We Hope for Spring

We Hope for Spring

Every winter, our family brought the couch and chairs into the kitchen by the fireplace. After hanging blankets at the doors we would pretend like we were smoking. We would snuggle up under the patchwork quilts and stick our heads out just long enough to exhale. We were thankful for the quilts that Nonnie had made. The winter was endless that year and I thought about the quilt that I was wrapped in and hoped that Daddy wouldn’t get any ideas about burning it. When I closed my eyes I could still hear Nonnie crying and praying over each named square, circle and triangle. I miss her so much.

            At night, the fire would glow and cinders would pop out onto the hearth. We stared at the flames for hours; I stared a Mama. Every night, without fail, she’d sit at the kitchen table and read passages from the Bible: She would say: “if we have faith as a grain of mustard seed, we can move mountains, you know. Don’t fret none, ‘cause God will provide. He is our shepherd, we shall not want, it says right here in Psalm 23.”

            With the help of Mr. Johnson, our landlord, the Lord did provide us with all the fallen limbs that we could gather from his pine grove that grew dense beyond the cornfield. There was only one problem. In order to get the wood we had to drag our wagon through the mud. Our wagon groaned under the heavy burden of firewood. Mom waited in the yard (she was too heavy) to chop the limbs into smaller pieces. Each journey down the corn rows required dogged determination, but we were cold and that settled it: We gathered every stray twig that we could find.

We found a way to make the chores less tedious by tying old blankets to left over tobacco sticks, and then, we took old belts and made harnesses so that we could carry the load on our backs. It worked much better because the wagon wheels didn’t stick. After a few days, when the limbs became scarce, Dad got a load of sawdust and scrap wood from work, and he unloaded it near the back porch. We were in heaven because it was so easy to pick through the wood. It didn’t last. The pile grew smaller with every trip to keep the fire going. As it got colder, the newspapers vanished, until we had to resort to burning old clothes and not so old clothes. We were desperate for the warmth of a home fire.
What we dreaded seeing was more snow, because it always made our chores more impossible than they were. It was only a matter of time before there wouldn't be anything else left to burn.           
   We had to open the doors because the house smoked. By the end of February every available item was ashes in the fireplace, and we were still cold. Being a mature teenager, I offered my tire swing and rope to burn. At first, daddy hesitated, but he later consented when his glass of water turned to ice after he left it on the counter for a while. “If construction workers can burn tires in big barrels to keep warm, why can’t we burn tires in the fireplace?” he tried to justify his actions to himself.

            The tire swing stuck out on the hearth about a crescent moon, and its rope twisted as the flames touched the frayed ends. The boiling glob of rubber bellowed up the chimney. We sprayed water on the treads to keep the flames down, and the stench of smoldering rubber bubbled and blopped puffs of black smoke and flames that scorched the paint underneath the mantle. We were all grateful that we hadn’t lost the mantle to the tire, and for a while we forgot all about being cold.

“Dan, what are you doing?”

“I’m gettin’ somethin’ to burn, I’m cold!”

“We don’t have anything left to burn. You’ve already burnt it all. The only thing we have left are the bed sheets and wearing clothes.”

“Well, that’s somethin’. I’m cold.”

“Why don’t you go in there and get under the quilts and rest.”

“I’m not ready to go to bed. Got some thinkin’ to do yet, fix me some coffee.”

“There, that’s a good idea, I’ll have a cup with you, and we can sit here together.”

“Fix my coffee and you go on to bed, it’s too cold for you to be up, school’s tomorrow, and I got to leave early.”

He found a ragged shirt on the couch and put it on the cinders; it flamed up for a short time then quickly died down again. “Got to get some wood.”

“Maybe it will dry up a little by tomorrow so we can get through the field.” Mom offered trying to ease his mind so he could go to sleep. “Dan, why don’t you come to bed, we’ll save what’s left to burn for in the morning.”

“Let me drink my coffee, and I’ll think about it. You go on, good night.”

Reluctantly, mama said that it was time for bed. We did have a big day at school. Mama told Daddy not to stay up too late. I saw Mama’s concerned look. She was a beautiful woman, but lately the worry lines and gray hair had really become more noticeable. Daddy slurred “Go on, asleep, I’ll keep the fires goin’.” How could she sleep knowin’ that he could end up burning the house down like he almost did the day before with the tire? 
I heard Daddy opening each dresser drawer one by one. He dumped the contents out on the floor. It didn’t matter that two sets of clothes was all that we had left, Daddy always said two sets of clothes was all we needed. One set for washing, and one set for wearing. So, all through the night we heard drawers open and close. It was late when I finally dozed off to sleep. By morning, Daddy had cleaned out all of the chests in the house and had started on the closets.

When I woke up, I could hardly wait to get ready for school! It was the day that I had been waiting for all year, Glee Club Tryouts! Why, I had even saved a brand new poor boy dress that I had worked all summer to pay for, just for today! I went to the almost empty closet, and I was in a state of shock, “It’s gone.” I looked in my mom’s closet and my sisters, and all over the floor, everywhere I knew to look and no poor boy. The unthinkable had happened.

“Mama . . . Where is my new poor boy?”

Mama looked like she had been crying all night her eyes were puffy and red, “Daddy was cold, and he burnt some old clothes. I’m so sorry, but he burnt it before I could stop him. I’m sorry.”

All I could do was stand in front of the fireplace and stare into it, as if staring into it might erase the tragedy of a missing poor-boy on my first day back to school. I was mesmerized with the fire all through breakfast, and nothing was left in it but embers. Slowly smouldering embers almost dead, and holding on to vibrant life. In that moment I had a epiphany: nothing has any true value, because in an instant it can become ashes in a fireplace. Lost forever. Showing any display of open disappointment, would serve no purpose than to hurt my mother, who already felt bad enough over the situation. Besides, it wouldn't bring back the beloved poor boy.
“Mama, It was brand new.”

“I know sweetheart, I know.”

            Soot covered the yellow wall of our kitchen, and mom sat down once again to the wobbly kitchen table to read. She found the verse, John 3:16, which says, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” “We believe,” mom said, and she started to unscrew the table legs, and knew what to burn next.