after much complaining on Berta’s part, Caleb drove her home and then returned.

I declare, said Caleb as he came in the door of the kitchen, My ears hurt jest from a listenin’ ta that woman whine and carry-on. She pitched a hissy fit all the way home, and half the time she didn’t make no sense a’tal. Why she’s crazier n bedbug! How do ya stand it Arleta? Does she go on like that ever’ day?

Well, some days are worse’n others, she laughed. I realize she misses her mama, and I know she gits the headaches, but sometimes I wish she’d just be quiet. Lately her constant complainin’ seems ta bother me more’n it should.

Now don’t go makin’ excuses fer her, said Mildred as she carried a pitcher of iced tea to the table. If somebody give ’er a twenty dollar gold piece, she’d complain it was dirty! She ain’t got the sense God gives a billy goat!

They all had a good chuckle at that, and then settled down to a nice, quiet supper, while outside the music of the katydids and the cry of a far off whippoorwill filled the night with sound.

The first contraction hit later that night. It wasn’t very bad, more like a cramp, and Arleta knew it could take awhile, so she didn’t rouse anyone. But around midnight her mother woke to hear Arleta groaning as a harder contraction tore through her body. After watching Arleta through a few more contractions, she knew it was time to get some help. So, she went to wake her husband to send him for the doctor. Caleb! Caleb, wake up! she said as she shook him awake. I think ya’d better go fer the doctor. Looks like it’s time . . . an’ Arleta don’t look good.

Caleb got dressed and hurried outside to hitch the team and go for help. I sure wisht ’at Warren was here, he muttered to himself as he raced through the night. Lord, help ’er through this, and send Warren home soon’s he ken git here.

When Caleb got to the doctor’s house he found a note on the door saying he had been called out to the Peterson ranch to tend a sick child. So, Caleb turned the team around and headed for the Peterson home, praying that he would find the doctor in time.

While Caleb was gone looking for the doctor, the contractions got stronger and stronger, and Arleta got weaker and weaker. Oh God, send thet doctor in a hurry. I done did all I know how, prayed Mildred. About that time she heard someone outside, followed by footsteps on the outside stairs. Oh, thank ya Lord, she said. But it wasn’t the doctor.

Arleta? Arleta! called Warren as he came in the door. I’m home! I come fast as I could. Like to never . . . What’s wrong? he asked Mildred. Is it the baby? I never saw Doc’s horse outside, ain’t he here? Where is he? Is Arleta okay?

Caleb’s gone fer the doctor, but I don’ thank he’s gonna git here’n time. I’m afeerd yer gonna have ta hay-epp me. Right now I need ya ta sit right down here aside her ’n let ’er know yer here. She’s been a frettin ’bout ya so, that mayhap just knowin’ yer here might hay-epp as much as anythin’. Babies jest seems ta come when they wants to.

Three hours later, just as the sun rose on September 2, 1938, Mary Marie Martin entered the world on a farm outside of Allensworth, Texas. She was born at home with no doctor in attendance. Doctor Davis got there later, but in the meantime, Arleta almost died. She had a problem with her kidneys, and went into convulsions. It took Warren and Caleb both to hold her on the bed. Mildred later told Mary, After ya was borned I wrapped ya in a quilt, n’ laid ya over in the corner, and didn’t never git ’round ta washin’ ya up ’til ’most noon. We was all sa busy with yer mama, but I nowed ya was alright ’cause ya weren’t no quiet baby. Yer daddy ’most went crazy worrin’. He stayed right thar ’n wouldn’t leave yer mamma’s side . . . even after the convulsions stopped, and she got quiet. He jest prayed all a time. Why ya was two days old ’fore we knowd yer mama’d live.

The home of Warren and Arleta was a two-story clapboard house provided for them by Caleb when they got married. It wasn’t painted—very few were in those days, unless you were rich. The outside walls were unfinished wood, and the inside was papered in newsprint to keep the wind from whistling through the cracks. Most of the first floor was used as a storeroom for peanuts, but in one corner stood the kitchen. They lived on the second floor, which was accessed by an outside stairway that was open to the elements. That was it, just two rooms, but Arleta had made it a home. A winding road led down through the pecan trees, and there at the end of the lane sat the house, surrounded by a beautiful flower garden—the pride and joy of Arleta.

