Grandfather's Fireplace

Submitted by: Mrs. John Graham 1323 Willard Avenue Seattle 99, Washington

GRANDFATHER’S FIREPLACE _______________ ______________

by

Molly Van Hook Sackett

SPECIAL NOTE TO THE EDITOR [handwritten: from WEG]

While this is a true story of something that happened almost a hundred years ago, it was not written until 1916 and has never before been submitted for publication. [handwritten: (Nor has it ever been published)]

Molly Van Hook Sackett grew up in Indiana and was brought to live in Seattle, Washington by her husband in 1892. Soon thereafter, she helped to found one of that city’s oldest “Study Clubs,” The Queen Anne Fortnightly Club. In those horse-and-buggy days, it should be remembered, this was the only social and cultural activity available on this lovely, wooded hill (now seven minutes by car from the city center).

The charming word picture painted here was read as a “paper” before a club meeting in February, 1917. Forty-four years later her daughter, [handwritten: Margaret Sackett Gray] read it at a meeting of the same club. [handwritten: (On Oct. 27, 1960)]

Mrs. Sackett died a number of years ago at the age of 87. She always said that her long life was due to eating “all the ice cream and candy” she wanted.

[handwritten at bottom:] It was read again for the Fortnightly Twenties - December 1970 by Marjorie Graham

Reading time - 20-25 min.

GRANDFATHER’S FIREPLACE

by

Molly Van Hook Sackett

Grandfather’s fireplace was one of five built into his house. The bedroom ones were seldom used and the big one in the kitchen was just a bed of glowing coals over which hung all sorts of cooking paraphernalia. It was the splendid heap of blazing logs in the sitting-room that filled my heart with delight.

The house stood back a mile from the country road nestled in a “wood-pasture” in southern Indiana. It was a sturdy brick farmhouse with an old log kitchen in the rear. The two structures were connected underfoot by a paved area and overhead by a sloping clapboard roof.

For the sake of convenience, this area-way was used as the main entrance to the house. Two large doors stood open during the day; their fastenings were wooden latches with leather strings attached. At night the strings were pulled inside through a hole in the door and this was considered sufficient protection from intruders.

My own home was a few miles south of Grandfather’s. Here I slept in a trundle bed alongside my little sister. One bright morning in early winter I was awakened by a very special voice asking “Where’s Molly?” I bounced out of bed as quietly as I could lest I waken Martha and be delayed by having to assist her in dressing. My own toilet was hurried but I just couldn’t wait to dash pell-mell into the arms of my Uncle Tom. He was mother’s handsome younger brother and my best-loved relative. There was a brief whispered conversation between us and an

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open verbal attack on my mother. The question to be decided at once was -- would she consent for me to go home with him?

“My sakes, Thomas!” said my mother. “Molly could not ride behind you on that horse. You have just been telling us about his wicked tricks.” To which Uncle Tom replied, laughingly, “Oh shucks! He only does that when he is urged to go at a fast pace. He is quite well behaved when choosing his own speed. Why, last night I carried Peggy Hodge to meeting and if Dick hadn’t acted properly there might have been an accident, for the girl hardly touched the back of my coat all the way to Stoney Point and back.” More trouble arose when Mother said, “Why, this is Monday and washday. Aunt Easter has been here since six o’clock and Molly’s aprons and pantalets are surely in boil by this time.” Uncle Tom met this problem too; he had business in town that would detain him until the afternoon. So, in due time I was ready to go.

Mother fastened my plaid cloak, tied the red comforter over my head and around my neck. Then, with assurance, I sprang safely behind Uncle Tom, onto Dick’s broad back.

I will never forget that ride to grandfather’s farm. The way was down the hill, passed the cave spring and on through the dark beech woods. But, best of all, we went across the long, covered bridge that echoed every beat of the horse’s hoofs on the planking.

If I stopped talking one minute during the ride, it was not from choice. Uncle Tom either evaded or pretended not to hear most of my

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questions, which ran something like this: "Suppose horses could talk?

When one blows on dandelion seeds, does one’s mother really want him?

Do all fishes grow to be whales? Were there bears in the woods?" And,

“Do you like Peggy Hodge better than Mother or me?”

The last question caused Uncle Tom to take notice and he threatened

to make Dick run away with us if, in the remaining part of our trip, I

didn’t stop talking. With that, I began to sing my favorite song,

“I Want To Be An Angel.” I sang until Uncle Tom said that he would rather

have me talk awhile.

Presently, we came to a neighbor’s farm where two men were mauling

rails. Uncle Tom gave a loud “Hello!” Abe Carr climbed the rail fence

and came striding across to speak to us. He called out, "Why, bless

me, here is little Polly. I wonder if she can talk as much and ask ques-

tions as fast as ever?"

I quickly said, "I’m going to visit my Aunt Mary. Don’t you like

my Aunt Mary? Because I heard her say that she liked you best of all her

beaux!"

