Pronunciation

 

Only Two O’s in the Word!

 Please don’t think I’m picking on Southerners or uneducated people. I am not. I’m only trying to help all of us speak better.

Here’s a word frequently mispronounced by educated people. The way it is said grates on my nerves like fingernails on an old-fashioned chalkboard. I honestly don’t make a habit of correcting others except for my closest relatives, who know I love them and have to tolerate me, but I’ve had the audacity to correct a smart aleck who insists on mispronouncing pronunciation. He denied his mistake. If I’d recorded him, I could have proved the point.

The standard way to say the word is  pruh-nuhn-see-ey-shuhn, according to Dictionary.com.  To pronounce it pruh-nown-see-ey-shuhn is substandard.

Listen to the pronunciation of pronunciation. When you hear a confident, highly educated person say the word wrong, hide your smile and swallow your laugh.

As one who grew up in Mississippi, the daughter of parents who did not attend college, I have worked all my life to speak standard English. When someone corrects me, I say “thank you” and rush to the dictionary to discover what is correct. I’m grateful for any help I get. I do not know anyone who can pronounce all the words and speak in grammatically proper sentences all the time. I’ve learned to appreciate the humanity of others. At the same time, I strive to improve, just as I want you to.

On the other hand, the message is more important than the way it is delivered.

Its and It’s

 A Popular Violation of the Rules

It is not unusual to read material written by educated writers who have misspelled its. Long ago in the time of Middle English, our words were male and female, not in meaning but in form. If you’ve studied Latin or a Romance language, your teacher told you during your first week about this peculiar trait of nouns.  It was something you had to accept if you planned to pass the course. Eventually speakers of English started using neuter words. It referred to antecedents (words coming before the pronoun), unless their meaning was female or male, for example, girl or boy.

Around 1600, writers started placing an apostrophe after it to show possession. For about three hundred years this use of an apostrophe in a possessive pronoun was a common practice.

An old way of writing it is was ’tis.

'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus.

Louisa M. R. Stead wrote the lyrics to that beautiful old hymn after she watched her husband drown as he tried to rescue a drowning boy. It is believed she wrote the hymn in the 1880’s.

In the nineteenth century, the apostrophe in its showing possession disappeared. The expression ’tis in our conversations and writings also vanished. Those of us who love Stead’s hymn will sing ’tis forever.

Now, in the twenty-first century, it is considered inappropriate to place an apostrophe in the pronoun its, which means belonging to it.

It’s is a contraction meaning it is or it has. In accepted usage, we seem to need to distinguish between its and it’s. If you think about the rule, it may not make sense. The solution is not to think too hard about this peculiarity of our English language. It is not ours to reason why. Just do it.

The house needs its paint refreshed.

It’s been a long time since we saw our cousins.

It’s snowing.

The accepted usage of it’s has switched back and forth throughout the centuries. In the current time, its means belonging to it. It’s means it is or it has. Multiple references express the same sentiments about the way to write its and it’s. One useful source is Merriam-Webster.com.

Fixin’

 

Fixing to Do Something

 

Using Idioms

 

“Fixing” in the sense of fixing to is usually pronounced “fixin’” but sometimes it is “finna.”

 I’m fixing to go to town.

He’s fixin’ to make a mistake.

I’m finna to leave.

 In the South, “fixin’” seems to be necessary to express the idea that someone is preparing to do something. The Midwesterners don’t need to say it, but folks say it all over the South and as far north as Maine and the state of Washington. Throughout New England some speakers say it, while others frown on it.

 Southerners have other ways of expressing the idea, which are not much better.  Some of these expressions have slightly different nuances of meaning. 

I’m going to finish my homework.

She’s gonna take her brother to the amusement park.

We’re getting ready to catch the bus.

           Some people trying to sound slightly more sophisticated are heard using the word about, but about isn’t grammatically logical.

We’re about to go.

Here’s a grammatically correct expression acceptable to most North Americans’ ears, but it does not convey the sense of immediacy as “fixing to.”                                                                                        

 Jeff is planning to…

The purpose of this discussion is not to make speakers sound stuffy by speaking in a formal, affected way, even though there are times when writers of business correspondence need to use formal English.

Our company is preparing to change its policy.

 Fixing is a well-established, colorful idiom, which doesn’t sound good to most of us when we stop to think about it. English spoken in different countries is full of a variety of useful idioms. English is an idiomatic language. The idioms used differ from one area to another, and they give our language a richness. Saying “fixing” may provoke ridicule from some people. If you are making a presentation or giving a speech, consider using a less colorful expression.

