The Singing Convention

 

            The sun ricocheted like a ruby above Shewbird Mountain and honeysuckle scented the Matheson Cove when we went to the singing convention.  The family tumbled out of featherbeds as the guineas squawked on that summer morning.

            Ma hummed the hymn, “Just Over in the Glory-Land,” as she baked bread in the Dutch oven.  My brothers toted firewood into the kitchen.

            My sisters made up the featherbeds and dressed baby Ray.

            All our names began with the letter “r.”  Ma called me Rondy.  I didn’t like being the oldest.  Then came Ralph, Reba, Rena, Robert, Reuben, Robenia, and Ray.  Robbie died at birth.

            Ma and Pa got our names mixed up.  I reckon I answered to anything.

            That morning Pa called, “Ralph.  I mean Rondy.  Help me feed the livestock.”

            I gave the mules, Bess and Kate, corn and slopped the hogs.

            “Reuben.  I mean Rondy,” yelled Ma.  “Pick some blackberries for a pie.”                          I grabbed a bucket off the back porch and headed for the berry patch.  I didn’t like being the oldest youngin. 

            “Orrf!  Orrf!  Orrf!”  yelped ole’ Oscar, the foxhound.  He jumped to my shoulders and paw printed my overalls with mud.

            “Get down,” I scolded.

            Oscar drooped his ears and slinked away with his tail between his legs.

            I picked a handful of blackberries, plopped them into the bucket, and munched some.

            Oscar sneaked up and nudged my elbow.  He whined and I gave him berries. 

            “Orrf!  Orrf!  Orrf!” He smacked his lips and thumped his tail.

            “You ain’t getting more,” I told him.

            We headed to the log cabin and Ma made a berry pie for the dinner on the ground.

            Pa and I hitched the team to the wagon.  Reuben and Robert got hay from the barn for the back of the wagon.  They threw straw at each other and it covered the ground.  The mules heehawed and I grabbed their reins.

            “Stop that tomfoolery,” I ordered.

            “You ain’t our Pa,” said Ralph.

            “Just cause you’re oldest, don’t mean you can boss us,” said Robert.

            “Howdy, Otis!” yelled Reuben and stuck out his tongue.

            I flew mad.  Otis was a hermit who lived in the holler.  Even in summer, he wore a toboggan and smelled like a polecat.  I darted to the peach tree to cut a switch.

            The boys took off to the corncrib with Oscar howling at their heels.  I picked up the hay and tossed it into the back of the wagon, then covered it with a quilt.

            Ralph put straight backed chairs on the wagon for Ma and Pa.  Reba, Robenia, and Rena dashed out the door with our food.  Ma carried baby Ray.

            “Who got the tablecloth?” asked Ma.  “Rondy, fetch it.”

            I rushed to the house and resented doing the most work.

            The youngins laughed, poked each other and enjoyed the ride down the bumpy road.  I chewed a straw and stared at the mountains.  Pa drove the team across Hyatt Mill Creek, then forked toward Hayesville, North Carolina.

            “Rondy’s got a sweetheart,” said Reba.

            “Rondy’s sweet on Blanche,” said Rena and giggled.

            “Rondy’s going to meet Blanche at the singing convention,” added Robenia.

            I dropped my head and listened to the singing as we climbed the hill to town.

            Pa told me to tie the horses to a tree.  The youngins zipped into the red brick courthouse to the singing convention.

            I sat in the back of the courthouse with Blanche.  I thought she was the prettiest gal I’d ever seen.

            “It’s good to see you,” she whispered and blushed.

            I held her hand as we listened to the shape-note music.

            Uncle Luther Matheson and his quartet sang the song he wrote, “Will He be Ashamed of Me.”  The crowd kept applauding until they did an encore.  His group won the banner at the convention.

            After the singing convention, we gathered under the maples and spread our picnic lunches on tablecloths across the ground.

            I ate with Blanche as my brothers and sisters romped over the courthouse yard hollering like hyenas.

            Pa offered Blanche and me pieces of fried chicken.  He gazed at the rambunctious youngins.

            “Son, I’m glad I can always depend on you,” he said and touched my shoulder.

            I thought my heart would burst with joy.  It was good to be the oldest in my family.