Jewel
Myrna G. Raines
Copyright © 2012 Myrna Day
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior consent of the publisher.
The Publisher makes no representations or warranties with respect to the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither the publisher nor author shall be liable for any loss of profit or any commercial damages.
2012-12-06
Chapter 1 A Tragic Event
The Great Depression, it was so called. A far-reaching depression that swept the entire nation and affected rich and poor alike, and was like no other America had ever known. Very few escaped the devastating consequences, and it would be many years before the country recovered from the debilitating effects. In the canyons of Wall Street, men lost great fortunes when the stock market failed, and many could not bear to see their very fortunes swept away with the tides of calamity. It seemed far too often, for those who could afford to buy newspapers, that people read of another who had taken their life, the mortification of losing everything they owned on this earth too much to bear. Most leapt from the tall windows that comprised their office buildings, landing with their dignity splattered on the streets below.
In the hills of West Virginia, there were those who had never heard of a stock market, Wall Street, or what it meant to invest money in anything except food and at times, drink. This story is of those whose greatest priority in life was making it through the day, allowing tomorrow to take care of itself.
Employment was practically nonexistent. Struggling to come out of that Great Depression that left soup lines in every city, Franklin Roosevelt was elected President of the United States, promising a chicken in every pot. He set up the WPA and CCC Camps for those who were indigent. These programs employed those men who could not find employment to build and maintain roads and bridges, with the CCC Camps filled with young men who were paid wages to work in the forestry service.
Most knew little about those things, but they quickly learned about war. And after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941, more than one young man from the hills were called to serve his country. Never having been far from home, these men were introduced to a different way of life, an urban life that drew them away from their roots to the many conveniences of various cities and towns. Some did return, however, different, but still sons of the mountains. The hills would always be their home.
A diligent and determined person could survive, could eke a living off the land if they were fortunate enough to own a plot. Not a high quality of life, but one that allowed a family to exist. And barely exist they did, cooking up beans and potatoes for one meal, potatoes and beans the next, along with the inevitable eggs and wild greens. A treat was a chicken for Sunday dinner. And many a fowl, rabbit, or squirrel, gave their lives for the cause.
Such were the times when a man could build his own house, on his own land, and never a naysayer could hand down rules and regulations as to why the man could not. The cabin on Logan’s Mountain came into existence simply because the man needed a place to live. This particular cabin was built with great care in 1938 as a necessity, more or less. Hugging the lush green hillside, the home would eventually hold an unexpected tragedy that would immensely affect the lives of the Logan family, and as humble as it was, it would become a haven for some, and would eventually bring forth a unique legacy for the family sheltered within its walls.
As for size, the cabin wasn’t much to speak of. With little help and less money, the builder did the best he could under the circumstances. As he was planning to marry soon, it was with the utmost urgency that he raise the cabin, but nonetheless took great pains to build it to his exact specifications.
It took many hours of backbreaking labor to clear the spot of rocks, trees, and vines, with help from his older brother and the two old workhorses they owned. Surrounding the space he’d cleared stood a forest comprised of pine, oak, maple, cedar, elm, birch, and the like, with a lot of locust trees, walnut, and mountain laurel thrown in with all the rest of the unrestrained forest, as forests are wont to do when there is no interference from man.
A lane cut diagonally through the dense woods to allow access to the cabin. Not a wide lane, that lane leading up to the ridge road, but only a little more than enough room for the width of a horse and wagon. The lane was rutted from wagon wheels with grass growing through the center in the summer time, and was either a quagmire of mud when it rained, or so dry it was pure dust when it didn’t. Couldn’t hardly see that lane ’cause the man hadn’t cleared the trees on either side of it and in the summertime a canopy of leaves covered the lane as if it were some sort of passageway. The kids played a lot on the lane pretending they were in a rabbit’s den or maybe in the war in a foxhole. Sticks served as guns. They had no toys, but Mommy had made the girl a rag doll, and she carried it with her as if it were a real baby.
The cabin did not face down the hill, as one would expect, but instead set sideways with the front porch facing right if you were looking up toward the cabin from the springs and the rock cliffs that were scattered here and there down toward the valley below. A small stream was at the bottom of the hill, rushing over rocks and debris on its way to the Guyandotte River. Nobody ever called the river by that long, official name. It was known simply as the Guyan.
Two curtained windows set off the front of the place, twelve small six by nine panes to each window, six on top and six on the bottom, shaded by the porch. The entire length of the cabin was only about thirty feet; the front porch being sixteen feet long by eight feet wide. The family spent a lot of time on that porch, especially in the evenings after the day’s work was done. A railing had been added as the children grew to protect them from falling off the edge, although they wouldn’t have fallen far, perhaps two or three feet. No worse than fallin’ off a bed.
A window had been cut out also on the left side of the cabin that looked down the hill, but on the right side a stone fireplace took up six feet of the wall, square in the center. There were no windows in the back of the cabin, only a back door that wasn’t centered, but set almost to the right side wall where the fireplace was located. Daddy decided to build a small lean to kitchen in which he installed another small window and put the back door out there straight across from where it had been. Mommy set the table and chairs under that window, which left only enough room for the cook stove and a small cupboard. She made curtains out of feed sacks to cover the front of the cupboard so the dishes and pans would be out of sight. From the back door you could easily get to the outhouse, the chicken coop/hog pen, the tool shed, and the barn that had been built to follow the curve of the land, sort of catty-cornered to the house. The cellar was to the right of the cabin if you went out the back door, and was dug into the mountainside, shored up with timbers and had a small door for an entrance. Mommy could handily walk through that door, but Daddy had to stoop down in order to get into that cellar if the family needed any of the perishables kept there.
The man plowed up and planted the garden out in front of the house, leaving only about forty feet or so for the yard. He tended the apple, peach, cherry and plum trees along with the grape arbor, which were in front of the cabin also, out past the garden, and when cash was needed, cut timber from his fifty acres and sold it, or in the fall of the year, dug ginseng root and when it dried, sold that. The woman tended the children and the house, canned the fruits and vegetables, and took care of the chickens. She also milked the cow and churned sweet butter from the cream. It was a hard life, every day being filled with much work to do, but fitting work that helped them to survive.
For the past nine years or so the couple had lived in that cabin, as the year was 1947, and the lean-to kitchen and three kids had been added. There would have been another young’un in the family, but Mommy lost the first baby she carried when she was only about three months gone.