T­he strands of DNA, which would come together to create the person who would be me, was fated to occur in the state of Mississippi. All of those people, I would later learn were my ancestors, had been in the state for several generations before I entered the scene. Most of them had lived in the east central part of the state in a little town called Newton. Even before that, they had been in the U.S. long enough for most all of their European traits to have disappeared into the rich southern soil.

Why my ancestors chose Mississippi was likely due to the fact they’d heard something about free government acreage to the homesteaders, and being a land owner meant everything. Unfortunately, that free land had once belonged to the Native American tribes which the government had started systematically taking by wars and treaty agreements.  In 1833, most of the Indians were being removed and assigned to designated reservations. There is much of history that seems unfair. Still, my people took advantage of what was offered. I only hope they had no active part in pushing out the rightful owners of the land.

I am sorry to say that living in this part of the world where slavery was a way of life, left most people in the state prejudiced, whether they owned slaves or not. It is a curse which has to be unlearned over time, and many are still in the process.

Because the KKK became active shortly after the Civil War ended, the races didn’t trust each other. Most of the whites were convinced crimes were more likely to be committed by the black population. This was likely the case, because by making the schools inferior and the wages low, poverty was created. Crimes are more frequent in areas where the population survives in poverty and lack of education.

Although I seldom heard it discussed, the KKK was still a poorly kept secret among certain groups of people. Thankfully, it was not something anyone in my immediate family participated in. Most of the members of my family had been landowners and farmers before I came along, but only a few were slave owners. They seemed to have enough children in their families to take care of the work requirements.

My mother's father was a widowed farmer with six boys and five girls. He married my grandmother who was also a young widow with two children. Her husband who was in community law enforcement had been murdered by a suspected thief. Lucille was the youngest of the two children born to that union. Mom’s blended family consisted of 15 children. Of all those children, only two of the boys chose to be farmers and two of the girls married farmers.

On my dad's side, his father, Ebenezer Weir, was a ‘jack of all trades’ as someone was called who had their hands into many different ways of producing income. He came from a family who operated grist mills and did farming on the side. My grandfather was not only a miller, a farmer, a brickmaker, a syrup maker, a blacksmith, a bee keeper, the owner of a country store, a lumberman, a carpenter, a part-time dentist and barber, but he had also, patented and distilled an acid from the soil which people in the community considered a cure-all. In spite of all this, he seldom had over a dollar and some nickels and dimes to his name. He was self-sufficient and money just wasn’t that important.

My paternal grandparents lost their first child, a little girl, at birth. After Glover was born, his mother was advised that having more children could cost her life. Since Glover grew up as an only child and was never around small children, he was convinced he didn’t want children of his own. Lucille, on the other hand, was used to a big family and although she was the baby of her family, she was always around children of her older siblings, and she had dreams of growing up to be a mother as well.

Although Glover was a good student, he wasn’t happy with the fact that his parents didn’t see to it he had nice clothes to wear. When his years in a one room country school ended in eighth grade, and the students were sent to school in town, he decided continuing to wear overalls to school would be embarrassing. He needed to find a job so he could earn money with which to afford appropriate clothing. He dropped out of school and managed to find work at one of the local stores, cleaning up and stocking shelves. He soon had a better wardrobe and an old A-model car to drive. It was 1925, and he was well respected in the general store where he worked.

Glover’s uncle had married Lucille’s older sister, so although they were weren't related, they were destined to meet through mutual family ties. Although, they were acquainted as children, Glover was five years older than Lucille, and they didn’t become interested in each other, until Lucille was 16 and Glover was 21.

By that time, Lucille was in high school and had hopes of finishing her senior year and going on to college. She had an older brother who had been in the Navy. After his stint with the military, he had gotten a job as a policeman in Detroit. He was sending money to his little sister to buy clothes for school. He wanted her to move to Michigan, attend the University and be the first one in the family to get a college degree.

However, the best laid plans often change. Two years later, Lucille’s brother had married a Canadian girl. Since he now had a wife to support and the possibility of starting a family, she felt bad about continuing to take his money.

Glover had established himself in retail sales. The store owner had thoughts of opening a business in Knoxville, Tennessee and having Glover manage it. Glover was anxious for the opportunity, but he dreaded the thought of leaving his girlfriend behind. Lucille was now seventeen and about to begin her senior year. When he told her about the possibility of a move and asked her if she would marry him, she agreed to marry him and move to Knoxville if the job came through. Her stipulation was, until they knew if they would be moving, the marriage would be kept secret. If for some reason the job didn’t materialize, she would continue living with her parents and graduate from high school. The school didn’t encourage married students to attend.

Glover agreed and they were married by a Justice of the Peace in August of 1932. Within a week, the secret was out. They hadn’t realized, the local paper would carry a list of those who had applied for a marriage license. The Great Depression which had started in 1928 with the stock market crashing and the banks failing, at first, had not had a great impact on the little town of Newton. Now it was starting to be felt all over the country. It was showing signs of deepening, rather than abating. Glover was fortunate to have work at all. His boss decided it wasn’t a good time to open a new business in a larger city.

Lucille was disappointed they wouldn’t be moving to Knoxville. She had always wanted to live near the mountains. She had seen the Appalachian Mountains once when she was 13. Her brother had taken her all the way to Michigan and back. For a little country girl, it had been the adventure of a lifetime. Now, she tried to refocus on the idea she might never again have an opportunity to escape living in a small town. Also, the idea of graduation was out.  She had made an adult decision. The time had come to focus on being a wife.

Neither Lucille's nor Glover’s families had ever gone into debt. They had both been raised with the idea that if you don’t have enough money to buy what you need, you would have to let it go until you do. Now with the banks unstable, it certainly wasn’t a time to be borrowing money.

Glover’s dad had moved the family closer into town several years before to make it more convenient for Glover to get to work. The old unpainted wooden house which they’d purchased had four rooms that could be used as bedrooms. Only one of them was heated by a fireplace. His mother’s unmarried brother and sister lived with the family. Glover’s parents were happy with having Lucille in the family. They suggested the two of them stay with them as long as they needed to. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, and the couple determined that they would do everything in their power to get their own place as soon as possible.

Glover looked into the possibility of buying some acreage that joined the 15 acres his father owned. The man who owned it agreed to sell him 15 more acres on credit for $400.00. He would carry the loan without interest. The agreement called for them to pay $100 a year for the following four years. To go into debt went against everything they believed, but this was a neighbor who he felt he could trust. He had a little money saved, but he would need that for building materials. Land wouldn’t be of much use without a house. Would he be able to build a house and still manage to save a hundred dollars a year from his small salary? He’d have to try. He had a wife to support.

Glover’s dad, Ebb was handy with a hammer, having built many barns, a mill and other out buildings as well as assisting other people as they built their own houses. Many in the community respected him and felt obligated to give their time to help with the construction. Glover and Lucille sketched out a simple plan for a two-bedroom house. Although they knew they would have to make do with an outdoor toilet, they included a small space where an indoorone could be added later.

Ebb made a dowsing rod with a balanced tree branch and went over the land looking for an underground stream. A well would need to be near the house. It had to be dug first, so where water could be located would determine the spot where the house would be built. Lucille had hoped the house could be on the small hill nearer to Glover’s dad’s place. However, the dowsing rod showed an underground stream fairly near the surface further over in a lower spot. This would leave the hill between the two houses. The well diggers didn’t have to go too deep to find the water.

Some of the lumber for the studs and rafters were gleaned from older houses that had been torn down. Getting lumber this way was much cheaper and sometimes free for dismantling. The simple house went up quickly. Since the construction was done in the spring, the couple left it unsealed, hoping to be able to make it more airtight before winter.

Laying a brick chimney took the longest, but Ebb, in spite of being crippled with arthritis, headed up the project and had his hands in every phase of the work. He made the concrete foundation stones and would have made the brick, but they were able to find enough brick from an older house which had been toppled by a storm. After purchasing the recently milled and roofing material, all of the money Glover had saved back had been used.

With a roof over their heads and some donated furnishings, the newlyweds moved in. Lucille started a garden immediately. Their plan was to later seal the rooms and to add porches as they could afford them. So far, the house in its unfinished state was at least paid for. Now to come up with the mortgage money by August.

The couple was, at last, in their own home with more privacy. Living in an unfinished house was a bit like camping out, but being young and full of energy they were content to work hard and plan for the future.

Lucille had gotten up enough courage to mention the possibility of starting a family. She was shocked and disappointed to learn that Glover didn’t really want children. Seeing how this upset his wife, he reasoned with her they might think about it further down the road, but until the land was paid off, and they had a finished house, it wasn’t a good time to consider having children.

One of Glover’s friends, who worked at the local pharmacy, had given them a huge box of rubbers as a gag gift. Glover had every intention of seeing to it there would be no children in the near future. He was very grateful for something his friend had tried to pretend was only a joke.

Winter found them still without the funds needed to make the place more livable. They wore heavy clothes and hovered around the fireplace, shivering as snowflakes drifted through the cracks left in the walls by the shrinking recently milled green lumber which had been used to board up their house. The first mortgage payment was paid on time, leaving three more to go.

With so many people dying that winter from flu and pneumonia, Lucille had to admit, now wasn’t a good time to start a family. However, her dream was still alive. There was plenty of time to have a child. After all, she was only 18.  She would have been disappointed if she had known that time was still nearly five years in the future when she would give birth to her only child, a little girl she would call Beth.

The story will continue with a chapter called “Mortgage Money”.

Author Notes

The book will be called, "Coming of Age in Mississippi. I've written about my life and family starting with when my husband and I got married. This will be an autobiography leading up to that point.

The windows were tightly closed, and old rags had been pressed into cracks between the wall boards to keep out the cold, but it wasn't working. The house felt like an igloo. The unsealed walls had been hastily constructed using green lumber. Over a six-month period, the boards had dried and shrunk, leaving cracks large enough for snow to sift through into the house itself.

 

Although snow was not common in Mississippi, it had been an unusual winter. On two separate occasions, all along the north wall of the house, there had been little ridges of snow lines on the pine board floor. The glass on the small windows had formed intricate patterns of frost that never seemed to dissipate.

