INTO THE DELTA-Chapter 7: Minnie

Minnie

Their car bumped over the last bit of dusty road, and their new home came into view. A thin column of smoke rose from the back of the house then disappeared into the bare branches of the oak tree in the back yard.

“There it is, Mother, just beyond the trees,” Grady said.

The house was larger than the one they had left, the one that Henry had built for them in 1905, the year they married, but only just. It would do. She knew Henry already had plans to build them a larger house. As they rounded the curve, she could see the site he surely had chosen. Just across the slough from the existing house there was an ideal spot with large oaks for shade in the summer.

The house Henry built in 1905

The half-empty wagons stood alongside the front porch and the front door stood wide open. Furniture was arrayed across the porch. Ragged blankets that had been used in packing were piled in one corner. Henry and Morris Bailey must have heard the car for they immediately stepped through the front door and wazed.

“We’re home. We’re home,” the three girls bounced up and down on the backseat.

“Settle down, girls,” she admonished. Even as she admitted she was glad they had finally arrived.

Grady braked to a stop in front of the house, and Henry ran down and opened her door.

“Welcome home, Mother,” he embraced her and lifter her down. It reminded her just how strong he was. Then kissed her and she remembered how gentle he could be.

“We had hoped to be through with the unloading before you arrived but had a little trouble with a wagon wheel. Got here later than we had hoped. Still it is clean and habitable.”

The girls spilled out behind her and ran babbling up the steps and right by a bemused Morris Bailey and into the house.

“I am sure it will be fine,” she smiled up at her husband.

Morris Bailey trotted down the steps and gave her a hug and a kiss.

“How do you like it, Mother?” he asked.

“I think it is wonderful,” she replied even though she knew it would be crowded.

Grady came around the car and Henry took their son’s right hand.

“Good job, Son,” he said before wrapping his left arm around him and pulling the boy close.

Grady swelled with pride and seemed to stand a little taller. He even smiled slightly. That young man will never admit how much his father’s praise means to him, she thought.

“Come on, Grady,” Morris Bailey implored. “Let me show you our room.”

“Go on,” Henry said. “We can get back to unloading in a few minutes. I want to show your mother something.”

They walked together to the slough and crossed on the obviously new footbridge over the small stream of murky water, water that barely moved. They stopped in the widest open spot among the oak trees. Like just about everywhere else it was flat. Henry swung his arm wide.

“Will this do for a new home?” he asked.

She turned all about in the cool, afternoon sunshine. There was a decent sized pasture around the back and side of the existing house, plenty of room for her milkcows, and a sturdy barn at the far end. Stables stood right across the road, and she could make out the mule barn and lots in the distance. Everything else was fallow fields, row upon row of mounded black earth and gray stubble, divided  by the occasional strip of dull green hedges and bare trees, the verges that separated field from field. A green field of winter hay shown out starkly in the distance.

“It’s, it’s so different from back home,” she whispered. “One can see so far.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Henry answered. “And it is large, large enough for our family to grow, and with the blessing, large enough to leave something for our children, maybe even our children’s children.”

“it does not seem real, not yet,” she said.

Henry dug his heel into the ground, reached down, and lifted a handful of moist, black earth.

“This is real. It is rich, deep topsoil, perfect for cotton, and we are going to grow a lot of it.”

He let the soil spill through his fingers, then brushed his hand off on his trousers.

He was excited, excited enough to leave home and move across the state and take on a huge task. She was excited too. She thought but did not say: you build the farm; I will build a home and family.

“Wool gathering,” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

He pulled her close and whispered, “It’s a gamble, I know, but we’ll make it.”

She looked up at him and said, “I’m sure we will.”

“If you agree, I would like to build our house right here, facing west, like our home back in Choctaw County.”

She smiled and nodded. She had always liked the morning sun spilling in their bedroom window.

He squeezed her tight and added, “You plan it out and I will get it built.”

Arm in arm, they returned across the slough to the house. Henry nodded towards the wagons. Grady was already helping Morris Bailey unload. All three girls darted in and out of the door, squealing with delight.

“Morris Bailey and I got most of the furniture in and set up in place,” Henry said. “Your canning is all stored in the pantry or wellhouse. Just a little more to bring in.”

He smiled down at her.

“Got a warm pot of coffee on, too.”

Her mind was already running to what to do for supper, wondering if Henry had thought of that at all. Surely he had. He and Morris Bailey must have been eating something.

She heard a car horn from the road and turned to see a black sedan bouncing along the dirt road, trailing a slowly settling cloud of dust. We must plant a hedge to keep road dust out of the yard and house, she thought.

“Looks like Mr. Ferguson,” Henry said.

“Oh, I wish I Looked more presentable,” she said and began tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears or under her hat and knocking travel dust from her coat.

“You look fine,” Henry said and squeezed her hand.

The car rolled to a stop, and a man stepped out and waved.

“Welcome to Friendship,” he called.

He was a little shorter than Henry and older, but neat and trim, if dusty. A woman got out from the passenger side and she waved too.

“Minnie,” Henry said. “Let me introduce Mr. William Ferguson and his wife, Cora.”

She held her hand out to Mr. Ferguson who took it gently.

“Delighted to meet you at last,” he smiled. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you so much. It is a pleasure,” she replied.

Mrs. Ferguson grasped both her hands in hers and pulled her close. The faint odor of perfume tickled her nose.

“Welcome to Friendship, Dear,” the older woman whispered. “I do hope you’ll like it here.”

“I’m sure I shall,” she replied. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

They turned and Mrs. Ferguson laced her arm through hers and they walked arm in arm towards the house, their husbands following. Cora Ferguson paused as all three girls came spilling out the front door and stopped abruptly on the porch. All three curtsied as they were introduced.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “This is Sadie, Willye, and Maurice.”

She nodded to each girl respectively, then leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Girls, please look in the back seat of our car and tell me what you find.”

All three girls dashed down the steps and ran to the car.

Sadie got there first, peered into the back window, and spun around.

“Two baskets,” she said.

“Would you bring them in, please?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

She patted Minnie on the arm and added, “I thought you might appreciate a little help with supper on your first evening in the Delta.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she protested.

