xt7cfx73w47r https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7cfx73w47r/data/mets.xml The Frontier Nursing Service, Inc. 1975 bulletins English The Frontier Nursing Service, Inc. Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Frontier Nursing Service Quarterly Bulletins Frontier Nursing Service Quarterly Bulletin, Vol. 51, No. 2, Autumn 1975 text Frontier Nursing Service Quarterly Bulletin, Vol. 51, No. 2, Autumn 1975 1975 2014 true xt7cfx73w47r section xt7cfx73w47r VOLUME 5‘I AUTUMN, 1975 NUMBER 2
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Among the many attractive features of the Mary
Breckinridge Hospital are the paintings on the
nursery and pediatric ward walls done by talented
staff with the help of acrylic paints and an
overhead projector. Photographs of three of the E
drawings were taken by nurse—midwife Phyllis {
Long and are printed on the cover and inside back
cover of this Bulletin to bring you, our kind I
readers, our best wishes for a Happy New Year.
FRONTIER NURSING SERVICE QUARTERLY BU1t1.ET1N P
Published at the end of each Quarter by the Frontier Nursing Service, Inc.
Lexington, Ky. vt
Subscription Price $2.00 a Year
Editor’s Office, Wendover, Kentucky 41775 Jl
VOLUME 51 AUTUMN, 1975 NUMBER 2 ,
Second class postage paid at Lexington, Ky, 40507 jj
Send Form 3579 to Frontier Nursing Service, Wendover, Ky. 41775
Copyright 1976, Frontier Nursing Service, Inc.
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9 CONTENTS
I
ARTICLE AUTHOR PAGE
Anna May January (Illus.) 5
U _ Beyond the Mountains 33
England to Kentucky — 1929 Ada Worchester Marston 21
in { Field Notes 43
Helen E. Browne (Illus.) 3
In Memoriam 41
Memoirs of Trigger (Illus.) 38
il Old Staff News 25
Rehumanizing Medicine Ashley Montagu 23
’ Summer of the Locusts Dexter Collett 9
Q "There is Nothing I Can Give You..." Fra Giovanni 2
To All Nurse—Midwives 31
I Too Soon, Mr. Stork Anna May January 6
_ Brief Bits
` A Small Boy... Contributed 49
I All For Love The Countryman 40
` Commercial Candour The Countryman 49
Lovely October Contributed 8
'_ Pardon Me Officer Modern Maturity 40
, il Slippery Time Contributed 32
PS The Tax Squeeze Contributed 37.
_ Train Times The Countryman 30
, Two Young Volunteers., Modern Maturity
, i White Elephant 50
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2 FRONTIERN RSINGSERVICE
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* QUARTERLY Burrmrm 3
, HELEN E. BROWNE
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` At the end of 1975, Helen E. Browne retires as Director of the
V Frontier Nursing Service, as, soon thereafter, she reaches the
. Service’s mandatory retirement age. For those of us who have
` worked with Brownie for many years, and know the keen
_ intelligence and boundless energy she had brought to the position
V, she has held since the death of Mrs. Breckinridge in 1965, it seems
, quite incredible that she is approaching her sixty-fifth birthday.
She can still think more quickly and clearly through a problem
; and work longer hours without complaining, or even thinking
there might be something to complain about, than any of us!
Brownie came to the FNS in 1938, and, in the next ten years,
V, learned many facets of the program—as a district nurse—midwife,
‘ as hospital midwife and clinical instructor in the Frontier
{ Graduate School of Midwifery, as hospital superintendent. In
p , 1948, she came to Wendover as an Assistant Director. During one
i period of crisis, she took over, and taught herself, the workings of
` the Record Department; she took care of Wendover staff if anyone
l was ill; acted as consultant to the couriers when veterinary
» problems arose; was the mentor to younger staff, teaching us to