 

Lucille shivered and hugged her sweater tighter around her, as she put another stick of stove wood into the little potbelly iron stove in the kitchen. She opened the small oven door on the side of the stove, checked the pan of cornbread and stirred the pot of beans heating on top of the stove. The fire was almost out, and she knew she would have to go outside for more wood soon.

 

She heard the sputter of Glover's old model-T Ford as he turned into the driveway. Good, she thought, let him go get the wood. A couple of minutes later, the door opened, and Glover came in quickly, his breath making little puffs of vapor in the frosty air. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and started to take off his overcoat.

 

"Babe, we need some more wood. Do you mind getting it before you take off your coat?" 

 

Glover rolled his eyes, grunted and started for the door. It wasn't long before he reentered, carrying an armload of small chopped sticks of wood. He unloaded it in the kindling box near the stove.

 

"What's for supper?" he asked.

 

"Cornbread and beans again. We don't have any meat left. I don’t want to kill any more of our chickens. We need what few hens we have left for eggs. I made some tea. Are you ready to eat?"

 

Glover sighed and ran his finger through his thinning hair. Only twenty-five and he was going bald already. He would be an old man before his time.

 "Things will get better after this weekend. I'm looking forward to burning that mortgage agreement. First thing Monday morning, we're taking that money to Mr. Granger. I don’t ever want to owe anyone again. We're not ever going to borrow any more money. By this time next year, we'll have this house sealed. Next winter, we won't be freezing our butts off."

 

Lucille grinned and turned back to the stove, adding more wood as she spoke. "We need to go dig our money up Saturday after you get paid.  I'll put it all in a nice white envelope to take to him."

 

The year was 1935. Glover and Lucille had married in August of `32.  She had only been seventeen, and Glover was twenty-two. The country had still not fully recovered from the Great Depression. Glover had dropped out of school at fifteen to take a job at a dry-goods store in order to help his family. When he thought he might be transferred to a store in another state, he had pressed Lucille to marry him. She hesitated, because she wanted to finish high school and go to college. Her older brother, Eugene, had promised to provide the money for her tuition. Still, she didn't want to lose Glover, and he was so persistent.

 

In the end, the thing that helped her make up her mind was when she learned her sister-in-law was pregnant. Eugene can't really afford college for me, she reasoned. Dad and Mom are barely making it as it is, so maybe this is the right thing to do. She was disappointed when Glover wasn't transferred after all. She had looked forward to moving to Tennessee.

 

The couple wanted a home of their own. Glover only made $20.00 a week, and it took at least half of it to live. Land prices were reasonable. If they skimped, they could manage to put most of the other half away toward buying land and building a house.

 

Mr. Granger, a man who owned land adjoining Glover's father's land, agreed to sell them 15 acres and let them pay $100 a year over a four-year period with no interest. The loan agreement had some strict clauses of what would happen should the money not be paid on time. They still found this preferable to dealing with a bank.

The first year, they had lived with his parents, and the following summer, with the help of his dad and some neighbors, they had built the little two-bedroom house where they now lived. It had no electricity, no indoor plumbing and no heat, except for a fireplace in one of the bedrooms and the little potbelly stove on which they cooked their meals. For the last three years, Glover had sold off a few trees to help make the mortgage payment. His dad had sold a little timber also on some other land he owned. 

This year, they had set the money aside early, hoping it wouldn’t have to be used before the due date. It had been a struggle doing without things they desperately needed, but they had gotten by without touching the final amount.  

In the spring, Lucille had put in a garden, and the two of them had planted cotton on the rest of their fifteen acres. Since she had grown up in the country, Lucille was no stranger to hard work. By canning fruits and vegetables, raising chickens and milking the one cow Lucille's parents had given them, they had been able to have enough to eat.

 

In the blazing hot September sun, they had picked the cotton from the ripe bolls, bursting open to reveal the soft white fluff. The cotton burrs had sharp edges that pricked their hands and made them bleed. As they removed the cotton from the burrs, they placed it in the burlap sacks onto which Lucille had sewn straps. The sacks hung across one shoulder and trailed behind them in the dirt. As they filled the sacks, they weighed the cotton and emptied it into Glover's father's wagon. Once the wagon was piled high with cotton, it was hitched to a pair of mules, and hauled to the cotton mill to be ginned.

 

Every time Glover got enough dollars together, he would take them to the bank and exchange them for a crisp twenty-dollar bill. At first, they had sewn the money into the mattress on which they slept, but fearing fire or perhaps a thief, they decided to put the money into a fruit jar and bury it in the dirt floor of a little shed outside the house. There were five twenties in the fruit jar, which they had buried last fall. This weekend, they planned to dig up the money and on Monday, they would take the final payment to their neighbor.

 

By Saturday, the weather had warmed to 60 degrees. This wasn't unusual for Mississippi. The temperature could change drastically from one day to the next. When Glover got home from his job at the store, he wore a big grin. "Let's go dig up the money," he said. "You ready, Sweety? Come Monday morning, we'll be debt free."

 

Lucille was excited, but she was also cautious. "Maybe we should wait until Monday just before we go and make the payment. What if something should happen over the weekend? We know the money is safe where we have it."

 

"No, let's do it now. I can't wait. It's a pleasure to see that much money at one time. I just want to hold it and look at it." Glover headed for the shed and grabbed the shovel. Lucille followed close behind. It took both of them to move the heavy chest out of the way, which they had placed over the spot. Once the chest was moved, Glover started to dig carefully so as not to break the jar. When the shovel hit something solid, he put the shovel aside and dug with his fingers until he uncovered the jar. It was dark in the shed, so they took the jar outside before they opened it.

 

The jar appeared fogged over. Apparently, there was moisture inside. Glover twisted the lid and grabbed the money. His face drained of color. The money felt clammy. It was white. It didn't look like money at all. "Oh God, something has happened to the money."

 

Lucille's mouth dropped open. She could only stare at the bills Glover held in his hands. "It can't be gone," she cried. "Let me see." She took the bills from Glover and gaped at them in shock. There was nothing on the money you could read at all. The bills could have been fives, ones, or simply pieces of white paper. "What on earth are we going to do?" she moaned. "We've worked so hard. We're going to lose everything we've worked for." She burst into tears.

Mr. Granger was rumored to be a hard man. He had written into the agreement if any one of the payments were not made on time, the money paid earlier would be considered as past rent, and the land and all improvements would revert back to him. They’d had the agreement notarized. He had sold land and taken it back before for inability of the buyer to make the payment.

 

In a daze, they walked back into the house and spread the money out on the kitchen table. It appeared to be covered with some kind of white mold or mildew. It had a strange musty smell. Lucille picked up a dry towel and pressed it to the money. "Be careful! You'll tear it. Let's leave it flat on the table and see if it will dry out."

 

It was getting dark, and the light from the kerosene lamp did nothing to improve the appearance of the money. Reluctantly, they turned away from their ruined treasure and tried to come up with some solution. Was there any way they might manage to hold on to their land if they couldn't make the payment? Would anyone believe them when they claimed the money had gone bad by some strange freak of nature? They finally had to admit, the situation appeared hopeless. If they lost their land, they would have no choice except to move back in with Glover's parents.

 

The evening temperature dropped and Lucille and Glover went to bed early in order to keep warm beneath the heavy quilts. He held her close as she cried herself to sleep. It had been his idea to bury the money, so he felt responsible for what had happened. Fine provider I am, he thought.  Lucille could be in college making something of her life, if I hadn't insisted that she marry me. I've made so many promises, I haven't been able to keep. 

 

The next morning after a restless night, Lucille hopped out of bed and ran to see if maybe the whole thing had been a bad dream. The money appeared much the same as it had the night before. Her heart sank. Glover refused to look at the money. He was so discouraged, he could barely choke down the breakfast that Lucille prepared.

 

By mid-morning, the sun was streaming through the window and lighting some of the bills. Lucille noticed they were starting to dry. She picked up one, and a fine white powder fell from the bill. A ray of hope sprang up in her chest. She grabbed the bills and hurried to the clothesline in the back where the rays from the sun were already beating down. She pinned each bill to the line and closed her eyes and prayed.

 

An hour later, Lucille returned and found the bills dry. As she gathered them from the line, the white powder came off on her hand. The sun had killed the mold that was growing on them. As the powder fell away, the writing and portrait reappeared. Andrew Jackson had never looked so handsome. 
"Thank God!" she cried, rushing inside to show Glover.

 

For the next hour, the two of them worked on the bills with toothbrushes to make sure all the powder was completely removed. Never had they felt so happy. Nothing could spoil this day. Tomorrow, they would have a mortgage burning party.

Author Notes

Some of you may feel you've read something like this before, because several years ago, I worte a fictional story a bit like this one. It was based on truth, but this one is different and it is true. A bit of the first chapter from yesterday repeats to make it a stand alone story or the second chapter to a biography.

Chapter 3
A Desire For Something More

By BethShelby

With the mortgage paid off, Lucille began to think about babies again, her brother and sister in-law, had stopped by, bringing their little girl, Jeanine. She was adorable with her dark bouncing curls and sparkling blue eyes.

 

Lucille had still been living with her mama and papa in the country when Jeanine was born. Her brother and only sibling with both parents, Newman, was two years older than her. When he’d married Alene, he brought her home to live until he could afford a place of his own. There were plenty of rooms in their house since the half-brothers and sisters had grown up and moved away.

Alene was a girl from the community who they’d grown up with, so she felt at home with her in-laws. Her brother had already married Lucille’s older sister.  

 

Alene had gotten pregnant right away. The baby was born at home, and the birth had given everyone a scare. She was born breach, and the doctor had a hard time delivering her. To further complicate things, she was born with a veil or caul.

This can happen when the water doesn’t break normally and the amniotic fluid sack becomes affixed over the baby. It isn’t dangerous as long as it is peeled away fairly soon, but it is extremely rare, occurring in only one in 88,000 births. It was a first for the doctor and for all the others gathered around. The baby’s skin was a strange shade of dark purple. It alarmed everyone, especially Lucille, who at the time was in her early teens. If folks had only known, many cultures consider this extremely lucky.

From her strange beginning, Lucille adored the baby girl and longed to have one of her own. The child, who was now almost six, idolized Lucille as well. “Aunt Lucille, do you have any cake for me?” Jeanine asked.

