 
### LOG CABIN KING

A Story of Faith in the Appalachian Mountains

By Mary Rice Somerville

Smashwords Edition 1.0

Originally published by Penny Pincher Press (1986)

Copyright Mary Rice Somerville 1986, 2011  
ISBN 978-1-61061-478-8

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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# Chapter 1

I was out behind the house, trying to tack feed sacks up around my rabbit cages. That's how my Tim had always done when the November winds began to get serious. The buck's wild-brown coat was thick, but he had no nesting box and his cage was on the open side. I would give my three does their windbreaks just for good measure.

I was hunting around for the spilled tacks when I first saw the boy. Or maybe he was a man. Seeing someone up past my house was as rare as seeing a fur-lined frog. I'm at the head of the hollow, and no one comes by my place unless he is lost or hunting deer.

This fellow didn't look lost. He seemed to be inspecting. He was up in the property next to mine. He'd stand by the creek and look up the hillside; then he would sort of pace off a few yards, step back, size up the trees, pace to this side and that side and then back to the creek.

He was blonde and pink-cheeked and would make a big man when he filled out. He had on an army jacket of some sort. He would reach in his pocket and take out something once in a while—looked like a notebook.

I hope you won't think I was rude to stand there staring at him. Since Tim's been gone, I get so lonely up here that I stand and stare at anything moving-chipmunks, field mice, hawks, fishing worms and all.

I slipped in the back door and checked around the kitchen for bait. Yep, there were a few chocolate cookies left since shopping day and still a little breakfast coffee in the pot. "Better just warm it up a bit, in case," I said to myself as I shoved the old pot up close to the grate.

I went back to my rabbits and made as much noise as I could, finishing up Flopsey and starting in on Mopsey. Sure enough, he looked my way, then ducked his head and dove for that notebook again. "A shy one, huh? Good thing I don't have a shy bone in me." I put my tacks in my apron pocket, laid the hammer on the old peach tree stump, and wandered out that way.

"Good morning to you, young man," I blustered. "It's a real treat to have another person way up here. I'm warming my breakfast coffee. Maybe you'd be kind enough to visit me a few minutes when you've finished your business. I'd be happy to hear you talk."

He looked down at his shoes and shuffled his feet, but that old lady was still standing there, smiling, when he looked up. If he hadn't been so tongue-tied, I'm sure he would have thought up some excuse, but all he could say was "Yes, ma'am."

I turned toward the house to leave him to his business, but he followed me like a pup. "What a good catch...and this early in the day." I joked to myself. "Well, what is this boy doing up here, anyway? It really is my business to find out." I lied to myself.

He looked too well-mannered or too suspicious to want to come in, but I coaxed him along.

"I have some good hot coals in the grate and you can warm your hands while I get the cups." I talked about the dry spell and the forest fires while I got him a chair up close to the hearth. "Do you take cream?" Yes, he wanted some canned milk in his coffee. I brought the cookies and hoped they weren't too stale.

"You fixing to move in?" I laughed, praying for information.

"Yes'm."

"You are?"

"Hope so."

"Where?"

"Up there."

I might be old and slow, or else he was teasing me, or else...."You've got me buffaloed, boy. What do you aim to do?" (I noticed that he always used as few words as possible. I admired that.)

"My Dad owns that piece of property up there. He told me I could build on it."

"Is your Dad Old Man Harless from over in town?"

"Yes ma'am."

"It's been years since he's been over in these parts. How's he feeling?"

"He's fine."

"See that mine hole over yonder across the creek? Last time I saw him; he drove up here in a big truck and told the men he wouldn't need them anymore. That was the year Tim started in on rabbits. I'm still raising a few. They taste good if you never look them in the eyes while you're raising them."

"ls that all you had, ma'am?"

"Well, we got along better after he got his Social Security," I said. "We've got two acres here. You'll see how my Tim made every inch count. He was the first to try to raise grapes on the side of the hill around here. Well, goodness, you don't want to hear me rattle on. What's on your mind?"

"Did your husband build this house?"

"Yes. You might not like a log house, but every piece of it is dear to me."

"I want to build a log house."

"You do? Up there?"

"Yes."

"Well, son, you've picked the right time of year to begin."

"I have?"

"Sure. Get the logs down and curing while the weather is cold. But, I'll hush. No man wants to get house-building advice from a woman. But, well, if you'll pardon me for being so nosy, who is going to do the work for you?"

"I am."

"Alone?"

"As far as I know."

"Well, son...can't your Dad have it built for you?"

"I don't want his help. We don't get along very well since I got back from service. I'm needing something to do while I get my head straight."

"Oh...well...a log house will give you plenty to do, that's for sure." I peered at him over my glasses. His head didn't look crooked to me. '

"Do you know someone or some book that could tell me how to go at it? My Dad has had lots of logs cut, but he's never built with them."

"Son, you can get enough advice in one day to sink a battleship, and all of it will disagree. You can get books, and no two will say the same. Now, old Harley Edwards down the road here is retired and full of advice, but he's living in the log house he built forty years ago. If you like the house and want yours to turn out that way, he can sure tell you how to do it."

"That makes sense. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Why, no. I'll hunt for an ashtray."

As he lit his cigarette, he seemed to forget that I was a stranger. He shook his head and frowned. "I sure do hate these things. I can't quit them and I can't stand to ask my Dad to buy them."

I leaned back and laughed. "Bet you don't smoke as bad as I used to. Look at those two dents in my fingers still."

"I know I could stop if I used my willpower, but I'm still pretty nervous from being overseas."

"Well, when it comes to willpower, I'm always fresh out!"

"But you don't smoke?"

"Wasn't willpower, you can bet your booties. I had to find something with more spunk to it than that."

"Well, how did you quit?"

"It's a good story. If you ever ask me again, I'll know you are serious. Lots of people don't really want to know."

"Do you still crave them?"

"Can't stand them. They make me sick as a dog. Besides, I've got a lot of other things on my mind now."

He looked at me in wonder and then searched around in his pocket for his notebook and pencil. "What did you say that man's name is again?"

"Oh, old Harley? His last name is Edwards. He's the kind who knows everything. He'd love to visit with you."

"Next time," he figured, and with that my new young friend made for the door, muttered a thank-you for the coffee and took off.

# Chapter 2

I'm so used to the quiet up here that I nearly fell apart when I heard the knock on my door. My heart was pounding when I stuck my head out to see who could be coming to see me. My boy was standing there, embarrassed, tongue-tied, and scrubbing his feet on my old throw rug.

"Why, good morning, son. How's everything with you? How did you get here? I didn't see a car come up. Come on in and tell me what you are planning to do today. You can leave your stuff on the porch. No harm will come to it. Come on out in the kitchen and I'll fix you a cup of coffee. It's warm in there."

He obeyed without saying a word.

"You're mighty quiet for a young'un, but then, how can you talk when an old lady is running her mouth all the time?"

I fixed two cups and sat down to concentrate on listening.

"Well, I, uh, want to ask you to show me where Mr. Edwards lives. I've brought my axe—my Dad's axe, that is—and some lunch. Well, uh, Mrs...."

"You can just call me Sister Dicey. Everybody else does. Say, son, what is your name?"

"Ira." He was wrestling with a filmy cigarette paper, trying to roll up a wad of Prince Albert in it. His hands were big—not only heavy and squared like Tim's, but long-fingered, too.

"Well, Ira, finish your coffee and I'll go over there with you. Yes, sir, Harley will be glad to help you, but of course, you'll have to pay."

He looked up, startled. "Oh, will I? I don't have any money."

"Oh, I don't mean in money. But you will pay dearly for having to listen to him talk about mules and moonshine and horse-trading and all his hobo tales. It will be worth it. He'll really enjoy helping you."

Ira gulped down the last of his coffee, muttered thanks, and headed for the door. I put on the wool shirt Tim always wore in the woods and I drew a long happy sigh. How long had it been since I'd had someone around the house to do for! I loved this boy. He probably didn't know which end of an axe to hold, but I wished him a fine log house and a long and happy life.

It was a beautiful, crisp day. The groundhogs were making coffee all over the hills. That's what we always say when we see the mist rising in little patches. Since Ira was so quiet, I chatted along: "You'll like Harley. His mother is a full-blooded Cherokee. Lives down in North Carolina. She's 91 years old. Harley had to work in the cotton mill when he was a boy. He's a real union man now. When he first came up this way he worked in the mines, played baseball, doctored ponies, farmed. He's got a soft heart and a hard mouth. He can swear at a baby, grinning at it the whole time! He gets a big kick out of being around young people."

Ira listened politely, but I saw that he was studying the different kinds of trees, all bare now, and noticing how my neighbors had fenced in their places with poles out of the woods. One has a pigpen made of old bed springs. It works mighty well, too.

Harley lives just a few houses down. As we got near, we could see his old grizzled mule sticking his head out of the tiny barn. I have seen the mule pull a plow a few times, but I always think of him as Harley's big old dog—just a pet.

Harley's sweet wife, Marie, answered the door, smiling and welcoming us to the cozy kitchen. He was sitting at the kitchen table, grinning, telling jokes, making us feel at ease.

"Who've you got with you, Dicey?" he asked.

"Why this is the Boss's boy, Harley."

"What boss?"

"Old Man Harless."

"You're kidding me! Well, have a seat, son."

"He wants to build a log house, Harley, and needs some good advice."

"You're wanting to build a log house! Now, why in the world would you want to do that?"

Ira looked at him a minute, then at me a minute, then he said candidly, "I want to get married and have a place of my own."

Old Harley slapped his knee and rocked back in his chair, laughing. "Well, buddy, you're a plain one, aren't you? But what do you mean, build a log house of your own? Don't you know that this day and time you're supposed to live off your old man or go on welfare? It's out of style for anyone to sweat on building them a house! Why don't you get someone else to do everything for you?" He laughed some more and pulled out a cigarette.

Ira grinned a little as he caught on to the joking and was mighty grateful when Harley offered him one of the cigarettes.

"Why, I used to work for your Dad. Boy, he was a good boss, too. He'd let us smoke right in the mines. I nearly blew up all my friends one day. Thought I'd never get over that scare. You say you like a log house. Do you like this log house? I'll just give it to you. I'll get me a tent and move up on your property. This place is getting too crowded for me here. I have to wake up every morning to those old dumb roosters next door."

While Harley was talking he began hunting around for his old jacket, and was showing us out the door. He showed us around the outside of his house, pointing out the type of notches he had used for his logs and how he had built his cellar first. Then we went back up the road to Ira's site.

There was already a clearing where the house was to stand. The men had parked there at the end of the road in the days when the mine was running. We put our cow up there to graze after the shutdown. The spot would be handy—near the creek, but always above flood danger; near the road, but no traffic passing. It was almost level and had plenty of sunlight. There could be a cellar up on the bank of the hill, someday, if he didn't want to make one now. Up in the holler, by the creek, the air is always damp and cool, but we mountain folk are tough and we like to hole up in our hollows. We feel safe up in there.

I was trying hard to keep quiet while Harley went into the instructions. (Just between you and me, I could have told that boy everything he needed to know, but these men, like all men, want no advice from a female!)

"Now, son, since you don't have any help, you should go right up the hill there behind your house site. Look up there. See those poplars? Oh...well, see those smooth straight trees, the ones that don't have any limbs 'til way up? See, like power poles? Well, those are your poplars. Chop a notch out on the lower side, then finish chopping on the upper side and it will fall downhill. I'll hunt up a cant hook so you can get them turned and moving. Aim the fall a little to one side so you can skid the log past the brush out of the top of the tree."

I could tell that Ira hardly knew what Harley was talking about, but he was trying to take it all in.

Harley took the axe and climbed up the hill to a nice tall tree and tried to demonstrate his point. That was the dullest axe in this country! Looked like someone had been digging potatoes with it.

"Son, you got a file?" asked Harley.

"No, sir."

"Have you got one, Dicey?"

"Sure."

"Well, I guess the first and best advice to give you son, is how to sharpen your tools. Can't go far without that."

We came on to the house and while I was getting the file, I heard Harley laughing at the way Ira was trying to roll a cigarette. He was into one of his stories in a minute.

He said, "Charlie would come to my house while he was drinking. He was so drunk that he couldn't roll his smokes. He would beg me to roll him one, but I would tease him and act like I didn't know how. Then he would take the paper and the Prince Albert and roll one up as pretty as ever and try to show me how. Haw! Hawl"

When Harley saw that my file had some life in it, he settled down to teach Ira how to hold the axe and remove the old rust and nicks in the edge. His way was to scrape the metal away from the sharp edge, but my Tim had always drawn the file toward the sharp edge. (Both ways seemed to get the job done.)

He talked all the time, telling about different sorts of notches, various house designs, timbers used in other parts of the country, and about the way his old Cherokee mother could burn them down! "Why she would throw her bedding and kettles on the sled and take off, while that old roach-ridden cabin burned down behind her."

By the time he finished telling Ira about the ghost lady that used to bang their doors every night and finally left her old black shawl and gold-rimmed glasses in the flour box up in the attic, the axe was as sharp as it ever would be.

"Listen boy, while you're getting your poplars, you should get out a load of walnut timber for some cash. You are going to need some money for nails and stuff."

