from thievin’. Jack and the animals scare them robbers so bad that they end up chasing ’em off—so they get to eat their vittles and keep their loot too!
Mom also told us “Jack and the Bean Tree”—the Appalachian version of “Jack and the Beanstalk”—and “SopDoll,” about a bunch of witches. Dad and I cheered and clapped when Mom was too tired to tell anymore.
Course, by then, we’d been listenin’ to her hillbilly drawl so long that we were talking that way too, crackin’ each other up.
“Let’s jes set up a bed he’ar on the floor,” Dad said.
“That’s a right fine idea,” Mom replied.
“I sure is tared,” I said. “Ma, I got me a hankerin’ to snack on some o’ yer corn pone. They any left?”
“Law no, I gave it to the pigs. They hain’t had nothin’ but leather britches and cornhusks since fall. I figgered to give ’em a treat.”
“Well that were plum good of ye,” I said. “But I sure is hungry. Maybe I’ll go outside and chew on a tare.”
“You leave my wagon alone, y’hear?” Dad said. “It done nuthin’ to ye.”
We were in tears, laughing so hard. But all that talk of corn pone really did make me hungry, and Mom had some cornbread left over in the kitchen. I danced across the cold floor and raced back with a piece of cornbread, which I shoveled down too fast to taste.
It was too cold to sleep in our bedrooms, so we stoked the fire and piled the blankets and pillows into made-up beds on the floor. We’d just settled in to sleep when the power came back on. The whir of the heater smothered the sound of the crackling fire, and lights popped bright like camera flashes.
I squinted and blinked against the sudden glare. Mom frowned.
Dad got up, turned off all the lights, turned the heat down, and came back to the den with a wide grin on his face. “Make some room fer yer pa thar.”
I fell asleep wishing things could stay just like this, happy and warm.
r
Chapter 16
Seeds
The miners stayed on strike through the rain, the ice, and the cold. They built a small shack just outside the main gate for when the weather got really bad and kept a fire going in a metal barrel to keep warm.
Every day, Dad returned home cold and depressed and went straight to his metal shop, where he made charms and model cars for Grandpa to display in his bait shop. Sometimes Grandpa would sell one to someone passing through and we’d have meat with dinner to celebrate.
Mom spent more and more of her time over at the Ledfords’. Mrs. Ledford’s lung cancer had grown worse and the miners’ wives took turns helpin’ out until somebody was there nearly round the clock. Sometimes I went with her, but I mostly just got in the way.
Being the only one in the house meant I answered the calls from the bill collectors. One day one of ’em yelled at me, “You’re lying to me, son. I know your parents are home! Put your father on the phone right this minute!”
I hung up on him and leaned against the counter. Don’t cry, don’t cry. The phone rang again, but I ignored it as best I could.
We needed money. The stipend from the Union obviously wasn’t enough. But what could I do to help my family? I felt so useless.
I asked Mom if I could get a job, but she said, “You have a job—to go to school and learn as much as you can.”
That didn’t stop me from lookin’ around. But even the few part-time jobs were scooped up by out-of-work miners. I asked Grandpa if I could help in his store. He let me move boxes around on the weekends sometimes, but it was winter—his slow season. It weren’t nearly enough money to make a difference, and he couldn’t afford to give me more.
I had to do something .
Watching my dad’s shoulders sink lower and lower each day was driving me crazy. And I could have sworn his hair was turning gray.
About that time, Miss Post gave me a book on greenhouse gardening, which finally gave me an idea.
“Mom, do you have any leftover seeds from last
Mom also told us “Jack and the Bean Tree”—the Appalachian version of “Jack and the Beanstalk”—and “SopDoll,” about a bunch of witches. Dad and I cheered and clapped when Mom was too tired to tell anymore.
Course, by then, we’d been listenin’ to her hillbilly drawl so long that we were talking that way too, crackin’ each other up.
“Let’s jes set up a bed he’ar on the floor,” Dad said.
“That’s a right fine idea,” Mom replied.
“I sure is tared,” I said. “Ma, I got me a hankerin’ to snack on some o’ yer corn pone. They any left?”
“Law no, I gave it to the pigs. They hain’t had nothin’ but leather britches and cornhusks since fall. I figgered to give ’em a treat.”
“Well that were plum good of ye,” I said. “But I sure is hungry. Maybe I’ll go outside and chew on a tare.”
“You leave my wagon alone, y’hear?” Dad said. “It done nuthin’ to ye.”
We were in tears, laughing so hard. But all that talk of corn pone really did make me hungry, and Mom had some cornbread left over in the kitchen. I danced across the cold floor and raced back with a piece of cornbread, which I shoveled down too fast to taste.
It was too cold to sleep in our bedrooms, so we stoked the fire and piled the blankets and pillows into made-up beds on the floor. We’d just settled in to sleep when the power came back on. The whir of the heater smothered the sound of the crackling fire, and lights popped bright like camera flashes.
I squinted and blinked against the sudden glare. Mom frowned.
Dad got up, turned off all the lights, turned the heat down, and came back to the den with a wide grin on his face. “Make some room fer yer pa thar.”
I fell asleep wishing things could stay just like this, happy and warm.
r
Chapter 16
Seeds
The miners stayed on strike through the rain, the ice, and the cold. They built a small shack just outside the main gate for when the weather got really bad and kept a fire going in a metal barrel to keep warm.
Every day, Dad returned home cold and depressed and went straight to his metal shop, where he made charms and model cars for Grandpa to display in his bait shop. Sometimes Grandpa would sell one to someone passing through and we’d have meat with dinner to celebrate.
Mom spent more and more of her time over at the Ledfords’. Mrs. Ledford’s lung cancer had grown worse and the miners’ wives took turns helpin’ out until somebody was there nearly round the clock. Sometimes I went with her, but I mostly just got in the way.
Being the only one in the house meant I answered the calls from the bill collectors. One day one of ’em yelled at me, “You’re lying to me, son. I know your parents are home! Put your father on the phone right this minute!”
I hung up on him and leaned against the counter. Don’t cry, don’t cry. The phone rang again, but I ignored it as best I could.
We needed money. The stipend from the Union obviously wasn’t enough. But what could I do to help my family? I felt so useless.
I asked Mom if I could get a job, but she said, “You have a job—to go to school and learn as much as you can.”
That didn’t stop me from lookin’ around. But even the few part-time jobs were scooped up by out-of-work miners. I asked Grandpa if I could help in his store. He let me move boxes around on the weekends sometimes, but it was winter—his slow season. It weren’t nearly enough money to make a difference, and he couldn’t afford to give me more.
I had to do something .
Watching my dad’s shoulders sink lower and lower each day was driving me crazy. And I could have sworn his hair was turning gray.
About that time, Miss Post gave me a book on greenhouse gardening, which finally gave me an idea.
“Mom, do you have any leftover seeds from last
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