“No honey, I’m sorry. I would have if I’d known you were coming today. I don’t have any cake, but I have some peaches. Would you like a peach cut up with some cream and sugar on it. I’ll tell you what, if you can get your mom and dad to bring you back tomorrow, I’ll have you a cake baked with chocolate frosting, just like you like.”

“Sis, you spoil her. She thinks you hung the moon. When are you going to have one of your own. You’ve been married four years. It didn’t take me that long to get one going.”

“You always did try to beat me at everything. It’s a good thing your baby was two weeks late being born. People were ready to start counting the days you’d been married. If she had been born early, you’d have had the whole community whispering behind your back.”

After supper that night, Lucille worked up the courage to approach Glover again about starting a family. They were sitting out on their new porch enjoying the swing, Glover’s dad had built for them. Glover was puffing on his pipe causing Lucille to have to fan away at the smoke which the breeze kept blowing her direction. She hated the smell of tobacco, but at least a pipe, with its faint scent of cherries, wasn’t as bad as the strong cigarettes her brothers smoked. Glover insisted the smoke kept the mosquitoes at bay.

"Honey, now that we’re out of debt, could we at least be thinking about starting a family.”

“Seems to me, we are a family. Am I not enough for you? Come on, Lucille, be reasonable. We still haven’t got this place sealed. Remember how cold it was in the winter. If we had a baby, it might get pneumonia and die. The Bounds family lost two of their little ones, last winter. Could you handle that?

“Are you saying you don’t ever want any kids?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know why we need kids. They’re noisy. I can’t handle a lot of noise. Are you that lonely? We could get a dog. Anyway, let’s not talk about it right now. We might think about it, after we get all the walls sealed and maybe get some electricity. We signed up with the power company two years ago, but they may never get around to bringing poles and wire down this road. Papa didn’t sign up for it, so our house is the only one on this road that needs wiring for electricity.

 

Lucille sighed. “You and I grew up without electricity. Children don’t need electricity. If they don’t have it, they don’t miss it.”  She decided she would have to let the subject drop for now. She would just have to start praying about it. She changed the subject.

“When are you going to teach me how to drive? You promised me when we got married you would." 

“You don’t have any reason to drive. I don’t want you working. You’ve got enough to do here at home, but if you really want to learn to drive, we’ll try to get out on Sunday and let you practice.”

 

Sunday afternoon, the driving lesson was frustrating. Starting the car was easy, but each time Lucille started forward the car would jerk. Lucille quickly learned her teacher wasn’t a man of patience. “Damn it, Lucille, you’re not listening to me. It isn’t that hard."

 

After a few more forward jerks and quick stops. Glover got out of the car. He slammed the door and headed inside. Lucille sat for a few minutes, choking back the tears. Then, she cranked the car and eased it forward. Without Glover yelling at her, her confidence returned. Slowly, she made her way down the driveway and onto the road.

She picked up speed, as Glover came running from the house waving his hands and yelling in alarm. She paid no attention but kept moving all the way down to the highway where she turned around and drove back home. She was pleased with herself. Now, all she needed was her license. She had mastered the art of driving.

A few weeks later Lucille was working in the kitchen. She glanced out the kitchen window looking at the four chinaberry trees she had planted three years earlier. They were growing well. Suddenly a strange feeling washed over her. She felt dizzy. The scene was changing in front of her eyes. The trees were bigger and full of tiny purple flowers. A rope swing hung from one of them. The yard was sandy. Right in the middle of the sand pile sat a little girl who looked to be about four. She had a sand bucket and shovel and was in the process of scooping sand into the bucket.

 

There was a sharp intake of air, as Lucille caught her breath, and the word “Beth” formed on her lips. As soon as the word left her mouth, the scene faded away and she was, once again, seeing the trees as they were. Her knees buckled, and she sat abruptly in one of the kitchen chairs. In all her heart, she knew God had just told her that her prayers would be answered.

When it was time for her monthly cycle, her period didn’t start.

Author Notes

The time is around 1936 in the little town of Newton, Mississippi. Glover and Lucille have paid their debts but live in a partly finished house. This is will likely be the third chapter of a book intitled "Growing up in Mississippi".

Chapter 4
Devastating News

By BethShelby

Although, Lucille had missed her period and hoped it meant she was pregnant, she didn’t have time to think about telling anyone. The following day, one of her older half-brothers, Henry, showed up at her door with some devastating news. Her dad, who was 78 and had been in declining health for the last year, had suffered a massive heart attack that morning.

 

“Sis, it doesn’t look good. He’s conscious, but the doctor isn’t giving us much hope he will make it. He was out in the barn when it happened. Your mama heard him yell out, and she managed to get him into the house. We’ve all tried to get him to slow down, but he just wouldn’t. He says if it’s his time, he’s ready to go. He wouldn’t let us take him to hospital. The doctor came out to the house and gave him something for pain.

 

Lucille burst into tears and fell into Henry’s outstretched arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

 

“Oh no, I’m not ready for this. I need to go to him. We had him and Mama over just last Sunday for lunch.” Tears rolled down her cheek as she asked, “How’s Mama holding up? “

 

“You know your mama, Lucille, she’s strong. She's been through this before when she lost her first husband. She had to be tough to marry a man with nine kids and two of her own. She’s staying right there with him. Alma and Nanny are over there helping. Are you going to be alright? You’re taking this pretty hard. I’ll take you over there, now, if you want me to, but there’s nothing you can do. Why don’t you get Glover to bring you over after work.”

 

Lucille and Glover drove over that evening. Her dad had his eyes closed. He looked peaceful and not in pain. “Papa, can you hear me? she asked through her tears. He squeezed her hand. The room was full of people so they didn’t stay long. All of his children who lived in the surrounding area were there. Two of his daughters and three of his sons had moved to Port Arthur, Texas a couple of years before hoping to get jobs at the Texas company Oil refinery there.

 

Her father passed away peacefully the following day. Lucille was his last child and she adored him. She was an emotional wreck for days following the funeral. In addition to all his children, he had 29 grandchildren. The funeral had been huge. They had waited until all of his children from Texas had arrived.

 

Glover realized his wife was fragile and tried to be on his best behavior. He could be caring when he made the extra effort. He loved her. There had never been another girl for him, but sometimes he just didn’t understand her. He hadn’t known how sensitive she was before. He wondered if she would cry that much if he died.

 

The trauma wasn’t over. There was the problem of what to do about Lucille’s mother.

 

“Mama, you can’t stay in that big old house by yourself. You’re going to have to live with one of your children. You know you’re welcome to come to Texas and live with me and Aline.” Newman told her. “If you don’t want to leave Newton, you could live with Harry and Christine or Lucille and Glover, but you can’t stay here by yourself. You can’t take care of this farm. You don’t have a car or any way to get out. The kids need to divide up what they want from here and sell this place. It needs to be done right away. Don’t you even think about trying to stay here.”

 

Glover kept his mouth shut. Surely with his house unfinished, she wouldn’t be able to live with him and Lucille. Harry and Christine lived in an older house and had plenty of room for her. It only made sense that she live with them.

 

Annie Jane sighed. She saw the wisdom of what he was saying, but she didn’t like it. She wanted her independence. All her life, she had done what she had to do. She’d cooked and cleaned and taken care of children and had never had any time for herself.

 

When her first husband died, she’d dreamed of moving nearer to town and opening her own business. She thought she would like to sell hats, and maybe do some seamstress work on the side. A month after his funeral, she’d realized she was pregnant again, so that dream had gone out the window. In need of financial security, she’d accepted Mr. Lay’s proposal, even though he was twenty years her senior. He was kind, and they’d had a decent life, but she’d never felt comfortable calling him, Bob. To her, he would always be Mr. Lay.

 

In the end, Annie Jane had packed her clothes into a suitcase and agreed to go with Harry and Christine for now. At fifty-eight, it was too late for her to try to go out on her own. What did she know of running a business. When she was young, girls only went to school through fifth grade. She could read and write, but getting a decent education had never been an option.

 

All of Robert Lay’s nine older children divided up the things from the house which were important to them. Lucille got the piano, a love seat, a claw foot hall tree, some small tables and her mother’s sewing machine, since Christine already owned a sewing machine. Most of the other pieces of furniture went to Christine and Harry, and what no one wanted was stored in their barn.

 

The house and land were sold, and the profits were split twelve ways. No one got enough to make a difference in their life. Lucille used her portion to seal the living and dining area and purchase some nice flooring to cover those rooms. She and Glover did the work of laying it.

 

She planned to keep that new floor waxed smooth and shiny. If there was a baby on the way, it would be able to crawl without getting splinters in its knees.

Robert B. Lay (Bob) is Lucille's father. He has 9 children by his first marriage, two by his marriage to Lucille's mothe, and two step-children who are Lucille half siblings my her mother first marriage.

Ann Jane is Lucille's mother  she is married to Robert Lay her second husband. Christine, Eugene, Newman and Lucille are her children.

Newman Lay is Lucille's only sibling with the same mother and father. He live in Texas with Aline his wife.

Henry Lay is a half brother and son of her father.   Alma and Nanny are also half sister with the same father.  

Chirstine is Ann Jane's oldest daughter by her frist marriage  She is married to Harry Williams who Aline's brother.

Glover and Lucille are the main characters in the part of the book.

 

PHOTO:  Bob Lay  bottom right with five of sons   Henry Lay: standing second from right

Author Notes

Glover and Lucille have been married four years. They live in Newton, Mississippi in the late 1930. The house is still only partly finished. This segment shows interaction with other of Lucille's family members.

Chapter 5
The News is Out

By BethShelby

Once my yet-to-be grandmother, Annie Jane, had moved out of her house, the most logical place for her to live was with her oldest daughter Christine and her husband, Harry. Their house was the largest of her children’s houses, and the bulk of her furniture had ended up there. Christine, whose father, a constable, had been killed when she was two, was eleven years older than Lucille.

 

Christine’s husband, Harry, was a laid-back, happy-go-lucky farmer and the perfect husband for Christine. She was used to farm work and was easy-going and good natured. Harry played the fiddle and guitar and the couple enjoyed interacting with friends in the community. They often had people over to play games or for a musical evening with Harry’s siblings. The one great regret of their life had been their inability to have children. After a miscarriage, Christine’s health had deteriorated, and she had no choice, other than to have a hysterectomy.

