pain

Andrew and Molly Part 31

Molly’s rage deflated at Aggie’s outburst. Though Aggie had often been sharp-spoken and critical on her arrival, she’d mellowed and become like a mother, especially after Andrew was taken. The relationship changed further after Molly married Wharton and the children started coming. Aggie was simply “Granny” to them, a different status for both of them. Molly couldn’t deny her pride in coming up in the world. Aggie stood her ground but there were some who called Molly uppity and thought she ought to get off her high horse, especially those who had come over on the boat with her and were still struggling under indenture. In truth, Molly was acutely aware that Andrew’s position was lower than Wharton’s had been.

Meanwhile, Andrew recalled his devastation upon his return at finding Molly had been wed and widowed. She’d borne his son and given him another man’s name. He’d spent years suffering humiliation and pain watching for his chance to escape not knowing his old life was already lost to him. He couldn’t deny he’d taken comfort in Sarah, but that fact only complicated his ambiguous situation. Upon seeing the baby at birth, he couldn’t deny it. It was fully white, his child. He couldn’t leave it behind, even knowing it would be unwelcome. He knew he had no right to be angry at Molly but the change in their class angered and shamed him. Legally, he was her bondsman and she’d not yet offered him release nor welcomed him back in her life.

The two stared at each other across the table. The truth of the situation couldn’t be denied. Besides the history between them, they needed each other. Molly’s farm cried out for a man of Andrew’s talents. They shared a son, though he bore another man’s name. Molly had two girls and Andrew had a baby who needed raising.

”What are we to do?” cried Molly.

Aggie was gratified when Andrew wasn’t at her house for breakfast.

Andrew and Molly Part 26

Rosemarie tiptoed in at dawn bringing the women boiled eggs, corn porridge and tea. She found them nodding at Bartles’s bedside. His noisy breathing had stopped. He was dead. Rosemarie sat her basket on the table, gently touched Molly’s shoulder, and tiptoed out.

Molly took Aggie’s hand, waking her to her loss. “He’s gone to God.”

Aggie sighed stoically. “What will I do without him?”

Molly returned. “What will we do without him? He knows everything about our places.”

As the women prepared the body for burial, they heard hammering as the men built a coffin. Soon the minister arrived to offer comfort and prepare for the funeral. The neighbors brought a funeral meal that included stewed squirrel, baked chicken, ham and roast beef. The table groaned under baked yams, beans, potatoes, squash, and tomatoes. Pies and cakes were too numerous to count.

Will and Aggie Bartles were good neighbors, held in high regard. There was not a family who was not a beneficiary of their kindness. Women bustled about the kitchen tending the table and tidying up. Men spoke in hushed tones, doing whatever chores they could, including chopping wood, harness repair, and replacing shingles.

The service was simple, scripture and a eulogy. The mourners ringed around the grave on the Bartles small acreage in view of the back door of the small, neat cabin. Aggie stood stoic and unweeping as they lowered the body into the grave.

Andrew and Molly Part 2

img_1702img_1704After filling their starving bellies with greasy stew and quarts of ale, Andrew and Molly  signed away their next four years, too sated to consider the uncertainty of the life facing them.  In fact, they were signing away the certainty of poverty, degradation, and possible imprisonment had they remained.  

In that time, people could not expect to rise above their station.  Having lost the position as farm servants to which they were born, it was unlikely they’d ever find anything more than seasonal farm employment, working mostly at planting or harvest when the workload was heavy.  Starvation would likely have been their eventual lot.  Should they stay in the city, it’s unlikely they’d find work.  Many in their situation drifted into prostitution and crime.  It is likely Molly would have dried of disease, drink, or victimization on the streets and Andrew would have ended up on the gallows or bound over as an involuntary indentured servant.   Their best chance for a better life lay with the choice they’d made.

Once they’d signed, the agent wasted no time escorting  them on board the Elizabeth Ann.  She looked imposing from without, but her charm faded as Mr. Peabody led them deep into the bowels of the ship.  Their quarters in the lowest level were dark, wet, and malodorous.  There was no provision for privacy.  They’d be relieving themselves in the communal slop jar, which would ostensibly be dumped periodically, unless it tipped over first.  

Hammocks served for sleeping.  There were no other furnishings.  Restricted below deck until after sailing to avoid defection, they got a measure of beer and weevilly biscuits three times a day.  The smell was horrendous.  After their first exhausted sleep, they awoke to find themselves a part of a growing crowd of voluntary and involuntary holdmates ranging from bonded servants like themselves to young children scooped up off the street all the way to prostitutes and hardened criminals who’d barely escaped the gallows.  The strong preyed on the weak.  Their miserable sleep was interrupted by vomiting, moaning, and the occasional fight.  Periodically, the door above opened and another unfortunate joined their miserable lot.