"Thank you, Harley. I hadn't thought of any way to earn anything."

"How old are you now, son?" asked Harley.

"I'll be twenty-one next month."

"Why don't you work for your Dad?"

"Well, I hate strip-mining and I'm ashamed of him being in that kind of work: and then, truth is, I'm scared to death of underground work. I think I began to be scared over in Afghanistan."

"Do your folks talk with you much?" Harley asked.

"My little sister was really glad to have me home, but Mom acts like I'm in the way, which I am, and Dad is ashamed of me because I don't want to work in the mines. He hardly talks to me."

"All men like for their sons to join them in their work," Harley commented.

"I would really like to be close to him," said Ira. "It's a big mess."

Harley gave him another cigarette and clapped him on the shoulder. As they went out the back way, I could hear Harley teasing him, "...and don't forget, a boy as big and strong as you are is supposed to be on welfare anyway!"

I looked out of the window later, just in time to see a poplar fall...not downhill, the way it should have, but sideways. Oh well....

# Chapter 3

He had fourteen logs down at the clearing with their narrow strips of bark pulled on both sides. That is the way my Tim did it. The logs would firm up and the bark could shrink during the cold months. I was so proud of him.

It was hard to imagine the tension in the modern brick home across the mountain where he lived. There must be a lot of those beautiful homes that hide a lot of hell going on inside. I'm glad I never had to look in on it, and it's good that Ira says as little as possible about it. I must love his parents because I am commanded to, but I do wonder why they can't appreciate Ira. He's a good boy—just scared.

But, my, what a nervous wreck he was when he came down the steep path that day! He had several bundles which he dropped in the clearing, and then he came right over to my house.

I knew not to expect a visit from him unless he actually needed something. He was manly and tended to his own things as much as he could.

When he knocked, I tried to guess what the trouble was. His face looked like Bad News. I tried to be cheerful.

"Why, come in, son. I've been mighty proud to see how your logs are coming down. I went over to look after you left yesterday. You've got some beauties, and you've got the bark off in just the right size strips. Have you told your Dad about your good progress?" Ira sat in front of the fire and looked down at the floor.

Had I said something wrong?

"You all looking forward to a big Christmas?"

No answer.

"Down at our little church, we always have a get-together on Christmas Eve. I was wondering if you would like to go tomorrow night. I start out from here about six-thirty and some of the neighbors join me. We get down there about seven-fifteen. It's a nice little walk."

"I might as well go. I know for sure that I'm not going back home."

"Uh oh. Sounds like something's gone wrong over there."

"I believe they just can't stand to buy me anything for Christmas," he exploded, "and I don't want them to buy me anything. I'm in the way...and those stupid cigarettes!" Ira jumped up and clenched his fists. He nearly shouted, "How can I ask him for any more money?"

"You can't son, but I see you are miserable. Have you eaten?"

"No."

I went into the kitchen and got out some eggs and milk.

"You've got a common disease, Ira. It's called Growing Up. The whole family feels sick for a while. There's a sure cure for it, though."

No response.

"Do you know why your Dad is so touchy? He's nervous and scared. He's scared that his boy is some kind of a nut or a coward. That makes him feel like a failure as a father. Now, when you've got a job and your own home, he'll look around and square his shoulders and say to the other men, 'That's my son.' And your Mom, Ira. She's giving you a real compliment. She's saying, 'Get out of this nest, you big overgrown bird! I know you can make it on your own.' Some moms love to spoon-feed their babies. They don't want their sons to grow up. Didn't you ever see a fifty-year-old man go home to get a handout from Mommy?"

No response. '

"I'm telling you the truth. Once I was in a store, Ira, and I saw a lady fussing around buying Easter eggs and toy chickens. She grumbled about fixing this basket for her son. Turned out her son was forty-three!"

Since he was in no mood to talk, I rattled on: "Harley teases you about welfare, but if you actually tried to sign up, the first thing they would ask you is whether you had turned down a job or not. If you told the truth about your Dad's offers, they wouldn't help you. Also, now that you have turned twenty-one, the law wouldn't force your folks to do anything for you. I'm inviting you to spend the night with me and enjoy Christmas here, but, much as I care about you and admire you, I'd throw you out about April if you began to act like you were getting too comfortable. You think I'm kidding?"

He barked back, "I don't want to bother anybody. I've looked lots of other places for jobs and just can't find one."

"Ira, what you need to realize is that your parents really do care about you. Didn't they worry about you when you were overseas? Sure they did. You were doing your duty and they respected you. Right now they just don't know how to feel."

"My little sister understands me."

"That's good, but an overdose of that might fool you. You might lean back on that sweet sympathy and never ask yourself the right questions."

"Like what?"

"Like, 'What was I born for? Who's my boss? How can I get what I need? What comes after this?' Here's your scrambled eggs. Our hens still lay in the winter since we learned to put a light bulb in the hen house."

"Thank you." He looked out the window. It was snowing hard.

"After breakfast you can put your stuff up on the porch. What did you bring?"

"My sleeping bag and my tent. I used to be in the Boy Scouts."

"Do you have any friends, Ira?...Anybody your own age?"

"I had three good friends in high school. We were pretty good in basketball. After graduation, I went into the Marines. One of them went to college, and the other two moved out of state. Some of the girls have been calling me, but they talk a lot of dirty stuff."

He finished his toast and wild strawberry jelly and set his dishes in the sink. "That was very good. I appreciate your fixing it for me."

He went out into the flurry, but instead of bringing his stuff over, don't you know that he banged around out there until he got that tent set up! He brought his sleeping bag over and spread it out on a chair to dry. He was miserable without cigarettes and as grouchy as a bear. I gave him some hard candy that I get for my Christmas fixings. I've heard that a smoker can be a little bit satisfied with that.

We sat by the fire all that day, when he wasn't pacing around in a nervous fit. I told him all about how Tim and I built our little house and about the different coal booms and busts. He shyly told me of his daydream of building a log palace for a real queen. He had her all pictured in his mind. She would be pure and sweet and quiet and beautiful. But were there any queens around these days?

# Chapter 4

I fixed some pork chops and homemade applesauce for supper. He fed the rabbits for me and dried the dishes.

We started down the road toward church, crunching the new frosting that covered every rock and stump. It should have been dark, but it was one of those bright nights and the snow added its glisten. It was so delightful for me to have company. This boy would never know what an empty spot he was filling. Human companionship...what a pleasure! His voice was low and soothing. We talked about Indians and the early settlers.

We passed the Tate place. I had never been able to interest them in going to church. Their four walls and goods weren't really much in this world's value, but to them, it was all in all.

We passed Harley's. I told Ira about our little group. We were a close-knit congregation. I had brothers and sisters aplenty in that gathering.

"Is that why you told me to call you 'Sister Dicey'?"

"Why sure. What do they say at your church?"

"Well, I haven't been in a long time, but we always went to Sunday School. I guess we just said Mr. and Mrs."

"That's okay if the love is just the same. At our church, we feel as if we have been rescued out of deep troubles by the same Father, so we just naturally feel like kinfolk. And besides, it's in the Bible."

"I read the Bible a lot over in Afghanistan. That's when I began to want to live clean. There were some whores who were really after me—or my money—but I didn't want to have to remember that twenty years from now."

"Good thinking. Besides, you've probably saved yourself some unhandy sickness. Were you able to do as well about drugs?"

"I smoked more than ever, but I never tried the other stuff."

"I thought every boy would try anything once."

"Well, I'm so hooked on tobacco, I thought I better not try anything else."

"Didn't the other boys call you names?"

"You better believe it! Some people can't stand to be called names, but I figure if it's not true, I don't need to get mad, and if it's true, I shouldn't get mad."

"Ha, that's a new one to me!"

"I figure, the trouble's in the other guy's head. Let him worry about it."

We stopped and knocked for the Foster sisters. They were ready, and as jolly as I had ever known them. I introduced our new neighbor to them and we joked all the way to the bridge. It was slippery but a car had been over it, leaving a dirty track all mashed down.

Sister Ryan and her children were ready. (They had always been Catholics 'til they moved up our hollow.) "Well, Sister Dicey, don't tell me you trapped a man way up there. I knew you were always working on something, but this beats all."

We all laughed.

"This is Old Man Harless's son. Ira, Sister Ryan's husband works for your Dad; so do some of the older Brothers."

We could see the lights, now. Cars were pulling in. A guitar was already at work. They could never wait 'til starting time.

There was lots of calling back and forth. The sky was clear now, and the Christmas stars were all shining their best.

"Father, please hear my prayers," I asked, as I took one last glance at the sky before going in. Ira would have asked someone for a cigarette outside the church, but no one seemed to have one. He saw some young people. He recognized a couple from his high school days. They were married and had a baby. They had never been very popular at school. He sat down on the back row, clasping his hands, looking down at the floor. I suddenly realized how hard it was for him to be here; to be in a public place, to meet strangers, to run the risk of facing God.

But suddenly, the music began in earnest, and Tommy, the preacher, was moving in and out of the rows welcoming everyone. He had a punch on the shoulder for some of the men...and women...a handshake here, a hug there. He was a package of happy energy. When he got to the back row, I peeked. He got right to Ira—looked him right in the eyes—and threw both arms around him.

"I don't know you, honey, but the Holy Spirit whispers to me that Jesus loves you very much."

Ira dropped his head. Were there tears? Yes, he was dabbing away at his cheeks. Oh what a beautiful sign. "Thank you, Father."

There were several bunches of singers. Sometimes the whole building rocked with joy. Some of the sisters danced, and one man couldn't keep from running up and down the aisle.

Brother Melvin called for prayer and different ones were named—some sick, some in sin. When we all prayed aloud, I guess it would scare a stranger. I wondered if Ira was enjoying the service.

Brother Bob went up and asked for testimonies. One small crippled brother stood up shakily and raised both his arms as he praised the Lord. A lady out in front called out "God bless my brother!" The whole group said "Amen!"

A sister stood and confessed her sin of criticizing her loved ones. "Since God humbled himself to us at this Christmas time, I want to humble myself to love others more." Everyone said Amen. Some shouted aloud.

I stood and introduced Ira. "As you all know, my end of the hollow is mighty quiet since Tim's whistle is busy over in glory, but now there's a chopping and a pounding as this young fellow is bringing down the logs for a home. Isn't it a grand thing in this day and time, for a young man to be building instead of tearing down? He's come through the sorrows of army life and would desire your prayers."

Of course, Ira was mortally embarrassed, I could guess.

After a few more testimonies and concerns mentioned, an ancient sister made her way to the front. A hand or two reached out to steady her. She stood behind the pulpit and spoke with beautiful, quiet assurance. "The Lord has told me that I am to go home tomorrow to be with Him and He has asked me to sing for Him here tonight—which I am happy to do." She lifted her eyes and her voice right into "Lead Me Gently Home, Father."

Some up toward the front began to stand and praise the Lord in tongues. One young girl—eyes closed—moved out into the aisle and walked straight and surely toward the front door. As she came to the last aisle, she turned and spoke a message directly at Ira. Eyes closed, she turned and went back to her seat. By this time, the little lady had finished her song.

Two men came in the door behind the pulpit with a large cardboard box. They were grinning as they saw the children squirm with excitement. Starting at the front row, they reached in their box and pulled out a brown paper bag of Christmas treats for everyone there. We grannies were just as much favored as the youngest babe. Ira looked surprised when he, too, was lovingly handed a sack, with words of blessing and Christmas cheer.

After the service, I steered Ira around the back of the church to the rooms where Tommy and his wife live. I often visited there late at night.

Ira was shy as usual, but Tommy soon had him warmed up.

"Sir," inquired Ira, "when was that girl in Afghanistan?"

"Which girl do you mean, Ira?" he asked.

"The girl that came back to the back of the church and talked in Pashtun with her eyes closed."

"Why, she's never been out of this state that I ever heard of."

"Well, that is really strange. When I was over there, I was on patrol duty and we passed a river where people in white clothes were being ducked under the water. They were all Afghans and didn't speak our language. I can never get it out of my mind how one of the men came up out of the water calling out loudly in our English language, looking straight at me, 'Jesus wants you to be His servant-boy.' The other guys with me heard it too, but we had no idea what was going on. Then tonight this girl speaks the same words to me in a language she doesn't know."

Tommy put his hand on Ira's arm. "Do you accept?"

Ira answered softly, "May I accept when there is so much that I don't understand?"

"If you have an accepting heart, Ira, you will be shown all the truth that you need at the right time."

"I would like to be the servant-boy of Jesus," Ira stated firmly.

Tommy kneeled down by the couch and Ira joined him. When they arose, Ira had put his life into Jesus' care.

We gathered up our Christmas treats and started home. "Rich boy," I thought, as I looked at the coal operator's son. "You are rich indeed, holding that bag of candy...all you own in this world, but ready for the next world. Hallelujah!"

# Chapter 5

We must have sat there by the fire until three a.m. Ira would talk, and I would show him a verse in the Bible that matched his words. We nibbled on our candy and hammered at the nuts on the hearth. It was one of the sweetest times, in my life.

I was awakened Christmas Day by a knock on the door.

"Just a minute," I yelled as I put on my red flannel robe...the one Tim had given me so many Christmases before.

