Days
of YouthDays
of Youth
"Holy, Holy, Holy, Merciful and Mighty,
God in three Persons, Blessed Trinity."
As the last voices faded out on the last words of the hymn, he felt that familiar giddiness that accompanied the end of the school day, the end of family devotions, and always, always, the end of church meeting. Losing track of himself, he yawned and stretched his arms; when he suddenly felt the thick hand of his father on his neck and quickly dropped his arms.
"Now, the God of all comfort, bless you and keep you all." Announced the preacher.
Various "Amens" responded, and the hard, pine pews were slowly vacated. To the scruffy brown-haired boy, his mother and sister next to him couldn't move fast enough.
"Pa," he asked, turning to the tall man behind him, "can me 'n Amos 'n Joe play down at the creek till dinner?"
His mother, hearing this, caught her husband's eye. "Eli, I don't know if it's good for the boys to be down there by the water. With the rain we've been having, the creek's maybe swelled up a good bit." She reached down, and grabbed the toddler girl into her arms, throwing her onto a strong shoulder.
"Aw, Carrie, let him be a boy, they'll be close enough."
"But we can't even see the water from here, that bank's pretty steep."
"They'll be fine. You don't need to worry."
Inwardly, the boy praised his father's good sense, made his way around his mother and managed to escape through the door of the meetinghouse to find his friends on the other side.
As the ladies began busying themselves with the dishes they had brought for the weekly church dinner, the men jawed, and the children ran wild. Since most families lived far from the church and town, Sunday's were the only chance in the summer that children had a chance to play and roughhouse with kids outside of their own families.
"So, Ike, can you go?" asked a tan, freckle-faced boy.
"Yeah, my pa talked my ma into it" he said, and grinned broadly.
"Ah, your ma worries to much. Mine said I could go without even asking
my pa." Added a third.
"Aw, you know she pretty much lets me do what I want, Joe" replied Ike, feeling suddenly defensive of his mother. "C'm on, time's wastin."
The three boys set off at a trot toward the creek when the freckled Amos turned to a tiny tag-along behind them.
"Hey Charlie, aren't you gonna stay with your folks and the rest of the little kid?" He asked, hoping the boy would take the hint.
Joe replied in his place, "Nah, my pa says I have to watch him. Jus' don't fall in Charlie, 'cos I won't jump in after ya if you do."
"I won't" replied the four-year old defiantly.
"Race ya there!" Amos called, already a step or two in front of his comrades.
At the creek, the three older boys tossed their church jackets over some scrub brush that grew along the water's edge. Boots and socks shucked, and trouser cuffs rolled up, they chased one another though the shallows, giving perfunctory effort to keeping themselves looking descent. They'd willingly endure chastisement from their mothers later, for the pleasure of roughhousing now.
Little Charlie though, after a few minutes of trying to keep up with the older kids sat down sullenly in the shade of one of the large rocks on the edge of the water, and rested his head against it.
"Hey fellas, watch this!" Joe jumped seat first from one of the higher banks into an area of knee-deep water, soaking himself thoroughly. He was always the dare-devil, seeking attention and showing off for anyone who'd pay him any mind.
"Aw, that's nothing!" Shouted Amos in return.
"Then why don't you do it?" taunted the other.
"My ma would skin me for getting my clothes all messed up."
Ike turned his back on the argument and busied himself at catching some nearby water-skippers.
Ike had once overheard his mother telling his father how Mrs. Gilly didn't
seem to pay enough attention to her children. He wondered if all of Joe's silly
stunts was somehow related to that.
He managed to lift a skipper and some water out in cupped hands and decided
to take it to Charlie who no longer seemed interested in the water antics. He
cast a glance once again in the boy's direction, and noticed his head lolling
slightly against the hard rock.
"Hey, Charlie. You alright?" Ike asked, approaching the little boy.
"Don't feel good." He replied, not bothering to lift his head.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
This managed to draw Joe's attention away from himself momentarily.
"Aw, he's fine. Don't bother with him" hollered Joe.
Charlie's lower lip started to quiver, "Don't feel good."
The older boy met the child's tearing blue eyes and reached down to him. "Do you want me to give you a piggy-back ride back to your momma?" He received a simple nod in return, and helped the boy onto his back.