In truth, indentured servants were enslaved for the period of their indenture, usually four to seven years, children till the age of twenty-one.  Their bondage could be sold without their consent.  Marriage required the master’s consent.  Should women become pregnant, their period of servitude could be extended due to decreased productivity during the pregnancy.  Children of unwed mothers were born free, but subject to being placed in the care of the church.  Unlike slaves, the indentured could appeal to the courts to contest mistreatment and did receive twenty-five to fifty acres of land, some tools, seed, and clothing upon completing their service.  Like slaves, they were most often ill-treated.  Having come to the colony in this way was no impediment to their future.  

Many bonded servants prospered and got a good start to a free life.  It definitely could be a road to a better life.

Remembering the Care: A Nurse’s Reflection

Dear Patient,

You probably don’t remember me,but I was your nurse.  I took care of you when you had your baby, took care of your sick child, comforted you when you were in pain.  I worked extra shifts on holidays and weekends because you needed me.  I rejoiced when you got better.  Cried with you when you needed a friend and tried to help you find the answers.  I visited with yoy when no visitors came. I sang and talked to you when you seemed unresponsive because I knew you were in there.  I brought Easter baskets for your children so they wouldn’t be disappointed when they came to see you on Easter.  I hugged you and your family. I inderstood and didn’t get mad when you were angry or mean when you were in pain. I talked to you about things outside the hospital to give you something else to think about, trying to bring you a story that would interest you everyday, unless you just needed me to be quiet with you.  I was there for your miracle and to hold your hand when you died talking to Mama.  I never corrected you, knowing it was her hand you were holding. I talked about death with you if you wanted to.

Nursing was my job, but taking care of you was my privilege.  Thank you for letting me be a part of your life.

Surgery

Since I am way past being a kid, I have a boring list of surgeries but there is a surgery that immediately made me feel better. I had varicose vein repair surgery three times. After years of being a nurse, I had ugly, bulging varicose veins. The pain was a much bigger concern than cosmetic concerns. I had constant burning pain. After many years of varicosities, I developed restless leg syndrome. Varicose vein surgery relieved the acute vein pain immediately, but not the restless legs. I treat that very successfully with ropinerole. Thank goodness, that helped. I suggest people wear compression stockings for their leg health and seek early intervention. Take care of your legs.

Charley’s Tale Chapter One

Ellen Pendergrass led a charmed life till the day her daughter, Charlotte, was born in 1938. At Ellen’s birth, her parents celebrated the long hoped-for arrival of a perfect daughter born ten years after the last of their six sons. Ellen was all any parent could have imagined, dainty, feminine, and delightful. She was all the more welcome, since her mother had despaired of ever having a daughter. Both parents doted on her and were well-able to indulge her since her father was from a long line of bankers.
A high-minded young woman, well-aware of her importance, Ellen studied music and art at a notable Southern Women’s College, though she’d never need to earn her own way. No one was surprised when she accepted the proposal of a wealthy plantation owner’s son. It was the wedding of the decade. The father of the bride built the young couple a Victorian mansion in the finest part of town and Ellen’s husband, a doctor, spent his time between his practice and his father’s plantation. His practice grew so quickly, he had to hire a farm manager when he inherited upon his father’s death. Ellen, like her mother before her, gave birth to boys, though she yearned for a daughter to follow her in society.
At thirty-nine, Ellen feared she was entering menopause, when to her great joy, she realized she was pregnant. Surely, she’d have a daughter this time. Her husband attended the home birth, of course. Ellen was relieved to hear a healthy squall at delivery, but Charles didn’t meet her eyes as he handed the swaddled infant to Cora, the maid. “It looks like a healthy girl.” In minutes, Cora diapered and swaddled the babe and passed her to Ellen to nurse.
Ellen counted all the little fingers and toes as she admired her little one. “I do believe this is the prettiest one yet.”
Charles answered, “You always say that,” then whisked the infant away immediately instead of leaving her with her mother, as he had at all the other births. “Get some rest.”
Ellen was glad to rest, but was a little concerned that Charles had taken the baby.
“Cora, was everything alright with the baby?” she quizzed Cora.
“That baby looked plenty healthy to me,” Cora turned her back as she tidied things up. “Shore had a fine set of lungs on her. You ain’t as young as you was. Git you some rest while you can.”
Miffed at the reference to her age, Ellen snapped at Cora. “I am plenty young enough to tend my baby, thank you. I have the finest skin of any of my friends.”
“Yes’m,” Cora answered.

