I had been waiting all summer for Miss Laura Mae’s dewberries to ripen.  For weeks we had strolled down to check the progress of the berry patch right behind her barn.  She said berries loved manure.  It’s hard to imagine how anything loving something so stinky, but I couldn’t wait till they turned black.  While I was sneaking a couple to sample, her old dog sauntered up and lifted his leg on the bushes, convincing me of the value of soap and water.  I hoped they loved pee, too, ‘cause they’d just gotten a healthy dose.

Finally, one morning, she spread me two hot biscuits with fresh dewberry jam.  “I kept these biscuits hot just for you.  I wanted them to be just right for this jam.”  I don’t know that I’ve ever had anything better than those hot biscuits and that heavenly dewberry jam so sweet and tangy it almost made my jaws ache. 

“Oh, this is so good.”  I licked the jam that spilled to my fingers.

“It’s my favorite.  I’ll give you a jar to take home with you,” she promised.  “Don’t let me forget!”

“I won’t let you forget!  And no one else can have any of my special jam,” I blurted out in my greed.

“Well, maybe I better give you two jars so everybody gits a taste.” I could tell she was trying not to laugh.

 That seemed like a tragic waste of jam, but answered.  “Yes, ma’am.”  In my gluttonous imagination, I’d envisioned myself sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, eating jam with a spoon straight from the jar.  Mother must have read my mind, because those jars found their way to the top shelf of the cabinet with the honey, coconut flakes, and brown sugar as soon as we got home.  I’d learned from sad experience, stuff on the top shelf was emphatically off-limits.  Not two weeks ago, I’d nearly broken my molars chomping down on white rice straight from the package, thinking I’d found coconut somehow left in reach.  When I was settled safely on the back steps with my messy snack, the conversation began.

“Well, how was your trip to Myrtle’s?” Mother began.  “I sure missed having coffee with you in the mornings.”

“Ooh, I did too!  It was fine, but I sure was glad to get home.  Myrtle’s a good woman, but she’s got kind’a snooty since she married Joe Jackson an’ he’s got a little somethin’.  Well, I guess she always was a touch snooty.  Mama always said her mama had her nose in the air.  I guess Myrtle got it from her.  She sure didn’t get it from me.  Anyhow, me an’ Myrtle didn’ coffee in the kitchen even one time.  Wednesday, while Myrtle was a’gittin’ her hair done, I slipped out an’ helped Thelma, the woman that comes in to help a couple of days a week. I got to know her last time I was there.   I cleaned the refrigerator an’ stove while Thelma was a’ironin’ so we had a fine visit.   Then I made sure the back door was locked and me an’ Thelma sat a few minutes an’ had coffee.  I probably wouldn’a had to lock the door with that yappy little dog o’ Myrtle’s, but I sure didn’ want Thelma to git caught a’settin an’ a’gittin’ in trouble on my account.   I’d brung her a pound cake from home ‘cause I remembered how much she loved the one I’d brought Myrtle the last time.  They are so much richer made with yard eggs and homemade butter.  Yeah, I always thought a lot o’ Thelma.  We had a fine visit.”

 

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I am the product of a mixed marriage. Mother embraced Christmas with all the enthusiasm of a four-year-old while Daddy had to be pulled, kicking and fighting into the season, dreading the ruckus and expense. Mother felt the Christmas tree had to be up no later than December 18, to get maximum joy from it. Daddy dawdled around as long as possible, insisting December 22 was the earliest it could go up. He always put it off until Mother was about to blow a gasket.

Finally, he’d hook the trailer to his old tractor, fetch his power saw and call us to all pile on for the search. We’d bump over rutted farm trails, hanging on for dear life. Mother and Phyllis would be clinging to the little ones while Mother yelled for Daddy to take it slow. Daddy had plenty of kids and assured Mother we were having a great time as we clutched the rails. Most of the time we were. Before long, we’d be combing through several groves while Daddy rejected tree after tree. Finally, he’d steer us toward the one he’d earmarked weeks or months earlier.

The roar of his power saw signaled the fall of the tree. Sometimes, Mother wouldn’t be quite satisfied and would bring home an extra, which she wired together with the first to make it fuller.

Eventually, the tree trimming was complete, every ball, string of tinsel, and special ornament in place. Mother garnished it with shimmering fiberglass angel hair. Every year when the lights came on, we oohed and ah’ed our gorgeous tree, assuring ourselves that this year’s was the most beautiful we’d ever had.

A gigantic red motorcycle claimed a place of prominence front of ol’ lady Duck’s house for a day or two, till it moved over to the long-abandoned shot-gun house next door.  Now I’d had my eye on that shotgun house and its environs since I’d it admired many times on the way to Miss Laura Mae’s house.  It had everything to recommend it.  Unpainted, its broken windows, door hanging by one hinge, a huge tree with a ragged tire swing in the front yard, a caved in storm-cellar in the side yard, and several plum trees called to me.  It everything a kid could dream off.  Best of all, there was a ramshackle car up on blocks. 

