Before the Leaves Fall

Every fall, when the woods were ablaze with color, Willie Mae feared that her family would move again before the leaves would fall.   It seemed that every year they moved from one farm to another.   For days, she had wished that their next move, which would be to the Gumble farm, would bring some relief from hard work.   She’d heard a rumor about how good the Gumble landlord was to his tenants, and she was glad.   Maybe, she wouldn’t have to work so hard on the farm; maybe, she could spend more time helping with chores about the house.   Her mama, who had been sick for the past three years, had become unable to help with heavy housework or do any work on the farm.   As the oldest child, Willie Mae had the responsibility of looking after the family when her papa was in the fields.

Until her mama became sick, she worked up at the Big House on the farms where her papa sharecropped.   Even then, when she came home in the late afternoon, her mamma didn’t feel like taking care of Willie Mae’s three younger siblings.

Willie Mae was now eleven years old and for the past two days she had worked with her papa to pack their meager home furnishings onto their rickety wagon.  He had borrowed an extra mule, and they were finally on their way to set up housekeeping in unfamiliar surroundings.

She bounced on the pile of empty guano sacks that she had folded up for a seat on the cart.   Her legs were getting cramped from sitting in the same position for so long.   She recalled hearing folks talk about the Hoover Cart; now, she found herself driving one with a mule loaned to them by their former landlord.

Moving wasn’t ever easy. Seldom was her family at a place long enough to afford the opportunity to learn much about the community or its people, other than those attending church. Her biggest grumbles were leaving her church friends and walking the long distance to school.

As she held the reins of the mule, she looked into the distance and prayed that the schoolhouse wouldn’t be so far from their new home.

As the wagon rolled down the dusty road, Willie Mae gazed at the few vivid leaves that still hugged the tree-topped road.   Those colorful leaves seemed to lift her prayer to heaven, reassuring her that things would be good this time. The late November crops had been harvested; and Minger had settling-up money in his pocket. He was a good man, a hard working man and she couldn’t understand why they moved so often. “I’ll just ask him when we have settled down again,” she whispered to herself.

Driving the mule and cart for the last hour, she spent most of her thoughts in prayer.   Most of all, she wanted her mama to get well.   She prayed that the new surroundings would be an improvement over the former tenant houses, which she had come to know so well.

Turning and looking back at the wagon, she saw that her papa had dropped back some distance. The wagon had been brought home yesterday from the Gumble farm.  Willie Mae slowed the pace of the mule, waiting for her papa to catch up.  She was admiring the last of the season’s colors when she heard her papa call.

“When you git up yonder to that wide place in the road, I want you to pull to the side.  I want to pass and do the leading for a while.”