Orphan Girl (4 page)

Authors: Lila Beckham

BOOK: Orphan Girl

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Four

Tear the Stillhouse down

“The making of shinny whiskey has been going on for thousands of years, and will probably continue forever, but it became a profitable business for bootleggers around these parts during prohibition, when alcohol was outlawed in most of the country. It lasted well into the thirties, forties and fifties. Travis took advantage of the demand and built himself a whiskey still. He built it in an old abandoned overseer’s house that sat on the back of the prison property that joined your grandma and grandpa’s land.

Willie found out he was making it and told me about it, but your great-grandma and grandpa didn’t know anything about it that I knowed of. Willie was of a mind to tell them, but he didn’t want to be the one to spill the beans- I think that was why he told me; he hoped I’d tell Betsy- but I wasn’t about to be the bearer of bad news and come between a woman and her son. I knew that no matter how mad she was at him, she still wouldn’t want anyone else to talk about him even if it was true- so I kept my mouth shut. It lasted a year or so before it came to light on its own.

That Travis would disappear all hours of the day and night and your grandpa could not get ten cents worth of work out of him. He claimed he was working another job somewhere else, but he was lying to them and they knew it. When Mary turned up wearing new clothes and jewelry, Aunt Betsy knew for sure they were up to no good.

That Mary had always acted highfalutin, but after Travis started bringing in the money, her nose rose so high up in the air that it’s a wonder she didn’t drown when it rained. Your grandma might have let it slide if they had a done right by the boy, but they didn’t do right by him.

They rented a house in town and left the little feller out there on the farm for your grandma to raise him. It was not that she minded taking care of Bobby, but she felt that his mama and daddy ought to be the ones raising him. They were both healthy and able bodied, but all they wanted to do was whoop it up and pretend to be rich.

Travis had bought a new car, and he and Mary sported around to all the well to do places down in Mobile, Biloxi, and even over to New Orleans.

Aunt Betsy let it slide for about another year, but when Mary wanted to move off to New Orleans and not take little Bobby, your grandma took action. She enlisted my Willie to help her set a trap for them. She got him to contact whoever was in charge of that sort of stuff and set old Travis up for the fall. She said they did not deserve to live the highlife while little Bobby lived with them. They never gave her and your grandpa a single dime for all the years they stayed there with them, or to help them take care of Bobby, and it just wouldn’t right.

Your grandma didn’t begrudge giving the boy a home, and said she would raise him once his mama and daddy was sitting in jail.

Well, those federal men watched Travis at his “trade” until they gathered enough evidence on him and then they arrested him and Mary. Travis was sent up to Holman Prison for five years and Mary went to Tutwiler for eighteen months. I reckon she did not have to spend as much time in jail because she was a woman, but those agents had seized everything they owned pertaining to his illegal doings, and then to top it off, your grandma insisted they tear that stillhouse down. She didn’t want Travis or no one else to use it for wrongdoing.

When Mary was released from jail, she ran off with some feller she met while locked up, up there- no one heard hide nor hair from her until Travis got out of prison- then the two them hooked up again and took off somewhere. They sent Bobby a couple of photographs; he throwed them on the floor and stomped on ‘em. Before she died, your grandma asked me to keep them put up incase Bobby changed his mind one day and wanted them.”

Miss Gilly opened the album again and took out a photo of a man and a woman- I looked at it closely, studying their faces and clothes. It had a date of 1948 written on it. Miss Gilly said that it must’ve been taken just before they got into the shinny making business.

“Aunt Betsy raised Bobby and sent him to school- he turned out to be a right good man. He never would have anything to do with his folks after they left him there. I saw him at Betsy‘s funeral; he works over in Stone County Mississippi at some hospital. He seemed to be doing well.

I remember Aunt Betsy saying that Mary tried to make up with Bobby after he was grown, but he would not even speak to her… You can’t rightly blame the boy; not after the way they done him.”

“No, ma’am, you can’t.”

“The next two photographs I wanted to show you was these two here,” she said, opening the album again. “This one here is one I took of your grandma Betsy and your grandpa. It’s not a very good picture, but it’s the only one I have of her… she was like a mother to me. You know, I might have lost my blood family when I was a little girl, but I inherited a fine family when Willie took me as his wife. They always treated me kindly- well, except Travis and Mary, but they didn’t matter away. And this picture here,” she said, pulling out another photo, “is one of my husband, Willie Eubanks. It was taken after he got out of the service. He might not have been rich, but he always treated me with love and kindness- and he was kind and loving to our young’uns; we raised us a fine family.”

I took the photo of her late husband and studied him closely- from his expression, it was hard to tell much about him, but I believed what Miss Gilly told me about him.

“Honey, I could talk on and on about folks around here, good and bad, but I think I done said enough for today. You’re welcome to come back for a visit one day soon and we’ll talk again.”

“Did you know my grandmother, Miss Gilly? Her name was Janie.”

“Sure I knowed your grandmother; She was Betsy’s youngest daughter. You look like her too- You remind me of both Betsy and your grandma. Honey, I hate to run you off, but it’s getting late and I need to get up from here and get these peas put up. It’ll take me several hours to finish canning them. The next time you come out for a visit, we’ll talk,” said Miss Gilly, dismissing me from her presence. I wanted to beg to follow her inside and continue listening to her stories.

She stood with the bowl of peas she had shelled while we talked, tucked the photo album under her arm and then walked inside to her kitchen. Boldly, I followed her and told her that as soon as I could, I would come back for a visit, and that I appreciated her telling me what she had about sharecropping. She turned to face me. I could see that her eyes were weary and realized that she must be tired.

“You’re welcome, child,” she said, smiling weakly. “You go on along now, and take care of yourself,” she said, turning her back to me once more as she set the bowl in the sink and filled it with water.

I wanted to linger; I wanted to hear more of Miss Gilly’s stories, but I knew she was through talking, at least for the day, and as I drove home, I knew exactly what I was going to write in my essay. I was glad that I had recorded Miss Gilly telling her stories. Her voice telling me her story would be something I could listen to long after she was gone from this world.

Pictures follow on the next pages.