The End of a Thing is Better Than The Beginning: Gertie From Appalachia

By Dorothy Waldon

Gertie dreamed about the day when Kelley would pull up to her yard and take her away to some new and exciting place. But before she could do that, something wonderful happened, and she met Willard. She felt captivated by the interest he had taken in her. At last, she was beginning to feel important. She had never felt so special, not since she was a little girl back home with her papa. Not only was she impressed by the dark tan on his arms from hoeing tobacco long hours every day in the blazing sun, but also the masculinity of his form left her dazzled. Indeed, she wanted him to come again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781649797681

Dorothy Waldon

Dorothy Waldon is new to writing. She favors short stories. You can find her devotions on the website: christiandevotions.us. She and her husband, Bennie, are blessed with two grown children. And they reside in North TX.  Dorothy loves nature. If you can’t find her in the flower garden caring for her plants, she’ll be at the piano playing her most favorite hymns. She enjoys visiting with friends in the Appalachian Mountains.

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About the Author

Dorothy Waldon is new to writing. She favors short stories. You can find her devotions on the website: christiandevotions.us. She and her husband, Bennie, are blessed with two grown children. And they reside in North TX.

Dorothy loves nature. If you can’t find her in the flower garden caring for her plants, she’ll be at the piano playing her most favorite hymns. She enjoys visiting with friends in the Appalachian Mountains.

Dedication

To all my friends both near and far. It’s my hope that you will enjoy this book.

Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. (Ps 37:3)

Copyright Information ©

Dorothy Waldon 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Waldon, Dorothy

The End of a Thing is Better Than the Beginning

ISBN 9781649797674 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781649797681 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022904972

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

Thanks to Austin Macauley Publishers, and a very special thanks to Katrina Waldon for printing and scanning important documents.

Chapter 1

Way back in the Appalachia Mountains, there is a city: West Liberty. It is a dazzling and delightful little town in the bluegrass state. It rests in the eastern district made up of little rolling hills and mountains. It is a quiet community. A perfect place to get away and escape the noise of the bigger metropolitan area. In the spring, blossoms of redbud and dogwood flowers complement the mountainside and outskirts of town. During autumn, the countryside becomes a yellow and orange kaleidoscope of colors. The beautiful Cave Run Lake is within its range. Adjacent to the city is the Daniel Boone National Forest, a natural habitat. West Liberty’s people care about their heritage and honors all veterans.

Gertrude is a descendant of Ireland immigrants, who settled here long before the Civil War. The Everman family settled in Morgan County, located at the foothills of the Cumberland Mountain Range. It’s branded by rolling hills and wide-open valleys. Gertrude (named for her maternal grandmother) was the daughter of Frank and Isolba Everman. Her parents called her Gertie. She is the spitting image of her mother. Frank was a tall red-headed man with blue eyes. He wore black dress pants and white shirts when he was not working in the coal mines or on the farm. Isolba’s long shiny dark hair struck her waist, black as a crow, and she wore it high up on her head in a bun. Her hazel eyes sparkled. She wore long sleeved blouses with skirts that fit tightly around her waist (usually brown, green, or black) touching the floor. She covered her clothes with a white crisscross apron while working in the kitchen.

Like most Kentuckians at the turn of the 20th century, they were farmers. In addition to working on the farm, Frank and Isolba took in boarders (mostly coal miners) to supplement their income. These tenants stayed in the sharecropper’s house out behind Frank Everman’s home. Besides Gertie, Frank and Isolba had three other daughters; Kelley, Ellie, Kendal, and a baby boy by the name of Raymond. All the girls inherited their dark red hair from their dad, except Gertie. And her hair was dark auburn almost black. Gertie was a happy little girl growing up in Eastern Kentucky, until the loss of her parents and baby brother.

She lived a normal and fulfilling life with her parents and three elder sisters and little brother. Like the rest of the community, they worked on the farm all week long and attended church on Sunday. They spent their leisure time fishing, picnicking, and exploring. Gertie was about six years old when she started school. She and her sisters attended the one-room schoolhouse, nearby.

Ms. Benson taught the class, each child at its own level. Every morning, they said the Lord’s prayer first, then recited the pledge of allegiance to the flag. Afterwards, they sang songs and got happy before they started their studies. Gertie enjoyed singing and playing games with her classmates at school. Ms. Benson celebrated Christmas every year with Christmas carols and let the children recite poems and stanzas. The Everman girls were good students. They participated in all the events.