 

With the Williams family, things were pleasant enough for Annie Jane, but she felt awkward living where she was no longer the lady of the house. She was determined not to outstay her welcome with any one of her four children. Next, she hoped to visit with Lucille and Glover. Later, maybe she could do a little traveling and go stay a while with her boys. Newman was in Texas, and Eugene was in Michigan.

 

Lucille had revealed to her mother she thought she was pregnant. She dreaded telling Glover, because he wasn’t anxious to have children. Annie took the news without any visible excitement. To her, children meant work and trouble. She decided she’d wait until nearer the time for the baby so she'd be of some help. In the meantime, she got busy making some loose-fitting dresses for Lucille to wear.

 

Lucille waited for three months to pass before she got up the nerve to tell Glover. She had already told his mother, Alma, and swore her to silence. Alma was excited. She hoped Lucille would have a girl, as she had lost her baby girl several years before Glover was born.

 

“You need to go ahead and tell him, Lucille. He's not used to children, but he will be thrilled when he has his own baby. He needs to go ahead and get used to the idea that he’s going to be a Papa. I know Ebb will be excited. Is it okay if I tell him?”

 

“Give me a couple of days,” Lucille told her. “You’re right. I need to go ahead and tell him. Pretty soon, he will be wondering why I’m putting on weight. So far, I think I’ve lost weight. I’ve been really nauseated.”

 

Waiting for Glover to get home, Lucille paced back and forth trying to calm her nerves and think of how to approach the subject in a way that wouldn’t trigger a sharp reaction from her husband. The last five years had taught her that he didn’t like surprises. Maybe the carrot cake I baked and loaded with pecans will help, she thought. It is his favorite.    

 

She waited until the meal was finished and he actually complimented her on the cake before she started the conversation.

“I’ve been wondering why I’ve been so nauseated lately,” she said. “I was talking to your mother today and she thinks I may be pregnant.”

 

“Surely not,” he said. “Wouldn’t you know? I thought women could tell those things by their period. You haven’t missed a period, have you?", he asked. His expression darkened and he looked alarmed.

 

“Well, with Dad dying and Mama trying to figure out what to do and then with us trying to get a garden going, things like that can slip your mind.”

 

“Lucille, don’t tell me you wouldn’t know. Are you trying to slip something over on me? You can’t be pregnant. I’ve used rubbers every time.”

 

“Well honey, you’ve still been using some of those old ones your druggist friend gave us when we first got married. That was five years ago, I told you we needed to throw those old ones out. The rubber probably dry-rots like it does on tires. It wouldn’t be so bad if I’m pregnant, would it? Some of our friends who got married after we did, have already got three kids.”

 

Glover's face was flushed. He got up from the table without saying another word and headed down the path toward the barn. He needed time to process this information. He didn’t buy the idea of Lucille not knowing if she was pregnant. She had a way of saying things she wanted to get out, in such a way she wasn’t exactly lying, but still making him feel he was the victim of a deception. She wanted a baby and in some way she must be putting one over on him and making him feel like it was all his fault.

 

After walking all the way to the back pasture, he was starting to see this news a little differently. He had gone through a lot of teasing at work. Men friends, and women as well, kept asking if he wasn’t ever going to get a family going. Apparently, people were beginning to believe something might be wrong with one of them physically. Having kids seemed to be what people thought marriage was all about.

 

Damn it! If she’s pregnant, it better be a girl. A boy is too hard to handle, and I can’t tolerate a lot of noise. I wonder how long she been keeping her little secret? I need to find out. I hate surprises.

 

The is the story of my early life in Mississippi. I have yet to be born.

 

Characters:

Annie Jane: My maternal grandmother  A widow with 4 children and 11 stepchildren.

Christine: Annie's older daughter by first marriage. Married to Harry Williams.  

Eugene Dearing: Older son by first marriage  He lives in Detroit, Michigan.

Newman Lay  Annie's son by second marriage and my mother brother, with same parents. He lives in Port Author, Texas.

Lucille: Annie's youngest daughter. My mother is married to my father Glover Weir  She is a housewife.

Glover: My father He works in town and is a clerk in a retail story.

Ebb and Alma Weir  Glover's parents and my grandparents, who live a short way down the road from Glover and Lucille.

Author Notes

In is 1937. The place is a small town in Missisippi. Lucille's father died recently and her mother has had to move to make her home with her children. Lucille is pregnant but Glover has said he didn't want children. She is reluctant to tell him. He works as a clerk in town. The couple have been married five years.

Chapter 6
Countdown to Delivery

By BethShelby

Lucille was relieved that she no longer had to hide the fact that she was pregnant. Glover had accepted it better than she’d expected. Except for some minor nausea in the mornings, she was feeling good. She was a naturally energetic person who had always considered herself healthy. It was spring planting time, and she was anxious to get a garden going. Glover, not having ever been around a pregnant female, was afraid she might overdo it. He loved her and didn’t want anything to happen to her. 

 

“Lucille, you can’t be doing all that lifting and hoeing. Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy and resting? Come on in the house and sit down. Let that garden go. You canned enough stuff last summer. We are not going to starve.”  His voice showed both concern and irritation.

 

“No, I’m fine. I feel better than I ever have.” She did a few steps of the Charleston to prove her point. “Being pregnant doesn’t make an invalid out of a person.” 

 

“Well, damn it, I’ve warned you. If you have a miscarriage, don’t go blaming me. If you want to act like a fool, go ahead.”

 

Glover got busy trying to finish sealing the rooms and make everything as airtight as possible. Lucille continued milking their two cows and churning the milk using a dasher in the gray crockery churn. They always had plenty of fresh butter, cream and buttermilk. 

 

Each morning, she made biscuits from scratch using a starter she kept in a large bowl covered with a white cloth. There were always fresh eggs gathered the day before and sausage or bacon. There were also molasses, thanks to Glover’s dad, who had his own cane mill. 

 

Glover complimented his wife on her biscuits saying they tasted better than his mother’s which had a strong soda taste. He still preferred his mother's cornbread though. As she mixed the freshly ground cornmeal, eggs and buttermilk, she was overly generous with the lard.

 

Lucille also gardened, cooked, and cleaned. Knowing there was a baby on the way made her  happy and she sang as she worked. In the evening, when it was too late to work outside, she would sit by the oil lamp and knit little bootees and sweaters for the baby. She had chosen pink and white skeins of yarn because she was sure the baby was a girl.

 

 In the unpainted frame house down the road, her mother-in-law, Alma, was busy getting ready for the new baby too. She was quilting little crib blankets, which she would later embroider with baby lambs. She, too, hoped the baby would be a girl. Her own baby girl had died at birth many years before.

 

Since there was no electricity, there was no radio. Newspapers from Meridian were delivered to the store to be sold for a nickel a copy. Glover got into the habit of picking up a copy each day so they could keep up with the news of the world. Lucille loved to read, so when she had the chance, she read the paper from cover to cover. She especially enjoyed the Dorothy Dix advice column.  Glover scanned the front page and read the funnies. 

 

Lucille was amazed with news of the German blimp which would be coming to the US. She imagined what it might be like to see such a large air ship. The news in May of the Hindenburg disaster was shocking. The fire aboard, possibly caused by lightening, made the helium and hydrogen explode and burn, killing people in the compartment beneath the blimp, and even more on the ground, as it crumbled and fell.

 

Another news story which captured Lucille’s imagination was in June, when she read of Amelia Earhart, the gutsy lady, who flew airplanes and had plans to fly around the world. In July, came the sad news that her plane had gone missing somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Each daily paper afterward continued to carry stories of vain search attempts, with no clues as to what the fate of her plane may have encountered.

 

The garden was looking great by summer. Lucille’s meals were mostly fresh vegetables which she harvested daily. What she didn’t cook, she put away in pint and quart jars. She still had a lot of energy, but her expanding stomach was starting to make her uncomfortable. 

 

The little town of Newton had an ice plant, and each week, they would send a truck around delivering ice in large blocks. People with no electricity kept the ice blocks in air-tight insolated ice boxes. The ice box was a piece of furniture large enough to preserve the food which needed refrigeration. 

 

With summer temperatures hovering around 100 F., Lucille constantly craved ice, which she used an icepick to chip up as fine as possible. The block obtained from the iceman wasn’t lasting long with her constantly munching on ice chips. 

 

“Glover, honey, I hate to ask you, but do you mind running back into town and picking up another block of ice? We’re running out. I just feel like I can’t get enough.” 

 

He always obliged her without grumbling too much. He’d heard pregnant women had cravings. There were more expensive things she could be craving. He often brought her back a small cup of vanilla ice cream as well. Newton had both an ice cream plant and a CocaCola drink bottling company.
 
Lucille visited the doctor only once during her pregnancy. He declared everything looked good. Dr. Simmons assured her, he would be available around the due date, which he believed would occur in early September. Since the Newton Hospital wasn't completed, he told her he would make house calls and to be prepared to have the baby at home.

 

As the baby grew more active, Lucille would rock and sing to her spreading belly. She would also talk, hoping the child would bond to the sound of her voice. She would say, “I can’t wait to hold you. Your mama loves you.”

 

Glover couldn’t visualize a child just yet. He wouldn’t be able to feel it was real until he could actually see it. He was starting to feel he might be playing second fiddle to this new addition.

 

Annie Jane, Lucille’s mom, decided it was time for her to come and help out as September grew closer. She packed her suitcase with the intention of staying for a few weeks. She would be there for the birth and as long as Lucille might need her. 

 

Annie Jane declared that Lucille would need to stay in bed for two weeks after the birth of the child. This was the proper length of time for the confinement, according to her own mother, who had been the country doctor and midwife for the community when she was young.

 

It was around midday on the tenth of September when Lucille’s water broke and she began experiencing the labor pains. One of the neighbors was alerted to go into town and tell Glover that he would soon be a father. His heart started racing as he informed his boss he would be taking the remainder of the day off. 

 

He went home with a feeling of excitement as well as fear. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if this didn’t go well and he lost Lucille. She was his world, and he didn’t see how he could make it without her.