“Nonsense. You and your family have been traveling for days. It is little enough.”

Sadie and Willye proceeded them into the house, each carrying a large basket, with Maurice in tow.

Minnie

Their car bumped over the last bit of dusty road, and their new home came into view. A thin column of smoke rose from the back of the house then disappeared into the bare branches of the oak tree in the back yard.

“There it is, Mother, just beyond the trees,” Grady said.

The house was larger than the one they had left, the one that Henry had built for them in 1905, the year they married, but only just. It would do. She knew Henry already had plans to build them a larger house. As they rounded the curve, she could see the site he surely had chosen. Just across the slough from the existing house there was an ideal spot with large oaks for shade in the summer.

The house Henry built in 1905

The half-empty wagons stood alongside the front porch and the front door stood wide open. Furniture was arrayed across the porch. Ragged blankets that had been used in packing were piled in one corner. Henry and Morris Bailey must have heard the car for they immediately stepped through the front door and wazed.

“We’re home. We’re home,” the three girls bounced up and down on the backseat.

“Settle down, girls,” she admonished. Even as she admitted she was glad they had finally arrived.

Grady braked to a stop in front of the house, and Henry ran down and opened her door.

“Welcome home, Mother,” he embraced her and lifter her down. It reminded her just how strong he was. Then kissed her and she remembered how gentle he could be.

“We had hoped to be through with the unloading before you arrived but had a little trouble with a wagon wheel. Got here later than we had hoped. Still it is clean and habitable.”

The girls spilled out behind her and ran babbling up the steps and right by a bemused Morris Bailey and into the house.

“I am sure it will be fine,” she smiled up at her husband.

Morris Bailey trotted down the steps and gave her a hug and a kiss.

“How do you like it, Mother?” he asked.

“I think it is wonderful,” she replied even though she knew it would be crowded.

Grady came around the car and Henry took their son’s right hand.

“Good job, Son,” he said before wrapping his left arm around him and pulling the boy close.

Grady swelled with pride and seemed to stand a little taller. He even smiled slightly. That young man will never admit how much his father’s praise means to him, she thought.

“Come on, Grady,” Morris Bailey implored. “Let me show you our room.”

“Go on,” Henry said. “We can get back to unloading in a few minutes. I want to show your mother something.”

They walked together to the slough and crossed on the obviously new footbridge over the small stream of murky water, water that barely moved. They stopped in the widest open spot among the oak trees. Like just about everywhere else it was flat. Henry swung his arm wide.

“Will this do for a new home?” he asked.

She turned all about in the cool, afternoon sunshine. There was a decent sized pasture around the back and side of the existing house, plenty of room for her milkcows, and a sturdy barn at the far end. Stables stood right across the road, and she could make out the mule barn and lots in the distance. Everything else was fallow fields, row upon row of mounded black earth and gray stubble, divided  by the occasional strip of dull green hedges and bare trees, the verges that separated field from field. A green field of winter hay shown out starkly in the distance.

“It’s, it’s so different from back home,” she whispered. “One can see so far.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Henry answered. “And it is large, large enough for our family to grow, and with the blessing, large enough to leave something for our children, maybe even our children’s children.”

“it does not seem real, not yet,” she said.

Henry dug his heel into the ground, reached down, and lifted a handful of moist, black earth.

“This is real. It is rich, deep topsoil, perfect for cotton, and we are going to grow a lot of it.”

He let the soil spill through his fingers, then brushed his hand off on his trousers.

He was excited, excited enough to leave home and move across the state and take on a huge task. She was excited too. She thought but did not say: you build the farm; I will build a home and family.

“Wool gathering,” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

He pulled her close and whispered, “It’s a gamble, I know, but we’ll make it.”

She looked up at him and said, “I’m sure we will.”

“If you agree, I would like to build our house right here, facing west, like our home back in Choctaw County.”

She smiled and nodded. She had always liked the morning sun spilling in their bedroom window.

He squeezed her tight and added, “You plan it out and I will get it built.”

Arm in arm, they returned across the slough to the house. Henry nodded towards the wagons. Grady was already helping Morris Bailey unload. All three girls darted in and out of the door, squealing with delight.

“Morris Bailey and I got most of the furniture in and set up in place,” Henry said. “Your canning is all stored in the pantry or wellhouse. Just a little more to bring in.”

He smiled down at her.

“Got a warm pot of coffee on, too.”

Her mind was already running to what to do for supper, wondering if Henry had thought of that at all. Surely he had. He and Morris Bailey must have been eating something.

She heard a car horn from the road and turned to see a black sedan bouncing along the dirt road, trailing a slowly settling cloud of dust. We must plant a hedge to keep road dust out of the yard and house, she thought.

“Looks like Mr. Ferguson,” Henry said.

“Oh, I wish I Looked more presentable,” she said and began tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears or under her hat and knocking travel dust from her coat.

“You look fine,” Henry said and squeezed her hand.

The car rolled to a stop, and a man stepped out and waved.

“Welcome to Friendship,” he called.

He was a little shorter than Henry and older, but neat and trim, if dusty. A woman got out from the passenger side and she waved too.

“Minnie,” Henry said. “Let me introduce Mr. William Ferguson and his wife, Cora.”

She held her hand out to Mr. Ferguson who took it gently.

“Delighted to meet you at last,” he smiled. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you so much. It is a pleasure,” she replied.

Mrs. Ferguson grasped both her hands in hers and pulled her close. The faint odor of perfume tickled her nose.

“Welcome to Friendship, Dear,” the older woman whispered. “I do hope you’ll like it here.”

“I’m sure I shall,” she replied. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

They turned and Mrs. Ferguson laced her arm through hers and they walked arm in arm towards the house, their husbands following. Cora Ferguson paused as all three girls came spilling out the front door and stopped abruptly on the porch. All three curtsied as they were introduced.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “This is Sadie, Willye, and Maurice.”

She nodded to each girl respectively, then leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Girls, please look in the back seat of our car and tell me what you find.”

All three girls dashed down the steps and ran to the car.

