Down the
road a piece lived Mr. Eaton, who ran a goat dairy. Every day the goats were driven to pasture
past our home. One brown and tan goat
named Topsy, was special to me. I would
wait patiently beside the road, a little bucket in my hand. Seeing me waiting so, always brought a smile
to Mr. Eaton’s weathered face. Without
my asking, he would sit down on a large rock and quickly draw the milk from
Topsy’s udder, filling my little bucket.
I was two,
maybe two and a half then. I didn’t mind
Topsy’s milk being warm; I loved the rich bubbly nectar. Mr. Eaton would tease me about having a milk
lip, as with my tongue, I made sure I removed the smallest drop letting none go
to waste.
*
Behind our
home and down a steep hill was a spring.
This was where we got our water for cooking, drinking and even taking
our weekly bath. The spring was fenced,
not to keep livestock in, as we had free range, but to keep the livestock out.
One day,
after a big rain, I went to the spring. The path was soft with mud and I
slipped and slid most of the way down the hill on my behind. I didn’t mind the mud, not-at-all. When I got to the spring, I couldn’t believe my
eyes. In the clear water were two of the
biggest fish I had ever seen. I raced back to the house as quickly as my legs
would carry me.
“Selma,
Selma come quick! We got whales in the spring.”
I yelled. Selma was standing in
the doorway when breathlessly I reached the porch.
She stood
wiping her hands on her apron, a grin on her face as she calmly stated, “Ain’t
no whales in Arkansas, just minnows and catfish.”
“But, but …”
I started.
“No whales,
that’s crazy talk,” she said as she returned to the kitchen.
I raced back
to the spring. The rest of the
afternoon, I tried to catch one of the fish, but couldn’t. With a sad heart I finally went home. The next day however, my enthusiasm renewed,
I hurried to the spring. Much to my
dismay … the fish were gone.
*
During the
time I lived with the Lawson’s, I took my first train ride. We had to move out
of our house for a few months and journeyed to Kansas City, Missouri. It was a long, but exciting ride. We rode in the caboose. Glen sat rigid on a hard bench-like seat
facing Selma and me. As the train lumbered
along, the whine of metal-against-metal seemed to be coming from under our
feet.
Pressing my
face against the window, I strained to watch the passing trees and fields. Several times, I had to use the bottom of my
skirt to wipe the pane, as it would get foggy and mist over.
I couldn’t understand
why the glass stayed clean when I sat perfectly still in my seat, yet messed up
when I tried to look outside. I would
sit quietly, staring straight ahead, and then turn quickly pressing my face
against the window. A fleeting look and
then, I’d have to wipe again.
Naturally, I
became upset and began to pout. Selma
asked me what was wrong and I explained to her about the ‘mean ole window.’ She threw back her head and laughed and
laughed.
“Hold your
breath when you look out, Edith,” she said.
I tried, and sure enough it worked.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold my breath for very long and the window
would again frost over.
I soon tired
of trying to watch the scenery and hearing my tummy make little noises, settled
back against the seat. My mouth watered
when I saw the goodies Selma had packed for our trip. We had home-made bread and butter sandwiches,
hard boiled eggs, and cold pieces of fried rabbit.
When we arrived
in Kansas City, we moved temporarily into a second-floor apartment. I didn’t like the new living arrangements.
I missed the
cool water of our spring on my bare feet, the shade of the gnarled oak and spreading
elm trees. I missed Arkansas.
Every day I
watched out the window; which overlooked the street below, careful not to get
too close. It was from this vantage
point I saw my first fire engine. There
must have been a lot of fires in Kansas City, because fire engines would go up and
down the street many times every day.
People would
come out of the stores and other apartments and run along behind, shouting and
waving their arms in the air. It seemed
terribly strange to me, people running to a fire, instead of from one.
I also saw
fine ladies in the prettiest dresses I’d ever seen. My favorites were the ones that had fringe
trim which moved back and forth, and up and down as the ladies walked. I sometimes tried to make my dress move like
that, but it wouldn’t.
The ladies’
hair was cut short in the back and worn straight with maybe a single curl
pressed flat against their forehead. Prettier than any catalog picture, I
thought.
I told Selma
I wanted a hair cut like the ladies. She
promised the very next time she trimmed my hair, she would cut it in that
fashion, and she did.
I remember
standing on a kitchen chair looking into a mirror at myself. I would take a small piece of my bangs, wet
it with spit, twist and make a curl. I’m
sure it wasn’t as grand as the ladies on the street, but I felt so grown-up, so
pretty.
Once during
our stay in Kansas City, we went to a movie house. As we started inside, the man who took our
money gave me a little celluloid doll.
It was so tiny it fit into a box the size and shape of a peanut
shell. I didn’t watch the movie; I was
too busy playing with my new doll. When we moved back to our old home in
Arkansas, I carried my peanut doll in the pocket of my pinafore.
Upon our
return to the land of dreams, Glen and Selma received the sad news my adoption
didn’t go through.
I was taken
to Best, Arkansas, and moved in with John and Eula Lawson. They had the same
last name, but weren’t related to Glen and Selma. As much as I hated leaving the Lawson’s, it
didn’t take me long before I loved John and Eula more than anything. They were so very good to me.
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