Promised: Out of the Blue

By Midget Cooper

The preemie is birthmarked with identity, blessed with survival, gifted with perception, and predestined with "work to do" in life, death and in between. The nonfiction four-book series is in the family life genre and reveals the truth of impromptu promises and consequent punishments at times related to specific causes. Book One introd

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edythe C. Stillson
• Release date: Oct 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996846318

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Ol’ Bill will take care of me.

It is June 9, 1935, the last Sunday for me to be in Sunday school. Today, I will get the surprise gift the teacher promised to anyone who is there every Sunday for a year.

Mama is shaking my shoulder and looking down at me, when I open my eyes to wake up. I slept with her last night. I always sleep with my sister, Burr, but she went to a slumber party with her Girl Scout friends. I am afraid to sleep by myself. There are scary sounds and mean looking bugs crawling everywhere on the farm. I heard talk about Indians living one time at the foot of The Mountain. I remember the sheriff and some men hiding around our house and pointing their guns at us last Sunday. They scared Mama and all of us. Besides, some important man’s baby was kidnapped from its own bed by someone and killed. My little brother, Sammy, and I just know we are next. Mama told us not to be afraid, because kidnappers are after money and we don’t have any.

Mama whispers, It’s time to get up and on your way, if you want to be on time for Sunday school.  She is being quiet to keep from bothering my brothers still sleeping. Sunday is the only day we get to stay in bed for as long as we want to. She sounds sad telling me, Riding bareback on Ol’ Bill for six miles to town and six miles back is a long trip for a seven-year-old to go alone.  I think she wants me to stay home.

Uncle Jack let us have one of his cars to take me to church last Sunday. Mama wouldn’t ask him for one today, because the men have started the wheat harvest. But I have to go. I promised to be in Sunday school every time for a year.

Mama tells me to hurry and get dressed. She says, I will have your breakfast ready when you come to the kitchen.  Then she leaves me to help myself. I am told by my family that seven-year-olds can do for themselves. I guess seven is when all help ends. When I am fourteen like my sister and her friends, I can do anything and know everything.

My dress is pretty. It is my Sunday best. Mama made it for me. My sister calls it my princess dress. She says the pattern of three goes in the front and three in the back, puffed sleeves like balloons full of air, and the Peter Pan collar is the kind princesses wear. I feel like a princess in a field of tiny flowers when I am wearing it. Grandma Cooper grows gardens of flowers around her house. My dress is full of yellow flowers like her gardens. I need help to get it buttoned all the way down the front. But I am seven and my sister isn't here to help me.

My anklets are yellow like my dress. There are more buttons on my Roman sandals. Getting the buttonholes on the straps to go over the buttons on the sandals is really hard to do. When Mama and my sister help me, they say, Almost impossible.

I guess the Girl Scouts are having fun, while I am trying to do the buttons by myself. I am thinking the farm is too far away for the giggly girls to drop by like they always did when we lived in town. I like it here in the country. They can't tease and run away from me. Whispering about boys and being silly is all they can do. The party must be bad, if they slumber. They tell me, Midget slumbers in the bed. It's not nice. I know, because they shake their fingers at me and yell, Yeah, you do! They tease until I cry and run to Mama to tell on them. She always says, They are just silly fourteen-year-olds with a plan to get rid of you. And they will keep it up as long as you cry and run away.

When we lived in town, the silly girls would leave our house to go to town or somewhere. I wanted to go with them. When we got a little ways from our house, they would stop and listen, then tell me, Ma is calling you. I would run back to the house and find out Mama wasn't calling me. I couldn't find them, when I went back to where they were. They got rid of me all the time. I think I don't like silly fourteen-year-olds,

One shoe is finished. My fingers hurt from putting the buttonholes in the straps over the buttons. There are more to do on my other sandal. I really need help, but Mama tells us to reach high and work hard to get where we want to go in life. I promised to be in Sunday school every Sunday to do that. Mama and my sister and maybe some of my brothers will like the promise I kept, when they see the nice gift my Sunday school teacher said she would give to anyone who was there every Sunday for a year.

I am dressed and headed for the kitchen. First thing when I get there, Mama hands me a pair of Sammy’s overalls. She says, Put these on over your dress. They will be some protection from Ol’ Bill’s backbone and sweat.

I cry, Sammy’s overalls will mess up my Sunday dress and make it look awful.

She warns me, You will smell like a horse and everyone will laugh.  Mama knows I don’t like being laughed at. When the people see my wrinkled dress, I just know they will tease me. But I do as I am told.

I slip into the overalls and stuff my dress inside them and around my bottom. I bring the straps up and over my shoulders and hook the buckles over the bib buttons. It looks like everything has them. I think I don’t like buttons.

Mama has my breakfast ready like she said. My bowl of oats and a thick slice of her homemade bread covered with lots of butter I churned from the milk our cows give us, and Grandma Cooper’s jam, she says, is for goodness sake spread on the top, makes me feel ready for the ride. Mama thinks the thicker the slice of bread she bakes for us, the quicker she can fill our many stomachs.

