When Grace was a little girl in Cordele, Georgia, around the time of World War II, a storm came up one day, and lightning struck the big old tree in her front yard. Grace told me that her daddy wanted to cut the limbs then, but her mama asked him not to b

THE CLIMBING TREE

By Dolores Richardson

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2012 Dolores Richardson
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4669-4152-6

Contents

Chapter 1......................1Chapter 2......................7Chapter 3......................11Chapter 4......................18Chapter 5......................23Chapter 6......................29Chapter 7......................38Chapter 8......................52Chapter 9......................57Chapter 10.....................65Chapter 11.....................70Chapter 12.....................76Chapter 13.....................95Chapter 14.....................103Chapter 15.....................111Chapter 16.....................124Chapter 17.....................134Chapter 18.....................138Chapter 19.....................144Chapter 20.....................151Chapter 21.....................164

Chapter One

In 1947, Cordele, Georgia, was a sleepy little Southern town with one main downtown street. It had a movie theater, a five-and- dime, a barbershop, one dress shop, and also one café inside the railroad station at one end of the main street and a small hotel at the other end on the corner. Over the railroad tracks and down the hill, there was a farm supply store and several warehouses. There was a small warehouse about two blocks north of our house where everybody sold old clothes and knickknacks about twice a year.

World War II was over, but the posters about Uncle Sam wanting you and the one about Loose Lips Sink Ships were still hanging on buildings. Cordele was beginning to be known for its watermelons, peanuts and juicy corn crops, and (oh my) for the best barbecue in Georgia! I'm pretty sure the best barbecue was made by Cookie Prescott, who owned the café called Prescott's Diner in the Railroad Station. He cooked the barbecue in a little shed that my daddy helped him build about half a block from the railroad station. Once you taste good barbecue, you can't seem to be able to forget how delicious it is!

A few weeks after I celebrated my birthday, Mama began crying a lot. I know that her daughter turning fourteen didn't make her cry, but then I could not figure out what was causing her to be so sad. She refused to answer any questions when I'd ask her what was wrong. She even denied she was crying sometimes. Other times she'd say that she just thought of something sad, but she never told me what it was. The only time I'd ever seen her cry a lot before was when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died. She grieved for weeks after that happened, and I mean grieved just as if he were family. She sure did love President Roosevelt. I wish now I had kept asking questions. Actually there were lots of wishes I had about Mama during that time.

It seemed that one day Mama was showing me how to sew buttons on a blouse, telling me how smart and bright I was, how I must remember to think hard and figure things out, and telling me that I should always believe in myself. Then the next day, she was so sick, she could not get out of bed. Daddy went to find Dr. Wilson, and by the time he took him to see about her, she was calling for me to hold her hand and not let go. I did not understand what was happening, and even after she died and Dr. Wilson told me to let go of her hand, I still could not believe she was gone.

"Go on away from your mama now, Grace. She's passed on," Dr. Wilson said as he pulled me gently to my feet from where I was kneeling beside Mama's bed. I had never hated anybody's mustache before then, but I sure hated his at the time, all wiggly and twitching while he talked to me. I don't remember what else he said though. My grandma Phillips came in about then, and she started crying and wringing her hands, and Dr. Wilson forgot about me.

I tried to stand close beside Daddy, partly because he looked so sad and I felt like I was going to scream out loud any minute, but he would not even look at me. He wouldn't hold my hand or even let me lean on him. He acted like he was not paying any attention to me at all. He was just looking out the window and then back over to the bed where Grandma was straightening the covers on Mama.

I gave up trying to get Daddy's attention, and I took off out the back door, turning left just before I got to Mama's washtubs standing there all lined up for this coming week's washing. I ran around to the front yard, past the climbing tree and across the street, and then down past the little Catholic Church where I crossed that street and ran into the woods.

I sat down and leaned back against a big old tree. I talked to Mama, not trying to disturb her or change her mind about dying, but just to let her know I loved her. I knew I would always love her. I asked God to keep his light on because I didn't want to think of Mama being in the dark. That's when I knew I had to get back home before anybody missed me. I learned one thing in those woods that day. An old tree has a heartbeat, just like a human being. If I'd stayed there any longer, I believe it might have spoken to me.

When I walked back into the house, I could see Grandma Phillips had been organizing everything. "Go eat your supper, Grace," she said as soon as I shut the screen door behind me. "The funeral home people are picking up Rose's body soon, and they'll be bringing it back to rest for a few days in your room. So I want you to clean up your room really good, do you hear me?"

I guess my mind was on slow because I couldn't understand what the funeral home people were picking up Mama's body for, with it being so close to nighttime. "Why are they coming so soon?" I blurted out in a louder voice than I meant. All three, Dr. Wilson, Daddy, and Grandma Phillips stopped talking and just stared at me. "I'll go clean up my room later." I could see Daddy was still staring out the window, but now I figured he was looking for the funeral home van. I wondered why he wouldn't say anything to me or why he wouldn't even look at me. Oh, how I wanted him to! But he didn't. He probably had a lot on his mind.

Then Dr. Wilson put his arm around my shoulders. That's when my heart up and broke and I started bawling. He kept patting my shoulder and explaining as best he could that Mama had known she was real sick for a few weeks but she had not been able to make up her mind to go to the hospital in Macon like he had wanted her to do. I just cried louder and louder while thinking that here I had been the last few days with Mama and I was just acting like it was another ordinary day. What if I could have done something to keep Mama from dying? Would she have died if she'd gone to the hospital in Macon? Could I have talked her into going? I had so many questions; however, I didn't think Daddy would answer me then. He just seemed like he had the weight of the whole world on him.

Grandma motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen. She told me I should eat something so I wouldn't get sick. I could see she was beside herself, so I put my arms around her and hugged her tight. "Oh, Gracie," Grandma said, "your poor sweet mama is gone forever!" We both bawled and completely missed seeing the funeral home men picking Mama up and heading with her out to their van. But we did get to the front porch in time to see them shut the door and drive off. I had a sudden impulse to run after them, but Grandma was still holding on to me tight.

Daddy got into his truck and followed the funeral van. Grandma said he had to go down to the funeral home and sign papers or something. Grandma said I could get started on cleaning my room. And oh, yes, she told me again she wanted me to eat so I would not get sick. As if I...