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Chapter 6

Luther (aka Luke)

St. Petersburg, Florida, October 1921

Luke was in his element with his beautiful family, the balmy weather, and knowing he would live like a king the next several months. A willing “wife,” Georgie’s cooking, and mingling with the flapper set in the clubs. As the train slowed down coming into St. Petersburg railroad station, his heart gave a flip. The excitement of seeing Martha, mixed with my deep love for Zanny, should give me a heart attack, not just a couple of flip-flop beats, but I can’t help it.

After he got his luggage and the crates of musical instruments from the baggage car, they piled it in the cab Martha had hired. He sat between them in the back seat. The ride to her home was short, and the cabbie helped him unload his crates of banjos and fiddles.

When Luther was in North Carolina, he spoke like every other mountain person, but as Luke, he had developed a cultured speech his own children would not recognize. Luther Willson was a consummate actor.

“Well, Ms. Martha, do you think I should be able to sell my wares for my supplier in the mountains? He only sent these six banjos and two fiddles this time. Had some family difficulties and did not have the time to build anymore of them.”

The truth was, he had the busiest summer he’d had in years. Crops were good, the community wanted a real church, and he was a good builder. If he could craft beautiful musical instruments, he could build houses all the same. Why not a church? But he didn’t want to tell Martha the real reasons. That was Luther, not Luke. His thoughts went to Zanny telling him that with no current preacher, he would not be there to fill in. Don’t think about it.

“Oh, you’ll sell them, Luke. I’ve talked to people who have heard you play, and there is still a definite interest. Maggie and I have been working on the songs you taught us. She is a lot better at it than I am. She has a real talent, Luke. I hope you will encourage her.”

“Does she have a sweetheart? I have noticed when a youngster thinks they are in love, they put more heart and soul into their music.”

“No. I have tried to keep her from thinking too much about boys, but she is at that age when girls are in love with love. She told me that even you make her swoon!”

They laughed together about it. “Sounds like we should have a merrymaking and invite all the young folks about. Get her interested. How is she doing in school?”

“Good grades, but she says she doesn’t want to go next year. She will get her two-year secondary diploma in the spring.”

If the truth were told, Maggie swooned over someone who was more than a boy. Her declaration of love for Papa alone was a ruse. But her mother was totally unaware of it. She only saw the blossoming of her daughter’s womanhood and enjoyed watching her grow up.

Once Luke was settled in, he went to the customary places to sell his instruments. As usual, buyers had to do the typical dickering with him over a period of days before he dropped the price to what they were probably worth.

His spiel often went like this: “You need to understand not only the skill of the luthier, but consider the time-consuming hours he puts in to produce these beautiful instruments. Each one is specially crafted and bears the remarkable touch of amazing talent. Truly an art. The woods, harvested from the north side of the trees, produces a sound that you may not find in any other instrument.” It was as though he could brag on the skills of someone else, if he pretended they had not been his own construction.

Several evenings each week, he and Martha would make certain Maggie had something to occupy her time and that Jesse and Georgie were home, in case she needed something. They went to speakeasies where he would entertain. He would put his derby hat on the stage in front of him, and customers would toss in coins and bills. Some nights he would come home with little, and the next time there might be a couple hundred dollars or so.

Often he would be urged to drink the bootlegged liquor, but he was adamant that he never drank or smoked. “If I were to start, I might never stop. No, I’ll keep myself clean.” Luther Willson knew what high price alcohol could exact from those who never thought their first drink would jump start a lifetime of misery. Back home there were family members—his own brother, in fact, among them—who had their own still way up the hollow and suffered from it along with their families. No, he wouldn’t drink as either Luther or Luke. Some of his folk songs reflected the misery of demon alcohol, but the speakeasy patrons didn’t care. They drank anyway.

Luther Willson had a postal box as a means to keep in touch with Zanny and the children. He would check it twice a week and write a monthly letter to them. Right before Christmas, he received a letter from Zanny.

The baby come early, Luther. I was afeared she would be too small, but I birthed a healthy little lassie. Named her Carolina.

He shipped a box of oranges and grapefruit to Zanny, and little gifts of candy and nuts for the children. He included a silver baby rattle for baby Carolina.

Christmas in St. Petersburg was a festive affair with lots of good food, friends coming by to share the holidays, and of course, lots of music. In 1921, Luke decided it should be a party for Maggie, who had decided she liked cooking. She would be in charge of refreshments. Boys and girls from her school would be invited and several adult couples. The house would be filled with gaiety. He and Maggie would play and sing, entertaining the guests. They practiced together, and Martha put her stamp of approval on her daughter’s ability to play banjo.

“You are really good at it. With talent like that, you should be able to catch a young man without trying.”

Martha had never learned to cook and depended entirely on Georgie, but Maggie wanted to cook. Georgie was more than happy to teach her. But along with cooking, the girl began to put on the pounds. Of course she had to eat all the wonderful things she had learned to cook. When Martha chided her about gaining weight, she did the typical teenage girl thing and ran to her room crying.

Luke laughed, almost slipping and telling about his teenage daughter, Rancie, at home. “That’s what Ra—uh, re-really what all young ladies go through, Martha. Let her be.”

