The Mandie Collection (2 page)

Mrs. DeWeese shook her gray head. “No, not so long as that thar Zach Hughes is around.” She smiled a knowing grin.

Mandie fled through the door into the kitchen, not wanting to hear anymore, and, above all, not wanting to speak to any of these people. They were mostly her mother's kinfolk and friends. This
was her mother's part of the country. Her father had always told her his people lived a long way off, but he had never said where.

The big, round oak table was loaded with food the people had brought, but it held no enticement to her nervous stomach. The warmth from the wood cookstove felt good to her. The heat thawed her somewhat and she wanted to talk.

“Mama,” she began, unsure of herself, “where did my daddy come from?”

Etta Shaw stopped to look at her and she set down the plates from the cupboard. “What do you mean, where did he come from?”

“Well, you always said he was raised in a city somewhere—”

“That's right,” Etta interrupted. “He was book read. That's all'n you need to know. Now git all the knives and forks out, and the glasses. We'll be needin' all of 'em. And run git that first piece of ham hanging on the right side in the smokehouse.”

Mandie gave a sigh and obeyed. She longed for the day to end.

CHAPTER TWO

MANDIE LEAVES HOME

The full moon was coming up between the hills of Charley Gap as Mandie sat on the doorstep, wrapped in the quilt from her bed.

All the people had finally left and she, her mother, and Irene had gone to bed. She had listened, as she lay there on her cornshuck mattress, to be sure they were asleep, and then cuddling Snowball, her kitten, she had climbed down the ladder from the attic room where she slept with her sister. She couldn't go to sleep.

She was thinking of her past and wondering about her future without her father. She was remembering Preacher DeHart's words about God, “He will punish you!” What had she done wrong? Why was she being punished?

A soft whistle that sounded like a bird came from the nearby trees. She rose quickly as she saw Uncle Ned coming toward her, his soft moccasins soundless.

She ran to meet him, dragging the quilt and dropping Snowball. “Oh, Uncle Ned! I'm so glad you came!”

“I come find story why Jim Shaw go to happy hunting ground.” The old man put his arm around the child as they sat down on a nearby log.

“He had a bad cold, Uncle Ned, a real bad cold, and it just got worse.”

“Cold?” The old Indian did not understand.

“Yes. Mama said it was new—ah—new moanie. He—he told me—he told me he was going to Heaven—that he would wait for me there.” She broke into sobs.

“Don't make tears, Papoose. He wait. He always keeps promise.” Uncle Ned wiped her eyes with the comer of the quilt. “When he go?”

“Today is Sunday. It was day before yesterday, Friday. Oh, why did he leave me? Why couldn't I go with him?”

“You little papoose now. Must be big squaw first. Big God, He say when you come. We do what He say. Remember? Jim Shaw, he tell us about Big God. Cherokee believe him. Jim Shaw one of our people.”

She turned quickly to look at him. “My father, one of your people? But my father was a white man—red hair, blue eyes—and you are an Indian!”

“Yes. And his father look same. Your daddy never want tell you his Mama Indian squaw. Him one of our people. Him—”

Mandie interrupted excitedly, “My grandmother was an Indian? Are you really my Uncle Ned?”

“Jim Shaw—one brother. He never come see. Jim Shaw take me for brother.”

“Is my grandmother still living?”

“No, she go to happy hunting ground when Jim Shaw little brave.”

“What about my grandfather? Is he living?”

“I do not know. Jim Shaw never tell me when he come to see Cherokee.”

“My daddy used to come to see you? Where do you live, Uncle Ned?”

“Over the hills. That way.” He pointed toward one of the hills above the cabin. “Follow Nantahala River.”

“Could I come to see you sometime?”

“No, bear get Papoose. Wolf, panther wait for Papoose to come.”

“But they don't get you.”

“I shoot with arrow.” He patted the sling over his shoulder holding his huge witch hazel bow and his arrows with turkey feathers. “I kill.”

“I've never been anywhere except to school and to church. The schoolhouse is just down the road apiece, and we go in the wagon to church at Maple Springs. And all the Sunday school teacher ever says is ‘Honor thy mother and thy father,' and all that stuff. I never can remember the rest of it. Uncle Ned, do you think God really means for us to honor our mother?”

