BOOK#5

Hiram Walters stood in the open door, looking out over the dark and rain-drenched valley. It had been raining all day and well into the night. Now, the deep silence in the lull after the storm was broken only by the occasional drip from the eaves and nearby bushes. While he stood there, the stars came out one by one as the full moon broke yellow over the upper ridge. Then, as the shadows merged into the deeper tree stumps, the muted golden moonlight flooded the near fields and hillsides.

Suddenly, the shriek of a nighthawk broke into the heavy silence and a panther screamed somewhere over Cotter's gap. At the corner of the stoop, "Rock", the old coon-hound, sat back on her haunches, lifted up her nose, and bayed to the moon.

Hiram stepped back into the room, leaving the door open. The air was still humid and oppressive in the house after the rain all day. During the summer of 1884 in the southern part of Virginia, it had been the hottest they had known in many a year. For Eliza, it had been especially hard, with her in the family way again. The other eight children had birthed easy, but she had been sickly and restless for quite awhile now. Yesterday morning, when it was clear her time had come again, Hiram had ridden over toward Richmond, nearly eight miles away, and fetched "Mammy Tilly", the black midwife. After many anxious hours, they all knew this wasn't a normal birthing.

Hiram paced back and forth over the smooth plank floor in the parlour, planks always snowy-white from frequent scrubbing with hot water and wood ashes. He had built this house himself, just seventeen years ago when he knew the lovely Eliza was to be his bride. With his own hands, he had fashioned the big beautiful fireplace in one end of the room, every stone chipped, mortared, and moulded expertly together with a wide mantle above and a smooth hearth on the floor. Even the bedrooms upstairs were built with the future in mind - large and spacious; there would be children - of course. He had been proud of his accomplishment and justly so. His and Eliza's bedroom was on the ground floor, just off the parlour.

Now, his thoughts were interrupted by a lusty wail from behind the closed door, and a minute later, Grandma Light came out with a small, blanketed bundle in her arms. "It's a girl!" she said, "Mammy Tilly says there's another coming!"

Almost immediately, another cry came from the bedroom and Hiram couldn't wait any longer. He pushed open the door. In two great strides, he reached the bed, fell to his knees, and cradled his wife's tired face in his two hands while tears ran unashamedly from his eyes. Eliza smiled, touched the tear-stained cheeks so close to her own, and said, "Dear, dear Hiram. Do keep the children together. The older girls can care for the new babes." That was all, and she was gone.

Neighbours and relatives came from up in the mountains and down in the hollows to attend the wake and the burial afterwards of Hiram's beloved Eliza. Hiram's sorrow knew no bounds, but his children did him proud. The older ones took over the housework and the care of their younger brothers and sisters. The new babies, twin girls, were their immediate concern. Some of the aunts felt duty-bound to take them into their own families, but here, Hiram stood firm. "My eldest gals are pretty near grown. Martha here is fifteen, Arminda is fourteen, Bertha ten, and Emma nine. They'll do just fine."

.... and on it goes ....