Sadie got there first, peered into the back window, and spun around.

“Two baskets,” she said.

“Would you bring them in, please?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

She patted Minnie on the arm and added, “I thought you might appreciate a little help with supper on your first evening in the Delta.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she protested.

“Nonsense. You and your family have been traveling for days. It is little enough.”

Sadie and Willye proceeded them into the house, each carrying a large basket, with Maurice in tow.

Minnie

Their car bumped over the last bit of dusty road, and their new home came into view. A thin column of smoke rose from the back of the house then disappeared into the bare branches of the oak tree in the back yard.

“There it is, Mother, just beyond the trees,” Grady said.

The house was larger than the one they had left, the one that Henry had built for them in 1905, the year they married, but only just. It would do. She knew Henry already had plans to build them a larger house. As they rounded the curve, she could see the site he surely had chosen. Just across the slough from the existing house there was an ideal spot with large oaks for shade in the summer.

The house Henry built in 1905

The half-empty wagons stood alongside the front porch and the front door stood wide open. Furniture was arrayed across the porch. Ragged blankets that had been used in packing were piled in one corner. Henry and Morris Bailey must have heard the car for they immediately stepped through the front door and wazed.

“We’re home. We’re home,” the three girls bounced up and down on the backseat.

“Settle down, girls,” she admonished. Even as she admitted she was glad they had finally arrived.

Grady braked to a stop in front of the house, and Henry ran down and opened her door.

“Welcome home, Mother,” he embraced her and lifter her down. It reminded her just how strong he was. Then kissed her and she remembered how gentle he could be.

“We had hoped to be through with the unloading before you arrived but had a little trouble with a wagon wheel. Got here later than we had hoped. Still it is clean and habitable.”

The girls spilled out behind her and ran babbling up the steps and right by a bemused Morris Bailey and into the house.

“I am sure it will be fine,” she smiled up at her husband.

Morris Bailey trotted down the steps and gave her a hug and a kiss.

“How do you like it, Mother?” he asked.

“I think it is wonderful,” she replied even though she knew it would be crowded.

Grady came around the car and Henry took their son’s right hand.

“Good job, Son,” he said before wrapping his left arm around him and pulling the boy close.

Grady swelled with pride and seemed to stand a little taller. He even smiled slightly. That young man will never admit how much his father’s praise means to him, she thought.

“Come on, Grady,” Morris Bailey implored. “Let me show you our room.”

“Go on,” Henry said. “We can get back to unloading in a few minutes. I want to show your mother something.”

They walked together to the slough and crossed on the obviously new footbridge over the small stream of murky water, water that barely moved. They stopped in the widest open spot among the oak trees. Like just about everywhere else it was flat. Henry swung his arm wide.

“Will this do for a new home?” he asked.

She turned all about in the cool, afternoon sunshine. There was a decent sized pasture around the back and side of the existing house, plenty of room for her milkcows, and a sturdy barn at the far end. Stables stood right across the road, and she could make out the mule barn and lots in the distance. Everything else was fallow fields, row upon row of mounded black earth and gray stubble, divided  by the occasional strip of dull green hedges and bare trees, the verges that separated field from field. A green field of winter hay shown out starkly in the distance.

“It’s, it’s so different from back home,” she whispered. “One can see so far.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Henry answered. “And it is large, large enough for our family to grow, and with the blessing, large enough to leave something for our children, maybe even our children’s children.”

“it does not seem real, not yet,” she said.

Henry dug his heel into the ground, reached down, and lifted a handful of moist, black earth.

“This is real. It is rich, deep topsoil, perfect for cotton, and we are going to grow a lot of it.”

He let the soil spill through his fingers, then brushed his hand off on his trousers.

He was excited, excited enough to leave home and move across the state and take on a huge task. She was excited too. She thought but did not say: you build the farm; I will build a home and family.

“Wool gathering,” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

He pulled her close and whispered, “It’s a gamble, I know, but we’ll make it.”

She looked up at him and said, “I’m sure we will.”

“If you agree, I would like to build our house right here, facing west, like our home back in Choctaw County.”

She smiled and nodded. She had always liked the morning sun spilling in their bedroom window.

He squeezed her tight and added, “You plan it out and I will get it built.”

Arm in arm, they returned across the slough to the house. Henry nodded towards the wagons. Grady was already helping Morris Bailey unload. All three girls darted in and out of the door, squealing with delight.

“Morris Bailey and I got most of the furniture in and set up in place,” Henry said. “Your canning is all stored in the pantry or wellhouse. Just a little more to bring in.”

He smiled down at her.

“Got a warm pot of coffee on, too.”

Her mind was already running to what to do for supper, wondering if Henry had thought of that at all. Surely he had. He and Morris Bailey must have been eating something.

She heard a car horn from the road and turned to see a black sedan bouncing along the dirt road, trailing a slowly settling cloud of dust. We must plant a hedge to keep road dust out of the yard and house, she thought.

“Looks like Mr. Ferguson,” Henry said.

“Oh, I wish I Looked more presentable,” she said and began tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears or under her hat and knocking travel dust from her coat.

“You look fine,” Henry said and squeezed her hand.

The car rolled to a stop, and a man stepped out and waved.

“Welcome to Friendship,” he called.

He was a little shorter than Henry and older, but neat and trim, if dusty. A woman got out from the passenger side and she waved too.

“Minnie,” Henry said. “Let me introduce Mr. William Ferguson and his wife, Cora.”

She held her hand out to Mr. Ferguson who took it gently.

“Delighted to meet you at last,” he smiled. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you so much. It is a pleasure,” she replied.

Mrs. Ferguson grasped both her hands in hers and pulled her close. The faint odor of perfume tickled her nose.

“Welcome to Friendship, Dear,” the older woman whispered. “I do hope you’ll like it here.”

“I’m sure I shall,” she replied. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

They turned and Mrs. Ferguson laced her arm through hers and they walked arm in arm towards the house, their husbands following. Cora Ferguson paused as all three girls came spilling out the front door and stopped abruptly on the porch. All three curtsied as they were introduced.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “This is Sadie, Willye, and Maurice.”

