The Northwest Voice

Sybil, the only third-grader at the Center Point School , sat fingering the frayed hem of her dress. It was the only dress she owned, but the young girl’s thoughts were not on her clothes. Sybil just couldn’t take her eyes off Miss Elders’ bobbed blonde hair, neatly starched dress, and clean fingernails. To Sybil, Miss Elders seemed more like a movie star than a teacher.

Sybil’s classmates also had their eyes on Miss Elders, but they were not concerned with the way she was dressed. They were waiting for the whistle from the Wilberton Coal Mine, and they didn’t have long to wait, for soon the shrill blast echoed through town. It was now officially the weekend, but as usual, Miss Elders had one last announcement to make.

            “Now, don’t forget tomorrow is our May Day picnic. Wear your best clothes because tomorrow is a special day. There will be sack races, a spelling bee, and a baseball game. Right after the ball game we will have our picnic. Remember class, special occasions call for a special lunch, so be sure to pack a fancy sandwich.”

            No sooner had Miss Elders uttered these words than she realized some of her students were probably already wearing the best clothes they had, perhaps the only clothes they had, so she added quickly, “Of course, you all look wonderful the way you are, so just wear what you have on if you like.” Then, noting the longing looks at the open door, she smiled and added, “Class dismissed.”

            As the students filed by her, Miss Elders couldn’t help notice Sybil walking slower than usual. “Sybil, is everything all right, dear?”

            Without looking up, the tiny dark haired girl quietly mumbled, “Yes, Miss Elders.”

            Squatting down to Sybil’s eye level, Miss Elders placed her hand under the girl’s chin and looking directly into the girl’s deep brown eyes, she whispered, “Are you sure, Sybil?”

            For a moment, the girl hesitated, and then sighed, “Yes, ma’am, I’m fine, thank you.”

            “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

            “Yes, Ma’am,” Sybil replied. Picking up her lunch bucket, she bolted out the door and down the grassy hill.

            The village of Center Point was nothing more than a collection of tired mining shanties, most of them in need of paint, and all desperately wanting repair. But it was 1933, and these were difficult times. Things like paint and windows didn’t matter much when pitted against the need for food and clothing. Children born in Center Point had two things in common: their fathers worked in the coal mine, and they were poor. Since Sybil’s father had been injured in a mining accident the year before, the Clark family often went without food.

            As she walked home, Sybil picked berries from the bushes along the path, carefully piling them in her lunch bucket. Any extra food was welcome in the Clark house, so the possibility of a fancy sandwich seemed remote. Sybil was troubled. How on earth would she be able to ask her mother for a fancy sandwich? Why, never in her life had she expected more than cornbread in her lunch pail. That is, until the day Miss Elders had told the class about fancy sandwiches, made of store-bought bread. Then, it had become Sybil’s dream to eat a fancy sandwich.

 The desire to arrive at the picnic dressed in fine clothes and carrying a fancy sandwich created an ache, but a lifetime of going without pulled her back to reality. After all, it was just a dream. The truth was that they were poor, poorer than most of the other families in Center Point. In fact, Sybil did not know one other child who had to forage for food as she did. There simply wasn’t money for what her mother called, “Foolishness.” But something inside Sybil wouldn’t let her dream fade. She just had to find a way.

            Sybil was so lost in her thoughts that she had come to the fork in the road before she realized she’d walked that far. Off to the left sat the Center Point Baptist Church , paint peeling and steeple leaning just a little too far to the right. It was an ancient and tired structure, but the church remained the center of social life in her small town.

            In the church yard, Preacher Ryan was marching to and fro, one arm holding the Bible, the other in the air. “Verily, I say unto….,” he began, and then noticing the small girl watching him, he stopped practicing his sermon.  “Afternoon, Sybil.”

            “Afternoon, Brother Ryan,” Sybil smiled softly. She fidgeted for a moment, eyes downcast as she kicked at the loose clods by the walk in front of the church. “Well, I gotta go.”