4 FRoN·r1ER NURSING ssnvics l
appreciate the FNS. In the latter years of Mrs. Breckinridge’s life, ,
as Associate Director, Brownie assumed more and more of the ‘
responsibility for the operation of the FNS in the field. [
Brownie became Director at the beginning of increasing ,
govemment involvement in health care services, with all of its
attendant problems. Directing the FNS was a fulltime job, and if
then some, but she found time to spend endless hours serving on
boards and committees working for the improvement of health
services to all of southeastern Kentucky. Under Brownie’s l
leadership the FNS has grown tremendously——in size and in "
scope. The expansion of the midwifery education program to ;
include family nursing and the construction of the Mary i
Breckinridge Hospital, truly "the house that Brownie built", are .
but two of her many accomplishments. These have not been easy 1
years but through all the hard work, Brownie has kept her sense of _
humor, her sense of proportion, her kindness, and (although she ,
will hate the word!) her dedication to the principles and purposes `
of the FNS and Mary Breckinridge. ,
We are glad that the Board of Governors has asked Brownie to i
remain with the FNS as Director Emeritus to spend more time V
telling the story of FNS to our friends and supporters "beyond the -
mountains", continuing to make her headquarters at Wendover.
What Helen Browne has meant to the Service was expressed so I
well by an FNS friend in Connecticut that we obtained permission ,
to quote from her letter: _
"I was slightly stunned when I read that Miss Browne was retiring as V
director of FNS. I feel a little lonely at the prospect, because she was the ‘
link which bound me so closely to the Service, and even though my `
interest will not diminish, I will not feel quite the personal association ·
that I have heretofore.
"It is wonderful that she was able to remodel the old Hyden Hospital '
and dedicate the Mary Breckinridge Hospital and Training Center. This ’
was a wonderful way to celebrate the 50th anniversary of this Service. I `
have always been so truly impressed with the way Mrs. Breckinridge M
picked up the pieces of her life, following the several tragedies that £
occurred, and dedicated the remaining years of her life to a service I q
which was so desperately needed and which has revolutionized the
health of that section of Kentucky. This is truly a remarkable V
achievement, and it thrills me inexpressibly to see the work going on x
and expanding, so that people will have a healthy, happy, productive · ‘ M
life.
"Best wishes to each and all of you in the coming months, and I do
hope that the new director will have as fine a spirit and be as able and as j`
devoted to the service as Miss Browne has been."
Thanks, Brownie, for everything.

‘ QUARTERLY BULLETIN 5
‘ Anna May January
, Born September 16, 1903, in Athens, Texas
_1 Died November 11, 1975, in Hyden, Kentucky
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; Photo by Earl Pa/mer
Anna May January was an experienced nurse when she j oined
_ the staff of the Frontier Nursing Service in September 1944. She
’ _A was a graduate of Baylor University School of Nursing and held a
certificate in public health nursing from McGill University. While
K working at the Henry Street VNA in New York City, Anna May
V A took courses at Teachers College, Columbia. After walking the
3 streets of New York to pay nursing visits to families in need of help
_ from 1930 to 1934, she went west to work with the American Red
1 Cross in the San Francisco area and, later, with the Department of
Health in Bremerton, Washington.

6 1¤RoNT1ER Nunsmc smnvicn i
A growing interest in midwifery brought Anna May to
Kentucky to enter the Frontier Graduate School of Midwifery ·
from which she graduated in 1946. For the next several years L
Anna May was a district nurse-midvvife stationed at the old l
Frances Payne Bolton Center at Confluence and then at Wen- Q
dover. Her love of children endeared her to all the families under
her care. She had what some might call a sixth sense in cases of
illness and accident and never failed to recognize the condition
which required every effort on her part to get the patient to the
hospital and the doctor. When she was assigned charge nurse in JY
the outpatient clinic at Hyden Hospital, Anna May made such a
reputation for herself that patients were overheard to say they r
would just as soon see Miss January as any doctor! One time our
Medical Director’s young son fell and cut his lip and was rushed to T
his father in the clinic. The doctor informed his son that the lip `
needed a few stitches. The boy said in reply: "Miss January is the z
one who knows—let her see if it really needs stitching!" i
Anna May served the families in Leslie County for thirty years {
and will long be remembered by her many friends. She struggled ‘
with emphysema during the last year of her life and died A
peacefully on November 11, 1975. Two of her good FNS friends,
Betty Lester and Dr. Rogers Beasley, accompanied her body to .
Texas for burial. As one of Anna May’s friends wrote: "Somehow,
in spite of all her years in Kentucky, she remained a Texan".
In Anna May’s honor we take pleasure in reprinting one ofthe
many stories she wrote for the Bulletin. -
TOO SOON, MR. STORK ·
By V
Anna May January, R.N., C.M. _,
On a cold, icy morning, the temperature two degrees below
zero, Mousie, our large collie, let us know someone was at the gate. V
Yes, Sam had come for me. Mary was bad off and wanted me at ,
once. A
During the night, old Mother Nature had covered earth and
trees with a glistening mantle of white——a beautiful sight to
behold. She had succeeded also in making travel very hazardous. l