 Omitting the g at the end of an ing word is another subject.

 For more information about fixing to, google Yale Grammatical Diversity Project, English in North America, https://ygdp.yale.edu 

or The Free Dictionary, https://idioms.thefreedictionary.com

 

Etc. is more than most of us think.

 

Misused, Confused, Abused, Etc.

Most of us know what et cetera means. Some dictionaries define it as “and so forth.” Others say it means “and others” or “and others of the same kind.” A problem comes with knowing how to spell it. Frequently we see ect, and we’re supposed to think the writer is trying to spell the abbreviation for et cetera. Hardly anyone writes et cetera these days, but some of us seem to have a problem remembering the abbreviation is etc.

Sometimes it appears in all capital letters, ECT. A few writers believe it’s okay to spell it ect. They say, “What’s wrong with spelling it that way. It’s just some old Latin abbreviation.”

Here’s the reason we cannot afford to transpose the T and C. ECT is an acronym used for another term, electroconvulsive therapy, which is often called “shock treatment.” So, using ect for etc can shock readers.

Scholars say the abbreviation etc. has been appearing in written English for approximately six hundred years. Up until one hundred years ago, it was sometimes written as &c. If we keep in mind that et means and, we shouldn’t become confused about the correct way to spell it. Not long ago, it was acceptable to write the expression as one word, etcetera, but it is seldom seen that way these days.

Usually it refers to a list of similar items that are too long to list. In no circumstances should a writer or speaker place and before it because the et means “and,” even though Charles Dickens wrote “and et cetera” in his novels. “And et cetera” is redundant.

Sometimes people write or say “such as” followed by a list with “etc.” at the end. This kind of writing, which appears in advertisements and infomercials, has a pompous air. Instead of impressing listeners and readers, it can be a turnoff. Equally revolting is the use of “such as…and others.”

It’s okay to use etc. It is best to use it sparingly though. Excessive use of it can leave the reader with a frustrating curiosity about what was omitted.

Have you seen The King and I? King Mongkut of Siam, played by Yul Brynner, frequently says, “Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” He wants everyone to think he possesses vast amounts of knowledge about many subjects.

Using etc.

On the farm, we kept cows, horses, pigs, sheep, goats, etc.

Etc. adds nothing. The information is factual, not imaginary. The facts you conjure in your brain will be different from the ones in mine.

3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, etc.

In the above example, the meaning, and so forth, is clear. We can infer what will come next.

“Congress has to get to work on government funding, etc.”

A newscaster said the above sentence in real time as I write this page. Etc. does not always have to be used in a series. We know what Congress does, don’t we? Therefore, the sentence makes sense.

In his descriptions, the writer used frequent etceteras.

Rarely the word appears in a plural form. To use the plural, it is essential not to abbreviate. Also, the plural form appears as one word.

The politician presented his plans for lowering the taxes, increasing the benefits, cleaning up the corruption, etc.

Blah, blah, blah. We’ve heard it all before, and we know how to finish his list. It’s easier to say etc.

Playing with the word

At the end of the entry in our Compact Oxford English Dictionary, three words are listed without definitions. When I Googled these words, I discovered two of them being used as names of products and blog names. Those who used them spelled them in creative ways. If you need a new word, feel free to use these:

Etcetarist—Could an etcetarist be one who uses etc. often? Or perhaps an etcetarist studies the term extensively.

Etcetarize—Maybe it means to add frequent etceteras in writing.

Etcetaraly—Could this word describe a manner of talking or writing? She speaks etcetaraly.

I haven't ate my lunch yet.

 

My husband and I were looking for an exit from the airport so we could catch a taxi, Lyft, or Uber. We stopped to rest a minute. Two airline attendants with their arms full of luggage, cups of soda, and brown paper bags, stood nearby. A custodian approached them, mumbled something to one of the attendants, and reached for her paper bag.

 The flight attendant turned around and held tightly to the bag. “No! I haven’t ate my lunch yet.”

 When did the attendant decide I haven’t ate was the preferred way to communicate? She spoke with such spontaneity that we knew “haven’t ate” was her customary way of speaking.

 Is the English language decaying?As we simplify our verbs in absurd ways that make little sense when we stop to think, are we causing our language to become more fragmented? Is English decadent? Is English decaying, i. e., falling apart? We no longer follow rules of grammar when we communicate.

 Another description of what is happening to our language is change. No one can deny our language is changing. Sometimes transformation is slow, sometimes it is fast, but it always takes time.

