Chapter Seven
“MARYBIRD”
We used to live here. I was born here in this house. I'd hear Pap set and talk about bein' in the army ever' night. Lord have mercy, war he was in. He had to dodge and lay out nights and sometimes he'd fast three or four days 'fore he'd git anything to eat when he's dodgin', keep 'em from catchin' him. I don't know wheth' they was fightin' all up through here or not. I reckon they was. I couldn't tell you what all he did tell me about bein' in the army. And Ma had to do the best way she could. Him and Ma was married first year the war started. He's in the army five or six yearn. He'd been in fights. Oh, I couldn't tell the fights he'd been in. He said they just fell like flies right 'side of him. Just take sweeps of 'em. They never got him. I don't know wheth' he was in army until the end of the war or not. I reckon he was.
After the war they moved a hundred times, I know Ma said. I had four sisters and three brothers -- there was Tex and Jane and Lucy and Idy and Reuben and Early and Grant and Ma and Dad. She had ten, I think, eight or ten children. Ain't none of 'em a-livin' but me and my brother in Illinois. Early. I never was at school in my life. I'd a-learnt, too, if I'd a-went. They had 'em down here. They never sent me. My dad and mammy never sent me. Couldn't go if they didn't send me. I'd a-learnt, too. I'd a soon learnt 'cause I could count to a hundred and all when I was little.
Will McAllister. He's a middle-aged fella belonged to the church. Nice church member. He lived up here on the mountain and worked for his daddy. Will and John and Emmett and I don't know how many boys old man Worth had. He used to come to our house ever' Sunday. Nice church member. And I had a sister named Lucy. We'd go down to church here ever' Sunday, walkin' we'd go, me, him and Lucy, my sister. I went with Will. I's sorry for Will when I slighted him. I wished I'd a taken Will, nice church member, nice man and all, and Lem -- long years before he died, he got to goin' with women.
I was just goin' on fifteen but I was a right smart size. We lived up here above Hilma at that first house. And Lem, that 'as my old man, his people lived over the mountain and he come over in here visitin'. He knowed people over in here. He come up to our house and got acquainted with me. We knowed him before. I'd seen him but he'd never been to our house. I'd see him from a distance at preachin' and places around. He 'as young. Lord, he was purty. What is to be will be. And he come up there. Always dressed nice. Had a pretty suit and hat. He come up there and stayed. He stayed and didn't go away. And his daddy come over here to hunt for him and he hid. He wouldn't let him see him. His daddy went back, couldn't find him. His father, oh, he's down on us. I don't know, him and Pap never could agree, and he lived in a nice house and he's tolerable well off and we lived up here. Lawd, they thought theirself above us. They lived over the mountain; we lived in a house 'bout like this here one, and they lived in a nice house, his daddy did. They didn't look at us then. And my brother, Reuben, he lived in one end of Pap's house and I went in there that night. Lucy was little. That 'as my sister. Ma and Pap, they's in another part of the house. And I went in Reuben's house that night and Lem was in there. He wasn't afeard. He stayed there and wouldn't leave. He stayed there and helped Reuben git wood and I'd go in there ever' night and talk to him. I'd go in there and he stayed and wouldn't leave. His daddy come back over here lookin' for him again and he couldn't find him. Had his best clothes on. Didn't have his ever'day clothes. One day he slipped off and walked across the mountain from up here and his daddy wasn't at home and his Mammy was there but he went in and got his clothes, got his clothes and brought 'em over and come back, come back up here and wouldn't leave, just stayed there and wouldn't leave. Come there and stayed there a month before we got married. His daddy hunted ever'where for him and couldn't find him. He wasn't thinkin' about his bein' over the mountain here 'til somebody tol' him. Somebody seen Lem.
