In the Midst of Innocence Page 2
I am keeping this journal for Miss Weston. She has given all of us 2 bound books full of empty pages, one to write in as often as we can, which we keep to ourselves. The other one is to write in once a week to turn in to her. I have started the first book, but I am not sure what we should put in the book that we hand in. I will ask her about that tomorrow.
This is all I have time to write for now. My baby sister Ruby is crying and I have to go tend to her because Mama is busy putting up tomatoes.
September 9, 1931
Dear Mother and Father,
We began classes in earnest today. Miss Halfacre and I spent yesterday administering exams in order to place each child in his or her appropriate grade level. Ruth Halfacre has been here for four years and helps coordinate the lessons. (She is my supervisor, and until now was the only teacher here.) She is native to these parts, hailing from Maryville, and I must say, she has done an admirable job, considering the fact that most of the children attend school only intermittently, and some of them quite infrequently. Most of the children need some remedial training, and some require extensive work to bring them to grade level, but there is at least one very interesting family with disarmingly well-educated children. I met them Sunday at church: the Wallace family. Miss Halfacre informs me that the mother is enthusiastic about her children’s education, makes sure they attend school as often as they can, and tutors them extensively at home. It just goes to show you can find intelligence and a love of learning in the most surprising places.
Not all of the children were able to attend today. It is harvest time here, and they are needed to help in the fields. It is a tragedy that even the youngest children are required to help scratch a living from the soil, but at least they have some means to keep from starvation. There are no soup kitchens here to succor those in need, and none is expected. I find myself impressed by the self-reliance of these people, even if it means the children are missing their education.
Yet, despite these disappointments, I am determined to remain cheerful and always mindful that I am here at the Lord’s pleasure.
Your faithful daughter,
Emily
Warm, waning days
The great orb has unclasped me for now;
I sink between my green banks,
Basking in the heat of her brother.
The youngest of my upright children still frolic beside me,
But the taste of change grows stronger.
My silver children and the scurrying ones feel it, too.
September 10, 1931. It is hard to think of something to write about that I can turn in on Monday. I asked Miss Weston what I should say, and she said the first book is to write our private thoughts in. We can say whatever comes to mind without thinking about it. Once a week, we should look over what we have written, then rewrite the parts that we like the best in the second one. She says we should always keep the first book so we can remember what life was like here and now, and that we probably would enjoy it a great deal when we are older. Maybe, someday one of us might become famous. If we do, people will want to know what we did back when we were just children.
That is true. I would like to read the journals of many people, like Amelia Earhart who is an actual lady pilot and Albert Einstein who is the smartest person who ever lived outside of Jesus. I do not know if people would want to read about my life, though, since parts of it are not very nice. I hinted as much to Miss Weston, but she did not seem to believe me so I told her I would have to publish it posthumously. She got a funny look on her face, and then she sort of smiled, held my hand, very careful, as if she did not want to hurt my feelings, and told me that it is supposed to be pronounced POST-u-mus-ly, not post-HUM-us-ly, and that it meant after your death. She also said that she thought I meant to use the word anonymously, which means without anybody knowing who wrote it.
I did not say anything, but I surely did mean posthumously because if the law found out about my whiskey trading, they might track me down even if it was anonymous, and I might get sent up the river. I am glad she straightened me out about that pronunciation, though. It would be scundering to go see a book publisher and say the word wrong. They would not even give me the time of day!
September 11, 1931
Dear Jonathan,
I have received your letter, which I must admit surprised me very much. The last time we spoke seriously about our futures, your plans were to travel, and you gave me no reason to believe those plans might include me. I certainly got the impression that marriage was the last thing on your mind.
Frankly, Jonathan, I think your timing is not the best. If you had asked me two months ago, before I made definite plans to come here, I might have seriously considered your offer, but now, while I greatly appreciate your attentions and your earnest declarations, I must tell you that at present, I am dedicated to serving the Lord, at least for the school year. Consequently, I cannot entertain any thought of becoming a wife until I have made certain what my calling is to be. Until I know what the Lord requires of me, I must remain here, in the place it seems He has ordained for me.
I sincerely hope this does not cause you undue disappointment, and I hope that we can continue to be friends. Your friendship has been and will continue to be very dear to me, and I will grieve if I know I have ruined it or that you think less of me for what my father calls “my stubborn refusal to see what is best” for me. I only want to serve the Lord in the best way I can, and I need time to learn what that may be.
I remain your sincerest friend, and hope that you will remain mine.
Fondly,
Emily
September 11, 1931
Dearest Cecilia,
Hold onto your hat with the news I am about to tell you!
At last, Jonathan has proposed! Now! After I have already left Chicago and am ensconced into my new life here. I hate to say it, and I know you will not believe it, but I have refused him. I can hardly believe it myself. If only he had resolved to do this two months ago, before I was set on this course. Even if he had done so a month ago, I could have changed my plans, but now it is too late for the board to find another teacher, and I would feel I have disappointed not only the board and the children, but also myself, and, I like to think, the Lord, who has guided me here.