Mother never let me out of the yard.  Only her eagle eye and short leash had kept me away so far.  Mother constantly warned me of danger.  I could fall out of a tree and break my neck, drown if I played in the creek, burn up if I played in the fire.  So far, I had fallen out of trees many times, played in the creek as often as I could manage, and even been caught playing with matches.  None of these had killed me yet, though playing with matches did result in damage to my bottom when Mother caught me. 

My cousins hinted at ghosts and maybe a devil in the ruined storm cellar.  Always concerned about nightmares, Mother had assured me there was no such thing as ghosts, and the devil wasn’t interested in children.  Is it any wonder I was wild to explore, having always yearned to see a ghost or a devil? I probably would have been a lot better kid if she hadn’t disposed of the ghosts and devil so handily.

The motorcycle in front of the house was a good omen.  Maybe a family with children had moved in. I chattered about the motorcycle while Miss Laura Mae buttered my biscuit.  I was lucky enough she had already made a batch of mayhaw jelly this morning and she slathered the steaming stuff on my biscuit.  She hadn’t even had time to “jar” it yet.  “I need to tell me if this tastes good.  Don’t burn your tongue.  It’s still hot. ” she told me.  Boy, did it ever.  I closed my eyes as I carefully licked the cooking syrup from the sides of the biscuit.  It was tangy and sweet, almost making my teeth ache.

As happy as I was with my biscuit and jelly, the word motorcycle caught my attention.  “Did you see that motorcycle outside ol’lady Duck’s house?”  Miss Laura Mae asked. 

“I sure did.”  Mother said.  “I figured it must be her boy Rudy’s.”

“Nooooo!  It’s his wife’s.  He got him a mail order bride out o’ one a’them lonely hearts magazines.  She come down from Nebraska with a big ole young’un on back to marry him!”  Miss Laura didn’t bother to whisper.

“Really?”  asked Mother.  “How did you find out?”

“You know Gertha Nelson in my quiltin’ group?  Well, she’s his sister.  She told me.  She said ol’ lady Duck is furious.  She don’t want him marryin’ no motorcycle woman.  But she tol’ her mama, it ain’t like anybody around here is breakin’ down the door to marry Rudy.  Beggars cain’t be choosers.  Anyhow, he moved her an’ her boy into that ol’ shotgun house next door.  He aims to fix it up some.”

“I saw the motorcycle moved over there, and thought I saw some work going on,” Mother said.  “Well, maybe they’ll make a go of it.  Rudy’s always been a loner.”

“Not if his mama’s got anything to do with it.  He’s always lived at home an’ took care of her.  Anyway, listen to this.  That boy’s mama is callin’ that big ol’ boy o’hearn “Little Rudy” after Rudy.  That’s crazy.  You cain’t call a kid “Charley”  all his life, then up an’ change his name to “Little Rudy” after a man you just married.  She thinks it’ll make him and Rudy git along better.” Miss Laura Mae said.

 

About three weeks later, I was lucky enough to get an update.  “Well, the honeymoon’s over down at Rudy’s.  His wife done left in his truck. “ Miss Laura opened the conversation.

“Well, that didn’t last long.”  What happened?”  I was at least as curious as Mother.  Why would anybody take a truck if they had a motorcycle?

“Oh, they done had a big bust up.  Rudy come home one evenin’ with a big load o’watermelons an’ peaches he was gonna peddle the next day.  He had a taste for some ham an’ went out to his smokehouse an’ found one’a his hams whittled almost clean to the bone.  He was mad as hops.  He’d been piecing that ham along, just cuttin’ off a slice fer his breakfast oncet in a while.  When he found it sliced clean down to the bone, he went roaring in the house and lit into ‘em.  Turns out that boy had been workin’ on that ham off an’ on an’ had just about et it up.  Rudy took a whack at the boy with the bone an’ his wife wrestled it away from ‘im and whooped him good.  Her boy jumped in an’ they ‘bout beat Rudy half to death.  While Rudy was laying up, her an’ that boy took Rudy’s ol’ truck, peaches, watermelons an’ all.  They even took Rudy’s ol’ huntin’ dog and the last two hams. Now ain’t that pitiful?

One year, our neighbors, the Awfuls, made sure their parents had the most awful Christmas ever.  Their name was really Alston, but Awfuls suited them so much better. Like the rest of us, they couldn’t wait for Christmas.  As always, they starting finding their presents about a week before Christmas.  Every day one of them showed up with something new.  One day, Froggy had a brand new basketball.  The next day, Jamey had a new baseball and glove.  On Christmas Eve morning Davey  buzzed by on a beautiful new Spitfire Bike with a horn.  Boy did that make me mad!  I had asked my Mother for that very bike.  She said Santa didn’t have enough money to bring me a bike.  That didn’t make a bit of sense!  Why would money matter to Santa?  She stammered around a while and finally said parents had to help Santa with expensive things.  Huh, it didn’t look like Santa needed too much help at the Awfuls.