She nodded to each girl respectively, then leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Girls, please look in the back seat of our car and tell me what you find.”

All three girls dashed down the steps and ran to the car.

Sadie got there first, peered into the back window, and spun around.

“Two baskets,” she said.

“Would you bring them in, please?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

She patted Minnie on the arm and added, “I thought you might appreciate a little help with supper on your first evening in the Delta.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she protested.

“Nonsense. You and your family have been traveling for days. It is little enough.”

Sadie and Willye proceeded them into the house, each carrying a large basket, with Maurice in tow.

Minnie

Their car bumped over the last bit of dusty road, and their new home came into view. A thin column of smoke rose from the back of the house then disappeared into the bare branches of the oak tree in the back yard.

“There it is, Mother, just beyond the trees,” Grady said.

The house was larger than the one they had left, the one that Henry had built for them in 1905, the year they married, but only just. It would do. She knew Henry already had plans to build them a larger house. As they rounded the curve, she could see the site he surely had chosen. Just across the slough from the existing house there was an ideal spot with large oaks for shade in the summer.

The house Henry built in 1905

The half-empty wagons stood alongside the front porch and the front door stood wide open. Furniture was arrayed across the porch. Ragged blankets that had been used in packing were piled in one corner. Henry and Morris Bailey must have heard the car for they immediately stepped through the front door and wazed.

“We’re home. We’re home,” the three girls bounced up and down on the backseat.

“Settle down, girls,” she admonished. Even as she admitted she was glad they had finally arrived.

Grady braked to a stop in front of the house, and Henry ran down and opened her door.

“Welcome home, Mother,” he embraced her and lifter her down. It reminded her just how strong he was. Then kissed her and she remembered how gentle he could be.

“We had hoped to be through with the unloading before you arrived but had a little trouble with a wagon wheel. Got here later than we had hoped. Still it is clean and habitable.”

The girls spilled out behind her and ran babbling up the steps and right by a bemused Morris Bailey and into the house.

“I am sure it will be fine,” she smiled up at her husband.

Morris Bailey trotted down the steps and gave her a hug and a kiss.

“How do you like it, Mother?” he asked.

“I think it is wonderful,” she replied even though she knew it would be crowded.

Grady came around the car and Henry took their son’s right hand.

“Good job, Son,” he said before wrapping his left arm around him and pulling the boy close.

Grady swelled with pride and seemed to stand a little taller. He even smiled slightly. That young man will never admit how much his father’s praise means to him, she thought.

“Come on, Grady,” Morris Bailey implored. “Let me show you our room.”

“Go on,” Henry said. “We can get back to unloading in a few minutes. I want to show your mother something.”

They walked together to the slough and crossed on the obviously new footbridge over the small stream of murky water, water that barely moved. They stopped in the widest open spot among the oak trees. Like just about everywhere else it was flat. Henry swung his arm wide.

“Will this do for a new home?” he asked.

She turned all about in the cool, afternoon sunshine. There was a decent sized pasture around the back and side of the existing house, plenty of room for her milkcows, and a sturdy barn at the far end. Stables stood right across the road, and she could make out the mule barn and lots in the distance. Everything else was fallow fields, row upon row of mounded black earth and gray stubble, divided  by the occasional strip of dull green hedges and bare trees, the verges that separated field from field. A green field of winter hay shown out starkly in the distance.

“It’s, it’s so different from back home,” she whispered. “One can see so far.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Henry answered. “And it is large, large enough for our family to grow, and with the blessing, large enough to leave something for our children, maybe even our children’s children.”

“it does not seem real, not yet,” she said.

Henry dug his heel into the ground, reached down, and lifted a handful of moist, black earth.

“This is real. It is rich, deep topsoil, perfect for cotton, and we are going to grow a lot of it.”

He let the soil spill through his fingers, then brushed his hand off on his trousers.

He was excited, excited enough to leave home and move across the state and take on a huge task. She was excited too. She thought but did not say: you build the farm; I will build a home and family.

“Wool gathering,” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

He pulled her close and whispered, “It’s a gamble, I know, but we’ll make it.”

She looked up at him and said, “I’m sure we will.”

“If you agree, I would like to build our house right here, facing west, like our home back in Choctaw County.”

She smiled and nodded. She had always liked the morning sun spilling in their bedroom window.

He squeezed her tight and added, “You plan it out and I will get it built.”

Arm in arm, they returned across the slough to the house. Henry nodded towards the wagons. Grady was already helping Morris Bailey unload. All three girls darted in and out of the door, squealing with delight.

“Morris Bailey and I got most of the furniture in and set up in place,” Henry said. “Your canning is all stored in the pantry or wellhouse. Just a little more to bring in.”

He smiled down at her.

“Got a warm pot of coffee on, too.”

Her mind was already running to what to do for supper, wondering if Henry had thought of that at all. Surely he had. He and Morris Bailey must have been eating something.

She heard a car horn from the road and turned to see a black sedan bouncing along the dirt road, trailing a slowly settling cloud of dust. We must plant a hedge to keep road dust out of the yard and house, she thought.

“Looks like Mr. Ferguson,” Henry said.

“Oh, I wish I Looked more presentable,” she said and began tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears or under her hat and knocking travel dust from her coat.

“You look fine,” Henry said and squeezed her hand.

The car rolled to a stop, and a man stepped out and waved.

“Welcome to Friendship,” he called.

He was a little shorter than Henry and older, but neat and trim, if dusty. A woman got out from the passenger side and she waved too.

“Minnie,” Henry said. “Let me introduce Mr. William Ferguson and his wife, Cora.”

She held her hand out to Mr. Ferguson who took it gently.

“Delighted to meet you at last,” he smiled. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you so much. It is a pleasure,” she replied.

Mrs. Ferguson grasped both her hands in hers and pulled her close. The faint odor of perfume tickled her nose.

“Welcome to Friendship, Dear,” the older woman whispered. “I do hope you’ll like it here.”

“I’m sure I shall,” she replied. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

They turned and Mrs. Ferguson laced her arm through hers and they walked arm in arm towards the house, their husbands following. Cora Ferguson paused as all three girls came spilling out the front door and stopped abruptly on the porch. All three curtsied as they were introduced.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “This is Sadie, Willye, and Maurice.”

