Halley (18 page)

Halley wanted to close her eyes and sleep, but she realized there was one voice she had not heard. “Pa Franklin?” she said.

“Over here,” Ma Franklin said, “wrapped in another quilt.”

“I didn’t know you could swim, Pa,” said Kate.

“I didn’t know it myself,” came a muffled reply.

“He saved our life,” said Robbie. “Grandpa’s a hero.”

“I reckon you’re right,” said Ma Franklin slowly. “I guess that does make Webb a hero.”

“Thank you, Pa,” said Kate. She broke into tears and Bud Gravitt put his arm around her.

“Mr. Gravitt is a hero, too,” Robbie continued, “cause he helped get Grandpa and Halley in the house before they froze. Halley’s a hero cause she tried to save me. And Golly would’ve been a hero if Grandpa hadn’t run him off.”

“Let it rest there,” Pa Franklin said, “before you turn Sukie into a hero, too. Is that coffee about ready, Old Woman?”

“I’ll get it for you right now, Webb.”

From her place on the floor, Halley saw her grandmother’s suddenly livelier walk and the peace that had come to her face. Before closing her eyes in sleep, Halley also saw Bud Gravitt pulling Robbie into an embrace with Kate, and she saw that this was, as Theodora said, what Kate had chosen for her life. For the first time Halley was willing to allow her mother that choice.

22. A New Beginning

It was mid-morning on the last Saturday in April, and the apple trees were in bloom. The Franklin house was scrubbed top to bottom, and most of the Owenby belongings were packed and piled in the dogtrot. The piano and the sewing machine were on the front porch, right up against the wall in case the overcast day brought rain. It was Kate’s wedding day—the day all the Owenbys would move to the Gravitt house.

“Robbie, drag the sawhorses from the shed,” Ma Franklin ordered in the brisk way she’d taken on since regaining her strength. “When the neighbors commence bringing in food for the wedding dinner, I want to have tables ready.” She looked at the sky. “I believe the sun’s going to come out after while.”

Amazingly, Robbie obeyed his grandmother immediately instead of waiting to be told a second time or a third.

“That young’un’s shaping up,” said Ma Franklin approvingly.

“They’s plenty or room for more improvement,” said Pa Franklin.

Though it was only nine o’clock, Ma Franklin already had on her new ready-made dress, the first she’d ever owned. It was well-protected by an apron. Her bosom was a little higher, too. Halley had talked her into ordering a brassiere for the occasion.

“Old Man,” she said, “I’ll want a separate table for the lemonade and ice the Calvins are bringing. It’s real neighborly for them to offer, and I want ‘em to know we appreciate it.”

“Hhumph!” said Pa Franklin, but he said no more. It was obvious that he was glad the differences with the Calvins had been patched up, and even gladder that his troubles with his wife were mended. Halley wondered if he’d actually told any of them he was sorry, but dared not ask.

Golly let out a “someone’s here” bark, and Halley looked across the pasture to see Bootsie coming in a green dress that set off her red hair to perfection. She was carrying a Bible under one arm.

Kate came out of the house in the dress she had made after Christmas and saved for this day. “Is Gid going to make it?” she asked when Bootsie reached the yard.

Bootsie shrugged. “Depends on if he can catch a ride from camp.” Bootsie laid her Bible on the porch and helped Robbie pull a sawhorse into place. She patted Golly on the head. “Mr. Franklin, you ought to allow this here dog to go back to Alpha Springs with Robbie.”

“Allow it?” Pa Franklin said. “I’m a gonna
require
it. No dog can serve two masters, and that mutt made his choice several months back. He ain’t worth no more than that dog, Buck. Golly ort to be a train dog, too. Hit’d be about the only thing he’d be good at.”

“You mean I can
have
Golly?” cried Robbie, running to embrace his grandfather.

Pa Franklin stopped him with an outstretched hand. “You’ll get my clothes dirty.”

Bootsie picked up her Bible. “Kate, you and Halley and Robbie ready to go?”

“Go?” said Pa Franklin, turning his eyes on Kate. “It ain’t time to go to the church yet.”

Kate did not flinch, Halley noted, but met her father’s gaze steadily. “We’re going to walk. I figure to meet and talk to the preacher Bud is bringing to marry us.”

“But Billy Joe Eggar was aiming to drive us there.”

Bootsie smiled. “He can drive you and Ma. We won’t start the wedding without you.”

As soon as they were out of hearing, Halley said, “I can’t believe Pa Franklin’s letting us use his church for the wedding.”

