A Flower Blooms on Charlotte Street by Milam McGraw Propst

Author:Milam McGraw Propst
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks, Inc.
Published: 2017-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

MRS. MCCALL WAS right about how much the people in town wanted to help. Our back porch and our basement were soon chucked full of furniture, clothes, kitchen supplies, linens, most anything a family would need.

My job was to write in a special book a list of the kindnesses that folks performed. Mrs. Murphy said she planned to look back through my book once she moved back into her own home. She said she was going to write thank you letters to every person in it. Knowing that made me all the more careful with my note taking.

Every day, more neighbors came to drop off the Murphys’ own items which they had taken home to clean, to wash, or to rescue in some way. I well remembered the saddest day since the fire. Mrs. Murphy was told that all of her treasured quilts were ruined. Aunt Mamie suggested one last attempt to get rid of the terrible smell of smoke. I helped.

Early the next morning, we carried her three favorites outside to hang on our clothesline. We checked once an hour. My aunt said, “It is the most perfect day. The Lord has blessed us with a soft and gentle breeze and beautiful bright sunshine.”

Even God’s sun couldn’t suck out the fire’s cruel stink. Late that afternoon, Mrs. Murphy sat and cried.

I went upstairs. Her sadness followed me up into my room. “Mama,” I said, as I looked deeply into her eyes in my tiny painting, “I think you would approve of me for doing this.” I went down the steps carrying Mama’s quilt.

Holding it out to Elizabeth’s mother, I said, “Mrs. Murphy, here is a new quilt to replace one that the fire took away.”

“Oh, dear child, how lovely. I am truly overwhelmed;” wiping her eyes, she swooned.

There wasn’t another sound in the room.

Mrs. Murphy unfolded Mama’s quilt out across my aunt’s daybed. “Who crafted such a fine piece? Your Aunt Mamie, I would guess. Just look at the beauty of her work.”

Aunt Mamie shook her head ‘no.’

I was so proud. I said, “It was Mama’s, my Mama’s very fine work.”

Elizabeth had come in and stood with her mother. She said, “Ociee brought it here all the way from Mississippi. Her mother sewed it on their farm, way out West, just imagine!”

“Come over here, Ociee, dear,” said Mrs. Murphy. “Tell me more, if you please.”

I started explaining about pieces from Fred’s dress, from Papa’s shirts, and my school dresses, a doll coat, baby’s clothes, Aunt Mamie’s and Mama’s. Mrs. Murphy listened. I told her how Mama and Aunt Mamie even swapped pieces of material between Abbeville and Mississippi through the U.S. mail. My aunt laughed about that and added her own details of our family’s shared stories.

I talked of Mama’s quilting bees and how Papa teased her about having ‘ chatting bees’ instead. Mrs. Murphy laughed about that and said she wished she had known Mama. “I think we would have been great friends, friends just like you and my Elizabeth.

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