She had every reason to be miserable, but somewhere along the way she must have decided to be pleasant, and I loved to be with her, a short, very fat woman with no lap, who always told me I should eat more fat so I would be pretty. I could not bring myself to tell her I did not want to be fat like her. I knew I would never be pretty. I was too skinny and was covered with freckles. It was a real treat to have her come for a visit. She was such a good cook, and always made some thing sweet for dinner, even if it was only pudding made with Irish potatoes, egg and sugar. When all the children except the youngest boy, Robert, had married and left, the two of them rented a small house and farmed together as share croppers until he was drafted into the army in 1941. After that she gave away her few household things and lived with different children until her death when I was a college freshman. She was barely sixty years old when her heart gave out.
Most of those last years she lived with Aunt Ruth, who like her sisters had married at 15. The year that I graduated from high school she lived with us and we shared a bedroom. Our house had no electricity, and the only good light to read by was in the living room. After she went to sleep, I would read by flashlight under my covers. The racy book of that year was Forever Amber, an English novel most teens secretly read.
She was very critical of some of my clothes, shorts in particular, but my mother did not pay any attention to her comments. The reason she was not living with her daughter was because they had moved to a house too small for her. I enjoyed our conversations when she would tell me about her life. After Granddaddy left her she became acquainted with the Mormon missionaries and would take all of her children to the new church built on land given by a new convert named Howard, and was called Howard's Chapel. One day in summer she took a big picnic lunch and planned to enjoy the whole day at a conference. Chicken wire was stretched between the pine trees, and the children were instructed to put a cloth on the wire and set out the food she had brought while she went inside to nurse her baby. The chapel was only one room divided for Sunday school classes by heavy white cotton curtains drawn between the rows. She simply went to the back of the room and drew a curtain around herself. A priesthood meeting was going on in the front of the room. She was informed that she could not be in the room; it was closed to women. She had no other place except the outhouse to nurse the baby, so she gathered up her famous fried chicken and her kids and went home, never to return. I have often wondered how her life might have changed, as well as the lives of most of her children, with the support and influence of the church.
Uncle Jim, the second brother, converted to Mormonism shortly after his mariage, and was her only child to do so. He was faithful in his attendance, but I wonder if he ever really understood it. They had only one child who was five years older than me, and the greatest influence in my early years. She was beautiful, had piano lessons, and played for all the meetings. Her father, Uncle Jim never participated, would not accept the priesthood, nor pay tithing. He and his family observed the word of wisdom, and he dearly loved all the missionaries, but he was very miserly. He is survived by one grandchild who has been a credit to him. The seed finally bore fruit. She was baptized and finds great joy in her church callings. She will have her temple blessings this year.
She was a religious woman, always taught her children to pray and read the Bible. She became aligned with Uncle Wayne and the Jehovas Witnesses, but she never became as strident as he. Uncle Wayne told my dad that sending me to college was a waste of money, because the world would come to an end before I ever got to use any of my fancy knowledge.
No comments:
Post a Comment