“What a splendid meal!” exclaimed George lighting his pipe as he and the other men headed for the living room. The women put away the food as Florence put the girls down for their naps. Then they joined the men for an afternoon of conversation. After supper, George took the remaining meat and fish outside and placed it into a wooden chest he had built for that purpose. There it would remain cold for a couple more meals. Later they sang Christmas Carols as they roasted chestnuts placed in the fireplace.
Addie was two and traveling around like any other two-year-old, always underfoot and always willing to spa with Amy, especially over her doll. It was prettier than hers. And that horse, she rode it so hard it scooted across the kitchen floor into the living room and back.
One day after Addie ran through the house chasing Amy, Florence decided to measure her legs again. The little girl was so active; she had completely forgotten one leg was shorter than the other. “Well, I’ll be,” Florence uttered under her breath, “there’s only a half-inch difference now. No wonder she’s such a terror. Maybe someday they will be the same length.” It was not to be. Addie walked with a slight limp the rest of her life.
Florence was again pregnant in 1883. George hoped for another boy to help him and young George around the small farm. It was another girl. She was so much different than Addie. Her weight was normal, just shy of seven pounds, both legs the same length, something Florence insisted on knowing the moment of birth. She named the baby Gertrude, after her best friend. Just before the spring thaw, the children came down with colds. Amy’s was the worst. Florence doctored her with hot and cold compresses on her chest and gave her doses of Stickney and Poor’s Paregoric, an alcohol and opium dose designed for treating various illnesses.
It seemed to work. Within a week, she was back to normal.
Addie, now three and a half, accepted her little sister like she was her second doll, always wanting to hold her. Florence, busy making baby clothes for Gertrude, was always careful to sit next to her while she held the baby. She marveled at the care Addie gave to her sister considering her age.
“It’s like built-in instincts,” she said to George later at the supper table. “Amy doesn’t have it nor is she the least bit interested. To her, Gertrude doesn’t exist. How can the two girls be so different?”
“I have no idea,” George replied, “Other than Addie seems determined to be her own person.”
Chapter 4
The Schoolmarm
When she was seven years old, Addie began school. It was a large single room in which eight grades were taught. At the back was a large woodstove which was started every morning. Beside it was a metal rack for the wood the older boys split before classes began. The front wall was covered with two large blackboards. Both were equally divided so the teacher could put notes on them for four of the grades at a time. There were no inside facilities, the outhouse was behind the building near a clump of trees. Every day after roll call, the class stood, repeated the “Pledge of Allegiance,” and remained standing for prayer. Then school began.
What had become perfectly normal behavior in Addie’s daily life suddenly became a big problem. Leaving the sheltered life of a farm girl and exposing herself to the world, her teacher, Miss Bootson, a molded prim and proper schoolmarm, believed all normal children were right-handed. Addie May seemed perfectly normal except for holding the pencil in her left hand. Miss Bootson was well aware of tales concerning left-handed people being evil and possibly devil possessed. Fearfully she determined to transform this little girl into what she believed to be “normal.” The first time Addie picked up a pencil in her left hand, Miss Bootson called her to the front of the class and smacked the back of her left hand hard with a twelve-inch wooden ruler. Of course Addie began to cry. Never in her seven years had anything like this happened to her. The look of surprise on Addie’s face caused Miss Bootson to explain, “I’m telling you now, never hold your pencil in your left hand. You do know your left from your right?” Miss Bootson asked sternly.
“Yes, but I can’t hold it in my other hand,” Addie blurted through her tears. “It just falls out.”
“You have to learn how to hang on to it,” was her reply.
Addie went home that night with a swollen and blistered hand. At first, her parents, not wanting to create a division between themselves and Miss Bootson, told Addie it was necessary for her to obey the teacher.
“But I can’t do that,” Addie May protested, “I can’t hold it, and I make mistakes.” After a week of this abuse, George accompanied her to school. Leaving Addie outside, he went inside, spoke to her teacher, and demanded the punishment stop.
“You will not change Addie May,” he said to Miss Bootson. “Her mother and I have tried everything for the past seven years to no avail. We’ve heard all the horror tales about left-handed people and none of the predicted, strange, or fearful events have befallen us, so just let her be.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Miss Bootson retorted. “This is my classroom, and it will be run the way I want it to be and no,” she forcefully repeated, “no child is going to be an exception. If she doesn’t begin using her right hand, I will fail her first grade.” George, realizing he was wasting time talking to Miss Bootson, boldly promised her that every day Addie came home from school with a swollen and blistered hand, he would personally come to school the following morning and subject her to the same punishment.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said half smiling, then, in anger, continued, “no one, including you, will dictate my behavior or how I run this school.”
“I don’t care how you run your school. I do care about the welfare of my child, and I promise you, I repeat, I promise you, the same punishment you do to Addie for using her left hand.” It was then that Miss Bootson grudgingly relented.
The rest of the school term went without further conflict. In fact, Addie, listening to the subjects Miss Bootson taught to the other grades, did so well. Ms. Bootson was tempted to put her in second grade. Since much of the current year was over, she decided against the idea because the next year she would be starting in third grade.
When the next term began, Addie was far advanced of her classmates. Miss Bootson explained the situation to her parents, and all agreed to let her move into third. It was a good move. Addie did very well and was fully prepared for the fourth grade when the school year was over. The next term she finished fourth grade.
Florence’s health was failing, and for the next two years, Addie stayed at home helping her mother care for her little sister. Amy was in school, and George, now nine, did most of the chores around the place when his school day was over. His father continued cutting lumber. Little Gertrude was bright and bubbly, terms used by Addie for many years describing her younger sibling. In time, her mother’s health improved. Addie, wanting more education, said to her one day, “Mother, I want to return to school this fall. Now that all of us will be in school during the day, you should be all right. I’ll be home in the afternoon to do anything needing done and fix supper for everyone so you won’t have to.”
“If that’s what you want, go ahead,” Florence replied. That fall, Addie was again in Miss Bootson’s classroom entering the fifth grade. Four years later Addie finished eighth grade, and her formal education came to an end. In order to continue her education, she would need to travel several miles. This would require the purchase of her own horse and buggy and some method of boarding the horse during her classes,