Life with Mrs. LongBy Daisy While I was growing up, my dad would tell me stories about his childhood. When I was thirteen, I asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He said, "Write me a story". The gift was late, but then decided to turn it into a collection of stories about his life. Here's the first one. Chapter One In the winter of 1928, I was ten years old. I lived with my family in Delaware, Ohio. We were poor and our family was large, so you can imagine how winter seemed that much harsher for us. My father had abandoned us a few years before. He ran off with our neighbor's wife. It was difficult for a woman to make any kind of decent living back then, but my mother did the best she could. She took in washing and mending to put food on the table. Sadly, it wasn't always enough. Winter was the worst time of year. We were cold, the roads weren't plowed, and we had no form of transportation. That year, my older sister, Elnora, caught a cold. It seemed to turn into pneumonia overnight. My mother couldn't really afford to take her to the doctor. Besides, the doctor was miles away, and we didn't have a telephone, let alone an automobile! We prayed for her to get better, but she just got worse and worse. She lay by the wood stove to keep warm, but thinking about it now, the smoke probably did her more harm than good. One night, well after midnight, I woke up to her coughing and gasping for breath. Mama was sitting at her side. She turned and called to me. "Charles, I need you to do something for me that will not be easy. I need you to go for the doctor." I looked out at the weather. It was snowing and blowing. There was already twelve inches of snow on the ground. I shivered and started to complain. Just then, Elnora sat up and gasped for another breath. "Hurry," Mama prodded,"her fever is outta control!" A wave of guilt washed over me. Elnora meant a lot to me. She took care of me when Mama had to go out and collect washing and mending to do. She chased away bullies and sang me to sleep at night. I jumped up and pulled my britches on over my long johns. Then I grabbed my boots and coat. Picking up my mittens, I realized Mama had not had time to repair the holes in them. All of her energy was going into pulling my sister through this sickness. "The Longs have a telephone, Mama. I'll go there and try to call Dr. Weaver. Okay?" Her eyes filled with tears. "Charles, you are a responsible young man. I'm sorry you have to be so responsible. You're a good boy." I gave her a quick hug and went out the door. Mr. and Mrs. Long lived two miles down the snow-filled roads. Doctor Weaver was at least five miles away. I knew he kept a sleigh and a couple of horses for emergencies. He would be needing them tonight. As I trudged out into the blizzard, I hugged my coat around myself. Right now I wished we owned a sleigh, too! It was dark. Without the gleam of the snow on the ground I could not have seen at all. There were no other people out and the only sounds were the howling of the wind and my footsteps in the snow. I pulled my harmonica from my coat pocket. Somehow, things always got better when I played a tune. It worked this time, too. I didn't feel so alone anymore. Before I had realized it, I had nearly walked past the winding driveway to the Long's house. Just as I turned and started up the drive, I saw the house lights come on in the distance. I continued to play my harmonica, but sped up a bit. Then I heard a voice calling. "Charlie?" Mrs Long yelled out, "Is that you? Is something wrong?" "It's me, ma'am," I shouted back, "We need the doctor, quick!" Before I knew it, I was being bustled into the house. She handed me a blanket. "You get out of those freezing clothes and wrap yourself in this. Gus is on the phone with the doctor right now." "It's Elnora," I explained, "We think she has pneumonia. She's real bad. Tell him he can't come soon enough!" The kind woman left me to disrobe and went to tell her husband. After laying my clothes, mittens, and boots by the fire, I snuggled up in that blanket and put my bare hands as close to the flame as I could get them. It seemed like forever before she came in again. She was carrying a bowl of stew. I grinned. "Thank you, Ma'am!" "The doctor is on his way. We told himn to let your mama know you would be staying with us tonight. Is that okay with you?" I wasn't too sure about that. My mama might need me. Before I could argue though, she leaned down and gave me a hug. "Don't you worry, honey. Gus is going too. He and the doctor will take care of everything." She watched me dig into that stew and smiled. She knew we had little to eat and it made her feel good to ease my hunger. I was to learn more about her generous nature in the years that followed. The stew was delicious. I hadn't had venison since my daddy left. After finishing a second helping, I fell to sleep. It was late at night and my first thought was concerned with getting wood to keep the fire going. Then I realized I was not at home and quickly got dressed. Just as I pulled on my second boot on, Mrs. Long put here head in the door. "Not so fast young man. Nobody leaves here without a good breakfast! Take off those boots and come into the kitchen." I couldn't believe my eyes. Bacon, eggs, oatmeal, and pancakes sat in the middle of the table. My eyes must have popped right out of my head. "Grab yourself a plate and dig in!" I piled it hight while she looked on with pleasure. "Your sister's fever broke. Gus and the doctor are still there. I suppose they are chopping wood and helping out your mother." Guilt rushed in. Chopping wood was my job! Then I started to wonder what the rest of my family was having for breakfast. I looked at my full plate and felt sick to my stomach. I pushed myself away from the table. "Thank you, but I have to get home." "Charles Webb," she said, "don't you worry about your mama. Eat your breakfast and then John will take you home." John was one of their farmhands. During the summer, he would stop by my house sometimes and take us for rides on a horse. He was a nice man, but now I wondered if Mrs. Long hadn't had a hand in that. The food was too appealling for argument. I felt like a king as I washed down the last bite with a glass of milk. There was still plenty on the table and I wondered what she would do with all those left-overs. While I was wondering, she brought over some butcher paper and started wrapping it up. "Now, you can take this home to your family. I had John put a little something in the sleigh for you, too. Don't forget!" I watched in amazement as she hurried about. She was too old to be so kind! Most of the old people I knew were downright ornery. They definitely lacked the energy she had. She was a little thing, but she had a huge presence. I admired her. That was how I first really connected with Mrs. Long. Mrs. Long became a huge part of my dad's life while he was growing up and into adulthood. Many times, his stories of hardship were ended with, "If it hadn't been for Mrs. Long......" When I handed him this story at the age of thirteen, he pressed his lips together, shook his head, opened his mouth and then closed it again. I thought he hated it. He loved it. It made him feel so good to know that I'd been listening. My father left this world in November of 1998. I will always miss him. I think of him everytime I hear a harmonica. Of course I think about him at other times as well, but much of the time we spent together was spent with him playing the harmonica or guitar (or both), while I sang. Love, Charliegirl Back to Daisy's Writings |