Chapter 3
Deserted
Never had Jim been so broken-hearted. As he stood with head bowed at the foot of the grave that he, Jimmie, Paul Simmons, and Pete Long had dug, he vowed anew that he was going to be a different man. "I'm going to be the kind of daddy these kids will be proud of," he promised himself. "I will have to be a mamma and daddy both now, and I'm going to show them I can do a good job of it."
Mrs. Long and Mrs. Simmons, along with a few other of the folk from the community, stood just behind the silent, dejected children, grouped about the open grave. Katie reached for Sue's hand and placed her arm protectively around Mary, drawing her close. Jimmie stood with downcast eyes while Jacky kept kicking at dirt clods, gumballs, and whatever else that was within his reach.
A model T Ford came bouncing down the dusty road, and the children turned in one accord to watch. Another neighbor, Mr. Thompson, whom they knew only vaguely, got out along with a man dressed in black. Both of the men smiled and nodded their heads in greeting as they looked toward the children. They then walked over to Jim. After a few minutes of conversation, the man in black took a black book out of his satchel, opened it and started to read.
"Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her--She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life." Jim was sobbing aloud as he listened to the words that were being read.
"He oughta bawl," whispered Mrs. Simmons to Mrs. Long. "The sorry thing, let her starve to death. I'd be ashamed to carry on like that if I had been acting like he has."
"Pore Miss Lola," was Annie Long's only comment.
The man in black was still reading, "She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands--She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household...”
"She never gave meat to her household," Mrs. Simmons commented softly to Annie. "She didn't have none to give. Did good to get beans."
"She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard .... "
"She never planted a vineyard, but she's planted many a garden," Mrs. Simmons whispered back of her hand to Annie. "She would of starved long time before now if her and Jimmie hadn't of worked like slaves raising food in the garden."
"She stretcheth out her hand to the poor: yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the needy .... "
"That's her, all right," Mrs. Simmons whispered again. "All day long, she was reaching out to the poor and needy--her own family. Poor Kids! I wonder who's going to reach out to them now. That sorry daddy of theirs sure won't take care of them."
The man in black was finishing his reading. " ... In her tongue is the law of kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness."
Closing the book, he began to speak. Annie Long slipped away from Mrs. Simmons and stood beside her husband. She wanted to hear the sermon instead of listening to Mrs. Simmons' comments.
The man in black was saying, "Though I wasn't acquainted with this young mother, I trust she is at rest with Jesus in her beautiful heavenly home. There, all the heartaches, pain, grief, and troubles of earth are forever ended. God promised that He would wipe away the tears from the eyes of all who come to live with Him. You have a wonderful consolation in Jesus if you are a Christian. But if not, you need to come to Him while there is time and opportunity. He calls today, 'Come unto me--and I will give you rest.' Today is the day of salvation, tomorrow may be too late."
When he had finished speaking, he bowed his head and prayed, and then turned to shake hands with Jim. Moving over to where the children stood, he shook hands with each of them. There were tears in the kindly man's eyes as he looked at the little group of poverty-stricken children huddled together near their mother's grave. What would become of these little motherless children? Had he known the whole story, he would have been much more concerned.
Turning back to Jim, he assured him that Jesus was a refuge in the time of storm. Mary looked upward, but there was no sign of a storm. She wondered what the man meant about a storm. He was now inviting Jim to church and telling him if he ever needed him, to be sure and call on him. He took a card from his pocket and handed it to Jim, but as the man in black turned to leave with Mr. Thompson. Jim let the card fall to the ground. Hastily, Mary picked it up and clutched it tightly in her fist. Later, at home, she put it in her little coat pocket. She felt that if such a kind-looking man gave it to Daddy that whatever was on it must be good.
After the funeral service was over and the women and children were gone, Jim, Mr. Simmons and Mr. Long filled in the grave. Then Jim walked slowly away from the little country graveyard and headed toward home. Mr. Simmons caught up with him and together they walked along.
"Jim," he said, "I know words don't mean much in a time like this, but I'm truly sorry. Lola was a wonderful woman."
Jim did not answer; he was busy wiping tears from his eyes.
"Jim, I know how you feel. I've been down this road once myself, only it was different with me. I didn't have no kids at the time."
Still Jim did not speak.
