A Bridge Named Susan Read online

  Not long after that, another song was heard on our scratchy airwaves, “If you knew Susie, like I know Susie, oh, oh, oh what a gal …” It followed me around like a faithful dog. The local musicians, always quick to pick up a new catchy tune, were soon playing it, and we were two-stepping it at the local dances.

  The Nolan family, with eight kids, lived on a farm not far from the schoolhouse. One was named Walt. He made it his mission to always ask me to dance during the “Susie” song then sang it the whole time. I got so tired of that song—and Walt. I even stayed home one night pretending to be sick so I wouldn’t have to dance with him. I would never have thought of saying no when he asked me to dance. I’d been taught by Mama to be a good girl and always be polite.

  Years later, after my husband died, Walt came from his home in Walla Walla to see me a couple of times. On his third visit, he said, “Susie, since your husband has died and my wife has died, how about marrying me?” When I looked at him, that song flew back into my mind, “If you knew Susie like I know Susie …” The old irritation flew back too. I said, “No, I’ve been there and done that.” He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Okay, then I’ll ask Vada. I know she’ll say yes.”

  Chapter 12

  Cousin Clothes

  Uncle Martin had moved to California leaving farm life because of allergies, but the other Kole and Denney brothers and sisters still farmed the Reubens area. When both sides of my family got together, there were around sixty people, lots of cousins to play with. We jammed into one of the grandparents’ houses, ate until we were stuffed, and all talked at once. It was a noisy, happy time. Nothing was more important than the big family. I felt like I belonged there.

  Toward evening we snacked on leftovers and instruments appeared. I’m not sure if my grandparents brought them when they came West or if they eked out enough extra on the farm to buy the precious fiddles, viola, piano, guitars, banjos and base fiddle. Come to think of it, both grandfathers played at schoolhouse dances when they lived in Tekoa; they must have brought their fiddles with them.

  The musicians gathered around the dining room tuning up, while we cleared the sitting room of all furniture. The wild, merry music began. Everyone danced, from the youngest to the oldest; square dances, round dances, fox trots, two-steps, and later on, even the Charleston. When dancers had to catch their breath, the musicians would switch to songs we could sing: “You are My Sunshine,” “Down in the Valley,” “My Wild Irish Rose,” “America,” “Red Wing,” “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” and “Oh Susanna.” I’m sure we were heard ten miles down the road at the next farmhouse.

  Mama’s side of the family had four girl cousins within a year of each other: Katherine, Beth, Hazel, and me. Beth’s Papa died in the war and her grieving Mama hung herself. At six years old, Beth came to live with Grandmama and Grandpapa. When we weren’t dancing, we hid away in one of the many bedrooms in their house and giggled about things that were funny only to us. In our teens, of course, it was girl talk about boys.

  Grandmama Denney often made cousin dresses from the same pattern so we looked like quadruplets. That made us feel even more connected. Strangers usually thought we were sisters and constantly got our names mixed up. Making dresses was a long process of stitching by hand. In 1918, however, a modern invention made life easier when Grandmama got a brand-new treadle sewing machine from the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue. She whizzed up dresses in no time.

  Our school dresses were made from flour sacks. You see, flour came in cloth bags in those days; not just any cloth bag, but ones with beautiful printed patterns. Even though we raised wheat, we still had to buy flour after it was ground. We made our own bread and used around three hundred pounds a year. It was exciting to go to town with Papa on a flour-buying trip twice a year to pick out the kind of sack I wanted for a dress. It took two fifty-pound sacks to make a dress. When I was mostly grown, the flapper style had taken over and dresses were very short, so it still only took two fifty-pound sacks. I had two school dresses: one to be washed, starched, and ironed while I was wearing the other. I always changed into my housedress and apron when I got home to keep my dress clean enough to wear to school all week.

  House dresses were ankle length and covered by a wide bibbed apron. The aprons, dresses, skirts, and blouses worn at home were what we called reworked clothes. Mama would cut up old outgrown dresses and sew the pieces together, creating something modest and suitable for working. Sometimes she even had enough left over to make a dress for little Edna.

