by Lillian Arnold Lopez
Chapter Two
Mama never missed tendin' the graves for Decoration Day. She'd planted lily of the valley and rose bushes on the family plot, and put a border around it, and we carried whatever flowers was out. Spring had been late, so there wasn't no laurel out, but the purple and white lilacs was in bloom. Serena went with us, and she brought a big armful of beautiful late bloomin' pink wild crabapple blossoms. They smelled so spicy sweet, and we tended her grandfather's grave, too.
There was a nice headstone for Mama's brother, Uncle Frank. I'd never knew him; he went to the last war and took pneumonia in Cold Harbor, and came home so weakened, he didn't have the strength to live. Her mother had wrote a pretty poem about "a soldier's grave" for the headstone. Mama felt bad there wasn't money for a headstone for her mother and father, but hoped someday there would be. Mama was very strict about where we walked in the graveyard. She seemed to want to be alone to clear off the graves, like a visit with their spirits, I guess, so me and Serena took Toddy for a walk across the road to where there was some grave markers and we read the headstone of Abraham Waeir. I hold her what I'd heard about how he'd come here a hundred and fifty years ago with the Rogerines, but they left, and he stayed and built a mill.
"Grandpa still calls the town 'Waeir's Mill," and sometimes I've even heard it called 'Waretown Mill Branch.'"
We walked down the road aways and found a nice patch of curley dock, so I ran back to show Mama some of it to see if it was sweet; we didn't like bitter dock. Now that Spring was here, Mama wanted to make sure our blood was in shape for the hot weather when it came. Everyday, she made us drink a cup of sassyfras tea. She'd found where some poke was growin' and poke and dock cooked together was s'posed to be good for the blood. She cooked it with salt pork, and it wasn't bad. So after we went home, she gave me a basket, and Toddy went back with me, but he pulled roots an' all, so I told him to go watch the sheep, but don't climb over the fence. We was almost home, when we saw a horse and cart comin' up the pike. Younguns was runnin' 'longside it yellin', "Bone man, bone man," and the driver was yellin', "Old bones, old bones."
"We got bones," I told Toddy. "Let's git home and tell Mama; maybe this is the day you'll git your new cup."
We saved bones in a pile to trade the bone man for dishes. Toddy was still usin' his little tin cup, so Mama let him pick out a china cup with the blue cornflowers painted on it. My little brother sure was proud to have a cup like the "big folks" at supper that night.
One Sunday morning, I got ready and went over to Serena's to walk to meeting with them. Mama said it was alright. Our great grandparents had been Friends; among those who helped build the little Quaker meeting house in Barnegat, and was buried on the grounds. Granny was inspectin' the boys, when I got there.
"I washed my ears!" Rusty cried.
"Cat lickin'," Granny said, as she rubbed lye soap on a rag. "Folks'll be sayin' thee can grow pertaters in thy ears."
Granny sure took proper care of her grand-younguns, especially Rusty, the least one. Why, she'd even dug one of his mama's old sunbonnets out of the trunk to "pertect his delicate skin" from the sun. She tied it on him for school, and Tom and Serena didn't tell on him when he hid it on the way, and put it back on before he got home.
Rusty wasn't a bad little feller; Tom was the one with a streak of devilishness. Once the teacher was scared half out of her wits when she lifted her desk bell to see why it didn't ring, and a mouse scampered out. Nobody told on him, but I think Tom put it there, because Serena said he'd caught one.
Every now and then on the way to Barnegat, Granny lectured the boys, "Don't swing thy feet; don't scratch."
My shoes were gettin' too small, and my feet was killin' me, but I knew if I took 'em off to walk, I'd never get 'em back on, so I suffered and wished I'd wore Mama's. In the meeting house, we sat on the benches. Serena and I sat on the ladies' side with Granny, and the boys sat across from us on the men's side.
Everybody looked straight ahead. If you even turned your head, the bench creaked. It was a good deal quieter than I was used to. As a rule, I went to the Methodist Church, 'cause it was closestand we had singin' and organ music and preachin'. I prayed silently and meditated and wondered if someone would feel the spirit to talk, but nobody did, and the time passed very slowly. I counted the knots of the floor board, and wondered if my great grandmother a hundred years ago had done the same. The hour must of been almost over; if my feet hadn't hurt so, I really wouldn't have minded. It was peaceful listenin' to the birds outside the winda.
