Those 70ish Girls

Since it’s getting close to Memorial day, I decided to post the poem I wrote honoring the women who gave their lives for our Country…

Just one pretty flower

by Mary Francis McNinch

“Put a flower on my grave.” That’s all she asked of me.

“Just one pretty flower that I’ll be sure to see.”

“She never had a chance,” they said. “She won’t make it through the night.”

“She might have won some battles, but she’ll lose this final fight.”

I tried to say, “I love you,” as I stood beside her bed.

She smiled her biggest smile, and this is what she said.

“You know I’ll never leave you, right? It’s really not that far.

Look through all the darkness. Give my name to one bright star.”

“It never did make sense,” they’ll say. “She had little ones to rear.”

“Nothing much that she could do.” I know that’s what you’ll hear.

I said, “What you did mattered,” and she held my trembling hand.

She saw her Country struggle and she had to take a stand.

There are those who disagree. It’s their right to think that way.

They might not survive tomorrow, but they’ll live free today.

“Tell the kids I love them. Show them my picture now and then.

Tell them where I’m going, but don’t tell them where I’ve been.

I hope the evil can be stopped and we keep our flag unfurled.

“I gave you all my love,” she said. “My life I gave the world.”

The last time she closed her eyes, I knew what she would see…

Whatever love looks like ..to those who fought to keep us free.

“Put a flower on my grave.” That’s all she asked of me.

“Just one pretty flower that I’ll be sure to see.”

I hope everyone is enjoying the kick-off Friday of Memorial Day weekend. It’s going to be a hot time in Ben Wheeler, with a chili cook-off on Saturday and all sorts of other goings on, including lots of live music. I’m going to help our daughter, Heidi, and her boyfriend, Joe, with their chili booth. I’m really excited to have something fun to look forward to. Kip will be able to take part for a while, but since he’s still recuperating from back surgery, he can’t stand for long periods of time.

I want to apologize to the readers of “A Story to Tell.” I have not been faithful to the cadence of the story. There is too much time between episodes. I want to add so much to develop it, yet my initial goal was to put a short little fun story on the blog. I have had so many ideas that would turn it into a better long mystery that I’ve decided to stop here, and rewrite it. Rather than play it all out on the blog, I will self-publish it on Amazon as a book. What do you think?

I made a version of Cousin Lav’s apple pie. I don’t have much counter space in the RV, so I made turnovers instead. I used her recipe for the filling, and even with Pillsbury pie dough, it’s delicious…

If you’re expecting company, you should bake a pie. If you’re going to a potluck, you should bake a pie. If you’re celebrating the good old 4th of July, take a pie. For the red, white and blue Holiday, try green Granny Smith apples and maybe a few other varieties mixed in.

FIRST: Here’s what you will need for baking a special homemade apple pie: 4-5 McIntosh apples, 4-5 Granny Smith apples (peeled, cored and sliced) one cup sugar, 2 tablespoons flour, 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, 1 teaspoon lemon zest, a little shake of salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and make a double crust pie dough- recipe to follow.

I’m using all Granny Smith apples since I couldn’t find McIntosh ones. Thanks, Granny. Please don’t eat those bananas in the background. We need them for smoothies, but that’s another story.

8 apples peeled, cored and sliced with the lemon zest, lemon juice, sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, dash of salt added. Mix it well and let sit while you make the pie dough.

TWO: Pie dough – mix together 2 1/2 cups flour, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, 8 tablespoons vegetable shortening and 12 tablespoons chilled butter cut into little pieces. (Have ready 6-8 tablespoons ice water for after when dough is all mixed.)

You can use a spoon, knife, fork or one of these to cut the butter and shortening through the flour making it like coarse crumbs—-

After the pie dough mix looks coarse and crummy, I mean like coarse crumbs, add the ice water a tablespoon at a time and use your hands to push it together. Then form dough into two disks.

This is the flour worked in with the butter and shortening and a little salt and sugar.