 

Characters:

Glover Weir: Husband of Lucille He works in town as clerk in store.

Lucille: Glover's wife  She is housewife.

Annie Jane Lay: Lucille's mother.

Alma Weir: Glover's mother.

Author Notes

Biographical story of my family who are living in Newton, Mississippi in the late thirties. Lucille and Glover are my parents, but at this time, my mother is pregnant with me.

Chapter 7
Making a Grand Entrance

By BethShelby

In mid-August of 1937, Annie Jane, Lucille’s mother moved in with the Weir family, planning on easing things during the time of her daughter’s delivery. Glover was uncomfortable with her presence, feeling he wasn’t free to be himself. He’d never lived with anyone else in the house other than his own family and Lucille. He would try to be on his best behavior. He would treat her with respect and try to curb his tendency to erupt with swear words when something aggravated him. On the other hand, he was relieved to realize that he wouldn’t be alone with a wife who might be in pain, and possibly, a crying baby, as well.

 

Lucille's mid-section was expanding rapidly. The summer temperatures in Mississippi made her feel like she was melting. Still, she continued to get out in the early morning and pick the vegetables that would need to be canned. Her mother helped with shelling the peas and beans and with processing food.

 

September arrived, and the baby was due any day. It became apparent this child was likely to make a late entrance into the world. The doctor had only made an educated guess as to its time of arrival in the first place. It was early morning of the tenth day of the month, when the light cramps Lucille had felt earlier, became much stronger. She cried out with their intensity and told her mother she believed she was in labor. Glover had already left for work. Thinking she might have the baby very soon; she told her mother someone needed to go to Glover’s work so he could alert the doctor and come home himself.

 

“Lucille, I know it hurts, and you don’t know what to expect, but I’ve been there four times”, her mother said. “This is your first baby, and it probably won’t be here for hours. It may not even get here today. We have to time those pains. They will get really close together, later. You can lie down, and we’ll see to it someone can go to Glover’s work and tell him. He can let the doctor know you’ll be needing him.”

 

“Mama, it isn’t hurting all the time, it comes in waves, but when the pain starts, it’s brutal. You know how much I used to suffer when I had a period. The best part of being pregnant is that I haven’t had that pain in nine months. This is much worse than that, and I always had to take a strong BC powder to ease those cramps. Can I take something to ease the pain?”

 

“No, you shouldn’t take anything. It could slow down the labor and could hurt the baby. Just grab on to something and hold on tight until the pain passes. As soon as we get you settled, I’ll walk over the hill and let Glover’s mama know what’s going on. After a while her brother, Willie, can drive into town and tell Glover.”

 

Lucille’s face was contorted in pain with each contraction, but she told herself she was fortunate that her mother was able to be there and to take care of her. She prayed everything would go as it was supposed to, and that too many hours wouldn’t pass before she had a little baby girl to hold. She had never once thought she might be having a boy, because she trusted the vision, or whatever it was, she had seen before she knew she was pregnant. Besides, all of her friends and acquaintances had said it looked like the way she was carrying it, it was likely a girl.

 

One friend had even had her lie down while she held Lucille’s ring on a string over her belly. The lady waited for the string to move on its own and it slowly started to circle. “Oh, it is definitely a girl,” her friend told her. “If it had been a boy, the ring would have swung back and forth instead of in a circle.

 

By midafternoon, the pains were still not regular. They were around 10 minutes apart, but her water had broken. Glover had been notified and he came home both worried and excited. Shortly after he came, Dr. Simmons came out and checked her.

 

“It looks good,” he told her. “The baby’s heart sounds strong, and you are healthy. You should do fine. You’ve just started to dilate. I’ve got another patient that will deliver before you. She has almost dilated, and this is her third child. I’ll be back about eight o'clock tonight with the nurse. If things should pick up and it looks like it may be sooner, have Glover come and get me.”

 

Lucille smiled weakly. “Okay, Dr. Simmons, I trust that you know what you’re doing. You know you took out my tonsils, back when I was thirteen.”

 

“Yeah, I remember you. I thought you looked familiar. I was just starting out as a doctor. You are the little girl who kept begging for chocolate ice cream.”

 

Lucille resigned herself to the fact this wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Annie brought her some chipped ice to put in her mouth and an icepack for her head. The house was starting to fill up. A few neighbors came by to see how things were going. Alma, Glover’s mom and Eva, her sister, came with the intention of staying, but when they realized it wouldn’t happen right away they when back home to get supper for Ebb, Glover’s dad. They would return later.

 

Just before sundown, the sky darkened and the wind speed intensified. In the distance, there were flashes of lightning and low rumbles of thunder. Ebb looked at the sky and remarked to his wife, “It looks like a storm’s brewing back in the southwest. We are likely to be getting it, sometime tonight.

 

About 8:30, Dr. Simmons was back with his nurse. This time the examination showed Lucille was over half way dilated. The pains were between five and three minutes apart, and Lucille lay groaning in misery. She was starting to wonder if she could survive much more.

 

Annie Jane made a pot of coffee for the doctor and nurse. The doctor had delivered another baby earlier. He was ready for coffee and planned to stay until the baby came. Glover’s mother and dad were there as well as Eva, his mother’s sister. Eva had never married, and she and her bachelor brother, Willie, lived with Glover’s parents. Eva was nervous about the weather. She was deathly afraid of storms and preferred being near their storm pit when the weather looked threatening.

 

The doctor continued to check Lucille’s progress every 15 to 20 minutes. About eleven p.m., she was crying out in agony. He and his nurse were with her, telling her to hold on and to try not to push yet. Outside streaks of lightning were flashing across the sky and loud claps of thunder shook the house. Eva was crying and saying, “I think it’s a tornado, I’m afraid we’ll all be blown away. What a terrible night to have a baby.”

 

At eleven thirty-five, those waiting in the living area heard Lucille cry out above the roar of the storm, and shortly afterward there was the unmistakable wail of a newborn. While the nurse cleaned the baby and gave her to her mother, Dr. Simmons came in to congratulate Glover.

 

“You’re the father of a little 10 lb. girl. I think she and the storm arrived at the same minute. For a little while, it was touch and go. I wasn’t sure she didn’t bring the storm with her. Mom and baby are both doing fine. I’ll finish up in there, and then, you can go see her. Tell her I’ll come check on her next week”.

As the storm started to abate, Eva relaxed. “The baby should have waited a few more minutes. Then she would have been born on my birthday.”

"It's after midnight so “Happy Birthday, Eva" Alma said. "I’d forgotten all about it, but pick out a pattern, and I'll make you a new dress.. The baby needs her own birthday. She won’t want to share it with an old lady. It’s been an interesting Friday night. As soon as we get a quick peek at the baby, let's see if we can get Glover to drive us home. It’s too wet to walk, and I’m dying to get a little sleep, before I have to get up and milk the cows. I can't believe I finally have a grandchild. It has been a good day after all.

 

Glover Weir - My father 

Lucille Lay Weir - My mother

Anne Jane Davis Lay -My maternal grandmother, recently widowed.

Ebb Weir - Glover's father -My maternal grandfather

Alma Simmons Weir - Glover's mother and my paternal grandmother and wife of Ebb.

Dr. Omar Simmons  Newton doctor  The doctor is not related although he has the same last name.

New Infant - Me   

Author Notes

The time is Fall of 1937 in Newton, MIssissippi. This chapter is about my birth and family. In will be chapter 7 of At Home in Mississippi.

Chapter 8
Postpartum Crisis

By BethShelby

It was two in the morning on September 11, before the doctor and his nurse finally left the Weir home after I had become a part of the world outside the womb. Lucille was exhausted, and I’m sure I was as well. Before she dropped off with me cuddled next to her, she told the doctor my official name so he could fill out the necessary paperwork.

“Her name will be Verna Elizabeth Weir,” she told him. “Glover’s mother lost her first baby named Elizabeth. My mother's first child was named Verna Christine. This way, she has names from both sides of the family. We will call her Beth. She looks like a ‘Beth’ to me.”

 

“I think she looks a whole lot like her daddy with that round face,” the nurse said. “I do believe she’s got more hair on her head than he has though. I’ve never seen so much black hair on a baby.”

 

As soon as the doctor and nurse had gathered their birthing tools and left, Annie Jane woke Lucille who had drifted off again. “Lucille, let me take the baby and put her over in the basket. You’re liable to roll over on her.  She’ll probably sleep the rest of the night. I’ll try to get a little sleep over here in this rocking chair. If she wakes up, I’ll take care of her. Glover said he will be going into work late tomorrow. We all need to get some rest.”

 

Glover didn’t try holding the baby until the next evening, and then it was only briefly. He had never held a baby before, and in spite of this one weighing 10 lbs., she looked tiny and fragile to him. He was thankful he’d only heard her cry out once. Those were her first sounds right after she was born. He was pretty sure his nerves wouldn’t be able to take too much of that noise.

 

Lucille was using the double bed in the front bedroom for now, and they had set up a small single bed in the room for Annie Jane. By getting his sleep in the back bedroom he was able to stay out of the way while his wife recovered after having given birth.

 

Glover’s mother had insisted he come there for his meals until Lucille was up and around again. “Miss Annie’s going to have her hand’s full taking care of Lucille and the baby for a few days, so you’ll need to plan to come over here and eat with us. Several of the neighbors have taken some food over there for them to eat, so she won’t have to cook.”

 

Glover was relieved. He didn’t want to be away from home any more than he had to be with his job, because he felt like he was expected to be getting acquainted with his baby daughter. Still, it would be awkward having Mrs. Lay cook for him and trying to figure out what to say to her.

 

Annie Jane had grown up with her mother acting as the community doctor and mid-wife. Annie was trying to take care of Lucille in the same way her mother had taken care of her patients. She was convinced that a new mother should remain in bed for two weeks.

 

After a day or two, Lucille wanted to be up. She insisted on sitting in the rocking chair while the new baby nursed. She had checked all the tiny fingers and toes and examined her baby from head to toe, and declared her to be perfect.

 

On the third day, something went terribly wrong. Lucille got a blinding headache, and she felt her body start to go numb. The sensation started with her feet. It felt as though her feet were in a pan of hot water. “Mama! Come quick. Something is happening to me. I think I may be having a stroke.”

