In the Midst of Innocence Read online

  September 21, 1931. Tonight we just had cornbread and buttermilk for supper because we were working so hard canning and pickling all day, but we are not hungry because right after supper, Mrs. Bittertree brought over a chocolate cake, made from her special recipe that calls for buttermilk, which makes the cake extra moist and soft, and of course, delicious! We canned well on into dark, and put up 32 jars of tomatoes, so the house smells delicious!

  The Bittertrees live on the other side of Uncle Woodrow, on the prettiest piece of land that used to belong to my Daddy Wallace. That land should have come to us, but Daddy’s brother inherited it all, and he sold it to the Bittertrees, before he up and moved to Texas. Sometimes I wish Mr. and Mrs. Bittertree were not so nice. It would be easier to be mad at them for getting the best part of Daddy Wallace’s land.

  They have a son who is spoiled to death. His name is Ralph Lee, but Mrs. Bittertree calls him “Little Ralph Lee,” even though he is 14 years old and is mean as a snake. He quit school two years ago because they caught him stealing people’s dinners, and he would not admit to it even though blackberry jelly from Danny Ogle’s jelly biscuit was smeared all over his face. Miss Halfacre whipped him for it, and then Mrs. Bittertree told him he did not have to go back to school after that. She says she taught him at home, but we all know good and well all he did all day was run wild all over the place, and he still does. He steals from the Greenbrier store sometimes, too, but nobody can ever catch him at it.

  One time I caught him pinching Beryl hard enough to make her cry. I hauled off and lamped him good in the eye. He did not tell anyone it was I who did it because he knew that if he told, everyone would laugh at him for being bested by a little girl. Mrs. Bittertree went around weeping about it, saying, “Poor Little Ralph Lee ran into a tree branch and about took out his eye.” My brothers and I laughed about that for a long time.

  I am going to bed now. I am so tired I am barely able to go wash my feet. I would leave that off, but Mama would kill me if I crawled in between her clean sheets with dirty feet.

  September 22, 1931. I love to pick muscadines. The best ones are the highest up, so Jasper, Sardius, Darlene and I skinnied up the tree to the very top and threw them down on a sheet. Mama and Beryl gathered them up and put them in buckets. Even Ruby helped a little, although she ate more than she put in the bucket. From where we were up in the tree, we could see clear across the river and over the first line of hills, all the way to Chilhowee Mountain. The river is bright silver during the daytime, and toward evening, it turns gold. There is no place better to be than up in a tree, smelling that sweet muscadine smell and eating them until my mouth gets itchy. Muscadines bring good cash, too.

  We had a picnic, and it seemed like one of those beautiful days of summer when we were not really working, but just having a good time. To top it all off, we managed to get over six gallons! Getting to take all those muscadines home was just something extra good that added to the happiness.

  Daddy was home when we got there, with ten pounds of sugar and 6 dozen new jars and lids, so we just ate leftover cornbread and molasses for dinner, then set in to making jelly. Now the kitchen smells so good with the sweet, muscadine smell. I love making jelly. We all crowd in the kitchen and work like one of those manufacturing machines that pumps things out in a big hurry. Mama starts in singing, and we get to going, and the next thing you know, jars of jelly are all lined up on the table, the counter, the windowsill, and all along the walls. We are going to have some fine eating this winter!

  Warm, waning days.

  My children gambol amid rocks and sweet grass.

  The upright ones sang to me from the tops of the greenleaves

  And ate of their bounty,

  Dripping sweetness and song through the nothing of air.

  The Spirit smiles at their joy,

  Even as something dark peers from the edges.

  The silver Orb’s lust grows strong,

  Inciting in me the need to rise.

  I leave my silver children tucked in my womb

  As I reach for her.

  September 23, 1931. Tonight we made apple pies, and the kitchen smells like cinnamon. Mama is not making butter this week, even though she says she will miss the cash from it, because cream makes the pies taste so much better. It puts Daddy in a good mood, too, all that pie with cream for supper. He also is looking forward to fried pies this winter, as we all are. There is nothing better than reaching into your dinner pail and pulling out a fried pie on a cold day.