After Mary’s birth, Warren went back to work for his father-in-law, for a dollar a day. Of course it didn’t cost them anything for the house they lived in, since it came with the job; and at least one meal a day they ate at the Jamison house along with everyone else in the family, married or not. But Arleta wasn’t happy.

One day as Warren and Arleta sat on the porch relaxing after a long day in the field, she decided it was time to speak up. She had put the baby down for a nap, and was musing on how to bring up the subject—should I jest come right out with it, or try ta be more casual like? Warren, not realizing there was a problem, was enjoying the sunset with its beautiful colors when Arleta abruptly stated, Warren, I wanna home o’ my own! I want my own space, and I want more time ta ourselves. My brothers and sisters are fightin’ an’ fussin’ with each other all a time. Even now that they’s all married, they still at it. They live too close ’n somebody’s always mad at sombody else. In this family ever’body thinks they needs ta know ever’thin’ what’s goin’ on in yer life, and pausing for a breath she continued—n I don’ like it! I feel like I’m bein’ smothered!

Instantly alert, Warren’s first thought was, wher’d that come from? Did somethin’ happen taday? Now Arleta, ya know they love ya, and they care ’bout ya. Why it’s jest their way a showin’ it.

Oh phooey! she said as she stomped her foot. That’s not what hit’s about and ya know it! They’re just plain ol’ nosy! Then it was as if all the air went out of her, as she slid out of her chair and knelt at his feet, Do ya really love me Warren?

What? he asked as he tried to keep up with the sudden change in subjects. What brung that up? O’ course I love ya. If’n I did’n love ya, I wouldn’a married ya.

I overheerd Maddie and er friend Zora talkin’ at church last Sunday, and they seem ta thank I tricked ya ta git ya ta marry me. Zora said ya was in love with ’er sister Molly, she said with a sob. Is ’at true?

Now you lissen here, said Warren as he stood and pulled her to her feet. I love ya, and have since I seen ya a dancin’ at the box supper last year. Hit’s true I took Molly to a party wonst, but after I seen ya, she wasn’t ’portant nomore. I love ya, jest ya . . . an’ I love ’r little girl too. So, I don’t wanna hear no more ’bout it." Then he took her into his arms and proceeded to demonstrate just how he felt with a kiss that left her knees weak.

However, that wasn’t the only complaint that Arleta had. Her father had tried to keep her and Warren apart when they were dating, because he had someone else in mind for her. And even now, although they were married, every time they had a setback in their finances he would remind her, If you’da married Mac, you’d be livin’ high on the hog, cause he’s one a the richest men in seven counties.

Arleta just couldn’t seem to make him understand. They had argued about it just that morning, Daddy, I told ya over ’n over ag’in . . . I jest did’n love ’im. Fact is’ I did’n even like ’im! He has red hair and so many freckles he looks like a speckled hen. An’ I did’n want no redheaded, freckled faced kids! ’Sides, he’s the most borin’ man I ever knowd. Ever other word is ‘I done, I ken, or I will.’ The only person he’s in’erested in . . . is hisself!

By the end of 1939 the Japanese had invaded Manchuria, the Italian army had invaded Ethiopia, the Spanish Civil War had ended and Franco became dictator of Spain. The Nazi-Soviet Pact was formed and the Red Army invaded Poland and Finland. Germany had invaded Austria and Czechoslovakia, and most of the world was at war. There was a lot of discussion about the war in Europe on the news, and even among the family, but at that time the United States was staying out of it.

CHAPTER 2

One day Caleb took a load of cattle to the stockyards in Dalton, and on his way home stopped by the field where Warren was plowing. He had a newspaper in his hand that he had picked up in town and he was very upset. We’re gonna have ta go ta war ’afore this thang in Europe is over, he said in an angry voice as he jabbed the air with his newspaper. Somebody has gotta stop Hitler, and I thank that we’re gonna have ta step in and join the fight!