 Here’s the question. Are we transforming our language in a positive or negative way? Is it falling apart or are we merely rearranging it? Do we speak according to rules, or do the rules explain our speech? With the passing of time, language becomes simpler. It seems ironic that as mankind becomes more capable of inventing complicated scientific systems, we find ourselves losing the nuances of our way of speaking and writing.

 Whatever the situation is, we would be wise not to throw ourselves into the current of change so fast that we sound uneducated.

Y'all

 

If you are writing formally, you probably don’t want to use the contraction y’all, but if you are talking or writing informally, you will need the word to communicate the plural sense of the word you, especially if you live in the South and possibly if you live anywhere in the United States. Dictionaries now describe y’all as an informal pronoun in Southern dialect.

Long ago we stopped using the ancient singular forms, thee and thou, of the second person, which means the one we are talking to. The places where we might see these ancient pronouns are in Shakespearean plays and the King James Bible. Some of us pray with these old words, as if we assume that God hears thee and thou better than you. Since the King James Bible verses we know and love contain these words, we may consider them more respectful. Also, we sing hymns using these words, as in thou art.

Were you told in school that you is the plural of the second person pronoun? Did you believe your teacher? We know that you cannot effectively communicate the plural. Depending on where we live, we add something to it. Throughout the South we say y’all, a contraction of you and all. Throughout the life of the United States, the people of the North have laughed at us for saying y’all, but as time passes, they are saying y’all more often because they don’t have a word that sounds quite so natural or conveys the meaning y’all does.

They insist they say you guys, but doing so is more effort. Sometimes folks say you all, but that’s trouble too.

Since I’m from Mississippi, I speak with a drawl. Y’all epitomizes Southern drawl. When we say it, we need to be careful not to draw it out too much. We should speak the word confidently, not with an apology. When we write it, we must never write ya’ll, which is a misspelling of y’all.

Northern people say you guys or youse guys, and British speakers say you lot. Some Australians say youse, which is a substandard word that irritates Australians of culture. You-uns is an Appalachian word.

Relax. Say y’all and don’t feel self-conscious.

I Seen

Let’s discuss using seen without an auxiliary (helping) verb. This error can give most people who hear it a headache.

When I was in second grade, my teacher said See and Saw were two children on a seesaw. They could play independently, but their little brother named Seen could not go to the park and ride the seesaw without help. Doesn’t that story sound childish? It taught me a lesson though that I never forgot.

Your friend said, “I seen.” I’d like to help by listing the possible reasons he said it. Check the ones that apply.

_____He didn’t say “I seen.” You thought you heard him. You were sure he said it. Evidently he said “I’ve seen” so fast the “ ’ve” was inaudible. “I’ve seen” is a contraction meaning “I have seen.”

_____English is his second language. Have you studied Spanish or French? It’s a challenge to use the right verb forms. Your Spanish or French friend may be having the same problem with English.

_____English is your friend’s native language, but he has an inadequate education. It’s never too late though for a person to learn not to say, “I seen.”

_____Your friend is from a part of the country where people speak a dialect that includes “I seen.” Again, it’s never too late to learn standard English.

_____The person saying it may have thought it was cute when he was younger, but now he’s working in the professional world, where it has ceased to be cute.

_____He may have developed a habit of using it to impress a group of speakers who think it’s an acceptable way to talk.

_____His parents may have said “I seen.” He needs to honor them but not by speaking substandard language.

_____For one of the above reasons, your friend has developed the habit. When he needs to communicate, he slips up and says it a time when he’s in a hurry to make a point or state he witnessed something important.

*

Are you tempted to correct your friends and coworkers when they say “I seen” or another equally glaring error? Don’t.

Should Have Went

  All my life I've loved the English language. I listen to people talk, and sometimes the way they say things whets my curiosity. Occasionally it's possible to find a reason or at least formulate a hypothesis about  expressions speakers insist on using.

Went

Went is a strong, unsociable word. It has no friends because it doesn’t need any. When you try to get helpers such as has, had, and have to come too close for a visit, went will do all in his power to make you sound uneducated. Went is mean that way.

For example, if you say, “We should have went,” the people listening to you may pretend not to notice, but many listeners will hear what you say and think you are somehow deficient.

Don’t say any of the following. Don’t use them in any social groups. Don’t allow the sound of them to pass through your brainwaves.

I have went.

I had went.

You have went.

You had went.

He has went.

She has went.

It has went.

We could have went.

