In Grandma's Attic (10 page)

19

Molly Blue

Grandma and I sat on the front porch of her old home.

“Why doesn’t Uncle Roy have animals anymore?” I asked Grandma.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Grandma said with a smile.

Uncle Roy sat down on the steps and fanned himself with his hat. “Animals?” he replied. “Well, I guess the orchards take as much time as I have. And you don’t have to bring trees in every night!”

He chuckled, and his eyes twinkled as he looked at Grandma.

“Do you remember when the cows were your job, Mabel?”

“How could I forget?” Grandma answered. “I suppose you still see something funny about that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Uncle Roy admitted. “It did have its humorous side.”

He laughed, and I looked eagerly at Grandma.

“I guess I was about eight years old when Roy decided that he was too old to go for the cows,” Grandma began.

“Pa says Mabel is big enough to bring the cows home at night,” Roy announced one evening at supper. “And since I’m going into town with Pa tomorrow, she can start then!”

Roy looked at me triumphantly, and I quickly appealed to Pa.

“I can’t bring the cows in alone,” I protested. “Molly Blue doesn’t like me, and if she doesn’t move, none of the others will.”

“You can take Pep to help you,” Pa replied calmly. “I think you can handle it this summer. Just start early so that Reuben can milk before dark.”

The matter was settled, and I knew better than to argue. But I was exceedingly unhappy about the arrangement. I didn’t really know that Molly Blue didn’t like me, but from past experience, I knew I didn’t like her!

Molly Blue was a bawler. She was forever getting her foot caught, or her head stuck in the fence, or her bell snagged on a bush. And when she did, she bawled. It was no delicate cry for help; she could be heard clear to the house. It had become my job to go to her rescue. The boys were usually in the field with Pa, and when Ma couldn’t stand the racket any longer, she would call me: “Mabel, go and see what is wrong with Molly Blue. That bellowing makes me nervous.”

I would reluctantly leave my dolls and trudge to the meadow to pull Molly Blue out of whatever predicament she was in.

As the trips seemingly became more frequent, I began to be more annoyed with Molly. When Ma called for the third time one day, I complained.

“There’s nothing wrong with that stupid cow, Ma. She just wants company. She quits bawling as soon as I get there.”

“Well, go keep her company then,” Ma replied. “I can’t stand that everlasting noise!”

So Molly Blue and I were not friends, and I did not look forward to my new job.

True to form, Molly Blue began bawling soon after Roy and Pa had left for town the next morning. Ma looked out the door at me, and I sighed as I started across the barnyard. My feelings were not very charitable.

Molly Blue was standing in the creek with her nose in the air, her mouth opened wide. I noticed that she had her eyes in the direction she knew I would appear, and as soon as she spotted me, the bawling ceased. Her foot was caught between two stones.

“What’s the matter with you, cow?” I muttered crossly. “How come you can’t do anything for yourself?”

I waded into the stream and moved the stones. Molly Blue calmly stepped out and turned her back on me. With a look of disgust, I went back to the house.

The rest of the day was quiet, and when Ma reminded me of the time, I decided that I would show Pa that I didn’t need help with the cows after all. I left Pep dozing in the shade and started out alone.

We had only four cows, and I knew that when Molly Blue turned toward the barn, the others would follow. I suppose I expected that she would be obliging, since I had spent so much time on her, but of course she was not. She stood placidly on the other side of the creek and stared at the scenery. I soon realized that calling would do no good; I would have to go over and prod her.

As I waded into the water, my mind was on that stubborn cow instead of where I was stepping. Before I realized what had happened, I was sitting in the middle of the stream with my foot turned under me. Surprised, I tried to get up and found that I could not. My foot was firmly wedged between two rocks, and try as I would, I could not move.

I sat in the water and watched Molly chew her cud. Why couldn’t she bawl now so someone would come and see what was the matter?

The sun began to go down, and Molly Blue and I continued to regard each other darkly. I knew that someone would wonder where we were pretty soon, but my watery seat was getting more uncomfortable, and my ankle hurt terribly.

I was right. Reuben had started to wonder about me.

“Ma,” he called, “where is Mabel with the cows? She should have been in half an hour ago. I haven’t heard Molly Blue bawling, so she can’t be stuck someplace.”

“No,” Ma replied grimly, “but you’re going to hear someone else bawling if that child is playing down there.”