"Charlie's a baby, Charlie's a baby," taunted Joe as he watched his friend tote his little brother off in the direction of the church house. "Am not," he whimpered in return, but his ride was the only one who heard it.
Ike hadn't expected Charlie to be so heavy, and by the time he got to the churchyard, he was staggering slightly. The yard was abuzz with women toting pies, scalloped potatoes, boiled vegetables, and plates of meat to a large table set up in the scant shady area next to the building.
"Mrs. Gilly, Ma'am?" panted Ike. The heavy-set woman didn't hear him, or at least didn't care to acknowledge his presence, and continued to explain to another exactly how she managed to get her cornbread to its perfect consistency. "Mrs. Gilly, Ma'am. Please, Charlie isn't feeling well," he explained, easing the child to the ground.
The woman turned, "Now, Charlie," she huffed, as if completely exasperated, "go to your pa, or go lay down inside, I don't have time right now." And turned back to her conversation.
"Do you want me to take you to your pa?"
The boy wearily shook his head, "Inside, please."
"Alright then." And this time, he picked the child up against his front, clasped his hands under the little boy's bottom and carried him gently inside.
Ike placed the boy in a shady corner on the raised area where the pastor typically stood, and halfway wondered if they'd get in trouble for being up there. Ike had intended on letting the boy sleep in the corner and going back out to his friends, but looking at Charlie again put him in a different mind.
"Do you want me to stay with you?"
The boy nodded, looking at his benefactor with thankful eyes.
"Ok, wait here a second, I'll be right back."
He ran outside to his family's buckboard, found his mother's picnic cloth that she had folded up just that morning, and took it back inside.
"Here, you can lay on this."
Charlie lay down on the cloth, closed his eyes, and stuck a grubby thumb in his mouth, a habit Mrs. Gilly had been trying to break him of for nearly two years.
Ike watched the boy for several minutes. He couldn't help but reach out and stroke the little boy's pale little face and blond hair. The child was sweating slightly, "from the heat" Ike thought to himself.
"Do you want some water, Charlie? I can get you some."
The boy's eyes remained closed, but he nodded his head, nearly imperceptibly.
"Ok, I'll get it."
Again, Ike made his way to his family's buckboard where he found his own tin cup in the pantry basket. After filling it with water from one of the buckets near the fellowship table, he hurried back inside, trying not to spill any of it.
"Charlie, Charlie, here's your water." There was no response. "Maybe" he thought, "I'd better to just let him sleep, maybe he just needs to rest." Again, he reached out to touch the boy's head. This time, however, he realized that even the last several minutes in the coolness of the building had done nothing to cool the child down. He stared at the boy in front of him, examining him with piercing eyes. A panic started in his throat, and he watched Charlie's chest in hopes that it would rise with a breath. It seemed that time had stopped as he watched with terror, but sure enough, the little chest would go up and down as the child breathed small little breaths. Finally, Ike tore out of the building, and spied Benjamin Gilly at the edge of the yard talking in a group with three other men.
"Mr. Gilly! Mr. Gilly, sir, your boy, Charlie, he's real sick! You gotta come get him."
The man startled, "Where's Joseph?" he asked.
"He's at the creek, sir. But I took Charlie inside. He's laying down in there. Said he wasn't feeling good." At that the father made a hasty path into the church house, with the three others men, and boy at his heels.
Ben Gilly fell to his knees in front of his little son, and put a heavy hand
on his shoulder.
"Charlie" he said, shaking him slightly. "Charlie, boy, wake
up," he said again, louder this time.
Charlie clinched his eyes shut even more tightly before opening them slightly and sobbing, "Pa?"
"Ike, go get Joe for me, tell him we're headed home."
"Yes, sir" he said, and ran once more out the door.
When Ike and Joe returned to the church yard, Mr. Gilly had Charlie lying in the back of the buckboard, holding a blanket up beside him which cast a shadow on the resting boy and Mrs. Gilly was fluttering about the yard like a gigantic, bothered hen.
"Joseph, get in the buckboard now! We're going home. Oh my poor Charlie, why weren't you watching him better, Joseph?"
Joe hurried into the buckboard, with his mother on his heels and clucking wildly every step of the way.
