IN SORROW, SHALT THOU BRING FORTH CHILDREN

It was 5:30 A.M. in mid October of 1950. The General had just got up and started cooking breakfast. She put a big slab of pork belly on her cutting board. She took out the butcher knife, cut off a big hunk, and dropped it into the frying pan. The heat from the wood cookstove had already heated up the kitchen. No one else was up at that hour. The cotton had been about half gathered. The long hot day in the field was about to begin. She would wait until the breakfast was almost ready, put on the coffee and then call everyone. The kids all worked long, hard days. She didn't want to wake them until she absolutely had too.

The smell and smoke of the bacon drifted over to her. The feeling of nausea was coming in waves. She’d first noticed it yesterday. She’d convinced herself it was the milk she’d put on her cornbread the previous night at suppertime. She felt her stomach contracting. This time there was no mistaking the feeling. She’d felt this way four other times. Fear shot through her as she tried to calculate the days from her last period. The best she could tell it had been thirty-four days. On realizing that, she went over to the slop bucket used to dispose of garbage for the hogs, lifted up the old piece of linoleum, and vomited.

She’d turned thirty-nine in June. Her teeth were all gone and her hair was streaked with gray. The two boys and two girls she already had kept her busy from sun to sun. Not having running water, electricity, fans, or washing machine added to the drudgery of her life. Having to wash outside was an extra burden. The wood had to be carried and a fire started under the big, black kettle. When the water boiled the clothes would be placed into it. After that, they had to be rinsed twice in water that was held in huge galvanized tubs. The first rinsing removed most of the soap and the second did the final cleansing. Many times the General's fingers would bleed when she wrung out the clothes. She felt old and tired. The very thought of having an additional child at this age overwhelmed her. She prayed as Jesus had prayed when he knew he was going to be crucified. “Father, if thou are willing, let this cup pass from me,” she petitioned silently. “Thy will be done, not mine,” she added in a soft whisper.

Her mind went back to the first time she’d seen her husband, John. She and her mother were preparing dinner for the hungry men that worked for her father. She’d leaned over, looked out the window, to watch the hired men as they passed by. There were eight of them walking together toward the house to eat their noon meal. They all looked so tired and lifeless. “Who are these men anyway?” she asked herself. All of a sudden, one of them broke from the group, ran and jumped a four-foot high fence between the barn and the cow lot. She remembered saying to herself, “That's the only one in that whole bunch I'd have anything to do with. Hmmmm, he's handsome, too.”

Her sister, Roxie, had been married more than ten years. Her brother, Cleo, had married the same year. Only she and Waye remained at home. Waye was engaged and would be marrying in the coming spring. Her father was becoming anxious about all the male members of the family that were leaving. He needed their help to farm all the new land he’d acquired. In spite of all he’d done for them, they were determined to go out on their own. He’d decided not to argue with them. Better to give each of them forty acres and wish them well. He knew it was useless to argue. The Poe men were exceedingly headstrong. Knowing all this, he’d resolved himself to the unavoidable. He would try to keep as many of the young men he had employed as long as was possible. The country was in the grip of a major depression. Shouldn't be too hard to hang onto them. They didn't have any other place to go anyway. With any luck, he could clear and sell enough land in the next two years to retire a rich man.

The General’s father was giving some very serious thought to his young daughter as he moved about among the young men. The General was twenty-two years old. Most of the other young women in the county had been married for four or five years by the time they were her age. The relationship she had with her mother was an extremely close one. Perhaps, that’s why she hadn't shown any great desire to get married. The depression had thinned out the eligible men. She hadn’t shown a great deal of interest in the ones that she had dated. Everyone in the community commented on her great beauty. No doubt about it, she was a looker. She was an obedient child and very respectful. Most of the men that worked for him were misfits and unknowns. Nevertheless, he’d keep an eye open for someone that he felt would make a suitable husband for his beautiful daughter. He considered that to be his duty, after all, no one likes the idea of having a spinster in the family.