I feel strangely free and calm, having refused Jonathan. If he had been as considerate as he ought to have been, he would not have waited until I was already here and beginning my year of teaching. I feel angry that he should be so thoughtless of my feelings and consider me willing to drop all my responsibilities to come running to him when he has kept me on tenterhooks for so long. And to think how much I once pined for him!
I should not write any more—I shall just vent my anger and my frustration. Give my love to Mother and Father. I am quite safe and happy, although in a dither over Jonathan’s sudden expression of his desire for me. Of course, do not even think of telling any of our family. If Mother knew, she would insist I come home and marry him immediately, and I should lose the opportunity to serve my Lord, which I have promised to do.
Good night, my darling sister! Thank you for letting me unburden my heart.
Emily
September 11, 1931. Daddy used to make good money working for the railroad, but now the Depression is on and they have laid everybody off. He has not worked a lick since last February. To tell the truth, half the time he is not worth a hill of beans around here, but I am not complaining about him taking time away to run his still. The more whiskey he makes, the more I can sell. It is hard on Mama, though, when he is not here to help with the heavy work. It is a good thing my brothers are strong, and my Uncle Woodrow, also. They shoulder a good deal of Daddy’s burden so that we do not suffer for his transgressions.
I like school very much, and so do Sardius and Beryl. Jasper does not go to school. He is fifteen years old and he would be in the tenth grade, except that our school only goes to the eighth grade, and we cannot afford for him to live all the way over in Maryvi
lle for high school. When Daddy was working, Jasper stayed in the boarding house with him during the week and went to Maryville high school, but when Daddy got laid off, Jasper had to drop out because he had no place to stay. Now he helps out my Pap-pa who lives over by Greenback and my Uncle Woodrow who lives on the farm next to ours.
Jasper is still getting his lessons, though. Mama has many books, and she makes sure he keeps up with his studies so that he can get a full education here at home. Her own mother, my Mam-ma, who has already gone to heaven to be with Jesus and the Lord God Almighty, taught Mama at home, and she knows about everything there is to know, so Jasper is not left out in the cold. It is hard on him, keeping up with his studies in the evenings after working all day on both Pap-pa’s and Uncle Woodrow’s farm, and taking care of his calf and all the chores around here while the rest of us get to go and loll around at school all day, doing nothing but learning.
My baby sister Ruby is four years old and too little to go to school, but she already knows her letters and Mama is teaching her to read. She can already almost read The Little Helper, if Mama helps her sound out the words. I love her the best because I get to take care of her.
September 12, 1931
Dearest Mother and Father,
There has been a tragedy here. Reverend Miller had a failure of the heart during the night, and his condition is very grave indeed. We took him to the hospital in Maryville, and Mrs. Miller is with him now. I went to visit him, but I was not allowed to see him. I am glad I am here for Mrs. Miller’s sake. She needs someone to comfort her in this terrible time.
My classes are going well. I have some very bright students, and I am finding that it is not at all difficult to teach several grades at once. The older ones help the younger ones, so it works out well.
Much love to you all, and especially to Jonas and Thomas. I have not had the opportunity to write to them much.
With love,
Emily
September 13, 1931 The most exciting thing happened today! The preacher has been taken sick, and so Miss Weston preached in his place! It is a good thing Daddy was not there because he would grumble about it, being as how Miss Weston is a lady, and he says that ladies have no place in the pulpit. If he had been there, she would have put him to shame for saying that, because she did a fine job. The sermon was about the baptism of the Holy Spirit (that is in Acts). I am very proud of Miss Weston. Not only is she smart, she is also a graduate of Moody Bible Institute, so she knows her Bible very well. Mama and Sardius said she really teaches the Bible, not like those ignorant, wind-sucking preachers down at Big Gully who cannot hardly even read, and all they do is holler and work up a sweat about how everybody is going to hell if they do not straighten up and fly right. I think she is even better than Preacher Miller.
After the sermon, we all went to Pap-pa’s house for dinner, like we always do. Pap-pa’s wife, Miss Janey Jo, is a very good cook. We had a real feast of vegetables, although we did not have any meat. Pap-pa has been too busy to go ahunting, and no one was in the mood to kill a chicken. I think Pap-pa is worn out from harvesting.
Daddy and Uncle Woodrow did not join us for dinner today because Mama has started a rule that anybody who does not go to church does not get to go to dinner at Pap-pa’s afterward. She is hoping that will make everyone get up and out the door of a Sunday morning, but it did not work this morning. I reckon Uncle Woodrow and Daddy just could not manage it because they were too tired from working so hard all week.
I feel sorry for them missing it, and especially Uncle Woodrow because he could use a little more meat on his bones. He is a nice, sober man, but his nerves are bad because he got shell shock in the Great War when he was only 18 years old. He served on the Western Front. When he came home, he was a pure mess, and has been all these years since. Now he is 31 years old and has nothing to his name except the 20 acres next to us, which he has a hard time farming because he gets the shakes if he spends too much time out in the open. It is hard to plow when your hands are shaking so bad you cannot hold the reins. He lives in a pitiful shack all alone. It is a good thing Jasper helps him because he was about to starve when he had to do it all by himself. He is steadier with Jasper keeping him company because Jasper is calm, and he keeps him at his work.