“Big Book say that?”

“Yes, that's what it says, the Bible.”

“Then you do what it say. Jim Shaw say, we don't do what Big Book say, we don't get see Big God.”

“But my mother—” she hesitated.

“I know. I see. I hear. She bad squaw.”

The girl smiled at his description. “Even if she is bad, do I still have to honor her?”

“Book say that?”

“The Bible doesn't say whether your mother has to be good or bad. It just says honor thy mother.”

“Then close ears, eyes. Honor mother.” Uncle Ned stood up. “Papoose go sleep now. I come again soon. Go now.”

Mandie scrambled to her feet and picked up Snowball, who was rubbing around her feet. She would go back to bed, but now she would have other things to think about. She was part Cherokee Indian! Why had her father never told her? If she could get enough courage, she would ask her mother about it.

Back in her bed, with Snowball curled up by her side, she finally fell asleep. Her mother woke her, yelling from downstairs. It was morning, but Mandie felt as though she had just closed her eyes.

“Git up, Amanda. Work to be done. Amanda, you hear me?”

“Yes, Mama.” She sat up. Irene was still asleep. She reached over and shook her sister. “Irene, Mama is up.”

“Leave me alone. I'm not ready to git up yet.” Irene pulled the cover over her head.

Mandie quickly dressed in the early morning chill, remembering cold mornings when she was small and her father had held her in his lap by the fireplace downstairs while he put on her shoes and stockings.

Then she remembered her conversation with Uncle Ned. Maybe she could catch her mother in the right mood if she hurried and she could ask some questions about what Uncle Ned had told her. But when she reached the last rung of the ladder, her mother was waiting for her with the milk bucket.

“Go milk Susie while I start breakfast. Git a move on,” Etta Shaw scolded.

Without a word, Mandie took the bucket, set Snowball down as she went outside and raced with the kitten to the barn. She didn't mind Susie at all. Susie was her friend. She always stood still and made mooing sounds while Mandie milked her, but when her mother tried it, Susie kicked up a fuss and would turn the bucket over if she got a chance. She would also use her tail to slap Etta Shaw in the face. Only Jim and Mandie were able to handle her and now that her father was gone, she could see the job falling entirely upon her.

“Good morning, Susie.” She rubbed the cow's head. “You gonna give me a good bucketful of milk this morning? If you don't, Mama will scold me and I want to get her in a good mood so I can find out some things.” She drew up the little three-legged stool. Susie looked back at her and began her mooing, and the bucket was soon full to the brim.

“Thank you, Susie. Now I'll let the bars down so you can get outside and get your breakfast. Please don't go too far away, because I know I'll have to come and get you tonight.” The cow moved out into the pasture. She set the milk bucket down and followed. It was such a beautiful spring morning. Her eyes roamed over the fields, seeing her father as she remembered him and she fell to her knees on the soft, green grass.

“Dear God, please take good care of my daddy,” she implored. “And, dear God, I still love you even if you don't love me anymore.”

She hurried back to the house, certain that her mother would be pleased to see so much milk, but she only took the bucket and set it on the sideboard.

“Git a move on, Amanda. School today, as usual.” Going to the ladder, she called, “Irene, git up. Breakfast is ready. School today.”

Mandie sat down to her grits and biscuits with honey without another word. She kept staring at her father's empty place at the table. She could see it was no time to talk to her mother.

Irene joined her and then they prepared their lunch in baskets their father had bought from Uncle Ned. They put in sausage and biscuits, and buttermilk in tightly closed jars which would be warm by the time recess came at school. They took their sunbonnets down from the pegs by the door, tied them on, and together they began their mile-long walk down the road to the one-room schoolhouse. Even Irene was glad to get away from her mother to enjoy the company of her classmates.

There were only sixteen pupils in the school and one teacher, Mr. Tallant. They were divided into four groups of four, one group in each corner of the big schoolroom. Mr. Tallant would go from group to group giving assignments, listening to reading and recitation of arithmetic. He was not a strict schoolmaster and as long as a student made good grades he pretended not to notice the passing of notes during the time they were reading to themselves.