"Ben, I'll send the doctor to you" offered Eli McSwain. He had already unhitched his family's own pulling horse and was prepared to ride it saddleless the 6 miles to fetch a doctor.
"I appreciate that mightily, Eli" replied Ben with a nod. "Carol, sit down now." He said to his wife, and brought the reins down soundly upon the back of the horse.
The church fellowship meal was of a very subdued quality, and the pastor prayed
both before and after the meal for the Gilly family and Charlie. The McSwains
borrowed the extra buggy horse that the Campbell family always used to drive
in to church and were home that evening when Eli finally returned.
Eli walked in the door somberly and spied his wife removing some wilted wildflowers
from their perch on the sideboard. Carrie caught Eli's eyes and posed the question
silently.
"Ben's Charlie has scarlet fever."
Her only response was a small gasp.
"They're not sure how he got it. They're guessing he may have been exposed to in Siloam Springs when they were visiting some kin a while back."
"How're Carol and Ben and Joseph?" asked Carrie, lowering her voice.
"Carol's in a panic."
Carrie nodded, as if in agreement.
"Ben's gonna have to be the one to hold things together out there, I reckon." Added Eli.
"I'll go out there tomorrow and take a meal," replied his wife.
"I figured as much, darlin'. I told them they could expect it."
Eli reached for his wife's hand and kissed her.
Out of the corner of her eye, Eli noticed his son watching them intently, no longer running his wooden horse up and down the walls of the house. Carrie also turned to her son, "Ike?"
"Ma'am?"
"Did you let him use your cup?"
He searched his memory, and couldn't rightly remember the order of events well enough to remember whether Charlie had actually drunk from his cup or not. His hesitation betrayed his uncertainty.
"Well, bring it to me, I need to boil it too." The picnic cloth was already bubbling away in a large pot behind the house.
"What's wrong, Momma? Is Charlie gonna be ok?"
"We hope so son," his father replied, "he's pretty sick right now though."
Ike nodded, wondering at the gravity of the situation. You could never be sure, with adults, how bad off people were, they never seemed to say much of anything but, "so-and-so is sick" "so-and-so is getting better" and "so-and-so is passed on." "Sick" could go either way.
"What's he got?"
"He's got a fever, son. We'll all pray for him tonight, alright?"
Ike furrowed his brow and nodded.
For the next several days Ike noticed some peculiar changes around his home. His mother seemed to fuss about him more than usual, and while he enjoyed the attention, he didn't like feeling coddled. Every few hours, she would ask how he was feeling, and he would reply predictably, "fine, ma." When he added "Don't worry, I ain't gonna get sick" she replied with a smile, "Don't say 'ain't', Ike, it isn't polite." And gave him some kind of watered down drink and tousled his hair. Worse however, was the fact that he was not allowed to play with his little sister Abigail; this hurt him gravely. His father tried to explain to him that it was just for several more days, so they could be sure that neither of them would be sick. Ike eagerly anticipated the day when he would again be able to play with the little girl.
Late Thursday afternoon of the same week, the McSwains were present at the funeral of little Charlie Gilly. The day had been blistering hot, and all of the children were restless and miserable in their good clothes. Carol Gilly sobbed quietly throughout the pastor's graveside sermon, and Ben stood staring blankly at the hole where his son was to lie. Carrie McSwain noticed that Joe kept clenching and unclenching his fists, shaking them both from time to time, sometimes pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
"Wound up tighter than an eight-day clock, poor child" she thought to herself.
It was nearly dusk when most of the families headed for home. Children were typically not allowed to play before or after funerals, and it was just as well, for none of the children would have been permitted to play with either Joe or Ike. As the families were gathering in their wagons and buggies and heading off, Carrie, Ike, and Abigail were waiting for Eli in their buckboard, who was bidding good evening to others of the men. As Eli approached his buckboard, Caleb Jacobs approached him, and Ike heard the man's low, cool voice in the semi-darkness, "How's your boy, Eli?"
"He seems fine, Jake. Appreciate your askin."
"Well, we'll see by next week, I guess." The voice replied.
Ike noticed that his father didn't respond, but was soon seated beside his mother in the seat of the buckboard. About a mile into their journey, Ike leaned up and spoke to the space between his parents, "If I get sick, will I die too?"