Pap got a notice from old man Beale sayin' he's gonna make him pay for ever' day he stayed there. I wouldn't let Pap run him off, 'cause I liked him. We had to go to Hagerstown because old man Beale wasn't willin' for Lem to run off. He's under age; he wasn't twenty-one. If he'd been old enough we wouldna had to went, 'cause we 'as willin' for me to git married, Ma and Pap was. But they wasn't willin' for him and he had to slip off. And my daddy went with us to Hagerstown and we walked it. You turn off up there when you git up there 'top the mountain. Went up here through the hollow. You turn off there and take a big road, a ridge road, and go that road a right smart piece and it'll take you down through a hollow and you come out down yonder at Elkton. We come out down there. Pap's brother lived there close to Elkton, Uncle Early. We didn't stay there the first night. It wasn't far to the depot. We got on that night train. My daddy was with me. Me, him and Lem. Lem was just a little young fella -- just had growed up. I was, too. I was just goin' on fifteen. We got on at Elkton on the night train to Hagerstown. We got off in Hagerstown. We could've got married that night, but Pap wanted to go to the tavern. He drank right smart. He's kindly a middle-age man. Lem went with him and took him to the barroom. Lem wouldn't drink none. And Pap got to drinkin'. I don't know when they went to bed. He took me there to this here hotel. They said she's filled up. She didn't have nary a empty bed. Said but one bed, there's one old man in there and said she'd put her little boy on a lounge and let this old man git in the boy's bed and gi'me his bed and she did. I got in his bed. It was right warm. She set in there a right smart while and sewed on the machine and talked with me. I don't know where Pap and Lem went to. But I's afeared that night at Hagerstown by myself. Machine run might near all night. I heerd her sewin' on the machine. Talked with me 'til I went to sleep. Next mornin' she pecked on the door, called me and said my dad was waitin' on me for breakfast. But I didn't want no breakfast. I drank a cup of coffee, that 'as all. I's just goin' on fifteen. Pap and Lem done eat somewhere at another place. I don't know where they eat. Lem was a little strip of a young fella.
Got married the next mornin', next day sometime 'bout 'leven o'clock. And I asked Pap where did they go. Him and Lem said they went down to the hotel. They didn't have but one empty room. We could a got married that night. He said that place stayed open where they marry you at. We coulda got married that night and I coulda stayed in the room with him and Lem. I's skeered by myself way off that fer from home, but she sat right next to me and sewed on the machine and talked with me, that woman did. Way upstairs somewhere, I didn't know where I was at. We went on down then. They took me down right smart little piece, not fer either, down at the depot. I went in there and there wasn't a soul in the depot then, but people come in ever' now and then waitin' for the train. That depot in Hagerstown is big. I had to set there by myself. He made Lem go with him. Lem wouldn't drink none. Lem had to take him down there to the hotel. He got drunk 'fore he got on the train again might near. Time come for the train. Lem had to bring him on down there by the arm to git on the train. They took me in the depot. I sat there in the depot. First one person come in, then the other. I had to set there. Didn't know where to go nor which way to go nor nothin'. The train brought me back to Grottoes. Married goin' on fourteen. I don't know what Pappy give my age when he had to git the license. 'Bout fifteen when the first one was born. Let me see -- Hester was one, Daisy was two, Edna's three, Mary Bell was four, Dan was five, Frank was six, Jake was seven, Charles was eight -- I had eight. All of 'em's dead but two. Got grown 'fore they died. I seen a lot o' trouble.
See, Hester was my oldest one. She didn't live long. She married old Wilmer Morris, who wasn't no good. Run off and got married. She was twenty-one, though, when she got married. I wouldn't let her git married. She married Wilmer Morris, and he didn't have nothin' and taked her down there, and she had a little tiny baby and she died. Then they brought the baby up there and give it to me, and it didn't live but two months. I had to buy milk for it, tend to it. It was gittin' along good and he come up there, took that baby away from me. It didn't live no time.
Frank. He was goin' a-huntin'. He was goin' out -- now, I don't know where I lived. Yea. That was the way. He was shootin' at a bird. He got shot. Shot hisself. I was just studyin'. I forgit now where it was at. Jake was the baby. I thought more of him than I did ever' one of 'em. I never weaned that boy 'till he's goin' to school. I'd call him back and he'd come and suck 'fore he started to school. And they got to laughin' at him, makin' fun of him 'bout suckin'. And he quit and I couldn't git him to suck anymore to save my life. I'd cry ever' day. I offered to pay him and he wouldn't suck anymore. I never would be satisfied no more in my life. Jake was the baby one, the last one. He was the last one born. He died since I been here. He died drunk. They wouldn't let me know it for I don't know how long. I didn't git to go to his funeral when Jake died. Wouldn't let me know he was dead.
We used to have dances here. I didn't used to go to dances when I was young. Ma wouldn't let me. I never went nowhere 'til I went to git married. Just stayed 't home. I'd go to preachin'. Used to be preachin' down here at this church and I'd come from up there down here to preachin'.