Much to my amazement, there stood two sweet-looking girls.

"Why, children! Come in! Don't stand out there in the cold. Have you walked up here? Do I know you?" "We are looking for Ira Harless," said the blonde.

"Oh, I'll bet my reindeer that you are Ira's sister. Do you know we talked here half the night and he's not up yet? Here, let me have your coats and start some coffee. Is anyone waiting? Can you stay all day?"

The girls grinned at each other. No wonder. Silly old woman, so thrilled to have company.

"Ira, wake up, boy! You've been found. He's planning to set up his tent over on his property today, but it snowed so hard yesterday."

The girls started both talking at once. "We were worried about him. He went off so mad. Mom's worried. So cold, no groceries...."

"Well, old Robinson Crusoe hasn't done too badly up this hollow. Everyone is good to their neighbors. We all like Ira and won't let the wolves get him. We'll just save him up for snake season." I thought that was real funny and I laughed. I had the girls some applesauce cake and nuts laid out when Ira came out through the curtains in his socks and his same Army fatigues.

The dark-haired girl sat quietly while Ira and his sister talked over things at home.

I tried to get her talking, but she kept turning back to listen to them. It seemed she was a girlfriend of the sister, and they were both about fifteen. She was a doll. Her long sleek hair was shiny. (How did these parents keep so much shampoo and hot water?) She was round everywhere. Probably worried about her weight while her mother worried about keeping the boys away. She had those sparkly eyes that look as if they've been polished·—very dark brown—and then skin that looked like the inside of a rabbit's ear.

Since I didn't get to talk, I had to meddle. "Look at that gorgeous female! Now, Ira could just fall for her. Too young. Her father won't let her out. But maybe that's just the kind Ira wants! Look at her. She keeps her eye right on him. I believe she loves him. Wonder if he knows. Wonder if I hadn't better mind my own business?"

I fixed some hot chocolate. Dear Little Thing doesn't drink coffee.

Ira looks relaxed. Say...he hasn't said a word about I cigarettes. I wonder....

Seems the girls' parents think they are somewhere else. They have to go.

"Goodbye! You girls come back any time you can. Merry Christmas!"

Ira hadn't even told me what their names were when somebody else stepped up on the porch.

When I opened the door, Brother Bob and Brother Stanley were there.

"Come in, boys. How about some Christmas cake? Welcome to you both."

The men sat down by Ira after shaking hands around.

Brother Stanley began. "Son, we were mighty happy to hear that you came into the Kingdom last night. Oh, I see you don't know about the Kingdom yet. Well, that's all right. We're so happy to be your brothers. We were wondering if you might need some help with your logs."

"I've got a good stout mule," Brother Bob offered, "and Stanley always keeps a good chain saw. We could help you make short work of getting your logs laid up 'til spring."

"That sure is good of you. I appreciate the offer," he said.

"We thought you might need a little bit of encouragement with your Dad," said Stanley. "We both work for him and we know that he won't take it too kindly about your coming to our church. He might make fun of you at first."

"Does he know about it?" Ira asked.

"Oh, sure. We invited him 'til he finally came one night. But he was really scared and has been making fun of us since."

"Still," cut in Brother Bob, "we try to give him an extra good day's work and we keep praying for him." "Say, son, would he let you work for him? You'll need some money for roofing and all."

Ira looked down at his hands, looking inward to all his old hang-ups. He jumped straight out of his chair. "No cigarettes, no cigarettes...I don't have any cigarettes!"

"Sorry, son, we don't have any either..." started Bob.

"I don't need any cigarettes, praise God, praise God!" Ira fell back laughing and crying. "I've forgotten all about cigarettes," he muttered joyfully. "Oh, thank you, Jesus! I must be really saved. Say—maybe I'm not scared of mines anymore! Maybe I'm not scared of anything anymore!" He jumped up—ran out the door—and raced around the snowy yard, still in his socks.

He came back in, sat down, pulled off his socks, and grinned. "I've really never been this happy in my life."

Stanley slapped him on the back. "That's your first payday, serving Jesus."

"Well, I guess you're right," beamed Brother Ira. You know what...I'm going to spend the rest of this Christmas Day with my family and ask my Dad if I can go to work for him tomorrow. Sister Dicey, could I come back on weekends? I could build on Saturday and go to church with you Saturday night and Sunday."

"I'd be so pleased to have you!"

"Wow—my head is clear. Everything is going to be all right. Thank you, thank you Jesus."

"We'll be glad to take you home, son. You might sink in a snowdrift if you try to go up over the mountain today."

I watched them go. His tent and sleeping bag were still on the porch. I started heating some water for dishes. It was so very quiet.

# Chapter 6

I had to fight doubts and fears all that week. Was his experience real? Would he be tempted to take up cigarettes? Would his Dad allow him to work now? What if his fears were still there? What if he gets killed down under there?

But I've been a Christian for years, so I know how to fight those black things that come at you from every corner of your mind. You sing as loud as you can while you do your necessary work, then you take off and find someone to help.

I heard that Sister Ryan had a sick child, so I packed up the rest of my applesauce cake and hiked on down there. She was very glad to see me. Her husband is overbearing and bad to drink.

The child turned out to be her young lady, Katy, aged thirteen, who was having another round with tonsils and earaches. I helped hang out the clothes and tidy up the kitchen.

Katy woke up from a feverish nap. We gave her some spicewood tea with honey and had a good prayer for her. She sat up and asked about the two girls who had visited.

"Do you know them, Sister Dicey?"

"Not really. I never did find out their names."

"Well, the blonde one is Debbie Harless and the other is Drema Adkins. They go to my school, but they're in the tenth grade. All the boys like them. They like Debbie because she's rich and Drema because she's pretty."

"She sure is a doll. Does she have a boyfriend?"

"No, her parents won't let her look at a boy."

"Well, she is mighty young."

"Is the Harless boy really building a house in our hollow?"

"He's cut a bunch of logs and has them curing there in the clearing above me. He's a real worker."

"Why doesn't he work for his Dad? Maybe he's like a hippie?"

I laughed hard. "Maybe he is, but he's in disguise because his hair isn't long. And besides, maybe he does work for his Dad."

"We don't ever see him coming up the road."

"He comes over the top. He's strong and it only takes him thirty minutes to walk up and over. His Dad's house is on this same property, but it's on the other side. You'll be well by Saturday night and you'll see him at church! (I hoped.) Maybe you could invite Debbie and Drema to church."

"I believe they would be ashamed to come to our church. Besides, they're big shots in the young people's group in town."

Katy snuggled down into her pillow for some more rest. And we went to the kitchen table to sew on some buttons.

"Did you all have a good Christmas, Sara?" I asked.

"Dicey, you know how it is. The money we could have used for the children's presents went for drink, so we went into debt again. But I'm beginning to see a ray of hope. He seems to take more interest in the children these days. He even asked me if I wanted to take Katy to the doctor when he gets home tonight. You know how he's always been about doctors."

"She's asleep again. If he had let her have her tonsils out long ago...but let's keep praying."

"Dicey, I hear awful things go on at that young people's group in town. The preacher lets them have parties and dances in the basement. Some of the kids sneak upstairs and fool around on the carpet in the church. Katy hears them giggle about it at school."

"Oh my goodness! No wonder our kids say they feel like oddballs."

"The parents are pleased that the children are at church, so they don't know to worry or check into it."

"I'd sure hate to see those two girls fall into trouble."

# Chapter 7

I was out at the pump that morning pouring some hot water over the handle joint, loosening up the ice, getting it to prime, when I saw Ira come running through the trees, red-faced. He began to yell at me.

"Get in the house! Get in the house!"

I laid down the bucket but grabbed the teakettle and held open the door for him. He snatched it shut and ran for the nearest window.

Nothing.

"Maybe I'm going crazy," he muttered between gasps of breath.

He looked out again, then opened the door a crack and peered around the yard.

"Sister Dicey, I wonder if you will believe me. Something was after me."

"Was it a person?"

"I don't think so, but it did cry like a woman or a kid. I was right up on top of the mountain where the briars are so thick in the summer, and when I heard it I stopped and looked because I thought somebody was up there hurt, somehow."

"Back in the old days, panthers roamed here and cried like babies."

"Well, something black jumped at me from behind —see my shirt is ripped a little...I picked up my bag of clothes and swung them and then started clearing out...I believe it was behind me all the way 'cause, rolling down that path, slipping and sliding, there seemed to be two of us. I never did see it again. Fact is...I didn't slow down to look. Learned that in the Boy Scouts. In a race, don't look back to see if you're ahead. I guess I won. Wow."

"Son, we should have warned you that a new Christian is often attacked."

"By what?"

"The Enemy. Old Satan is mad when he loses a soul. He'll fight to get it back. Sometimes he can scare a person out of his faith."

"Oh. Maybe that's what was happening in the mine."

"Did you go to work?"

"Sure did. I'm glad that my old man would give me a chance. You should have seen how surprised he looked! But Wednesday afternoon, I was in a twenty-six inch seam and a big piece of slate fell out of the top right behind me. It would have smashed me flat if it had fallen one minute sooner."

"Were you scared?"

"Sure...but not in the way I used to be. I was mostly thankful."

"See now, you've had two close calls, but you were kept safe. Remember that: you will have all sorts of troubles, but the Lord will keep you safe in all of them. Don't fear anything. I didn't expect to see you so early."

"Well—I didn't mean to get here quite so fast," he laughed. "Brother Stanley and Brother Bob said they would meet me here at ten o'clock."

"Well, you have time to tell me about the girls. How are they?"

"Fine."

"Is Debbie glad to have you at home?"

"Yes."

"You might never think of this, but if you are a grown man living at a boarding house, you should pay for your room and meals."

"I guess you're right."

"Your Mom will respect you for it."

"I'm hoping to get a car so I can haul stuff up here."

"That'll save you a lot of trouble coming over the top," I laughed.

"Say, that's right!"

"Do you owe anybody anything?"

"Well, I guess I owe my Dad more than I could ever pay him."

"You'll figure out some way to do your part."

"Uh huh."

"It looks like it's going to be a good day for your work."

"Hmm?"

"Wonder how many logs you'll need for a house? Say, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

"Is it a pretty girl by any chance? Now, for instance, that Drema."

Ira sat straight up. "You know, when I went into the Army that girl was just a kid...her teeth were too big for her face...she was fat and had stringy hair. I never noticed that she was a girl."

"Really?"

"One night, soon after I got home, she was spending the night at our house. They were fixing their hair. She was sitting in front of our big round mirror. Well...."

'°Well?"

"I believe I hear a car coming up, or a truck."

"Sure is. That's the men. I'll fix a cup of coffee before they start."

# Chapter 8

The day that Stanley and Bob helped Ira, they got down thirty more logs. I pulled the strips of bark off and some neighbor men came up with regular logging tools and got the logs up off the ground. They rolled them out on other logs like tracks.

Every Saturday Ira came, three more times over the mountain, then driving an old station wagon.

We had wonderful times at church. The Saturday night service was always full of the Spirit and much singing. Sunday morning was for studying the Bible and Sunday night was more worship. Ira would drive home Sunday night, and come back to work the next Saturday.

During the cold weather, he hauled rocks and dug his outhouse pit. Sometimes people would help him, but he was man enough to know that it was all up to him.

One day he had a bunch coming to raise the logs, just like in the old days. He had invited his family to come and help, and to meet his new neighbors, and to go to church with him.

I cooked everything I could find. The sun was on full bright. The wild Iris were decorating the creek bank with blue-purple and the forest birds were darting in and out of the clearing.

We hadn't had this much excitement up here since the mine opened up in 1943.

I wondered if the girls would come. Maybe they would help in the serving.

Old Man Edwards promised to come.

The station wagon came...and the girls were with him. I was tickled to see some young'uns learning these things.

"Come right on in. I believe everything is going to be beautiful today. I'm so glad you girls could come. Are you going to stay for church?"

"Our church is having a party tonight," Debbie replied. "But we've promised Ira that we'll come to church at least once. He's been practicing a song on the guitar and we said we'd stay to hear him."

"Lots of our men help with the singing." I added, "Ira has a good voice."

"I always thought he would be too shy to do anything," said Drema.

"Well, I believe he's kind of forgotten to be shy since Christmas," I said. "He doesn't have to worry about himself so much now."

"He really does seem like a different person," said Debbie. "He said he'd been born again and I thought it was kind of funny. But he really acts like he had been born into somebody different."

"Do you girls get a lot of good teaching at your church?" I quizzed.

They looked at each other, grinned, and ducked their heads.

"Yes, ma'am," said Drema.

I wondered.

We took out the first tray full of doughnuts, coffee and orange juice. So far, five men had come.

Some women could wash logs, we were told, so I sent the girls back for rags and basins.

The power saw was making an awful racket, but everyone was encouraged. It could take such fast bites out of those big logs.

Ira was measuring and marking the logs while Old Man Edwards gave a lot of advice.

I was amazed at how good everything was set up. When Tim and I were trying to build, we seemed to do everything backwards. Ira wasn't making any of our mistakes. But, how many boys will listen to advice? He's a special one, that Ira.

Sister Ryan, Katy and the little boys had come. The boys were told to put the leftover chimney rocks under the first round of logs. That would help keep the rain from splashing up on the timbers. They were happy and busy while we scrubbed the old sap and dirt from the logs.