Much to the boy's surprise, his father stopped the horse, and turned toward him. "Not everyone who gets Scarlet Fever dies son. Charlie was just too small, getting sick is always hardest on the little ones. Don't you worry, alright?" The answer seemed sufficient for the boy, and his mother kissed his cheek.
"Now, just sit back and enjoy seeing what you can see before it gets too dark" she said as Eli brought the horse back to a slow trot.
"But, Ma. I've seen all this lots" he replied somewhat sulkily and sat himself back in the bed of the vehicle.
In addition to all of the stress of the week, another shock for Ike was the fact that his family did not attend church meeting that Sunday. Ike could remember only two Sundays when he and his parents were not in attendance. One being the day that his Abigail was born, and the other was a result of a freak winter storm that made the route to the meetinghouse impassable. This Sunday, the McSwains stayed at home and sang familiar hymns and Eli read from the 40 Psalm. His voice was sonorous and calm, and Ike listened with half an ear until the eleventh verse, "Like a shepherd the Lord will tend His flock, In His arm He will gather the lambs, And carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead the nursing ewes." It would be a verse that he would think about often in future years. He liked the imagery of a gentle God who would take pains to care for small, helpless animals. Such a God would have created a very nice place in Heaven for Charlie, he decided.
That Tuesday, Ike awoke in the middle of the with a sore throat, feeling slightly achy, and pulled himself up from bed and reached for the cup of water that his mother always left for him. The throat had been bothering him for a couple of days, but it was typical to have a sore throat during the dry heat of summer. He was looking forward to the next week when school would begin again, as the adults always viewed the first day of school as the harbinger of cooler weather. Somehow, the cup moved just out of reach of Ike's hand, and it fell to the floor slowly in the dark. He tried to right himself and climb out to get the cup, but something was wrong; he was simply too tired to get the cup, and he lay down heavily. The creak of floorboards met his ear, and the soft footstep of his mother and the faint glow of a lantern approached.
"Ike, are you alright? Do you need something?" her anxiety had been at a peak during the last several days, and anything at all was enough to wake her.
"Sorry, Momma. I was thirsty. . .dropped the cup." Ike managed to say.
"It's ok, I'll get you some more water." She brought the lantern closer to look for the cup and glanced at her exhausted son. As typical of a mother, she rested a hand upon his moist forehead. Her heart stopped for moment.
"Ike? Honey, how do you feel."
"I'm hot Momma,. . .water?"
The last coherent moment of that night was the recognition that his mother had swiftly risen to her feet and was dashing to wake her husband calling as softly as she could in her fear. "Eli!"
Time swam aimlessly around his head. Sometimes he thought he perceived shadows even behind his closed eyelids. He was grateful whenever he felt some unseen benefactor wiping his head and face and neck and chest with a cool rag. He wondered if he would feel like this forever, or only until he died. The thought didn't scare him; he was too tired for it to be a concern. His skin felt tight, his mind floated back to the cloudy snakeskin that his father had once showed him. "The snake just got too big for it, and rubbed it off," his dad had explained. Ike wondered whether he could somehow get out of his rough, tight skin. Sometimes he heard his mother's voice, and sometimes his father's. He tried to understand what they were saying. He could open his eyes sometimes, and drink water and move his covers when he felt too hot, but most of the time he simply heard voices drone in and out of waves of heat.
Someone was scratching his head; he wanted that to stop. It was too hot, why wouldn't people leave him alone? He felt something tickle his ear and around his neck. He couldn't understand what was happening and said hoarsely "Don't. Please stop." His mother told him gently that it was ok, and she felt him move his hand to rest again at his side.
Slowly, the scene seemed to change for the little boy. The fog that rested behind his eyes began to dissipate, and he realized that his body, though sore, seemed to once again belong to him. He felt as if he were swimming through thick water that got smoother and thinner as he went on. At last, he opened his eyes.
"Ike, honey?" His mother dabbed at his neck and head with a damp cloth she had in her hand.
"Ma?" His voice sounded funny to him.
"Shhh. I'm glad to see that you're awake honey." Her smile floated before Ike's face, and he felt calmer. He spied his father approaching slowly behind her.
"Pa, I'm ok. Was I real sick?"