            “Goodbye, Sybil. See you Sunday!” When the tiny figure retreated down the road, Preacher Ryan continued his practice with renewed vigor.

            Sybil had wished she’d had enough courage to discuss the picnic with the preacher, but she’d been taught never to discuss family matters with anyone, not even Preacher Ryan. Family took care of family. There were simply no exceptions to that rule.  She continued on down the lane until Center Point Company Store came into view. Sybil recognized the storekeeper, old Mr. Maxwell. The tired old man sat on the sagging porch smoking his pipe. Upon seeing Sybil, Maxwell pulled the pipe out of his whiskered mouth long enough to say, “Howdy, Sybil.”

            She nodded in the storekeeper’s direction, saying, “Afternoon, Mr. Maxwell.” Knowing that the storekeeper was not one to engage in much conversation, Sybil didn’t slow her pace until the crest of the hill had taken her out of his sight. Just beyond the hill Sybil noticed Widow Kirk on front of her house, shaking one of her many braided rugs. As dust clouded the air around her, the widow smiled and nodded.

            As Sybil neared the two room shack which was her home, she caught a glimpse of her father sitting in the shade of a black jack tree. Beside him was her baby brother, Jimmy, fast asleep in his cardboard sleeping box. Mr. Clark held his finger up to his lips. Sybil nodded, knowing her father intended for her to be quiet, so she carefully opened the door to the dismal shanty. Inside, the walls were papered with old newspapers in an effort to ward off the cold. There was no running water, no toilet, no electricity, and other than a half-filled sack of cornmeal, there was no evidence of food. Defeat welling inside her, Sybil sadly looked around. How could she ever have the nerve to ask her mother for a fancy sandwich?           
            Later that night, as she sat by the small coal stove, Sybil planned what she would do the next morning. The young girl vowed to herself that if she worked for the fixings of her sandwich, it wouldn’t be begging. Surely her mother wouldn’t mind. It had to work. It just had to!

Since the picnic wasn’t scheduled until early afternoon, Sybil reasoned that there would be plenty of time to gather food for her fancy lunch. Her first task was to make a list of what she needed. The only paper she could find was the hand-made Christmas card Miss Elders had given to her at Christmas. So, careful to write only on the back, Sybil made her list.

            In the warmth of the stove, Sybil let her mind settle on the fancy sandwich she would make and all the fun there would be at the picnic. Before too many minutes passed, she was fast asleep, pencil clutched in one hand, card in the other. As she slept, Sybil’s dream took flight. Her fancy sandwich would be made of wonderfully light, fluffy, white bread bought from a store. No coarse brown bread for this special day.

            Early the next morning, before even the rooster was awake, Sybil was up and ready to begin her search. Since it was Saturday, Sybil knew her mother wouldn’t worry to find her gone. Besides, it was a known fact that all the residents of Center Point made it their business to look out for all the children. That was a plus to living in a small town. Sybil grabbed her lunch bucket from its peg near the stove and carefully opening the door of the shanty, she slipped outside.

Just down the hill from the Clark ’s home was Widow Kirk’s place. There was smoke curling from her chimney, so Sybil knew the widow had had another restless night and was sipping tea made from the flowers in her garden. Without hesitation, Sybil strode up to the back door and knocked. Soon, the door was answered by the elderly woman. Wisps of gray hair were tucked behind each ear, and spectacles were perched on the bridge of her nose. The faded pink shawl was draped around her shoulders.

            “Gracious sakes alive!” the widow exclaimed. “Sybil, is that you dear?”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            Holding the door, she exclaimed, “Why, you’re shiverin’. Come on in. It’s cold out there.”

            “Thank you, ma’am,” Sybil replied, quickly stepping past the widow into the cozy house.