Ms. Benson called upon each one in the classroom to communicate in its own words what Christmas meant to each of them.

Gertie only knew one poem and it was not about Christmas. On the stage of that one-room schoolhouse, she looked like a little princess fashioned in pink, wearing black leather slippers. And she felt like one too. Never again would she feel so special after today, not for a very long time.

I have roses on my shoulders and slippers on my feet, I’m my papa’s little girl, ain’t I sweet, she recited.

The congregation clapped vigorously and giggled, nonetheless. Little did the Everman girls know that this Christmas’ pageant would be the last one they would ever attend. After the holidays, everything changed to a profound extinct. Their mother, Isolba, took sick and died and their dad was left to raise four girls by himself. He could have kept the girls in school, only if he had lived.

Isolba had been sick and suffering migraines for quite some time. It’s an inoperable tumor causing her illness, the doctor told Frank. Isolba grew weaker by the day. In a meantime, Raymond came down with the flu after Christmas and had to be hospitalized. Despite the best care and medication given, it turned into Pneumonia. Isolba knew her baby was sick, but she couldn’t get to him. And her condition only grew worse. Little by little she began to lose touch with reality.

She forgot that Raymond was in the hospital. Someone had taken him away from her, perhaps, and she needed to get him back. She raised up in the bed and begged, No, don’t let them take Raymond away from me.

No one is going to take him away from you, honey, Frank said. He’ll be home soon, he assured her. But he was not okay, and he did not come home. Sadly, her baby boy died in the hospital, complications of Pneumonia.

Isolba was not able to attend her own son’s memorial service. Instead, she grew weaker and weaker by the day. The day before her death, she mustered enough strength to get out of bed and make it to the window. Shhh, she whispered. Raise the window, she pleaded. Frank thought she wanted fresh air. He raised the window and helped her as she desperately made her way to the open space. She lifted her voice and joined in as if she were singing in the church choir. When the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there, she exultantly sang. Frank looked on as she sang. That’s pretty, honey, he said. After she had sung her song, he helped her back to the bed where she rested peacefully until she passed away before the break of the following day.

Frank was overwhelmed to think about the kind of care he would need to give to his girls after the loss of their mother. Kelley was turning into a teenager and Ellie would follow shortly. Isolba had already taught her eldest girls how to do simple tasks in the kitchen like scrambling eggs and baking biscuits. Kendal could wash dishes and Gertie could dust the furniture. Frank made sure they continued to do these chores while attending school. But he felt that his girls needed more, the leadership from the perspective of a woman, perhaps.

Several months after the loss of his wife, he met someone at a social in a small town nearby called Crockett. Her name was Christina Little, she was an old maid. And Frank was ten years her senior. She was a slender five feet six. She kept her long red hair up in a twist and spoke with an accent. Obviously, she was Irish as most people in this region were. Frank was not the only man interested in Ms. Little. Lenard Combs (a tall man with a long black beard and hot temper) was interested in Christina as well.

She mentioned it to Frank at the social that Saturday evening. Lenard Combs is an acquaintance I have not encouraged. I told him yesterday afternoon. I said, Lenard, there’s something you need to know about me. I’m seeing someone and I’m going to that social with him tomorrow night at church. He spat on the floor and kicked a hole in the door of my boutique on his way out, said Christina.

I’m sorry, I’ll see that he does not give you any more trouble, Frank said. Apparently, Frank did not know what this jealous man was cable of doing. Or how much he despised Frank for moving in on his chance at this woman’s heart.

Since August, Frank tied up his horse in front of Christina’s Boutique (located on the square) every Sunday afternoon. Christina lived in the back end of her clothing store. She invited Frank to dinner there on several occasions.

One day Frank and Christina went on a picnic at the little green park of Crockett. This park was located nearby a creek. The only one in Crockett and due to all the rain throughout the year, it was the greenest park in Appalachia, even in the dead of winter. The rippling waterfalls poured down into the clear rushing stream. The little fish popped their heads up out of the water. The cardinals flew from one tree branch to another. This magnificent view was powerful enough to calm the soul of any anxious person. Anyone but Lenard Combs.