Ira would mark. We would scrub. Stanley would notch with the axe. The mule would pull and...up another log!

A pickup truck pulled in. I was delighted to see three of our best carpenters. They got out their tool boxes and pulled off their good jackets.

(Now, you might think that all mountain people work together like this. That's a tale in history books. But that day...it really happened once more.)

The carpenters looked through the lumber that Ira had been buying and hauling in each weekend. They got the 2x4's and sized up the space to be floored.

"That boy is so lucky and doesn't know it," I sighed. It must have taken six weeks for me and Tim to get our floor down, and before that, about a month to get the roof up. But with good tools, good friends, and all the supplies...it was going to be a great day.

At this moment, one of Sister Ryan's little boys began to scream. "Get it off! Get it off me! Help! I'll die."

He was bawling and panicked when the first man got over to him. A huge copperhead was hanging to the boy's wrist. Its orange head glistened. Its chunky body writhed in the air.

"Lay it on the ground, son," the man yelled.

Another man knocked him to the dirt while a third man laid a big stick across the snake's neck and stood on both ends.

The snake let loose. Everyone was squealing. The child's arm was already swelling. I bowed my head. Oh, thank goodness there was Someone Big who cared.

Sister Ryan called for order. Her long years of hardship had made a tough saint of her.

"Now, most of you people here are brothers and sisters. You know our Lord promised us that snakes could not harm us. You know how our brother St. Paul in the Bible was busy about the Lord's work when the snake bit him. He didn't die. Now you and my boy here have come to help today. You are busy about the Lord's work, and my boy is not going to die. Now, all believers pray."

She called two men to lay their hands on her boy's head. She put a dab of spit on her finger and laid it on the bite. (There was no time to get anointing oil.) She spoke quietly to her Father in Heaven, reminding Him of Jesus' promise.

The child began to vomit. Everyone moved back. He lay down in the grass nearby. Someone fanned him with a piece of newspaper. Someone brought cool water from the creek, and sponged his face. Someone laid a handful of wet mud on the two punctures on his wrist, while another squeezed his arm in a tight knot above his elbow. His body jerked for a few moments and then it looked as if stillness came over him. His eyes were closed. Katy began to cry.

His mother never looked down. She kept her eyes focused on a spot up there in the blue sky. She just kept thanking the Lord over and over, and smiling, and humming little parts of old hymns. Others began to follow her example and quit staring at the motionless body. It seemed to me that a breeze came up, for I noticed that the treetops swayed for a while. I guess we stood there fifteen or twenty minutes before we heard a noise from the ground.

"Mom."

We saw two blue eyes looking up, and maybe a tiny smile on that boyish freckled face.

"Mom," he whispered, "something came over me. Something warm is poured all over me. See what it is."

"Oh, honey, it is the good warm love of Jesus. In a few minutes, you see if you can get up and walk around."

He raised his head a few inches, then waved his arms around. He tried bending his knees and they both seemed to work. He rolled over to the right and then back to the left. He doubled up there on the ground into a tight ball and then got up on his feet.

We all cheered. Within minutes, the saw was going again and the rock crew was at it again this time pushing the stones with a big stick first.

Do you know what became of the snake? One of the men kept a cage in the trunk of his car and had a pronged stick to catch any poison snake he could find. He was happy to have this snake to take to his church. We didn't care for that at all, but the man loves Jesus and he was always eager to help people. (His bunch was often condemned as the Holy Rollers or the Snake Handlers.) There are a lot of things in this old world that I don't understand, and this is one of them. May the Lord have mercy on all of us critters.

I went on back to the house to tend to my cooking. Who should come up on the porch but Mrs. Harless? And there was Old Man Harless going over to join the men.

"Why, Mrs. Harless, this is a happy day. So glad you could come. You have a son to be proud of—a real man."

"Sister Dicey, may I call you that? Ira always does."

"Why certainly!"

"Thank you for taking him in on the weekends. He seems to like you very much. You've been real nice to him."

"Can you picture that it did me good to have some young life around here, Mrs. Harless? This house-building is so exciting to me. But, most of all, I'm proud of a boy who would look ahead and prepare himself for a family. Ira seems so sensible for his age."

"He was just as light-headed as any other kid when he went off to service. We wanted him to go to college, but...I think he must have sobered up a lot overseas. He never talks about it."

"He's talked late at night here after church. He says he read the Bible a lot over there and he saw a lot."

"Really? Well, maybe that's what kept him. We were so afraid he would be killed or be one of those who got on drugs. Say, do you know how he happened to quit smoking? He says he'll tell us someday."

"I'm sure he will."

"I wish he'd tell me now. Say, I brought some potato salad and some baked beans."

"Good. I've got pies and Ira bought this ham and had it sliced. Did you know he's hoping to sleep over there tonight?"

"But he can't! There might be bugs or snakes...."

"Oh, that boy's not scared of anything," I laughed.

"Well, he always used to be."

"Did he invite you to hear him sing tonight?"

"Yes, but my husband simply won't go. I told Debbie she could, since Ira begged her so much."

"Mrs. Harless, you come and join us whenever your husband says you can. You might be surprised."

We had a real good dinner. Some other families walked up to see how things were going. Round after round of logs were lifted. The mule pulled the cable, the cable pulled the log and the men swung it into place.

Ceiling timbers were laid all across and then three more rounds. There was to be a big upstairs "for the children."

It was getting on toward evening when they started lifting the roof joists. The carpenters had finished the sub-flooring and pieced the trusses together on the ground. Time was pressing. We women helped with the nailing and the power saw was still chewing away. One man was measuring the plywood so it would be sure to fit when it was lifted up to the roof.

At quitting time, most of the plywood was up, but they saw they could never get all the roofing on by dark. They reluctantly packed their tools, checked again for clouds and offered to come again Monday evening after work.

Ira thanked them all, offered to pay and nearly had a fight.

"Boy, we wouldn't have come up here if we didn't want to. Now you hush that talk about pay." They shoved him around and there was a lot of laughing.

I was really glad for Ira's car that night. He had washed up good, eaten a sandwich, gone back to admire the house, and then took me and the girls down to church.

I could see the girls were embarrassed, so I sat on the back row with them. They giggled. I was afraid that the Lord might get angry at them. I prayed that they might be different, some day.

Ira's song was so pretty.

"I was lost and undone, without God or His Son, when He reached down His arms to me."

Ira wanted to sit up and talk that night, but I fell asleep in my rocker. When I woke later, I found his sleeping bag was gone from the porch.

# Chapter 9

Monday evening, three of the four men really did show up. Clouds were forming up over North Mountain. (That's what I always call it. That mountain top and the North Star had kept me on compass for years.)

They had a good ladder up to the roof and then a homemade brace over the top to climb around on the roof.

I guess they could have used a few more men. It was a real strain to get those last big pieces of plywood up, but satisfying to see them nailed in place so quickly.

Ira took the first roll of roofing from Stanley and inched his way up the brace. Bob helped him line it up along the bottom edge of the roof and unroll. It was a relief to see that long strip of good quality roofing in place. There would need to be three strips across each side and then one across the top. They were on the fifth strip when it began to rain.

"Come on, fellows. Let's go ahead and try to finish. It would be a shame for that floor to get wet now," commented Bob.

It was on the sixth strip that Ira's old tennis shoe went out from under him on a slick place in the plywood. He was right at the top of the roof. I was standing inside when I saw the dark form hurtle past the window.

"Oh, no. Please God!"

I ran to the door and looked out. There he stood, on both feet, right in his one pile of sand.

"Just like a cat," he quipped and began to laugh.

I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I gasped for a while. But what did Ira do? He pulled off his tennis shoes and climbed back up in his wet socks!

They got through before dark. I got my mop and dried up the few drips that had leaked in. They shook hands around and bragged on themselves.

It _was_ a good job.

Now, Ira could work away on the rest of it by himself. He would need chinking inside walls, windows and doors. He would need to seal his logs with white creosote.

I thought I wouldn't see him again until Saturday, but Tuesday evening after work, here he came with his wagon loaded down. He had two boxes of groceries, his clothes, a dishpan, his guitar, and his dog. He had forgotten a plate, some soap and towels, and lots of other things, but it was a happy time.

Saturday about noon, after I got my work done up, I went over to visit, taking an iron skillet that I would never need again. I was dumbfounded when I heard a girl's voice in there. Now, please don't tell me. I know I never should have listened to a word, but it was so cute and sweet. I'll never forget:

"Well, are you going to sit around here all day, keeping me from my work?"

"Why are you in such a great big hurry, or are you teasing me, Ira?"

"I've got to hurry up and finish this castle 'cause there's a queen who's awful restless, waiting to move in."

"A castle—of logs?"

"Sure, she's a tough queen and likes to rassle iron skillets and water buckets."

"Ira...Who is it?"

"Well, I ain't naming no names, but, soon as I find her, she's going to be Mrs. Me."

"Your head is goofy."

"I'm sick."

"Oh, what's wrong?"

"I'm lovesick, but I don't dare tell anyone since I'm so shy."

"You could tell me."

"Drema, when I was over in Afghanistan, I became a man. I could understand that I was no good alone. Even if I lived to come home in one piece, I knew I could never be satisfied with ball games, hunting, and playing cards with the boys at the filling station. When I saw I was really coming home, I made up my mind to begin right. I asked God to show me how to go at it, and that's when Dad offered me these back acres for my own."

"Doesn't he ever want them back?"

"No, he'd have to be mighty hungry before he'd plant soybeans over on that slope again, but, of course, during the depression...."

"It's the prettiest part of his land, isn't it?"

"Sure, it is, but he saw me pacing around, wondering where to take ahold. Maybe he could read my mind. I wanted, so much, to find my woman—someone I could talk to about everything, and plan with, and hide out dark nights with."

"Did...did...you find her?"

"Well, my plan seems sensible. If a man gets a woman for his own, he needs a nice safe place to keep her. He can't just drag her around. I'm making this place, hoping she'll love creek music and woodpeckers to visit with, God's pretty green carpet, and me."

"Did you find her?"

"I've been looking, but maybe, if I did find somebody that filled all my dreams, maybe that woman would hate me, call me a red-neck or hippie."

"Oh, how could any woman think that?"

"Well, now just supposing it was you. You wouldn't want to live out here in the woods with something like me, would you?"

"Course, I'm not a woman yet, but...."

"No woman?"

"Why, I'm only fifteen."

"Oh."

"But you remember that night you walked me home? You know, when I was visiting Debbie? I felt safe every step of the way. In fact, that's the very reason I came to find you today."

"It is?"

"I need to talk to you."

I saw Ira move real close to her, as if the frogs might hear her secret, and of course, that meant that nosy old ladies got left out too. But I did hear something about boys and meetings before I kicked myself on down the road where I belonged. I was in a terrible mood all afternoon.

I saw them drive out about five, so I got myself ready for church and walked alone like I always used to do.

He stopped in front of my house that night. "Can you come in?" I asked. "It's not very late."

"No, not tonight, Sister. I've got some extra praying I need to do."

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't pray. I paced around the house like a hungry cat. What was the matter with me? It had been years since I'd lost my peace. Had I sinned?

"Let me think. When did I first start feeling this way? This afternoon...after listening to Ira and Drema. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, Lord."

I took the Bible and read awhile, but still I churned inside. Finally, I lay on the sofa and tossed and turned until daybreak. With the gray dawn coming through the gaps in the curtains, an insight began to come into my brain. "I love that boy. He's happy; in fact he's so happy that he's almost silly with that girl. Am I happy for him...and for her? No! Why? Seems like I should be glad that they are glad."

I got up, miserable and stiff all over. After I combed my hair and started the teakettle, I went out and fed the rabbits. The cool air helped to clear my mind. I looked over toward Ira's house and the whole trouble suddenly poured out.

"Why you wicked old woman. You are nothing but jealous. You want that boy's attention all for yourself. Why, he doesn't belong to you. Shame. Shame."

I was ashamed. To think that I could be so deceived and selfish without even knowing it! I stood there and cried, just like at a funeral, giving up someone too dear to me.

When I went back in the house, I was cleansed.

# Chapter 10

Ira ate dinner with me that day after we got home from Sunday school. He seemed lots older and wiser. (And I felt lots humbler than usual.) He wanted to talk and I was willing to listen.

"Sister Dicey, Drema came to see me yesterday."

"Yes, I know."

"We find that we love each other."

"That's sweet."

"I took her home and asked her father if I could go with her. He didn't take to that kindly at all."

"What did he say?"

"Said she was too young for boys."

"But she's with boys all the time at school and at church!"

"He said that that was safe. I told him I would take her to church. He said he had heard all about my church and only fools would get mixed up in that stuff. He said he respected my father, but he wanted me to leave and stay away from his daughter."

"Well, son, you've got some deep thinking to do."

"Sister Dicey, the older girls are all wicked. I've tried to find one my age. I've told you how they are."

"God says the young girls are wicked too. We are all gone astray," I said, a little too cruelly.

"Not Drema, Sister Dicey, I've known her for years. I want to protect her and marry her and keep her from the vultures."

"Does the Master want you to marry?"

"What?"