Pretty soon, I heard a buzzin' and figured a bee must of flown inside. I saw Serena sneak a look across the aisle, and I did, too. There was Tom pullin' a buzz button. I was holding my breath for fear Granny would catch him, when -- snap! -- the string broke, and the button went flying. Everybody jumped a mile, then settled down to their same position for the rest of the hour.
Nobody even spoke on the way home, and I didn't stick around to find out what happened, but Serena told me the next week, Granny made the boys sit by her on the ladies' side.
Every morning, when huckleberries was in season, I had to go up the railroad tracks to pick a bucketful. It was best if I got done before the sun got too hot. Today, I wanted to get done early, because we was goin' on the train to Bamber Lake for a Sunday School picnic. First thing when I went outside, there was the mother banty and her chicks had got out; there'd be trouble if they got in the tamata patch. I threw cracked corn in a path, and led them back to the pen, where they belonged. I fed and watered the rest of the chickens and gathered the eggs. Then I took care of the goose we was fattenin' for Christmas dinner. The morning had a warmish overcast that looked like it would burn off into a clear hot day, good for a picnic. I was well on my way, bucket over my arm, when I heard my name. It was Jenny. "Wait up, Ara," Jenny said, "Mama's takin' care of Petey, so's I can help you get done quicker." When we got to a good patch, she said, "These low-blues are thick and sweet as sugar."
"But they're so measely little; it's tejus to pick 'em," I complained. "South Branch can't be too far, right up the track. Papa says the swamp berries there is big as grapes; we could both have a bucketful in no time."
"Oh sure, not far by wagon, but do you really know how far it is track trudgin', and did you forget Papa's friend saw a big bear there? Did you think about that?"
"Oh, that story's been around for years; the bear was pickin' the other side of the bush. They tell that tale every time they want'a keep everybody out of a patch of big berries. Besides, who's a scaredy cat?"
"Oh, you're not! Anybody runs from a harmless black snake!"
Guess I'd never live down the time I was pickin' blackberries in the thicket, and when I spied a blacksnake, I ran and spilled all my berries. I was sure it was chasing me. I never stopped 'til I got thru our door. Jake teased me, said he expected Leed's devil, at least, to bust in behind me.
"Well, I'd rather meet up with Mr. Bear than Mr. Snake. Besides, men invent them varmints. Someday I'm goin', and I don't 'spect anything more ferocious than a Devil's darnin' needle or dragonfly. I know right where it is where Papa took us; where we picked the Indian pipes and rain shoes. Better don't tell Mama, but someday, I'm really goin'."
"Okay, but I know she'd worry on account of the spung there, and if you hear a mooin' like a cow, it could be your 'Mr. Bear,' so you better make tracks. Now stop talkin' and start pickin,' if you want'a get to that picnic today."
When we got home, Mama had fried up a big crockful of fresh donuts, and she filled a lard bucket for my share of the picnic collation Then she pressed a cent in my hand and said I better hurry over to the store and get some candy to take. Maybe I should get a little somethin', too, to keep Toddy quiet when I left. I could get two lollipops for a cent, one for Toddy.
Mama didn't have much money, but she always give us what she could. When I went to pay Mr. Jolly, I saw Mama had give me a two cent piece, so then I had a hard time makin' up my mind between ten licorice babies or a big square of chewin' candy. I finally took the licorice babies, in case the other girls brought somethin' to trade.
After watchin' the train every day, it was excitin' to be ridin' on it, but it made my insides feel funny. I met a girl, name of Becky, used to live here but moved to West Creek. They was goin' to the picnic, too, so I set with her. We'd been pretty good friends. She had a newspaper somebody had left on the train, and we read it together. There was a picture of President Cleveland and his new bride.
"He looks quite a bit older than her," I said low.
Becky whispered in my ear, "Uncle John called him a 'cradle snatcher'," and everybody asked what we was laughin' at, but we didn't tell.
There was a story about a lady statue they was puttin' together in New York Harbor, so big you could climb upstairs all the way up her arm. Some school children in the city was givin' a lot of money to help put it up. We talked about how someday we'd ride on the train to New York (it takes four and one-half hours), and climb the statue, but we knew we'd prob'ly be grown up, by then.
The train screetched to a stop at Baxter Station, and we hiked over to the lake. That was a nice afternoon. We waded in the lake, and played some games, and ate all the goodies the teachers had got together. Everybody liked Mama's donuts. Then we sat around for awhile and talked and guessed riddles. Then somebody got a rope, and we had a tug-of-war, girls ag'in the boys. There was a lot more girls, but we had sech a laughin' fit, the boys won.