Christina brought one of her colorful coverlets from the boutique to spread underneath the beautiful green popular tree near the waterfall. Frank grabbed the edge of the bedding and helped his new acquaintance spread it on the ground. She sat down and looked over at Frank, her shiny blue eyes sparkled in his presence. I’m so blessed to be living this close to such breathtaking vista. Frank smiled and leaned back against the tree.

They both sit quietly relaxing and helped themselves to some cold cuts and side dishes. Christina, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, Frank said.

What’s that? she asked.

You know I am a widower with four girls. My eldest, Kelley, is thirteen. I’d like to bring you over to my place and meet my girls.

I’d like that, but let’s wait until school starts, if that’s all right with you. I always seem to have more time then. Sometime after Labor Day weekend, possibly, she said. She dubbed her lips with her napkin. I have some inventory to do in the store within the next two weeks.

That’s great, Frank said. Then, we’ll all get together after Labor Day. After several hours of picnicking, they headed back to Crockett.

Lenard was coming from Crockett’s saloon when he saw the two of them riding up to her Boutique. He stood in the middle of town burning with anger. Frank walked Christina to the door, removed his hat, and bid her good evening with a kiss. Then he straddled old Red and galloped away.

Gertie was a daddy’s girl, and she wanted him there with her. But one day he would leave and not come back the way her mother and little brother did. And that’s what she was so afraid of. Frank worked all week in the coal mine and supervised his girls at home the rest of the time. But Sunday was his day for rest, and he wanted to spend some of it with his new acquaintance. His baby girl was too young to understand this.

She begged him to stay home with her instead of going out to Christina’s.

Since her mother died, she wanted to spend every waking moment with her dad. Frank was getting ready to go to Christine’s when Gertie cried out, don’t go Papa, please don’t go, stay here with us.

Darling, if you let me go today, I promise we’ll all go on a picnic and do some fishing next Sunday.

She liked fishing as much as her father. Okay, Papa, if you promise, she muttered and wiped her teary eyes.

Well, I promise, he said.

Kelley was growing faster than a weed and she loved being in charge. Daddy, I’ll look after the girls for a while, she promised. Frank hugged his young ladies, grabbed his hat, and went to the barn. He saddled up his red stallion and galloped down the road.

Lenard was waiting in the bushes. As Frank came riding into town and just before he entered the street that led to Christina’s Boutique, Mr. Everman fell off his horse and died instantly. Supposedly, shot by jealous Lenard. But before this envious person could get his gun loaded, Frank was dead, and Lenard was glad.

As far as he was concerned, Frank had no right interfering with the woman he was interested in. He saw her first and he wanted this man out of the way. Though cruel Lenard had been planning this for several days, still it was not his bullet that killed Frank Everman.

That tyrant ran away before anyone could see him or hear about the incident. While he was gone, an inexperienced squirrel hunter confessed to the hunting accident that took the life of Frank. Christina was shocked and heartbroken as well as all of Mr. Everman’s daughters.

When Jim Collins heard about the tragedy, he brought the devastating news to his nieces the very next day. They were crushed. Gertie looked up to her dad in a way the other girls never understood. Nevertheless, they all suffered the same loss. In addition to losing their mother, now they lost their father. Gertie got a terrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought about the picnic her dad and sisters were planning to go on the very next Sunday. Now they would attend a memorial service for their father instead.

They soaked their pillows that night and mourned their loss. Condolence was given by all the neighbors, but now guardianship was needed. And their Uncle Jim Collins was the only one that could give it. He cared too much about his sister to see her girls sent off to an orphanage.

Chapter 2

After the memorial service, the Everman girls moved in with their Uncle Jim and Aunt Rowena Collins. Jim was deeply concerned about his nieces. Rowena needed all the help she could get on the farm, that’s why she wanted the girls.

Jim Collins was a tall slender red-headed man, with freckles, crystal blue eyes, a long straight nose, and high cheek bones like that of a Cherokee Indian. He wore a size twelve in work boots.

Rowena Collins was a tall slender woman with blue eyes. She fashioned her long yellow hair in braids wrapped around her head two times. She dressed in tan and green plaided blouses and skirts just below the knee. She wore brown stockings and black tie-up work boots. She made her own clothes. And with Kelley’s help, she