Through Her Eyes

By Teri Flicker

With a backdrop of war and peace, this book will take you from the 1920s through the 1970s. In the middle of the Great Depression and the rebirth of a nation, the love story of Florence and Frank unfolds and carries the reader with it in both America and Europe.Follow Florence as she goes from the child sold to a plantation owner in the South as a house servant to become the colonel's wife and form her own life. Throughout her life, the music and changing times altered her and all those around her. During this one lifetime, the world experienced changes that would take music from big band to rock and roll and the information age from newspaper to the nightly news watched on a television set in your own home.This book shows the amazement of the world and the growth of one woman and all the world to a place no one thought could be possible. Enjoy, and thank you for reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662482939

Book preview

cover.jpg

Through Her Eyes

Teri Flicker

Copyright © 2022 Teri Flicker

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-8292-2 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-8293-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Preface

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

Final Chapter

About the Author

Preface

My name is irrelevant, but my grandmother's story is. You could say I met my grandmother as she lay dying in her home. You could say that because I never really knew her story or the life she led before I came to be. Yes, I had heard some stories but had discounted them as simply stories to pass the time as we snapped peas or shucked corn, but I had never really listened to them as I started to during the last days of her life.

I'm not really sure why she decided to tell me her story or that all of the story is true, but it seemed to be the best recollection she had, and the events matched what I do know and have since learned, so I believe them.

To describe my grandmother would be difficult—partly because my view of her is skewed by the fact that she was my grandmother and partly by the fact that the entire world changed so much during her lifetime. You figure in her lifetime, you could go from one town to the next and reinvent yourself; there were no social security numbers, and no one had a birth certificate to show, so you were really what you made yourself out to be. You could change your name, your date of birth or place of birth, you could come from a rich family or a poor one, and no one would really know if you were really good at your story. We weren't really sure of my grandmother's date of birth since she was born at home, and her date was later recorded at the courthouse. This courthouse was later burned down, along with all documents in a fire many years later.

My grandmother had seen things come to pass that were unbelievable to me—things such as every home having a telephone, television, electricity, and even indoor plumbing. When she talked of these times, I would laugh and think she was making it up, but she wasn't. She had really seen times when none of these things were available to everyone or even most anyone. Sure, some people in big towns had electricity, but it was not the norm then, and they looked on in awe when seen.

I have pieced together this story from many stories she told me during my lifetime, so please forgive me if my historical facts are off, but I have tried to tell the story as accurately as possible and still maintain the fact that this is a personal story. My disclaimer is that the names may be off or the exact time, but these are, in fact, just memories and allowed to be as skewed as any of our memories are. I would apologize to anyone if I used their name or their story, and I must state that some of the language or names used for people are as she remembered them. Please remember the times this story represents are her story and not the changes that occurred during her lifetime.

A special apology to my family that some of these memories may not be as you remember them or may be almost totally off to you. These are my memories as much as they were hers, and I am sure that as we all disremember, sometimes accidentally or sometimes just for the sake of our own sanity. I have changed some names to not cast aspersions in case any of those family members still survive and would not like the memories of my grandmother. I will write this book through her eyes as much as possible to try to keep it as real as possible.

Chapter 1

Early 1900s

I was born on a Saturday on June 4, 1910, although I myself do not remember it; I was later told the facts of my birth by my father. Life in the small town of Shreveport, Louisiana, was quiet at that time in history. People did not have much, but we didn't starve, and I had clothes on my back. My father was a physician who moved down from up north to make his way in the South. My mother was a beautiful woman with a golden voice that I remember even to this day. She sang songs to me as she rocked me to sleep at night, and I loved to hear her sing. My name was Baby Moody, for, in this time and place, children chose their own name when they chose the Lord in the local church and were baptized. I was born at home with the help of a midwife obtained by my father, and my birth was recorded in the family Bible. The midwife was paid a shiny new quarter, and she looked at it in awe as she had never had a full quarter before. My father loved to tell that story so that I would understand the value of money, but at three, it meant nothing to me. I remember his deep voice, and it really didn't matter what he was saying as long as he held me and talked to me.

Two years later, my mother gave birth to my sister, but things did not go well with the delivery. My father, with all his skill as a physician, could not stop the bleeding, and my mother died within hours of my sister's birth. All my father could do was wring his hands and watch his love die in their bed. He sat by her bedside and cried well into the next day, and no one could console him. The midwife that had come to help him with the delivery had the presence of mind to send her son to find one of the mothers from a nearby plantation who came to feed my sister and take care of her while my father grieved.