Adding the ice water, a tablespoon at a time…

Wrap the two disks tightly in plastic wrap and chill for 1 hour— chill the dough disks, not you…you don’t need to chill, or you can if you want. Chill out!

Continuing: preheat a rimmed cookie sheet in oven at 500 degrees.

Roll out bottom crust. It might not be pretty, but you can patch it with a little water and tear edges off as patches.

Place the rolled out crust into bottom of a pie pan and put the apples in. If there’s too much juice, drain some off.

Next roll out the top crust, cut slits – make a design of your choice- fold it once in half, place gently halfway across apples, then open top crust 100% then seal edges. You can use a fork to press edges together or just your fingers pinching top to bottom crusts.

Gently pull entire crust on top of apple filling. Seal edges.

Put pie on cookie sheet in oven and drop temp to 425 degrees for 25 minutes. Then after 25 minutes, rotate the pie and drop oven temp to 375 degrees for another 25 minutes or til golden brown.

Take it out of oven when it’s bubbly hot and golden brown.

Let it cool then enjoy eating it! Add ice cream for A La mode or whipped cream to make it more tasty. Enjoy!

Holly…

Holly Reading was born on Christmas eve of 1914. Her father served in WWI and was in Belgium at the time of the 1914 Christmas Eve one day truce. On November 11, 1918, after more than four years of terrible fighting and the loss of millions of lives, the guns on the western front fell silent. The reaction of the world was that of relief, celebration, and a profound sense of loss.

Holly’s father was one of the soldiers who didn’t come home. He never got the chance to hold his baby daughter.

Holly and her mother were living with her father’s parents when the war ended. Mr. and Mrs. Reading built the house in Pleasant Run in 1920. Aunt Marti eventually bought it in 1963. It had been vacant for 20 years.

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Holly was six when her grandparents, she and her mother moved into the newly built house. The year was 1920.

“Holly, please get down out of that tree. You still have your Sunday dress on. Nana has lunch ready and you must wash up and change quickly.”

“Momma, I kept my dress on because it’s the same color as the tree leaves and I can hide here where that man can’t see me.”

“Sweet Holly. my child. Your imagination goes wild sometimes. Pretending can often times create unbelievable stories.”

“It’s not a story,” Holly insisted as she climbed down from the tree. “A man with a black hat on has walked down this street three times. Well, maybe only two. He wants to talk to you. He asked if you were home and I said you were working at the hospital. I told him my Grandpa and Nana were here, but he said he had to talk to you. I told him we didn’t talk to strangers.” He laughed, Momma, and said he would be back when you were home. He said he knew my daddy.”

“Sweetheart, if this is the truth, you are doing the right thing by telling him you aren’t allowed to talk to strangers. Next time, tell the man to knock on the door and talk to me or your grandparents. That’s what someone who knew your father would most likely do, anyway.”

Two days later, when Holly went out to play, she was careful to choose clothes that would match the tree.

*************

I couldn’t wait for all of my cousins to leave so that I could go back up to the attic and look at the remainder of the contents inside the old trunk and whatever was inside the lockbox that the attorney had given me the key to. Two days ago I had been busy minding my own business and now I was suddenly the owner of a monstrosity of a house and embroiled in a mystery…and I had a dog. Mr. B followed me everywhere I went.

When I opened the strong box, there was a note on top that said, “Dee, Holly was born 9 years before me. That has nothing to do with anything, but I need to know where she went. I need to know she and her mother’s story had a happy ending. At the bottom of this box, you will find a note written in a child’s handwriting. It was written with a crayon, and it took me a while to decipher what I believe it says. Holly wrote, “The man talked to Momma. She cried happy tears. I lived here, but now I’m going away.”  It’s dated 12/15/1923

I thought this would be a good time to write an update on a blog I posted a couple of weeks ago. My mental health has been stable, and I am more grateful than I can say. To anyone out there who suffers from depression, anxiety, or bipolar disorder, please remember there are qualified people out there who can help. I sought help, and I am sure glad I did. I learned a valuable lesson. I never want to feel that way again, so the most important thing to remember is self-care in the form of rest, healthy food (as much as practical), and exercise. If I am doing all of those things plus saying my prayers and still dread the day before me, then I will seek help. A check-up from the neck up can be a good thing. The mind is fragile.