 

Fortunately, she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Annie pulled her feet back up and insisted that she lay back down. Glover was at work and Annie wasn’t sure what she needed to do for her daughter, but she acted on instinct. “Lay down, Lucille, and try not to move. I’m going to run to the kitchen and get a towel and some pans of hot and cold water. I’ll try to rub the circulation back into your feet."

 

“Hurry Mama, it is working its way up my body. It feels like the numbness has gone past my knees. I can’t move my legs anymore.”

 

By the time Annie returned with the towels and water, Lucille was in full panic mode and was crying. “Mama, I think I’m dying. It's already past my stomach, and now my arms are paralyzed. When it gets to my chest, my heart will be paralyzed, and I’ll be dead. What’s going to happen to my baby. She needs me. Glover won’t know what to do.”

 

“Hush, Lucille, you’re not dying. If you do, I’ll raise her myself. I’ve raised enough babies. You need to calm down. You’re going to give yourself a stroke. Sometimes women get some kind of a birth poison after they have a baby. Most of the time they don’t die. Shut up and be still, and let me rub you.”

 

Annie began rubbing her daughter all over vigorously alternating between the pans of hot and cold water. Lucille tried to speak again but now her speech was slurred and her vision was blurred. Annie was trembling and praying but she never let up with the hard rubbing. It felt as though her arms were too tired to move, but she forced herself to keep going. Slowly, Lucille started to relax.

 

“Mama, I think I’m getting a little better. I can move my arms again. You may have saved my life, but we probably need to get the doctor out here. Do you think you could walk over the hill and get someone to call Glover. Have him see if he can get the doctor to come out here again.”  

 

“Yes, just lay still, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said as she headed toward the door. The baby had slept through the whole episode.

 

Dr. Simmons made another home visit and diagnosed her with toxemia. Her blood pressure was extremely elevated. He gave her a pill and told her she needed to drink more water and eliminate salt from her diet. “You have too much protein in your urine. If you drink more water, it will help get rid of it.”

 

He said Annie’s massage and water treatment wasn’t something he had ever tried, but it had likely relaxed her and helped to lower her blood pressure.

 

By the end of the week, the crisis had passed. Lucille had started to feel more like she would live to raise this baby after all.

 

 

Glover Weir - My father 

Lucille Lay Weir - My mother

Anne Jane Davis Lay -My maternal grandmother, recently widowed.

Ebb Weir - Glover's father -My maternal grandfather

Alma Simmons Weir - Glover's mother and my paternal grandmother and wife of Ebb.

Dr. Omar Simmons  Newton doctor  The doctor is not related although he has the same last name.

New Infant - Me   

 

Author Notes

The time is Fall of 1937 in Newton, MIssissippi. This chapter is about my birth and family.

Chapter 9
Little Things Which Shaped Me

By BethShelby

While Lucille was being treated for toxemia, I had to be bottle fed for a few days with cow’s milk. It was readily available as we had several cows, which Glover was milking while Lucille recovered. Cow’s milk had more protein but less carbs, and I apparently wasn’t thrilled with my dining routine being interrupted. In order to pacify me in days before baby pacifiers were popular, my grandmother constructed something by twisting a clean cloth into the shape of a nipple. She put sugar in it, secured it with a rubber band, and gave it to me to keep me quiet.

 

Later I would blame her for contributing to my lifelong craving for sugar. Poor Grandma. Mom blamed her for her weight problems, because she’d insisted on giving her buttermilk as a child.

When I was told that my grandmother made a sugar tit for me, I thought maybe it was something she’d made and named herself, but I looked it up online and found this was a well-known folk name for a baby pacifier once commonly made and used in North America and Britain. It was put together exactly as mine was.

Once Lucille had resumed breastfeeding, I discovered I could get the milk flow going and pull away. The milk would continue to spew out on my face, making me crack up laughing at my clever trick. I guess by three months I’d heard milk baths were supposed to make women beautiful. Otherwise, maybe I just enjoyed a sticky face. Likely, that was why someone was always trying to wash my face.

Lucille loved rocking and singing lullabies to me. I know this because it continued well until I was old enough to remember. I thought her voice was beautiful, but apparently, I didn’t inherit it, because by the time I was three, she told me I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. That was quite a negative review for one so young. I was devastated to learn I wasn’t perfect.

Glover was nervous about picking me up, until my neck was strong enough that I could hold my head up. When I started smiling and laughing, he found me more interesting. He loved finding ways to make me laugh. Some of them were downright silly. Maybe this was the beginning of my quirky sense of humor.

According to my mother, I only had colic once, and I proceeded to scream all night. At that point, Glover got into his car and went to his parent’s house to spend the night, leaving my mom to deal with me the best she could. Annie Jane had returned to her other daughter’s home as soon as Lucille seemed to be able to be up all day. She felt Glover might feel uncomfortable. She still felt homeless in spite of her children assuring her she should consider herself at home with them.

By the time I was seven months old, I was making the usual baby sounds, and I had gotten to the point I could manage to scoot around on a linoleum or hard wood floor. I didn’t have a play pen so Lucille had started putting a quilt down for me on the floor in which ever room she happened to be working in.

She was still preparing meals on an iron wood-burning stove which was suspended on legs. The base was about a foot from the floor. The stove was heated by short sticks of wood. She somehow failed to notice I’d managed to roll off the quilt and proceeded to inch my way beneath the belly of the red-hot iron stove. In my mind, I seem to be able to remember her yelling, with me beneath that stove, but everyone tells me I couldn’t possibly be remembering something from when I was seven months old. I’ve not been able to convince everyone how exceptional my memory is.

Lucille went into panic mode. She was alone, and she was sure I was about to raise my head and burn my brains out. She started screaming at me not to move. Somehow, she had the presence of mind to grab a broom and use it to flatten my head and body against the floor. Then with one hand, she grabbed my legs and pulled me to safety. I’m sure it was the last time my quilt was ever placed in the kitchen.

In order to keep me in one spot, she insisted that they get a jumper, which I could be belted into. This new item consisted of a baby seat suspended with springs that would allow my feet to touch the floor and I would be able to entertain myself by jumping up and down and bouncing. I’m sure I enjoyed the action as long as it lasted. Still intent on doing myself in, one way or another, I was able to bounce high enough to tip the whole thing forward, I ended up crashing to the floor, chin first.

Even into adulthood, I was able to feel the raised scar on the underside of my chin. Again, I seem to remember this and in my mental picture, I can hear my dad trying to blame Mom for this accident. I don’t think I was ever allowed to bounce on it again.

According to mom, I was talking before I reached my first birthday, but I refused to pull up and try to walk. Why should I as long as someone was around to pick me up and carry me. Dad would ride me on his shoulders, but I preferred an ant’s-eye view to a birds-eye view. I always feared high places so maybe being near the ceiling was traumatizing.

I was fascinated with the legs and underside of some of our furniture. We had a hall tree which was used for hanging coats. It had little paw-shaped feet on three legs. I can remember spending a lot of time on my belly on the floor marveling over these little feet. It seems I didn’t have a lot of toys to amuse myself with.

Mom and Dad had opposing ideas about my education. Mom couldn’t wait until she had me quoting Shakespeare, but Dad was determined I would learn to bray like a mule and make other animal noises. Mom read to me from library books, while Dad read me the funny papers.

Shortly after I reached my first birthday, the old Jewish man who owned the dry goods store where Dad worked decided to sell out and to move away from Newton. Mom’s only full brother and four of her half-siblings had moved to Port Arthur, Texas where a new oil refinery had been built. Lucille persuaded Glover to make a trip to Texas to look for a job. It was about the only vacation they ever took with me. Unfortunately, I was too young to enjoy it. She should have known Dad would never go for a refinery job, but at least, she got to see some of her family. The old A-model made the trip there and back.

I don’t think Mom had managed to train me to perform, as she did later, but Dad’s shot at educating me had paid off. I was told I delighted all my Texas relatives, by sitting on a fence post with Dad holding on to me while I performed a perfect rendition of braying like old Kit. I also took requests for goat and cow sounds. As a reward for my performance, my uncle gave me his own daughter’s rubber doll. Jeanine was eight years older than me, and to this day, she remembers how upset she was about losing her doll. She also tells me the doll was a girl, and I insisted on naming her Jack.

After the trip back home, Dad was offered a job managing a grocery store called Jitney-Jungle. He remained with that same grocery store until he retired at age sixty-two.

It was 1939, and World War II was starting to break out in Europe. Since my family still had no electricity, we had no radio so we were blissfully unaware of anything except that Franklin Roosevelt was president. Of course, I wouldn’t have cared anyway, but all of that would soon change.

 

Glover Weir - My father 

Lucille Lay Weir - My mother

Anne Jane Davis Lay -My maternal grandmother, recently widowed.

Baby  Beth-me - Birth to sever or eight months.

Author Notes

This is 1937-1939 in Newton MIssissippi. The Book starts with my grandparents who were all born in Mississippi. It will contnue until I get married in 1956. Sometimes I use my parent's names and sometimes I refer to as Mom and Dad. I hope this isn't confusing. This chapter is mostly during the first year of my life.

Chapter 10
Exploring My New World

By BethShelby

Being the first child of a married couple is a big advantage. The young couple sees the new baby as a novelty and an extension of themselves. How could they not be fascinated with this new human they had a part in creating? It doesn’t mean they will love future children any less, but the new wears off and more children means time has to be divided in more ways. This is why people claim firstborns and only children are spoiled. It isn’t the child’s fault they get more attention. It is just the way human nature works. I believe birth order has a strong influence on the personality traits the child develops.

 

Lucille, having been part of a big family, hoped for more children. Glover hadn’t planned on any at all. Since fate had intervened, he decided one child was good, but one was enough.

 

Both Glover and Lucille came from farm families where their needs were met, but there wasn’t a surplus amount of cash to have big celebrations on holidays. Like most families during the depression years, Christmas was a time to get together and have a decent holiday meal, but presents for the children would be minimal. Gifts might be homemade or some object of clothing they would require anyway, like shoes. People of that time would tell us, “I was lucky to get an orange and a few nuts for Christmas.”