Remember not to use an auxiliary (helping) verb with went, even if the people listening to you say this. If went could be an athlete, it could not play football. Instead, it would be a cross-country runner.

Went is the past tense of go. Past tense verbs do not, do not like to, refuse, cannot take helpers.

The form of go that requires helping verbs is gone.

I had gone.

You have gone.

You had gone.

He has gone.

She has gone.

It has gone.

We could have gone.

Why are we talking about went to this extent? Using went correctly is important.

Back in 1853, Alexander Crombie stated in The Etymology and Syntax of the English Language that “I had went” was “an egregious solecism.” A solecism is an ungrammatical combination of words or a blunder, or it could mean poor manners. Egregious means especially bad or flagrant. Many rules of the nineteenth century are merely memories, but in the early twenty-first century, “I had went” is still considered unacceptable usage.

Practice! Develop the habit of saying gone instead of went with auxiliary (helping) verbs. Drill. Make up sentences using gone instead of went with have, has, or had. Say them until your brain believes you are right.

Some more thoughts about went. If it’s so terrible to say “have went,” why do we say it? The obvious reason is that we hear other people. Now, let’s move to a conjecture that might explain this “egregious solecism.” This information is not to excuse the expression; it’s my theory about how it came about.

We have many ways in our language to say “go.” In the Anglo Saxon era (fifth to twelfth centuries), two popular words meaning to travel from one place to another were go and wend. The past participle form (the one that requires a helper) of go, was similar to our word gone. They had a word for the past tense of go (the one that stood alone). So far, I have found two spellings of it—iolde and eolde. At some time around 1400, this word disappeared. Since language is a gradual practice, this disappearance didn’t happen overnight, but we don’t have the word now.

We do, however, still have the word wend with its past tense and past participle, wended. It implies traveling with a twisting motion. Wend is not a popular word, but its cousins, wind and vent, are common. Wend’s roots extend to Latin origins.

Around 1400 when eolde disappeared, Middle English speakers replaced it with went, the ancient past form of  a word for go. Is it any wonder that “have went” sounds normal to our ears? It’s somewhere embedded in our brains. Went must have been similar to a past participle in days gone by.

But today, we are supposed to say “have gone.” Don’t forget to practice.

 

Farewell to Bubba

 

Last Thursday, John and I had a play date with Bubba while Christie and Brandt were at work.

We took a walk, he helped us cook, and all day long he stayed close by to shower us with affection. At 5:15 he jerked around and tried to stand, but suddenly his back legs wouldn’t support him. He finally made it to one of his favorite places on the living room carpet and let out one moan. Brandt and Christie arrived soon, gave him tender affection, and rushed him over to the emergency clinic. By 7:15 he was gone. The consensus is that he had a ruptured spleen. He was ten years old.

After buckets of tears, Christie and Brandt went to the dog shelter and brought home two pups—Daphne, a sweet mutt, and Chevy, a gorgeous German Shepherd. 

Bubba, the Firedog

A Glowing Review of LETTER FROM BELLEAU WOOD

 Letter from Belleau Wood is fetured on Caroline's Page Turners Blog

LETTER FROM BELLEAU WOOD

POSTED FEBRUARY 22, 2021

MY REVIEW

This is the first book I’ve read by this author and I enjoyed it very much.  I thoroughly enjoyed how the author is so descriptive in her writing style. The author’s portrayal of the character’s feelings and internal struggles, is very relatable.

This story will whisk you back to Mississippi during World War I and the 1918 Influenza Pandemic.  Trudy Cameron and Jeremy Smitherlin grew up in the same neighborhood.  They had been friends their entire life. Trudy was raised in a blended family, and Jeremy was navigating life on his own after losing his entire family.  Trudy always thought they would marry each other but instead, end up going their separate ways at the start of World War I.  Trudy’s brother Will, his college roommate, Lance and Jeremy all enlist into the military and are then, called up to go to France to fight in the war.  This story of heartbreak, love, loss, hope, faith and triumph, will have your attention from the very first page.

I really liked this book.  Although it is the last book in the Covington Chronicles seven book series, it can be read as a stand alone novel.  I highly recommend this book, it is a must read. 