  Our families saved all year to get store-bought cloth to make matching dresses for us four cousins to wear on the Fourth of July. It was sometimes hard to estimate size with the sewing being done in winter. I remember one year, I took a growing spurt. My dress was so tight come July, I could hardly breathe, let alone eat picnic dinner. It quickly became part of a house dress.

  The celebration on Independence Day was second only to Christmas. Each family prepared a basket of their favorite food, dressed in their finest to honor the birth of our country, and made their way as fast as the old horses could pull the buggies over to Winchester Lake.

  One year at age eleven, we cousins rode over with Grandmama and Grandpapa. We were excited and wanted to hurry. Every once in a while, we’d drop a hint to Grandpapa, “Is this all the faster old Pat can go? Does Pat have a bad leg? I don’t think you gave old Pat his oats this morning.” Finally, Grandpapa cleared his throat and announced, “Girls, ’tis no use of hurrying ’cause nothing’s going to happen ’till we get there.” We never pushed him again.

  Winchester, a small logging town, was the hub of the community. People from all over the Camas Prairie would fill the split log tables and benches set up around the lake. It was a day to forget about work, stuff ourselves with shared food, visit with old friends, and make new ones. It began when we got there all right, and didn’t stop until way after dark when fireworks was set off over the lake. We didn’t care how long it took to get back home because we were sleeping. It’s a good thing old Pat knew the way home because I suspect even the driver nodded off.

  At seventeen, we cousins bought winter coats alike. It was a good harvest and all of us sewed sacks for threshing crews to make some money of our own. “Look,” suggested Katherine, “we’re not gonna grow anymore so we can wear these coats for 20 years.” That was my first piece of store-bought clothing! I can still see us in those ankle-length black coats with big fur collars and our round, tight-fitting bucket hats. We thought we were “the cat’s meow.” That was the last time we dressed alike.

  Chapter 13

  Sweet Sixteen

  When I turned sixteen, the Kole and Denney families came to our house for dinner—unusual for summer birthdays. It was warm enough to set up sawhorses and planks outside. Everyone piled their food offering on it. Children always got to go first at family meals. Uncle Willie, who had become a minister, said our blessing. “And bless our little black-eyed Susan,” he ended. That made me feel very special. No one had ever prayed for me in public before.

  “Let’s go up to your room,” Catherine said after we were so full we couldn’t move. “I want to talk.” So we four cousins headed up the stairs.

  Our house was anything but soundproof with only sawdust and newspaper for insulation in the walls, but not in the floor. Below we could hear laughing, talking, and scraping of furniture.

  “Hmm. Must be getting ready to dance,” I commented.

  “’Spec so,” replied Beth. The girls rolled their eyes at each other. Seemed strange.

  They kept talking about nothing important. Pretty soon, Papa called me, “Susan you’re needed down here.”

  “Sorry, I’d better go,” I apologized. “Do you get to stay overnight?” They all nodded and I headed down the narrow stairway. When I reached the kitchen and rounded the corner into the dining room, I was surprised by the absence of instruments. I could have sworn I heard fu
rniture being moved.

  “Over here,” I heard my little sis call. I walked into an emptied sitting room made ready for a dance. Strange. Everyone just stood there watching me. Even stranger. I felt uncomfortable being the center of attention. I heard Papa say, “Ready, set, go!” Everyone shouted, “Surprise!” The right side of the room parted and there was a real Silvertone phonograph from the Montgomery Ward’s catalogue, sitting on a homemade brown cabinet with the door open, revealing ten black 78 records! My phonograph that I had longed for, torn the page out of the catalogue, and pinned by my bed, but knowing we could never afford it—there it was! I couldn’t believe it. Someone pushed the “on” lever and set the needle to the already wound player. Papa said, “May I have the first dance?” The orchestra burst forth with the Blue Danube, and my papa and I, with tears in our eyes, waltzed around the room while everyone swayed.