 

Doing things with the baby was, in a way, like making up for what they felt lacking in their own childhoods. They looked forward to times when they could play Santa and make Easter into a special occasion. No one ever told me about my first Christmas. Since I was less than four months old, it probably wasn’t a big deal. Mom’s hobby and craft was knitting, so I likely got a new itchy hat and sweater, and possibly, a stuffed toy. I assumed the family shared Christmas dinner with my dad’s parents and single aunt and uncle who lived with them. This became the routine once I was old enough to remember.

 

By Easter, it seems my parents had acquired a box camera, so as to record those special moments. I was seven months old, and what I know of this is mainly from having seen the photograph. I was sitting outside on a piano bench covered in a knitted blanket. There was a bush loaded with white flowers behind me. I’m pretty sure Mom was squatting unseen in the background, holding on to me to make sure I didn’t tip forward.

 

Beside me was a cage holding a live rabbit almost as big as I was. The rabbit had to be a photo prop, because if it had had access to me, I would have been kicked black and blue. Placed beside the cage was an Easter basket loaded with colored eggs. For the next few years, I would get an annual photo in the same spot. By the next year, I’m able to remember how upset I was over all the tiny black bees circling those white flowers.

 

My dad’s grandparents died when their youngest daughter, Eva, was fifteen. Her brother, Willie was twenty-five, and shortly after their death, Willie was drafted to serve in WWI. Unfortunately, Willie’s arm became seriously infected after he was given the required smallpox vaccine. He got a Military Honorable Discharge and was sent home extremely ill.

 

Dad’s mother, Alma, being the oldest of the Simmons children, felt it was her duty to take her parents' place in seeing to the welfare of her siblings. She and my grandfather, Ebb invited the two of them to make their home with them. These four people, living so nearby, became a familiar part of my extended family.

 

My grandmother treated Eva and Willie almost as if they were her own children. Eva had been a beautiful young woman, but she was extremely shy. Grandma had discouraged her from getting involved with men who might have been interested. I never knew Eva to be ill or visit a doctor, but grandma convinced her she wasn’t strong enough to consider marriage. In later years, my mother would tell me that Grandma Weir had also prevented Willie from marrying. I guess she was something of a control freak. She didn’t approve of the lady he was seeing and took it upon herself to tell her to leave Willie alone. It made me wonder if she had been okay with her son marrying my mother.

 

Mom often said I talked before I was a year old, but she’d started to wonder if I ever intended to walk. I’m not sure at what point I started putting words together, but it must have been before my second Christmas.

 

Mom had enough pride that she was embarrassed that we still had no electricity. I was impressed enough with the fact electricity existed. When taken into town around people, I served to further embarrass her by pointing, in wonder, at every light I saw and saying “looky, looky lights.” It seems it didn’t take much to enthrall me. I was really impressed with the colored Christmas lights. Those were “purdy lights”.

 

Aunt Eva enjoyed Christmas and liked to decorate. The decorations were simple. Since she didn’t work, I’m not sure how she purchased them but they were likely inexpensive. She used long ropes of red and of green tinseled garland and six foldout crepe paper honeycomb bells. Only one room of my grandparents' house was heated by a big fireplace. It served as a place to entertain guests, as a sewing room for grandma and also the main bedroom for her and grandpa. It was a large square room with high ceilings.

 

I’m pretty sure I do remember bits and pieces of my second Christmas. By this time, I was fifteen months old. Since our family lived close and we spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ place, I noticed right away that Eva had decorated that front room. While there, I spent my time fascinated by those big red crepe paper bells she had attached to the ceiling.

 

It seems my aunt's Christmas bells, or lack of them, became my claim to fame. Mom loved to brag that I could put words into sentences, long before the book she had on baby skill-development claimed was possible for babies.

 

It was in January of 1939. I remember the disappointment I felt on entering my grandparents’ front room only to find those lovely bells missing. That is when I uttered the famous sentence Mom quoted often when exercising her bragging rights about the early skill her baby had acquired.

 

What I said as I tuned up to cry was, “E’ba took `de ding-dongs down outta’ toppa’ poppa’s hous.” This was my first fourteen syllable poem. Pretty impressive for one so young, wouldn’t you say? The translation, in case you missed it, was Eva removed the bells from the ceiling of my grandpa’s house.

 

My mom seemed to think I was more advanced than I actually was. Among things I acquired that first Christmas was some large Crayola colors and a coloring book. It didn’t take me long to realize staying in the lines wasn’t going to happen. I needed a large area in which to do my artwork. The front bedroom where I spent my days, now had a white painted wall. I thought a bit of color was needed, and I didn’t consult a designer. I just proceeded to color as far up as I could reach.

 

Unfortunately, Mom didn’t seem to appreciate good art. I couldn’t believe she expressed her reaction on my bare legs. This was my first spanking, and I was highly insulted. When I finished crying, I had a few words to add which I’d learned from my dad. “#o^&d dammit.” This didn’t set well with her either, and led to my second spanking.

 

This world wasn’t anywhere near the happy place which my first months had led me to believe.

 

 

Glover Weir - My father 

Lucille Lay Weir - My mother

Anne Jane Davis Lay -My maternal grandmother, recently widowed.

Ebb Weir - Glover's father -My maternal grandfather

Alma Simmons Weir - Glover's mother and my paternal grandmother and wife of Ebb.

Eva Simmons - My great aunt  who lives with my grandparents

Willie Simmons -My great uncle who lives with my grandparents.

Chapter 11
Potty Training

By BethShelby

I don’t remember the diaper days so well, but I do remember when Mom assured me, “You’re a big girl now, and you’re going to be wearing big girl panties. From now on, I need you to remember to use your potty, so you won’t get all wet.”

 

When Mom was inside the house, she reminded me often enough, but her daily routine meant she had to leave me playing inside when she went outside to work in her garden. Not having been out of diapers that long meant it was easy for me to forget.

 

I remember one particular day when I didn’t go in time. Not only were my panties soaked, but urine had run down my legs and soaked my socks and shoes. I had sat in it and soaked my dress as well. I knew Mom was in the garden not far from our front door. With tears streaming from my eyes, I went out front to tell Mom I’d forgotten again.

 

“Mama,” I called. “I’m wet. Will you come help me?”

 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she yelled back. “I’ve got some more stuff I’ve got to do out here.  Pull your wet clothes off and wait for me. Better still why don’t you see if you can take a nap. I’ll be in there soon.”

 

Since everything I had on was wet, I proceeded to strip right there in the living room. I left it all in a neat pile the middle of the living room floor and headed to the bedroom. The big feather bed where I usually slept was neatly made. I remember thinking, I’ll try not to make a mess of this bed. I climbed into the center of it and fluffed it up the best I could around me. Then, I lay my head between the two big pillows and sank deep into the feather mattress. Very carefully, I took the edge of the spread and pulled it gently over my face. In no time, I was sound asleep.

 

What took place later, I only know from hearing it talked about. I don’t know how much more time Mom spent in the garden. It was long enough, apparently, for her to have forgotten our earlier conversation. When she came inside, she called and got no answer. She was shocked to see all of my clothes in a neat pile in the center of the living room.  She ran into every room calling me, but the house seemed completely empty. Her next thought was of the two big galvanized tubs of water on the back porch, still unemptied from the wash she had done earlier. She plunged her hands to the bottom of them and found nothing.

 

By that time, she was in sheer panic mode. She rushed over the little hill to my grandparents’ home. “Beth’s missing,” she screamed. “I need help. I’ve looked everywhere. Somebody has kidnapped her. They took all of her clothes off. She hasn’t got a thing on. Get everybody you can to come and help us look.”

 

I don’t know how long the search went on, since I was having a nice long nap. It must have lasted an hour or so, because the house filled up with neighbors, and we didn’t have people living that close. One of the ladies eventually flung the spread off the feather bed and was surprised to find me sleeping. Mom couldn’t believe how many times she'd been inside that room looking and even gotten on her knees to look under the bed.

 

Later, there were times I purposely hid and caused a panic, but this wasn’t one of them. Mom was excitable and capable of letting her imagination run to the worse case scenarios.

 

Other parts of potty training were stressful for everyone. I wasn’t a good eater, and as a result I tended to be constipated much of the time. Mom seemed to think if I sat on my little potty for  enough time, I would eventually go. It didn’t work that way. It was boring, and I would beg to get up. She always insisted that I sit a while longer. I didn’t like being alone, so I’d bring my potty to the kitchen or wherever Mom happened to be. I wanted to make sure she heard me begging to get up. Eventually she would get out the castor oil or the Milk of Magnesia. Sometimes I’d beg for the chocolate tasting Ex-Lax, but that only made my stomach cramp worse.

 

Living without plumbing as we did when I was little, meant we had an outhouse. At least, our outhouse had a pit dug deep into the ground which made it a little more sanitary than those where the waste was on ground level and had to be taken care of by insects or free-range chickens. The odor of those toilets was far too earthy for discriminating nasal passages. Dad threw lime into ours to keep down the odor.

 

I was afraid of the hole in the seat. What if my little bottom fell in? I had also heard stories of spiders building their webs below the seat. I even had a cousin who had been bitten by a black widow. This added to my anxiety. When my legs grew too long for the baby potty, I had no choice but to go to the outhouse.

 

Most people’s toilet paper was an outdated Sears Roebuck catalogue. But my dad was splurging and buying actual commercial toilet paper. For a while, it was mom who cleaned my bottom once the job was done, but she quickly became tired of it. She patiently instructed me on how to get myself clean. Still, I would call for her to come wipe me.

 

Then she laid down an ultimatum. “Look, I’ve shown you how to clean yourself. You’re old enough that I shouldn’t have to do it. I’m warning you, if I hear ‘Mama, come wipe me’ one more time, I am going to give you a spanking you won't forget."

I usually knew when to back off, but this time, I wasn’t quite ready to stop testing the waters. I, very carefully, did the clean-up job making sure no brown stains were left on the paper. I remember thinking, she will be so proud of me when she sees what a good job I’ve done. Once more I yelled, “Mama, come here.”

 

She came stumbling out of the house in a stormy rage. Before I could get a word out, she yanked me up and left hand prints all over my bare bottom, while I was still trying to sputter out my explanation through my tears that I only wanted praise for doing such an excellent job.