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Ol’ Bill and Alice – both at 40 years old

It is still dark outside as I leave to go to the barn to get Ol’ Bill. I left oats and water last night to make him strong to carry me to church today. My oats for breakfast will make me strong. I hope he liked his oats as much as I did mine.

Ol’ Bill is our family pony. He isn’t really big like our work horses. He is a little brown horse. Daddy bought him years ago for my oldest sister, Alice, to ride to the country school. All of my sisters and brothers and I have learned to ride bareback on him. Our other horses and mules are good, but they aren’t like Ol’ Bill. Mama says she could trust him to take any size child for a ride. Maybe that is why she is letting me go to church so far away by myself. Ol’ Bill will take care of me.

On my way to the barn, I have to pass by the house where Mac lives. He is our hired hand who helps with the farming and taking care of the animals. Mac is different, like the people in Roosevelt who live on the other side of the railroad tracks. My family likes Mac. His skin scares me. I tiptoe by his house to keep him from hearing me. I think he might be waiting to kill me about the candy.

When Mama buys groceries, she gets what Mac needs, too. He always asks for candy. She gets some for us and divides it so we get the same amount. Sammy gobbles up his candy then he talks me out of what I have left. It must be the devil in him that people say he has. Sammy sneaked into Mac's house and stole his candy. I bet he thinks I did, because Sammy and I are always together. Our neighbors call us, gold dust twins. When Mac asked us about the candy, Sammy lied. I needed to tell him that I ate some of it, but I didn't steal. I was too scared to say anything.

Mama says, There were several families like Mac living on our farm for many years. One, Ol' Dad, was like a daddy to all and looked after them. When he died, Alice wrote about the good things he did for others. It was read at his funeral, when the families and friends met to show their love and appreciation for his kindness. After Ol' Dad was gone, some of the families went to other places. to find work and live. They were at a loss without him. The last family had to move when we came here to live in their house.

She tells us about Mac. He has no family to call his own and we need him. He is all the help we can afford.

I wish those families would come back. My sisters and brothers talk about the fun times they had playing games and singing and dancing and even working in the fields with them.

Last Sunday when Mama got up, she saw men all around. They had their guns pointed at us. She got all of us out of bed and close together. We were really scared and waited for something to happen. A man came to the back door and hit it hard. Mama opened it to see a man in different clothes pointing his gun at her.

She asked, What can we do for you?

The man with a really red face put his gun down and away from Mama. He said, I am the Sheriff of Kiowa County. We're lookin' for a nigger who murdered a white man in Hobart last night. Knowin’ families of that kind live here, this place is where we figur'd we'd find him.

Mama told the sheriff, You can see, they don't live here. Mac is our only helper, and he was here last night.

Mac really wasn't, but Mama didn't like the sheriff's words about our good helpers. She let the men know, I can tell you for a fact. Mac would never hurt much less kill anyone.

I remembered the candy and thought: ‘maybe no one but Sammy and me,’ while all of us went outside and watched those bad men drive away.

Those people might be behind the rocks or somewhere pointing their guns at me right now. I hurry by the chicken house. They could be behind it.

The talk I heard about the Indians really scares me. I listen while opening the gate to the barnyard that is right by the place where they lived at the foot of The Mountain.

Mama told us about them, Our farm belonged to the Kiowa Indians before we bought it. Their camp was by a natural spring flowing down through the rocks of The Mountain and into a deep well. The place had large trees that shaded the tribe in the hot summers, and was low enough to give shelter from the cold winters. After the land was ours, the Indians moved to the other side of The Mountain to live by the water. A few years later, the Indians moved north to live near the town of Hobart. We lease the Indian land between our farm and Elk Creek for more pasture and crops.

Mama is always telling us about history she learned and taught her students before she married Daddy and had all nine of us kids.

She went on to say, When the government allowed the Indians to choose the allotted acreage of land they could hold titles to forever, they claimed the fields by the waters. And since we are of Iroquois Indian blood, we can take pride in their intelligence. It is interesting to note, the writers of the Constitution of the United States took ideas from the Iroquois doctrines to serve best for all peoples.

Mama also told us about a scary thing an Indian did to Alice: Chief Little Bow, head of his band of Kiowa Indians, rode up on his white horse from around The Mountain soon after he sold the land to us. Alice was standing beside your dad. The Chief liked her curly red hair. He took his hunting knife from around his waist before taking hold of a handful of her curls to tease, 'This will make me a fine headdress.'"

My brothers remember Chief Little Bow chasing them down the cotton rows and teasing about scalping them. They believed him. I am the size Alice was then. Some of those Indians could be by The Mountain just waiting to get my long braids of red hair.

Ol’ Bill is by the gate like he is waiting for me. I listen for sounds while taking the bridle from the fence post. I slip the straps around Ol’ Bill's face and over his ears, making sure the bit fits into his mouth. I miss sometimes and the bit goes under his chin. He shakes his head and moves it from side to side to let me know. I take hold of the reins and lead Ol’ Bill out of the barnyard. I close the gate behind us to keep the milk cows from getting out.