She nodded to each girl respectively, then leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Girls, please look in the back seat of our car and tell me what you find.”

All three girls dashed down the steps and ran to the car.

Sadie got there first, peered into the back window, and spun around.

“Two baskets,” she said.

“Would you bring them in, please?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

She patted Minnie on the arm and added, “I thought you might appreciate a little help with supper on your first evening in the Delta.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she protested.

“Nonsense. You and your family have been traveling for days. It is little enough.”

Sadie and Willye proceeded them into the house, each carrying a large basket, with Maurice in tow.

Minnie

Their car bumped over the last bit of dusty road, and their new home came into view. A thin column of smoke rose from the back of the house then disappeared into the bare branches of the oak tree in the back yard.

“There it is, Mother, just beyond the trees,” Grady said.

The house was larger than the one they had left, the one that Henry had built for them in 1905, the year they married, but only just. It would do. She knew Henry already had plans to build them a larger house. As they rounded the curve, she could see the site he surely had chosen. Just across the slough from the existing house there was an ideal spot with large oaks for shade in the summer.

The house Henry built in 1905

The half-empty wagons stood alongside the front porch and the front door stood wide open. Furniture was arrayed across the porch. Ragged blankets that had been used in packing were piled in one corner. Henry and Morris Bailey must have heard the car for they immediately stepped through the front door and wazed.

“We’re home. We’re home,” the three girls bounced up and down on the backseat.

“Settle down, girls,” she admonished. Even as she admitted she was glad they had finally arrived.

Grady braked to a stop in front of the house, and Henry ran down and opened her door.

“Welcome home, Mother,” he embraced her and lifter her down. It reminded her just how strong he was. Then kissed her and she remembered how gentle he could be.

“We had hoped to be through with the unloading before you arrived but had a little trouble with a wagon wheel. Got here later than we had hoped. Still it is clean and habitable.”

The girls spilled out behind her and ran babbling up the steps and right by a bemused Morris Bailey and into the house.

“I am sure it will be fine,” she smiled up at her husband.

Morris Bailey trotted down the steps and gave her a hug and a kiss.

“How do you like it, Mother?” he asked.

“I think it is wonderful,” she replied even though she knew it would be crowded.

Grady came around the car and Henry took their son’s right hand.

“Good job, Son,” he said before wrapping his left arm around him and pulling the boy close.

Grady swelled with pride and seemed to stand a little taller. He even smiled slightly. That young man will never admit how much his father’s praise means to him, she thought.

“Come on, Grady,” Morris Bailey implored. “Let me show you our room.”

“Go on,” Henry said. “We can get back to unloading in a few minutes. I want to show your mother something.”

They walked together to the slough and crossed on the obviously new footbridge over the small stream of murky water, water that barely moved. They stopped in the widest open spot among the oak trees. Like just about everywhere else it was flat. Henry swung his arm wide.

“Will this do for a new home?” he asked.

She turned all about in the cool, afternoon sunshine. There was a decent sized pasture around the back and side of the existing house, plenty of room for her milkcows, and a sturdy barn at the far end. Stables stood right across the road, and she could make out the mule barn and lots in the distance. Everything else was fallow fields, row upon row of mounded black earth and gray stubble, divided  by the occasional strip of dull green hedges and bare trees, the verges that separated field from field. A green field of winter hay shown out starkly in the distance.

“It’s, it’s so different from back home,” she whispered. “One can see so far.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Henry answered. “And it is large, large enough for our family to grow, and with the blessing, large enough to leave something for our children, maybe even our children’s children.”

“it does not seem real, not yet,” she said.

Henry dug his heel into the ground, reached down, and lifted a handful of moist, black earth.

“This is real. It is rich, deep topsoil, perfect for cotton, and we are going to grow a lot of it.”

He let the soil spill through his fingers, then brushed his hand off on his trousers.

He was excited, excited enough to leave home and move across the state and take on a huge task. She was excited too. She thought but did not say: you build the farm; I will build a home and family.

“Wool gathering,” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

He pulled her close and whispered, “It’s a gamble, I know, but we’ll make it.”

She looked up at him and said, “I’m sure we will.”

“If you agree, I would like to build our house right here, facing west, like our home back in Choctaw County.”

She smiled and nodded. She had always liked the morning sun spilling in their bedroom window.

He squeezed her tight and added, “You plan it out and I will get it built.”

Arm in arm, they returned across the slough to the house. Henry nodded towards the wagons. Grady was already helping Morris Bailey unload. All three girls darted in and out of the door, squealing with delight.

“Morris Bailey and I got most of the furniture in and set up in place,” Henry said. “Your canning is all stored in the pantry or wellhouse. Just a little more to bring in.”

He smiled down at her.

“Got a warm pot of coffee on, too.”

Her mind was already running to what to do for supper, wondering if Henry had thought of that at all. Surely he had. He and Morris Bailey must have been eating something.

She heard a car horn from the road and turned to see a black sedan bouncing along the dirt road, trailing a slowly settling cloud of dust. We must plant a hedge to keep road dust out of the yard and house, she thought.

“Looks like Mr. Ferguson,” Henry said.

“Oh, I wish I Looked more presentable,” she said and began tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears or under her hat and knocking travel dust from her coat.

“You look fine,” Henry said and squeezed her hand.

The car rolled to a stop, and a man stepped out and waved.

“Welcome to Friendship,” he called.

He was a little shorter than Henry and older, but neat and trim, if dusty. A woman got out from the passenger side and she waved too.

“Minnie,” Henry said. “Let me introduce Mr. William Ferguson and his wife, Cora.”

She held her hand out to Mr. Ferguson who took it gently.

“Delighted to meet you at last,” he smiled. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Thank you so much. It is a pleasure,” she replied.

Mrs. Ferguson grasped both her hands in hers and pulled her close. The faint odor of perfume tickled her nose.

“Welcome to Friendship, Dear,” the older woman whispered. “I do hope you’ll like it here.”

