The Prodigal Son

 

 

            Bob and Minnie Matheson Ledford’s deepest desire was to rear their children to become upright citizens in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Clay County, North Carolina.

            That was a challenge during the 1930’s.  Eight children could find many things to lead them astray in the Matheson Cove.  The boys got into fights and the girls argued.  Peace often alluded the Ledford’s household.

            No wonder Bob grabbed a hickory switch and led rowdy kids to the woodshed.  Reuben stuck his brogans into his mouth often.

            One day Reuben and Rondy got into a fight.  Reuben loved to tease his older brother because he “bossed” him around.  About the time the boys started to hit each other, Bob stepped up.

            “Break it up!” he hollered.  “I’m fed up with your boys fighting.  I’m going to tie your tails together and throw you over the clothesline like two old tomcats.”

            Reuben stuck out his tongue at his pa and told him to shut up.

            Now the fat was in the fireplace.  Bob broke a limb off the walnut tree.  “I’ll make you holler ‘calf rope.’  No son’s going to backtalk me.  Let’s go to the woodshed.”

            Reuben took off like a scaled foxhound to Shewbird Mountain.  Bob gained ground on Reuben.  But the rebellious kid climbed a poplar tree before Bob grabbed him by the seat of the overalls.

            Bob told him to come down, or he would whip the shirt off his back.

            Reuben laughed, unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it to the ground.

            Bob’s face turned red as a cherry tomato.  He stomped the ground and shouted, “Wait until you get home!  Just wait!” He headed to the house and drank a dipper full of water from the bucket in the kitchen.

            When it got dark, Reuben shimmied down the tree and slipped to the barn.  He climbed the ladder and spent the night shivering in the hay loft.  The next morning his stomach growled.  He could just taste Ma Ledford’s biscuits, gravy, sausage and fried eggs.  Whipping or not, he was hungry and decided to go home.

            Ma, Pa, and the young’uns were wolfing down breakfast at the kitchen table.  Reuben sneaked like a chicken-killing dog and took his place beside little Ray at the table.  No one said a word.

            Pa peered over his spectacles at Reuben.  “Want some biscuits?” he asked and passed the plate.

            Reuben wondered why Pa never took him to the woodshed.  Perhaps he had learned his lesson staying all night in the barn alone, cold, and hungry.  The Prodigal Son came home.