Ruby

by

L. Sue Wright

 

"She was one of kind," dad would say, a smile of remembrance in his eyes, tinged with the fading ache of knowing she was gone forever.  He loved sharing his memories of her, relishing the opportunity to revisit those days of yesteryear.

"Billy, sit up straight!  Keep those feet quiet!" She would say, sitting me in the second row pew.  Going to church was a Sunday tradition.  Mama, a very devout and moral woman, loved Sundays.  She would spiffy up in her Sunday best, "dressing up for the Lord" she said.  It was the only time of the week when she was to be seen without her bib apron.  She always made sure I had bathed, and was "clean and sharp." Saturday evening she would lie out her Bible, and Sunday school lesson. "We don't want to be late," she said.

There was never a stranger in the church. "Hello, Leon.  Good morning, Lena!  Samuel, where is that youngest daughter of yours?" Mama greeted everyone we met with genuine care and concern.  If there was someone new, mama would introduce herself, and an invitation to the dinner meal would usually follow soon after.  Once it was time for the service to begin though, mama was all business.  After making sure I was seated, she would make her way over to the organ.  She loved playing.  Self taught, she never learned to read music, but played by ear.  Around town, the talk was "those Potter girls (she was one of 8 girls) could really make a piano sing." "Til We Meet Again" was one of her favorites.  A mainstay in her life, mama's faith seemed to give her life.  She excitedly shared the news of Ed Miller finally coming to the Lord.  It was very important to her, and she was proud she had helped in it.

At home, she would change out of her Sunday best, to finish whatever needed doing, for the dinner meal to be served.  The apron went over her head and she tied it securely behind her back.  On those hot summer days, her rolled down nylons looked like 'brown donuts' anchored around each ankle.  As she sat snapping the ends off the green beans, her legs were spread, holding the bowl between them tightly.  Occasionally, she reached up to the wet washrag pinned securely to her dress, to wipe the sweat from her brow. "I swan, it sure is hot," she would say, maintaining the rhythmical snapping of the beans. "Stay out of there" she would say sternly whenever anyone tried to reach into the bowl, but her eyes would twinkle, and the corners of her mouth lifted up.

He remembered that she spent many hours preparing food, and seemed to relish the opportunity.  Cherry pies were a family favorite. "Mighty good pie, Ruby," my papa, Hubert, would say.  Mama's face would light up, as a compliment from papa had to be earned.  She often made something from seemingly nothing.  Although she never had pumpkin to cook, she added cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves to carrots and turned out a pie that tasted even better.  Small amounts had to be stretched to feed many.  During haying season, she was known for feeding the thrashing crews well.  She was a woman made for her time.

The milking, a twice daily chore on the farm, was shared by all.  Mama had a reputation in our house.  She could milk faster than anyone, even papa. "Show us how, mama!" we would say.  She would only laugh.

It was not an easy life.  Mama, the fourth child in a family of 10, had come from a loving family, but had always shared much.  Life with papa was frugal, as well, but he was a kind and loving man.  He, too, was a man of his word, and loved and revered the Lord.  They both were hard workers, but always gave credit to God.  At the end of a long day, when especially tired, or worried about something, she would say "this world and one more." Although the meaning was unclear at the time, the words seem to give her comfort. 

Although a modest dresser, mama loved jewelry.  She liked it big and flashy.  Even though it was inexpensive costume jewelry, it was probably her one extravagance.  She took pride in her appearance, but never to the point of vanity.  When dressing in her later years, when her eyesight had dimmed, she would dot each cheek with a too bright spot of rouge, and put on lipstick.   Unfortunately, it often became a red blur, as it faded into the tiny wrinkles around her lips.

I can remember a time when mama got very excited.  One day, she had gone into her bedroom looking for something in a bureau drawer.  As she ran out of the room, she hollered loudly, "Hubert!  There's a snake in the drawer." She made considerable noise and moved rather quickly, until papa had taken the blue racer out of the house.

Dad's voice was fading.  Once again, she had come alive.  He tucked her memory away, secure in knowing it would come again.