  Having received my eighth grade diploma at the age of 14, I was in training for being a housewife. I wasn’t allowed to go on to high school because I didn’t need that much education. Besides, remember, I didn’t have proper shoes to go to Reubens school. I was the first of the four cousins to turn sixteen. Sixteen, the magical age when a young lady was considered marriageable.

  The families had pooled their money to buy my precious record player. Papa had lovingly made the cabinet on which it sat. I felt so loved. Family get-togethers were times I felt in the right place. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and especially my papa and little sister loved me. My cousins and I were close friends.

  However, I was sharply aware of the absence of my mother. I heard her clanging things in the kitchen; couldn’t be bothered with the silliness of celebrating sixteen. When the laughter faded along with the music, I slipped back into my own private world, trying to find a way to make Mama love me too.

  Chapter 14

  The Preacher’s Coming

  The schoolhouse was home to many events in our farm community. The most exciting time was late fall after harvest when the itinerant preacher came riding on his horse and held gospel meetings. At sixteen, I’d heard many preachers who rode through, staying for a few days. This year was different. There were two men. They came in a horse-drawn buggy. Albert F. Gray was the preacher. Mr. Hollingsworth led the singing. Two men came to our small community to teach us about God and sing with us? How exciting!

  Every morning around nine o’clock, after the milking and chores were done, we packed a basket lunch, piled in the wagon, and headed for the schoolhouse. Families took turns getting there first to build the fire. Since everyone farmed, nine o’clock to three o’clock was the perfect timing.

  Promptly at nine-thirty, Mr. Hollingsworth began singing. Oh, how he could sing! There were no instruments except our voices shaking the rafters. They brought small songbooks with them. Most hymns were familiar, but some were new. One new song grabbed my attention, “I Am a Child of God.” My mind was spinning. What does that mean? “I have washed my robes in the cleansing fountain. I am a child of God.” If I listen closely to preacher Gray, maybe he will tell me.

  After an hour of hardy singing, Mr. Hollingsworth gathered the songbooks and preacher Gray stood up, Bible in his hand and a smile on his face. “Morning folks,” he started. “We’ve come to share the gospel with you. It’s the story of God coming down so we can go up to Him.” He began reading in the book of Genesis. What? I thought. Grandma Kole said the gospels were Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

  Reverend Gray read, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.”

  Yes, I knew that. I’d read about that in my own Bible Aunt Bertha had given me.

  “You see, man was created in God’s image. He put man, Adam, into a perfect garden.” I had read this story and heard it from Grandma and Grandpa Kole. Why was he starting at the beginning? I wanted the important part of the story—the part about being God’s child. As preacher Gray spun the story of creation, my mind begin to wander. Was it too hot in here or is that just me? I should have eaten more breakfast; my stomach’s growling.

  “There was this snake also in the garden,” he was saying. I shuddered. I do not like snakes. I’ve had to kill timber rattlers when we were down in the canyons. I can’t see how Eve even wanted to talk to it. It must have had powerful charm.

  He continued, “It was the devil disguised with a deceitful wise-sounding tongue.” Well, you wouldn’t have caught me listening to him—snake, no; devil, mercy no! I would have run.

  “Eve was persuaded to do the wrong thing,” the preacher was saying. “Have you noticed how it’s easier to do the wrong thing than it is to do the right thing? That’s because on that day, in the beginning of earth’s days, the devil became the ruler of people’s hearts. Ever since, man has been cursed and bent to do evil. Our hearts are evil.”

  Not mine, I thought, I’ve tried all my life to do the right thing, to be the good girl, to make people proud of me. My heart isn’t evil. As we traveled home in the buggy, I was consumed with the thought, “Could there be evil in my heart?”

  Chapter 15

  The Second Day of Meetings

  Sleeping was difficult that night. I lay there wondering about an evil heart. Preacher Gray had left me in the middle of the air. It was like he condemned me and then said, that’s all there is to it. I had a lot of questions. I couldn’t ask God. I was told by Uncle Willie, “You never question God. He’s the Almighty and what He said is true.” Besides, how would God answer me?