"Well, Jesus called you to be His servant. Does He want you to serve Him married or not married?"

"There's not anything wrong with being married!"

"No, of course not, but even breathing is wrong if you don't bow to the Master."

"What?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad. But the Master is the Master. You need to ask Him about marriage."

"But, it's the one reason I've been working on the house so hard. I didn't want to just sleep around with any old slut. I want a real good home and a sweet virgin wife."

"Listen, son, I hear what you 'want.' All I'm asking is: 'what does the Master want?' You read back in the Old Bible. God told his servant Hosea to marry a whore."

"What? God couldn't want that!"

"He did that time, but He had His own reasons. Hosea was one of His servants. When God said 'Jump,' he jumped."

Ira turned red, got out of his chair and was shuffling his feet...putting his hands in and out of his pockets. He started out the door, puffing mad.

"Well, Sister Dicey, I know good and well that God doesn't expect me to marry a whore."

"Son, I didn't say He did. I just said you'd better ask Him."

Ira was nearly out of the yard when I threw my last blow.

"Jesus didn't marry at all. That was for your sake. You'd better find out what you are supposed to do for His sake."

"Oh no! Oh, God, what have I done? I've probably driven one of your lambs right out of the barn. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I paced in and out of each room, crying and pleading.

"Oh, Jesus, help me to know. Did I do wrong? Am I still just trying to keep him for myself? But, Jesus, what if he just married and got into a rat's nest where he couldn't do Your work at all? Please show me if I did wrong. I don't mind if You pin my ears back, please just show me somehow if I did wrong."

I got out the dear old Black Book, closed my eyes and jerked it open. When I laid my finger on the page, I peeked down at the words. I could hardly believe it. I don't know if I had ever read it before: "But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord: but he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife." "But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn." "But if thou marry, thou has not sinned; and if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned. Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh: but I spare you."

It was all there, both sides of the question. I Corinthians, Chapter VII. I would try to never forget that chapter in case I had other young people to come and ask me about it. I was right, after all. Ira should ask the Lord. If he was supposed to be single so that he could serve the Lord better, he would get the strength to live without ever having sex. If he was supposed to marry because of his body's need, he would need special strength to stay faithful and not get messed up by the daily troubles of family life.

Oh, how I hoped that Ira would be finding that chapter in his Bible to read, there in his log cabin. Maybe he would be sincere enough to hunt for the message. Maybe he would have a mad spell for a while. I knew if he hunted long enough, though, he would find his answer.

# Chapter 11

It's been two weeks since Ira has come over or come to church. My heart is sad but at peace.

However, other things have been happening. This morning, poor old Buford Ryan was at church, tears streaming down his face. He was sitting on the back row, but when Tommy called for sinners to come forward to pray, he was the first one to the front. Sober as a dead cat too.

It was the funniest thing I've seen lately. Last Tuesday, I was standing at the window of the front room and here came old Buford charging up the road, yelling like a maniac. There seemed to be a black cloud over him. Poor soul, once when he was in the county jail for nonsupport, he tattooed "BORN TO LOSE" on his right biceps, and he has been under a black cloud ever since. But, as I was telling, here he came, running up our road, flailing his arms and pulling at his hair, and as he passed, I could make out that a whole hive of bees was after him. I laughed my head off—and shouldn't have—while I watched him jump in the hole of the creek that Ira uses for his bathtub. Splash!

In a few minutes, here came Brother Price in a car.

I ran out with some towels and baking soda, and heard the whole story.

Buford was in his usual state of "high spirits" and the false self-confidence that goes along with the bottle. Yes Sir, he certainly would help Mr. Price rob his hives. Oh no, bees never did offer to sting him. Why, he had always helped his granddad with his bees—and he had twenty hives. He knew all about it.

Bill Price already had his special suit on and veil and gloves and was standing up there in the hives, and nothing would do but here came Buford, crawling then falling up the hill.

"No, Buford, no!" Brother Price yelled. "Bees can't stand the smell of whisky. I'm telling you the truth. Stop!"

"Whiskey? Who's got any whiskey? Me, I've only had one little beer."

About the time he said beer, a bee on its return trip flew by him and must have brought the news to the rest of the colony. After that...it was too late.

Those bees rolled up in one big bunch and took out on a mission they knew nothing about. They chased that poor sodden soul 'til he jumped right in the creek. He must have had a hundred stings. Brother Price had to take him to the big hospital way off in Wise. Buford vomited all the way there and lay for several days in misery.

After he got home, he tried "just one beer," and don't you know, three bees came out of nowhere and attacked him right on his front porch?

Now people are different, but Buford thought, this business was the work of the Almighty, no question about it. So, when the church bell rang at 9:45 this morning, there was one man who was dressed and waiting for it for the first time in his life. As he walked toward the doors of that little frame building, his soul was already knocking on the gates of Heaven. Finally, he had eyes to see and ears to hear. Seems like he wasn't actually in charge of his own life or the universe, as he had assumed for so many years. Somebody Else was in charge, and he had better get down there to the church and get acquainted with that Somebody and start doing things His Way. After so many years of cloudiness—dark cloudiness—it suddenly all seemed so simple.

Sister Sara had that look on her face of one whose heart's desire has just been granted.

# Chapter 12

Ira came over this afternoon. I was trying to fix my front steps and was wrestling with that saw. (Some man with more shoulder power than I will ever have must have invented the wretched thing!)

"Do you need a little help with that?" he asked in a real low voice right behind me. I nearly dropped my board. How long had he been standing there?

"Oh, Ira, honey, bless your heart!" I grabbed him around the waist and gave him a big hug. (Oh dear, was I supposed to do that?) "I'm so glad to see you. I could have pulled my tongue out if I hurt your feelings, but...."

"Could you sit down a minute?" he asked shyly. "I really do need to talk about something."

"Why, sure, Ira. Is something wrong? Are your folks all right?"

"Granny," his voice was real low. (He never had called me that before, but it suited.) There was no cockiness. Was it anguish?

"Granny, you were right."

"Bout what?"

"She is a sinner."

"Oh."

"Granny, do you know what I saw, with my very own eyes? She was up there in the church—l went to visit the young people's meeting, and, it wasn't just them, it was her. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I saw it with my own eyes. Now I see why God says it's best not to marry—there are no women you can trust! I feel like setting fire to the house. Oh, Granny, why does it have to be such a wicked world? Why does it have to be my girl? Oh, how I would love to wring that boy out limb from limb. What right did he have to use my girl? She was helpless and innocent...No, she was not helpless and innocent. But he was bigger than she was. He should never have got the idea. Her Daddy thinks he's got her so safe and protected! Granny, I'm going to beat my head against a tree 'til I stop hurting so much inside. Why didn't her Dad let me claim her? I would have kept her safe!"

What could I say? I just bowed my head and let him talk on and on.

"Son, I love you and grieve with you. Have you found any answers in your Bible?"

"I've been reading a lot to find out what you said about marriage, but now I can't concentrate on it."

"Will you be coming to prayer meeting Wednesday night?"

"Yes, I'm ashamed of missing lately."

"There's a special reason that you need to be there."

"What is it?"

"You'll see, but read your Bible and pray a lot before then. Would you be willing to stay all night? I believe you could stretch out on my sofa. Come on in, let's fix a snack."

Deep in my heart I wanted to pick up this sorrow-struck man-child and rock him in my rocking chair, but all I could do was to feed him a few cookies and pat him on the shoulder once or twice.

I went on to bed, but I heard him pacing around, then tossing and turning on the sofa.

At daylight, I got up as usual and he was asleep, down on the floor, stretched out full length with my Bible open beside him.

I tiptoed around, trying to let him sleep, and went out the back door, wondering if Sister Sara could let me eat breakfast down there. The air was clear and crisp. God's world was harmonious and pretty. That bunch of blue asters must bring joy to His heart. Oh, Jesus, how soon will it be 'til You can come back and straighten everything out!

Sara had just gotten the kids off to school and didn't mind a bit if I had a couple of biscuits and some lukewarm gravy.

"Sister, honey," I asked, "how is Buford coming along? Is he really changed?"

"Dicey, it's just like the Bible promises—all things are new. It's the answer to all my prayers for him. It was worth the wait. Of course, all his old friends are doing all they can to pull him down, but they go away shaking their heads. Say, Dicey, Buford's been asking for Ira. He's got a real interest in the house and has some kind of secret he wants to tell him. Where is Ira?"

"Oh, Sara—the poor little thing is asleep on my front room floor. He's heartbroken! He loves the little girl that pals around with his sister. They go to that youth group in town and it turns out that all the worst we ever heard is true. Ira was down there himself."

"Dicey, I'm so sorry. My girls have been hearing more about it on the school bus. Everybody knows but the pastor and the parents. I don't know how it goes on right there in the church!"

"Well, Ira found out that Drema is in it like the rest. He's full of hate for the other guy and for her father, and disgusted and mad at her. He needs much prayer. Will you help me pray for him 'til Wednesday night? I'd like to fast some too."

"Sure Dicey, let's help him to receive the Spirit. How much he needs that forgiving power! Oh, here comes Buford now."

"Why, hello there, Sister. Glad to see you this morning. Have another biscuit. Aw, come on, you'll never get as fat as I am. Isn't Jesus good to us? He feeds us 'til we're packed down and running over!" he laughed.

"Buford, seriously, tell me something. Are you still thirsty? You know what I mean."

"Sister—it's a wonderful thing—I never knew what a sweet drink a glass of water could be. I drink all I can hold and then walk a straight line. Say, that makes me think of Brother Ira. Where is that boy? I've got something I want to show him."

"Well, come on up to the house, Buford. Let's wake him up, if you have some good news. He's in miserable condition. Thank you for the breakfast, Sara. See you later, honey."

On the way up to my house, Buford laughed all the way. He told me one funny thing after another. I nearly gagged when he told me how little Buddy's goat had fallen down in the toilet hole last week. The child was terrified and squalled his head off. The big brothers got together and tipped the whole outhouse backward 'til the goat sloshed its way out. Sara had yelled, "Kill it, and bury it." But the boys headed it off to the creek and held it down under the water while they scrubbed it with a bottle of Sister's shampoo!

We got to the house and made enough noise to wake the dead. By the time we got inside, Ira was sitting on the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

Buford clapped him on the back and punched around on him like a big bear cub. "Listen son, I've been waiting and waiting to show you something. Dicey, you make this man some coffee while I walk him up to his house."

I was mystified, but obedient. I didn't want to run sideways against this overgrown bull.

The two men made their way through the wet weeds and headed for a big old brush pile that had been there for years. I could see Buford pointing and then pulling. They both began moving that brush. It took them about fifteen minutes to come to whatever it was, then they both leaned over, looking down at the ground, looking so happy and satisfied. If curiosity would kill an old woman, I'd be a goner. Then, to beat it all, they put the brush back on the spot.

As they came in the house, Ira was saying, "Well, I guess I never thought about it Buford, I just got my water from Dicey or from the creek. It never crossed my mind that my house had no water supply...and that well's not more than eighty feet from the house. Wow, that will save me a lot of work, or else a lot of money."

"Why son," Buford beamed, "your little old woman will have it made. She can just step out the back to get her a nice clean bucket of fresh well water."

"Oh," Ira groaned, "I may never have a woman...but I guess I'll still have plenty of water."

The men drank their coffee and discussed the weaknesses of the weaker sex very cautiously. They could see I was standing mighty close to a big iron skillet. Buford told a few more funny stories and I actually saw Ira laugh a time or two. Buford gave him a few more bear hugs and cuffs on the shoulders and went off down the road, singing an old hymn all out of tune.

"Granny, is that all that's left?"

"What do you mean, Ira?"

"Buford's Dad—is that all that is left of his strength and work? His house is gone, his barn is gone, his life is going. Is that hole in the ground, his well, is that all? Is that what will happen to me and all my hard work?"

"Yep."

"Wow, now I see what eternal life is for. These things here surely don't last long, do they?"

"Nope."

"And that's why you want to see people saved, more than anything else?"

"Yep."

"Makes sense. Thanks for the coffee, Granny. I've got a lot of thinking to do."

# Chapter 13

It was Wednesday evening about 5:00 P.M. when I saw her walking past the house. Her eyes looked too red. She glanced over at my house, but she couldn't see me.

I watched her go on up to Ira's. She began to walk slower and slower, and seemed to hesitate to knock at his door.

As soon as he answered, I saw him step out in the yard—holding himself stiffly and tall. His head was bowed. He took her by the arm and led her over my way.

I was amazed at his wisdom. If she had gone into his house with him alone, a naughty girl could have used that against him. It turned out that he brought her here because he was afraid of his own anger.

They sat down and she twisted her handkerchief and looked at me and at him. I could tell that she wanted to be alone with him, so I went in the kitchen and rattled pots and pans for a while. By the time I brought in some hot chocolate and stale doughnuts, I could see that the talk was over. Ira sat in stony silence. She was popping her knuckles one by one. After politely eating their snack, they both left, going their separate ways.

At 6:30, Ira came by for me and we started out to prayer meeting. I was much quieter than usual. I was still reminding Jesus of my Special Request. Ira didn't want to tell me anything, and I didn't ask. How much I felt for him, churning with emotions too big to handle.