The General's father knew of the Messers in the community but he didn’t socialize with them. Sid, the father, had a reputation for drinking. The poor man had lost his wife and was trying to raise three kids by himself. It was no wonder he drank. Couldn't hold that against him. The few times he’d talked to him, he liked him. He told very funny stories and had everyone in stitches.

In the spring of 1931, John Messer came to the Poe’s house and asked for a job. The General's father was delighted and hired him on the spot. He agreed to pay him $15.00 a month, plus room and board. The first thing he noticed about John was that he was very good with horses. He had respect for them, not cruel as some of the men were. Mr. Poe pondered why some men would be cruel to a poor beast, especially, since they shared the same heavy burden of hard labor. The horses John worked with were always watered and fed and conscientiously cared for. The love and respect Mr. Poe had for livestock had taught him that the best way to judge a man was by how he treated his horses.

The General’s father was impressed with John. He was barely 16 and little more than a boy. The remarkable thing was, he’d been working as a full hand since he was twelve. Mr. Poe gave this considerable amount of thought and came up with a plan. He’d ask John to stay late after dinner one evening. He’d propose a crop-sharing plan, right at the table, where his wife and daughter could hear. Hopefully, the General would notice he’d taken a special interest in the young Messer boy. At the very least, she’d know he had a very high opinion of him. He hoped that by treating him as a family member it might warm his daughter to John. Eventually, they would get to know each other better. Possibly they’d date or maybe even get married. If that happened, he’d gain a son in the process. Besides, he needed a steady hand and someone he could depend on.
The General being so attached to her mother wasn't as likely to leave when she got married. Yes, this is what he’d do. The more he thought about it the better he liked the idea. At the same time, he could maintain control. When the time was right and he was ready to retire, he’d give them forty acres as he had given to his own sons. That would be the descent thing to do. That way, John and his daughter would be set for life. It would be an opportunity of a lifetime for them. He had to be careful though; he didn't want to give any land away before he retired. With any luck, that would be a few years off.

The General was thinking that sometimes life just doesn't work out the way that it’s planned. Her poor father had lost all of his land. He ended up accepting charity in his last days. Carl Moore, the son-in-law he had so despised, ended up providing him with a house, food, and a doctor, as he lay dying. The dream of the forty acres had long ago vanished. The Lord had another plan for her. Her faith was strong and He wouldn’t abandon her. Somehow, her children would have a better life. The main thing for the moment was to get them through high school.

The General vomited a second time, and a great depression came over her. She had postponed telling John what she suspected. He was not going to be happy. He’d commented, just yesterday, that at last they had everyone up and out of diapers. One thing for sure, if she was pregnant, she was getting out of these woods. She’d come to this place against her will in the first place. Surely, they could do better than this. She forced herself to smile as the children came to the table rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. She looked at each of her four beautiful children sitting around the table. They looked so healthy, in spite of all the hardships. She watched her husband as he came smiling into the kitchen. “How many tigers you gonna kill today, Boogie,” he asked the General's Aide, as he took his seat at the head of the table. The General's Aide looked around the table to make sure they were all listening, "Six," she said, jerking her spoon up in the air, smiling broadly. Everyone laughed.

John had lost his mother at a very tender age. She’d been coughing and spitting up blood for several years. Her husband would tell her she needed to go to a sanitarium. “No, it is just the consumption of the Cherokee. We all have weak lungs,” she’d answer. His father would shake his head, “Who can argue with a damn injun,” he’d mutter.

Lena Messer had chronic tuberculosis. The only treatment available was to go to a sanitarium where you could receive the proper nutrition, good hygiene and bed rest. Lena had no intention of leaving her three growing children. She was going to get them grown first, then she’d think about it. The coughing spells started to come more often. The hard cough would tear little blood vessels loose in her lungs. The fresh blood mixed with saliva would be brought up in large cups full. Being overcome with weakness, she’d take to her bed. After a few hours rest the crisis would seem to have passed. The cycle was repeated over and over, week after week. The coughing spells started to come more frequently. Her body struggled desperately with high fevers, and night sweats, in its futile attempt to heal itself. But the bacilli continued to grow by dividing and multiplying. Slowly the disease was winning the battle.