Mr. Simmons cleared his throat and continued the conversation. "Maybe it's none of my business, but aren't Lola's folks still living? I've heard you speak of them on several occasions. Did you send them word about her passing?"
"No, not yet, Paul," he answered huskily. "They wouldn't have been able to attend the funeral, anyway. Their health is poor. Her pa hasn't been able to work lately and her ma has been caring for him. Anyway, I'll send them word in a day or so."
"You should, Jim; they need to know about her."
They were both silent for a few minutes and then Mr. Simmons spoke again. "Jim, why don't you heed the preacher's advice and get your children in church? If you can't go to his church, you could bring them to our little church up the road."
"I'll see, Paul. You know we don't have any way to get around, and three miles is a long way to walk to church."
"Why the kids would love it, Jim. Why don't you give it a try?"
"We'll see."
"I guess you'll think I'm really prying into your business, Jim," Mr. Simmons spoke once again, "But there's one more thing I want to talk to you about."
"Feel free, Paul. You've been a friend down through the years and gave me work when I couldn't find any elsewhere. I feel that whatever you say to me is a concern from your heart."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Jim, for that's the way it is. I'm concerned about you and your family. Uh--what I want to say is--uh--your kids need to be back in school."
"Believe me, Paul, we've done our best to keep them in school--but--" his body shook with sobs.
"Brace up, ole boy," Mr. Simmons tried to console him.
In a few minutes, Jim spoke again through his tears. "Paul, I want to straighten up my life. I made up my mind after my last fling that I was through with the stuff. I came back home to Lola and the children and was going to prove to them that I could change. Things are going to be different. But now--oh, Paul, what's the use? She's gone, she's gone. How can I live without her?"
"You must be a mamma and a daddy now, Jim. Straighten up for the children's sake. They need you worse than they ever have."
"Yes, I know. Back to the subject of school, if I can get out enough logs and cross-ties to buy them a few clothes, I'll get the children back in school, maybe by the next term. We had to take them out last winter because their shoes and coats were so ragged. Lola did the best she could, but--" he broke down again weeping uncontrollably. Upon regaining his composure, he added, "She did well to keep them alive with what little means she had. Oh, Paul," he sobbed, "I've been such a failure and no way to ever make amends. How can I stand it?"
"You have a strong will, Jim, you'll make it. You can make amends to your children. I'll be pulling for you."
"Thanks, Paul, you're a real friend."
"Here we a
re at your place, Jim. I'll go on home. If you need me or my wife, call us. And you can work with me as soon as you feel up to it."
"See you later, Paul."
It was growing late when Jim entered the little cabin. The sight that met his gaze tore at his heart. Mary was huddled in a corner asleep. Katie sat on the edge of Lola's bed with her arm about Sue, their eyes red from weeping. Jacky was sprawled face down on the floor and did not bother to look up when Jim came in. Jimmie sat on a box by the table, his chin in his hand.
"Well, Kiddos," Jim tried to appear cheerful, "Let's get some supper started. Hey, Mary, wake up. You won't sleep tonight." He walked over and gently shook her awake. She opened her sleepy eyes and stared blankly at him.
"Mamma," she spoke her name quietly.
"Mamma's not with us any longer, Girlie," Daddy told her, choking back the sobs. "We must all do the best we can without her."
"But I saw her. She was--”
"You've been dreaming, Mary. Get up now and go get me some kindling so I can get a fire started and cook some supper."
"Mrs. Simmons brought some supper, Daddy. Said we wouldn't have to cook tonight since we, since we--” Jacky stammered.
"Well, bless her old heart," Jim said gratefully as he went toward the kitchen to see what she had brought. Had he been able to overhear her remarks at the funeral, he might not have been so appreciative.
For a few weeks, Jim remained home with the children. He and Jimmie worked with Paul Simmons in the woods during the day. Jacky was left to care for the children. For a few days, Mrs. Long and Mrs. Simmons brought food and did what they could to help comfort the children. But all too soon, they were left to themselves with their sorrow. The little cabin was very lonely without Mamma and many were the tears that were shed by each one. But with Jim staying home and trying so hard to mend his ways, the grief was a little easier to bear.
But it wasn't long until Jim began to grow restless once again. One morning, he failed to awaken Jimmie as usual to go to work with him. Instead, he arose early himself, and boiled some beans and fried some potatoes. He then shook Jimmie awake.