The church down here. I used to go down there ever' Sunday and Will McAllister -- he got to comin' down to our house and I'd go with him to preachin', me and Lucy, my sister, backwards and forwards, but still I liked Lem the best. What is to be will be, no matter what it is. If you's to marry a Nigger, you'll marry him and if you's to marry a Injun you're gonna marry him. I heerd Ma say, "What is to be will be." It was to be 'at he was to come over here and I was to marry him 'stead of Will.
Over the mountain 'as Nigger camp meetin'. I used to go to Nigger camp meetin', in the woods. They had benches, fifty benches cut in the woods. Made seats out of 'em, a block at each end of 'em. And Lord have mercy, there'd be two, three hundred people there. The cars -- you couldn't git by the road; you had to go 'round 'em for the cars on the road. Nigger camp meetin'. I learned all them songs.
There's a great big fat woman, Granny Crawford, lived right close to me. Her and her mammy would come over ever' night to hear me sing. We's all lively and I'd play the banjo for 'em. I had an old banjo. Lem worked on the railroad for five years. He's acquainted with 'em all. He taken her and left her too, Granny Crawford. He took her away. I never could find where he was at. Tried to find him, but I couldn't find where he was at and I raised the children best way I could. And he's taken her out to West Virginia. I don't know the name of the place. He come back, though, after she died. I wish she wouldna lived with him. And he taken her way out yonder. I's tryin' to think of the name of the place to tell you, way yonder somewhere, West Virginia. And he went out to work and left with her. The child lived. She had a little boy. He's grown, married. I've never seen him , but they say he's 'xactly like Lem. But she died. I think they buried her out there. Course I raised the children while he's gone. I never put nary of 'em out. He's gone five years, 'bout five years. Some of 'em was grown. Dan was grown -- that's my oldest boy; he was married. Charley wasn't married then. Charles was there and he worked over across the river, but he come home ever' night. I'd go to meet him. And Mary Bell, she lived there, that's my girl what's over the mountain now, she lived with me. Me and Charley and Jake. I lived off what Charley made. Charley worked over there and then I'd wash around for people and Jake went to school. He's big enough to go to school, the baby was. This here woman Early Lewis, she used to stay with me, and she got mad and left me, and he [Lem] got to goin' with her. Slip out. He worked up there at John Walton's. John Walton lives back up in here, and he come home ever' night. She sit up on the hill and watch when he come home. She come up there and she called him out ever' night, come up there to the fence and call him. Don't matter how tired he was when he come home ever' night, "Have you shet up the chickens?" Excuse to git out of here, and I'd watch him and he never come in no more 'til next mornin'. "Have you shet up the chickens?" I'd say yes, but I hadn't. I'd forgot 'em. He'd go out to shet 'em up and never come in no mo'. He'd go on where she's at. But I went over here to George Herrn. I got Sam Garrison to take me down there. I can see Sam Garrison, Lawd, that Sam Garrison. Them Garrisons'll kill you. They fight 'til they die. Sam was a purty man. He lived up here. I fergit what all I had to pay him to go over there with me. I give him fifty cents in money and I give him a dog I wouldna took nothin' fer that I had. The purtiest dog you ever seen up here, a hound puppy. I'd bought it and I had to give him that and twenty-five big quilt squares big as this banjo apiece and I don't know what all. First one thing and then the other I paid him for goin' over there with me. Anyhow he went with me over there. I left the baby here with Deary, Hilma's mammy was a-livin', and I come back that night, took all day to go over there to George Herrn's. It's a long ways from Blackwell Hollow over to George Herrn's. Pretty road went all the way over there. There was a great big pike -- I never will forgit it -- went around it. He lived down in the hollow. Sam Garrison left his spring wagon -- we went over there in the spring wagon -- he left it up there at the pike. House set right down in the hollow. We walked down the hill. Had to go right down the hill to the house. Oh, I heerd dogs down there, had two bulldogs'd eat you up. He had 'em tied around on the backside the house. Kep 'em there. If they'd a got loose they'd cut your throat. They just cracked their teeth around there, barkin' at us, but they couldn't git loose. George Herr'n's my uncle, Pap's half brother. The daddy was the daddy of both of 'em, but wasn't the same mammy. Just him and his wife was there. His wife's a purty woman. He married a Stainee. She had a red handkerchief tied around her