Bootsie giggled. “I don’t think he’s none too comfortable with it, but Kate made sure to ask him right in front of Billy Joe Eggar, and Billy Joe liked the idea.”

Robbie tugged on Bootsie’s arm. “If you’re a preacher, how come
you
can’t marry Mama and Mr. Gravitt?”

“Because she’s not ‘official’ and ordained yet,” said Kate. “She has to have people question her and say words over her and all that, but God will take care of that when the time comes.”

Kate was sounding sure of herself on religious matters these days, Halley thought. She had never been sure of anything before.

When the church came into sight, Halley had a surprise. There were three familiar vehicles out front—Bud Gravitt’s truck, Theodora’s rolling house, and Garnetta’s car. Theodora was setting up her camera.

“Theo stayed special, to take pictures for us today,” said Bootsie. “She’s about to head back up North, and she’s taking Opal Gowder to her school on the way.”

“So Opal really is going to school,” said Halley with envy. She felt her mother’s eyes on her but did not return her gaze.

“Theo says she’s through with her project on folks in mountain Georgia,” Bootsie continued. “Well, I got news for her. She may be through with her
project
, but she ain’t finished with us. She’s part Georgia mountain now whether she likes it or not.”

Theo heard this and laughed. “Dogged if I don’t think y’all are right,” she said in imitation mountain dialect.

Bud Gravitt stepped out of the church, smiling and holding up a bouquet of flowers. Annabel and Chub were with him.

Bud hurried to meet them, planted a kiss on Kate’s forehead, and presented the flowers. He hugged Halley, too, before she could step out of his reach. “I’m glad you’re going to be with us a little while before you go off to school at Berry,” he said.

“Berry School!?” said Halley, turning to her mother.

Bud clapped his hand over his mouth. “You didn’t tell her yet?”

Kate shook her head. “Haven’t had a chance.”

Halley threw her arms around her mother. “Thank you, Mama! Thank you! When?”

“How about June?”

“June,” Halley whispered. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

At that moment Bootsie’s face lit up. “Gid!” she cried and ran to embrace her husband on the steps of the church. Garnetta came out with Dimple and Frank Earl, who were holding hands. Following them was a short, chubby man carrying a Bible.

“Folks, this is Preacher Clarence Clark,” said Bud Gravitt by way of introduction.

“Let’s go inside,” the preacher said. “Ever’body set where you’re comfortable.”

Robbie sat with Garnetta, Bootsie, and Gid on the front row. Chub and Annabel led the way into one of the pews midway down the aisle and Halley followed, still in a daze from the news she’d just heard. Berry School! She was actually going to Berry.

Frank Earl and Dimple sat on the same pew with Halley.

“Old man Franklin would have a hissy fit if he knowed how many people here belonged to other churches besides Baptist,” said Annabel.

Chub gave her a warning look. “Don’t you stir up trouble.”

“I already told you I ain’t. I’m glad Pa and Kate are marrying. Now Baby Will can come home, and I don’t have to do the cooking no more.”

Chub winked at Halley. “And the rest of us don’t have to die of innergestion.”

Annabel gave him an elbow, and Chub bent over in mock agony.

Kate and Bud talked to the preacher at the altar until Ma and Pa Franklin arrived with Billy Joe Eggar and his wife.

Bud Gravitt turned to Bootsie. “Are we ready to begin?”

Bootsie nodded and walked to the piano. “I’m going to sing my favorite song,” she said and began playing.

By and by, when the morning comes,

when the saints of God are gathered home,

We will sing the story how we’ve overcome,

For we will understand it better by and by.

“Ever’body join in and sing together,” said Bootsie.

Halley sang with all her heart, and so did all the others. As they sang, the sun broke through the clouds and lit the inside of the sanctuary with golden light. Halley had never felt so good. She felt washed clean of all the bad things of the past year.

When the song ended, the preacher opened his Bible. “The morning
has
come,” he said. “Bud and Kate have a new chance to make their lives all they want them to be, and so do all the rest of us.”

Yes, Halley thought. That’s exactly what it is—a new chance for Mama and Bud Gravitt and a new chance for me and Robbie, too.

It seemed to Halley that she floated through the wedding ceremony and the photographs that followed. She floated through the trip back to the Franklin house, too. When they got there, the neighbors had gathered and the tables were spread. Halley knew she would remember this scene forever as the time when a part of her life ended and another, better part began.

