Get Packing

Get Packing

“It’s twenty-eight dollars a month, Pap!” Beulah reminded Silas. “We need that money!” 

She firmed her lips, and he could see the muscles twitch in her jaw. Times like this, there was no reasoning with her. He tried anyway.

“Whur you goin’ to get a horse?”

She jerked her thumb eastward.

“Wyatts.”

Silas frowned. “Wyatts? Eugene uses that horse ever’ day! He cain’t spare —” He stopped, racked by a wheezing cough.

“Not that horse. Bess.”

“Bess?”

“That all you can do, Pap? Repeat me? Yes — Bess. I’ll offer him fifty cents a week.”

“For a broke down ole mare?” His laugh held no mirth, and it aggravated the cough. 

“Broken. Yes, fifty cents. That's what’s recommended… Pap, you need some tea to soothe that cough! With honey in it.”

+++++++

When Beulah was minded to do something, it had a way of happening. Now, Silas reckoned, she would find a way to join the ranks of them pack horse librarians. 

He watched her march out the door, ramrod straight, to see about ole Bess. Scrubbed clean, hair pulled back in a tidy braid, she looked a picture of vigor — like Lillie Belle before she took sick.

In one hand, the young woman swung a tin pail. She stopped humming to scold the chickens.

“No, no, it’s not for you!” She waved away the scrawny birds that clustered hopefully around her, pecking at the pail. “You’re just as like to trip me as anything. Here!” 

Beulah turned around and reached into the burlap sack she kept hanging outside the kitchen door. Pulling out a handful of stale bread scraps, she flung them past the milling flock.

The chickens, following the arc of her toss, squabbled amongst themselves for the choicest bits. Beulah went on.

She’d brought the pail for collecting paw paws. 

“I’ll stop and pick some along the way,” she’d told Pap, after pondering a bit about what to offer.

Hill folk didn’t just go knock on a neighbor’s door, asking a favor. They took an offering. And even though she planned to pay for the use of Bess, asking for the animal was still in the way of a favor.

Paw paw season was short. Beulah knew a good place to find the fruit. She’d leave some with the Wyatts, and bring back some to share with Pap. 

These times, here in Southeastern Kentucky, folks had enough to eat. But there wasn’t much variety available in the food supply. Folks took what they could get, and made do with it. They traded with one another, and they got by.

+++++++

“Pap! Pap, whur are ye?”

In her excitement, Beulah’s speech pattern slipped back to a heavier dialect. She’d tried, during her school years, to learn how to sound more refined — like Miz Bell, the teacher. 

It was harder, in the year since she’d finished school. Pap discouraged too much refinement. He didn’t approve of what he termed her “uppity attitude” when she got particular about correcting his grammar. 

“Don’t git above your raisin’,” he scolded. “Your roots is here, in the hills.”

Beulah meant well, he knew, but he wanted her to remember her upbringing. Most times, she left him be. It was hard to teach an ole hound new tricks.

Now, Silas was tickled pink to hear his daughter’s hill country speech come in strong as she set down the pail of paw paws and told him her news.

“Eugene says he’d be right proud to help out, but Bess is too old. He don’t — doesn’t think she could go a twenty mile day. So, Pap! He’s agoin’ to let me use Ned.”

“His mule?”

“Yes!”

Pap’s mouth turned down at the corners. He passed a hand over the lower half of his face, regarding his daughter with a stern look.

“Mules is ornery, Beulah. Ye need to be careful.”

“Oh, Ned’s no trouble. He likes me,” she assured him, laughing a little. 

“Two of a kind,” he grunted. “Just as stubborn as a mule!” But she saw his eyes twinkle.

Again, he was racked by a coughing spasm. He turned away and tried to suppress it, but Beulah was all too observant.

“Just so happens I found some horehound plants near the paw paws,” she announced, picking up the kettle. “I’ll set the water to boilin’ and brew ye some tea.”

Pap made a face. “Horehound?”

“Yes, Pap, horehound. You know very well it’s the best cough remedy. It’ll have plenty of my wildflower honey in it. And we’ll have fresh paw paw for dessert,” she bribed. “Mmm, mmm! Don’t they smell wonderful!”

+++++++

On a chilly morning in early September, Beulah was ready before first light. She was to set out with Ned on her first round as a “book lady”. The route was rough, and she knew Pap was worried about her. Ever since Mama passed, it was just the two of them looking out for each other, and he was scared of losing her somehow.

Pap had been a coal miner until the economy failed and production stopped at the mine. Out of work, he’d gone to dirt farming, but he didn’t have much stamina. After thirty-five years in the mines, he was showing signs of the dreaded “black lung” disease. 

He tried to keep it from Beulah, taking in slow, careful breaths — but if his telltale cough hadn’t given him away, she’d have noticed his black-stained handkerchiefs in the washing.

“Now, Pap, don’t you overdo while I’m away. Rest as you need. There’s a bean sandwich ready in the icebox, and if I’m not back by supper time you can —”

“— heat the chicken soup,” he finished. “I know, Beulah, I know.”

“And — ”

“Horehound tea for the cough. G’wan, get on your way. Don’t keep the others waiting.”