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

ABOUT THE BOOK

LETTER FROM BELLEAU WOOD
Author: Mary Lou Cheatham
Published by Southeast Media
Publication Date: November 11, 2020
Pages: 250
Buy on Amazon

Trudy and Jeremy grew up in the same neighborhood, and they have always loved each other. She is a part of a large blended family living near a south Mississippi village. Jeremy, having lost all his family, makes his way through the world alone. At the beginning of World War I, he becomes so enthralled with his goals to succeed that he neglects Trudy, who has reached the stage in life where she wants to be loved. Trudy and Jeremy attend separate colleges. She meets Lance, her brother Will’s handsome roommate, who gives her constant loving attention. The time comes for all three young men to go fight in France. When Trudy, who is left behind, encounters challenges, she must look within herself to solve problems. In a time when people must rely on writing letters, she receives unforeseen news.

Letter from Belleau Wood pays tribute to the brave men and women who live and die during the Great War and portrays the horror of the 1918 pandemic of influenza.

ABOUT MARY LOU CHEATHAM

Mary Cooke, who signs her writing as Mary Lou Cheatham, grew up in Mississippi and moved to Louisiana in her twenties. Now she lives in west Texas.

As a child, Mary Lou Gregg allowed stories to roost in her head until they grew into novels, but she never completed any writing until she finished her second career. Living a busy life, she did not think she could spare minutes at the keyboard every day. Mary wrote some poems and short stories, which she always tossed into the trash can. When her life was the busiest ever, she could no longer suppress the desire to write. Experiences had shown her what she needed to say. The compulsion to tell her stories grabbed her and wouldn’t let go. Every morning beginning at four o’clock, she spent two hours writing.

Website | Facebook | Goodreads | Bookhype | Amazon

Gifts of Grace by Kathy McKinsey

Please have a look at my dear friend Kathy McKinsey's new book, Gifts of Grace, which will be released February 23, 2021.  It is a compilation of three novellas.

Notes from Kathy's product page:

Three women search with hungry hearts, and God shows them surprising answers.

Tammy needs a new goal to fill her empty nest, and she needs to find forgiveness for her heart.

Mourning the loss of her baby, Judy flees to the home she abandoned twelve years ago. The family farm. Is something new waiting for her at this old home?

Iola, who is blind, struggles to prove herself as a professional and to be the mother her sixteen-year-old daughter needs during a rough time.

Watch as God opens doors these women would never expect.

Kathy, who is blind, has an amazing talent as a writer. Her accomplishments include her blog, filled with inspiration, nostalgia, and humor. Look for a new post at https://www.kathymckinsey.com each Friday.

Other works by Kathy McKinsey include another collection of novellas, Amazon.com: All My Tears eBook: McKinsey, Kathy: Kindle Store

She has published a children's Christmas book, Millie's Christmas - Kindle edition by McKinsey, Kathy. Children Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com

Kathy has written a devotional included in an anthology of contributions by accomplished authors: Who I Want to Be / Kathy's writings always reflect the reality of her relationship with her Father in heaven. Jesus walks with her day by day.

I cannot say enough good things about Kathy. She has read most of my books and offered me both enouragement and constructive criticism when it is needed. Kathy edits almost everything I publish. She is amazing at catching punctuation errors. In my series, she has kept all the characters and events in her mind and corrected details I had forgotten. 

Kathy is a beautiful woman with a lovely spirit, a devoted wife, and an amazing mother. 

Her new book, Gifts of Grace, will be released on her birthday. Now is the time to pre-order this collection of novellas, sure to pull at our heartstrings. February 23 is Kathy's birthday. On that day, she's giving us something special--a portion of her generous heart. All we have to do to receive her gift is click pre-order. 

Parallels between 1918 flu and Covid-19 Pandemic

Letter from Belleau Wood  is a novel set in the time of the 1918 flu pandemic. Kirkus considers it a touch tale of young love. It contains up-close pictures of the suffering families, and college students experienced. "There are strong parallels between the COVID-19 pandemic and the 1918 flu pandemic, considered to be the deadliest of the 20th century."

Because of the parallels of the two pandemics, reading Letter from Belleau Wood provides insights into what people are enduring. 

"The 1918 flu took a heavy toll. Entire families were wiped out and those who survived were widowed or orphaned. There was a significant economic impact as well. The pandemic finally ebbed after a third wave by the summer of 1919. It is believed the flu strain became so widespread that a level of herd immunity developed. That herd immunity came at a considerable cost in lives.

"Medicine and science have come a long way since then, but few lessons were learned from 1918. Vaccines for COVID-19 were developed fairly rapidly, but not before a huge loss of life, economic devastation and the suspension of normal life. New virus variants, considered more infectious, have shown up, complicating the ability to contain the pandemic. The challenge now is managing a surging crisis while ramping up production of vaccines and an effective vaccination program." 