"Jimmie," he addressed him nervously, "I must be gone a few days to buy some victuals. Take care of the little ones and I will be back soon."
Before Jimmie could protest, he had grabbed his hat off the nail on the wall, stuck it on his head and walked out the door. Jimmie jumped out of bed and followed him to the porch, but his daddy did not look back once. Jimmie watched him until he disappeared around the bend in the road, then he dropped onto the step with his head in his hands, a gesture which meant he felt utterly defeated. Someone touched him on the shoulder, and turning his head, he saw Mary looking down at him.
"Why are you up so early, Mary?"
"I heard Daddy talking to you, Jimmie. When will he come back? I don't like for him and Mamma both to be gone."
"Oh, he'll come back one of these days, Mary," he replied. "Yes, he'll be back, but--" his voice trailed off.
"But what?" asked Jacky who had joined them.
"Oh, you wouldn't understand," he answered with a tremor in his voice. Then dropping his head in his hands once again, he shook with sobs. "We won't stand for it, we won't stand for it," he kept repeating.
"Won't stand for what, Jimmie?" It was Jacky again. Mary had wilted at the sight of Jimmie's tears and was huddled up against the wall of the porch.
Jimmie stood to his feet and looked at his little brother and sister. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Poor Jimmie! He had tried to be brave, as Mamma had always taught him to be. When there was not enough to eat, Mamma would say, "Jimmie, Son, you are older. You and I will do without and let the little ones have it." When there was just one ragged coat between them, he was told to be brave and let Jacky have it. Jimmie had never complained and had always tried to be what Mamma wanted him to be. How it would help now to hear her saying, "Be brave, Jimmie, everything will be all right." But Mamma was gone, and Daddy was gone, and the heavy load of caring for the children had fallen on his young shoulders.
Mary slipped over to Jimmie's side and placing her little hand in his, she pleaded, "Jimmie, don't cry. Maybe when we go to sleep, we'll go to that beautiful place where Mamma is."
"What are you talking about, Mary?" he asked in astonishment.
"The man in black said he hoped Mamma had gone to that beautiful heaven, and she did, 'cause I saw her, and Jimmie, she was – she was so pretty and she wasn't sad anymore." Her little face glowed as she shared her cherished dream that she had the day Mamma was buried.
"The man in black!" Jimmie repeated wonderingly. “That's the answer. If only we can find the man in black, he will help us."
Mary and Jacky looked at each other without speaking as Jimmie continued excitedly, "Run, Mary, and wake up Katie and Sue." Glancing toward the doorway, he said, “Never mind. Here they are." To Katie, he said, "Go get the victuals ready. Daddy said he left some beans and potatoes cooked. Save enough back for dinner and put the rest in those two syrup buckets that me and Daddy take our lunch to work in. I think there's some corn bread, too. That should do us awhile, until we can find someone to help us.”
"But how can we find anyone to help us?" Jacky was skeptical.
"Mr. Thompson will know," he answered. "He came with the man in black the day of Mamma's funeral."
"But where does Mr. Thompson live?" Jacky still was not convinced. "We've only seen him three times, once when Mamma died, once when he brought food, and once when--".
"Never mind, Jacky," Jim interrupted with an air of importance. "We'll find somebody that knows. We can't just stay here and starve to death. Now go help Katie get things together. We want to leave right after dinner."
"Why can't we leave now, Jimmie?" It was Sue.
"I have things to do, Sue. I promised Daddy I would stick the beans."
"But if no one's gonna be here, why stick the beans?"
"A promise is a promise, Sue."
And so it was a strange little procession that moved slowly along the dusty road in the early afternoon hours. Katie and Sue carried the buckets with the food in them. Jacky had an old blanket in case they had to camp out that night, and Jimmie carefully carried the kerosene lamp (in case the girls were scared in the dark), and a jug of drinking water. Mary was hanging onto her corn-cob doll, and wrapped in an old newspaper she held tightly was the yard goods that Daddy had brought the night Mother died.
"Why bring that?" Jimmie had scolded her.
"The man in black may have a lady that will make me and Sue and Katie new dresses," she answered simply. Jimmie did not have the heart to make her leave it behind.