There were just a few at church, but I've learned that the number never does matter. One of the real old ladies had sung a special song to the Lord. At our church, it never did matter if you were any good at singing or not. You just sang if you felt it in your heart. The Lord was never the author of paid choirs, I'm sure. (Some of our dearest singers make an awful racket.)

A brother was singing a long song with the guitar when Brother Tommy suddenly stopped the service. "The Lord has shown me that there is someone here who needs to receive the Holy Spirit tonight. Do you know who you are?"

Silence.

"Is there one here who believes that Jesus has saved him but he or she is having lots of trouble and needs power to love and to help others to be saved?"

Silence.

"Is there someone who needs the love of God in his heart so that he can forgive someone?"

I had my eyes closed, but I could feel Ira squirming beside me.

"Is there someone here who is shy and tied in knots and wants to be released? Do not be afraid. Doesn't it make sense that if God wants you to live like Him that you would need His Spirit inside you? That's His plan. You open the door, and His Spirit will come in."

Silence.

"Are you afraid you will look or sound foolish? Many of us here have had to cross that bridge. We just got so hungry for more of God that we felt it was worth it to risk our pride. Come on. We are all pulling for you. You who are sitting near the back all crowd up around the front seats and those who desire the Spirit come on up here to me."

As we shuffled around, Ira went up to Tommy and kneeled down in front of him. My heart leaped with joy. He was the only one.

Tommy called several of the men to come lay hands on Ira's head while the rest of us prayed.

Tommy was instructing Ira. "Now, just thank Jesus. He has promised to baptize you with His Spirit and He will. If you feel any strange things or hear or see any strange things in your mind, just try to say them on out. Let your mouth and your mind become His property. Let Him move them in His way."

In a minute or two, Tommy kneeled down by Ira and listened carefully. He smiled with satisfaction. Ira's mouth was moving slowly, like in baby words, and his face was aglow.

"Brother Ira, is there someone you need to forgive? Picture their faces and we will help you to pray for your enemies."

In a moment, Ira flung his arms upward, threw his head back, and poured out a flood of strange words. He laughed and clapped and talked—all with eyes shut and much holiness.

What a relief for me! Now, he could figure out all his problems.

On the way back home, Ira said very little 'til the others went into their homes and we went on alone.

"Granny, I want you to know why Drema came today. She's pregnant and she's scared and she doesn't know anyone else to tell. After tonight my heart is filled with love for her, John, and her Dad. I was just about to choke on my hatred, and now it is completely gone. Oh, thank you, thank you, Jesus."

"What do you think you will do?"

"I don't know...I'll ask the Lord to show me. He seems to have helped me get the job, and I believe He's helped me with the house, and now there's the well. But He hasn't shown me anything about whether I am to marry or not. Oh, poor Drema. How lost and scared and lonely she must feel! I wonder if John will be wanting to take care of her? He's so spoiled and selfish."

"Ira, Drema would love to hear from you that she can be completely forgiven."

"Would she? Oh, I wish she would come to our church. I'll see if she and Debbie would visit again. Maybe they wouldn't be so proud this time."

"Can you invite them?"

"I could try, but I want to try something else. I'm just going to ask my Heavenly Father to arrange it, if it is His will. I'll pray for them like you have prayed for me. And thank you, Granny, for caring. Now, don't be surprised if you hear me shouting over there," he laughed, as he left me at my gate.

And so...while we waited to see the answer...he picked up the work on the house, and I could hear him banging away over there at night, singing at the top of his lungs.

# Chapter 14

The praying was painful and slow. Oh, how I wanted to do something. But Ira had a good plan. At least it couldn't cause any further damage.

He came in to visit one evening with some news. "Say, Granny, guess who was at work today?" he said with a grin.

"A new miner—a red hat?" I asked.

"Yep, but you'll never guess who."

"O.K., you might as well tell me."

"My worst enemy. The one I saw with Drema. John Deal."

"Oh, my. What did you do?"

"I couldn't believe my own self. I just went over and put my arm around him. The boss put him under my care, for his training. We've worked and talked together all day."

"Hallelujah, what a victory!"

"He's a pitiful case when you hear the whole story. His Mom brought him home to the grandparents when he was six months old. They adopted him and loved him all they could, but then the old man died. John got big enough to find out that he could do as he pleased around his grandmother, and he had this deep and awful thought about, 'Why did my Mother give me away?' In a way, he feels like there must be something awfully awful about him. He's self-centered and lonely, but he is handsome and he has real nice manners. Everybody likes him at first—until they hear how his grandmother got her black eye."

"How was he with his work?"

"He was weak and sat around a lot. I won't tell on him, though. He needs a chance to build up his strength. I showed him how to pump water and...."

"Did he say anything about Drema?"

"No. Ouch, did it ever hurt to hear him talk about girls—as if he had too many to count. I choked when I realized that she was probably just one of a bunch. Well, see you later. I've got to work on the chimney."

Three nights later, Ira came in after nine o'clock. I guess he had been at home or in town, doing his laundry. When he got out of his car, there was another man with him. They went in the house and the lights were on until midnight.

I heard them leave early the next morning together.

I wondered about it all day, for Ira isn't the type to need a lot of company. That evening, here they came after they had washed up and eaten their supper.

"Sister Dicey, I'd like for you to meet my new buddy, John."

I looked into the boy's blue eyes. "Wonder of wonders," I thought to myself. "Glad to meet you, son," I said to him sincerely.

"John says he'd like to come along to the service with us tonight. He has decided to stay at my house awhile. You know I really need some help with that chimney. Have you got an extra bed or mattress?"

"Why, I sure do. It's really a rollaway. Back there in the closet, and I just happen to have some homemade doughnuts. Are they ever greasy...but they're good for you skinny boys."

I hunted up some extra sheets and pillows while they moved all the stuff I had piled on top of the rollaway.

We started out in Ira's car for church. My! I sure was getting lazy.

It was months before I ever heard how Ira had brought John home that first night. Seems he picked up a hitchhiker—a very drunk John, who was terrified for fear he would go home and fight with his grandmother. Ira had suggested that he come on up 'til he got sober. And he never seemed to get him on back home.

# Chapter 15

The chimney was on my side, and I could see it getting higher and higher. They brought in the blocks from the remains of an old burned-down farmhouse at the mouth of the hollow. My, those stones were heavy and still sooty on the inside. But they were squared, roughly, and there was a long mantle stone and a big hearth stone. It was a pretty smart move, in my opinion, since Ira had the station wagon anyway.

They dug their big square pit and filled in two layers of big rocks first, then started up the sides where the logs had been cut out and braced for the chimney to come up through.

Ira was very mature. He worked on it an hour every evening after work and half-days on Saturday, when the weather was good. John fooled around a lot, but he was a real help when the stones needed hoisting up from the ground with the pulley.

I believe those boys lived on French Fries and Bologna sandwiches, but they seemed in good spirits. They splashed in the creek lots of evenings, just for fun—and dirt removal.

John had been coming to church regularly. At first, he sat on the back row, checking out the girls, but now he was sitting near the middle and listening a lot. Ira and I were totally surprised when, one night, John began to weep. He couldn't quit. He sobbed and sobbed. Sister Shelva was in the middle of her special song when he got up and went to the altar. He laid his head over on the carpeting and sobbed on. Brother Tommy went right on with the service. He preached a good sermon while John cried softly the whole time.

That night I made popcorn and fixed up some soda pop while they talked.

John was saying, "Suddenly, I could see it all. Here I've felt sorry for myself all my life. But did I ever feel sorry for Jesus? I could see Him hanging there, looking me right in the eyes. They were making fun of Him and spitting at Him and He didn't have any friends. He said, 'My God, My God, Why have you forsaken Me?' I didn't know He had been forsaken too. I thought it was just me."

He began crying again, and was still wiping at his eyes when they went home.

Ira told me he cried for three days at work, and he could hear him crying in his sleep at night. John has never been the same person since. He acts like a man who knows that he has a real Friend. He acts like he's become a somebody instead of a nobody. You could watch him work as if he now had his heart in it.

He never seemed to be afraid anymore. He said that Somebody Big really loved him. He started using his money better and bought a good car.

He was so happy that he began bringing other guys to church with him. They seemed to be fellows who were in pretty bad shape—restless, nervous, shy, sickly. He evidently gathered them off the streets and at work. Every week he had three or four—some of the same and some different.

We were all surprised to see him come in one night with two women...or were they girls? They had on lots of eye make-up and one was pregnant. Their hair was all done up fancy, but I began to think that maybe I had seen them before, somewhere... Could these two silent, artificial females be the same two kiddish girls that sat on the back row about six months ago in that scornful giggly scene? Was it Ira's sister...and Drema?

Ira didn't see them for he was on the front row, praising the Lord, with his arms raised and his eyes closed.

Tommy preached a good sermon but kept getting off the track. Nobody minded. We all knew that those sidetracks might be just the right word for some hungry soul.

After church, Ira took me home and he went on over to his place alone. A minute later, another car drove up. There was a knock at the door. There stood John, grinning, with his women.

"Here," he said, waving them off to me.

"Here?" I quavered.

"Tell them everything—woman to woman—Sister Dicey. I'll be over at the house when they get ready to go."

"Well, well, girls. It's been a long time. Come on in." I went in the kitchen and opened a cabinet and peered in. "Oh, Lord, please help me with all You've got," I whispered frantically. I found some cookies and we sat down to talk.

We sat around the table and talked about the weather. Then it all began to come out.

"Drema, honey, the last I heard of you, your Dad told Ira to get, that you were too young to date. Did he change his mind?"

"No, ma'am, he wouldn't let me date, but, of course, I was allowed to go to the young people's meeting at church."

"Oh, I heard about those."

"You did?"

"Yes, Ira went one night to visit, but after he went in the front door, he turned around and came back out."

"The meetings are down in the basement. We go in at the side door of the church."

"Well, he saw that there was someone in the Sanctuary, and he backed out."

"Who was it?"

"You and John."

"Oh, no."

There was a long silence. "But," she ventured, "I don't understand. How come John lives over there with Ira? Or maybe he didn't care."

"Oh, honey, he cared all right. He was ready for murder—John, your Dad, you, but then the Holy Spirit came into him and sweetened him up in a big way. He got so he could really forgive and then he started seeing John at work and John needed a place to stay. Isn't John different now? Does he ever offer to marry you, Drema?"

"Well, it wasn't just John. He isn't my boyfriend."

"He isn't?"

"Oh, no—we had a sort of game. It was someone different each time."

"That's gruesome. Where was the preacher?"

"He was downstairs leading the games."

"Well, honey, who is your boyfriend?"

"The only man I've ever cared for is Ira."

"But if you cared for him, how could you do this to him?"

"To him?" Drema asked in amazement.

"Yes—couldn't you save yourself for him?"

"Why, I don't suppose I ever thought he would wait for me. Dad was so strict and accusing me of stuff all the time. Ira seemed older and had his own house. I figured he would soon start talking to someone else."

"Were you in on it too, Debbie?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do your parents know?"

"Yes, my Mom buys me the pills."

"What do your parents say, Drema?"

"Well, Dad says he knew that's how I would turn out all along. Mom says one mistake doesn't matter. She wants the baby, to raise it."

I laid my head on the table. "What is this world coming to? Oh, girls, girls...how can you stand it? Looks like you would hate yourselves."

"I can't sleep good sometimes, Mrs. Dicey, but then I know that all the other kids are in the same shape."

"All of them, Debbie?"

"Seems like it. I really think that it doesn't matter anymore. Not like it did back in the old days."

"Well, it still matters to God, honey. He hasn't changed any, and He loves to see His people happy and free and clean."

"I'll never be that again," they both said at once.

"Pretty things, why do you suppose those angels told the shepherds that they were sent to bring 'Good tidings of great joy'?"

"You mean when Jesus was born?" asked Drema.

"That's right. What you girls would really love to hear is some good tidings of great joy. I can tell you the truth—there really is a way to get clean."

"How?" they both asked.

"How? It's not how, it's Who. Drema, sweetie, if your baby was a boy and you named him Jesus—do you know what his name would mean?"

"No, I don't. I have heard that it is the same as Joshua."

"An angel told Joseph to name the baby Jesus, 'For He shall save His people from their sins.' Girls, that's how come l don't have to drag my sins around anymore. That's how come Ira is so happy and forgiving. That's why John is so different."

Silence.

"How do you get it?" Debbie asked.

"Just ask."

"Is it too late for me?" asked Drema.

I laughed, "It's never too late, sweetie. Girls, if I ask for you, and the words sound right, will you just say 'yes' for your part?"

They looked at each other, hesitant, but willing, and they both nodded.

"Oh, Jesus, will You please clean up these girls?

"They need You real bad. They want to live Your kind of life from now on. Amen."

"Yes, Jesus," whispered Debbie.

"Yes...Lord." I barely heard this over in Drema's direction.

"Children, we'll have lots to talk about later, but that's enough for tonight. The contract is made. Now, sleep well tonight."

I went to the door and whistled in my very loud unladylike way. Both boys came right out. They came over and John started his car while Ira walked them down the path.

# Chapter 16

"Granny, do you believe in dreams?" asked Ira.

"Believe in them? What do you mean, Ira?"