“I’m sure I shall,” she replied. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?”

They turned and Mrs. Ferguson laced her arm through hers and they walked arm in arm towards the house, their husbands following. Cora Ferguson paused as all three girls came spilling out the front door and stopped abruptly on the porch. All three curtsied as they were introduced.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “This is Sadie, Willye, and Maurice.”

She nodded to each girl respectively, then leaned down and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Girls, please look in the back seat of our car and tell me what you find.”

All three girls dashed down the steps and ran to the car.

Sadie got there first, peered into the back window, and spun around.

“Two baskets,” she said.

“Would you bring them in, please?” Mrs. Ferguson asked.

She patted Minnie on the arm and added, “I thought you might appreciate a little help with supper on your first evening in the Delta.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she protested.

“Nonsense. You and your family have been traveling for days. It is little enough.”

Sadie and Willye proceeded them into the house, each carrying a large basket, with Maurice in tow.

INTO THE DELTA-Chapter 6: Morris Bailey

MORRIS BAILEY

 

Father tilted his hat back on his head and stared with disgust at the cracked felloe on the wagon wheel.

“I had hoped we could make it to Glendora today, but it looks like Minter City will be the best we can do,” he said. “Might hold up, but best change it.”

All day long they had followed the road north, long, straight stretches with only the occasional curve. Fallow fields, gray with the stubble of last year’s cotton, stretched away on each side, alternating with fields of green, winter wheat or thick patches of brown, leafless forests. At places they passed wide, sluggish, tree-lined bayous, cypress sentinels scattered about in the unmoving waters.

It was all so different from smaller fields and forests scattered on the rolling hills back home, with water in streams that actually moved. It seemed unreal that one could travel such a short distance, one day by car, and be in another world. He realized that Father was speaking to him.

“Get out the block and the wagon jack, Son. I’ll get the extra wheel.”

“Yessir,” he replied.

Despite the cool afternoon air, he was quickly covered in sweat. Soon they were rolling north again. His wet clothes clung to his body, and he shivered each time even the lightest breeze came up. He looked to his left. The long rays of the sinking sun no longer offered any warmth. They reached Minter City just before the sun finally sank the horizon. At last, he thought.

They dropped off the teams at the livery stable. Father paid for to have both teams tended to and purchased a new wheel getting partial credit on the busted one from the blacksmith next door. That completed they hurried up the only real street in town, and even it was unpaved, to the small hotel where they took a single room. They left their bags at the desk and went directly to the dining room. There were two other customers at separate tables. Salesmen, he imagined.

He and his father took a table close to the stove. The room could have been a little warmer, but it was better near the stove. A waiter in a reasonably clean apron approached as they dropped their hats in the two other empty places.

Father looked up.

“What’s your special tonight?” he asked.

“Beefsteak, snap beans, hominy, and cornbread,” the small man answered.

“We’ll have two then,” Father said. “And coffee, too, please.”

“Yessir, coming right up.”

Father placed a half dollar on the checkered tablecloth. He had not even seen Father reach into his pocket.

The waiter eyed the coin and Father said softly, “It has been a long, cold day. A little something to fortify the coffee would be appreciated. If that is possible.

The waiter brandished a rag as if to wipe their table and the coin disappeared.

“I’ll see what I can do for ya,” the waiter answered.

He wanted to ask Father what that was all about, but in the presence of this unspoken communication it seemed best not to.

The waiter returned with their coffee. Morris Bailey wrapped both hands around his cup and relished the warmth. His hands still shook a little from the cold. He lifted the cup and began to sip the rich, hot coffee. Father looked at him over the rim of his own cup.

“Unbutton your coat, Son. Let the warmth in,” Father said.

“Yessir,” he said and fumbled with the buttons.

“Better?” Father asked.

“Yessir. Much better,” he said and picked up his cup for another sip.

“Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, we’ll make Friendship tomorrow,” Father said.

“Yessir.”

“You’ve done a good job these last two days, Son, a man’s job.”

He flushed. Father was not particularly free with praise. When you received it, you could be sure you had earned it.

“Thank you, Father.”

He set down his cup.

“Father?” he asked. “Grady says there is a school in Webb that goes all the way to the twelfth grade.”

“Uh, huh,” Father said between swallows.

“Will we be able to go there?”

He had been wanting to ask that question for a long time.

Father set down his cup and looked at him like he wondered why he had even asked that question.

“I expect you to go there,” Father said. “And I expect you to do well. There are many good reasons for this move. Good land and an opportunity to own our own place. Good transportation for our crop. Good towns with schools. Education is a good thing. I want each one of you to have more than your mother and I had.”

Father sounded so serious, but like his mind was far away at the same time. Mother sometimes talked this way, but Father never had, not with him. He had been excited when Father had chosen him to make this trip, and now he was even more glad. He could tell these things meant a lot to Father, a lot like when he and Grady would lie in bed at night and talk about the things they wanted to do when they were grown. He realized that he wanted to be a part of Father’s dream.

“I won’t let you down, Father,” was all he could say.

Father smiled, but before he could say anything, the waiter returned with their plates. As he left, Morris Bailey noticed a small bottle of clear, colorless liquid between the sugar bowl and salt and pepper shakers. He was sure it had not been there before. Father reached for it, pulled the cork, and poured a generous amount into his own coffee.

Father was about to replace the cork, when he paused and splashed a tiny bit into Morris Bailey’s cup. Then Father slipped the bottle into his coat pocket.

“For the cold,” Father said.

Morris Bailey took a small sip, coughed at the sudden fire in his throat, then sipped again. He knew Father took a nip of whiskey from time to time. Mother mixed it with hot sweet tea and gave them a spoonful for a cough or a headcold. She even put up her nutbread every Christmas in a cake tin along with a cup of whiskey. When all the whiskey had evaporated, it was time to cut the cake. He loved that cake, loved the heady aroma, but he had never tasted the whiskey like this before. He had never dared.

