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Monday, May 27, 1918 … The Fowlers
Ber and Pris were quite tired on this first day back at school after the upsetting event of the weekend. There was still mud in the schoolyard from all the rain of past days. But the flowers around the schoolhouse looked bright and happy.
“I didn’t see you in church yesterday, Ber,” Pris blurted out as they made their way to their seats in the one-room schoolhouse. Ber looked sad and didn’t respond quickly. She quietly laid her books down on her desk and mumbled “Well, my mama was not at all pleased with me getting home late and covered with mud. I was cold and hungry after our adventure so she kept me home all day yesterday.”
“Well,” Pris replied, "Father Jameson included Horace Fowler in the prayers. How about we pay a visit to the Fowlers after school? Of course we’ll need to stop and ask our moms, but I think they will understand that we need to check on Mr. Fowler.” Ber’s face lit up and she agreed with a nod of her head. Tears were running down her red cheeks.
After school, the girls each went straight to their homes which were both close by. Their spirits were lifted by the sweet sounds of songbirds in the tree of Jacksonport’s main street. “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee” Pris sang back to the birds’ greeting. “Do you like birds, Ber? Hah, I suppose you do, since your name starts with the same sound.” Ber responded quickly “You know that my mama insists on called me Berserk, my birth name. Not sure how much I like that.”
Having gained parental approval for a short visit to the Fowler farm, the pair strode off anxiously. Thankfully the meadow had dried out quite a bit, due to the very sunny and windy day. “Oh look, Ber,” Pris said gleefully, “The horses are out in the pasture! Aww but look, there’s still one missing, probably the one the thieves got away with.” At the sight of the girls, the horses trotted over to the fence, neighing all the way.
“Hey look," exclaimed Pris. "There’s a lady on the porch watching us! Who might that be?”
Reaching the porch, Ber and Pris were greeted by a rather short, frumpy woman, clothed in a simple house dress and disheveled silver hair. Her face looked worn and wrinkled. There were big purple bags under her eyes.
“Hello dearies … you must be the girls that discovered Horace in the barn, face down. God bless you both for helping him. Yep, I missed all that ruckus with the thieves … was at my sister’s for the weekend. Poor thing, my sister Betsy lies a-dyin’ from consumption, and it was my turn to take care of her. All my family has to take turns being with her. The coughing is horrible. My lands, no one needs to be that sick, my dearies. Well come on in and have a sweet treat. Horace is out in the barn grooming the horses as usual. Oh by the by, my name is Harriet. Which of you is Pris? The taller one with the shiny blonde hair … and that leaves Ber with the longer black hair?” The girls nodded in agreement with Harriet’s assumption.
Ber rolled her eyes as they all went into the house. “But ma’am, we dasn’t stay long as we promised our mothers we’d be back home as soon as we could. We just wanted to check up on your husband.” Harriet continued “Ok my dearies, just sit on down at the table and have yourselves a piece of pie. I’ll send you to the barn with two Milk-Bones for Howler. He will be very happy to have a snack. He loves them. Did you know that Milk-Bones were invented in 1908 in a bakery in New York City? Well, yes, and they were first called Maltoids. They were shaped like a bone, just like this one here. They were made from minerals, meat products, and milk. But now they are called Milk-Bones. Can you guess why? Well, it’s because, my dearies, they contain a lot of milk! Ok well now, my dearies, run along now and go see Horace and Howler, they’ll be mighty glad to see you lovelies.”
Having quickly polished off their pie, Ber and Pris took their leave and hurried to the barn. As expected, Horace and Howler were happy to see the girls, and Horace seemed to have recovered nicely, save for some cuts and bruises from his fall. The girls were thinking the same thing. This Harriet woman was a virtual chatterbox.
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No part of this work was created with Artificial Intelligence (AI). It is all the original ideation and writing from 2014 through 2023 by Stephen C. Allen.
Copyright 2023 Stephen C. Allen
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