Comparing and contrasting the coronavirus and 1918 flu pandemics through images (msn.com)

Love Letter to Trudy

An American soldier holds his rifle as he writes a love letter. Wkadtskaw Theodorer Benda drew this picture using charcoals in 1919.  <Benda, Wladyslaw T. , Artist. Soldier Writing Letter. , 1919. Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2010715107/> It represents a romanticized idea of what the war was like. Seldom were the soldiers neat and clean with unblemished hands.  

World War I Soldier Writing a Letter Home

Here's part of a love letter Trudy received from her soldier in the trenches:

My dearest Trudy,

As soon as I had a chance, I opened the note you sent me and memorized it. I miss you so. I cannot forget the wonderful imes we had together.

When I rest, I let my tears flow. My heart aches for you.

Remember we'll be apart for only a short time, and then we'll be together again. What a wonderful life we will share!

Letter from Belleau Wood

Beginning of Letter from Belleau Wood

Chapter 1
When Trudy Was Quite Young

Trudy

They’re at it again,” Trudy whispered to Marcie, her stuffed monkey doll. “I’m supposed to honor them both.”

From the seat underneath the open window, Trudy heard everything in the next room.

“Where do you keep your money?” Mama let go of her voice. “In the bank?” “No, stupid. It failed last year.”

“Oh, I know. You’ve squirreled away your stash in a big safe deposit box and stuck it in a bank vault.”

His laugh sounded sarcastic. “Is that what you’d do, Zoe?”

Trudy had a clue. Every time anybody needed any money, Papa went to the barn. He hid it in the barn. But where?

“What if you die and leave me with the kids? I don’t want anything now, but if such should be our fate, I’d be a penniless widow with a ten-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old boy to provide for.”

Trudy curled on the bench and stared from the second floor. Before she realized it, she twisted Marcie’s button eyes until they fell off.

“Oh, no. I’ll sew them back on after school,” she whispered to the doll.

“You don’t trust me, William.”

“Zoe.” Papa’s voice had a don’t-mess-with-me sound.

Mama said something else Trudy didn’t catch.

Whack!

Trudy’s hands flew to her mouth. What was that? The noise couldn’t have been a slap. No, Papa wouldn’t hit Mama. Or would he?

Trudy strained her ears...the faint sound of Mama’s weeping. With a fight raging between Mama and Papa, she had nobody to hold onto except Marcie. Trudy’s stomach hurt. Her brother Billy Jack, whose room was across the hall, slept through it.

Trudy wished Papa would die.

~~~

A few days later, Trudy and Billy Jack came home to find smoking embers where their house had stood. Nothing but chimneys remained.

Barefoot and in a torn dress, Mama sat on the ground. She talked to the air in front of Trudy’s face. “William wanted to burn a big wasp nest from the outside of Trudy’s window. He set fire to the house. You remind me of my daughter Trudy.”

“I am Trudy.” It didn’t do any good to tell her.

“What am I supposed to do?” Zoe Cameron, Trudy’s pretty mother, wrung her hands and looked wild-eyed.

Two men carried Papa’s body away in a wagon. He would never return. How he must have suffered in the fire.

~~~

“We can’t sleep in there.” Billy Jack opened the squeaky door of the old sharecropper’s shack.

Trudy sorted through the smelly worn-out quilts stacked on the porch.

“We’ll make pallets. I guess this is the best our neighbors could do to help us.” Mama assembled broom straw and tied it with cord. “Trudy, sweep.”

“Make Billy Jack a broom, too.”

They swept rat droppings and scrubbed the walls.

Trudy found an old dishpan with holes in the bottom. It would be perfect to use for what she planned after they finished sweeping. “I’m glad we have a pretty good garden this year.”

“Sister, you say the dumbest things.”