_ QUARTERLY BULLETIN 7
I saddled Kelpie and started Sam in the lead on his mule Tim,
4 laden with baby blankets, hot water bottle, and a roll of cotton for
I the new arrival. (Baby was on his way two months in advance.)
* Kelpie and I brought up the rear—all moving at a snail’s pace. We
I arrived at Wilder Creek (the road) frozen solid with ice. Kelpie
( decided that, stork or no stork, she wasn’t going to risk her neck.
'§` No amount of coaxing or persuasion could change her mind. So,
someone’s mind had to be changed. Deciding that it was mine, I
l dismounted. Praying the while that my boots wouldn’t spring a
leak, I pounded the ice, breaking it as bestI could, making a path
j for Kelpie. Then I crept along in front, Kelpie behind—each of us
; doing many fancy dance steps unknown in the dancing world.
However, we did manage the Virginia Reel perfectly in several
Y places along the creek. Sam and Tim riding up ahead of us were in
3 a dance world all their own.
g At 8:00 A.M., after fifteen minutes travel, we arrived at the
little cabin. Unlatching the gate, I heard the old familiar refrain,
° "Lordy, look down upon me and have mercy on my soul." I took off
with as much speed as possible, almost arriving under the front
porch in the sitting position known to those people who do setting
up exercises in the early morning.
I I eased into the door. Mary was punishing something awful. At
a fleeting glance, I saw she wouldn’t punish much longer. My
fingers were numb with cold. I managed to get my bags open
(grandma was too excited to open them) and my hands washed in
‘ a pan of water with ice floating about, which really looked like
g icebergs to me at the moment.
» Hurriedly, I assembled the most essential supplies, made my
premature jacket, and was standing ready to help Mr. Stork when
‘ he arrived.
Grandma, in her concern, wanted to know if the baby was
"ketched in the side." I assured grandma that "ketched" or
‘ e "unketched" the little man was arriving at a fast rate of speed.
V At that moment I was concerned with the temperature of the
" room, for grandma in her fright and anxiety had not kept the fire
` going and poor old Uncle Rig, in the other room, was "bad off"
I sitting by his fire. However, thinks I to myself, at least the shying
act and the dance steps are over. But, alas, the thought was just
born when the little three-pounder arrived. As I reached for my
` premature jacket, both feet took off in one clear swoop across the

