My Children Are More Precious Than Gold (13 page)

“
Do snakes like berry
patches, Don?” Dillard asked. He stared at the large, tangled maze
of brambles loaded with white blossoms. A mass of green, red, and
black berries shone among the leaves like Christmas
ornaments.

“
Sure they do. Fer shade
to sleep in mostly when it's hot. So watch yer step. Scatter out
and pick around the edge where it's easiest then step into the
middle to get the berries ya can reach.”

“
All right, but -- but
what do we do if we scare up that big, ole snake?” Worried
Bess.

“
Sick Jasper on him then
run fer home, I reckon,” said Don, grinning at Bess and Dillard
before he walked away.

Bess looked around for the coon hound.
Jasper had sank belly deep in the shade of the tall foxtail grass
to cool off. At the moment, the only thing moving on him was his
ears as he perked up to listen to the sounds around him. She turned
and walked in the opposite direction around the thicket.

If he needed help, Dillard could see
both Bess and Don while he picked, but he felt uneasy about walking
into the snarled vines in front of him. He couldn't see what was
underfoot. Standing in knee deep grass along the berry patch’s
edge, he carefully reached for a blackberry, trying not to get
stuck on the sticky vines. He didn't blame the cows for not grazing
around the blackberry patch. It was impossible to pick the shiny,
elongated berries without getting stuck or have the stickers attach
themselves to his clothing.

For some time, the only break in the
silence was the soft thud of berries hitting the bottom of the tin
pails. While he picked, Dillard imagined he could smell a hot pan
of berry cobbler with bubbling blue-black syrup seeping out around
the edge of the thick, golden brown, lard crust, baking in Mama's
oven.

Pop! Pop! The jerking motion of a
black popping beetle riding on a berry caught Dillard’s eye as he
was about to drop it in his pail. He flicked the bug off with his
finger, turned loose of the berry over the pail and reached for
another.

Bess edged slowly through the tall
foxtail. She had come close to stepping on snakes before so she
knew to be cautious. Looked to her like the berries were plump and
plentiful this summer so it should be easy for them to get their
pails filled in a short time. Trouble was blackberries ripen slowly
a few at a time so there would be several trips to the berry patch.
Mama would want all the blackberries the children could pick. What
she didn’t use of the berries fresh would be dried for use in the
winter.

The slight summer breeze wasn't much
relief from the rising heat shimmering across the grass. The
midmorning sun beat down on her bare head, and sweat beads broke
out on Bess’s forehead. She could imagine her mother’s voice,
scolding her that Bess should wear her bonnet when she was in the
sun. A gray stink bug fell off the vine and disappearing into her
pail of berries. Bess riffled among the berries, wrinkling her nose
at the awful smell the insect left on her fingers when she flipped
it out into the grass, then she continued to pick.

A loud caw broke the silence. Bess
looked above her to see a crow, flying overhead, chased by a
chicken hawk. Suddenly, the hawk gave up pursuit and glided
gracefully in an arc back the direction he’d come. Now that is a
pretty sight, Bess thought. She watched the flight of the hawk when
he flapped his wings fast then spreading them out to glide over the
patch. The snow white of his stomach and red on the tip of his tail
feathers made a pretty contrast against the cloudless, azure blue
sky.

Don listened to the soothing sounds of
a mourning dove cooing and then another one answered. Further away,
a bob white called to its mate. He relaxed as he daydreamed of a
large bowl of sweet, thick blackberry jelly sitting on the table
next to a platter stacked high with Mama's hot, slug biscuits made
possible by all his hard work, picking blackberries. Trampling down
some young, green berryless shoots, he reached further into the
patch for another plump berry.