Uncle Tom gave a roaring laugh, but I failed to understand what

amused him, and kept right on talking. "Don’t you think I ride well for

a little girl on a wild horse? Uncle Tom says I hold on to him better

than Peggy Hodge. He told mother that the next time he went to see

Peggy he was going to ‘pop the question.’ How do you ‘pop’ a question,

and what’s the question?"

This time it was Abe Carr’s laugh that made the woods echo. My

Uncle Tom proceeded to punish me. He threw back his arm, grabbed me

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tight, then urged Dick forward in such a manner that the horse first

stood on two hoofs and then bolted!

Abe’s big voice followed after us, "Molly, tell your Aunt Mary I’ll

be over tonight."

After the wild ride, I was very quiet until the big gate slammed

shut behind us, and I knew that Aunt Mary would hear it and be watching.

I began to laugh and shout to announce my arrival. Before we reached

the mounting block, she was standing there to greet us.

Uncle Tom called out, "Here, Sis, lift Molly, the chatterbox, down.

She has just told all your secrets to Abe Carr. He’s coming over tonight

and, from Molly’s kind encouragement, you will probably find out ‘What’s

the question?’"

Not understanding, I peered under Aunt Mary’s sunbonnet for signs

of displeasure. The smile on her face prompted me to admonish, "Goodness

me, Aunt Mary, your face is as red as can be. My mother says if you

don’t wear your bonnet when cooking over the fireplace, you will get a

red face and lose your complexion. What’s a complexion?"

However, I had no time to wait for an answer. The hum of Grand-

mother’s spinning wheel beckoned me into the house, and with anticipation

I went on across the pavement to Dicey in the kitchen. "How’s Penny?

Where is old Rover? How big are the kittens? Is the popcorn dry? And,

oh, Dicey, have you got a sweet potato in the ashes?" Dicey stood me

up on the bench, “Laws, chile!” she said, "How fas’ you do talk and how

big you done growed...Yas, honey, Dicey mos’ allers has a sweet tater

in de ashes, cause you see, if’n nobody wants ‘em, I allers totes ‘em

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home to little Penny. I done gwine to poke one out fer you this minute."

Before the last bite was swallowed, grandmother was calling, “Come, Polly, and tell me about your mother and little sister.” She had put aside her spinning wheel and was sitting before the fire knitting. I drew a stool close to her side and tried to tell her all the news at once. “Mother likes her new Franklin stove. Father is afraid of fluid lamps. My brother killed a coon that stole into our kitchen one night. Mother made me rock the cradle when the baby cried. Martha held my wax doll too near the fire and it all melted, and then mother let me buy a popcorn ball, and...”, but the cold ride and the warm fire made further conversation impossible. I had fallen asleep, my head on grandmother’s knee.

“Well, Marthy, I will have to put on another backlog. That big green oak stick has lasted three days and it’s about gone.” Grandfather’s voice sounded far away as I rubbed my eyes. He took the long-handled shovel and the tongs in hand and proceeded to put aside the chunks and burning brands, scraped the live coals to the front and removed the dead ashes. Then, with Tom’s help, he brought in a huge walnut log, rolled it over the great dog andirons, and then fixed them so as to hold the big backlog in place. A large hickory forestick was given an honored [spot] place, so that later on it would furnish the artillery of the big blaze.

[Not?] Round beech logs, split cedar, wild cherry, and bark filled the huge space between the back and fore-logs. After all was finished, grandfather took down the big bellows from the chimney jam and from its lungs blew life into the great pile of fragrant wood. Soon there were leaping flames and curling smoke. There was roaring, snapping, and crackling that brought not only warmth, but also light and beauty. Grandfather’s fire was a glorious thing to see. It stood for comfort, health

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and happiness to that entire household. No child around a bonfire could have been more excited than I was. I danced, shouted, and laughed until the roar of both fire and child was too much and I was sent on an errand to the kitchen.

The big kitchen fireplace had the necessary crane with its numerous pot-hooks. From this hung the iron and brass kettles in which the food was cooked for the family, relatives, and traveling public in general. The bubbling mush pot, the kettle of new hominy, the roasting meats, ash-cooked potatoes, sweet corn pones and stone-browned johnny cakes -- all of these and more delicious foods have yielded such savory associations that forgetting has been made impossible. Around this fire in winter many of the needs of farm life were carried on, such as the shelling of corn, taking care of guns, making ramrods, scraping of powder horns, molding of bullets, and the mending of harnesses. In the Spring it was a real life-saving station. Young lambs were warmed and cared for; baby chicks were brought in out of the rain; dogs and cats as well as other small animals were humanely allowed to share the life-giving warmth of the broad kitchen hearth.

Those days I often amused myself, while waiting for a baked potato or roasting chestnuts, by trying to name the useful medicinal herbs that hung from rafter and pegs nearby. There was Catnip, Tansy, Ginseng, Boneset, Horehound, Dog Fennel, and bags of Sage and Hops.