Wipin' the breakfus' dishes, I could look out the kitchen winda and see Mama settin' up the big iron pot, gettin' ready to cook soap. Mr. Cooper drove up in his wagon and called to her, and drove off. She come tearin' in the door.
"I gotta get my things together; Miz Cooper's time is on her two weeks early, and I got everything set up to make soap. I been waitin' for the increase of the moon, but I should'a knew that works for babies, too."
Mama had helped Miz Cooper birth her last three children. She had six, all girls, and last Winter Mama had took care of the two least ones when they took Hookin' Cough; dosed 'em with her honey-sweet catnip tea and homemade embrocations. They gave her the credit for "snatchin' them from the jaws of death."
"Now I'm feared the grease will spile before I get to it again," Mama was sayin'.
"Let me do the soap, Mama. I've watched you lots of times and I can call Jenny if I get stuck."
"Well-l," she said, "we'll need the soap, but I ain't even got the stuff from the store yit, and he's comin' back for me right soon. You run over to the store and I'll git things started here. You better git two pounds of caustic acid and ten cents worth of borax, and rosin, 'bout five cents worth. And a nickel piece of cheesecloth, too, to line the pans, and tell Mr. Jolly write it down and we'll be over to settle up at the end of the week."
Mama had the fire goin' under the kettle when I got back, and had put the rainwater in. She was just addin' the salt and grease, and I helped her put in the stuff from the store.
"Now keep stirrin' it," she said, handin' me a long sassyfras stick, "and keep the pot boilin'. Be sure to add more of this wood when you see it gettin' low. Ain't that Mr. Cooper's wagon comin' now? I got to fetch my bag. Hope this'ns a boy." She said lower, "If it's 'nother girl, I'll be right back there next year -- that woman's plum wore out with chile bearin'; said las' year she didn't know how she'd find the strength for 'nother one, but Zack Cooper's obsessed with havin' him a son."
Mama made me feel grown up confidin' all that to me. I was the one her and Jenny always told, "Go outside and play," when they was talkin'. 'Course I knew they didn't find babies under rose bushes, like she told me las' year, but I believed her then. That was 'cause I cried when she stuck a knife in a cabbage head, afeared she might cut a baby; that's where Viola's granny told her they got their babies. That's why she gave me that rosebush idea and told me, "don't listen to dirty talk." But when the teacher wasn't aroun', the girls were talkin' at recess, and I was really piqued when they had a laughin' fit 'bout my rosebush story. I gotta admit, tho', I couldn't keep a straight face when little Annie said a woodpecker brought her baby brother. She must'a meant the stork; I'd heard that one, too.
After Mama was off, I stirred and stirred and added sticks to the fire. Toddy wasn't any trouble. He hollered down the rain barrel awhile, and then I give him a hair from a horse's tail, and he put it in a tub of water, and watched to see if it would turn into a snake, like Jake told him it would. Only time he bothered me, was to holler for me to come look when he thought it was wigglin'. The soap smelled terrible, and it seemed like I was stirrin' forever, 'til it looked like honey, like Mama said it would. Then I got Jenny, and we lined the bread tins with the cheese cloth and poured the soap in to harden. Jenny said it looked really good. We used the homemade soap for everything 'cept our hair and scalp. We bought Packer's tar soap at the store for that.
"Guess I'll take some to Pete's mother," Jenny said. "She ain't got nobody to make it, and she ain't able."
That's what Jenny'd been doin' -- gettin' her and Petey ready to go down to her mother-in-law's for 'bout a fortnight to help out.
When Mama got home later on, she was really glad to see how the soap looked. Mama was so clean tuckered out, she dropped in the rocker.
"They got 'em a little boy," she winked at me, "healthy and pretty a little thing you'd want to see. I told Miz Cooper I'd be back directly; she's awful weak. I want you to run over to Jolly's and fetch a tin of china tea and some sody crackers for her, and go to the mail and see if we got any letter -- or did Jenny already go? I'll start a stew for supper." She started chucklin'. "Zackery Hezikiah Cooper, Jr. -- sech a big name for sech a little mite."
I was sittin' at the Junction waitin' for Grandpa's train. It was Papa's turn to take him in for awhile. There was only three brothers left out of seven, so we had him most all Summer.
