Marian Rankin Kennedy

Story by Marian Rankin Kennedy

Printed in Maine Life, 1973, transcribed from a photo copy

Mother scanned the sky toward the east from her vantage point on the well curb at the back of the house. I stood anxiously awaiting her decision. A trip from Lincolnville to the town of Camden seven miles distant, traveling in a horse drawn buggy, required thought; one did not come to conclusions lightly; in those days it required as much consideration as an African safari or a jet plane trip across the country would in modern times.

An ominous accumulation of clouds drifted about in the northeast blowing them in an unfavorable direction.

“I guess we’d better put it off ‘til tomorrow,” Mother said firmly, tying her large apron around her waist. She had removed it while thinking favorably of the Camden trip.

I started to pout, trying to hold back the tears which were very near the surface. “You’ll say we can’t go tomorrow ‘cause it’s churning day,” I pleaded.

Mother patted my head. “Maybe we’ll churn today.”

We did. I’m sure I amazed Mother with my unaccustomed enthusiasm toward the deadly and wearisome job of turning the handle with my ear cocked to detect the difference in the slosh, slosh within which would indicate it had “come”.

Next morning the sun shone so brightly that Mother found it unnecessary to make a weather prediction. The morning housework seemed unending. Mother directed me to dust the kitchen and dining room furniture, a job which I not only hated at any time but on that particular morning seemed an unnecessary waste of time. After an eternity Mother told my brother Bun to harness Tom. She usually used Tom, a gentler creature than Nancy, a little black pacer.

Nancy objected to automobiles which occasionally appeared on country roads by the year 1905. Tom would stop dead still when we met one while Nancy would back up regardless of what might be at the roadside. This tendency became somewhat hazardous since there was a lake on one side and a mountain at the other side of the turnpike road. This road had literally been carved from the foot of the mountain. In the early days it had been a narrow path used exclusively by pedestrians and horsemen. Even at the turn of the century it was so narrow that automobiles were forbidden to drive there; however, the sign often went unheeded and a horse-drawn vehicle sometimes encountered a horseless one on this strip of road.

This particular trip held more than the usual excitement as Mother had a complete book of trading stamps for which she planned to purchase dress material for me. Until that time my winter dresses had always been “hand-me-downs” made over from Mother’s or my aunts.

Though Bun teased to go along, Mother set him to the task of potato digging. He ceased grumbling when she promised him a box of cartridges for his .22 rifle.

On that second week of September the sun beat down fiercely upon us and Tom plodded along raising a cloud of dust which settled upon us in spite of hats and a cotton lap robe.

Mother allowed me to hold the reins until we came to the turnpike road where I reluctantly passed them to her. As we rounded a sharp turn in the road I began to stretch my neck for a glimpse of the wooden cross perched on a high ledge near the summit of Mt. Megunticook.

“Mama, tell me why it’s there?” I had heard the story innumerable times, yet the interest never waned.

I guess Mother liked to repeat it too, for she stopped the horse for a moment in an opening in the trees where he had an unobstructed view of a cross standing stark against the solid rock. It is called Maiden Cliff.

“I was just a little girl when it happened. Your Aunt Mary was in the party who went on a mountain climbing trip one windy Sunday in September; probably a day something like this only more wind.”

“How’d they get up there?” I inquired, knowing quite well how it was done.

“They went up from the other side on a path from Youngtown road. There were three couples and this girl Eva, a little younger than the rest – about sixteen I’d say. Mary and the others were sitting on a ridge above this cliff resting from the climb. They were talking and admiring the view of the lake below dotted with islands and trying to locate various farm houses in the distance. They didn’t miss Eva for quite a while. When they started to look for her she was nowhere to be seen. Shouting her name brought them no response.

“Rannie Young quckly climbed down the path to the cliff. Looking over the edge he caught glimpse of something far below, the girl’s dress in a tangle of rocks and trees.”

“What’d they say?” I asked breathlessly.

“I don’t suppose they said much. Your Aunt Mary says to this day that moment is as clear to her as yesterday. Eva’s brother Charles and his best girl were there and he just stood there saying, “What can we do?”

“Ran Young started scrambling down the steep side of the mountain clinging to branches and rocks as best he could. The others went for help.”

“How’d they get her down. Was she dead?”

“Ran thought at first that she was dead but she wasn’t. Help came after a while with a wagon on the road maybe near this very spot. They took her home to her grandmother’s. She died that night and never came to,” finished Mother, saying “Gid up” to the horse.

“Wasn’t that awful. I guess the cross has been there a long time. I s’pose she fell while sitting on a rock.”

“No one knows but the wind may have had something to do with It. I guess she ventured too close to the edge.”

