MAURENE RUTH TANKERSLEY BISHOP's
LIFE ON THE HOMESTEAD
Part 2, Vesta is seriously ill:
I was six on July 31, 1903. About a week before my birthday, Lois
and I were awakened in the early morning, very dark. Vesta was
seriously ill. Dad had gone by horseback to Jennings to fetch Dr.
Newell. Lois and I were told to draw many buckets of
water, a chore we had not been allowed to do before. Then we were
sent to the railroad camp to borrow a loaf of bread for breakfast.
We always had biscuits for breakfast but Mom could not leave Vesta
long enough to mix them. As we walked through the dark woods we held
hands, never saying a word. We never did discuss the experience. I
don't know if she was frightened. I was!
This was the day we grew up.
Henceforth, we assumed regular chores, took on responsibilities.
Lois ironed with flat irons, churned the butter, tended the
baby, washed the dishes. I took over feeding the chickens, hated
every feeding. I named all of the old hens and the feisty young
roosters. The two meanest roosters were named Rufus and Rastus.
Rufus eventually picked Rastus to death. Dad went along with my
game, would talk to me about certain named chicken and so on. I went
to the garden each day, about a quarter mile from the house, across
the creek. I would dump the potatoes, beets and other root crops in
the creek the with my bare feet, move them around among the pebbles,
using my toes to scrub, and took them home clean - both vegetables
and my feet.
I also dried the dishes. We used the
log house for a summer kitchen. Each time we did dishes, Lois
would threaten to scald my toes, chasing me out of the kitchen with
the tea kettle of steaming water. One day, I stood my ground and she
scalded my toes. For a few days, Lo had to do the dishes alone. She
was truly sorry, the scalding was an accident, I am sure.
The Gartens were our nearest
neighbors. Bill, a handsome boy about 15, had a gallant
horse, a blue-gray named Blue. Every day during the summer, he would
ride past our house, putting his horse through different gaits, and
if Vesta was outside he would pull up to the fence, hook a leg
around the saddle horn and they would have long talks. Lois and I
did a lot of teasing and Mom tried to stop us; we were bratty.
Vesta was seriously ill for
several weeks. Bill came almost every night during her
sickness and slept on a pallet on the floor. If the doctor was
needed in the night, he and old Blue dashed off to Jennings to bring
the doctor.
August 24, 1903, the last day Vesta
lived, Etta Garten, Vesta's best friend, came to spend
the afternoon. She had a new lapel watch she received for her
birthday. She and Lois went to play and I sat with Vesta.
We could see the girls; they were walking on the top rail of the
temporary fence around the yard. Vesta said, "I wish
Etta would get down, she will fall and break her watch."
That was the last she said to me. She passes away in the evening.
Aunt Ganz and Mrs. Garton Spandau were there.
Because of the extreme heat and lack
of embalming knowledge, the funeral had to be on the 26th,
in the morning, in the parlor. Uncle Ben, Aunt Kate,
their four children, Percy-15, Lola-13, Theo-7,
and Arlyn-4 (Editor's note; my dad was born in 1903), came and stayed
one night after the funeral.
That was my first experience with
death. Things went well until they started closing the grave. I
went into hysterics. Dad was patient and kind. Right then and there
he explained life and death to me, gave me assurance that she would
be with us and we would see her again soon.
My first train ride:
The railroad right-of-way from Tulsa
to Jennings was completed in early fall. The work train with a great
many workmen came to lay track. All of us went to watch the
operation. The engine was equipped with production line machinery.
On one side of the engine the ties would automatically move forward,
two Negroes would take one to the rocked bed, another pair would
follow, on and on. On the other side the steel rails moved forward.
They were placed on the ties, same procedure. Another crew of
Negroes bolted them to ties. The train inched forward to Jennings
and on to Perry.
My first train ride was that fall.
Dad was on a grand jury in Pawnee. One of the cases involved the
Frisco Railroad. He was notified by the president of the company
that he would be picked up at our railroad crossing at a given time
and would ride to Pawnee in the presidents private car. It was after
dark when the train arrived. Dad took me with him. I had a new red
coat and a white woolly hood. The presidents car was a big room with
red plush or velvet covered chairs and sofa, pretty kerosene side
lights. There was a bedroom and small kitchen adjoining the big
room. A colored man was in attendance. The president asked him to
bring me an orange. We had had oranges once, that is we three girls
had oranges.
When we arrived in Pawnee we went to
the hotel. There was a big heating stove in the lobby and men,
probably juror, were sitting in large chairs around the heater. We
had a room on the second floor with a commode with a pitcher and wash
bowl, and a chamber under the bed.