Ya might be right, agreed Warren with a sigh, but I shore do hope not. I keep hopin’ it won’t come ta that, but I’m afeerd it will. Yesterd’y I heard a guy down at the store say, ‘sooner r later things’ll settle down over there,’ but I don’t think so. Evil never gives up. Somebody has ta stand up fer what’s right an’ be willin’ ta do somethin’ ’bout it, and those peoples over in Europe jest don’t seem ta be able ta stop ’im.

Well, Caleb said as he turned to leave, all we ken do is wait n see what happins. Mayhap somebody’ll kill that sucker, and it’ll all be over.

In Europe the armies of Germany and Italy were overtaking country after country. The newspapers and radio broadcasts were full of news about the war, but in the United States most people went about their daily lives just thankful that the fighting was on the other side of the world. Besides, here we had enough troubles of our own, and the war was Europe’s problem. Surely it would end soon. So, the United States did nothing—they waited.

In late August of 1940 Warren again decided he needed to make some extra money. Because of the depression, there wasn’t the market for paper-shell pecans that normally supplied spending money for the family. Since two younger Jamison boys could keep up with the work on the farm without their help, he and Ernest, Arleta’s oldest brother, went down to the banks of Elmwood Creek, which bordered the Jamison land to the west. Many of the trees along the creek had been damaged by the tornado that came through a couple of years back. They planned to clear them out, cut down a few more trees, and chop them all into firewood to sell. They got busy, cut up the damaged trees, along with a few others, trimmed off all the smaller limbs, and cut them into firewood. Then they stacked the wood in neat, tidy rows, ready to sell.

Well, whatcha think Warren? asked Ernest one evening after long hours of stacking firewood. Thank we got ’nough to sell yet? I’s a hopin ta have more cut by now, but I thank this’ll do ta start. What say we put up a Fer Sale sign and open fer business?

Yeah, I think yer right, said Warren as he sat down next to the fire to rest his tired body. We ken still cut more if’n we need to. Fact is, we ken take turns waitin’ on people, while the other one keeps on a workin’.

So, they found a piece of cardboard, and using boot black, made a sign to post at the road the next morning. However, during the night it started raining. That wouldn’t have been a problem; but the rain didn’t stop. Warren smiled sadly as he later told Mary the story, Yeah, we thought we had it made. Then it started raining. It rained, and rained, and then it rained some more. The river flooded agin and washed all our wood away—ever last piece. So I went back to workin’ fer yer Grandpa Jamison.

The rest of the world was going from bad to worse. By 1940 the Red Army had taken the Baltic states of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia. The Italian army had invaded British Somaliland and Greece. The German army invaded Denmark, Norway, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland, Romania, the Netherlands, and had begun bombing London and other British cities. On September 27th, the Tripartite Alliance was formed. Japan joined with Italy and Germany in an attempt to conquer the world, and that same month the United States introduced military conscription, better known as the draft, in preparation for defending our country.

At Thanksgiving, the whole family gathered at the Jamison home for supper, and the talk turned once more to the war. I heerd on the news this mornin’ ’at they started draftin’ men inta the army, said Keith, the youngest brother of Arleta, as he reached to stab another piece of turkey from the platter that set in the middle of the table. I don’t wanna be in the army, I wanna fly airplanes, so I’m a gonna join the Air Force.

Now Keith, don’t ya even thank ’bout it, said Mildred with a sob. There ain’t no need fer ya ta do nothin’ right now. There be lots o’ older men ta fight this here war.

She’s right, said Luther, the middle son. There ain’t no need fer ya ta be in a hurry. Let’s jest wait n see what happins. Mayhap it won’t come ta that, and he reached to add some turkey to his plate. This here turkey shorly does look good Mama, and I’m sa hungry ma stomach thanks my throat’s been cut.

Warren glanced at Arleta, and didn’t say anything, but he thought to himself I know Arleta don’t want me ta get into it, but I’m afeerd I ain’t gonna have a choice. Fact is, we may all be fightin’ afore it’s over. I’ll talk ta her ’bout it tanight and try ta make her understan’ what’s goin’ on.

Caleb looked around the table at his family, and didn’t like what he saw. He slapped the table with the flat of his hand and said, Now wait jest a gol’darn minute—if’n you boys all go off ta war, who’s a gonna work this here farm? I shore cain’t do it by my own self!