This was the first time that Mary and Sue had ever been any farther away from the little cabin than the wooded area that surrounded it. But the boys and Katie had attended school part time. Also, Jimmie, Jacky, and Katie had been privileged once to go to town with Mamma and Daddy in Batesville. They reminisced as they walked along. It was just before Christmas and Daddy had borrowed a horse and buggy for transportation. What a happy day that was. They were each allowed to select a toy from the dime store, the only real store-bought toys they had ever owned. Jimmie got a little truck with a trailer that could be removed, Jacky chose a plastic bat and ball, and Mamma bought a big red ball for Katie. For herself, she selected some dry goods for a new dress. Jimmie said he could remember how bright her face looked as she looked through the bolts of cloth.
"Mamma was so happy that day," Jimmie smiled sadly. "I must have been five because you were born shortly afterwards, Sue, and there's five years difference in our ages. But I remember it as if it was yesterday. Daddy stayed home a long time after that and then one morning he just walked off like he did this morning."
This had been the only life the children had ever known. But somehow, they were able to accept what they could not change.
Darkness was fast creeping upon the weary little group. Their steps had slowed, and they stole longing
glances at the buckets that Sue and Katie carried. The sounds of crickets chirping and the occasional bellowing of a bullfrog greeted their ears. When the eerie sound of a screech owl burst upon them, Mary moved closer to Jimmie and put her trembling hand to his.
"Let's stop here under this big gum tree," Jimmie suggested. "It's getting too dark to see where we're going and we're hungry. We'll eat part of the victuals and try to get some sleep."
Mary began to sob, "I wanta go back home and sleep in my bed," she cried. "I'm scared of the dark and--and--the screeching--and--and noises."
"Hush, Mary," Sue tried to comfort her. "You must be brave if we're to find the man in black." She put her arm about her little sister and held her close. But tremor racked her own body; she, too, was afraid of the dark.
"I'm afraid a snake will crawl on us," Katie complained. "Or a spider might fall out of this tree, or a worm--"
"Be quiet, Katie," Jimmie scolded her. "Nothing's going to bother us. Here, Jacky, hold this lamp while I find a match. We'll have a light here before you know it." He fumbled in his pocket and located the two matches that he was able to find before he left home. Striking one on the buckle of his overalls, he carefully lit the lamp; but before they could get the lids off the buckets, the wind had blown it out. He reached for the other match but hesitated. If the wind blew that out, there was no more. Putting it back in his pocket, he said, "I reckon we can feel around in these buckets and eat what we want. Sue, did you think to bring the spoon?"
"Here it is." Jacky fished it out of his pocket.
"Let Mary eat first. She's the littlest," Sue suggested.
"I don't want nothing to eat," Mary whimpered.
"Me, either," Sue told them.
"Then Katie, you eat," Jimmie said.
"If a worm fell out of this tree and fell into the bucket, I couldn't see it and I would be eating a worm. Or maybe a bug--" she shuddered.
"Give me the spoon, Katie," Jacky commanded. I'll eat. Worms or no worms, bugs or no bugs. I'm hungry." But before long, he passed the spoon over to Jimmie.
Jimmie ate slowly. The thought of a long, squirmy worm wiggling around in his beans caused him to reach for the lid and push it tightly on the bucket.
"Spread out the blanket, Jacky," he instructed. "Let's try to get some sleep. I'm tired."
"Let's go back home, Jimmie," Mary pleaded. "I don't like to sleep on the ground."
"Mary, do you want to go home and starve? We have no food there," he informed her.
"But I'm not hungry, Jimmie. I don't care if there is no food there."
"But you'll be hungry tomorrow. Now lay down between Sue and Katie and go to sleep. I'll sit up and watch over you tonight." After many consoling words, Mary was quieted and soon their even breathing convinced Jimmie they were sleeping. Later he dozed off sitting at the trunk of the tree.
Upon awakening the next morning, Jimmie straightened his back and rubbed his eyes. Looking around him, he mumbled, "Where am I? Oh yes, we're going to find the man in black."
A sad look crossed his face as he took in the scene around him. The little ones, so thin and ragged, were stretched out on the old blanket. "Why did our Mamma have to die?" he asked himself bitterly.
Reaching for one of the syrup buckets, he opened it; but the sour smell was a stench to his nostrils. The potatoes were not much better, so he closed both buckets and stood to his feet. "No breakfast today," he said aloud. "Probably no dinner, no supper, no nothing. Oh-h-h," he moaned, "what are we going to do?"