"You know, do you think God tells us things in dreams?"

"No, not every night, but sometimes I wake up with the feeling that He has been teaching me all night...and I've had two or three dreams that were Special. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I've been constantly asking the Lord to show me if He wants me to marry or not and there hasn't been any answer. Last night, I had a dream that was just like real. I've been wondering if you are ever supposed to take a dream as a message from God."

"You've got me as curious as a 'possum. Can you tell me what it was?"

"It was short, but so real. This girl and I were walking down a road hand in hand. She had on a long white dress. I thought she looked as sweet as an angel. A tall man came up behind us and tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around, he gave me a big package, but it was really a baby, all wrapped up in a quilt. I looked over at the girl and she smiled. That's all there was."

"Goodness, that really might be a Message. Have you ever read and studied about Joseph in the Bible?"

"Which one?"

"Why, the one that married Mary, Jesus' mother...but, come to think of it, that other Joseph, the one down in Egypt, he was a real dreamer, too, wasn't he? Say, Ira, you are in a fix a whole lot like Mary's Joseph. God ordered him to marry her, in a dream. Then later, he had some other dreams that saved little Jesus' life. Joseph was so humble. He would obey those dreams right that minute."

"Do you think I should lean on it, Granny?"

"Not yet. Search the Bible. The Holy Spirit cannot guide you against the truth in the Bible. Tell you what? Maybe you can check this out by asking the Lord if He would kindly give you a second dream. He knows your heart. He sees that you would obey if you were sure."

"Yes, that's true. I'm scared of my own desires and will have to be extra careful."

"Have you found the place in Revelation where a special song is sung by those who never touched a woman?"

"Didn't notice that."

"Well, there's another place that says that someday there will be false prophets who forbid marriage. So you see...you really need your own special direction on this. Don't lean on your own brains. We can't ever know how things will turn out."

Ira started putting on his jacket and headed toward the door. "Well, Granny, I've got to be getting back. I left some wet cement in a box. I got so eager to ask you about this."

"What are you working on today, son?"

"I'm chinking up cracks as fast as I can. I thought I had it all done 'til those winds started blowing. Everywhere I can see a little daylight peeking through, I give it another dab of mortar. Look at my fingertips! The sand wears off the treads when I smooth the stuff along the cracks."

"Oh, I wish I'd thought of it sooner, Ira. I've got an old pair of rubber gloves. They leak water, but they'll hold out the sand and help keep the hide on your fingers. I'm not a bit busy. Do you figure I could help you any?"

"Why, yes, thank you Granny. Surely you could do a neater job than I am. Here, you use the gloves."

"I think I have another old pair here somewhere."

I hunted up the other pair for him. They had leather on the palms and up the inside of the fingers.

It really was cold outside, and windy...with a few flecks of snow coming down. I was glad when we got inside his heavy homemade door.

My! How much he had done on his house! Each log had been scrubbed so that they were blonde now instead of brunette. His chinking was a glistening white and neater than I had expected. He had bought some beautiful hardwood flooring. (I knew how costly it must have been.) About half of it was laid. It's such a slow, tedious job. I guess a few strips every evening would finally see it through, however.

It looked like bachelor quarters, with old sheets and tarpaulins tacked up over the windows. Wind loves to work its way around window sills.

His woodpile was right out in the floor. But who was to care. That fireplace, built by such kids, was drawing beautifully. There wasn't a bit of smoke coming out in the room. It was really good and warm in there, too. I guess the men had told him how hickory and oak burn so much better than buckeye.

I took off my coat and spent a few minutes bragging on his progress. Then I pulled on my gloves and helped him hunt the tiny hairline cracks that had come since he and John had chinked all the outside. It was satisfying to stop up one little breezy place after another.

"Granny," he asked after we had worked in silence awhile, "do you think a girl would be willing to come here and live?"

"The right sort of girl," I ventured.

He was quiet a few more minutes and then he asked, °'What is the right sort of girl?"

"One who loves you and is hoping to see you happy. One who is proud of you and looks up to you."

"Granny, I get letters from Drema, but her Dad won't let her receive any letters from me."

"How is Drema, Ira?"

"She's not so sickly now, but she is kept in the house. She's gotten so she loves to read the Bible. She tells me things that she finds in there. Her Dad fusses at her all the time, but she takes it. I believe she is growing up a lot."

"Doesn't she have to go to school any?"

"No, she was sixteen in September. I guess she has graduated—you might say."

"Well, say, where is John?"

"He's gone to his Granny's for the weekend. He is going to see if she will come out to church with him. Did you know that my Dad gave him some land? Since it has turned so cold, he hopes to start cutting some logs. It was just about this time last year that I cut my first log."

"So it was! And now John wants to start one? He's not as foolish now either. He's helped you enough to know how much hard work is in it."

"That chimney would have stopped a sissy, but you seen how he helped me day after day. Yes, I think he means business."

"It's getting dark, Ira. I'm going on home. Hope I've helped you some. You get to sleep soon, so that you can have a chance to dream again. Will you let me know what happens?"

"Sure will, Granny, and thanks for your help and company."

So that's how it was that early the next morning, he came over and had breakfast with me. Later we went to Sunday School.

He told me about his dream. "In this dream, Granny, Drema and I were both over there in my house. A baby was in the cement box asleep, tucked in with blankets. Jesus Himself came in and pulled out a long white ribbon. He placed us standing there face to face, and tied us together with the ribbon. As the dream backed off, we both together looked like one person."

"My! My!"

"That's all the Message I need, Granny. I'm going down there this afternoon and ask her Dad for her."

# Chapter 17

Christmas had come and gone and winter had settled in on the creek banks and the ridges.

The miners wore their heavy jackets to work, but pulled them off down at the man station. The same work clothes and long underwear that kept them comfortable in summer were worn down under in the winter. There was one miner down there who was especially quiet, doing his work doggedly, but never joking with the other men. He seemed to be fighting some kind of war inside. Was he winning?

Ira had gone to visit Drema's Dad that afternoon in November and had been received with a wild, unreasonable, shouting outburst that sent him backing off to his car. "...and don't come back on my property, or I'll call the law...."

The letters from Drema were more scarce, but more dear.

When Ira came over to visit, he seemed like an old man. We would throw a few potatoes in the coals and talk while they spit and steamed.

"Her Dad thinks he is teaching her a lesson," Ira commented. "He's got her in prison, he thinks. Her mother is eager to have the baby to keep. That's about all I can figure out. But Drema is piecing a quilt and learning to cook. She seems happy, as if she knows how it is all going to turn out."

"Maybe she's had some dreams, too," I suggested as a joke. "Say, DREMA, that would be a good name for your wife, wouldn't it?"

"Well, Granny, you're right!"

"Have you done any more on the house?"

"I've worked on it every day on faith. I can't see how I'm going to get my wife away from her Dad, but when I do, everything is going to be ready."

"She would have fun planning the curtains. Women like to pick out colors and pretty things."

"Sister Dicey, I've been reading about Joseph and Mary over and over. That's how I've got it planned."

"What do you mean, Ira?"

"Well, you know how it went. She was disgraced, but he took her anyway. Then he kept her as his own, but never touched her until after the baby came and all."

"That would seem real decent, Ira, if you ever get her at all. Sounds like old Satan has hold of her Dad. Here, when you have a green light from God, then her Dad puts up a big Stop sign. That sounds just like the way the Enemy works. He gets hold of people's minds and uses them against the Lord's plans."

"What can I do? It's been two whole months. I've prayed and prayed. I've been as patient and trusting as I know how. The floor and kitchen are done and everything is ready except a bed for her and a crib. But I get my next payday soon."

"Ira, Tim and I came to a big snag once on something we both knew was right. If you promise not to tell people that I've gone crazy, I'll show you what worked for us."

Curious, Ira sat up straight from his hearth stool, while I stood up in the center of the room. In a strong, loud voice, I began to give orders:

"Now, Satan, I know your ways. I've caught on to how you bind people. In the book of Luke, you had to move over everywhere that Jesus came preaching His Kingdom. On the authority of the book of Luke and in the power of Jesus' Name, I'm telling you to move off of Drema's Dad. AND I MEAN IT!"

I stamped my foot once real hard, and sat down, feeling like a fool. But, wanting to set a good, strong example for my young brother, I said confidently, "You'll see."

And would you care to believe it?...three days later, Ira stopped his car at my house on his way home from work and came running up my path waving a letter. "Granny! Granny! Look here."

I didn't recognize the writing, but it had a local postmark.

He jerked it open and began to read, practically hopping from one foot to the other. "...and so her mother and I have decided...Come over anytime you wish...Sincerely yours...."

I began to cry, you might know. And then I hugged him. I had coal dust all over me by the time I got through slapping him on the back, and grabbing his arm, and rejoicing in general.

He left as quickly as he came, eager to clean up and eat his supper, then head off toward her house.

I picked up my Bible and hugged it too. "Oh, thanks...for the truth about things," I muttered with joy.

# Chapter 18

It was only a week later that he showed up again, with Drema at his side. (My! She was pregnant!) She looked like a different girl. No green eye make-up. No fingernail polish. She looked as if she were at peace with herself and the world. She could talk to me without giggling or stuttering.

It seems they were planning a wedding! Now, who would have ever guessed it?

"Sister Dicey," said Drema, "we're having a big argument over what I should wear. Maybe you can help us settle it." She reached over and laid her hand on top of Ira's.

"Why, kids, I can help you before I even hear what the two sides are," I said in my imitation-brave voice. "Look here." I took their two hands and changed them, putting Ira's hand on top of hers. "Now, you won't like this honey," I said to Drema, "but you will find that it will save you a lot of trouble, for it is God's way. All right now, let's hear it."

Drema was too puzzled to speak, so Ira began: "Well, Granny, Drema would really like to be secretly married and I don't blame her for that, but I feel it is important for the whole community to know that I am not ashamed to take her as my wife and that we, as Christians, consider her to be perfectly clean and pure since she has asked Jesus to forgive her. I'm holding out for a real church wedding, with her in a white gown."

"Oh, I see," said I, but actually, I was a little scared of his idea. Yes indeed, Drema had been forgiven and her sins were washed completely away...but what would the other people say?

"Granny," continued Ira, "we need to stand strong on what we believe. Brother Tommy has agreed to marry us, and that church will be our place of worship as long as we live up here, so why not do it publicly and do it right?"

It was hard to believe that this strong-minded man was the same person as the shaky-handed, head-hanging boy I knew last year.

"Ira," I asked, "what does Brother Tommy say?"

"He's the one who encouraged me. He says the church has always been for sinners and nothing but sinners. He says some of the lost sheep have come to the Shepherd and some are still running away, but that Drema and I have nothing to hide."

"Ira, I know that we Christians are all supposed to believe that, but I am really scared that some people won't like it at all."

"But, Granny, when were we ever supposed to pet people in their weaknesses? Why shouldn't this wedding help people to take a stronger stand for the truth? Maybe some other black sheep would come to the Shepherd if they saw He really did wash and accept them."

I turned to Drema and shook my head. "Now, you are in for it, honey. You've fallen in love with a real man. His hand really is on top. You won't be able to whine and nag and boss this one. You're not going to be able to get your own way all the time."

She was able to speak up. "But, Dicey, my mother says that it is indecent to wear white dresses at your wedding unless you are a virgin."

"Oh, you sweet pretty thing, here's the catch: your Mom has no say-so in it. Mom and Dad are in the back, husband is in the front. Jesus says LEAVE and CLEAVE. Leave your parents and cleave to your mate. That's called 'breaking the apron strings' and, my, does it ever hurt, but now's your chance to get started on a good marriage. Your Mom and Dad will catch on that somebody else is going to look after you now."

"And as for you, Ira," I continued to preach, "you will be wise to listen to other opinions, even her Mom's, then make the decision that you believe will please the Lord. If you chicken out and let somebody else take over your job as head of the home, you will answer for it. If your home is a mess—if the children are mean or the garbage is piled up, the Lord will be pointing His finger at you."

"So there you have it. It's your job to lead, Ira, to please the Lord. It's your job to follow him, Drema, to please the Lord. And it's my job to stay out of your business, to please the Lord," I joked.

"Say, Drema, have you seen the house lately?" I asked.

"No, ma'am."

"You'll be amazed. Ira's got it snug and ready. He's put the very best quality of flooring and windows and roofing into it. All I can see that it needs now is a woman's touch."

"I'll enjoy that."

"Let me know if I can help you any, honey."

They went off down the path, arm in arm. Ira looked as if he stood a little taller and straighter. Drema looked a bit slumped. But I knew that I had steered them in the right way. Hadn't Tim and I spent years trying to get our marriage lined up in the Bible way?

So now you know why, three weeks later, there was a sweet wedding held in our little church.

Tommy had on his red-checked pants and his red jacket outfit which just fit his jolly mood. He was slapping everyone on the back and squeezing the older couples up together 'til they hugged each other and blushed. He was patting some kids on the head and some on the tails, according to their behavior, and welcoming the strangers, the relatives and friends of the bride and groom.

Ira had had to suffer for his own convictions, for his Dad wasn't about to come in that church again. Ira's mother was so torn between her loyalty to her husband, even in his stubbornness, and her son. Finally, Ira had gone to his mother, put his arm around her shoulder, and suggested, "How about if you and Dad go up to my house during the service and see that everything is ready for our little party."

