Chapter Three

                          Chapter Three

When my daddy and Myrtle Kirk married it was such a sad day for me. Myrtle was just fifteen-years old.  It was going to be hard, having a step-mother who had gone to school with my sister.

They took their vows in a one room house which wasn’t far from where John and Eula lived. The room was long and narrow. At one end stood the traveling preacher, daddy and Myrtle; the few, curious neighbors who attended gathered at the other end.  

Earl and Nellie Roberts, who owned the house, stood with their chests sticking out like two tom turkeys on Thanksgiving eve. I sat on a trunk next to daddy and Myrtle.

Just as she said, “I do,” I kicked her in the behind.  Her head jerked, and then she turned toward me. The room filled with silence as everyone held their breath, I watched Myrtle’s eyes widen as her anger flashed. Her mouth was in a firm line below nostrils which flared from her hot breaths. Then her eyes became tiny slits. She stared at me until the ole preacher began noisily to clear his throat. Forcing a smile, she turned, facing the man in black and said again, “I do.”

I knew if it wasn’t her wedding day, I’d really get it!  I sat there holding my legs close to my chest, feeling very safe and laughed.

Later as I rode in the wagon between John and Eula on the way back to our house, John told me that kicking Myrtle was a very un-lady-like gesture. I knew I had upset John and Eula and felt ashamed. However, in the still closet of my mind the image of my foot against Myrtle’s behind gave me a secret chuckle.

A few days after the wedding, I sat between John and Eula on the front porch swing and heard the despairing news … Daddy was coming to get me. I had to live with him and Myrtle.

The news broke my heart, Eula began to weep softly as I told John, “I’ll get on the train and sing our song to the conductor and he’ll let me ride and I’ll come back.”

“Now that your pa has taken a wife, your place is with him, but you’ll always be in our hearts,” John quietly said. Lifting me up onto his lap, I wrapped my arms around his burley neck. He held me close, softly humming our song, until I fell fast asleep.

When I went to live with daddy, my life went from happiness to pain, sorrow and unhappiness. It was almost more than a four year old should have to bear.

The only good thing about living with Daddy and Myrtle was now I could see Sissy all the time. For once I was in a true family, if you could call it that.

                                    *

We lived in a house with Granny and Grandpa Kirk.  Everyone called Granny “Gooby.” She was the meanest person I had ever met. Mean and evil! I thought for sure she was the devil, the traveling preacher-man talked about when he came to town.

She was a little, dried up woman with thin straggly hair drawn up in a knot on the top of her head. If she wasn’t barefoot, she had on a pair of men’s work shoes. She was dirty, her finger-nails and toe-nails crusty, most of all - she smelled terrible.

She dipped snuff and was oblivious to the brown dribble which ran down the corners of her mouth. Her teeth were stained a deep tobacco brown. Her  mouth was usually in a hard tight line. When she spoke it was always in a mean hateful tone, and if she cussed … well, let me tell you, she could out cuss any man in Arkansas!

Grandpa Kirk was just the opposite. He was sweet and gentle. He was a large man, with huge ears and nose. He was also blind in one eye. I remember asking him why he had only one eye, and he said, “Was skinning a squirrel one day and the dern knife slipped out of my hand and poked me in the eye.”

Having one eye didn’t bother him though, not at all. He could do anything a man could with two eyes.

I would sit quietly for hours and watch him make chairs from hickory. He didn’t have modern tools, just an old whittling knife. He would cut the pieces for the chairs from green wood, carefully shaping them into whatever kind of chair he was making.

He’d then cut the bark into thin strips and weave the bottom of the chairs into a basket-like design. He never used nails to hold the chair parts together, instead took strips of bark and wrapped them around the joints. Once they dried, they were tight and held the chair securely.

                                 *

Our house had just two rooms with a front porch. There was a loft over the kitchen where Sissy and I slept most of the time. Our bed was two toe-sacks filled with leaves or corn-shucks on the hard floor. We didn’t have any sheets or blankets, just home-made quilts Gooby and Myrtle had stitched.

One room had three beds in it.  In the middle of the room was a stove made from a 55-gallon drum that we used to heat the house. The walls were so thin; I don’t see how we kept warm at all. Many times, we’d have to stand or sit as close to the ‘stove’ as we could to escape the chill that came in from outside.

The walls were papered with newspaper that had long ago turned yellow with age. Sissy and I would often make a game out of seeing who could find the most words alike on the frayed newspaper.

Our toys were few and home-made. I still had my prized peanut doll from Kansa City and a doll Eula had made for me from a dried apple and a scrap of pretty blue material. A dried-apple doll is truly unique. If there are ten of them in a row, no two will be alike.

Sissy and I didn’t need fancy things to have a good time, just being together was fun. There were times; I have to admit when I let my mind wander and my heart longed for a better life. Gooby always managed however, to shake me back to reality with her loud screeching.

to be continued ....