We drove into Camden on Mountain Street which has pretty homes on one side and on the right was the cemetery ….. a tomb near the fence…..Mother said the tomb was used to put people in who passed away in the winter. She said it was ….funeral when the …..place in the spring.

“We put Tom in Dean’s Livery Stable while we did the errands. We brought grain for his lunch, trusting in the honesty of the livery man to feed hi. One paid thirty-five cents if one did not bring the feed, fifteen if we did. Should a person leave the horse there all day, there was an extra charge.

I wanted to go immediately for the dress material, but Mother said she wished to drop in to see my eldest brother Herb who was an optometrist with an office on Chestnut Street. We found him busy with a patient so we just said hello, promising to call later.

We stopped at Cleveland’s Hardware Store for Bun’s cartridges and a garden rake, then to Follansbee and Woods for the cloth. We did not go to Acorn’s

Store as they did not give trading stamps. We selected a Buttrick pattern after much discussion. I insisted that it be made like the Meservey girls’ new dresses – a sort of jumper with a glimpse of contrasting color.

“Butterick’s run large,” Mother remarked as she examined the printed matter on the back of the envelope. “I guess a ten will be about right.

“You can always it in a little bit,” suggested the clerk. “Your little girl looks more’n ten though,” she nodded with a smile.

“Goin’ on ‘leven,” I volunteered although I’d just passed my tenth birthday.

I looked impatiently at the bolts of materials temptingly lined up on a shelf. After what seemed an eternity Mother asked to look at cloth.

After much consideration about color amount and price we select blue wool batiste. Mother said she could make the guimpe from one of her shirt waists but I held out for new material for that too. She finally gave in after the clever sales woman told of a bargain in a lovely piece of China silk, a remnant, not enough for a grown-up but just right for me. The trading stamp book took care of nearly the whole amount. I carried the package, making no complaint when Mother went to the grocery store.

“I’ll just look in at the woolen mill, I guess,” Mother said unexpectedly.

“What for?”

“Just to see what they have today.”

Camden contained several woolen mills which gave employment to many residents of the town as well as those in the surrounding communities. They maintained a small sales room where mill ends were sold at reasonable prices.

We entered the large gray building shaking with vibrations of many heavy turning wheels and the crash of looms. The noise was deafening and I wondered how anyone could possibly stand such a racket all day long. A man in a cotton coat came from the direction of the noise closing the door into a small room where stacks of cloth were piled on a long table in a helter-skelter fashion.

“Anything special in mind?” the man asked, not seeming too interested in making a sale.

“Something serviceable and war,” replied Mother, nodding her head toward me. Until that moment I had no idea what she wanted in the mill, then suddenly the fact burst upon me that she meant coat material for me.

“A nice piece here,” said the man, throwing aside some large bolts unearthing a smaller roll of mixed tweedy-looking cloth flecked with pretty colors.

“Mamma is it really going to be a coat for me?”

“Maybe, if it doesn’t cost too much. Do you like this one?”

“Yes, I think it’s beautiful,” fingering the cloth lovingly.

“How much is the piece?” asked Mother.

The man pulled a yard stick from somewhere among the bolts of cloth, measuring it leisrely. “Better’n three yards and it’s wide – flaw in this end – won’t charge you for the half yard. Oh, give me three dollars and it’s yours.”

“All right.” Mother took out her worn black purse (she called it a port money), gave the man three dollars and we departed.

“I can line it with that piece of sateen your Aunt Edna had left over fro, her suit,” murmured Mother half to herself.

“I’m ticked to have brand new coat, “ I said as we walked toward Herb’s office once more. He wasn’t busy this time so we sat in his waiting room while they talked about this and that, eventually telling him about the purchase at the mill.

“Let me see it? Do you like it, little sister?”

“Oh, very much.”

“How much did Chandler soak you for it?”

“Three dollars,” Mother replied.

“Not bad,” observed Herb, fishing in his pocker and passing Mother two bills and a silver dollar. “I promised to buy this for the kid, you know.”

“It’s kind of you, son. Now, thank him for it,” turning to me.

Words never came easily to me at that age ­– I someway mumbled a thank you of sorts.

When we rose to leave, Herb gave us each a quarter for ice crea as we seldo spent money for lumch on these occasions. The excitement of the purchase took away my appetite, yet I managed to clean up the last of the ice cream. We each spent ten cents for the ice cream so Mother said I might spend the rest as I pleased.

“I’ll buy some candy for Bun – he’s been working all day digging potatoes, we suppose.”

“Let’s hope he has ­– a good idea to take some candy to him.”

“I suppose you fed Tom, “ Mother said when we reached the stable after I purchased the candy.

“Sure did,” replied Freddy, handing Mother the reins. Mother’s fifteen cents went for the stable fee.