Mandie frequently received notes written in poetry from Joe Woodard, whose father was the only doctor in the vicinity. Joe had been her best friend from the day she had begun school, young, shy, and bewildered. Joe was two years older, an experienced hand in the schoolroom, and he immediately took Mandie under his protection. Irene was jealous and made life miserable for the boy.

Joe passed a folded note to Mandie with the explanation that he had had to return home with his mother after her father's funeral
because his father, the doctor, had to make some urgent sick calls. Even though he lived a good two miles from the Shaws, he showed up there quite often. Etta Shaw tried her best to get him interested in Irene, but Joe had eyes only for Mandie. His note told her that he had permission to walk home with her, and his father would pick him up on his way home.

The two strolled along the road, ignoring Irene who tagged by the side. Joe carried Mandie's books and she tried to listen to his attempt to cheer her up, but her thoughts kept reverting to the fact that her father would not be home when she got there. Her father usually finished the many chores around the farm by the time school was over each day and almost always lately he would be splitting logs at the chopping block for the fence he planned to put around the property. She knew this would take quite a while because the farm had one hundred and twenty acres. The pile had steadily grown and he had begun hauling the rails around the boundary line a few days before he became ill.

“I'm sure glad to feel the weather getting warmer,” Joe remarked, throwing back his thin shoulders and taking a deep breath. “When hot weather comes I always feel better, for some reason.”

“I never thought about it,” Mandie remarked. “Yeh, I suppose I like hot weather better, too, even though there are spiders and bugs and snakes crawling around.”

“I ain't afraid of them things. I'm bigger than they are,” Irene put in.

“You might be bigger, but you'd still better not fool around with snakes,” Joe told her.

“That's why Daddy planted the gourds, to keep the snakes away from the house,” Mandie added.

“Yeh, I know,” Joe said. “Here comes Snowball. It's a miracle to me how that kitten knows when you're coming home.”

“He's smart. He always knows.” Mandie stopped to pick up the kitten. “He knows when it's time to go to bed, too. He waits for me at the ladder every night.”

As they walked into the yard, Etta Shaw saw them coming and was waiting to give out the chores.

“Change your dress, Mandie. The yard needs sweeping after all that mob of wagons and people here yesterday,” and turning to Irene, she said, “You can churn the milk, Irene.”

Mandie hurried upstairs and changed into her old faded dress and came back down to find Joe waiting with the broom in his hand.

“I'll help,” he told her. “You pick up the trash, papers, and things around and I'll do the sweeping. We'll get it done in no time.”

“Thanks, Joe,” Mandie said.

The rough handmade broom always made blisters on her hands and then when she had to wash dishes her hands would feel like they were on fire.

She ran about collecting papers, moving rocks out of the way that had been used to prop wagon wheels. Joe swept furiously and they were soon finished.

Etta Shaw came to the front door with the water bucket. She took the gourd dipper out of the pail and handed it to Mandie. “Fetch me some water. And then take this bucket of slop down to the hog walla.” She indicated another bucket sitting in the doorway.

So, between Mandie and Joe they brought the water from the spring and then went to feed the pigs. By that time, Dr. Woodard was pulling up in his buggy.

“And how are you today, Mandie?” the doctor greeted the girl. “Fine, Dr. Woodard.” She smiled shyly at the old man.

“Come in, Dr. Woodard,” Etta yelled from the doorway. “You younguns come in, too. We'll have a piece of that pound cake Mrs. Shope brought yesterday.”

“I only want a glass of sweetmilk,” Mandie told her. She didn't want anything that would remind her of yesterday.

“Well, Etta, what are you going to do now?” Dr. Woodard asked, as they all sat at the round table in the kitchen.

“Marry the first man that'll have me, Doc. That's the only thing I can do. I'm poor as Job's turkey, you know.” She smiled as she tossed her head.

Mandie's heart thumped loudly.
Marry—another man—soon as my father is gone
, she was thinking.