“
There's no such thing as
a granddaddy snake,” he muttered aloud, trying to convince himself
not to be scared. “Tutt was jest funnen Dillard. Ouch!” Don stuck
his finger into his mouth. He pulled it out to checked to see if
the sticker was still in his finger. “I hate berry picken,” he
grumbled. Just then the foxtail grass heads in front of him began
to wave back and forth as the long stems on the grass parted at
ground level. “What's that comen? Oh, jest a rabbit,” sighed Don.
The rabbit froze at the sound of a human voice, looked at Don and
sped away. Don, watching the departing rabbit, reached for another
berry and felt a cold, slick surface twitch under his fingertips.
He quickly glanced down and realized he'd touched a small, green,
grass snake that was quickly slithering out of reach. “Whew! It's
jest a harmless little snake.” Don took a deep breath to help
steady his flip flopping stomach. He watched the snake disappear
into the thicket. Suddenly, an idea popped into Don’s head that he
hoped would get him out of this hot job.

“
A snake! He's headed yer
way, Bess!” Don yelled, backing out of the patch with berry vines
tugged at his clothes.

“
I'm getten out of here!”
Bess shrieked, struggling to get past the vines she had waded
into.

“
Is it black stub tail?”
Dillard called to Don as he raced past his brother.

“
Ah -- ah -- sure it was!”
Don lied. “I seed him up real close,” he puffed, trying to keep up
with Dillard. “Keep runnen fer home. Ifen Mama wants more berries
picked to dry to use later on, she can send Lue or Sid next
time.”

“
That's all right with
me,” Bess panted as she ran along side Don.

The rustling of grass and loud voices
woke Jasper up. He stood, stretched and looked over the tall grass.
He realized the children were running for home without him. He took
off after them.

“
Me too,” Dillard yelled
back at Don and Bess as Jasper caught up to him then ran along side
the boy. Dillard tried hard not to spill the berries bouncing up
and down in his pail. After all, he wanted to make it home with
what berries he had so Mama could make him that cobbler he wanted
so bad. He just hoped he had picked enough berries to make
one.

Chapter 11

The Brush Arbor Revival

The hot sun glared down on the Bishop
family. All of them dressed in their Sunday best as they walked
along the dry country road. With each step Bess took to keep up
with her family, she watched fine, red, dust puff up, powdering her
shoes. Pap had blackened all their shoes last night with soot from
the inside of the heating stove lid. Now no one would be able to
tell it by the time they arrived at the revival.

The blue dress with all different
sizes of white circles Bess wore, though clean, had faded from
years of use so that the edges of the circles widened to blend into
the blue. It had once been Cass’s but as long as the dress lasted,
each of the girls would get a chance to wear it. At one time, Bess
thought it was a pretty dress when she choose it from the pile of
hand me downs. The large, medium and small white circles scattered
over the blue background reminded her of the sudsy bubbles along
side the spring where the water bumped into a rock and churned
before it ran down the creek.

“
I'm glad this moring is
the last revival meeten. By the end of the week, Preacher Irby's
sermons stretch out longer and longer. I get so tired of sitten on
em hard slab benches all that time,” complained Bess.

“
Now, Bess, all in all
this has been a good revival as revivals go. Be thankful the Lord
has provided us with tolerable weather and there's been a
respectful turnout,” Jacob commented, switching Lydia from one hip
to the other. “Besides it only lasts a week and its about over
now,” he muttered under his breath in Bess's direction.

“
Jacob, I heard that.
Behave yerself!” Nannie admonished with a shake of her head at her
husband and Bess to dry up the grin on their faces.

When the family came around the last
bend in the road, they saw horse teams tied to the tree branches
close to the brush arbor. To make the arbor, four corner posts had
been set in the clearing. A layer of smaller poles tied together
across the top of the posts, and the top of this framework was
covered by the leafy brush cut from the poles. A red kerosene
lantern hung on each of the four corner posts for light during the
evening services.

Bess looked over the congregation
already seated. Most of the children liked to sit toward the back
away from their parents watchful eyes. Bess spied Bertha Ramsey.
“There's Bertha. Lillie and Alma, let's go sit by her.”