Grandma had been livin' last year. They had to give up their house a few years ago when Grandma got dizzy spells, and while I waited, I thought about when they came last year. She'd been wearin' her lavender watered silk dress that matched her violet eyes (I'd wished I had eyes like hers), and she'd brought a sack of peppermint candy for us. But she'd passed away last fall, while they was livin' with Uncle Lance in Mount Holly. I didn't get to the funeral. Jenny was her namesake, so I watched Petey so she could go. There was an excursion train out of Barnegat to Mount Holly Fair, and the whole family had plans of goin', but after that happened, they used the tickets to go to the funeral, instead.
I'd miss Grandma, but I was glad Grandpa was comin'! We went for walks and talked, and he told us stories 'bout when he was a lad livin' in Barnegat.
There was somethin' botherin' me since before school got out, that I wanted to ask him when I got a chance; that was about Barnegaters bein' pirates. A girl brought in a book to report on to the class. Somebody gave it to her father. "The Wreckers, or the Ship Plunderers of Barnegat," was the name. It was about shore villians who was supposed to be an example of the Barnegat men who induced shipwrecks by means of false lights. "Bad tidings to seamen," she called it.
I spoke up that what I'd always heard was the shoremen assisted shipwrecked persons when their vessels washed ashore. Maybe they took things from the wrecks, but they didn't band in pirates; the shore was a natural place for wrecks. It really galled me to hear one of the native boys say it was debatable, and if my folks was involved, they was prob'ly pirates, too. Even the teacher had heard about the piracy, and she said the government had investigated and concluded the charges was without fact.
I knew my grandfather would tell me the truth. He'd lived in Barnegat for many years; was born there in ought six. He remembered when he was 'bout six or seven years old; the country was at war, and his mother took him and his brother into the swamp to keep 'em safe during an attack.
"Commodore Hardy of the British Navy had a battleship patrollin' this inlet," he recalled bein' told, "and the Barnegat and Waretown men would try to sneak out lumber and goods on whale boats and vessels, 'cause if they could git to New York, they'd make a lot of money. It sure took spunk, 'cause mostly they got caught and taken prisoner, or their boats burnt. Once, the British captured a schooner, name of Greyhound, and tried to sail 'er out, but she got caught on a bar, so they set fire to 'er. I remember standin' on the shore with a bunch of people watchin' it burn, and shakin' like a leaf." He paused. "Same thing when my Pa was 'bout the same age. The family was all Quakers then, and didn't believe in war or fightin', but there was a war, so they stayed to home and had to cater to everybody travellin' the coast. There was Refugees of War, and pine robbers that took advantage of the Quaker's farms, for whatever they wanted. The Quakers was gentle folks, and always made victuals, but folks hereabouts took to buryin' their valuables and some hid out in them swamps. There's talk that Captain Kidd buried valuables hereabout, but I daresay if there's any riches under the ground, it's from some of them people during the war who didn't dig 'em up ag'in, for one reason or another. Folks in them days watched battles in the bay from their rooftops. Wars has been comin' to most every generation," he said, thoughtfully. "Your Pa and four of his brothers signed up when they got old enough to go down South to the last one. They was so anxious to quit the farm and go 'battle for liberty,' but they learnt there was worse things in life than farmwork. They learnt that war was hell, not only on the battlefields, but in them Rebel prisons and hospitals. Them bein' so young -- me and Grandma worried about 'em continual."
It must be time for that train. A hack was waitin' to see if anybody wanted a ride to the Inn. 'Cordin' to what Jake heard over at the store, it wouldn't be long 'til they hooked up a line 'tween the depot and the Inn. Then, when folks come in on the train and wanted a hack, they could jest talk on the wire and their voice would carry all the way to the bay. Hard to believe, but he heard Forked River Hotel already had a wire like that.
Where was that train? It only took two hours from Mount Holly! Almos' as soon as I heard the whistle down 'round the bend, it was screechin' to a stop, shakin' the platform. soon's I saw Grandpa come down the steps, I reached for his hand to steady him. The conductor handed down his travellin' bag, and he stepped down.
"Wait'll I git my land legs," he said, huggin' me, his whiskers scratchin' my neck. "Why, you're gettin' to be a young lady, Ara girl, but you still ain't as big as a bar of soap after a week's warshin'."
It was the same thing he'd been sayin' since I was six years old.