To be continued

My Favorite Joke

The crowds had been packing the traveling “tent revival” every night that week, grateful offerings filling the pockets of the evangelist. Cure after cure was enacted in the sweltering heat of those July evenings. Emotions were at an all time high on the last night as the last two afflicted souls reached the evangelist at the front of the tent..

Struggling up the steps on her crutches poor Mrs. Smith hobbled up to the evangelist. “Heal me! I haven’t been able to walk without crutches in twenty years.”

“Yes, Sister! You will be healed! Go behind the screen and wait with the others sinners. I’ll get to you all at one time.

Johnny Jones was the last in line. “I have a lifth. It hath made my life awful. Pleath heal me of my lifth!”

“Yes, Brother!  You will be healed!  Go behind the curtain with all the others and you will all be healed at once.”

The evangelist offered up a long, heartfelt prayer for healing.  Weeping could be heard all over the tent.  Finally, he concluded, calling out dramatically.  “Mrs. Smith, you haven’t been able to walk without crutches for twenty years, have you?”to

“No, Lord!” she replied from behind the curtain.

“You are healed! Throw your right crutch over the curtain.” Her right crutch clattered over the curtain. “Now throw your left crutch over the curtain.” The left crutch followed.

Thunderous “Amens!” echoed all over the tent.

“Johnny Jones, you are healed of your lisp.  Call out to us in a loud, clear voice so all can hear!” demanded the evangelist!

“Mithuth Thmith just fell on her ath!”

I Might Not Be Right but….

Growing up on a farm in the sixties had its bright spots.  Farm life was long on work, but we were at liberty to swim and fish in the pond and ride horses when we weren’t working. My brother and I counted on riding late Saturday afternoons and every Sunday after church with friends, then maybe swimming later in the day in the summer.  It was the high point of our week.  Winter wasn’t so bad because there wasn’t so much work and there were school and friendships to look forward to.  That tells you a lot about how much social life we had, doesn’t it?

When I was a young child, I adored Daddy who was very indulgent and loving, but as I aged out as a small child and became a girl, I felt he withdrew his love.  This was extremely cruel and painful.  I felt as though my heart had been amputated.

Daddy was fiercely stern, certainly not worried about being a friend to his children.  He was proud of taking a stand, always being right.  More than once, I remember him him saying, “I may not be right, but I am never wrong,”  feeling it was a weakness to back down.

By the time I was a teenager on the farm, the work on the farm was unrelenting, particularly during the summer months. My brother and I spent hours every day at tasks Daddy had assigned us and with him when he was home, an altogether miserable experience. Through the misery of the long week, we looked forward to our Saturday and Sunday afternoons off.  I even looked forward to church, remarkable for me, since I’d never cared for the monotony of church, but it was a rare chance to see friends over the summer. Our only socialization was family activities.

One Sunday I was impatiently helping Mother cooking Sunday dinner after church, just like always I had to, wild to be cut loose to go riding, when I saw Daddy open the pasture gate for the neighbor girl, Kim on her horse and her friend Susie on “my horse, Pixie ” while I was still stuck in the kitchen, like a mindless drudge. No one had even had the consideration to mention the plan to me, though all three knew I rode every Sunday. I was livid.  I went straight to Daddy and asked if it was true, “Did you really loan my horse without saying anything to me?”  It’s a wonder he didn’t knock my teeth out!

“I did.  I bought that horse.  I pay for every bite that goes in its mouth and yours.  That horse and everything on this place belongs to me.”

I turned and went back in the house, more determined than ever, that no one would ever own me.

Later that evening, I had the shock of my life.  My father came as close to apologizing as he ever did.  He said.  “I should have asked you if you were going to ride before I loaned that horse.”  I cried as I wrote this.  Maybe he was softer than I thought.  I wish I could talk this over with him today.  I know I have hurt my kids without meaning to.

“He did.”

“

You Never Know

Battered shoes

Many years ago, I was on an hospital elevator with a minister I knew.  A somber man got on with us.  He looked straight ahead, deep in thought. Attempting to make conversation, the minister said, “Smile, it can’t be that bad.”

The man’s expression never changed.  In a low voice he remarked, “My son just died.”

The minister and I were both shocked.  As he stammered an apology, all three of us burst in to tears.  We hugged the man, offered shocked condolences, and offered to make phone calls for him.  The minister got off and went with him.

I’ve never forgotten, and suspect neither of them has either.  You just never know what a person is dealing with.