“No, I mean it, but how am I supposed to practice piano?”

~~~

Trudy’s mother rejected assistance from anybody. Samuel Benton, who lived down the road, helped her when he wanted to and ignored her objections. He and his twin children dropped their spare money in a milking bucket, which they called the dream bucket. It contained a fortune in gold coins.

After the money found a new home in the bank, the bucket served many purposes. It held a marriage proposal to Trudy’s mother from Sam. At the resulting wedding, Bailey, who became Trudy’s stepsister, carried the bucket filled with rose petals, which she scattered on the floor of the church as she walked down the aisle.

With the passing of time, the Bentons and the Camerons discarded it the same way Billy Jack discarded his name and became Will. When Trudy and Bailey redecorated their room, Trudy found the old bucket in the attic.

“Mama, what’s the dream bucket doing up here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We decided to keep our spare money in the carved box Samuel gave me.”

“Since nobody else wants it, I’m claiming it, okay?”

With loving strokes, she cleaned it. At the Mercantile, she bought some metallic paint so she could make it gold, and she tied a blue-ribbon bow on it. She conscripted the bucket back to the call of duty so it could become the sentinel of her heart. What had belonged to others now became hers alone.

The old bucket, now hidden in the chifforobe, was full of precious things— her journal, report cards, letters from her sweetheart, Jeremy, about the interesting things he was doing, some money he’d asked her to keep for him; the pendant and chain from the Gitano, Walthere; a tiny New Testament that had been her grandmother’s; and unusual objects she found as she walked across the farm. She hoped she’d never grow up so much she wouldn’t appreciate a perfect arrowhead, a huge acorn cup, a fossil, a unique twig, or a mussel shell. She also kept one Prince Albert can to remind her where her father had hidden a fortune.

Chapter 2
When Jeremy Had High Hopes

Jeremy

Since before Jeremy dipped Trudy’s beautiful red pigtails in black ink when he sat behind her in the one-room elementary schoolhouse, his heart began beating in time with hers.

They shared wonderful memories. Walking through the farmland, going home with her brother after school so he could sit and do homework with the Cameron kids, smoking rabbit tobacco. Trudy had always been a girl of the earth. He liked to remember sharing their first kiss. She was the first girl he’d ever kissed, the only.

Trudy lay in her blue and yellow calico dress with her full skirt spread across the clover. Her straw hat, with long satin ribbons matching her dress, shielded her delicate face from the sun. Her shoes, kicked off her feet, waited nearby.

He whispered, “Trudy, please marry me.”

He yanked her hat off and pressed his hungry lips against her sweet mouth.

In the dream, Jeremy and Trudy were in their early twenties. He’d never seen a lovelier young woman. He’d dreamed it hundreds of times. And in the dream, his muscles had filled out, he towered over her, and he had to fight his daily stubble. Maybe he’d grow a well-trimmed beard.

He woke in the night thinking of her shiny hair, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, her peach-colored cheeks, her wide blue eyes. She had the most expressive eyes he’d ever seen. Trudy was an alluring young woman. He liked to remember her shapely body. The pleasure of brushing against Trudy tantalized him.

~~~

Jeremy grew up fast. He was thirteen when Pa spent the day in town and left Jeremy to nurse his mother, who was wasting away from cancer.

“Mama, let me wash your face. The cool cloth will make you feel better.” He felt better, too, when he smelled the lavender soap, instead of the smell of cancer, coming from her breath.

He lowered her shoulders and head onto the pillows. Nothing helped. Mama was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. “Hold on, Mama. Let me get your pan.”

She couldn’t wait. Clots of blood choked her as she spat them from her throat. He cleaned what missed the pan, placed cool wet cloths on her face, tried to hold the pan, and coaxed her to rinse her mouth. He needed five arms.

He expected he’d have a few weeks with her—weeks to watch her suffer— and then she’d go be with her Lord.

Propped high on pillows, she drew shallow breaths. “Leave me be, Jere.”

He watched her until she rested. Quietly he tiptoed outside to sit on the porch and play with his funny dog. A traveling Gitano named Walthere appeared in the yard. “I’m a blacksmith. I’m come to help your father with his shop.”

With the clan he presided over, Walthere settled along the banks of Cohay Creek, which ran through the Smitherlin farm. Walthere became Jeremy’s best friend as well as a father figure. Jeremy loved him.

After the passing of four seasons, the time came for Walthere to lead his caravan of painted wagons to another place. He surprised Jeremy with parting gifts, which included a substantial amount of money inherited from the sale of land in Louisiana, along with a magnificent pendant hanging from a chain. The necklace, which had been in Walthere’s family for two thousand years, had special powers, according to Walthere.

As they parted the final time, Walthere searched Jeremy’s soul. “Young man, you must forgive your Pa for all the times he’s beat you and belittled you. Tell him you have forgiven him before he goes.”

Mr. Sam drove Jeremy, Will, and Trudy to the hospital, where Caleb Smitherlin lay dying from a wound infection. On the way, sitting beside Trudy, he visualized Pa’s angry face, felt the pain of the strop, remembered the times Pa cursed him. He thought of his father cheating on his mama. With his eyes squinting, he could still see the blackness of the day Pa beat him to the point of death. The hatefulness of the man blocked out everything else.

“What’s wrong, Jeremy?” Trudy stroked his face.