In the morning we talked awhile
before getting up, Dad explained who was who and what was what. He
said the hotel had 21 bedrooms, a kitchen, and a lobby. We went to
breakfast, then Dad had to go to the court house. He took me in the
kitchen and asked a white lady if I could stay with her until he came
for dinner and until we were ready to start home. She agreed, picked
me up and sat me on a kitchen table. A great big black woman was
rolling noodles. I thought I couldn't eat anything she cooked, her
hands were black and fat. The dinner was good. The only other black
woman I had ever seen lived in our area; she peddled foods, including
homemade horseradish. Her name was Barnett.
Uncle Ben's horse, May, and
his buggy were at a livery stable in Pawnee. When we were ready to
go home Dad brought May and the rig, picked me up, and we drove
around the square to a grocery store. Many Indians, squaws in bright
blankets, men with their hair in long braids with colored calico
strings braided in with the hair, were on the streets, no sidewalks.
Dad sat me on a sack of potatoes to wait while he went in the store.
A big Indian man stopped and looked at me, petted my head, and said,
"poosa, poosa."
It started to rain and sleet when we
had gone but a short distance from Pawnee. The night was black, no
light anywhere. The buggy had curtain but they were not tight and
didn't keep the bitter cold from coming in. Dad wrapped me me in the
buggy robe and a blanket. He got out and lead May the entire 19
miles home.
Our parents taught us to read before
entering school. I read everything available which was very little.
We had a few books including a novel "Maurene" - I was
named for the heroine. Lois had the book after she married.
We had a big book of poems and some of Mom's books she had brought
from her home in Neosho. We subscribed to the Kansas City Star, a
weekly, and I read it cover to cover. I especially liked the
theatrical and opera reviews and the society page, but I didn't care
much for the markets.
In 1904, the first oil well in our
area was drilled on our farm. Each day we would go to watch them
drill. Finally it was the Sunday morning when they dropped the blast
in the hole. Nothing happened. The well was plugged and the crew
moved on.
Visiting Uncle Ben:
In early September we went to
Stillwater and visited Uncle Ben and family. We went in the
lumber wagon. It was a 35 mile trip so we started early afternoon,
camped our midway. Mom cooked over a camp fire, Another first for
Lois and me. Mom, Lois, and Helen slept in the
wagon, and Dad and I slept out under the stars. We talked a long
time, made plans to go to England; we were going to ride Old Deck. I
didn't know how big an undertaking the crossing of the Atlantic on
Old Deck would be. For several years, off and on, we would add to
our plans, even after I knew it was a make-believe trip.
The Stillwater Tankersleys
took us to church. They were a family divided church-wise. I went
to the United Brethren with Lois, Theo and Aunt Kate
went to the Baptist, and the rest of the family went to the
Methodist. In the afternoon, we went to the Stillwater A & M
College. The buildings seemed awfully large. We walked and walked
through halls and big rooms. We went through the barns and pens of
livestock and saw the experimental farm. The following day we
started home. Dad suggested we go by way of Perry which would add a
few miles to our trip. In Perry we went through the Perry Floor
Mill, a cotton gin, and a cane sorghum mill.
Religious service was moved from our
house to the school house. It was held on Sunday afternoon and
evening. Dad still conducted the service. We walked to the school
house, Dad carrying the lantern and leading me by the hand. Mom,
Lois, and Helen followed. As we walked, Dad taught me
the Lord's Prayer, 23rd Psalm, and many verses of
scripture. One verse, Isaiah 41:10, "Fear not for I am with
thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God; I will strengthen thee, yea,
I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of thy
righteousness."
He said, "Remember this verse.
It may help you sometime. Think often of the best friend you can
have."
A Methodist church was built in
Jennings. They had a minister. Lo and I went to Sunday
School, and rode our horses. The rest of the family came to church.
The very first Sunday, Lois and I sat alone on the front seat.
The minister must have preached a fire and brimstone sermon, there
were many amens and hallelujahs loud and clear. Finally, Mrs.
Newell, the doctor's mother, came down the aisle shouting and
carrying on. We sat huddled together, shivering and shaking. Lois
and several others were baptized in our house creek on Sunday
afternoon.
We attended the Christmas program at
the church. They had a decorated tree, real live candles, the first
Christmas tree we had seen. Helen and Margery sang a
two verse and chorus song in the program, Lois played their
accompaniment. Helen leaned on the organ and swung a leg,
keeping time to the music. Margery was three, couldn't talk
plain, but she sang louder than Helen. When the song ended,
she started over again. Lois went along with her, but Helen
was through. She gave Margery her "look" of disdain
and walked off stage. The audience was enjoying the cat of both
girls. Margery stayed with it to the end of the last verse
and chorus. Lois was a bit of a ham too, smiling and bowing
she carried little sister off stage.
this ends part 2
Next part 3 Starting school: Lola, my cousin, is our teacher
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