“
Member, I expect ya
younguns to behave yerselves,” warned Nannie.

“
Yep, Mama,” they agreed
in unison and scattered to find seats next to their
friends.

Bess motioned Bertha to scoot over so
she and her sisters could sit down just as Preacher Basil Irby
stood, holding up his hand for silence. “Good mornen, this fine
mornen,” he boomed.

“
Good mornen, Preacher!”
The crowd responded back.

“
Bow yer heads fer a
prayer,” the preacher instructed.

Head bowed, Bess twisted one way then
the other on her seat, all the while wishing she could find a
comfortable position. While she fidgeted, she felt the unlevel
block of wood used for a leg on the seat she sat on rock back and
forth under the end of the slab seat.

The preacher ended his prayer, and
Bess tried to turn her attention to his sermon. Enthusiastically,
he shouted verses from the bible, fervently pacing back and forth.
Because of the heat and how hard the preacher worked at his sermon,
glistening sweat beads popped out on his forehead and trickled in a
steam down the side of his face.

Bess felt a wet tickle of
sweat ooze down her cheek, too. She smeared it across the side of
her face with the back of her hand, not minding the damp, cool feel
that the little dab of moisture brought to her skin.
Too late to move now since all the other seats
are full,
Bess thought, squinting to keep
the sun beam out of her eyes that streamed down on her through a
hole in the brush top.

The roof had several places where rays
of dusty light beamed down on the congregation. Holes made by rocks
that had sailed through them the night before. Rocks thrown by
three mischievous boys. They would arrived into the meeting grounds
before everyone else and hid in the nearby trees. That night as
darkness enveloped the arbor, the preacher nearing the end of his
sermon suddenly stopped shouting and grabbed his right
shoulder.

That's when everyone heard the loud
rustle of the dried leaf roof as the rocks shoot through to bounce
off the congregation. Shrieks under the brush arbor mingled with
blood curdling, Indian like war cries in the nearby tree tops. For
a moment, the congregation froze to the spot, stunned, then people
rushed out into the open. The women bunched their children up with
them while Jacob and three other men grabbed the lanterns from the
corner posts, lifting the lanterns high over their heads to
illuminate the darkness.

“
There they be! Grab the
rascals!” Jacob yelled as he spied the mischief makers sliding down
the backside of the trees.

Surrounded by men, the boys were taken
to the front of the brush arbor. While the men held the struggling
boys by their shirt collars, the preacher forced them each to face
the now seated congregation. He demanded that the boys apologized
to everyone before he'd let them go. Bess didn’t think the
apologies sounded sincere, but she figured the boys were glad to
make them just so they would be turned loose.

Suddenly realizing the
congregation was singing her favorite hymn,
In The Garden
, Bess tried to sing
along, but all the while she watched the gentle ripple of the river
behind Preacher Irby.
In this heat, a swim
in that cool water would feel right good about now,
she thought, listening to the river whispering
its invitation to her.

The revival was held in the same place
every summer, because the shallow spot in the river was just right
for baptismal dunks. That event would take place for everyone to
witness at the end of this sermon. Bess wondered who would come
forward today. There had been several people in the congregation
pronounce to be sinners and go forward at the end of the evening
services throughout the week. She liked to watch Preacher Irby's
baptisms, because she had the feeling he held some sinners under
the water longer than others, depending on how great he felt the
sins were he had to wash away.

Smiling to herself, Bess was reminded
of last summer's revival when Tutt Jones was baptized. Preacher was
well aware of the degree of Tutt's sins. While he took his time
shouting to the Lord to wash Tutt’s sins away, the preacher held
his head under so long that Tutt’s arms flapped up and down in the
water as he struggled to come up for air.

Finally, he shook free of the
preacher's grasp and came up spitting water, coughing and
sputtering as he gasped for breath. His face was as beet red as his
bloodshot eyes when he glared at the preacher.