            The room’s warmth enveloped the girl, and it wasn’t long before she stopped shivering. She stood near the widow’s cook stove, watching the steam rise off of a pot of oatmeal. The aroma was tantalizing, reminding Sybil that the last time she’d eaten was when she’d picked berries the day before. Although the widow’s eyesight was poor, her mind wasn’t, and she knew that her young visitor was hungry.

            “I was just ‘bout to have breakfast,” Widow Kirk began.

            “Un, huh,” Sybil said, unable to take her eyes off the oatmeal.

            “I just love a warm breakfast, don’t you?”

            “Un, huh,” the young girl replied again, mouth visibly watering.

            Widow Kirk smiled at her young neighbor. “Would you like some oats, dear?”

            Sybil hesitated, but the hot cereal was just too much of a temptation. “Yes, please,” she answered, setting her lunch bucket down on the floor.

            Soon a heaping bowl of oatmeal topped with honey was placed in front of her, and Sybil spooned it hungrily. What a treat! Sybil’s breakfast, when she had any, was usually just cornmeal mush.

            When breakfast was over, the widow pushed her glasses back into place and looked at her visitor. “Well,” she began, “what’s on your mind this morning, Sybil?”

            “Well, I was, um, wonderin’ if you had any work I could do?”

            “Earnin’ a bit of money, are you?”

            “Oh, no ma’am,” Sybil answered quickly, “I was just wantin’ to earn somethin’ to add to my picnic lunch.”

            Widow Kirk glanced in the direction of the empty bucket. “Are you talking about the May Day picnic?”

            Sybil smiled broadly, “Yes, ma’am, I am.  We’re supposed to take a fancy sandwich.”

            Grinning, the widow stood, “Well, let’s see what I can find in my cupboard. In the mean time, you can begin earning your pay by fetchin’ the eggs from the henhouse yonder. And mind you, watch out for old Sadie. She doesn’t like anybody takin’ her eggs.”

            Grabbing the egg basket, Sybil darted out the door. Her first job! There was much she had to do and only a few hours left before she had everything she needed to make a fancy sandwich, so Sybil hurried out to the henhouse. Before long, she was back in the warm kitchen, beaming at the basket of brown eggs she carried. As she handed the egg basket to Widow Kirk, Sybil noticed a package of bread on the table. Store-bought bread! Sybil had seen such bread at the company store, but she’d never tasted it. She simply could not take her eyes off the package and her mouth began to water in wistful anticipation of having a bite of that wonderful bread.

            Breaking the spell, the widow announced, “Well, looks like all I can spare is some bread. Don’t have too many teeth, so store-bought bread is ‘bout all I can chew. But, you know, I do believe you’ve earned a slice.”

            “Oh,” Sybil exclaimed, “it’d be wonderful, Mrs. Kirk!”

            “Good. Now dear, why don’t I wrap it in a piece of waxed paper? That way, it’ll stay fresh while you’re collectin’ the rest of your lunch. Then, when you get your sandwich made, wrap it back up in the waxed paper until you get to the picnic. Understand?”

             Sybil nodded and watched with excitement as her elderly neighbor cut a generous slice of bread, then carefully wrapped it in waxed paper before placing it into Sybil’s bucket. Then, as an after thought, the widow reached into a basket under the table, and drew out a plump orange.

            “My grandson sent these to me,” she explained. “I can’t eat ‘em all myself. Maybe you’d like an orange to add to your picnic lunch.”

            Sybil was speechless. She gave her generous neighbor a long and sincere hug. Happily, she skipped out the door as she left to continue her mission.

Next came the Center Point Company Store. As always, old Mr. Maxwell sat in front of his store in his faded coveralls and battered straw hat, his pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. When Sybil rounded the corner of the porch, he raised his hand in greeting.

She answered with a cheery, “Mornin’, Mr. Maxwell.”

            “What are you doin’ out this early, Missy?”

            She put one bare foot on the porch. “Well, if you’d let me, I thought I’d sweep your porch.”

