Continued ...

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.