My father could not seem to get over his grief and stopped taking an interest in either myself or my sister. His medical practice dwindled as people lost faith in his abilities since he had been unable to save his own wife. Why would they believe that he could save their loved ones in an emergency? The midwife and her friends took care of my sister and me as we would have starved waiting for our father to notice we were hungry. I remember trying to take his hand and him snatching it away from me and telling me to go away and leave him alone. He sat in their bedroom and just stared at the bed that he could no longer lie in but slept, when he slept, in the chair in their room.

The midwife finally got my father to agree to get me a nanny to care for us. The nanny, Ester, came to feed my sister regularly, and she even fed me from her own home when there was no food in the house, but my father continued to be unable to rouse himself to do anything to care for us. Finally, Ester told my father that he needed to do something, that his children needed him to care for them and find them food.

Dr. Moody, these children need help, and you are not giving it to them. They need food, and this little girl needs clothes. She is outgrowing all of hers. I can put my children's hand-me-downs on the little one, but the older one needs more. If you say it is okay, I can cut down some of her mamma's dresses and make her new ones.

No, don't you dare touch Abby's clothes. They are not for the children, and I will not have you destroying them in any way.

But, Dr. Moody, the misses no longer need them, and these children do, please.

No, Ester, now go home.

Dr. Moody, please forgive me for speaking up, but it has been near a year since Mrs. Moody died, and these children need you. Baby Moody is almost five, and the little is almost one now. How long do you expect to grieve and leave these children without either parent?

Ester, as much as I appreciate what you have done for me, do not forget your place. Now go home.

Ester just shook her head and turned away to go home. Them poor childs, they sure need help.

Chapter 2

Very early the next morning, my father woke me. Get up now, Baby. It is time to go.

But, Papa, where are we going? It's dark outside.

Never you mind. Get your sister changed and come outside to the buggy.

I did the best I could with my sister's diaper, but I really didn't know what I was doing, and Ester was not there. The baby woke up and started to cry, but I didn't have anything for her.

Papa, the baby is crying. She is hungry, and so am I. Where are we going?

Stop with your questions, Baby. Get in the buggy. I have some sweet milk in this jar for the baby and you. Now sit down, hold your sister, soak up the milk in this cloth, and feed her. We are going for a ride in the country, just the three of us.

I don't remember how long we rode, for, after a while, my sister fell back to sleep, and so did I. My father woke me when the buggy stopped. We were in front of a well-worn two-story house on a dirt road. The front porch had seen better days, but it was clean.

Okay, Baby, we are here. Now out of the buggy, and I will introduce you to Mrs. Kitchens.

Why are we here, Papa?

Baby, I can't care for you or your sister anymore. I have no patients and no money or any way to earn a living without medicine. You two will stay here with Mrs. Kitchens at this home, and she will take care of you. I am heading back up north and hope to rebuild my medical practice if I can. I will come for you and your sister later. You be good now and teach your sister well.

At five, I had no idea what any of this meant, but somehow, I knew he was leaving us and not coming back. He carried my sister and took my hand as we walked up the steps to the home of Mrs. Kitchens.

Ah, sir, I see you have brought me two charges. The little one should be no problem to place, but the older one, well, it is difficult at best to place them.

I trust you will do the best you can for them, Mrs. Kitchens. I leave them to your care.

Am I to notify you of what takes place, sir?

No, I will be unavailable to contact for some time. Just try to do right by them for me. That will be more than I can do myself.

Of course, sir, I will do my best. All right now, give me the little one, and you can be on your way.

My father handed over my sister and stepped away from me.

Papa, don't go, please. I'll be good, I promise. I will take care of Sister, and she won't cry much. Papa, don't go.

My father never turned around, never waved, or said a word. He just got back into the buggy and drove away. Mrs. Kitchens caught my hand before I could run after him and dragged me into the house. That was the last time I ever saw my father. For years, I sat at the window and awaited his return. I thought that surely, he must miss us and want to see us again. But he never did, and I finally gave up on my dreaming of a loving father running up the walk to grab up my sister and me. I don't believe I ever got over the memory of my father just walking away from my sister and me. In my darkest times, it still came back to haunt me, and I could never imagine any parent doing that to a child.

Chapter 3

So at the age of five, my life changed. I could not really remember my mother, and now my father was gone as well.

Come along now, Baby. I will show you around and tell the house rules.

Are you my new mommy?

Heavens forbid, child, no I am Mrs. Kitchens, and this is an orphanage that I run. You will be expected to do your chores and obey the rules of the house. If you do not, there will be consequences.

Conse what?

Never mind, just do as I say when I say, and you will be fine. Do not try me, child, or you will regret it.