My Aunt Mary was the queen of the kitchen and Dicey was her maid of honor. I used to watch Aunt Mary making a corn meal loaf. The iron skillet, or oven with long handle and short legs, had been placed on a [spider]

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bed of hot coals; the bread was put in it, then Aunt Mary would take the poker and put it through a ring on the hot lid to be placed over the skillet. The edge of the lid turned up an inch or more. Hot ashes and live coals were piled high on top of it to be left undisturbed until the delicious loaf was ready for the supper table.

Pork, hominy and corn bread were the hot dishes served for that supper. However, all sorts of relishes and side dishes confused our choice of foods. There were pickled pigs feet, dried apples and peaches, preserves, honey, maple syrup and sorghum, and, of course, always a big pitcher of milk.

After supper Aunt Mary took down the candle molds to remove some tallow candles for her stock in reserve. She explained to Uncle Tom that grandfather was very extravagant with candles and often burned two or three at one time. Just a short while later, Uncle Tom took a per- forated tin lantern from a peg and placed in it a fresh bit of candle saying that he would be ready to put Abe Carr’s horse in the barn when he arrived, for it was going to be a cold night.

That night Aunt Mary looked lovely! She wore a red merino dress and a handsome black silk apron. Around her neck she wore a wide [black velvet] ribbon. Also, she had inserted puff combs in her dark hair which made it stand out. She looked shiny and beautiful.

When Abe Carr arrived grandmother told me that I must keep quiet. I whispered back that I would if she would let me snuff the candles with the snuffer whenever it was necessary. I sat very still, watching the candles and wishing that they would burn faster. Grandfather’s big clock

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ticked louder and louder. My eyes would not stay open, and again I had fallen asleep with my head on grandmother’s knee.

When I awoke from my nap, the folks were eating Black walnuts and Hickory nuts and Uncle Tom was passing the cider. I was permitted to have all I wished. Presently grandfather arose, lighted his candle and said “Goodnight,” then retired to his adjoining bedroom. Grandmother soon followed, but stopped in the privacy of the back part of the room where the candle light scarcely penetrated. She proceeded to open the top drawer of the old highboy and carefully put aside the cap and false hair front that she always wore to hide her gray hair.

Later, Uncle Tom gave his friend Abe the usual hearty invitation to share his room for the night. As usual, this hospitality was accepted. Then Aunt Mary put me to bed on the lounge, covered me with the blue and white counterpane, and bid me goodnight. I struggled to keep awake to see which candle burned the longest, but the next thing I knew Abe Carr was pinching my ear and whispering that I might call him “Uncle Abe” if I would “never, never tell.” Then, he went up Uncle Tom’s stairs for there were two stairways in the same room.

Aunt Mary put some hot coals in the warming pan, covered the fire with ashes, pulled the latch-strings to the inside of the doors and then, together, we climbed up the other stairs which led to her room. After the sheets had been made comfortable with the warming pan, I climbed into bed and sank out of sight, soon lapsing into a deep sleep among the feathers.

The next morning when I ran into the kitchen, breakfast was ready and Dicey was complaining, "Miss Mary, I done blowed dat air horn an the

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men ain’t come yet and the aggs guine be stone cole!“ Aunt Mary just said, ”Never mind, Dicey, blow the horn again and put in two dozen more to boil."

When we were all seated at the table, grandmother, as was the custom, began to apologize. She was sure that the eggs were not hard enough, that there was too much sage in the sausage, that the butter was whiter than usual, the hominy was not as good as the last batch, the crust on the corn pones seemed harder than usual, the maple syrup was too thin, the honey appeared to be much too dark, and on and on. It was part of the old hospitality. Uncle Tom said, “Oh, shucks, Mother, don’t you worry. Mary and Abe wouldn’t know the difference if they were chewing straw and shavings!” Grandfather reproved him. "Tut, Tut, Thomas, don’t speak lightly of serious matters. If Abe here truly intends to carry Mary to his home, it is high time that you should bring a wife here to take your sister’s place in helping Mother. Peggy Hodge is a good girl, very capable, no doubt. Her father owns a lot of good land upon the creek site up the way. For the second time, Abe had the laugh on Uncle Tom.

After breakfast was over, Aunt Mary followed Abe to the garden gate. I saw him bend and kiss her hand, then watched him ride away, his hat in his hand until he was out of sight in the wooded pasture. When Aunt Mary came in she grabbed me up and kissed me -- then, she sat down before the pleasant morning fire, holding me in her lap. Presently, she said, “Honey, when I go to town, I am going to buy you the prettiest wax doll that I can find.”

I cried out, “Oh, goody, Aunt Mary. But, what for?”

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Aunt Mary’s reply puzzled me, for she said, “Because you are a little diplomat and don’t know it.”

Then we both sat dreamily gazing into the fire, while I pretended that the restless flames were fairies and the bright sparks their messengers, flying up and away to carry love messages to my mother, Abe, and Peggy Hodge straight from grandfather’s fireplace...