Two Little Girls

By Pheba Hawkins Smith

When Mary died in an auto accident at age fifty-two, Pheba decided to write their story. How else would Marys boys learn of their mothers history? This story is rich with Gods care for their widowed mother and her children, and is a beautiful example of the Church becoming the hands and feet of Jesus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512797428

Pheba Hawkins Smith

Pheba was the youngest in a family of nine children whose father died one year after she was born, and whose mother walked with a limp all her life. The Hawkins family lived on an old fashioned farm outside Mt. Vernon, Ill. in the 1950’s. The surprise? Life is fun even when difficult.

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Copyright © 2017 Pheba Hawkins Smith.

Jagadish Kumar Ananda Murthy, photo editor.

Mays M Dweiri, Cover Sketch artist

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9741-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9743-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9742-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017911923

WestBow Press rev. date: 8/25/2017

To Mary Hawkins Wilson

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Introduction

Chapter 1:   The Dolls

Chapter 2:   Christmas At Grandpa Hawkins’s House

Chapter 3:   Spring On The Hawkins’s Farm

Chapter 4:   Fourth Of July

Chapter 5:   School Begins

Chapter 6:   School’s Out

Chapter 7:   Summer On The Hawkins’s Farm

Chapter 8:   Homecoming At Donohoe Prairie

Chapter 9:   Childhood

Chapter 10:   Seasons Come And Seasons Go

Chapter 11:   College At Last!

Chapter 12:   Ahead Again

Peom: The Dolls

Photo Album

Epilogue: Journey Of The Dolls

Cast Of Characters (In Somewhat Chronological Order)

Open Letter To Those I Love

About The Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It was God’s amazing gift to us to let us be the two little girls, but it was also God’s amazing gift to let us to be the little sisters to the rest of the nine: Glen, Violet, Grace, Rufus, Dewey, Grant, and Leigh.

And to all nine of us, God gave the gift of belonging to parents who loved Jesus with all their hearts. They loved their children without measure. How can I thank Him adequately?

But beyond all that, God has provided amazing encouragement and help as I narrated this story.

Thank you to my husband, Harold, who encouraged me to actually publish.

Thank you to my daughters, Marti and Traci, who continually encouraged me and told me that it was not silly to write my personal story. Also, they frequently were my technology instructors.

Thank you to my two first listeners, my great-nieces, Allea and Kaiden Spangler, who gave ear to every chapter as it was finished. Your interest in the stories encouraged me to keep writing the next episodes.

Thank you to my two first young readers, Aniela and Alicya Suit, who did an easy read in just one evening.

Thank you to Renee O’Neil, who patiently spent a nonstop evening on the first editing. This techie novice seriously needed the help of such a pro.

Thank you to Jagadish Murthy, who came all the way from India to give professional final editing help to this novice.

Thank you to all those good friends who read first drafts and said, Go ahead. Publish!

INTRODUCTION

To My Girls and Mary’s Boys and Any Nieces or Nephews Who Wish to Listen In

I have often heard people say, I wish I had asked the folks about their childhood and background while they were still alive. Now it’s too late. They are gone.

With that in mind, I have created a story about two little girls. My purpose here is to paint a picture of life on the Hawkins’s farm and provide a glimpse into the Hawkins family. God gave a rich heritage to those of us who grew up in that family.

There were some unique twists and turns that make the story less than ordinary: the death of Daddy when there was still a one-year-old baby in the house; Mother’s walking with a limp all of her life as the result of a buckboard accident in a horse-pulled wagon when she was a baby; an old-fashioned farm just at the edge of a modern (for its day) town; a God-respecting trust; and a genuine effort to live in obedience.

I use the word effort intentionally because we were and are sinners. We are hoping in the sinless Jesus to clothe us so we can be in God’s righteous presence for eternity. But we failed Him many times. Please, next generation, forgive our generation for our failures and do not hold them against Jesus. Please place your trust in His mercy also. I will dare to speak for those who have already gone on into eternity and know all the realities—secure your eternal life in the only one who has overcome death and sin!

