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The
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Gaffer
Variety:
Ashokan Farewell V062:
By
Willie Gaffer:
There was a television
series on PBS that was called “The Civil War.” The film was by Ken
Burns. The sound track from that film is available on CD. The third track on
the CD is a musical piece called “Ashokan Farewell.” If possible,
you should be playing that track when you read this piece. This is not a story I
made up. It is a tale that grew in my head as I listened to the music with my
eyes closed and tears streaming down my face. I don’t know how or why,
but I believe the tale is true.
Somewhere on a Western
Prairie stands an abandon one-room house with a shed on one side. In truth, it
is not a house. The roof is long since gone. The front wall leans in with a
door hanging crazily inward on one hinge. The shed wall is still standing with
the shed, but the opposite wall is gone. At the back, a pile of broken stone
marks where the fireplace and chimney stood. The back wall has crumbled as well
and become part of the earth.
There are two openings in
the front that were once windows with a shredded rag hanging from the frame of
one. The rag is what is left of cotton sheets put up to keep mosquitoes out.
There was no glass for windows when the house was built. In the dooryard stands
an old wind whitened tree that one bore apples.
The house was new at one
time. Many years ago John Cunningham came to this spot with his wife Jeannie
and his 6 year old son Johnny. They arrived with a wagonload of lumber and the
necessary tools, implements, and seed for establishing a homestead. It was
springtime.
John was a big strong
confident man and he set to work immediately. His aim was to build a house
before the winter winds began. Winds on the prairie, they knew, could be mean.
Jennie and Johnny helped as they could, but their main work was to produce food
for the winter. They dug, planted and hunted for what game they could find.
Jennie was a dead shot and they had plenty of salt to store the meat.
While the house was
abuilding they spent the nights as best they could under the wagon which was
covered with a sheet of canvas. Each evening at dusk, they dined on whatever
they had, prayed together and thanked God for their food and their happiness.
Each night they gently bade each other good night and then talked for a while
before sleep claimed them. With the boy at hand there was no possibility for
intimacy and, truth be told, no energy left for it either. Still, the home went
up and the supplies multiplied. There was a good harvest of taters, turnips,
and carrots, all good keepers.
“We’ll have
aplenty,” Jennie said to John.
“Indeed, we will, my
dear. Thanks to your efforts,” he replied.
And a snug home, thanks to
your efforts,” she counted with a teasing smile.
John grinned happily.
The day came when they
moved into their new home. Jennie had made and stuffed two ticks, using grasses
from the prairie. There was a large one for John and Jennie and a smaller one
for Johnny. The house was small, the floor was packed earth, but it was home.
“It’s not
huge, but we can add to is as needs be,” said John.
“It is our home,
John and I love it. We will be just fine,” she replied.
“”And, now
it’s done, I can give more time to farming. We will have a full larder, I
promise you, and food to trade in town for salt and flour and gingham for
you.”
“And soon, we will
have apple pie from our own tree,” she smiled.
“Johnny will be
pleased at that,” he remarked.
“And, of course, you
won’t care at all,” she teased.
John laughed heartily as
he hugged her, lifted her, and spun her around.
So, they stayed out the
winter in good shape. Spring came and it was time for breaking sod and getting
some good crops growing. John set to work with a vengeance. Except for Sundays,
he worked from dawn to dark and grew tougher each day. Then one day a circuit
riding preacher man, Edward Minor, came around. They welcomed him and shared
their sup with him. In return, he read to them from the book and prayed with
them even though he had a bit of a cough.
“Just dust from
traveling,” he explained.
The next morning he was up
and on his way after saying a brief prayer over breakfast.
John went back to work
with Jennie and Johnny helping as they could. They also had food to prepare and
hunting to do.
A few days after the
preacher man had gone, Jennie began to feel tired and then she developed a bit
of a cough.
“It’s
nothing,” she said and kept on working.
The next day she had to
sit down and rest for a while and she was embarrassed.
“It will
pass,” she insisted and went back to work.
It did not pass. Two days
later, she could not get out of bed. She was too weak.
“I don’t know
what’s come over me,” she said.
That same day, whatever it
was came over Johnny.
“I feel kind of
bad,” he said to John.
“Dear God,
no,” whispered John.
The next day Johnny was
lying on his tick, unable to muster the strength to rise. Jennie was not
speaking at all. Her skin was ashen, too moist, and too cold. She managed a
weak smile when John tried to feed her some broth.
“It’s no
good,” she whispered.
John spent the day going
between Jennie and Johnny, caring for them as best he could. He lay beside her
in the night, but he slept fitfully. By morning, she was gone. There was no
time for weeping. John had to see to the boy. It was no good. By the following
morning, he too was gone and John had developed a cough.
He went out in the chill
of the morning with his shovel. He was losing strength, but he managed to dig a
hole about 5 feet deep, 3 feet wide, and six feet long. He had to sit and rest
several times.
He took some boards and
made a small cross. On it he scrawled, “Here lies Jennie and Johnny
Cunningham.” He pounded it in the ground at the top of the grave. Then he
went in. He wrapped Jennie in a blanket. He was too spent to carry her. He
dragged her out and lifted her down into the hole. Then he went back for the
boy and brought him out.
He went back one more time
to get the bible. Then he took up his shovel, but he knew. He would never have
the strength to finish and there would be no one to bury him. He sat on the
edge of the grave and rested a while. He went back in and got another blanked.
Then he slid down into the hole. On the cross he scrawled, “and
John.” He put the boy between them with the bible on his breast. Then he
lay down beside them pulling the blanket over them all. He took her hand and
put it on the bible under his and lay his head on her breast. Then he closed
his eyes and waited for sleep to come. It was all right. They were together and
it was all right. He did not wait long.
Later the wind began to
blow. A soft silt of dust began to settle into the grave. It grew thicker over
time.
Gradually the grave filled in. Even the cross decayed over time. Later a shake
flew off the roof. Then another one followed it. For years, as the house
decayed, the tree produced apples, but no one came to pick them. Then the tree
stopped producing and the wind continued. Then there was just the abandon house
with a whitened barren tree in the dooryard.
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