That’s enough talkin’ a war! Mildred shouted as she stood up from the table. Me and the girls have worked all mornin’ cookin’ this here dinner, and all yew men can thank ’bout is fightin’! I don’t wanna hear ’nother word ’bout it tanight! And with that she left the room, crying.

Arleta followed her into the bedroom and tried to calm her down. Now Mama, you know how men are. All they ken talk ’bout is the crops an’ the weather, she said as she led her mother to the side of the bed and sat down beside her. This here war’s somethin’ new, and I thank they’ll get tired o’ it ’afore long. ’Sides, nothin’s gonna happen right away, so let’s go an’ enjoy our supper. Then, giving her mother a hug, she led her back to the table. But it was very quiet after that. There was none of the laughter and closeness that normally accompanied the meal. Everyone was lost in thoughts of the war, and what it was going to mean to the family.

That night, after they got in bed, Warren turned to his wife and said, Arleta, ya know we cain’t jest stick our heads in the ground an’ not thank ’bout what’s happenin’. There’s a war goin’ on, and sooner r later, the United States is gonna have ta get involved. There just ain’t no other way out.

I know, she said. But promise me you won’t volunteer Warren. We got ’nother baby due in jest a few weeks, and I don’t thank I ken go through that agin, ’specially if’n yer gone. I need ya here with me. Let somebody else go fight, and you stay an help Daddy on the farm.

We’ll see, he said. I’ll stay ’til after the baby comes, but I cain’t promise ya that I won’t go. I won’t volunteer, but if I’m called I’ll have ta go. We’ll just pray it won’t come ta that. With that he gave her a kiss on the forehead, and turned over prepared to get some rest, but his sleep was troubled as he thought of what might lay ahead.

A few days later, on the 30th of November, 1940, the baby was born with the help of Dr. Davis. This time it was a very routine delivery, and Warren was there, just as he had promised. Reba Faye Martin was a beautiful blond baby, full of smiles, and a gentle nature—the complete opposite of her more rambunctious older sister. Warren continued working for his father-in-law on the family farm, while Arleta was kept busy with two small girls. Everyone listened to the radio for news of the war, but otherwise, things on the farm continued as usual.

In 1941 Yugoslavia fell to the German army and Hitler invaded the Soviet Union. July saw the beginning of Hitler’s plan to exterminate the Jews and by the end of the war he was well on his way to succeeding, while the rest of the world sat by and said it couldn’t be happening.

At harvest time Arleta again helped out in the fields, trudging behind the peanut thrasher in the dust while sacking up the peanuts, or collecting and sorting the nuts that fell from the trees in the pecan grove. Her mother kept the girls while she worked, but noticing how tired Mildred was one evening, Arleta began to worry that it was too much to ask of her. A few days later, on the way home after picking up the girls, she told her husband, Warren, I want ya ta take Mary over ta yer Aunt Erma’s house in the mornin’. I talked ta her ’bout it last Sunday, an she’s agreed to watch er ever day while I’m a workin, she said as she reached to grab Mary, who was leaning over the side of the wagon watching the wheels go around. Sit still Mary! One o’ these days yer gonna lean too far over an fall off under the wheels!

After settling Mary in the middle between her and Warren, she continued, Mama ain’t as young as she used ta be, and half o’ the time she has to watch Bell’s kids too, ’cause she goes ta bed with the headache, and Ernest takes the kids ta Mama. That’s jest too many kids. I cain’t send Reba, ’cause I need her close ’nuff that I ken go ta the house ta nurse her, but Mary’s old ’nuff ta stay somers else.

If’n it’s too many kids, why don’t Bell’s mama keep her kids?

Cause the only person I know what’s lazier’n Bell is her mama, that’s why. ’Sides, the rest o’ the family already gripes ’bout the way Mama gives special ’tention ta Mary. She’s her favorite, and Mama don’t try ta hide it. Maybe if’n Mary ain’t ’round sa much, they’d be less fightin’ in the family.

Have ya said anythin’ to Mildred ’bout not makin’ such a dif’rence ’tween the kids? Mayhap if’n ya talked ta her . . .