How could something that smelled so sweet burn so going down? And how had Father known how to get some here in Minter City? Back home everybody knew who made and sold corn liquor. Most folks didn’t talk about it, just kind of ignored it and kept a little on hand. Except for folks like Father’s brother Burton who was regularly having fellowship from the Concord Baptist Church withdrawn from him, usually for dancing or playing cards, but occasionally for drunkenness.

Father smiled from across the table.

“Best not tell your mother,” he said.

“Nosir,” he said.

He felt like he had entered another world. They bowed their heads and Father offered thanks for their food and safe travel. Hungrily, they picked up their knives and forks and dug into their supper.

Dudley Walker

We are saying goodbye to a fine man and great friend today. Anyone who knew Dudley Walker knew how openhanded he was. His hands were large and rough with thick fingers, hands well-suited for a job of work, but those hands were so often open, open in greeting or in lending a hand or in offering a thoughtful gift. In the 40 years he and Dean lived next door to my parents, I never returned from a visit without something from his garden, greens or tomatoes, squash or okra. He made the bluebird house in our backyard during his birdhouse building phase and tried to give us a doghouse during his doghouse building phase even though we didn’t have a dog.

 

Mr. Dud’s open hands were an extension of his open heart. He was not the kind of neighbor to wait for you to ask for help or even the kind to ask if you needed help. Rather he was the kind of neighbor who saw a limb down on your fence and just went over and started cleaning it up. Or who might just come over and mow your yard because you were spending a lot of time at the hospital with a sick family member

 

My father and Mr. Dud loved each other. There is no other or better way to put it. They were both farm boys who weren’t afraid of hard work and loved to talk and laugh. No sooner had Father retired from the phone company than he was out with Mr. Dud mowing fairways at the city golf course. They spent untold hours together on each other’s porches talking and laughing or standing at the fence between their two yards chatting about the weather. They shared the fruits of each other’s gardens, the hopes and dreams and successes and challenges of their own lives and the lives of their children. Even after Father slipped into Alzheimer’s and remembered less and less, Mr. Dud would listen patiently.

 

I lived far away during my parents last few years as age and illness slowly took their toll. Increasing distances and responsibilities of work and my own growing family made trips to Tupelo less frequent but knowing that Mr. Dud was right next door gave me a comfort, a peace of mind for which I can never repay him.

 

And now he is gone leaving his wife Dean, four grown children, a passel of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and friends too numerous to mention. Yes, he is gone, but we are so much the better for having known him. If ever a man laid up treasures for himself in heaven, it was Mr. Dud. But he laid up treasures here on earth too, treasures of love and gratitude and care and concern and laughter for which he never asked for nor expected recompense or repayment. He simply gave and gave freely whenever he saw need, and in doing so taught all who knew how to give. And that may have been his finest, final gift.

INTO THE DELTA – Chapter 5: Sadie

I recently heard from a cousin, once-removed, whom I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting. She was enjoying reading stories about her grandfather, my uncle, and asked if I had considered adding illustrations. I admitted that I had not, but coincidentally or providentially (take your pick), my father-in-law asked the same question the very same week. I mentioned the idea to my wife, and she agreed it would be a good idea. So, with that groundswell of support, I will begin adding illustrations. Most of them will come from my private collection; most of them will be contemporaneous. I hope they add to your enjoyment. And now to Chapter 5: Sadie.

SADIE

Sadie watched Grady carefully place his coffee cup back in the saucer and sigh with contentment. Her four-year-old sister Maurice fidgeted at her side and Sadie knew why. Her sister’s sweet tooth rivalled that of their older brother who slid his cup and saucer back indicating he was finished.

Sadie knew the bottom would be coated with a slurry of coffee and undissolved sugar. Mother was forever chastising Grady for using so much sugar. Sadie picked up the saucer and cup and, with her mother’s nod of approval, set them in front of Maurice who immediately plunged a forefinger into the cup.

“Use your spoon, Dear,” Mother admonished.

The Hotel Irving

It was just the five of them again. She and Grady had been up early to see Father and Morris Bailey off with the wagons. Morris Bailey was only three years older than her, but he looked so grown up sitting up there on the wagon. He had grinned down at her.

“See you tomorrow, Curlyhead. Don’t forget to mind Mother. And Grady.”

She had looked about for something to throw at him for that last part but ended up just laughing.

Then he and Father had clucked up their teams and rattled off down the brick street in the pre-dawn dark.

She looked over at Willye who was staring out of the window at the people and automobiles and the occasional wagon passing up and down the street. Her half-eaten breakfast was growing cold.

“Willye Pauline,” Mother said. “Finish your breakfast. We cannot go shopping until you do.”

Willye was only seven, but she already liked dressing up a lot more than Sadie did. Sadie would have worn pants if her mother would have let her. She envied the freedom her brothers had.

Grady rose from the table.

“I believe I’ll take the Ford down to a garage and make sure all is ready for tomorrow,” he said.

Sadie turned anxiously to her mother.

“Mother, may I go with Grady?” she pleaded.

Grady gave her a baleful stare.

“You know you have outgrown your Sunday dress,” Mother replied. “And this is the perfect time and place to replace it.”

Her shoulders sagged, then she perked back up.

“Couldn’t you shop for Willye and Maurice first and me later when Grady looks for his new suit?”

She was about to give up when Mother relented.

“Ask Grady if he minds,” Mother said.

She turned expectantly to her older brother who rolled his eyes, then said, “Only if you promise to mind me and not be a nuisance.”

Well, that the first part rankled, but she would pay that price, to some degree.

“I do, in both cases,” she agreed.

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then placed it back on the table.

“Mother, may I be excused,” she asked.

Mother smiled and said, “Of course you may, Dear.”

She followed Grady out of the dining room, pulling on her coat and tugging her hat down over her head. They crossed the lobby, and stepped onto the sidewalk. It was all she could do to keep up with his long strides.

“Grady,” she implored. “Slow down.”

“You keep up,” he replied even as he slowed his pace, just a little.

“What is our new home like?” she asked. She envied him. He had actually been there once with Father.

“How many times have I told you? It’s flat,” Grady answered.

“Grady! You know what I mean.”

He mashed her hat sideways on her head.