 

It was my first lesson in the importance of timing, especially when is not an appropriate time to pick a battle.
 

Chapter 12
Tidbits, Cures and Other Kids

By BethShelby

As I entered my second and third years on earth, my grandmother, my mothers’ mother, Annie Jane, continued to be part of my life. She lived in our home for short periods at a time, as she tried to make sure she didn’t overstay her welcome in any one of her children’s homes. She was most often at her Singer sewing machine. If she wasn’t making or mending clothes, she was sewing blocks of cloth together in various shaped patterns to make quilting squares.

Grandma seldom went outside, unless it was to pick up a chicken to kill and prepare for lunch. Both she and Mom wore bonnets when they went outside. She even made a little bonnet for me. I wasn’t allowed outside the house without something on my head and usually my arms. I had fair skin like my dad which freckled easily. Grandma seemed convinced too much exposure to the sun would do me in.

Now we’ve learned, skin cancers often go back to too many severe sunburns we got as children. My skin was never uncovered in the sun long enough to get a blister until I was in my late teens. Grandma Lay, as I differentiated between her and my other grandmother, took care of her own skin, slathering it every night with Ponds Cold Cream.

She often said my Grandmother Weir had sallow skin as a result of not taking care of herself. Grandmother Weir did have a darker, yellowed tone to her skin, but she spent much of her time outside, working in her garden, washing clothes outside, milking and taking care of livestock. She did eventually have problems with skin cancer.

I seldom had contact with anyone near my age. Although the few times I did, I seemed to get in trouble. A neighbor came to visit on one occasion with a little boy about my age. He was sucking on a token. A token was the way sales taxes were paid in the late thirties and forties. They were usually made of aluminum about the size of a nickel and their value was less than that of a penny. When purchases were made, you were required to add some tokens along with your cash.

At any rate, the little boy removed the token from his mouth and offered it to me. It was my first gift ever from a boy, and to show my appreciation, I promptly shoved it into my own mouth. It turned out to be the gift that kept on giving. He had whooping cough which I contracted from the token. Apparently, I only got a mild case of the virus, possibly due to Mom’s home nursing skills.

There were some horrible cures mothers used in those days that made us gag, but they didn’t kill us and maybe helped keep us alive. I don’t think mothers of today would dream of torturing their children with these cures. One was Cod Liver Oil. Mother kept trying to convince me this was something special which I really wanted.

“Come on. It's time to take your little fishes. You know you love your little fishes”, she would tell me, as she forced my mouth open to pour in a spoonful of the thick foul-tasting substance. Where she got the idea that I liked that nasty concoction was beyond me. It didn’t even resemble a fish. Bad as it was, it beat the Castor Oil she sometimes used. She knew better than to try to convince me I liked that. That had to be followed up with pie, or something I truly liked.

Somewhere in her past, mother had read there was health benefits in yeast cakes. It was the same thing she used to made dinner rolls. She insisted that I eat one of the little white squishy squares each day. These squares were the consistency of putty, and was likely the 1940’s answer to Gummy Bear vitamins. This was also something Mom tried to convince me was a treat which I enjoyed. I kept wondering if perhaps she had me mixed up with some other little kid who she’d once known.

There was one cure even my mom was a bit leery of. It involved putting a drop of Coal oil on a sugar cube to cure phlegm in the throat. It would cause such a violent spell of coughing you would automatically cough up the phlegm. I only remember that torture treatment once.

When I had a sore throat or chest cold, Mom would use greasy strong smelling Vicks Salve to rug over my entire body from my neck to my toes. Then, she would place heated flannel cloths over the salve and insist that I stay in bed. I felt like I was soaked in gravy and prepared for roasting, but I survived and healed fast enough.

Years later when I lived in New Orleans, I learned they had some folk cures that beat ours. They boiled roaches and used the resulting liquid for cough syrup. They also sliced onions and put in kids socks to bring down fever. Ear aches were cured by blowing cigarette smoke in the ear.  

Back to other kids around my age who got me into trouble, I’m sure I was less than three when my mother took me to a party for some relative’s hundredth birthday. It was outside in some park. I still remember Mom proudly showing me off to Aunt Cissy. The lady sat hunched over in a wheel chair wondering why she was outside with all these people gathered around her.

There was a cute little boy at the party, and he grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go. We paraded through the crowd with people saying, “Would you look at that. Isn’t that adorable.”  I guess they didn’t think it was that adorable after someone had to go and rescue me from the two-seater outhouse where we’d gone when nature called.

He was the same little boy who gave me red measles when my mother took me to his house to play, while she visited with his mother. I still remember the room we were allowed to play in. I thought I’d gone to Toy Heaven or at least Santa’s workshop. It had no furniture in it, just toys scattered everywhere. Most of them were broken but it didn’t matter. I’d never witnessed anything like this, as I only had a few things to play with at home.

At that point, I decided he could be my boyfriend forever. I still told everyone he was my boyfriend even after both of us had recovered from the measles. Years later when we both turned six, I learned how fickle some first love affairs can be, but that is a tale for the future.

Little girls were a different story. For some reason the only two I remember from that time period both ended badly. Girls were no fun. At least, both of these girls were a little too prissy for my taste. We seemed to have nothing at all in common. Even at our young age, a certain rivalry was present. Alice Carolyn was a Mama’s girl. She looked down her nose at me and seemed to have no desire to get to know me better.

Linda and I might have had a chance to be friends, but when I politely asked if I could hold the doll which she carried with her, she said “No!” very flatly. My immediate reaction was to start plotting my revenge.

You just don’t say those words to an only child without repercussions which could be carried out without alerting the adults. The evening ended with her in tears and with me gloating at my own cleverness. I will admit at three, there were times when a hint of a diabolical streak was present.

I wrote that story in 2022, as to how I went about trying to get revenge. It wasn't one of my proudest moments. It's called "The Doll", Some of you may have read it already. It will be the next chapter I will post. 

Chapter 13
The Doll

By BethShelby

It wasn’t my proudest moment. But hey, I was only three. Kids usually get a pass when they’re that young, don’t they? It wasn’t altogether my fault. If she hadn’t been such a selfish little snot… Oh, I’m sorry. It isn’t right to call people names, but things might have gone a lot smoother, if she just had, at least, tried to be nice. We might have actually had fun that day. It was her own fault that she ended the day in tears.

My life revolved around nothing but adults. I thought it wasn’t fair for other kids to have people their age to play with, and I had no one.  Dad worked in town, but Mom was always around, and I had a traveling grandmother, who lived with us part of the time. The other grown-ups, Gram-ma and Gram-pa Weir, Uncle Bill, and Aunt Eva, lived a few minutes away, so everyone around me was twice as tall as me and way older. They tried to keep me entertained, but we had nothing in common but our DNA.

When anything less boring than another long summer day at home was about to happen, I was always the last to know.  I didn’t know I was going to meet a girl cousin, my own age, until shortly before she arrived. Like me, she was an only child, and every bit as spoiled as I was.  She looked at me like I had cooties. The doll she was holding had big blue eyes and curls.  All I wanted to do was hold it, but when I politely asked permission, her short emphatic “No!” rubbed me the wrong way.

I didn’t push it, but a plan was already forming in my mind. Later in life, I was occasionally accused of being devious, but my journey down that path probably started that day.

It would have been a really special day under different circumstances. My parents and her parents had decided we would all drive an hour away to a new state park that had been recently constructed under President Roosevelt’s WPA project. Since our cousins lived in a different state, getting reacquainted at a family picnic seemed a viable solution.

The six of us climbed into their new ’40 Ford sedan and drove until we arrived at our destination. By that time, with some encouragement from our parents, Linda and I had at least started to be less suspicious of each other, but the doll was still clutched tightly in her arms.

The park was located down a winding black-top road that led to a large lake. Our eyes lit up when we saw the swings, slides and see-saws.  Our family located a big pavilion with picnic tables scattered about and began laying our lunch. Linda and I headed for the nearby playground equipment. I was well aware that her precious doll now lay on one of seats surrounding the pavilion.

As we explored and played, Linda’s attitude toward me warmed considerably. I made sure she stayed happy, and the doll was long-forgotten, but only by Linda. As our parents chatted and we munched on sandwiches, I kept my eye on the doll. When Linda’s mom took her to the restroom for a potty break, I saw my chance and made use of the Sunday newspaper someone had discarded, to ease over and carefully cover the doll.

Later in the afternoon, I held my breath as our parents packed the car for our return home. All the way home I kept Linda involved in an exciting ‘I spy’ game. We giggled and chatted away like old friends, until we were just a couple of miles from home. It was time.

“Where’s your doll?” I asked with genuine concern in my voice. 

“My doll,” she screeched, “my new doll! I left my doll on that bench. We have to go back. I need my doll.” By this time, tears had formed, and she was starting to make choaking sounds.

“Honey, we can’t go back. It’s too far. I knew you shouldn’t have taken that doll. It probably isn’t there anymore,” her mom told her. “You’ve got other dolls at home.” 

Her tears of distress grew louder and still echoed as the family said their good-byes and drove away. Only after their car faded from sight did it occur to me, once again, I had no one to play with. Only then, did I feel a degree of shame. I’d done a bad thing, but I wouldn’t be punished, because my flawless plan had left me looking innocent.

I never saw Linda again, but I never forgot  I had caused her pain. For years after, when I started to feel like maybe I was a few degrees nicer than the average kid, I’d remember the doll and realize that I was very capable of a burning desire to get even when I felt wronged. I needed to watch my impulses.

It wasn’t the last time that demon reared its ugly head.  I gave in too often, and used a certain degree of cunning to get even, without getting caught. It was a flaw I fought well into my teens. Even in my early married years, it was sometimes there. I didn’t like myself very much when that particular temptation got the best of me.

It has taken a while, but I’m thankful to say that I’ve not felt that urge in years. Maybe we finally grow up as we grow older. Hopefully, the term “devious” no longer applies to me.  
 
 
 

Author Notes

I am reviving this at this point because I will add it as Chapter 13 of the book At Home in Mississippi. It fits here as a followup to the story "Tidbits, Cures and Other Kids" as I alluded to in my last post. Many of you will remember it from 2022.

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