His talking and movement awakened Mary and she sat up rubbing her eyes. Looking around her in a frightened manner, she began to cry.
"Sh-h, Mary. No use crying. That won't help matters," Jimmie said impatiently.
"I'm hungry," Mary whimpered.
Jimmie opened the potato bucket and handed her a piece of potato. "Here, eat this fried potato," he told her.
She reached for it, but after a bite, she whined, "It's not any good, Jimmie. It's soggy and tastes bad."
"It's all I've got to give you, Mary. Either eat it or starve." He looked down into her little pale face and noticed her eyes filled with tears. Squatting down beside her, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Mary, for being so cross. I know you must be hungry since you didn't eat last night, but this heat has spoiled what food we had. We will have to wait until we find the man in black before we can get anything else to eat. I believe he'll help us if we can only find him."
By this time, the others were awake. After explaining that they had no food and would have to finish their journey on an empty stomach, they started to hear a rumbling sound behind them. Turning, they saw a large vehicle, loaded with what they later learned was hay. The truck passed them and then stopped until the children caught up with it. A rough looking, heavy-set man got out of the cab.
"Where are you children running off to?" he scowled.
Jimmie turned pale and opened his mouth to speak. When words failed to come out, Sue blurted out, "We're going to find a man in black. He told us if we ever needed hlm to call on him, and we--".
"Hey, what kind of a story is this?" the man asked gruffly. "You children crawl up there on that hay and I'll take you home to your folks."
"But Mamma is buried in a big ole hole and Daddy left us and we don't have nothing to eat and--and--". Little Mary sobbed brokenly as she related her troubles to the unsympathetic stranger.
The man cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, cleared his throat again and then spoke a little more kindly, "Come on, young 'uns. Get up there on that hay. Wait a minute. You girls get in the cab with me 'til I can check out this story you're telling."
The five tired children meekly obeyed, not knowing anything else to do.
After a long, rough ride, the truck stopped in front of a large brown farm house, surrounded by an unpainted picket fence. In one corner of the yard stood an oak tree covered with wisteria vine in full bloom. A black and yellow cat sat in the sunshine on the front steps, licking her paws. Here and there, chickens were scattered, busily scratching for something to eat. A small black and white dog ran to meet them, his tail wagging in welcome, but the man yelled at him, "Get out of the way, Rock."
A pretty lady, who appeared much younger than the man, appeared in the doorway.
"Sarah, I've picked up some young 'uns, down the road a piece, who will have to be cared for until I can check out a story they tell." He then called over his shoulder, "Come on in, young 'uns, you can stay here awhile."
Jimmie and Jacky climbed down off the hay, but the girls had no idea how to open the door of the cab to get out, so they remained where they were.
"Come on, children. Hurry up."
"My sisters can't get out of the--the--" Jacky stuttered.
"Then, you open the door for them," he ordered.
"Jacky, and then Jimmie, tried unsuccessfully to get the heavy door open. They looked at the man helplessly. He turned back toward the truck with a look of disgust and freed the little girls. Shoving them gently toward the house, he said, "Go on in with the madam."
Upon entering the house, the irresistible aroma of food cooking caused some of the children to rub their empty stomachs.
"Put some more water in the soup, Sarah," the man instructed. "We have five extra mouths to feed today."
"As you say," she replied meekly and disappeared into the kitchen, but not before giving the children a warm smile.
The children were told to be seated on a long couch in one corner of the living room. After they were left alone, they cautiously surveyed their surroundings. The room in which they sat, was unpainted, and in the middle of the north side of it there was a fireplace. A grandfather clock stood in the corner opposite them and its pendulum swinging back and forth fascinated the children. The furniture was scanty, and yet unlike any the children had ever seen. The walls were bare except for a couple of calendars hooked over large, rusty nails. The children were still scanning the large
room when the lady called "Sarah" entered and with a smile, invited them to come eat.
Obediently, they jumped to their feet and followed her. They had never seen such a feast, even though the food was simple. Sarah filled each plate, and they began eating, bashfully at first, and then as they tasted the delicious food, the hungry children ate ravenously. Never before in their poor little lives had they seen such a variety of good food for one meal. When they had cleaned their plates, Sarah served them peach cobbler topped with fresh whipped cream. Oh, how good it was! They began to relax and lose their fear. The warmth of Sarah's smile made them feel right at home.