She was relieved and happy to help the young couple in that way.

On his side of the family, only Debbie came. And there she sat beside John, looking sort of happy and wistful. Maybe she was thinking wedding thoughts herself.

John had made several trips with his car, bringing all the young people he could round up. He always did see a chance for missionary work. Some of the girls he brought weren't the churchgoing type, you could tell. Drema's parents and her grandmother and cousins and little brothers and in-laws and out-laws were all there. Her Dad seemed very tame.

Even my neighbors, the Tates, came. Never knew of their being in church before.

Tommy had done a good job of talking to the church members. They all seemed to be able to lay down their judgments and criticisms to come and rejoice with the young couple. Except for one family.

It was a happy service, more like a Saturday night worship than a regular wedding. Three quartets sang and Tommy had a few words to say which turned into a full-sized message for those who were lost in sin. (Ira and Drema were pleased about this because several of those visitors came back to church after that and decided to give themselves to Jesus.) As Tommy gave a prayer of blessing over the couple, he put his hands on their heads and a beautiful stream of foreign words began to come out. They were slow and distinct and sounded like an important pronouncement. As often, the foreign words stopped and beautiful old-fashioned English began to take over. Much of it was from the Bible: "Ye have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you and ordained you that ye should bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in My name, He may give it to you. These things I command you, that you love one another. I have loved you with an everlasting love." How I wish I could remember all of it!

As the Amen sounded out in the congregation, Ira turned and put his arms around Drema and her very large, shapeless, long white dress and gave her an unabashed tender kiss.

It doesn't sound very churchy, but everyone began to clap and cheer as they started down the aisle and out the door together.

Many cars followed them up past my house. They were parked every which-a-way. The church singers came and kept up lively Gospel music in one corner while Ira's Mom and I made ham sandwiches and opened potato chips in the other. Somebody kept making up ice cream cones and pouring pop.

Everyone wanted to see how the house had turned out. There were pretty checked curtains in the kitchen windows and heavy warm ones in the living room in orange and blue plaid. The woodpile was neatly stacked beside the fireplace and a large shaggy orange rug centered the floor. The furniture was nice, but scarce.

The big wood fire made the older people want to talk about the way things used to be. They really enjoyed themselves.

The little kids kept trying to climb the stairs. Their mothers stood guard at the bottom and grabbed each one as he started up.

The crowd began to break up about eleven. I went on home and saw the cars leaving one by one. When I saw John go out for the third time with his last load, I knew the festivities were over.

Ira's lights were still on when I dozed off to sleep. All that spilled ice cream and all those empty pop bottles...!

# Chapter 19

We should have been having an April shower, but it was more like a cloudburst the night that Ira drove Drema out to the hospital.

He had been keeping his Mustang in perfect condition for weeks, just for this occasion. He had put in new points and plugs and replaced two slick tires. He had relined his brakes and done some body work. He had bought an extra-good battery and the starter was fine. But wouldn't you know it...the muffler got knocked off coming up our rocky road that evening as he was coming in from work. (It happened quite often on that sort of road.)

He meant to fix it right after supper, but when he got in the house he found there was no supper. Drema was all humped up with a backache, telling him over and over that she would be all right soon. He found a big gallon jar and filled it with hot water. She settled down in a chair with the warmth of it to her back and laughed while she watched him clean up and cook supper.

It hurt his feelings at first, but when he looked right in her eyes, he realized that she was laughing to keep from crying.

He got the food on the table, but she just couldn't eat.

"Here, honey, this isn't going to do at all. Now you get in the bed and rest yourself. I'll put on some pretty music. What were you trying to do today, wax the floors?"

"Nope, but you are coming close. Granny and I were out picking wild greens. I got to feeling worse and worse. She took my greens home to wash them for me."

"Oh, no wonder your back hurts, bending over like that. If you can get a good night's sleep, you'll be fine in the morning." He turned the lights down and parked himself in a chair by her bed.

About 10:30, she was sound asleep but she moaned from time to time. He watched the clock. She turned over or groaned every ten minutes.

At midnight, she began waking up each time—rubbing her back, smiling a weak smile at Ira, and falling back to sleep.

At 1:30, he put a tarpaulin over himself and went out to the car. He had forgotten the muffler, but nobody else could forget it. He roared up to the door, as close as he could get the car, and went inside to get her and cover her with the tarpaulin and bring her out to the car.

She could be normal and jolly for about four minutes, then the misery would come again for a minute. The pangs were getting closer and stronger.

I awoke as soon as I heard all the racket of the car. Every other family awoke too as the couple hurried out of the hollow. (I thought she acted mighty strange when we were picking greens.)

It was impossible to sleep, so I sat up and prayed for her. It would take a while for her with the first one. Her body was young and strong; she would be fine.

I was going to have a lot of fun with that new baby next door. Maybe they would ask me to babysit some-time. That would make me almost a Granny.

"Granny!"

Why that Ira must have had an idea of this long ago! Maybe he had been like a prophet when he first called me that name.

It was a little after noon when he came, more slowly, back up the creek. He stopped by the house and teased me. "I figure if I tell you first, Granny, that the news will get out in a hurry. Drema had a beautiful, fat, baby girl about two hours ago. They are both doing fine. She's going to name the baby 'April,' and I'm going home to get some sleep."

Yes, sir, he had put the news in the right place. I started in at the Tates and went clear to the mouth of the holler, telling each and every family. Harley said he couldn't wait to get hold of that blankety-blank little girl and teach her a few naughty tricks. The Foster sisters had crocheted little shoes and a yarn blanket in pink and blue. Sister Sara and the girls were polite. They were glad it was over. Brother Price reached in his pocket to see if he had a little cash gift for the child. And so on....

The next day, Ira gave me permission to clean up the house for their return. It was fun. I peeked in the empty bassinet over and over, eager to see a little round face in there soon.

"Will the child love me?" I wondered. "I'll show her my baby rabbits. Maybe she will like to put her tiny feet in the creek and watch the birds."

I swept the floors and washed the dishes in the sink and I put a load of clothes in a bag to take home and wash. It seemed like a good idea to go outside and pick some wild honeysuckle with their pink blossoms and put them around in the house. Then I went home and made a cake to give them when they returned home with the baby.

On the third day, Ira brought them home. Drema waved as they went by. Those seemed the longest hours of my life, wondering when they would invite me over.

Finally, I heard a whistle. I stepped out on the porch.

"Can you come over?" Ira called.

Could I! I gathered up the little gifts that had been put in my care and the cake and trotted over.

Drema was propped up in the bed with the sleeping baby at her side. It had fat squirrel cheeks and lots of dark hair like Drema's. Its skin was still quite red and wrinkled, but it was the prettiest baby I had seen in a long, long time.

"Drema, honey, did you get along all right?"

"Oh, yes, Granny. Ira was right beside me and I knew the Heavenly Father was taking care of me. I wasn't scared one bit."

"That's just right, sweetie. If you're scared, it really isn't much help. There isn't all that much to worry about usually. Your body knows exactly what to do anyway."

The baby's mouth began to pucker and its cheeks squinched up until it was crying loudly without even opening its eyes.

I was surprised when Drema gathered it up and put it to her breast. When she saw me staring, she explained, "It just seems right somehow."

And so it did.

Springtime came gloriously as April turned into May. The little family thrived. The baby wanted to eat every few minutes it seemed, and the housework got further and further behind, but Drema had sense enough to hope that things would get back in order someday, and Ira was contented.

Mother and daughter got a good report at their six-week checkup. The baby was fatter and the mother was thinner!

Ira took them out to lunch and then they went shopping.

When they stopped by my house, Drema motioned me into the kitchen and let me peep at the gift Ira had bought for her. It was supposed to be a nightgown and robe—white with a few tiny red rosebuds and a green velvet sash—but it looked more like tissue paper to me. The girl would surely freeze to death if she walked around the house in those.

Ira called to me and hesitantly asked a special favor.

"Sister Granny," he called jokingly, "wonder if you would be willing to watch the baby a couple of hours. Drema has been confined long enough. I'd like to show her how the wildflowers are coming along up in the mountain. I've been eager to take her for a spring hike."

"Do you mean to tell me that you trust me with that baby doll? You two go right on. If I decide to steal her, I'll probably bring her back when she gets hungry."

I was tickled pink. How much I had been wanting to get my hands on that little person! First thing I did was take her out back and show her my Easter bunnies. I won't say she really noticed them much, but it was a wonderful pleasure for me.

Ira and Drema had stopped by their house to put away their packages. I saw them leave with a big quilt and two bottles of RC Cola.

I showed the baby our graveyard. I stood there by the blue spruce that was the marker for Tim's grave and shed a few tears as I remembered the many times that Tim and I had gone up in the mountains with a quilt 'to see the wildflowers.'

"And so, April, you try to remember this...we have sweet pleasures here, with tears, but our best time is still to come."

She agreed with everything I said.

# Chapter 20

Five years have gone by since I started telling this story to you. If you'll figure it out, I don't have so much time to sit around and gab like I did. I've got too much to tend to. But in case I've got you curious, I'll tell you how things have turned out. Then I have to go back up to Debbie's to help her with her washing.

She's finally going to have a baby. She and John were married the same year as Drema and Ira. Their log house had been raised, but they spent their honeymoon putting in chinking and floors. It looks good now and they have a big garden.

For a long time, we didn't know if they were really on the Lord's side or not. They were sort of in and out, up and down. John would take his payday and buy new cars—a Camaro, then a Corvette—but soon they would be wrecked. Debbie whined a lot and spent hours in the beauty parlor and at the bowling alley.

It was when they lost a baby last year that Brother Price finally helped them to realize that they needed the Holy Ghost. Right there in their living room, they asked to receive the power that they had been lacking so much. The Lord was happy to fill them up. Both of them have been steady churchgoers and growing in the Lord ever since.

John still works in the mines and is bringing lots of new people to church again. He's helping one of his I buddies to build a log house and he has already helped one to finish his house last year.

Ira's father still won't come to our church, but he is faithful to the church in town and he is real good to his miners. He offers land to any young man who wants to build a log house on it. He gives them the logs and even loans a bulldozer if it is needed.

Harley Edwards is in hog heaven because he has finally gotten his two-man sawmill going up past here. It buzzes all day on Saturdays. Harley is cutting the rough lumber for sub-flooring and for the rafters, etc. His mule has a few more gray hairs and is in great demand for plowing and pulling logs. Harley loves to help the young people and joke with them.

Sister Sara and Buford have really prospered since the drink money has started going into something more useful. Their house is all fixed up and they have a decent car and pretty clothes. It is one of my worst heartaches to go by their house. They might wave at me or they might not. They have never been to our church since Ira's wedding. They didn't show up at all for several weeks after the wedding and then we caught on that they were going to services at the town church.

My, oh, My! how we miss them! Was it my fault? Should I have argued more about that wedding? Well, I guess I shouldn't worry too much as long as they still love the Lord and are faithful at another church.

Pastor Tommy is still his bouncy self. He's grown deeper and more loving than ever. A lot of different lives and homes have been touched by his work, but there is never a big crowd at church. He has a new helper now that he can call on. If he has to be out of town, he announces that Brother Ira Harless will be in charge. This is a great honor for such a young man, but Ira has proved himself to be as steady as a rock.

Drema has had two more babies—beautiful blonde boys—and she is the ideal wife. Ira does everything he can think of to provide for her and show her special attention and love. He's put in a nice bathroom and laundry and takes her out to eat every week.

She shows her love by a quiet and cheerful spirit. She is patient with the children and has taught little April to stand on a box beside her at the sink. They have woman-to-woman talks while they do the dishes.

Ira hoes in the garden while he keeps an eye on the little boys. They throw rocks in the creek and chase frogs.

The whole neighborhood gets together for picnics. They invite me because I'm 'lonely', but I catch on quick; they need an extra set of eyes on the kids so they can relax a bit.

And me, I'm five years older...busy all the time. Got to teach these girls how to quilt and can and cook pinto beans. They never saw a cake stirred up from scratch or tomatoes turned into barbecue sauce. Seems like there is an emergency almost every day. Granny is so handy to call!

The trucks roll up and down in front of my house at the shift change and the sawmill and the chain saws make a big racket. The men get out in their yards and bang away working on their cars. (I believe they must take those cars apart and put them back together again every weekend!) When they run out of that, they get out their guitars and amplifiers and practice their songs for the services or else they play basketball.

The women yell to each other clear across the creek and the babies cry.

And sometimes I try to remember how it used to be up here in this holler...so peaceful and quiet...with a chipmunk to run by once in a while, or a big coon to investigate my kitchen scraps.

Here comes April now. She has a path of her own, from their back door to mine. She gets tired of those little brothers. Now she'll be wanting me to read her that same story book again. For the hundredth time I bet. And Debbie's waiting.

Oh, my, how did I ever get into all this?

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About the Author:

Mary Rice Somerville wrote this book to capture some of the memories of life in Boone County West Virginia. She was born in 1933 in Asheville, North Carolina, and has always been a homemaker.

Also by Mary Rice Somerville at Smashwords.com:

  *  The Big Black Trunk