Kip is doing great 3 weeks out from his back surgery! He’s on track to begin traveling on the 1st of August. He was released from Home Health last week but continues to do his exercises.

Yesterday, I was trying to tighten up our Jeep’s seat covers, and an elastic strap got away from me and gave me quite the shiner. I had contacts in, but I must have blinked just as the strap hit. After yelling,” I think I’m blind!!” I settled down and realized it only hurts when I laugh, which is when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Nellie and Rylie must find life with us is pretty exciting. They’ve had a few chances to run away, but decided better of it and came back. I’ll sure be happy when Kip will be able to help out more with the walking chore. They get 4 long walks a day. (The joy of RV living with no fenced yard.) We try to take them to a pasture in the middle of downtown Ben Wheeler for a leashless run every day.

Well, this is sounding like a Christmas letter. As Mom used to say, “Enough about me, how did you like my last movie!”

Holly…

“Hi Tara, I was exploring the house and didn’t hear the doorbell at first. I hope you and this sweet looking puppy dog didn’t wait too long.” Tara had just informed me that Mr. Bairnsfather had wanted to come home for tea. “Is he Aunt Marti’s dog?” I asked.

“He sure is,” Tara informed me as they walked through the door. “We call him Mr. B for short. Bairnsfather is a mouthful. I have no idea where Aunt Marti came up with that name in the first place. I took him to my house when she became ill, but he has become unhappy and barely eats. I thought it might help him to be back in his home for a few hours.”

“Poor baby,” I said. “Let’s go into the parlor and wait there until everyone gets here. I was just reading an article I found in an old trunk in the attic. Mr. Bairnsfather was a British soldier in WWI. He took part in the Christmas Eve truce of 1914. Do you know who Bernard was or is? His name was on the envelope containing the information.

Tara thought for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I don’t recall Aunt Marti ever mentioning anyone named Bernard. It is interesting to know who Mr. B was named for, though. I thought Bairnsfather was a name she made up.

Within 30 minutes all 5 cousins were there along with the attorney, Mr. Danes, who arrived last. Tara’s husband, Tom was there as well. He had picked cousin Drew up at the airport. Tonja and Grayson, who lived in Pleasant Run had driven over together. Everyone declined tea or coffee, so once we had visited a short while, Mr. Danes handed each of us a packet that contained a letter from Aunt Marti and a copy of her will. The attorney instructed each of us to first read our personal letters, and then he would read the will to all of us.

Dearest Dee,

Thank you for making the long trip to be here. I have a lot to ask of you.

I have left you my home, which, as you already know, is over 100 years old. It was one of the first houses to be constructed in Pleasant Run. I purchased it when I turned 30, and it became clear to me that I would never marry.

As I write this letter, I am 90 years old. If you are reading it, it means I have passed on without solving the mystery.

I don’t know what happened to the family who lived here. The house had been vacant for 20 years before I purchased it.

I found several things in the attic that caused me to be extremely curious, even alarmed. The remarkable thing is that no one living in Pleasant Run at the time I bought and restored the house knew much about the former inhabitants.

I know I won’t be able to rest in this life or the next until the mystery is solved. Please find out what happened to Holly. She was born on Christmas Eve, 1914. Her father was fighting in Belgium.

You will find all the information I have been able to accumulate in the chest in the attic. My attorney will give you the key to the strong box inside.

I know you are a retired sleuth. Maybe you will decide to make this house and Pleasant Run your home…once you have solved the mystery…

Love and blessings,

Aunt Martie