This year, Froggy’s mom made up her mind the kids wouldn’t find their gifts before Christmas.  For the first time they could remember, they learned about rules.  Mrs. Awful kept an eye on them every second they were in the house, only letting them play in the living room or their bedroom.  Well, they could go in Crazy Granny’s room, but she screeched every time she saw them, so no luck sneaking around in there: no chances to dig under their mom’s bed or prowl  through  cupboards and closets, no long afternoons in the attic.  She kept them outdoors until dark unless it was cold or raining.  It was nice seeing them suffer the way the rest of us did.  I heard she even made them do a few chores.

The week before Christmas, the Awfuls played with a collection of rag tag leftover toys just like the rest of us.  No one had had caps for cowboy pistols for months.  My old red wagon had a broken handle and couldn’t be pulled, only pushed.  I couldn’t sucker Billy into pushing me very long, so we had to take turns.  We had jumped on Phyllis’s pogo stick so much the stopper on the end was gone and it buried up in the dirt instead of bouncing.  Billy’s cars had most of the wheels off, so they weren’t good for much.  Even the Tinker Toys were worn out.  Daddy had backed over our big tricycle, so it was a goner.  Things were looking pretty bleak.  We all needed Christmas!!

The Awfuls were still empty-handed Christmas Eve when a miracle happened.  Becky was climbing the Christmas Tree after the cat for the hundredth time when the tree-stand broke, dumping Becky, cat, and tree all out in the floor.  Becky would have been fine if she had fallen on her head, but she fell face first and knocked out a tooth and bloodied her nose.  You never heard such caterwalling in your life.  By the time Mom and Pop Awful got in there, it was exciting.  The tree was spread across the room, the terrified cat was zipping around the room, and Becky was a squalling bloody mess.  Crazy Granny chimed in from her room, so it was quite a party.

Mom and Pop Awful grabbed Becky and left instructions for the kids to mind their grandparents while they took Becky to be repaired by the doctor.  This shouldn’t be too hard since Granny was wacko and Grandpa was deaf.  Grandpa went straight to sleep. This was just the chance they had been waiting for.  They searched the closet and dressers in Mom and Pop’s room first. Nothing there, so  they checked the attic.  It was spooky, but empty.  They checked all the kitchen and bathroom cupboards……nothing.  Finally, they thought to check Crazy Granny’s room.  Of course she shrieked, but Grandpa kept snoring.  Bonanza!!!!  Granny’s closet was full!   They pulled out bats and balls, puzzles, a tricycle for Becky, scooters, erector sets and more.  It was everything they’d asked for.  They started playing with their toys, and realized Mom and Pop might be home soon.  They were about to pack everything back up when Froggy had a wonderful idea.  “Let’s give Mom and Pop a big Christmas surprise!  Let’s hide all this stuff.”  They barely had time to hustle the packages to their room and slide them under their beds before Mom and Pop Awful and snaggle toothed Becky got back from the doctor.  Mom gave them all their supper and rushed them off to bed so Santa could come.  No boys had ever gone to bed more enthusiastically.

They tried to stay awake for the fun, but finally drifted off.  Awakening to Granny’s screech, they realized the search was on.  Sneaking to their bedroom door, they heard Mom Awful’s panicked whisper.  “They’re gone!!!  All the presents are gone!!!!  Someone must have stolen them.  What are we going to do???

Pop Awful was sure Mom had just made a mistake.  “They can’t be gone.  You just forgot where you hid them.  You were worried about the kids finding them again.  Let’s just think and keep looking.”  They looked everywhere….all the closets……under the beds……the attics.  Nothing! The Awfuls peeked from behind their door, stifling their laughter as they watched Mom and Pop tear the place up, looking for the missing presents.  Just then, they heard a fateful, “quack, quack, quack” as Becky’s little wind up duck marched  out of their room, straight up to Mom and Pop.  They ripped the door open saw the presents spilling out from under the bed, bicycles all over the room, and their Awful Christmas started.

It doesn’t seem fair to leave you hanging with John and Wanda’s story, but Mother didn’t learn any more for more than twenty years. It came by way of John’s second wife, Cathy, who had no particular reason to lie.

John never mentioned any of this. John got out of the army after the war but stayed in the Army Reserves for twenty-five years. He went to law school on the GI Bill, but decided to teach instead. He later became a principal and married a teacher. They both taught the children of migrant workers dividing their year between South Texas and California.

When they were teaching in California, a young man approached him, telling him he suspected John was his father. He was one of twins and had been born a Holdaway, but was told his father was killed in the war before his birth. His mother married an old boyfriend who had adopted the babies, raising them as his own.At the boy’s insistence, the two couples met. The sister had married young. John didn’t meet her.

It looked like the Wanda’s father engineered the whole train wreck story to break up the young marriage, if indeed there had ever been a marriage I couldn’t find a record of John’s and Wanda’s marriage. The young woman’s father was as long-dead, so both couples decided to let it all let it drop, not affecting their long marriages. Wondering if it could possibly be true, I searched and found the twins’ birth and marriage records for Wanda and her current husband. Indeed, there was a person by the right name, born in the right time period born to Wanda. She did have a marriage recorded shortly after the boy’s birth. Unfortunately, John and Cathy never had children.