            The elderly store keeper slowly got up from his chair and his normally stern face creased with a smile. “You did, huh? Well, I guess I could use a little help this mornin’. Just can’t seem to get going some days and this is one of ‘em. But, you know I only operate on credit. I can’t pay you for your work with cash money.”

            “That’s okay,” Sybil grinned, “I’m just tryin’ to work for supplies to make a fancy sandwich. I’m goin’ to the May Day Picnic.”

Maxwell took a long draw on his pipe. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

Once she had swept the porch clean, Sybil continued on her way, swinging the pail at her side. She’d earned a whole slice of bologna and a thin wedge of yellow cheese, and she felt wonderful.

            By now it was nearing ten o’clock and Sybil sat down to take a rest. She peered into the lunch bucket with wide eyes. The slice of store-bought bread, the bologna and cheese, and the orange, were all really there. Sybil wasn’t dreaming. She had nearly reached her goal!

            Sybil took a short cut through the cemetery. It was spooky even in broad daylight. Shadowy and overgrown, it made her pick up her step. Before she knew it, Sybil was at the west side of the church where a small white house sat. It was the home of Preacher Ryan and his wife, Sister Celia. Sybil noticed the preacher’s wife working in her vegetable garden, so Sybil made her way down a row of young corn shoots.

            The girl was about to speak when Celia turned with a start. “Oh!  Sybil! You scared the daylights out of me, child.” She stood and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well now, you out for a walk this mornin’, Miss Sybil?”

            With two successes under her belt, Sybil was brave. “I was hopin’ I could help you today, ‘cause I’m trying to make a fancy sandwich. See?” she said, holding up her lunch bucket as if that would explain things.

            Celia smiled broadly, “Gettin’ ready for today’s picnic, huh? Well, Sybil, I tell you what. If you help me stack the hymnals at the end of each pew, I’d be most appreciative. What do you have in there, anyway?” she asked, looking inside Sybil’s open pail. “Hmm, Maybe I can offer you a second slice of bread. ‘Course, I don’t have anything as elegant as store-bought bread, but Mr. Ryan loves the homemade bread I bake.”

            Once the hymnals were stacked, Sister Celia turned her attention back to  Sybil’s lunch bucket. “Well, dear, it looks like you’re nearly there. Let’s butter your bread and put this sandwich together, okay?”

 Sybil crawled into a kitchen chair and watched as her pastor’s wife cut away the crusts, then buttered each slice of bread before placing the bologna and cheese between the slices. As she nibbled the cast-off crusts, Sybil could hardly contain her excitement.  She finally had herself a fancy sandwich!

            No one ever smiled as much as Sybil did as she began the long walk home. What a perfect day. The picnic was only an hour away and the young girl had the most beautiful sandwich she had ever imagined. When she reached their house, Sybil saw her mother was hanging clothes on the line.

            “Sybil Marie,” Mrs. Clark called sternly, “where on Earth have you been and what are you doin’ with your lunch bucket on a Saturday morning? You’d better not be catchin’ toads and puttin’ ‘em in there!”

            As she helped her mother hang up the laundry, Sybil explained how she had worked to make a fancy sandwich to take to the picnic. Her mother said nothing for several long minutes. If Sybil noticed the sheen in her mother’s eye, she didn’t mention it. Finally, Mrs. Clark whispered, “Let’s see what you have.”

            She smiled with pride at her daughter’s resourcefulness. “Sybil, this is a wonderful sandwich, probably the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. But, there’s one more little thing you could add to make it even beautiful.”

            “What’s that, Momma?”

            “Watercress,” her mother replied. “It grows down by the spring. Let’s go on down there and see what we can find.”

            Taking her mother’s hand, the two walked down the path toward Choctaw Creek.      After looking for only a moment, Sybil noticed a clump of greens growing in the shallow water of the spring. She carefully picked the watercress and handed it to her mother.

Once back home, Mrs. Clark patted the leafy greens with a clean cloth. Sybil carefully opened the waxed paper and placed the watercress next to the slice of bologna. The vibrant, green leaves did add a touch of elegance to the sandwich, and to Sybil, it was the perfect fancy sandwich.  