  I could ask the preacher. Wasn’t that his job, to tell me if I was right or wrong? I wanted to know when evil came into my heart. How come I didn’t know it was there? I tried hard to do the right thing. What could I do about the evil? Was the devil still around? I don’t know what he looks like, but I don’t think he’s still a snake. I’ve seen lots of snakes on our farm. None of them ever talked to me.

  Morning came early, but not early enough for me. I hopped out of bed, dressed, gobbled down my breakfast, and finished my chores long before time to leave. “You’re unusually quiet this morning, Susan,” Papa observed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Papa, I just want to get to the preaching service on time.”

  “Hmm. Is there a special reason? Got an eye on one of those young fellows that came to the meetin’ yesterday?” he asked.

  “Oh, Papa. You know that’s not true.” I blushed. Ever since June, everyone kept dropping hints about me having a guy. There were no guys around our area I would want to get serious about. Just because I was sixteen didn’t mean I’d go out and fall in love.

  I helped Papa hitch up Old Kit. As we trotted along the frozen dirt road, I started questioning my questions. What if the preacher thinks my questions are simple-minded? What if he says I’m too young to understand? What if he laughs at my questions and says, “What a curious question, young lady?” I had a man teacher who did that. One year, Aunt Bertha was sick; he finished our school year for her. He didn’t like questions. He would comment about me, but never answered my questions. He often laughed at me like I was there to amuse him. I quit asking questions. No, I decided. I won’t ask the preacher my questions. I’ll just listen.

  There were two buggies at the schoolhouse when we arrived. One was the Nolans’ who were the fire-starters for the day, and the other belonged to the family of my best friend, Avis. She ran out the door and gave me a hug. It was good to see her. Since I wasn’t allowed to go on to the ninth grade in Reubens, I hadn’t seen Avis much the last year and half. We hurried inside the warming schoolhouse and huddled in a corner of the room to catch up on news.

  “Susan,” her eyes sparkled, “I’ve met the nicest guy. He’s going to graduate from high school this year. He’s funny and smart, a slick dresser, and he already has a job after school.”

  “Really?” I questioned. How could my friend be so head-over-heels with a guy she’d only known a year and a half? She hardly knew him. He was so much older than her.<
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  “And here’s the best part, my parents think he’s a dear. They invite him to dinner at least one night a week.” Avis’s family moved into town after she left Chesley school so she’d have a better social life.

  Of course that didn’t happen in my case. I was expected to be a wife and mother, so education and social life came second to my home training. However, it didn’t slow down my brother’s social life. He talked Papa and Mama into getting a Model A Ford. He drove it to school until he dropped out in eleventh grade. After that, every weekend he traveled to Reubens or Gifford or Winchester to pursue his other interest—girls.

  “He’s tall. I only come up to his shoulder,” Avis continued. Now that wouldn’t be very tall since Avis was only five feet two inches. Talk about songs following you; “Five foot two, eyes of blue, could she, could she, could she coo! Has anybody seen my gal?” was her theme song. “He’s got brown hair, blue eyes and he wants six kids.”

  “Avis!” I said a bit too loud. Everyone turned and looked at us. “Sorry,” I apologized, continuing in a whisper, “you’ve talked about how many kids you want?”

  “Of course we have, I think he’s going to ask me to marry him.” I was stunned.

  A crowd had gathered, and Mr. Hollingsworth was passing out songbooks. Avis and I quickly took our places on an empty bench. The singing began. My mind reeled from Avis’s news. It was unexpected. I couldn’t picture my best friend getting married, even though she was a year older than me. My thoughts raced to the future. This is only the beginning, I thought. Avis, my cousins, me. The future? What’s going to happen to all of us? Will we still live here? Can we still be friends if we get married? Will we all get married? Who will be my husband? Where will I live? How many children will I have?