8 momrm Nunsmo ssnvics {
room. I met myself coming back, ice frozen on the floor, with one l.
hand grasping the cold air and the jacket dangling from the other
one. I managed to keep upright, thinking the while: what an awful 3
time to fall and konk my head, with a threepound baby, a newly r
delivered mother and a frightened grandma. Y
In a little while we had a nice fire going, a pasteboard box lined
and filled with warm bottles, the little one tucked in, pink and
warm. With mother made comfortable, I looked around for my it
stethoscope. Grandma, with two sweaters on, shawl over her
head, seated in a rocking chair, a peaceful grin on her face, was ‘
listening intently to her heart, through sweaters and all. "I just {
wanted to see how my heart was actin’," she said. I-
At 2:30 P.M. I left a tiny baby snug and warm, Uncle Rig vastly .
improved, the young father and a neighbor sawing wood, _
grandma at peace with her heart and the world, and started on my
way home. The sun was breaking through the dull gray clouds, the .
snow dancing and sparkling on the trees. An old mule, saddle and
all, was coming along, falling down, getting up and falling down,
getting up, going a little way and falling again. But always
getting up. What a parable to Life-—up and down, falling down
and getting up. So long as we can keep on getting up—that is what
counts.
—Reprinted from Frontier Nursing Service Quarterly Bulletin
Volume 21, Number 3, Winter, 1946 _
It was a lovely October day, and the leaves around our house
were a gorgeous red and gold. I had promised to take my
granddaughter for a walk along the creek. But my cooking and
other household chores kept me busy inside. i·
The little girl waited for a long time patiently. Then she took
my hand and pulled me along. "Stop working, Grandma," she
said. "Let’s go outside and get some use out of the world." *
—Contributed A

? QUARTERLY BULLETIN 9
` SUMMER OF THE LOCUSTS
By Dexter Collett
` [Editor’s Note: We are pleased to share this example of local talent with
our readers. The author of this story lives in the Beech Fork area of
j p Leslie county and earned his Master’s Degree in creative writing at Ohio
,— University.]
ii My father never went to church and never allowed me to go.
R, When Autumn sun was golden on the mountain tops and the
r locusts were singing, my father sat on the porch in his sweaty
p mining clothes, watching the congregation pass. He was always
` whittling on a piece of wood as they passed.
The church members would walk up the road, across the creek
R from our house. Preacher Bige, wearing his tattered black coat
with a white shirt under 1t, would go by strumming his guitar.
James, his son, with a little Testament in one hand and the other
hand in the pocket of his overalls, would always be at his side.
"Let’s go to church," Bige would holler across to us sitting on
the porch. Then he would strum once more on the guitar and lean
slightly toward us. A crowd of the church people would pass by
” behind him. Dad would stop whittling and his fingers would close
around a piece of wood that looked like an arrowhead. He would be
sitting in the blue rocking chair, his tee shirt on, soot colored from
the coal mines. His legs would be stretched out and one of his steel-
toes boots would be lying on top of the other.
"No, we’ll stay here, I have to get up at live to go to work." Dad
would start whittling again and shavings would fall to the floor. I
would be sitting in a vving-backed chair beside Dad; my bare feet
would be on the floor, beside a stack of Marvel Comic books that
Dad bought me for making A’s in school. I would pick up one and
open it as the church members walked on up the wad.
By the time Bige and James reached the top of the hill where
, the road turned, Bige would be singing, the sound carried faintly
to us by the wind, "I’ve got a home in glory land that outshines the
sun, look away beyond the blue."
A day passed and in the evening when Preacher Bige was on
p his way to church he stopped. James was beside him. "Let’s go to
church," Bige called across the creek to us.

io snowman Nuasmo ssavrcs ‘
Dad stopped whittling. "No, I’ll stay here. I’m kinda tired after i
shoveling coal all day." Y
"You should come to church," Bige hollered. "I’m usually tired
from working when I go, but God always iills me with new energy. f
I was hoping you all would come to the revival at least one night J
this week. The Lord has blessed us with mighty good meetings the y _
first two nights, and a lot of sinners has gotten saved." Bige
paused for a moment, out of breath from shouting to us. Then he ;§
hollered again. "Last night some of the sisters were talking in ig
tongues and going through the crowd with their eyes closed _
touching sinners and prophecying. God came into the souls and
minds and bodies of a lot of the sinners and they took up _
rattlesnakes and held the twisting bodies in front of their eyes and
old Satan was powerless to strike." .
"I’m afraid if I went to church and tried to handle a poisonous
snake it would strike me; and besides if I could do it how would it _
benefit me, would it put any beans in my kettle? No, you go
ahead," Father said. "We’ll stay here."
Bige took a long look at my father. Then he tugged at his son’s A
shirt and in silence the two walked on up the road toward the
church.
I looked at Dad. He had already started whittling again. "Why I
don’t you ever go to their church, Dad?" I asked. .
"I w0n’t have nothing to do with these snake handling holy I
rollers," he said. "They’re just stupid coal miners."
"Dad, you’re a coal miner too."
"Yeah, but not a stupid one."
Then evenings passed while locusts sang, and the congrega-
tion walked up the dirt road, across the creek from our house.
Preacher Bige wouldn’t holler "Let’s go to church." He would go
by strumming on the guitar and singing, and the church people c
would follow behind him like sheep after a shepherd or rats and =
children after the pied piper. He would go on up the road past our
house like we didn’t exist, but James would sometimes sneak
glances at us and wave his little Testament slightly. Bige e
wouldn’t invite my father to come to church any more because my p
mother had tied up his brother Lawrence’s cow. The rail fence had _
rotted down on top of the mountain and the cow had come across
on our property and got in my mother’s garden and eaten her