Preparations for the party were going according to plans, and Georgie had covered all the culinary bases with Maggie’s help. “Yo’ gwine be a baker when yo’ grow up, gal, making fancy cakes fo’ parties, weddings, for all dose fancy folks. Dat’s de troof!”

The party, on Saturday, the week before Christmas, was a great success. Ten of Maggie’s friends and their parents came; twenty-three people in all. Music, food, and lots of good fun. No booze.

Then on Christmas Day, Martha had a special Christmas surprise for Luke. She whispered in his ear that she was in a family way. He was shocked. They had been together since even before the war, and she had never conceived.

“Are you certain? Could it be the change?”

“I’m only thirty-five years old! Of course I’m not going through the change. I know what it feels like to carry a baby. I am delighted, and I hope you are. I hope I will have your son, Luke. A son!”

That seemed to satisfy him, but he would not be there when the baby came. It would not be due until July.

The baby grew in her, but so did the lump in her breast. He had noticed it at first when he came in October. Now Luke could tell it was growing. Martha went to the doctor regularly, but she neglected to mention the lump. Finally, Luke intruded into that delicate area and point-blank asked her about the lump. I have to talk to her about this.

“Martha, I know you have a lump in your breast. I hope you have told the doctor about it. You need to have it taken care of, even if you are with child.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t notice. No, if I tell him, he will want to remove it. I couldn’t stand to lose my breast, Luke.”

She refused to tell Dr. Morgan, but in his routine examination on her next visit, the last one before Luke would be going back to the mountains at the end of March, he did examine her breasts. Before examining the breasts, he explained that if she wanted to breastfeed her baby, he needed to make certain all was well.

It was not. Not only did he note the large mass, but there were smaller ones in the other breast and in her arm pits. Dr. Morgan urged her to have both breasts removed immediately. She refused.

Dr. Morgan said he was surprised that Martha was even able to conceive a child with the cancer already metastatic. He expected it had already spread to the ribs, lungs, and maybe the liver. “But Mrs. Harvey, this is cancer, and you will most certainly die if we do not remove your breasts. Think: who will raise your baby if it even survives to the end of term. There will be a fair chance that you will have a miscarriage if you do not have surgery.”

Luke was torn up in shreds. Martha would die; the baby would die; the good life he had made for himself in St. Petersburg would come to an end. He thought about Zanny and the new baby back in North Carolina. Suddenly, he felt his world being ripped apart. My sins are about to catch up with me. He didn’t know whether to remain in Florida with Martha until the baby arrived or to go home. He had to make a decision.

Just like the post office box Luther had in St. Petersburg, when he was in the mountains, Luke Harvey had a post office box in Johnson City, Tennessee. He would take the train there on a regular basis, ostensibly to buy supplies needed at home, which was at least partially true. But the real truth was, he received mail from Martha. Sometimes there would a half dozen letters from her. But now, what to do? Luke pondered and stewed for days. Letters would not suffice.

Meanwhile, Maggie, oblivious at this time to her mother’s illness, was learning the technique of playing the fretless banjo. Her ear was good, and she seemed to be born to it. Her memory was keen, and she learned the words just the way Luke taught her. But Martha was not doing well. As she became obviously more ill, Maggie noticed and asked why. Luke knew he had to tell her the truth.

Luke was frank with her. “I’m sure you can see that your mama is not healthy. Yes, she is in a family way, but she is not well. She is not only going to have a baby, but she has—she also has cancer.” He patted his own breast.

Maggie grasped her own breasts with both hands. “Her bosom, Papa? Oh no! Can’t Dr. Morgan cut it out?”

“Sweetheart, your mother has known for a long time. She knew she had a lump, but she didn’t tell Dr. Morgan. She didn’t tell me, either, but, well, we are, uh.”

“Papa, I understand about husbands and wives. You found it.”

“Yes.” His face reddened, but he had to pursue it with Maggie. “You mother wouldn’t let Dr. Morgan operate, and it has already spread. She may not even be able to keep the baby, and she could even pass away before the little one is born. She needs your comfort and your help. Can you do this for her?”

Maggie sobbed, hiding her face against his chest. He did his best to comfort the girl, but she cried and cried. Finally, when she had expended all her tears, she told him she was committed to caring for her mother. “Papa, I will even give up my new love of cooking if it means Momma will have it easier.”

By the end of March, at five months, Martha was not gaining weight as she should with her pregnancy, and she was weak. But the baby seemed to be growing despite her. Luke liked her to be with child, and Maggie was ecstatic that a little brother or sister was on the way. But at the same time, they were both worried sick over her Martha’s health.

But now Luke had to make a decision: go home to Zanny or stay with Martha till the end. Although she wouldn’t admit it, he knew she was dying. If she died before the baby was far enough along, it would die with her.

He would stay. But what would he tell Zanny? He stewed and pondered some more. Maggie had a lot to say about it.

“Papa, you can’t leave her the way she is. I know you always go back to Tennessee in April, but not only is Momma going to have a baby, she is going to die. I know it. You have to stay. If you don’t, much as I love you, I’ll hate you.”

That did it. He knew what he had to do. I’ll send Zanny a telegram that I have taken ill and will remain here until I’m well enough to travel. She will believe it. After all, I do come here for my health.