She sailed out of the door and down the lane. Pep followed along to see the fun. I must have been some sight, my dress soaked from the waist down with creek water and from the waist up with my tears.

Ma always said she saw the funny side of things first; then the other side didn’t hurt as much. The funny side was not apparent to me, but Ma couldn’t help laughing. She hurried to move the stones, and when she saw that I couldn’t walk, she quickly became sympathetic.

“I can’t carry you, Mabel,” she said. “You’ll have to wait until I send Reuben.” Pep had started Molly Blue back, and Ma hurried after the cows. I waited grumpily, wishing that I had never seen a cow.

Reuben soon came and carried me back to the house. He couldn’t resist a comment about useless girls around a place, but he and Roy both waited on me until my ankle healed.

Grandma folded the sewing she had been working on and stood up.

“Brothers are more of a blessing than not,” she said.

20

Grandma and the Gun

I had been reading one of my books to Grandma while she worked. The story was about the pilgrims who carried guns to church to protect them from wild animals.

“Grandma,” I said, “did your father have to carry a gun to church when you were little?”

“Mercy, no!” Grandma said with a laugh. “I’m not quite that old. There were still wild animals around our place, but they didn’t often come out where there were people. Pa and the boys had guns for hunting, but they didn’t need them between our house and town.”

“Did you ever go hunting, Grandma?” I asked.

“No,” Grandma said. “I didn’t go hunting with the boys. In fact, there was only one time I ever had a gun in my hands, and that was almost a disaster!”

“Tell me about it,” I said eagerly.

“Well,” said Grandma, “I was about nine years old. Reuben was thirteen, and he had just gotten his first gun. He was mighty proud of it, and neither Roy nor I was allowed to breathe on it, let alone touch it.”

This particular evening Reuben and Pa had come home from hunting, and we had just finished supper. Pa was sitting by the door reading the Bible, and Reuben was starting his homework at the table.

Ma said to me, “Mabel, would you rather sweep the floor or wash the dishes tonight?” Of course, given a choice like that, I would rather sweep the floor. I went out to the porch to get the broom. “Mabel,” Reuben called, “close the door. It’s cold in here!”

I hadn’t intended to be out there very long, but I went back and shoved the door shut. This may have been the thing that saved our family from tragedy that night; I don’t know. But I do know the Lord had His hand on us all.

I turned to get the broom, and there, standing beside it, was Reuben’s new gun.
Well,
I thought to myself,
old bossy made me
shut the door; now he can’t see me. He won’t know that I touched his gun.

As quietly as I could, I picked up the gun and rubbed the smooth barrel. Since I had never held one before, I was curious to see what Pa always looked through when he held it up to his eye. I turned toward the light from the kitchen and held the gun up to my shoulder and face. I don’t know what happened, but somehow I pulled the trigger, and that gun jumped back and hit me in the jaw. I went sprawling on the porch, and that was the last I remembered until I awoke in the house some time later.

Ma told me what had happened in the kitchen. The bullet came through the door and whizzed past Pa’s head. Splinters from the wooden door stuck in his hair.

Ma had just decided that the dishwater was not hot enough and had turned to carry it back to the stove. The bullet hit the table where she had been standing.

Reuben had gotten up to get a book, and the bullet went through the back of the chair he had been sitting in.

It all happened so fast that for a moment everyone forgot that I was still outside. Pa rushed out to the porch and carried me in. My face was covered with blood. When they decided I hadn’t been killed but just had just lost some teeth, Ma’s mood changed from one of fear to indignation.

“I declare,” she exclaimed. “I should tan that child for a trick like that. We could have all been killed!”

“No, Ma,” said Reuben. “It was my fault. I should have put the gun away. Supper was ready when we got home, and I forgot it afterward. I’m the one you should tan.”

“It was my fault too,” said Pa. “I should have taught Mabel how to handle a gun. She just doesn’t know how dangerous they are.”

“I suppose I could strap you all,” said Ma in disgust. “But Mabel is old enough to know better than that. If she ever gets over being so thoughtless, it will be a miracle.”

“Ma didn’t spank me,” Grandma concluded. “I guess she thought my black and blue face was punishment enough. But I have never had much interest in guns since then, I can tell you!”

Grandma laughed. “The Lord was good to us, to protect my family from me!”