The Civil War is seen through the unclouded vision of an eight year old girl living in western Kentucky. Betsy Johnson speaks about the war, President Lincoln, General Grant, God, the slavery question, the Emancipation Proclamation, the Medal of Honor, and her family. Her poignant and cogent observations make this a unique volume that will appeal to children of all ages. With authentic detail and a refreshing perspective, Sweet Betsy, will capture the hearts of readers everywhere.

Sweet Betsy That's Me

A Child of the Civil WarBy Michael R. Zomber

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 Michael R. Zomber
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-6323-4

Chapter One

TOMATO, WORMS, AND WASPS

The whole day before my poppa got home from the war, I was so excited I couldn't think or act right. I was hotter than an iron griddle burning red on the stove, and that didn't help any. It was way past noon, and I was in the barn cleaning off the wasp nests with an old worn-out corn broom. It was late in August near September in Mission City Kentucky, and the heat was making me sweat. Sweat was running down my forehead into my eyes. That salt water sure stung. I could see the gray mud nests with holes looking like a honeycomb covering half the roof.

Wasps don't make honey. I can't figure what they do besides chasing me around trying to sting me. I hate them and I hate the nests. One time I knocked one down and it fell on General Gates, my poppa's horse.

He got stung on his head and kicked down the stall door. He was real mad and wouldn't let me feed him for two days. He even tried to bite me, me his best friend. I felt real bad, but it wasn't my fault.

He's a real big horse, brown and strong. Momma rode him some while Poppa was away to the fighting. Poppa was fighting for the Union.

The Union is a red and blue flag with thirty-four white stars. Momma says he's fighting for Cecile, my Negro nanny, and all her people. I love Cecile and I'm glad he's fighting for her.

Other day I heard Cecile tell Momma that when she was in town, she was walking along, minding her business. Cecile couldn't believe what some man says to her when she passed by.

"This war's all on account of you Negroes. Damn you all anyway. You should've stayed in Africa. Good, honest white folks are dying 'cause of you. It's all your fault, you and that damn Yankee baboon, Lincoln, who looks like he's half black himself."

Cecile told Momma, "I didn't say a thing at first. I ignored him and then I just couldn't help myself. I looked at him, and I just smiled and smiled.

Then I said, "Sir, we're worth fighting for, even dying for. We been dying for you and yours for two hundred years." That old boy's mouth fell open. He couldn't say nothing. Nothing at all."

Momma said, "Good thing he didn't slap you. Then Colonel Colt and I would have had to pay him a visit."

Cecile just laughed and laughed. She always laughs because she says the Lord wants us to be joyful no matter what happens. She listens to the Lord harder than anyone I know, even the preacher. Momma made her pretty face kind of nasty looking.

"No laughing matter. Sounds like he's a copperhead to me. When Josiah comes home, no one will dare to speak against us or President Lincoln."

Colonel Colt is Momma's Navy pistol and Josiah's (now, that's my poppa's name, only I can't call him that). He's coming home real soon and he's a hero. Says so in the papers. Momma showed me, and I read them myself. He's a hero at Gettysburg.

I'm so proud of my poppa, I can't tell you how much. Now, that Henry VanGriff Junior, little brat that he is, is only four years younger than me. He's only four himself and why, that boy says things. His poppa is a captain in the Kentucky home guard, not the real army like mine. Why, one day I was laughing at him being a junior.

"That means you are smaller than everyone," I told him. "Why, I can hardly see you, you're so small." See, once a week, I go to his house where his momma lets me play their piano.

Before we leave, Momma washes behind my ears till it hurts. Then she makes me wear a dress. I hate dresses. They're itchy and well, you know how they crawl up between your legs, and then you can't cross your legs easy at all. How can you play proper and get dirty in a dress?

Momma always says, "Now, Betsy, look at yourself. You're quite the lady." I never say nothing, just make a face. I hate that darn dress. Momma is the only woman in Kentucky who wears her hair like a man. She rides like a man, no sidesaddle or dresses for her even on Sunday.

"Now, Betsy, don't you go making faces and don't tell me I don't wear a dress. Stop looking at my hair or the lack thereof. You know the rules."

Yes, I know the rules, and if I break them then she won't take me to Henry's house, and then no piano. When I was little, I hated that piano. I'd hit the keys and it wouldn't sound right. The black ones were hard. My hands were just too small. I had to use both and they'd trip over each other. My hands wouldn't go wide enough no matter how I tried.

But it was just like riding a horse. One day you just get it. Then it's wonderful. Like it all fits. I love the piano. I love the smell of the wax on the wood. Why, it shines just like the sun on the river.

If I'm in a bad mood, the music makes me happy. It takes me places in my mind. Dotty, that's my mare. Well she's really Poppa's, but with him being gone and all, I got to take care of her.

I love horses but I love the piano too. I just lift the cover. It folds like an accordion. Then I play and it's like I hear the music in my head before I play. My poppa likes this Mozart he heard once, and I'm trying to learn it, but it's like trying to hold water in your hand. It keeps slipping away from me. But I'm going keep trying because I want to surprise him more than anything.

That Henry, like I said, he has a mouth on him. Only yesterday I was teasing him and he says, "I ain't small. I'm big. Bigger'n you are. You're just a girl, a dirty girl. Your poppa's private. Mine's captain."

"My poppa's a sergeant, stupid. He's a hero. Says so right in the paper. Your poppa's a mar a mar." Tell the truth I couldn't get the darned word out right or remember what Momma said one night about Henry's daddy.

I heard Momma tell Cecile sometime not too long ago. "That Henry VanGriff. He holds himself so high. So he's rich and handsome. So what. As a soldier he's nothing but a martinet, not a patch on my Josiah."

I thought Momma was calling him some kind of bird. I just couldn't remember the whole word. Well, then Henry Junior started laughing at me. I was confused. When I can't think of a word, I get this funny feeling in my belly. I get all choked and then I get mad.

When I was little like Henry and I couldn't talk just right, I used to cry. Momma used to say, "Why Betsy, whatever are you crying for?" I couldn't tell her it was because I couldn't find the word.

Anyway, I didn't cry; I picked up a rock. It weren't a big one, little more than a pebble, and I threw it at Henry hard as I could. I missed. Don't usually but this time I did. Then he called me the b-word. Don't know as I heard it before. Didn't think much of it except then Henry started crying like a baby. Then he run off. I felt kind of bad for him even though he's such a baby.

Well, I got a big mouth or so I been told, and I told Cecile that Henry called me the b-word. She clapped her hand over her mouth, and don't you know she ran all the way down to the garden and told Momma.

Then I saw them together at the tomato and cucumber patch. I just love tomatoes. They taste so good with a pinch of salt. The sour salt taste curls your tongue, and then you know it's summer.

The weirdest green worms live in them. They are huge and all spiky, the same color as the branches. The branches are fuzzy like a peach, and the worms are smooth.

Momma's afraid of the worms. I'm not. They don't bite or sting like wasps. They just like...