  I wanted Darlene to stay to supper, but when I started to ask, Mama shook her head at me and glanced over at Daddy. It makes me mad that he has such a mean spirit about Darlene. She is just as good as anybody. She is helpful, and sweet, and smart. Mama thinks so, too.

  September 24, 1931. Mama sent Jasper, Sardius, Daddy, and me over to Pap-pa’s today to help him bring in his beans while she finished with the apples. When we got home, we helped her bring in all the ones she had drying outside. They were everywhere! They were on the roofs of the house, the woodshed, the springhouse, and even up on the barn! At first we were worried because we thought Mama had climbed up on the roof. It is steep and she is very fat, so it would be easy for her to roll right off. Daddy started to fuss at her for climbing up on the roofs, but then Uncle Woodrow popped up to tell us he had actually done the climbing. That also was surprising because his nerves are so bad he usually gets the shakes when he is in a scary place. I do not have time to write more because I must go and help put up those apples. I cannot wait to make apple butter. That is my favorite!

  September 25, 1931. We have only one more day before the full moon, but we have made good progress. We have mostly finished with the apples, which is a good thing. Everyone is getting tired of them. Even though they smell good, the smell gets up in your nose and stays there so you cannot hardly smell anything but them. Ruby got a bellyache last night from eating so many.

  We spent the morning picking squash, tomatoes, and okra, and after dinner, Daddy said he was going down to the river to fish, but we all know what he was really up to. That means he will be gone until supper, so Mama said Beryl and I could go get Darlene and Mrs. Carlton to come have some apple pie and coffee. We ran over there as fast as we could, and then we had the best afternoon with Darlene, making apple butter and eating it on hoecakes that Mrs. Carlton cooked while Mama canned. Darlene and I went down to the river for a little while, but the sun was so glary that Darlene said it hurt her eyes, so we left and came on back to the house. Darlene told us all about Louisiana and how folks speak French down there. She also told me that a cajun is a person who lives in Louisiana and that it is not a bad word at all, but coonass is not very nice. I did not tell her what Daddy had called her because I know that would hurt her feelings and make her think we were white trash. I wonder if it would hurt her feelings to call her a Negro? I wish I could ask somebody about what is proper.

  I told her about school and wondered which grade she would be in, and she said that she would not be going to my school, that her mama teaches her at home. I tried to talk her into going with me, but she just shook her head and said she could not go to my school and she would not tell me why. I had a very good time with Darlene. She already is my best friend outside of my brothers and sisters.

  Both Mrs. Carlton and Darlene are big cut-ups. Mrs. Carlton has a big, purple bruise on the side of her face that she got trying to milk their ornery old cow. She told about how she was sitting there, calm as could be, with her head in the clouds while she milked, and all of a sudden, she thought she had been hit by a lightning bolt. She made it sound so funny, mocking that cow thrashing around, kicking her until she saw stars. I laughed until I cried. Mama and Uncle Woodrow did not laugh as much as I did. They are bashful around her and want her to think they do things proper, but I do not mind that she knows I think she is funny. I think that lets her know I like her a lot.

  Mrs. Carlton and Darlene left before Daddy got home. Nobody has said anything, b
ut I think Mrs. Carlton knows that Daddy would not like to see Darlene at our house playing with Beryl and me. Uncle Woodrow is much nicer than Daddy. He was very kind to them and even walked them home, even though it is not far or dangerous. It is only a half-mile, just across the creek, and there is a sturdy tree trunk on which to walk across. He wanted them to feel important enough to be escorted by a gentleman. Not everyone is as ignorant as my daddy is.

  September 25, 1931

  Dear Cecilia,

  Did you tell Father that some of the men here are afflicted with a thirst for liquor? And did you tell him and Mother that Jonathan has asked me to marry him? If so, I must say, I am disappointed that you would betray my confidence in that way. Now Father is insisting I come home, and Mother has practically published the banns, but I am more determined than ever not to tuck my tail between my legs and come running back. I have my duty to fulfill here. I will not go back on my word. It is my mission to enlighten the children of this district. I will thank you not to further blab about what is going on here.