I had no idea what any of that meant, but I was sure to learn in the coming months. Mrs. Kitchens was a very tough woman who took her job of farming out children seriously. She kept no child longer than one year and tried to place them, at a fee, of course, as quickly as possible. Orphanages in those days were basically a place to buy children for cheap labor if they were over the age of three or to replace a baby that had been lost in childbirth if they were younger. No requirements were needed to adopt a child, just cold hard cash. As times were hard and childbirth death rates were high, business was good for Mrs. Kitchens.

To be fair, Mrs. Kitchens did provide a service to the public, and she did feed and clothe each child. I was in charge of my little sister, and I was taught how to put a diaper on properly and how to feed her day or night when she needed it. Mrs. Kitchens did not touch any child if she could help it and certainly did not feel responsible for their well-being. I was taught how to warm my sister's milk by the kitchen fire and feed her with a sopping cloth. I was expected to make sure that she was fed and dry and did not make noise so as to disturb Mrs. Kitchens.

There were six other children at the home at the time I arrived at varying ages from six months to six years. Age six was the oldest child allowed to be there, and I never questioned where a child went if they reached seven and had not been placed. Even at this age, I began to learn not to question because sometimes, you did not want to know the answer. There was one girl named Florence that seemed to live there permanently, and she looked after the other little children. She was nice to me and would talk to me late at night when we were up with the babies.

Now, Baby, this place is easy, just mind Mrs. Kitchens, keep your sister quiet, and you will be fine.

But, Florence, sometimes, Sister cries, and I don't know why.

Well, then just play with her or sing to her or something, but don't let her make too much noise, or you will be in trouble. I have seen women in town bounce a baby up and down and make cooing noises to them, and that seems to quiet them. Try that.

Sure enough, two days later, my sister got the hiccups, and I could not stop them. I played with her. I sang to her and did everything I could think of, but she just kept hiccupping. That seemed to hurt her after a time, and she began to wail and scream and look at me as if I should be able to do something to soothe her.

Baby, shut that child up, or I will take it out on you. Mrs. Kitchens never warned, but once so, I knew there would be no other warning, and I had better think of a solution pretty quick.

I didn't know what to do, but I did remember that Florence had told me that you could stop the hiccups by drinking water upside down. So I took Sister outside to the only water I knew, which was in the rain barrel. I grabbed Sister by the legs and dunked her under the water. When I pulled her out, she hiccupped again, so I dunked her again. Well, she hiccupped again, and as I was dunking her for the third time, someone grabbed me from behind.

What in God's green acre do you think you are doing? Mrs. Kitchen's face was red, and I could tell she was really angry, but I had no idea why.

Making Sister drink water upside down so she will stop hiccupping. It must work because she stopped.

You ninny, she stopped because she couldn't breathe under the water. Lord, have mercy. Child, are you trying to kill your sister?

No, no, just trying to stop her from making noise and making you mad.

Florence, come take this child while I teach young Baby here why you do not dunk children in the rain barrel.

Florence came running and took my sister away, looking back at me with great sadness in her eyes. I didn't understand why she was so unhappy.

The next thing I knew, Mrs. Kitchens grabbed me, flipped me upside down, and dunked me in the rain barrel. I tried to flap my arms, but she held me under the water until I thought I would die. Finally, she pulled me out.

Now do you understand why we do not put children in the rain barrel?

I was unable to talk, but I nodded as hard as I could because I was afraid that if I didn't understand, she would dunk me again to prove her point.

Good. Now get in the house, dry off, and take care of your sister.

Yes, ma'am.

Stop! Take off that wet dress and leave it outside so you don't drip all over my clean floors.

Yes, ma'am.

Lesson learned, never dunk a person in the rain barrel to stop the hiccups.

Chapter 4

Mrs. Kitchens was in a good mood all the next day, and we had fried chicken with gravy for dinner. The food was never terrible at the home, but fried chicken was my favorite. She had been able to sell one of the children that day, and there was money in her coffers, so she was in a good mood. You could always tell when there was a sale pending. The house got an extra cleaning, and the meal the night before a child left was always their favorite. To be fair, she was not an unkind person, but she thought of the orphanage as a business, and placing these children was her vocation.

Life continued on at the home, and I was getting good at taking care of my little sister. We looked forward to attending church every Sunday, and Bible study was my favorite time of the week. Miss Darnell was our teacher, and I thought she was so beautiful and sophisticated. My favorite story from the Bible was the Book of Ruth, and since I was allowed to borrow a Bible from the church, I loved to look at the pictures in the story and pretend I could read it.

Miss Darnell would talk to us as if we were regular people and treat us so nicely. Who would not like to be in her presence? I tried to make sure I got to church early each Sunday just so I could help her put the Bibles out and get