In a lighter sense, I also ask the other eight—living or dead—to forgive my memories when they do not jive with theirs. This writing is not intended to be an exact chronology. Many of the events are actual, and the conversations are real. Others are the type of things that occurred. No story is intended to disparage any brother or sister, but if you have laughed about and retold an incident, I consider it fair game—and very colorful! Since I could not know what was in the mind of a sibling, this story is written as seen through the eyes of the baby.

1

THE DOLLS

It was Christmas morning, but dawn was still far away. Beneath the load of covers, burrowed deep in the cocoon of her feather bed, four-year-old Pheba rolled over. The rest of the bed was empty. She opened her eyes. The room was still in shadow. She sat straight up! The other bed was empty too.

Why was everyone already out of bed when it was still dark outside? Oh, yes, it was Christmas morning. She was being left behind!

Like lightning, she jumped from the bed and ran toward the door, her feet hardly touching the icy cold floor. She flung open the door and dashed into the one warm room of the house. A chorus of Shut the door! You’re letting in the cold! greeted her ears. Oh yes, the bedroom door must always be closed. Only the dining room was heated by the old, black potbelly stove.

Pheba closed the door quickly, her eyes already feasting on the amazing sight on the dining room table. It was piled high! There were bags of food, oranges, and even nuts. There were gifts of all kinds! But she saw only what lay on the floor in front of the table.

There sat two of the most beautiful dolls she had ever seen. They were just alike. Their heads were hard. So were their hands and feet. Curls were painted delightfully around their faces. The smiling mouths were perfectly shaped. And the eyes! They were clear and blue, just like Pheba’s.

Already Mary was lifting one doll gently out of the cradle. When she tipped her forward, the doll squeaked, Wah-ah-ah!

Quickly, Pheba picked up the other doll. As she lifted her out of the buggy, the doll filled her arms like a real baby. She cradled her gently. And wonder of wonders! The eyes closed!

Mary, look! When she sits up, her eyes open. And when you lay her back, she goes to sleep!

I know, responded Mary. And look! She is wearing plastic panties—just like a real baby!

And look at her dress, Mary! Pheba added. It matches her hat. And it has lace all around the brim. And ruffles! And everything!

Pheba hugged the doll tightly to her little body. Indeed, the doll was huggable. The doll’s body was cloth and filled with stuffing. The arms and legs were sewn on, so they flopped freely.

With sheer delight, Pheba and Mary danced around the room, the dolls filling their arms and their hearts. Perhaps it was a good thing they were only dolls, for surely babies would have been squeezed to death.

And then they faced the big question. Who should have the buggy—and who should have the cradle? The cradle was light blue and covered with vinyl. The doll fit perfectly in it. The buggy was dark blue and was also made of vinyl.

Both girls’ eyes were big as they pondered this important question. Finally, Mary said, You are the youngest. You pick first.

Pheba did not hesitate. She had been on pins and needles with worry. But now, she would get her choice. I’ll take the buggy!

Then I’ll take the cradle, Mary replied. And happily, they wheeled and carried their treasures to the far corner of the dining room, close to the warm stove.

Let’s play house. We’re the mamas, and these are our babies, Pheba stated the obvious.

You have a beautiful baby. What’s your baby’s name? Mary asked.

My baby is named Julie. What’s your baby’s name? Pheba said.

My baby is Karen, replied Mary as she lifted her from the cradle and burped her on her shoulder.

Would your baby like to ride with my baby in the buggy? If they sit up, there’s room for both, said Pheba.

Why thank you very much, Mary answered. My baby would like that. We can both push the buggy, can’t we?

Sure, replied Pheba. Or we can take turns.

Off they went through to the kitchen and back and around the dining room table, occasionally bumping the shins of one of the strangers on the street.

Oh, excuse me, sir, said Pheba grandly as she bumped Rufus’s knee. Her brother, Rufus, stood with lathered face in front of the shaving cabinet mirror.

You’re excused, kind lady, Rufus replied just as grandly, with a flourish and bow. This sent both girls off into giggles.