The morning she died, the coughing was not a great deal different than any of the other episodes that had occurred in the previous days. She’d felt rather weak and called to Ruby, her fourteen-year-old daughter, to help her to the bed. She’d sent eight year old John and her three-year-old daughter outside to play a short time earlier. Suddenly, Lena’s lungs began to fill with blood. She tried to cough but started to choke and was unable to breathe. She reached out, grabbed Ruby's hand and tried to sit up. Unknown to either of them, one of the large blood vessels in her lungs had ruptured. She tried desperately to regain her breath as she lurched forward. Then, without warning, her eyes froze in a state of shock and disbelief. She clutched her breast and fell forward. Blood mixed with froth ran out of her mouth, down her blouse, onto the quilt and off onto the floor. Ruby commenced to scream, “MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY NO!”

John, at hearing the fear and desperation in his sister's voice, came bounding into the house as fast as his legs could carry him, his heart pounding. Ruby was lying on her mother's breast screaming, “MOMMY, DON'T DIE! MOMMY, DON'T DIE!” Lena’s frail body lay motionless, her heart had ceased to beat. Little three-year- old, Alice came to the bedside, looked up at John and Ruby and began to whimper. A feeling of such great dread and fear came over John that he was unable to move. His little chest started to heave up and down. The sobs started deep down in his soul and worked their way out into an audible sound. In less than a minute, his thirty-four-year old mother had been snatched from him. In an instant his life had been changed forever.

Sid, would sit and read his paper. After a few days, he’d become restless. At first, he tried to be both a good father and mother. After a few days at home, the loneliness would overcome him and he’d wander off to Paragould to seek companionship and drink with his friends. There were times the drinking bouts would extend into four or five days. After a time, his children adapted to his frequent absences and started to look to one another. If they were to stay together as a family, it would depend on them. Ruby worked in the fields, cooked, and cleaned the house. John played with, and cared, for his little sister.

Their situation was well known in the community. Often times well-meaning neighbors would bring them old clothes. They would dutifully pile them up in the yard, soak them with kerosene, and set them on fire. They lived in abject poverty but were too proud to accept charity. Four years passed. Then Ruby got married and took Alice to live with her. John stayed with them for a short time but felt uncomfortable and out of place. There was barely enough food and room for the others. Little by little, he became independent. Over the next four years, he stayed in different homes and worked for room and board. When he was sixteen, he went and hired on with Mr. Poe. He was now a grown man and on his own. He liked working for Mr. Poe even though he had a reputation for driving both his men and his beasts. John didn't mind. This was the happiest he’d been since his mommy died. Besides that, he kind of liked the old one-legged man. There was, also, another consideration. Mr. Poe had a very beautiful young daughter. Her name was Ocie. He didn't know it at the time, but in a very short while she would be his wife.

The General got the family out into the fields to work. She had to do the dishes, prepare something for lunch and join them by nine. Her mind raced as she considered her plight. She’d heard that the George Price farm was for rent. Soon, she’d have to tell John of her suspicions. Then, she’d insist he go see about renting that place. There were two things very important to her. First, that her children be saved from the punishment of everlasting hell. She wanted them to grow up to be a good and holy people. Second, that she get her family out of these woods.

When she got to the field, she stopped at the wagon and put their lunch in the shade. Taking her picksack down off the high sideboards of the wagon she stopped and looked out over the field. She could see Dick and Jeaner Jackson picking together. Her Aide was with John. The day workers had come early and were picking together in a little group ahead of the others. Darrel, her oldest son, was a little behind everyone, standing and picking a pimple on his arm. She listened to the sound of the soft voices as they floated across the field. Suddenly, her soul flooded with love for her family and a feeling, of destiny and purpose, overcame her. Yes, God had a plan; she’d accept his will and do the right thing. The world was full of burdens. Her reward would come later. St. Paul spoke of keeping the faith and fighting the good fight. Putting the sack over her shoulder she started walking to join the others. Fight the good fight that’s what she would do.