“I think we’ll like it a lot. The house is an adequate house, although Father plans to build a larger one as soon as possible. The land is really good, perfect for cotton. You saw how the fields stretched away as far as you could see when we were coming into Greenwood? Well, that’s what it looks like.”

That certainly was flat, she thought.

Grady went on, “It’s a big place too. Over two thousand acres, more than three square miles.”

“Gosh,” was all she could think to say. “There will be lots of hands then.”

“I imagine so.”

“How far is it to school?”

“A little over four miles to the school in Sumner. Over five miles to the high school in Webb.”

By now they had reached the car, and Grady pulled out the choke before giving the crank two half turns to prime the engine.

“Let me crank it,” Sadie pleaded.

“No, too dangerous,” Grady said.

She gave him her most dejected look.

“But you can help,” he relented as he handed her the key. “Get in, put in the key and turn it to Battery.”

She jumped up on the seat and did as Grady told her.

“I know what to do next,” she said eagerly “Push the lever on the left all the way up.”

“That’s right. That retards the spark.”

She stretched her neck and grinned at him over the hood.

“And pull the right one down a little,” she added.

“Exactly. Three clicks should be enough,” Grady said. “What else?”

She thought for a moment.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Pull the hand brake all the way back. That’s done.”

“Here we go,” Grady said as he grabbed the left fender with his right hand and taking the crank in his left, gave it a quick turn. The engine coughed into life and the car rocked and vibrated roughly.

Grady walked up to her window.

“Pull down on the throttle. Just a little,” he said as he reached in and pulled down on the spark lever.

The engine smoothed out.

Grady opened the door.

“Slide over,” he said.

“Let me drive. Please.”

“Slide over,” Grady repeated. “Not in town.”

She could tell from his tone of voice that cajoling would not work and she reluctantly slid over. Grady climbed in, then flipped the key to Magneto, depressed the Reverse pedal, and backed their Model T into the street. Engaging Low gear, they chugged down the street.

Sadie leaned her face toward the window. She liked the rush of cold air on her face and pulled off her hat so that the wind blew through her hair. She closed her eyes and shook her head in the whishing wind.

“Let’s drive to California and see the Pacific Ocean,” she said dreamily.

She looked over at Grady who looked back at her but said nothing, only shook his head.

The streets were lined with glass storefronts. People were walking up and down the sidewalk. She tried to imagine where they were going. To one of the upstairs offices? Shopping in one of the many stores? At the corner they pulled into Crump’s Oil Company. The two-storied building was built right out to the street, but part of the ground floor was cut out creating a covered area where the gasoline pumps were located.

Grady pulled under the covered area and up to the pumps. The place smelled of oil and dust. It tickled her nose. There were shiny new cars for sale behind the large glass windows.

A man approached as Grady climbed out of the car. He was short and dirty and looked to be about 30-years-old. Grady towered over him.

“What can I do for ya, young fella?” he asked, wiping his hands on a soiled rag.

“I would like to top off the gasoline. And check the oil and the pressure in the tires, including the spare,” Grady answered.

Grady sounded so grown up, she thought. Well, he was five years older than she was.

“I’ll see right to it. Shouldn’t take too long,” then man said.

Sadie could not help but notice that the man’s words sounded soft and drawn out, almost like he was softly singing. Their waiter both last night at the Elite and the one this morning at the Hotel Irving had sounded like that too. She got out of the car and went to stand beside her older brother.

Grady watched as the man checked all five tires, crawled under the Model T to check the oil, then lifted the front seat to get to the gasoline tank. He dipped and removed a measuring stick, then inserted a hose and began operating the hand pump.

Sadie watched the globe at the top of the pump fill with amber liquid and whispered, “Grady.”

“What?”

“Does everyone in the Delta talk like he does?”

Grady snorted. “Guess so,” he said. “I imagine we will too soon enough.”

She smiled to herself.

“I hope so,” she sighed. “It sounds so – beautiful.”

Grady looked down at her, laughed, and taking his big right hand tousled her already windblown hair.

“You just won’t do, Sadie Belle.”

The man replaced the hose.

“That’ll be four bits,” he said.

Grady paid him, and they got back into the car.

“May I drive now?” she asked.

Grady did not even answer her this time. He just adjusted the spark and throttle. The man turned the crank for them and off they went.

“Grady, can we cross the river before we go looking for Mother, Willye, and Maurice? I want to see Grand Boulevard.”

He gave her a conspiratorial look.

“Let’s,” he replied.

She scooted to the edge of her seat for a better look.

“Father said it is a swing bridge. Maybe there will a steamship coming through and we will have to wait for it to pass,” she said.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Grady answered. “I expect that bridge has not been swung in years. The railroads ended most of the river traffic.”

Old Yazoo River Bridge

They crossed over to Fulton Street and headed towards the bridge. Grady was right. The only thing on the river was a small boat with two boys. They were fishing and did not even look up as the car rolled across the span. They passed several cars and trucks headed into town.

Suddenly they were on a divided street with a few large homes here and there set well back from the road. Young, slender, bare trees lined the street. Brown, winter grass covered the median that ran down the middle of the road, Grand Boulevard.

As they motored up the street, her head swung back and forth taking it all in. The houses were certainly large and grand, but …

“It’s not as grand as I imagined it,’ she sighed.

“It will be,” Grady said. “Given time. Those trees will grow and spread and it will be all shaded and peaceful looking. Like our yard back home. Or Grandpaw’s. Only with bigger houses and wider lawns.”

She looked up at her brother, surprised. He had a dreamy look she had never seen before. Two young girls in pretty frocks waved to them as they passed. Sadie waved back and suddenly she saw Grand Boulevard as Grady saw it, shaded lawns and families at leisure.

Grand Boulevard

Soon the houses became fewer and further apart. Grady nodded to the left as they crossed a wide street.

“That’s the road Father and Morris Bailey took this morning, the way we’ll take tomorrow,” he noted.

They continued until they reached the Tallahatchie River where they turned around and retraced their route. The two little girls were gone. Colored maids were out sweeping off porches and sidewalks. She pulled her coat more tightly around her, jammed her hat down over her ears, and scooted back across the seat to lean against her big brother.