QUARTERLY Rurrmiw ll
sweet corn and green beans. Mom had tied the cow up to a tree by
the porch so all the church people passing by would see it and
* know it was Lawrence’s.
v _ One night I had been sitting alone on the porch, watching the
lightning bugs flash and listening to the locusts sing and I heard
j Lawrence go by our house on the road, cursing Mom. I didn’t go in
and tell about what I heard Lawrence doing though. For a while I
] just sat there, then I went into my room and got in bed.
_ The next evening Lawrence came to our house. Dad had been
I chopping stove wood when he came. Dad stopped when he saw
Lawrence start across the bridge, and sank the ax deep into the
. end of the chopping block. I heard Mom inside sweeping.
"He’s here, Mom," I called quietly so Lawrence wouldn’t hear.
I She came out and stood beside me on the porch.
"You stay here," she said, and went down the steps to meet
him. The three met in front of the steps. No one spoke. They went
around to the other side of the porch where the cow was tied. Then
after a while they came back around the porch and Lawrence was
` leading the cow. Mom came up the steps holding bills of money in
her hand as Dad went back toward the pile of stove wood by the
chopping block and Lawrence led the cow back across the bridge.
The only person in Stinnett that is friendly to us is Carolynn,
Stevie’s mother. The church people don’t like her because she
wears shorts on Sunday. Her husband works in a factory in
1 another state and is always gone. A lot of times when Carolynn
comes to our house Stevie comes with her. Stevie used to like to
1 play with the pet groundhog that my father brought back from a
hunting trip last year. But earlier this summer the groundhog
» started going back into the mountains, then it went away one
g morning and never came back. Carolynn said she Hgured it just
—_ went wild again. Nowadays when Stevie comes with his Mom we
usually go and play in the one room log cabin that Dad built up on
the hill. Once I took Stevie with me wh en I went into the pine grove
with my wheelbarrow to meet other boys from the school. Each