+++++++

Beulah met up with four other women at the tiny library down the way. They traveled together for a few miles before splitting off at the crick bed. 

Ned was the only mule. Mary and Hester had horses of their own; Eliza and Fay had rented theirs from neighbors. Beulah thought the horses seemed to disapprove of Ned.

“You’ll be glad to have a mule,” Hester assured her as they parted ways.

“Goin’ over yander to Boones, the trail gets mighty steep and rocky. And you might get a poor welcome for your trouble. Mule’s better company than Amos Boone.”

+++++++

Beulah found the visits rewarding. Everyone was enthusiastic about receiving books and magazines. The packs grew lighter and lighter.  

She had a time getting away from old Granny Tate’s place. The tiny, sprightly woman insisted on her coming in to the kitchen to eat. 

“It’s high noon, child,” she pointed out. “You’ve come a long way, and you need a full belly before you go on.”

“Thank you, but I’ve brought my dinner along, Granny. I can eat it as I travel.”

“I won’t hear of it! You sit down here, and we’ll have a bite together. You go ahead and eat what you toted from home, but I’ll give you some of my homemade pickles — best you ever ate — and stewed peaches for dessert!”

Beulah reasoned to herself that part of her job was to provide companionship. She consented to stop for a meal, and they had a delightful time. 

“You’re sure right about the pickles — best I’ve ever eaten! Now, I have to be on my way if I’m to finish the route. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Granny Tate stood on her weathered porch and waved until Beulah and Ned were out of sight.

+++++++

The Boone property was up and over, then down into what the hill folks call a “holler”. Amos Boone kept his family off away from others. He had a reputation of being mean-spirited, but Beulah was determined not to let him intimidate her. She stiffened her back and clenched her jaw as Ned plodded up the rocky slope. 

She and the mule were going to give the Boone children — and their mother — an opportunity to connect with something beyond their cabin in the holler.

At the beginning of her journey, the burlap packs had been bulging. They were getting pretty flat now, but there were still a few books to share with the Boones. Miz Boone was sure to appreciate them, if Amos didn’t.

Two hounds set up a mighty ruckus as Beulah and the mule approached the cabin. She’d thought there would be more than two; maybe Amos was out hunting with the others.

Several young children in tattered clothing watched as Beulah drew closer, the littlest ones sucking their fingers. Boones were known to be a twinning family. Looked like maybe there were three sets, all very close in age, along with one slightly older boy.

“Howdy!” she called out with a small wave. “I’m a book lady. Is your mam inside?”

The boy yelled to the yipping hounds. 

“Hush up!”

Then he faced Beulah, unsmiling, with narrowed eyes. He bunched his siblings shoulder to shoulder and stood guard in front of them, arms crossed over his skinny chest.

“Junior, aren’t you?” she asked. Amos Junior had still been in the lower grades when she’d graduated from the one-room school. He’d be nine or ten now.

“Yes’m. What’s a book lady?”

Beulah explained about the program meant to bring books to remote households. Junior relaxed his guard a bit, but looked doubtful.

“We got no money. Pap won’t — ”

“It’s free,” Beulah assured him quickly. “I’d best see your mam. Is she in the house?”

Junior didn’t answer directly, but called out, “Mam! There’s a lady here!”

“I’m coming,” a muffled voice replied. A minute later, a weary-looking woman was at the doorway. Beulah wondered if she was about ready to deliver another set of twins.

“What do you want with us? Aren’t you a ways from home?”

Again, Beulah explained the program.

“You choose what you like. I fill out a card and put it in this box here, and I come back in two weeks to collect what you’ve borrowed. Then you get to borrow some other books for the next two weeks.”

Miz Boone stepped forward onto the porch. She shifted her eyes around uncomfortably, fiddling with a corner of her threadbare apron.

“Well, I… I don’t know what Amos will think…”

“It doesn’t matter. Just take them,” Beulah said decisively, emptying both packs onto a wooden crate that sat on the porch.

She looked earnestly at Miz Boone, whose thin shoulders didn’t look capable of supporting the heavy burden of her ungainly body. 

“Take them — for the sake of your children,” she urged.

“All right,” the woman nearly whispered. “Thank ye kindly, Miss Beulah, for takin’ the trouble.”

It was time Beulah moved on, but something kept her. Soberly, she studied Miz Boone. She might be about thirty, but looked older. Pregnancy did not lend a glow to her tired features. 

“When… your time comes…” Beulah spoke carefully, “what will you do? Do you have someone near enough to help?” 

Miz Boone sighed, a long, shuddering flow of repressed emotion, and looked at the floorboards. 

“If Junior’s home, I’ll send him to fetch Myrtie Duke. She’s helped birth some of the others.”

It was implicit that her husband wouldn’t make an effort to be present. 

Beulah stood silent for a moment, then said simply, “I’ll be thinking of you, Miz Boone. How long…?”

“Two weeks,” the woman answered promptly. “You’ll call me Nettie, won’t you?”

“All right — Nettie. Maybe your new one will be born by the time I come back for these books.”