Tears rolled down his cheeks onto her hand. “It’s Pa.”

Mr. Sam adjusted the throttle to make the Model T go faster. They finally arrived at the parking lot.

They ran inside, up the stairs, and to Pa’s room, where nurses and a doctor crowded around the bed. Pa’s noisy breathing sounded irregular.

A nurse pulled Jeremy to the bedside. As he took Pa’s hand, tenderness flowed from within him. “Pa, I forgive you.”

Pa’s eyelids fluttered. A smile twisted the corners of the dying man’s lips. He stopped breathing. After half a minute, Caleb Smitherlin heaved one final breath.

Jeremy turned away and looked into the faces surrounding him. “Where’s Mama?”

The doctor issued an order to one of the nurses. “Take this young man to his mother’s room.”

~~~

Jeremy, having lost his parents and receiving nothing from his relatives but resentment, needed help to manage the farmhouse and blacksmith shop. He supposed he could get himself to school.

Full of self-affirmation, Jeremy stood in the cemetery. I took after my mama. I’m nothing like Pa and his crazy brother.

“You’re bad seed just like my sorry brother Caleb.” Uncle Zeb jerked the strap of Jeremy’s overalls. “Your ma was never nothing but a weakling. She was a drain on Caleb. If she’d been a stronger woman, he might not have been the bad man he turned into.”

Jeremy knew how it felt to bleed from being whipped with a razor strop. Scars across his upper back remained tender from the time when Pa believed Jeremy had sneaked off to spend the night with Trudy Cameron. Pa wouldn’t believe what actually happened. Jeremy, Trudy, and her brother had been caught in a sudden storm and couldn’t go home. Trudy had hurt her ankle.

While his uncle berated him as they stood beside his parents’ new graves, Jeremy stared at the mounds of fresh dirt. If he said or did something amiss, Uncle Zeb would take him behind a tree on the edge of the cemetery and administer corporal punishment.

“Look at me, boy. I’m talking to you. Show me some respect.” “Yes, sir.”

“Caleb didn’t make no arrangements for you to be seen about. You ain’t got sense enough to know what to do. You ain’t dry behind the ears yet.”

Jeremy nodded, trying to look bland, as the rage heated within.

“If you’ve got any ideas about moving in with me and my old lady and all my youngun’s, get it out of your head. I ain’t got money to feed another mouth.”

Jeremy held his thought like a trump card.

“I know what you was about to say. You’ve got your pa’s stuff and money. That’s enough of a reason right there not to want to take you in. You’ll expect me to save it and drive you to school every day. You’ll look to me to support you in a style me and my family ain’t accustomed to. Next thing I know you’re gonna want to go off to college. If that’s what you think, you’ve got another think coming.”

Jeremy’s eyes wandered toward the Cameron-Benton family. He folded his arms and placed his right hand behind his left elbow so he could flutter his fingers in a slight wave to Trudy and Will.

Uncle Zeb—Jeremy had a private joke of calling him Uncle Zed—Pa’s older brother, had nursed a grudge their entire adult lives, because Grandpa Smitherlin had helped pay for Caleb’s blacksmith shop. That was one point. Furthermore, Zeb must have feared that helping Caleb’s son would endanger his own meager possessions.

“Listen here, boy. Half that blacksmith shop belongs to me.”

The boy got his courage up. “How much do you think it’s worth?”

Uncle Zeb’s eyes widened. “Surprised you’d ask me. Two hundred dollars.”

Jeremy pulled out five twenty-dollar gold pieces from his pocket. “Take this.”

Zeb held out his hand.

“This is half the value of the shop. Now we’re even.”

“I don’t believe in taking money from nobody, specially a young smart aleck, but right’s right. Glad we’ve settled up.” Zeb held the coins tight in his fist as he walked away.

The cemetery emptied except for Jeremy standing over his parents’ graves. Now an orphan, no longer a child, he walked home. He traveled on the road instead of through the normal shortcut in the woods, in case his uncle or his cousins decided to waylay him so they could empty the contents of his pockets and, even worse, slash his throat.

That afternoon, he arrived at a new level on the mountain he was climbing toward adulthood. More than ever, he would need to look after himself, and more than ever, he’d have to decide what was right or wrong…what was prudent and what was stupid.

He asked God to send an angel to watch over him.

~~~

Many nights Jeremy had lived as though he were alone, but never had he felt so lonely as he did the night after he buried his parents. His closest friends— the Camerons and Bentons—must have believed he went home with Uncle Zeb....

Letter from Belleau Wood