"You were pretty sick for a couple of days, son. But you're gonna get better now." His father said seriously, but with a kind expression on his face. "You'll have to rest some. Obey your Momma. I've got to go see to harvesting some now. You're gonna get better now" he said, as much as an encouragement for himself as for his boy.
Eli left the room, and left a relieved and exhausted Carrie to reunite with her oldest child.
"How's Abby?" He asked.
Carrie was always touched at the gentleness and thoughtfulness of her son. "She's just fine. She'll be very happy to be able to play with you again. Mrs. Cuthwait and Miss Lee have been helping with her, and she's happy as a lark."
Ike smiled and turned his head on the pillow. Stray, scattered hairs that his mother hadn't managed to remove remained on his pillow and tickled the side of his face, and instinctively he reached up to his own head.
Sitting bolt upright despite his protesting body, he cried with a rasp, "Momma! Momma! My hair!" he covered his scalp with both hands, not entirely understanding what had happened.
Carrie sat momentarily wondering at her panic-stricken son. His eyes were wide and he was clearly trying to fight off tears. She reached out to embrace him. He clutched at her with his wearied limbs. "Why did my hair fall out? Will it come back?"
Carrie hugged her son tightly to her, "It's okay, sweetie. . ."
"Is it gonna come back?" he sobbed.
"I don't think so, sweetie. But it's ok, you're going to be fine, just fine. It just happens sometimes."
Over the next several days, Ike felt better and better and life began to turn back to normal. Carrie McSwain busied herself with not only tending her daughter and son, but also preparing Ike's favorite dessert, hot milk cake, which was typically a rarity, for after dinner every other evening. At the end of the next week, however, Ike was as restless as a young boy can be. The other children had already been in school for nearly a week, and he was anxious to play with kids his own age again-but at the same time he was nearly sickened with the worry of what they would say to see him with his slick scalp. He had mentioned this fact to his mother several times, hoping she'd suggest that maybe he didn't actually have to go to class, but simply play at recess, where he could wear his hat. His mother never responded in the desired fashion though, and Ike had begun to pray fervently that Jesus would come back and take him and his family to heaven before he had to go back to school.
Late Thursday afternoon, Eli arrived at home from a mid-week visit into town. Carrie, with Abby, was gathering eggs in the hen house while Ike chased a couple of young goats around their pen, but he stopped once he saw his father. The man looked at his son momentarily, and felt a bit of the boy's pain. He was wearing an old hat that was far too large for him and kept falling over is eyes. He was so uncomfortable with his hair-less head that he would nearly come to tears when he entered the house and was obliged to remove it.
"Ike."
"Sir?"
"Come here for a minute."
Ike supposed that he would be "spoken to" about bothering the goats, but then he recognized a sparkle in his father's eyes that always heralds something wonderful for a boy of 8.
As his father stepped down from the buckboard, Ike's eyes were fixed on the item in his hands. A new, store-bought hat. He never remembered receiving a gift directly from his father. At Christmas and at his birthday, he would get a present from his mother and, of course, he knew it was from his father too--but this was different. Eli watched as his son's mouth gaped and smiled as he slowly took the hat from his father's hands. "Gee, Pa. . .It's mine," he added with wonder. None of the boys he knew ever had a brand new hat; they were all gifts from neighbors with older boys, or similar hand-me downs.
"Thanks" he added, feeling the brim between his fingers.
"Well, go try it on, son!" his father encouraged heartily. Ike ran back into the house with his father following at a brisk walk. Ike set the new, crisp hat on his head and beamed as he stepped in front of his mother's prized looking glass. He adjusted it several times, trying to determine how it would best look, grinning broadly. Eli stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, pleased with his purchase.
"Pa?" Eli looked at his son, whose grin had been replaced with a concerned expression.
"What is it, son?"
"I can't wear my hat in the school room." He almost whispered the words.
"Come here. Alright, now take off your hat."
Ike took the present from his head, wondering if he ought not have brought the topic up.
Eli pulled something out of his breast pocked, "Your ma's finished the edges of some material for you. See, it's like a bandana. I'll show you how to wear it."
After a couple of attempts, the two of them decided how it looked best, and Eli's son nodded at his reflection.
"That's not so bad," he determined. Ike set his hat back on top of his bandana-covered head and decided that he'd be able to face school on Monday.
