Читать книгу Dear Me Sudz: The Life and Times of Addie May - K.W. Attle Jr. - Страница 9

Chapter 3

Demons?

Little did her parents know the tremendous influence this little girl would ultimately have on so many people. Soon they would see the strength this child was capable of when she began to pick things up using her left hand. George and Florence were horrified. They heard the old wives’ tales of mysterious and dark forebodings involving those cursed with a dominant left hand. They must do everything possible to change this child’s behavior. As Addie May matured, word seeped out of this condition. Other family and friends offered suggestions for a cure, some inhumane. Florence tried placing her left arm in a sling, but it caused her to lose her balance and fall. She tried putting red or black pepper on the hand, so when she put it close to her mouth, it would sting. It did not; however, it did cause her to sneeze. At mealtime, she tied Addie’s left hand behind her back forcing her to use her right hand. As soon as her left hand was free, it was back in full use. Nothing they came up with deterred her. After many experiments and none of the terrible things forecast happened to them, they left her alone.

When she began to walk, Florence observed Addie having difficulty balancing herself. Studying the situation, she came up with the idea that perhaps her legs were not the same length. She measured them. “Just as I thought,” she said out loud even though she was alone. “Her right leg is an inch shorter than the left.” She measured them again for conformation. When George came in from work that night, she related the experiment to him while he was eating supper.

“What can we do about that?” he asked cramming the last piece of johnnycake into his mouth.

“I’m sure she needs to see the doctor,” Florence responded.

“I doubt the doctor can do much about that. Most likely he’ll tell us she’ll have to figure out for herself how to deal with the problem,” he said. With that, the subject was dropped. It didn’t take long. True, Addie had a limp, but when she mastered walking, she was everywhere at the same time. As she grew, the limp became less pronounced. Her main attraction was her older sister’s doll. This created constant conflict. Finally Florence asked George to get her a burlap sack from the barn which she washed and created a crude doll body, stuffing it with wood shavings and sewing it closed. She made a cloth ball for a head, painting on it an outline of eyes, nose, and mouth. Taking some yellow yarn, she sewed it to the back of the head and made a long colorful dress, sewing it to the body. As a finishing touch, she sewed to the head a wide-brimmed hat, hoping it would be more desirable to Addie. She was delighted and kept the doll for many years.

George had cut blocks of wood two inches square, painstakingly sanding them smooth as glass, removing the possibility of slivers and painted letters of the alphabet on then for little George and Amy. After Addie’s birth, he made several more hoping to avoid quarreling. John, one of George’s coworkers, built a wooden rocking horse with leather reins, halter, saddle, and stirrups. He finished it off with real horsehair for a mane and tail and gave it to the children. Mrs. Griffin, a neighbor, donated some baby rattles along with a stuffed yellow chicken similar to those roaming the yard.

December mornings were very cold, typical of Northern New York. Just before Christmas, George cut the Spruce tree from the fence line he had selected back in October. Also, he collected several branches which Florence placed throughout the house giving it the wonderful scent of pine. She decorated the tree with holly, painted pinecones, and some figures she had made. A stocking was hung on the mantle for each of the children which contained walnuts (the trees grew everywhere), some apples, cranberries, chunks of chocolate, and a few pieces of candy Florence had managed to barter for a loaf of her homemade bread. Addie, just seventeen months old, was dazzled by all the new sights. Both sets of grandparents came on Christmas day. The children were intrigued by each of their grandfather’s version of good Old St. Nick. Grandma Bitney read the Christmas story of the baby Jesus from the family Bible which sat on a small table in the living room. Each of them were delighted with several presents. Addie understood what was hers. Little George spotted a large wooden cannon behind the tree. It had his name on it. The house bustled with activity, full of wonderful smells filtering through the house from the kitchen—meat, cakes, and pies combined. Just before setting for the meal, George said the blessing, thanking God for the bounties He had supplied them with. There was baked chicken, venison, salmon, potatoes with rich creamy gravy, sun-dried corn, and beans reconstituted by soaking overnight in water, johnnycake with fresh butter, a minnehaha cake, apple, and pumpkin pies.

“What a splendid meal!” exclaimed George lighting his pipe as he and the other men headed for the living room. The women put away the food as Florence put the girls down for their naps. Then they joined the men for an afternoon of conversation. After supper, George took the remaining meat and fish outside and placed it into a wooden chest he had built for that purpose. There it would remain cold for a couple more meals. Later they sang Christmas Carols as they roasted chestnuts placed in the fireplace.

Addie was two and traveling around like any other two-year-old, always underfoot and always willing to spa with Amy, especially over her doll. It was prettier than hers. And that horse, she rode it so hard it scooted across the kitchen floor into the living room and back.

One day after Addie ran through the house chasing Amy, Florence decided to measure her legs again. The little girl was so active; she had completely forgotten one leg was shorter than the other. “Well, I’ll be,” Florence uttered under her breath, “there’s only a half-inch difference now. No wonder she’s such a terror. Maybe someday they will be the same length.” It was not to be. Addie walked with a slight limp the rest of her life.

Florence was again pregnant in 1883. George hoped for another boy to help him and young George around the small farm. It was another girl. She was so much different than Addie. Her weight was normal, just shy of seven pounds, both legs the same length, something Florence insisted on knowing the moment of birth. She named the baby Gertrude, after her best friend. Just before the spring thaw, the children came down with colds. Amy’s was the worst. Florence doctored her with hot and cold compresses on her chest and gave her doses of Stickney and Poor’s Paregoric, an alcohol and opium dose designed for treating various illnesses.

It seemed to work. Within a week, she was back to normal.

Addie, now three and a half, accepted her little sister like she was her second doll, always wanting to hold her. Florence, busy making baby clothes for Gertrude, was always careful to sit next to her while she held the baby. She marveled at the care Addie gave to her sister considering her age.

“It’s like built-in instincts,” she said to George later at the supper table. “Amy doesn’t have it nor is she the least bit interested. To her, Gertrude doesn’t exist. How can the two girls be so different?”

“I have no idea,” George replied, “Other than Addie seems determined to be her own person.”