  Your disappointed sister,

  Emily

  Warm, waning days.

  The great orb holds me high above the greenness.

  I arc into her light.

  Bellies are full with new life.

  We rejoice in the quickening.

  September 26, 1931. Daddy went foxhunting last night, as he always does at the full moon, and he has not come home yet, which is a blessing, because a night out foxhunting means he is going to get blootered. I hope he stays out all night again tonight and sleeps it off. We cannot stand him when he comes home roaring drunk, cussing and pitching a fit, and getting us all torn up.

  I don’t know how Pap-pa does it, but he somehow knows when Daddy has fallen off the wagon, and he always comes over early the next morning to help out and make sure we all are all right. He says he is coming over because Miss Janey Jo won’t cook him a decent breakfast, but we know better.

  I know that Pap-pa does not like Daddy, even though he does not breathe a word against him. As far as I know Mama does not complain to Pap-pa about the way Daddy treats her when he has a snootfull, but you can tell that he knows by the way he gets very quiet around Daddy when there has been a row. I wonder why he let Mama marry him when she could have had any fine fellow in the county.

  I think Mama must really have liked Daddy back when they were young. The way she talks about him sometimes, I think she still likes him. To hear her tell it, he was a handsome boy, and he did not drink when she married him. Also, he was a good daddy to their firstborn, Little Harrison.

  Little Harrison died right after his second birthday of the whooping cough. Right after that, Daddy started in on the whiskey, and every time he came in from work on Saturdays, he curled up with a bottle. It did not matter to him that he had other young’uns coming along after that. That is the honest truth. We have had a sorry drunk for a daddy from the minute we first saw the light of day. It makes me mad that I missed out on the good part of what Daddy used to be. I think about him being a good father, and I wonder if Little Harrison had not died, maybe he would still be. I wonder if my big brother knew how much was at stake, he might have fought against that old whooping cough a little harder.

  Some people say that Daddy cannot help himself being a drunk because he is still grieving over his baby. I do not believe that. He surely could help himself when the railroad bosses had their eye on him, back before the Depression was on. They would fire anyone who showed up for work even smelling of drink. It seems to me that anybody who can keep himself sober all during the week can keep himself sober any time he wants to. I think he just uses Little Harrison’s death as an excuse when he decides he wants to get scuppered and lay out of doing anything around here.

  September 27, 1931. Daddy still is not home. We heard the hounds baying all night long, so he must be out there somewhere, staggering around in the woods with his trashy old cronies. I just hate him when he does that. Thank goodness for Pap-pa and Uncle Woodrow who pitch in when Daddy is on a bender. They are both good, steady men who know how to act like men. They think Daddy is foolish to waste his time hunting foxes. You can’t eat them, so why go chasing them all over tarnation, making enough racket to wake the countyside and coming home to cuss out your family and then fall into bed to sleep all day?

  Pap-pa will not go fox hunting, but he hunts for food, while Uncle Woodrow will not shoot anything on account of he is ascared of loud guns. He will fish, but he will not hunt, not even if he is starving and there is a squirrel sitting not five feet away, digging in his tomatoes. He will not even be in the same room as a gun. Whenever Daddy knows he is coming over, he takes his rifle from off the wall over the fireplace and puts it back in the bedroom. If Woodrow comes over and the rifle has not been moved, he will stand outside even if it is raining ice water and wait for somebody to put it away. One time Jasper laid a bunch of cedar logs on the fire and they got to popping, and Uncle Woodrow liked to have run Mama over getting out of that room. He ran out the back door, then threw himself off the porch, and kept on running. We did not see him for weeks after that. It is no doubt that the poor man has the worst nerves of anybody I ever saw.

