Southern Porches

My grandmother was a great storyteller. She loved to talk about growing up on a farm in Yadkin county, and I loved listening to her tales of long ago. Some of her stories were about ghosts and witches and they were my favorite even though they made me afraid to enter a dark room until I was almost grown. My cousin, Toni, reminded me of the following one of Mama’s tales. I will try to tell it just as she did.

When I was a young girl on the farm, we all had to do our part. I would help with the feeding of the chickens, cows, and pigs, planting the garden and later weeding and harvesting it, and help Mama in the house with the cooking and cleaning. It was a harder life than the one you will know, but I got along. Sometimes I would hire out to help a neighbor who might be feeling poorly and need an extra hand around the house. It gave me a change of scenery and a little piece of money, so I never minded.

Such was the case when a man who lived a few miles away came riding up in his wagon. His wife had just given birth to their fifth youngun and she had taken to her bed. They needed someone to look after the children and do the cooking. He asked Papa if he could spare me for a week or two. The deal was struck, so I packed my satchel and climbed on the wagon for a trip to an unfamiliar place. I was excited.

I was taken aback a little when we arrived at the farm. The house seemed big and foreboding even in the sunlight. It stood amidst a stand of large oak trees and there was a porch that wrapped around the dwelling. It looked like a lonely place and my first impression was that it was unfriendly. The atmosphere changed when we entered the house and I was surrounded by a herd of small children. Most needed noses wiped and faces washed and all were hungry, so I went to work. By late afternoon, I had things in hand and had a nice visit with the lady of the house. After supper, I settled the children in their beds and retired to my room.

The small space was filled with an iron bed, complete with a feather mattress, a small chest, a straight back chair, and a chamber pot. I suddenly missed the room at home that I shared with my sisters and having my brothers bedded down just across the hall. I waited as long as I could before putting out the oil lamp. I had to get up early the next morning, so I needed my sleep. I was just dosing off when I heard a noise in the hall. Old houses always creak and crack in the night, soI  wasn’t alarmed, but I felt a little uncomfortable.

Just as sleep was coming to take me, I felt the covers moving slowly downward. Thinking that the older boys had slipped in and were playing a trick, I sat up and grabbed the quilt. Not a sound, no rustling or giggling did I hear. I sat up in bed for a few minutes, and when nothing else happened, I settled back into the soft feather bed. In a quick, sudden movement the covers were yanked off me. I lay there totally uncovered except for my nightgown. The moon was full that night, so by it’s light, I got out of bed and walked around the room. There was no one in there but me. I even looked under the bed. I was alone, or so I thought.

I spread the quilt and sheet back up on the bed, tucked them tightly at the foot, and climbed back in. As I lay down, I pulled them over and underneath my head. “Now pull them off.” I sternly said.

What happened next is something I will never forget. The covers were jerked from the bottom of the bed and flung right in my face. I don’t know how I did it, but I cleared that room in seconds and raced up the hall. I threw open the door to my employers room and jumped right in the middle of their bed.

“I will sleep here tonight, and in the morning you can take me home.” I informed them. And he did.

“Well, it’s time for bed. Don’t forget to say your prayers and be sure you pull the covers up real tight. You never know.” she would usually say after relating this tale.

And I still do.