I
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iz mormmn NURSING ssnvica
one of us chopped wood for our families where the trees had been l
felled by lightning. Then we took the firewood home in our E
. wheelbarrows. {
Stevie’s mother told my parents when we first moved here that 3
she didn’t like Lawrence and she didn’t like the church. She told us I
when we first moved here about Preacher Bige having another __
son besides James. She never forgot that baby, although she had
been just a girl back then, washing dishes in the hospital. One V
evening when she had walked into the cafeteria on her way to the
kitchen she overheard the nurses talking about Bige’s wife. In the
kitchen she asked the cooks what had happened. A
According to the cooks when Bige had brought his wife into the .
hospital she had been screaming like a crazy person, saying that
red dogs circled round and round her. She kept calling on God to _
strike her dead. The nurses were unable to control her because she ,
kept biting them and screaming "Damn you all, damn you." Since
the hospital had only one general practitioner and wasn’t staffed
to treat insane people, the nurses were forced to advise Bige to take
his wife home and lock her up in a room so she couldn’t hurt `
anyone. I
The cooks talked on about how Lawrence furnished most of the I
rattlesnakes and copperheads that the church people handled
when they had revivals. Then she remembered having heard `
before that Lawrence was always traveling around in the J
mountains looking for ginseng to dig because selling it was his i
only source of income. And when he was in the mountains looking i
for roots to dig he caught every poisonous snake he came across _
and kept it for Bige to use in church. According to the cooks, while .
Lawrence was out in the hills digging roots he stumbled upon a
whole den of rattlesnakes by the Indian Caves, and caught all .
that he could stuff in a box which he carried for this purpose. The I
next day he gave the box of snakes to Preacher Bige. At home, ;
Bige had been handling one of the snakes and had left the lid off L ,
the box. While the baby played on the floor, a rattlesnake crawled
out ofthe box and bit the baby on the foot. Immediately Bige’s wife
wanted to rush her baby to the hospital but both Lawrence and ` l
Bige refused. Bige said he would pray for the child and the Lord *
would heal it. Bige kneeled down and prayed for the baby for .
about 15 minutes. In desperation the baby’s mother interrupted I
Bige and asked to at least be allowed to suck the poison out. Once ;

I
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i QUARTERLY Burrmiu is
l again Bige and Lawrence refused. Bige prayed for about an
I hour—calling on the Lord to heal the innocent baby and restore it
§ to health. But when he finished praying the baby was already
• d€3.d.
i The cooks said Preacher Bige’s wife went crazy because she
lost her son—and wasn’t allowed to save it. They said Bige kept
'l` her locked up in an upstairs room of his house. Someone later told
` Stevie’s mother about passing by Bige’s house on the road at night
when all the lights were out and hearing the wife wailing that her
‘*` husband and Lawrence had let the devil take her baby. Stevie’s
· mother said she bet the wife heard the sounds of people passing on
the road and thought the sounds they made were her baby coming
L back to her because the wife always called "come back to your
Mommy, Roger, my breasts are still full of milk for you." The wife
` had died within a week after the baby died, and now nobody
t brought up anything about either one of them.
. This evening Stevie’s mother came to our house wearing white
% shorts. She carried a green hula hoop. We were all sitting on the
· porch when she came. Mom laughed and asked her to do the hula
; hoop. "Let’s see if you can keep it up on you," Mom said.
Stevie’s Mom put the hula hoop around her waist. She gave the
· hoop a whirl and began to move her hips to keep the hoop from
I falling down. While we were watching her keep the hula hoop
` turning some of the church members walked by on the road. "I
i might as well do this," Stevie’s Mom said. "I’d as soon do this in
my spare time as go to church the way some people do." She rocked
` her head to the side to indicate the passing church people. They
I pretended not to notice but I saw one of the men sneaking glances
L at her white shorts and hula hoop.
. Father laughed. "Come on up on the porch and have a seat," he
Q said. "I’ll tell you about one of the Christians that I work in the
I _ mines with." She brought her hula hoop with her up the steps and
sat down in the porch swing. Dad said, "Squirrell Bones came here
from Harlan County not long ago. He doesn’t go to this church but
· _ he goes to one just like it down on Hell-Fer-Sartin. We been
» partners loading coal for about a week now. Squirrell Bones is a
religious fanatic. He said if God wanted us to fly in the air he
I would have created us with wings. Squirrell said he didn’t think
. God would ever allow man to set his feet on the moon. Only God