Even though we are not supposed to work on Sundays, we sneaked in a few hours this evening while we still had some daylight. It was nice to get a good start on the week. Five rows of potatoes done tonight means five rows we will not have to do when we are tired to death.
It is past my bedtime, and I still have not written anything fit to turn in to Miss Weston tomorrow. Can you imagine how awful it would be if Miss Weston found out about my whiskey trading or that Daddy is a drunk and too poor to buy me new shoes for Easter? She would hightail it back to Chicago and then we would all be without a teacher!
September 13, 1931
Dear Cecilia,
I bring you more surprises. The Reverend Miller has been taken ill, too ill to preach, and rather than let the congregation be disappointed at the lack of teaching, I stepped into the pulpit in his place today. I cannot believe it myself, that I was so bold as to get up in front of everyone and teach from the Bible as if I were the preacher. I did not have to prepare much—I adapted one of my papers on the Baptism of the Holy Spirit that I had written for a class, and I do not wish to boast, but it was very well received. At first, they seemed a little taken aback, especially the men, but because I used an expository style of teaching from the text rather than exhortation, I think they took it in stride.
DO NOT TELL MOTHER AND FATHER! Father would have a fit, I am sure. It is bad enough that I was so stubborn to go all the way through college without his blessing, but this would certainly send him over the edge.
I am flying high, as you may well imagine!
Much love,
Emily
September 14, 1931
My School Journal, grade 7, Miss Weston’s class
By Pearl Wallace
My name is Pearl Wallace. I live in Blount County, Tennessee, and I go to school at Cheola School. I am descended from the great William Wallace of Scotland who bravely fought against the evil Edward the First of England. My great-great grandfather was Wayne Wallace. He used to own all the land between Lookback Mountain and the Little Tennessee River. My grandfather was James Wallace, named after the great King James the Fourth of Scotland who became the famous King James the First of England who gave us the Bible.
My grandmother, Mama Wallace, also was Scottish, although I am not sure what clan she claimed. It is too bad, but most of the Wallaces have died or moved away, leaving only my Uncle Woodrow and my father here on the old homestead.
All of us are pure Scottish on my mama’s side, also. Pap-pa is from the Aiken clan, and Mam-ma was from the Blair clan. Mam-ma was Ulster-Irish, which means that they were Scots who moved to Ireland to help the ignorant Irish see the truth of the Gospel and not be bound to the abominations that the pope and the Catholic Church taught them. Even though they were there a long time, they stayed true to their Scottish blood, so all of us young’uns can claim several clans, although we go ahead and claim the Wallace clan because it is the most important one.
September 14, 1931. I am not able to write much tonight because we had to dig potatoes after school up until dark. Mama does not like us to miss school to help with the crops, so Jasper, Uncle Woodrow and Daddy have been doing what they can during the day, and when we came home, we hit the fields for as long as we could. The dark of the moon is already past, though, and we are behind. We still have a lot of potatoes in the ground, and next we have to start in on the beans and okra, so we will have to lay out of school the rest of the week to get it done.
We like digging potatoes when we do not have to stay at it too long. If you do it too long at a time it hurts your back, but if you do it only for a couple or three hours at a time, it almost seems like we are digging for buried treasure. Then we always get a good supper becau
se Mama fries up fresh potatoes with a side of fatback, and sometimes she has fish, too, if Daddy has gone down to the river. I think his still is down there, and he slips in a little fishing in between batches.
I also like potato season because we get to take a bath almost every night when we have been digging. I love sinking down in a big tub of hot water after grubbing in the dirt all afternoon. It is a lot of trouble to haul in enough water for our baths and get it heated up, but it is worth it to get in so dirty and come out so clean. It is like being baptized every night.
Warm, waning days.
My upright children are weary, and they fear want.
I offer them sacrifices of my silver ones,
But they are not satisfied.
They want to hoard the bounty of sister Earth
To slake their hunger for the long cold ahead.
The scent of soil and toil cling to them.
September 15, 1931. Our neighbor, Billy Ray Carlton who has been gone for three years, has come back and moved into his old home place across the creek from us. Billy Ray moved to Louisiana three years ago to work the shrimp boats, right after his Mama died, but now, with the Depression on, he got laid off, along with most everybody else in the country. Now he is back, saying he is going to be a farmer after all. I do not remember much of Billy Ray. He was mean to me when I was little so I stayed out of his way whenever he was over at our place, but now he is back. And guess what? He brought back a wife and a child!
Although they moved in last week, we have not been over to meet them on account of the potato harvest, and Mama says she does not have the time to be hospitable just yet. She sent Daddy over there yesterday with a chess pie, and he came back grumbling to Mama that the woman is a coonass cajun and he said the child is white but looks like a negro. Except he did not say Negro. He said another word that Mama says she will whip us for if she ever hears us say it. A lot of people around here do say it, just like they say G.D. and other words that Mama hates. But if you say it, it means you are nothing but white trash. If you are an upright citizen, you say negro or colored person.