The End

A Background Note

The Great Depression hung on longer in the mountains of north Georgia than it did in most of the rest of the country. So, even though this story is set a little before my time, I didn’t have to do much research. Many of the mountain communities where my folks lived did not get electricity until the late fifties and early sixties. Indoor plumbing came later than that. I grew up using kerosene lamps for light, wood-burning stoves for cooking, and wells for water. We had outdoor toilets and many of my relatives used mattresses stuffed with corn shucks. In my youngest childhood I walked with my grandmother to “meet the rolling store,” and a few times I picked cotton. A sorry hand I was, too. Once my sister and I picked a small patch all by ourselves. It took us a full day, and together we had a little less than a hundred pounds.

Moonshining was not unknown in my family. Three of my great uncles were masters of the art. These were intelligent men, well educated for that time and place, but jobs were hard to come by, and they had families to provide for. They had many near brushes with the law, which made fine stories well after the fact. However, they eventually retired from the business after two of them spent time on a chain gang. Their tales about that experience made me and my four siblings vow to be law abiding!

My family attended fundamentalist Baptist churches, which preached a straight and narrow road to salvation. It always seemed a steep and joyless path to me. Whatever a body liked to do was almost bound to be sinful. Perhaps that is the reason backsliding was so common. As the years have passed I’ve come to a deeper appreciation for those who managed to stay on the path and live their faith. We had several preachers in the family, though none quite so hard-shelled as Pa Franklin in this story.

Even as a child I saw what a hard life women had. Most bore five to ten children, and those children were delivered by untrained midwives. My own mother married at fourteen and had me at fifteen with only her mother-in-law in attendance. The same grandmother also delivered the next two of my siblings. The third, a boy, weighed twelve pounds! Women had to scrub clothes by hand and press them with flatirons heated on a wood-burning stove. They canned goods from May through September and cooked three meals a day from scratch. Yet despite their hardships, women had little more than a child’s say in the family.

Tufting bedspreads was one way mountain women could earn actual cash, but their husbands usually took the money. To make up for the earnings her husband took, one of my aunts used to “steal” a chicken every now and then to trade at the store for things she wanted–to her husband, she pretended hawks took the missing poultry.

One-room schoolhouses were common—I attended one for a few months when I was ten. Schooling beyond three or four years was considered a senseless luxury. As my mother said when I refused to drop out of school at age sixteen, “They won’t pay you a bit more at the mill if you have a diploma in your hand.” She
really
fussed when I decided to go to college. In fact, all five of Mama’s children ended up finishing college, and she eventually saw the sense in it.

Franklin Roosevelt’s CCC camps provided training and education—not to mention nutritious food and good clothing—to many a mountain boy. My mother’s brother joined the CCC in 1936, and his stories of his adventures helped me with this book.

Theodora Langford is fictional, but she was inspired by several women photographers who took great risks to document events and people. Dorothea Lange, in particular, portrayed the face of Depression-era poverty in the photographs she made for the Farm Security Administration. I wanted Theodora to show Halley her Georgia mountain people and at the same time provide an example of what a woman could do.

Martha Berry, however, was a real person. Though she was born in 1865 to an affluent plantation family, she recognized even as a child the poverty and illiteracy all around her. As a young person she started her first school for the children of local farmers. In many cases, she had to convince parents that education was worth their children’s time away from farm labor. In 1902 she began a boarding school for boys and in 1909 opened one for girls. From the start she planned for these young people to work while they learned so they could pay for most of their own education. Not content with serving local youngsters, she often traveled into the mountains with her father to recruit promising students. She was recruiting wealthy donors, too. By the time she established Berry College in 1926, she had set her sights on people like Henry Ford, who shared her vision for educating the children in mountain Georgia. Eventually, Ford paid for the building of a new girls’ campus, using Gothic architecture and local stone.

Because Martha Berry died in 1942, I never knew her. But I was one of the Georgia mountain kids her schools educated. When I enrolled in 1957, many things had changed, but the school still had a work program that allowed students to earn most of their education costs and it still required uniforms. During the Great Depression, the best place—often the only place—for a kid like Halley to get an education would have been Berry College.

No, I didn’t need to do much research for this story. I just fictionalized my experiences and those of my family.

It’s easy to cast a rosy glow over such bygone days, but on close examination I’d have to agree with Dolly Parton’s song about her growing-up time: “A million dollars would not buy my memories of way back then, but for a million dollars I wouldn’t live it all again.”

— F. G.