Farm Girl by Karen Jones Gowen

else’s. I had them all memorized, and she was so tickled by that.
    Ford’s house was heated by a round hard coal burner with lots of chrome that sat in the middle of the dining room. It had a point on top, glass doors where you could see the red fire, a chrome rack around it so you could sit close to it and put your feet on the rack. I’d sit on the little footstool next to the stove, listening to their conversation, enthralled by Aunt Bernice’s stories. And we’d eat candy.
    Aunt Bernice always brought lots of candy home at Christmas, chocolate-covered cherries, ribbon-like hard candy, and raspberry candy with soft centers. She would tell us stories about teaching third grade. When it was time for recess, she had her students turn, rise and pass before they went out to play. She would say “turn,” and they’d turn in their seats, then “rise,” and they’d get up from their seats, and then “pass,” and they filed out for recess. Her biggest discipline problems were kids shooting paper wads in class.
    One of her students she called “Hoodabooboo,” because that was his favorite word. He was mentally deficient and always said “hoodabooboo” about everything. She was trying to teach him something and trying to help him along.
    I remember her talking about one little boy who was her favorite. She thought he was such a nice little boy. She told us how well-mannered and polite he was, and such a good student. Then it turned out that this little boy grew up and went to prison. He robbed a bank in southwestern Nebraska and killed seven people. Aunt Bernice could hardly believe it possible, because in third grade he had been the nicest boy. I remember when that happened, reading in the paper about him.
    The paper quoted him, “I wish someone had stopped me, I was afraid I was going to kill people.”
    He said he had tried to get help but no one would listen. I had read in the Bible about demons in people, and it sounded to me like he had a demon. So I thought, maybe there is something to this idea about demons in people. It would explain a lot, especially in a situation like that.
    I felt very fortunate in the kind of wholesome life I’d had growing up. Besides our nice farm, we had a network of friends, neighbors and relatives both in the New Virginia and Norwegian communities. I never felt affected much by the stock market crash or the Great Depression, because not that much changed for me. I came home summers and holidays; my life went on as usual.
    The hardest part was seeing the hardship on the farmers and their families in our community. First it was the Depression, then the dust storms began, and then it was a long drought when no crops would grow.

The Nebraska farm girl home for the summer

Farm girl by the car

Catherine May

Chapter Twelve:
A Sad Tale

    Catherine had always been strong-willed, but then something happened that made things worse. She was about thirteen and was playing across the street with a girl her age named Ruthie. I was sitting in the big chair in Aunt Elizabeth’s living room, studying and doing homework.
    Catherine came through the front door, slamming it shut. She stomped into the living room, saying, “Ruthie said I’m adopted! I’m not adopted!”
    I just looked at her, not knowing what to say. Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Will weren’t able to have children, and they had adopted Catherine when she was nine months old. All the Markers knew, but apparently no one had told her. We never thought anything about it, she was just part of the large Marker family like I was and like all the other cousins.
    Aunt Elizabeth took her into the bedroom and had a talk with her. After awhile, Catherine stormed out of the bedroom, her brown eyes flashing, and her cheeks red.
    She said, “She’s not my real mother, so I don’t have to do what she says!”
    From then on, Catherine was a problem. She became rebellious and disobedient, even more than before.
    Then when she was sixteen, her