I tried that, and you know what she told me? ‘It’s not none o’ their business!’ She told me that she loves all o’ her grandbabies, but did say that Mary was kinda special ta her. She said that the reason was ’cause I had such a hard time when she was bornd.

Ya mean ’at’s the only reason she has? he said as he turned the mules into the lane that led down through the pecan trees to their house. I knowed she was scared we was gonna lose ya at ’er birth, but that don’t s’plain her givin’ Mary extra ’tention now.

Well she said too it’s ’cause Mary’s so much like me when I was little. To quote her, ‘Ya both got your own ideas and r stubborn as a mule, and that ain’t all bad in the world taday.’ See what I mean? Your Aunt Erma keeps care o’ her daughter’s little girl, and she’s only a year older n Mary, so the two girls can play tagether.

All right, I’ll do it—at least ’til the cold weather gets here, he said as he reached to lift Mary down from the wagon. But two miles there and back is too far ta go when it’s cold and wet.

So, the next morning Warren drove Mary over to his aunt’s house, and then picked up Arleta and Reba on the way back, before going to his in-laws to work. Aunt Erma told Arleta the following Sunday, as they were leaving the church, Mary an’ Velma are a real handful! she said with a chuckle, but they play good tagether, ’specially when they find the pots and pans—they ken really make a racket playin’ the drums. Then, soon’s I turn my back, one of ’ems got the spoons n forks spread out all over the floor. Them two is reg’lar yard apes!

Why do you keep the spoons and stuff down where they can reach it?

Well, it used ta be in a higher drawer, but Mary’s a little monkey, she said with a grin. She’d climb up the drawers ta get to it, and I was afeerd she’d fall, so I moved ’em down lower. But finally I wised up. I moved all the spoons and stuff ta the top o’ the counter. Then I stuck a ol’ beat up pot and two lids, ’long with a couple o’ ol’ spoons, in the bottom drawer and no more trouble. I jest stuff my ears full o’ little pieces o’ cloth and let the girls have their fun.

Are ya sure they’re not too much for ya? Arleta asked as she turned to get in the wagon for the ride home.

Oh no. Least ways I always know where they’re at. It’s when they get quiet I gotta worry, she said with a chuckle and a wave at Mary. See ya tamorra honey!

Then came December 7, 1941, and the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in a sneak attack, crippling our Pacific Fleet. Thousands of Americans lost their lives and President Roosevelt declared war on Japan. Four days later, Germany declared war on the United States and the whole world was at war.

Lots of American men were volunteering for the military—Keith had joined the Air Force, and Luther volunteered for the Navy. Ernest had decided to wait and see, but was soon drafted into the Army. Warren wanted to go too, but Arleta reminded him, We need ya more than they do. Daddy cain’t run this here farm by hisself, and all the boys have gone ta join the fight, even my sister Maddy’s husband’s in the Navy. ’Sides them, your brother Johnny and two o’ your cousins are fightin’ in the Pacific. Somebody has ta stay at home, an’ ya got two kids what need ya here.

So, Warren stayed home on the farm, but every time he saw a man in uniform, he felt guilty for not doing his part.

Mary’s father, Warren Martin, wasn’t a big man. He stood five foot six inches tall, a little on the thin side, but he was by no means timid, and he was certainly no coward. His hands were big and strong, and when he held Mary in his arms she always felt safe from danger, because she knew her daddy would protect her. Warren worked in the fields, but since he didn’t own any land, he was a hired hand for others. His skin was tanned from the sun, and sometimes Mary would tease him about his dirty face, because his forehead was white when he took his hat off. Warren didn’t talk much—instead, he liked peace and quiet. Every evening, after the supper meal was over, he would sit at the table and read his Bible, but he was always willing to share it with anyone who would listen. Sometimes he would get out his mandolin and play a few songs while Arleta rocked the baby. Mary especially liked those times. She would sit at her daddy’s feet and sing along with him on songs like Rock of Ages and Amazing Grace. But when he struck up the tune Turkey in the Straw, she would jump to her feet and dance a jig.

Mary’s mother, Arleta, was another story. She was very outgoing and friendly. She laughed a