            Before Sybil left for the picnic, her mother brushed back her daughter’s long brown hair and tied it with a length of worn ribbon. Mrs. Clark gave into Sybil’s pleas to wear shoes to the picnic. It took Sybil a little longer to polish the worn leather, but it was worth the effort. This was a special treat, because shoes were only for special celebrations. Sybil tried to smooth the creases from her dress as she picked up her lunch bucket and opened the screen door.

There was a spring in the young girl’s step, and her heart was light, as she set out for the schoolyard and the May Day picnic. Shouts and laughter carried over the breeze as Sybil neared the school. Once she crossed over Choctaw Creek and walked through a stand of black jack trees, she would be at the picnic! 

            A turtle lay sunning itself by the shady depths of the water. Sybil admired its black and orange shell as she began to cross the creek.  Distracted, she stepped onto a mossy rock. Her feet missed their footing and she fell back with a thud onto the bank. The lunch bucket rolled from Sybil’s grasp, spilling the contents into the still green water.

            Momentarily stunned, Sybil at first didn’t understand what had just happened.

“Oh, no! I got mud on my shoes,” she moaned. Glancing at her lunch bucket, panic gripped her when she saw it was upended and empty. Downstream, she saw her orange bobbing along. In horror Sybil watched as her fancy sandwich began to sink to the bottom of the pool.

Panicking, Sybil kicked off her shoes and waded into the creek. She grabbed for the sandwich, praying that the water hadn’t ruined it. Sybil pulled the soggy bundle from the water and placed it on a sunny rock. Slowly, she peeled the waxed paper away from her prized sandwich, but it was too late. The wet bread tore apart in her hands. Her fancy sandwich was totally ruined. All her efforts had been for nothing. Left with nothing to take to the picnic, a look of complete desolation gripped her face. She let the ruined sandwich fall as she crumpled to the grass and buried her face in her hands as sobs shook her small frame.

            Sybil was so heartsick that she didn’t hear Miss Elders approach. When Miss Elders realized that Sybil was not at the picnic, she became worried.  Intending to check the Clark house, she had come upon Sybil by accident.

            “Sybil,” She asked softly, “what’s the matter, dear?”

            “Oh, Miss, Elders,” Sybil sobbed, “I dropped my sandwich!”

            “So, I see.” Miss Elders sat down beside Sybil and drew the little girl into a hug. “You know,” she said, “I’m sure that was a wonderful sandwich, and I know you’re disappointed, but you know what? It just so happens that I packed too much food for me to eat all by myself. Why, I was on my way to your house to see if you would like to share my lunch with me. Now, isn’t that funny?”

            Stunned, Sybil looked hopefully into the face of her teacher. “Really?” she asked, her voice cracking.

            Taking a handkerchief from her pocket, Miss Elders wiped the tears from Sybil’s face.         “Oh, yes. You’d be doing me a favor. I just hate to waste good food and I make a really nice sandwich, if I do say so myself. That store-bought bread just doesn’t last as long as homemade bread does, though. Someone needs to help me eat the sandwiches before they get stale.” She smiled, “You know, they’re just like the ones I had as a girl.”

            Slowly, a smile creased the young girl’s face. “Oh, Miss Elders,” she said, “I’d be happy to help you, Miss Elders.”

            They held hands as they crossed the creek. “Would you look at that!” exclaimed Miss Elders, pointing to the water where an orange which had come to rest against the root of a tree. “Is that your orange?” She asked.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Sybil answered. “Wanna share it with me?”

            “I’d be honored,” replied her teacher.

Hand’s swinging in time to the tune they were humming, they strolled toward the other picnickers. The day turned out to be a wonderful one after all. Although her own beautiful sandwich had been lost, Sybil still had her orange to share and best of all, she had a fancy sandwich to eat and remember for the rest of her days.