  After church today, we went to Pap-pa’s for dinner, and Miss Weston and Uncle Woodrow were there, but not Daddy, of course, since he is still laying out drunk. Between Pap-pa and Jake Hatton, I am getting rich with my whiskey trading. Today I made 35c! Of course, I will have to tithe 3 1/2 c, which I will round up to 4c. I will not mind that one bit because I know that how I got this money is not pleasing to the Lord. If I give Him the extra half cent, He might not be too mad at me.

  Warm, waning days.

  I taste the pain of my children.

  It wafts through the darkness with the cry of the hound,

  With the miasma of rancor.

  Even singing loudly, I cannot drown the innocents’ sobs.

  The great Orb loosens her desire.

  I exhale with my release.

  September 27, 1931

  Dear Cecilia,

  I think I owe you an apology. Upon further reflection, I realize that it probably was Jonathan who shared my confidences with Mother and Father. If I had been thinking, I would have known you are not the kind of sister who would betray me. I was in such a tizzy about them having found out about Jonathan’s proposal and about the illegal activities of some of the men of this community that I immediately took it out on you. I certainly hope—actually, I am quite certain—that I am right in this. I beg you to forgive me.

  I have had another successful Sunday. I preached on Gideon and the fleece, which was very well received, and then I went to Mr. and Mrs. Aiken’s house for dinner. Mrs. Aiken, who has asked me to call her Janey Jo, insists that I should come to dinner every Sunday. I am glad to do that because the Reverend Miller is still bedridden and Mrs. Miller does not like to be apart from him for Sunday dinner. If I am away during the mealtime, it allows her to sit with him and eat in his bedroom. I fear I have become a burden to them, and I am grateful for an excuse to get away as often as I can.

  Mr. Wallace did not join us today, but his younger brother Woodrow did, and we all had a pleasant time, although the younger Mr. Wallace (I shall call him Woodrow to keep you from being confused) was very quiet so that it was difficult to include him in conversation. I get the feeling something terrible has happened to him. There is an air of tragedy about him, despite his hearty attempts to be engaging. Sometimes I catch him staring into space with such a desperate look in his eyes, I long to ask him the secret of his melancholy. Perhaps I could draw him out more and even help him to overcome it. Please add him to your prayers, that God will deliver him from whatever makes him suffer so much.

  Your loving sister,

  Emily

  September 27, 1931

  Dearest Mother and Father,

  Thank you for your recent letter and for the advice you have shared with me. I appreciate your concerns, but I see the circumstances differently
than you do. The Millers need me here more than ever, now that the Reverend is so ill, for I am needed to keep Mrs. Miller company and help her tend to the needs of the congregation. She spends so much of her time nursing her husband that it is left to me to call on the ill and infirm. It is not a hardship to me at all, but invigorating because I feel as if I am doing God’s calling.

  Unfortunately, the Reverend will most likely not be well enough to return to his duties for some time, but you will be pleased to know that someone who lives in the community with good training in Scripture has stepped up to take his place in the pulpit for now. Mrs. Miller and I are quite able to handle the responsibilities left to us. Members of the congregation are also taking very good care of me! Today I went to dinner at the home of the Aikens, pillars of the community. They attend the Methodist church in Greenback, but their daughter and her family attend our little church here in the “holler,” as they call it. You would be surprised at the tenor of our conversations. Today at the dinner table, we discussed the merits of Billy Sunday’s sermons, so you see, they are not all “ignorant, vacant-eyed morons” after all!

  Regarding your concerns about the sin of drunkenness, I assure you that the people here are quite sober, for they cannot afford the luxury of missing work in the fields. If they do not gather in enough food to last the winter, they face starvation. There may be one or two stray instances in which someone takes a sip now and then (usually for medicinal purposes), but it is quite rare. I have not seen a single person in his cups here. Besides, may I remind you that Chicago is full of bootleggers, speakeasies, and gin joints, not to mention drunken men sleeping on the streets? If you are going to judge the safety and moral integrity of a place based upon the amount of liquor consumed per capita, then Cheola Community is far superior to Chicago!