All the way back out to the main track, Beulah’s mind couldn’t help but dwell on that poor downtrodden woman, and the way she must be treated. She almost wished she’d had a run-in with Amos Senior. The thought got her hackles up — just like a sparring rooster.

+++++++

Silas had the soup warmed up, waiting for Beulah’s return. While they ate, she told him of her day — ending with her concern for Nettie Boone. 

“Pap, I been worritin’ all the way home about her.”

“Now, mind, Beulah Jean, don’t you go gettin’ overmuch taken up with other folks’s business. Ye cain’t live their lives for ’em.” He went into a coughing spasm, and Beulah jumped up.

“I know, Pap,” she answered as she fixed a cup of tea, “but I feel drawn to her. Like it’s my duty. Almost want to go back and check on her before the two weeks are up.”

She was like Lillie Belle in that way too. Before she took poorly, his wife had always been one to look after someone in need. She’d have wanted to be a book lady herself.

+++++++

Beulah and the others covered half of their territory each week, working four long days. They delivered books, read aloud to some folks, collected recipes to share with the community.

The remainder of the first week and all of the second, the Boones were on Beulah’s mind. She was antsy to get back there.

Mid-September, there was already a feel of fall in the air. Something inexpressible, “better felt than telt”. The sky was gray, the air heavy with the promise of rain. Might be that the storm would come in before the day was through.

The melancholy atmosphere contributed to Beulah’s wish to see how Nettie Boone fared.

“I’m going to do my route in reverse,” Beulah told the other women. “To check on the Boones first.”

Ned trudged up the steep slope, over and down to the Boone’s holler, carrying Beulah and the books. The hounds set to howling when they sensed intruders. 

“Sounds like more than last time,” Beulah remarked to the mule, patting him. “Four…five… six, I think. Amos must be around.”

It was unnerving, but also in a way emboldening, to think she might encounter the antagonistic man.

In the morning damp, the porch looked like a woodland swale. Its sagging middle had collected enough moisture to make Beulah’s shoes squelch a bit. Squish, squish, squish, up to the door she went. The house was curiously silent.

Why was no one coming to see why the hounds were howling?

Beulah stood, uncertain for a moment before raising her hand to knock. Just then, the door opened a crack and Junior peered through.

“Oh — Miss Beulah! Come quick, come and help!” He gulped, throwing the door wide. He ignored the dogs.

“What is it?” she exclaimed, following him into the dimness.

“Mam — ” he panted. “Baby's comin’, an’ she’s took poorly! Help!”

Junior directed her into a room at the back, where Nettie Boone lay in a heap of twisted bedding. She was covered in sweat, staring wild-eyed at the ceiling and moaning. Beulah moved swiftly toward her, outwardly calm but inwardly wondering, “What on earth am I to do?”

“Where’s your pap?”

“Gone to fetch Miz Duke. But he’s just now left.”

Beulah tried to remember all she knew about birthing. It wasn’t sufficient, she was sure of that, but — here she was.

She directed Junior to fetch some clean towels, and set some water to boil. That’s what was done, wasn’t it?

When the boy left the room, Beulah blotted Nettie’s face with one of the towels and asked quietly, “Where are the young ones?”

Her answer was almost inaudible. 

“Junior took ’em… to the Kellys early, so they could… head to school. He wouldn’t go, in case… I needed him. Ohhhh!” Her volume increased. “Baby’s… comin’…SOON!”

+++++++

It was over quickly. There was just one, a lusty little girl. Nettie, panting heavily, was able to give her impromptu midwife some instructions. 

Junior slipped into the room with the water just as Beulah placed the newborn in her mother’s arms.

“Well, Junior, there’s your new sister! And your mam will be all right, I think.” 

Nettie smiled weakly.

Suddenly there was a crack of lightning followed shortly by the BOOM! of thunder that went on and on, until Beulah realized that there were horses approaching.

“Go and see if that’s your pap with Miz Duke. Tell ’em the baby’s here already.”

Amos Boone wasn’t particularly tall, or broad of girth, but his demeanor was intimidating. He clomped into the room, wordlessly observed his wife and new baby, then turned to glower at Beulah.

“Who are you?” he growled.

“Amos!” Nettie exclaimed. “You best be civil. She just helped deliver this baby!”

Myrtie Duke moved forward to clean up Nettie and the baby. She shooed them out of the room, saying,

“Yes, Amos, you be thankful to her. Beulah, you did a fine job.”

“I’ll go now,” Beulah said, looking Amos straight in the eyes. “But I’ll be back in two weeks.”

Amos said nothing. 

Well, thought Beulah, maybe that’s about as good as I can expect.

She was letting herself out the door when Junior appeared with a stack of books.

“Here! And thank ye for your help, Miss Beulah!”

She’d almost forgotten why she had come. Quickly, she exchanged the books for a new stack and headed out into the approaching storm.

“See you in two weeks! C’mon, Ned!”

+++++++

Beulah kept her job as a book lady until the program was discontinued in 1943. By then her pap had died of black lung disease. 

She married a good man and had a family of her own. We kept in touch until the day she died at one hundred years old. I still keep contact with her children.

After all, she was there the day I was born!

~ Beulah Boone Tate