It is almost light enough for me to watch for anyone around the scary places. I feel good about not getting kidnapped or killed or scalped, until we are going by the chicken house. A rooster jumps up into the chicken house window and crows loud enough to wake up the whole world. I jump as high as the sky. Ol’ Bill raises his front legs and tries to jerk away from me. The reins almost slip out of my hands, but I hang on tight. My brothers taught me how to ride and handle the reins.

Mama is coming out the back door of the house when we get there. She hands me a brown sack with a snack inside in case I get hungry. She tells me how to go to town.

You go this first mile to the corner where all the roads cross. Then turn to your right and go another mile to the four-mile corner. Turn to your left and go straight on the four miles until you reach the railroad tracks. Cross over them and go on to the highway that runs south through downtown Roosevelt. You know the way to the church from there.

I think that is a lot to remember, but I have to get to Sunday school, even if I get lost or anything else.

Ol’ Bill and I go over by the cistern. The top of it is just high enough for me to stand on to climb onto his back. My brothers grab hold of the mane and jump up from the ground to get on him and our other horses. I am too short and little to do that. And we don't have a saddle with stirrups to get on our horses like some people have to get on theirs. I get on Ol’ Bill's back for the ride, and pull the right rein for Ol’ Bill to move away from the cistern. We are finally ready to head for the main road.

Mama always talks about history when telling us what to do. She says, Now don't be afraid. Just remember President Roosevelt's words. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

I don't know that president or what those words mean. The only Roosevelt I know about is the town we just moved from and where I am going to church. And I know I'm scared.

When Ol’ Bill and I get out to the main road, Mama yells, Be sure to head back home as soon as Sunday school is over! I will be worried! Then she yells again, Make sure Ol’ Bill gets some water somewhere along the way or when you get to town!

I yell, Okay! And we wave to each other.

Holding the reins really tight, I rock back and forth and kick Ol’ Bill in his flanks with the heels of my Roman sandals. He gallops down the hill from where we left Mama watching us leave. Ol’ Bill walks up the next hill that is the highest one. When we get to the top, I look back to see if Mama is still there. I don't see her anywhere. I hope she isn't worried and afraid like I am. Maybe Ol’ Bill and I should go back and forget about my last Sunday.

I can't. A promise is a promise.

CHAPTER 2

My tail bone is stinging…

The sky is red above the mountains far from here. That tells me, the sun is coming up. I hope it hurries today, so I can see everything on my way. Maybe I won’t be afraid, if I think of the stories Mama tells us about growing up and our family history.

Our long ago Iroquois Indian grandmother told stories. She said, If we don’t know about our past, we have no ties to our future.  I like to hear about Mama the best.

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Clint and Alice Bozman

She was a beautiful valentine born on February 14, 1893. Her parents, Clint and Alice Bozman named her Goldie. A cousin born soon after was named Sylvia. The family members called them, their gold and silver babies.

Clint and Allie were from families who lived on farms near Hooksburg and the town of McConnelsville in southeastern Ohio. The Muskingum River runs through the country from the northeast, and snakes southeasterly to feed eventually into the Ohio River. Sometimes overpowering rain storms cause the creeks and other waterways to overflow their banks. The subsidiaries depend on rivers for relief, but there are times when the volume of water is too excessive and causes rivers like the Muskingum to expand into heavy flooding. Goldie’s mother became a victim of one such disaster.

Allie Bozman was very pretty and had a beautiful singing voice. She entertained people on special occasions and during celebrations in the Muskingum Valley. She stood on a river barge or stern-wheeler belonging to her grandfather, Captain I.N. Hook, to deliver her melodious music. Whatever the stage, Allie shared her gift for all to enjoy.

Clint Bozman was a farmer and a salesman by trade. He traveled throughout Ohio taking fruit tree orders from orchard growers, when he wasn’t tending to the land where the family lived between two creeks.

Clint was away at the time Allie and their five-year-old daughter were alone, when heavy rain storms caused the creeks to overflow their banks. The waters spread far and wide over the countryside, threatening everything in sight. Allie had no choice but to take Goldie and go toward safe grounds. She carried Goldie through lashing attacks of icy waters full of debris to escape the anger of one creek and across the other wild one to reach the main road. The cold and exhausted mother held her daughter's hand as the two walked miles to the home of Clint's parents. Allie saved her only child from being washed away in one of the worst floods in Ohio history, only to come down with pneumonia that took her life. Her obituary appeared in the local paper:

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In Remembrance

Allie B. Bozman, nee Hook, was born near Hooksburg, Ohio on June 14, 1874, and died Sept. 24, 1898. She was joined in marriage with Clarence Bozman, Sept. 2, 1891. She was the second daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J.W. Hook and leaves a father, mother, two sisters and a heart broken husband and little child who mourn their great and irreparable loss. We personally know Alice, as she was familiarly known by all, from her early childhood. It may be said of her that she was distinguished for her sweet and lovely disposition, her sparkling intelligence, and her many sterling qualities of head and heart. Her ability as a public speaker was recognized by an interested people at Sunday school and all social gatherings and the whole community is saddened at her taking off. As she heard the dip of the oar in the mysterious stream of death and beheld the breaking of the white capped waves on the other shore, she quietly and peacefully passed out into the sweet slumber of what we call death to bask in the silver stream of eternal sunshine and