head. Purty old woman. I's scared of him as a bear after I got there. Sam told me, says, "Now when he talks," says, "you don't be afeerd of him." Says, "That's the way he talks. Talks like he's gonna bite your head off." And Sam said, "Now you tell him who he is; now you tell him who's your daddy," said, "and he'll be friendly." And Sam was feerd of him hisself. Sam told him who I was. He shook hands with me. He's a great big man. He's big as -- I couldn't tell you. He weighed two or three hundred. See, he's my daddy's half brother, but I's feered of him. He knowed all 'em. He done seen all of 'em but me. He hadn't never seen me. He'd seen my other sisters, Jane and all of 'em. He'd done seen all of them. I called him Uncle George Herrn. Anyhow he told me to come on in the little room in there. He took me in the room and set down on the feather bed, great big feather bed. He set down on the side of it, and I set there, and Sam stayed in the other room and talked with his wife. He's a great big man, and he had on leather britches, and his stomach laid out here on his legs. First time ever I seen leather britches. He's big in the body as you and her both put together. Proud he was of those leather britches. Buttoned on each side. Two buttons on this side and two buttons underneath. I told him how the old man up here, woman been comin' callin' him out ever night and he'd been goin' away and I told him -- I went over there to stop this woman from comin' up there and call'n him out ever' night directly he'd come from work.
And he said, "Well, I'm gonna tell you." He says, "I can't git around now. I been sick now and I can't git around much." His feet was swelled. "I know Texy and Jane," he says, "but I never seen you." He said, "You come back in two weeks," he says, "I'll be better." Says, "I got to go out to the woods." He says, "There's a weed, some kinda weed," he says he's gonna git out the woods. Said, "I done quit layin' spells on people." He used to could lay spells on you, you know, or do anything you want. Says, "I jined the church." He says, "And you come back soon as I git better." He says, "I'll git out to the woods and git that weed." He said, "You take a piece of that weed and when he starts to leave, you lay a piece of that weed right at the gate." Says, "He'll git to that and he won't go no farther; he won't go. He'll turn around and come right back." He said to me -- I's scared of him -- "I jined the church." He said, "I jined the church." I said, "You did." "Yea." Said, "I quit all that foolishness." He said, "But she won't come there anymore. You go on back and make yourself at home. She ain't gonna come call him out anymore." He said it to me. Wouldn't let nobody hear him neither. We went back. He had the purtiest bed. Oh, it's fixed nice.
I let you know, after I went over there and come back, Lem'd done gone to bed when I got there that night. I'd stopped at the store and got some candy for the little girl -- I'd left her down here at Aunt Caroline -- and he wouldn't eat a piece of it. You couldn't pay him to eat a piece of that candy or nothin' I had. He's 'feerd I'd lay a spell on him. Uncle George Herrn would've, but I didn't have no way to go back up there where he lived. It's a long ways over there to Geroge Herrn's. But she never come there anymore after I went to George Herrn. I don't know what he done. But you see, he never got out to the woods to git that weed to send me, but Lem didn't go no more ever' night. He heerd about George Herrn.
He still went with her ever' Sunday. He left ever' Sunday and stay all day and go to see her. But she never come 'round there another night to call him out after I went to George Herrn. He went ever' Sunday 'til I got Sam Garrison to move me across the mountain. I left Lem's clothes hangin' up in there to a nail in the house, Sunday clothes and his ever'day ones. I never took none of his clothes over there with me, but I hadn't been over there at Pap's but a week 'fore he was over there. I told Al yesterday I believe there's a spell laid on me. It's the truth. I can't half see and looks like ever'thing upstairs that I go to, it's gone. I can't find it. I don't know what 'tis. Old-timey people used to could lay spells on you. I don't know how they done it. If you had a spell laid on you -- act like you's crazy or couldn't walk on one of your feet or sump'n git the matter with your hand. Old George Herr'n, he's dead, but his boy's a-livin'. I said I wanted to go to him and see. He can tell just as soon as he looks at you if there's a spell laid on you, and I believe somebody's mad 'cause I'm stayin' here and laid a spell on me. I don't know whether he can or not, but I'm gonna see if he can. He's kin to me. He's first cousin to me.
I don't know how it was to tell you. Hilma does ever'thing to keep all that trouble off of my mind.
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