I
I
l
14 Faormsn Nunsmo ssnvics i
knew what was on the moon, man wouldn’t never get to know stuff ·
like that." Dad laughed, "He’s a crazy fellar all right but he throws
a shovel of coal in the coal car everytime that I do, so we get along
okay." `
Stevie’s mother swung back and forth in the swing. More of the
church people passed our house. The women wore long black
dresses. One ofthe men wore a white shirt; he carried a box like the ‘
kind they kept snakes in. I could tell that it had rabbit wire over Q
the top so people could see the snakes. One other man walked
along beside him, looking down into the box. Someone besides yi
Lawrence had caught a snake for a change. I
Bige and James passed. Bige walked slowly and strummed on 1
his guitar. He sang "Swing low-—sweet chariot...coming for to f
carry me home." James waved his Testament and looked toward ,
the porch. p
One evening I was at Stevie’s house. The door that over-looked
the road was open. Stevie wound up his toy airplane and it went .
flying across the room, going bzzzz. A man staggered by on the Q
road, his eyes bloodshot above heavy rimmed spectacles riding I
low on his big nose. A square wooden box hung at the man’s side *
and human shaped roots of ginseng tied on strings hung down '
from the box. A white handkerchief hung out ofthe back pocket of Q
his Big Ben overalls. The toe of the man’s brogan shoe struck a L_
rock that stuck up in the dirt road. He stumbled forward and threw Y
out his hands, barely managing to keep from falling. Stevie was
looking out toward the road at the man, now, paying no attention V
to his buzzing airplane. "
"It’s Lawrence," I said. "My mother tied up his cow and made
him pay thirty dollars to get it back."
Stevie ran to the door, the sun framed him for an instant there, `
his arm raised, his chubby finger pointing toward the man. _l i
"Howdy, old man, howdy, howdy, ugly old man that lost a cow."
The airplane went sailing out of the room toward Lawrence. He ‘
ducked, his right foot came down hard on the road, a small dust , `
cloud floated up, he whirled toward the doorway, pushing his E
spectacles back up in front of his eyes. He shook his fist toward the
child in the doorway. I laughed from behind the smaller boy. I
When Lawrence started on up the road Stevie yelled at him a final _

l
I
I
i QUARTERLY Bummw is
* time, "How many babies can you kill with the snakes in the box at
your side? Devil."
Later when I was on my way home—beside the resting rocks
where muddy water filled both ruts in the road because oak and
‘ hickory branches hung over the road blocking out the quickly
Q fading sunlight—Lawrence was waiting. He stood in the shade,
k legs planted wide apart, blocking the path between the mud
yi puddles. His arms were out—ready to grab at me.
I "Why did you put the youngun up to it?"
1 "I didn’t do it," I was scared.
{ "I’m gonna learn ye." Lawrence’s eyes were glowing, "you
, little son-of-a-bitch." He lunged forward. I went low and to the left
side, into the mud puddle. He almost fell on the slick bank. I went
I down to my knees. He recovered first, turned, grabbed hold of the
Q back of my shirt. I heard his heavy breathing. I smelled
X moonshine. My shirt ripped, white buttons flew off the front. It
came off in his hands...free, free. I ran down hill; fast down hill,
L him crashing along behind. "I’ll get ye, I’ll get ye," all the way
’ down; across the bridge, through the yard, up the steps to the
, porch, into the house. Dad and Mom sat at the table eating supper.
, "He’s mad about the cow." My breathing was ragged. I
e swallowed gulps of air. I was hot and felt like I might drown. I was
trembling, but I felt proud.
T My father took my hand, steadying me. With a black steel-toed
boot he pulled a chair, sideways, under me. "Sit down." I sank into
the chair. "Now, what happened? Where’s your shirt?"
Q "It was Lawrence, he was drunk and mustuv been mad cause
Mom tied his cow up after she got in our garden. I uz with Stevie
when he passed. Stevie called him a old man. He way-layed me by
. the resting rocks, called me a bad name and tore my shirt off."
a I looked down at Father’s plate, the prongs of his fork lay on
E ~ top of the round corn bread pone, the other end had sunk into
, honey among the green beans. A chicken’s leg bone lay beside his
plate.
` "Don’t you worry none about Lawrence," Mom said. "He
knows better than to hurt you. You just sit down here and eat your
_ supper."
L "I don’t want anything," I said.

\
"I saved you back some of the mushrooms that I picked in the Q
hills today," she said. "Don’t tell me you don’t want no dry land g
fish." i
"I don’t want ’em," I said. "And I’m tired of talking about it." }
I was so nervous I couldn’t sit down. I went out on the dim
porch. I could hea